Huddled beside a pathetic flame in the wood and wattle cottage the hunters used, I avoided glares from Fin and his sniveling partner, Hess. Were the two lovers? I assumed so, the way they stuck together on the trails, but Fin was one of the most secretive men I’d ever met.
“Done yet?” Hess asked. His voice was softer than the wind, but sharper than jagged ice. “We should’ve been off by now.”
“Nearly there.”
The last to arrive meant I was the one who’d be tasked preparing the meat and packs the hunters would take up the peaks. A wrinkle scrunched my nose as I inspected the roasted hay rat. No matter how I glazed the meat, it gave off a sickly-sweet scent.
I splashed frigid water over the spit. Meat hissed. My nose burned. With a sigh, I looked out the shack to the tops of the cliffs. On the other side, did the folk of the Ettan Kingdom live like true kings and queens?
Of course they did, they had fury. The magic of the gods. Magic of the earth.
No doubt, the fae could conjure up a banquet of savory herbs, buttered breads, tender hocks of lamb, anything they wanted from a single berry seed.
Not that I’d ever seen any Night Folk living in Timoran conjure such things, but they always arrived with their smooth brown skin, shiny hair, and healthy bodies. Night Folk fury could manipulate the earth, and didn’t our food come from the earth? I had few doubts the fae ate and lived well while Timorans who traveled to Etta arrived with red, wind-burned cheeks, tousled hair, and a bit of blue tint to their pink lips.
I shook my head, frustrated. Selfish bastards.
They lived in their gilded palaces, their lush lands, while their neighbors—peaceful neighbors—rotted with the ice.
A gust of harsh wind filled the cottage with an open door.
More from the hunting party, including my father stomped frost crystals off boots, removed the pelts from their heads, and shuddered through a chill.
Daj winked at me, finding a bit of humor in my tardiness. Then again, my father enjoyed the way Fin’s face turned a plum color whenever his temper flared. I happened to the be the one who flared it the most.
Fin couldn’t dismiss me, even if I irritated him. Not when my family had served in the royal hunt for centuries, not when the prince favored me, and not when my father secretly intimidated the lead hunter.
Daj came to the flame, breathed the stink of the rat deeply, then pretended it was a meal fit for our king.
Wind had long ago burned his skin with a pink flush, but he’d let his thick beard grow over his chin. Doubtless, a way to keep the cold at bay. Like most Timoran men, my father kept the sides of his head shorn with runes tattooed on the sides, and a long, thick braid carving down the center of his skull.
A large man, broad, and thick with muscle. But Vidon Krigare was a kind father. He laughed often, yet bore the shadow of loss in his eyes. The pain lived in his smiles ever since my mother met the Otherworld four turns ago.
Once a warrior in King Jón’s army, now he helped lead the parties to feed our folk. None of it diminished the fierceness of my father. Our people were warriors, bred from raiders, and Daj bore the look and title with pride.
My brushed snow from the braids in his russet beard. “Smells . . .”
He hesitated.
I snickered and held up the spit with the skinny, gamey rat. “Like goat piss?”
Fin clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Lili, is that how you speak when you go to court?”
“Always.”
Daj boomed a deep laugh. “Ah, get off the girl, Fin. You think our royal family is so soft they cannot stomach an outspoken female?”
Fin rolled his eyes and settled into one of the wooden stools in the corner of the hut. “If you keep a tongue like a common dock man, I wager you might lose favor in your princely companion.”
I removed the rat off the spit. “If you don’t already know our prince has an even harsher tongue, then I’m afraid you’re in for a surprise, Herr Fin.”
A hiss of steam soaked our humble home in rotted moldy plumes as I sliced the rat. Any laughter died in the hut, and the dozen hunters covered their noses, and readied their packs for the smelly meat.
“At least it does not taste as it smells,” my father said, picking at a fatty piece.
“Even if it tasted like the insides of a mule, we eat it.” Fin stood, and shouldered his longbow. “Ready your packs. We take the four regions of the east cliffs. This is a solstice feast, so any big game, shoot true.”
The hunters trudged around, securing fur cloaks and coats, covering their heads in pelts and caps lined in rabbit skins. The men and few women stuffed leather satchels with the rat meat, nuts, and a few dried berries delivered in the last trade caravans from Etta.
“Lili,” my father said, gruffly, tying a woolen handkerchief over his chin and mouth. “Herr Svenson spoke with me today.”
My insides knotted, but I buried the disquiet beneath an indifferent grin. “About what?”
“You.”
My father wouldn’t look at me. I didn’t want to press, didn’t want to ask, but the way he paused it would be expected, and I’d be expected to keep calm and steady about it.
“What of me?”
“The man is interested in you.”
“The man has interested in half a dozen women. The proof of it is in his harem he keeps in his loft, Daj.”
Perhaps I couldn’t keep steady, after all.
I breathed a little easier when my father grinned.
“So, am I to assume you have no interest in joining the loft women?”
“Are you asking earnestly?”
“Yes.”
“Then, no. I have more interest in dipping my face in the river at the highest moon and freezing there than I do to become another of Herr Svenson’s consorts.”
“Thought as much. I warned the man you knew how to use a bow as well as you do knives, and he ought to fret more over his life should he approach you rather than filling another bed.”
My shoulders relaxed. “You did not.”
“I did. However, daughter, you need to consider you’re beyond the prime age for a match. It’s time to think of your future, Lili.”
What future? Freezing with a few littles around my legs, begging for something to ease their hunger?
Unless I chose Eli. What would Daj think? We’d always been close, odd for daughters and fathers in Timoran, but my father was not a typical warrior. A man who did not curse the gods for not blessing him with a son, a man who treasured one lover, one wife, and cared little that his child had breasts—she would still know how to use a blade.
I held my tongue, not ready to talk about the proposition yet. “I will consider my future, Daj. I swear it. For now, let’s hunt.”
My group consisted of Jerrik and Isla, a brother and sister who knew the back of the cliffs like they were part of the soil. Daj always went with Fin and the more experienced hunters on the rougher trails.
He cupped my cheek, pressed a kiss to my nose, and said, “Stay safe, daughter. May the gods protect you, and may you avoid the tricky fae.”
I chuckled. Daj didn’t hold prejudice against Night Folk, but we kept a few jokes between us about their pointed ears, and love of tricks.
“Lilianna,” Jerrik said, nodding his head toward a path in the trees. “Let’s go.”
I followed. Another hunt. Another cold night.
Never did I imagine, more than the fae, fate was the one with the trickiest plans of all.
* * *
“Nothing. Bleeding nothing out here,” Isla whined. “We ought to build camp.”
“We can go a little more,” I insisted, scrubbing my frozen fingers together.
Jerrik frowned as he tugged his pelts around his shoulders. “It’s too bleeding cold. Everything is burrowed away. We should’ve left earlier.”
I let out a groan. “I’ve apologized, and explained the prince kept me in the market. And don’t pretend you’ve never been late, Jerrik. Remind me why you were late last month? I believe it had something to do with Hans’ daughter and stables—”
“All right, we all know what happened.” Jerrik shoved my shoulder. Isla and I snickered when his pout deepened.
With a sigh, I adjusted the quiver of arrows on my back. “Why don’t you two set up camp, and I’ll try the ridge once more. The least I can do for putting us at such a late start.”
The siblings shared a look, then nodded. Jerrik handed me a curved knife. “Careful steps. The ice storms last week probably coated the ridge.”
“Ah, Isla,” I said with an ironic grin. “I never knew your brother cared so much.”
Jerrik rolled his eyes. “Just go, Lilianna. Hurry back. I refuse to search for your irritating ass after midnight.”
I secured a few pelts into a pack of supplies, tightened an oversized fur coat, and took hold of the longbow. With a few more jabs, I left the protection of trees and climbed up the steep ledges on the ridge.
The cliffs were jagged, and could be treacherous in places. Then in other parts, like the ridge, there were paths that led to clearings, frozen ponds, thick trees and briars.
If any game were out tonight, they’d be near the meadows at the base of the ridge. A pond with a small waterfall was there, and plenty of places where creatures could burrow and eat what blossoms or leaves grew in the ice.
As much as I hated to admit it, Jerrik had a point. Rocks and ledges all had a fine layer of ice, making the climb difficult. Each step took thought. I rammed my toes into crags, dug my fingertips into the ledge to keep from spilling off the side.
It didn’t do any good.
One misstep, and moments later, my stomach lurched into my throat, and the ground fell out from under me.
Branches scraped and burned my exposed cheeks. A sick snap hinted the longbow hit wrong, and was worthless now. Bits of stone, dead branches, and thorns pulled and tugged at my clothes as I tumbled down the slope.
I landed in a heap in the meadow. My skull raged; my lungs burned.
I coughed until air returned to my chest, and slowly maneuvered onto my elbows. Up here, this late, the grass had a layer of blue frost, and nothing soft or warm broke my fall. From head to toe ached, and I was certain I’d broken a few fingers on the way down.
With care, I twisted over my shoulder. All down the side of the slope my supplies—the items I’d need to bleeding survive the night—were strewn across the hillside.
How off course had I fallen? It would take hours to climb back up with the ice and ledges. Cursed gods, I’d teased at first, but I didn’t want Jerrik and Isla to risk their lives searching for me.
They would, even if they said they wouldn’t.
I needed to get to them, or at the very least somehow signal that I was alive, but when I tried to move I cried out against a coal of pain.
“Bleeding hells,” I swore when I patted my ribs. Something had jabbed my side, and hot, sticky blood soaked my fur coat. My head wheeled. I was not so injured I’d die; truth be told from what I could tell, it was a minor gash, but I couldn’t stay out here in the open.
Hands shaking, I gathered a few twigs, and fashioned a few rune patterns atop the hard grass. If the wind didn’t blow at them too much, at least it would be a signal I’d been here, I was alive, I’d gone to find shelter.
It would have to do, for until I bandaged my side and tended to my hand, I wouldn’t be climbing the ridge.
To my left the trees grew thick. I could find shelter there. To the right, the pond was still half frozen. At least there was fresh water.
I winced, leveraging to my knees. Water and shelter first.
Jaw tight, I shuffled over to the pond, gathering what supplied had landed beside me on my way. It took more effort than I cared to admit to kneel on the bank. My hand trembled as I dipped the pick skin into the water. Doubtless I’d slip into mind stun out in this cold.
Once the skin was filled, I staggered back to my feet, but paused when my eyes adjusted to the dimness. On the other side of the pond was . . .
I narrowed my eyes. Was that a horse?
My heart stuttered in my chest. All gods, it was a horse, but without a rider. My gaze dropped to the edge of the ice sheet that coated the opposite side of the pond. A dark, shape seemed to be half in the water and half out.
Without a thought for my own battered legs, I limped as fast as I could to the other edge.
The horse whinnied at the sight of me, then went back to scavenging for unfrozen grass. I skidded to my knees when the dark shape clearly transformed into a man. He must’ve thought he rode on solid ground, then fell off his mount when the ice cracked.
He wore a dark, black cloak, and his body from the waist down was submerged in the ice.
“Herr!” I shook his shoulders, tugging on his arm. Gods, he was heavy. “Herr, please, wake up. You must help me.”
My pulse pounded in my skull, but I let out a relieved strangled sound when he groaned.
“Yes,” I said, breathless. “Help me.”
The frozen man groaned again, but his gloved fingers dug into the bank, and with haggard breaths he tried to help me pull his body out of the pond. My hands were numb, my broken fingers drew tears to my eyes, but I didn’t release him until his feet were out of the icy pond.
He slumped on the bank, going lifeless.
“Herr.” I padded around his back. His clothes were soaked. He’d freeze soon. I kicked my attention back to the horse. How the hells was I supposed to get him onto the damn gelding?
Be a bleeding warrior. I’d drag him if I needed to. Ignoring the pain in my hand, I used all my body weight to roll him onto his back.
The moonlight cast a blue shadow over his features.
My breath caught in my throat.
This man was no Timoran.
His soft brown complexion was hardly windburned. The waves of his dark hair had frozen over his brow, but without a cap, I could make out the sharp points of his ears.
“Night Folk,” I breathed out. “You’re fae.”
I could leave him now that he was free of the water. He’d only take resources from me, and I was certain his fury could save him.
He lay so still. Almost peaceful.
Slowly, I reached a finger to the pulse point on his neck. His heart still beat, but it was faint. Doubtless his body was freezing, and I didn’t know enough about fury to know if he could actually save himself.
True, I held a bit of resentment for the fae folk, but I could not simply leave a man to die.
I let out a long sigh and did my best to hook my arms beneath his shoulders.
He stirred, almost swatted at me. “D-Don’t touch m-me.”
“Then you’ll die, you bleeding fool,” I said through a grunt.
He made a sound, possibly a laugh, and little by little he made movements as if he planned to stand.
“Woman?”
“Yes, a woman. Do you Night Folk take insult to women helping you?” I let him fall back, then clicked my tongue at his horse until I got close enough to snatch the bridle. He’d gone quiet again.
Of course, right when I’d need him the most, he decided to fall back into oblivion.
Once more, I scooped my aching arms under his, and tried to lift him. The man was made of muscle, not heavy because he indulged in wine too much, more that his body refused to work and all his divots and strength became dead weight.
In another heartbeat, he drew in a ragged breath. His arms stiffened, and one hand gripped my arm.
“Yes, stand,” I pleaded. “Come on, wake up for another moment, you bastard.”
“My father w-would be offended,” he grumbled.
I grinned. “Ah, a witty fae. How fortunate I am. Come on then, funny man, stand.”
He slumped, head hanging and lolling side to side, but he managed to hook and arm over his horse’s withers. The gods must’ve smiled upon us for a few heartbeats later, I managed to steady his boot on my knee, and shove him up with one palm and a bit of my shoulder onto the back of his horse.
I hurried to gather a few supplies that had slipped from the pockets of my coat—the water skin, flint and steel, a knife. The fae teetered on the edge of consciousness by the time I pulled myself up behind him.
His body slumped over the neck of the horse. I curled an arm around his waist, holding him steady.
“Do you have a name, fae?” I asked, if only to keep him awake. “If we’re going to be surviving together we might as well know something personal.”
Was that a laugh again? I couldn’t tell if it was him gasping for air, or if he understood my irony.
“I’m . . . Arvad.”
“I’m Lilianna,” I said, urging the horse to enter the fold of trees. He shivered against my chest. Those wet clothes would need to come off, or he’d be a dead man. With a sigh, I tightened my grip on his waist, and lowered my voice. “I need to speak true, Arvad the fae, I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting night.”