Winter Queen(14)

Ever so carefully, she reached for her underdress. Just as her hand closed around the linen, the door banged open and Darrien stormed in. “Lazy, ungrateful wenches! Up! Up!”

The other women rushed to tug overdresses over their heads. Ilyenna froze, her breasts pressed into the woven horsehair mattress. Darrien’s gaze fell on her. In two strides, he reached the bed. Ilyenna snatched the blanket beneath her and held it tight. He wrenched her to her feet. Her bruised back groaned in protest, and she felt her skin crack. She struggled and kicked as he pressed himself against her. “Get dressed. You’re to work in the clan house.”

His gaze dropped down, his eyes hungry. She struggled to free a hand to slap him. Shoving her back on the bed, he laughed dryly and headed for the door.

Narium rushed to Ilyenna’s side. “Vile man. After beating you the way he did, he should let you rest for a week.”

She plucked Ilyenna’s underdress from her clenched fists and tugged it over her head. Ilyenna gasped as it scraped her back. Narium cast her an apologetic glance.

Utterly humiliated, Ilyenna stood, quivering and wishing everything below her neck and above her waist would simply stop existing.

Narium was a little more careful with her overdress. Ilyenna gritted her teeth and hissed every time it touched her skin. Finally, Narium strapped on Ilyenna’s clan belt while the other women hurried from the room. “I can put a running stitch through or leave it open.”

Ilyenna grimaced. What was worse? The humiliation of having her back exposed for the entire day, or letting the fabric rub her raw? She shook her head in despair. What use was pride? Hadn’t Darrien just hauled her from her bed in nothing but nature’s dress? “Leave it.”

Narium nodded, then wiped Ilyenna’s back with witch hazel. As the Argon clan mistress turned for the door, Ilyenna called, “Thank you for caring for me last night.”

Narium shook her head. “Rone did most of it.” And then she was gone.

Ilyenna stood for a moment, vaguely remembering someone caring for her while she slept. An unexpected warmth spread outward from her belly.

She walked stiffly from the house, her ripped dress bumping her like a tail. She paused before entering the clan-house kitchen. The smell of bacon, cooking eggs, and porridge assaulted her. Her mouth watering in anticipation, she stepped inside.

Three women froze in the midst of preparing the food. Two girls, about fourteen and ten, bore Undon’s reddish hair. Ilyenna guessed they were his daughters. The third looked nothing like the other two. She had glossy blond hair and, even more surprising, generous curves. Ilyenna gaped. She’d never seen such a plump person before—there was never enough food for it.

Ilyenna noted a rolled up blanket in the corner. Someone slept in the kitchen. That meant the woman was either a servant or another tiam. One treated far worse than Otrok ever was.

The plump woman crossed her arms over her ample chest. “My name is Metha.” She jerked her thumb at the other two, oldest to youngest. “And this is Bennis and Hanie. You’re to obey us as you would Undon or Darrien.” Her voice brimmed with an odd combination of affection and distaste when she said Darrien’s name. She pointed to the fire, where a heavy pot of porridge burped thin, steaming wisps that smelled of bacon grease.

Ilyenna’s mouth watered in earnest. But instead of offering her any, Metha thrust a cloth and wooden spoon into her hands. “You’re to serve the men. Spill one drop and I’ll count it as your breakfast.”

Definitely not a tiam.

Hanie gave Ilyenna a small wave behind Metha’s back. Bennis ignored her.

Using the cloth to protect her hands, Ilyenna took the pot and moved through the wide doorway. Speaking in hushed tones, Undon and Darrien sat at the thick table before an immense fireplace. This great hall was much larger than the Shyle’s, but it felt so empty with only two men inside it. Ilyenna pursed her lips in disapproval. Besides wasting firewood, the men debased their women by refusing to eat with them. Her father would never force her to sit so dishonorably.

But she wasn’t a Shyle anymore. She was a Tyran tiam. With a deep breath, she spooned porridge into Darrien’s bowl. Father and son went silent. Ilyenna froze, wondering what she’d done wrong. Then, she suddenly understood. If they were this obstinate about sitting arrangements, what about serving the clan chief first? She hurried to Undon and scooped up a spoonful of porridge.

Darrien gripped her wrist and wrenched it to the side. The porridge-coated spoon flew out of her hand, sticking to the floor like a spear driven into the ground. “Always, always serve my father first. Do you understand?”

She blinked. “I didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know?”

His grip tightened and she felt the bones of her wrist shift. Suddenly, the pain all seemed too much. Lanna and Otrok dead. Five years of her life gone. Her back on fire. Her stomach turned inside out from hunger. She cried out.

Satisfaction crossed Darrien’s face. He threw her to the floor. The pot landed with a dull thud, the porridge slowly flowing toward the floor. He raised his fist. Ilyenna held up her arm like a shield.

“Patience, Son,” Undon intoned. “She cannot learn if she’s dead.”

Darrien lowered his fist to his side. “You’re right, Father.” He sat back in his chair without giving her a backward glance.

The porridge bulged out of the pot like a tongue trying to lick the floor. Ilyenna caught it in her hand and righted the pot. Her hands burned terribly, but she forced herself to scrape it back inside. At least she’d saved her only chance for breakfast. Shakily, she rose to her feet. She pulled the spoon from the floor and tried to still her trembling hands enough to finish filling their bowls.

After she’d served their eggs and cleared away their plates, she went back into the kitchen. Now that the men had been served, the women sat down to breakfast. Ilyenna stood, waiting for Metha to acknowledge her. When the woman was scraping the last of the porridge into her mouth, Ilyenna couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m hungry.”

Metha dumped her bowl into a basket full of dirty dishes. “You dropped the spoon.”

Ilyenna’s shoulders slumped, and her hands seemed to burn all the more. No breakfast today.

“Wash them at the stream,” Metha called as she pushed herself up from the table and waddled away.

Resting the basket’s weight on her hip, Ilyenna filled it with dirty bowls, plates, and pots. Hanie came from the great hall. Without pausing, the girl placed a piece of bread on the table and hurried outside.

Ilyenna watched the girl disappear. Before anyone could take the bread, she shoved it in the space between her over and underdress. As soon as she was out of sight on the trail that led to the river, she wolfed it down so fast it made her stomach hurt.

The river wasn’t far. The water was clear and clean, as it came straight from the Shyle. The bottom was coated with the river stones etched from the mountains behind Ilyenna’s home and carried downriver. Cupping her hands, she drank her fill.

She paused before dunking the dishes in the water. Ridges of porridge lined the bowls, and remnants of eggs stuck to the plates. Her mouth began to water. After only a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed the cleanest spoon and scraped the food into her mouth.

As she washed the dishes, she studied her surroundings. Insects darted above the rushing stream. Above her, an apple tree was heavy with dark pink blossoms that were yet to open. There was a swirl of color—a dancing flower that spun and pirouetted, somehow staying airborne while it twirled from one flower to the next. Within moments of its touch, the flowers opened wide.

Ilyenna froze. This wasn’t a flower anymore than the snowflakes had been. She squinted at it and saw not petals, but gently curling wings, white at the tips and gradually darkening to a deep pink at the base. And the wings would be attached to a tiny body.

Suddenly, she could see the little fairy’s body. Hope making her heart pound, Ilyenna hurried to her feet, shading her eyes with her hand. “Who are you?”

The fairy started and whirled to face Ilyenna. She gave a little yelp of surprise and zipped behind the apple tree.

“Please don’t go!” Ilyenna cried. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

A tiny face peeked out at her. But this fairy was different from the ones who had saved Ilyenna. Instead of a harsh, sharp beauty, this creature was soft and rosy. The ends of her hair were white which gradually darkened to pink at the base—like an apple blossom. Her eyes were almond shaped and as golden as pollen.

“You’re a summer fairy, aren’t you?” Ilyenna asked. In response, the fairy disappeared. “Come out. I promise, I won’t hurt you. What’s your name?”

The fairy’s face peeked out again. She was so small it was hard to read her expression. But Ilyenna noted the hesitant way she stepped onto the branch, the way her wings seemed wilted behind her. “I am Jablana. What does the winter queen wish of me?”

Ilyenna wet her lips with her tongue. “Can you help me?”

The fairy laughed. “The winter queen wishes my help?”

Ilyenna nodded. “Please.”

Jablana’s wings came up, and Ilyenna wondered if reading a fairy’s emotions was as simple as watching her wings. “For how long?”