“For as long as it takes.”
The fairy’s wings flattened. “You must think me a fool, because only a fool would agree to such an open-ended agreement.”
Ilyenna shrugged. “Until I am free then.”
The fairy watched her warily. “And the payment?”
Ilyenna sighed. “What do you want?”
Jablana fluttered forward, so close Ilyenna could see her pink lips. “You and your fairies will not freeze my apple blossoms, no matter how pretty the flowers look covered in frost.”
Ilyenna blinked in surprise. “Very well.”
“You must say ‘yes.’”
Ilyenna suppressed a groan. “Yes.” A ripple of power flowed through Ilyenna. The fairy’s wings spread wide, as if stretching to devour the sun.
“You’d better hurry,” said a voice behind her. Ilyenna whirled as an Argon woman with a basket of washing on her hip emerged from the trees. “If you’re not back when Metha thinks you should be, she won’t let you eat lunch.”
Ilyenna pivoted back to the fairy, but she was gone. Ilyenna wanted to call after her, but somehow she knew it wouldn’t do any good. The fairy would not come back. And even if she did, the Argon woman wouldn’t be able to see her. She’d think Ilyenna mad if she started talking to a flower.
Ilyenna rinsed the last of the sand from the dishes. Then she hurried back to the kitchen and traded the clean basket of dishes for a basket of soiled washing.
When she arrived back at the river, the Argon woman was still there. “I’m Ilyenna,” she offered.
The woman’s face darkened. “I know. I’m Shia.” She turned and searched the forest, as if expecting to find someone watching them. “If we’re caught talking, we’ll be punished. We’ll speak tonight.”
Ilyenna nodded. At least she’d have nights in the women’s house to look forward to. Perhaps Rone would even be there. With that prospect to lighten her day, the washing didn’t seem so bad. Her stomach still felt slightly hollow, but she felt stronger. Her back didn’t even hurt as much.
After hanging up the last of the washing behind the clan house, Ilyenna stepped inside the kitchen. The women had just filled the wash basket with dishes from lunch. Metha squared off in front of her.
“You took too long. No lunch, either.” She handed Ilyenna a rag and bowl of water with soap shavings floating in the bottom. “Scrub the great hall from top to bottom. Then do the dishes. You take too long or don’t do a proper job, and you’ll not get supper, either.”
Ilyenna scrubbed tables, floors, and walls until her knuckles bled. By the time she finished, she could smell dinner cooking. Metha met her at the door with a scraper. “Clean out the chicken coop. Bring in the eggs.”
With a sigh, she took the wooden scraper and left the room. The midday sun added heat to her back. She started to wish she’d let Narium sew her dress after all. When she had finished with the coop, there were more dishes to wash. No matter how fast she worked or how good a job she did, Metha always found something wrong. A scrap of food stuck to a plate cost Ilyenna supper.
It was dark by the time she finished lugging in the last plates. After she’d put them away, she trudged toward the women’s house. Footsteps echoed her own.
She turned to see Darrien coming toward her. She crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from shaking, from fear as much as from hunger. As always, he came too close. She squared herself, resisting the urge to lean away from him. His nose wrinkled in disapproval. “You stink like sweat and chicken dung.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I swore to give my sweat, and that’s what I’m doing.”
He stepped closer. “You don’t have to. Marry me, and you’ll not have to work one day of the five years. You can sleep in my rooms, eat at the clan-house table. I’ll give you fine clothes and . . .” His hand shot out, deftly unfastening her clan belt. Before Ilyenna could react, he held her identity in his hand. “You can have this back.”
Without her belt, her overdress gaped at the sides. She felt a cool breeze moving against her underdress. Her father had fashioned the leather from one of their sheep. Her mother had sewn in all the knots but the last. That one, the clan-mistress knot, Ilyenna had added days after her mother’s burial. She reached for it, but Darrien held her back. “You’ve no right to take that!”
He smiled in satisfaction. “You don’t have a clan anymore. You’ll endure what I want you to endure.” He stepped so close she could feel the heat from his body. “Unless you wish me to tell my father you killed his favorite son?”
Tears pricked her eyes. Of all the things Darrien had done to her, taking her clan belt cut closest to her heart. Reaching out again, she tried to snatch it back. The movement brought her closer to him.
He pulled her in, his lips inches from hers. “It’s a pretty good bargain, Ilyenna.”
She squirmed until she felt the skin on her back crack and sting. “What you want is a harlot.”
He released her and took a step back. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll come to me. Sooner or later, you’ll come. And when you do, I’ll make you beg.” He turned and started towards the clan house.
She watched him go. Was he right? Could he afflict her until she submitted?
She lifted her head higher. Shyle are stronger than stone, more supple than a sapling. No matter what any of them said, she was still a Shyle, and she wouldn’t forget her clan’s pride. Ilyenna felt eyes on her back and turned. A dark shadow peered at her from behind the trees—Rone. How much had he seen?
His smoldering eyes said he’d seen enough. “One of these days, I’m going to kill that son of a whore.”
Ilyenna rubbed her forehead. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been looking for you.”
Suddenly her emotions seemed too much to bear. Starting past him on her way to the women’s house, she lashed out, “Why? You’ve never cared about me. Why start now?”
His hand shot out, gripping her arm. “Don’t say that. When we were children, you were like a little sister to me.”
She took a deep, shuddering breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Tears burning her eyes, she turned, her gaze staring after Darrien. It wasn’t Rone’s fault. Not her being here, or Darrien, or her being marked, or the fact that Rone thought of her as a sister. She relaxed her fists.
His grip loosened. “The other women all came in a long time ago.” He handed her something draped in an old rag.
Ilyenna unwrapped it. A piece of crusty bread and a sliver of cheese. Without Metha lording over them, the other tiams must be eating better. Her mouth watering, Ilyenna took a bite, ignoring the crunch of weevils. “Thank you.”
Rone stared up at the moon, which reflected dark glints in his green eyes. “I’ll kill him if you’d like.”
She nearly choked on her cheese. Without asking, she took his waterskin and swallowed. “Kill him?” she whispered with a furtive glance. “If you even touch an axe or knife, they’ll kill us all.”
“Mother told you.” It wasn’t a question. The lines around Rone’s eyes tightened. “Sometimes I think that might be a relief.”
Ilyenna froze, the food in her hands forgotten. “Do you not recall who you are?”
Almost immediately, the hunch in his back straightened. “I am an Argon.”
“You are the Argon clan chief,” she said sternly.
His gaze looked her up and down. “And you are the Shyle clan mistress.”
A wry smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “A clan mistress who smells of chicken dung and sweat and wears her dresses backless?”
He chuckled. “Well, there’s that.”
She closed her eyes. It didn’t have to be this way. Being a tiam was supposed to teach a lesson, not break a spirit. For instance, with Otrok, Ilyenna had offered a trade. She’d allowed the child’s father to stay home and continue to scrape together enough to feed his wife and other children, as long as his youngest son came in his place. In doing so, she’d probably saved the child’s life—only to have it taken from him months later.
“We aren’t criminals,” Rone went on. “We’ve done nothing wrong. I am the Argon clan chief, and you are the Shyle clan mistress.” They arrived at the women’s house. “Good night, Ilyenna,” he said before walking away.
She watched him go, her eyes heavy. “I suppose it could be worse,” she murmured. “I could be alone in this.”
8. Strong as Stone
Ilyenna took the bowl of porridge Narium offered. Trying not to notice the black flecks, she spooned some into her mouth and made an effort not to wince when weevils popped between her teeth. Dim light slanted through the small, dirty windows. The women weren’t allowed candles and only enough wood for cooking their meals.
Narium hurried over and tied a rag over Ilyenna’s hair. “It will keep your hair out of your eyes.” She nodded toward the gruel as she wiped Ilyenna’s back with a cloth dampened with witch hazel. “Eat it quickly or you won’t have time to eat at all.”
The other women were shoving spoonfuls in their mouths as fast as they could. Ilyenna increased her pace. After only a few more bites, a man appeared at the door with a strap in hand. He cracked it against his palm. Abandoning their bowls, the women rushed for the door.