Winter Queen Page 6

  Within moments, her clan surrounded her, bare hands against bare steel. They wrestled Undon’s axe from his grip while others took down Darrien. A scream tore through the air—the sound of a soul torn from its body.

  Tyrans flooded the room by tens, axes shining with fresh blood. A Shyle woman dropped. And another. They were falling like lambs before wolves.

  “Back!” her father cried. “Back!”

  With fresh wounds, her clan retreated. It had barely begun, and it was over.

  Breathing hard, his glare murderous, Undon gestured for his men to bring Ilyenna to him. Bratton stepped between them. More of her clanmen blocked their path. The Tyrans pushed them back with their shields and bashed them with the butts of their axes.

  “Stop,” she commanded her clanmen. “Let them through.”

  Bratton grabbed her arms. “No! I’ll not let them harm you!”

  She felt the bruises forming under his grip. “The clan needs one of us to live,” she whispered. He didn’t move. “I’m marked,” she reminded him. Unless she somehow managed to elude the dead’s attention, she was as good as dead anyway. She gently pried his fingers from her arms.

  She looked in her brother’s eyes and saw understanding overtake his need to protect her. The clan came first. They both knew this, had known it since childhood. With fists clenched until the sinews stood out, Bratton lowered his hands to his sides.

  Iron grips jerked Ilyenna away from him. Refusing to be dragged, she forced herself to keep her feet under her. The Tyrans shoved her into Undon’s arms. He jerked her back by her hair and held his axe to the soft skin of her throat. She glared at him, daring him to kill her. The ringing of hammers set her teeth on edge.

  Undon’s gaze lingered on her face. “I remember your mother, Clan Mistress Ilyenna. Perhaps instead of killing Otec, I’ll satisfy myself with you.” He pulled back his half-moon axe. Cries erupted from her clan.

  So another cost of seeking the dead would be her life. So be it. At least she had saved her brother and father. She shut her eyes and turned away.

  “Wait,” she heard Darrien say. She opened her eyes to see his hand on his father’s arm.

  Undon paused. His son stepped forward and probed the slash in Ilyenna’s dress. She shuddered as his fingers touched her bare flesh. His brows knit together. “What kind of power is this?” he murmured so softly she was sure no one else heard him.

  At some point in the scuffle, her braid had come loose. He took advantage, sifting through her black hair, something only her husband should ever do. He caressed her jaw and throat. “White as milk,” he murmured. Leaning in, he whispered, “My brother wouldn’t have hurt you. You’d have been better off to kill me. I’ll make you pay for your mistake, little one. And I’ll enjoy every moment of it.”

  A shiver of terror ran down her spine.

  “Make her the tiam instead, Father,” he said loudly.

  Undon slowly nodded. “Very good, Darrien. That’ll keep the Shyle in line.”

  “No,” her father gasped. “I’d rather you killed her.”

  Ilyenna saw the desperation on her father’s face—desperation that mirrored her brother’s. As she understood, her stomach roiled. More than her life was at stake. Darrien would force her to marry him. That would give him claim to the Shyle.

  Undon sneered at her father. “You know the law, Otec. Any clan who trespasses against another is subject to reparation.”

  Her father spat at his feet. “The Council orders reparation when one clan wrongs another, not you! You’re no better than a Raider!”

  Undon chuckled darkly before stepping so close to Ilyenna she couldn’t focus on his face. She forced herself to stand erect, her shoulders thrown back. “I shall leave the choice with you, Ilyenna. Five years as my tiam. Serve faithfully, submit to my will, and I’ll allow the Shyle to live as long as they hold to the rest of the terms.”

  “No, Ilyenna,” the cry was from her brother and was echoed by her clan.

  Her head ached. She wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream. Instead, she narrowed her gaze. “You’ll leave our lands alone?”

  Ondon shrugged. “If your people pay honestly and faithfully, I’ll leave their lands intact.”

  Her shoulders dropped. A tiam—a slave but for the rights she bargained for. But her time wouldn’t last. The Council would intervene. They had to. She held onto that candle flame of hope, wavering as it was. “I will submit my sweat, but I will never marry you. You’ll not harm me, by violence or neglect.”

  Undon turned to his son. “Darrien?”

  His gaze felt hot against her skin. “I’ll not marry her unless she asks for it.”

  She saw the triumph in Darrien’s face. But soon he’d find out just how strong a Shyle clanwoman could be.

  Undon nodded. “And I agree not to beat you.”

  It was better than she could have hoped for, but her words tasted like bile. “I submit. I will serve five years as tiam.”

  Her clan howled with rage.

  Darrien simply crooked his finger, and she had to obey. He eased the knife from her belt, somehow making that simple gesture lewd. He tossed it in the air, then caught it and checked its balance before slipping it into his clan belt.

  Ilyenna paused at the door, casting a final glance back at the hall. Her father and Bratton were fighting bare-fisted against the Tyrans, who beat them back with axe hilts. Her clan’s cries grated against her ears.

  At the front of the clan house, three men waited. Darrien climbed upon a magnificent bay gelding, then kicked a muddy foot out of the stirrup. She looked up at him. She’d exchanged safety with the fairies in the hopes of saving her clan. She’d failed, except to save her father and brother. Perhaps that knowledge would make her fate easier to endure.

  Grateful she wore her riding leggings, Ilyenna hiked up her skirts and hauled herself up behind Darrien.

  He glanced back at her. “Put your arms around my waist.” She ground her teeth and gripped the cantle tighter. “You promised to submit. Shall I tell my clanmen to continue boarding up your clan house?”

  Her skin crawling, she pried her grip from the saddle and wrapped her arms around Darrien’s waist.

  “Now lean your head against my shoulder.”

  “You swore I wouldn’t have to submit my body.”

  He turned so she could see his profile. “I am not asking you to my bed, Ilyenna. Just your head on my shoulder.”

  She kept her head erect.

  He nodded to one of his men. “Burn it.”

  Tears smoldering down her cheeks, she laid her cheek against his shoulder.

  He laughed dryly. “And so you have learned your first lesson.” He dug his heels into his gelding’s sides, taking her away from the family and people she loved.

  6. Tiam

  Darrien and his men kept a pace meant to cover ground quickly without killing one’s horse. Dividing the hour into quarters, they galloped, dismounted to walk, remounted to trot, and then slowed back to a walk. Then they began all over again. Her knees chafing, Ilyenna wished for Myst and her own saddle.

  You’ve no horse. You’re a tiam now, she silently chided herself. The notion was as bitter as the feel of her body pressed against Darrien’s. She had no clan, no possessions—nothing but her name, her honor, and her wits. A lamb at the mercy of wolves.

  Her only consolation was the hope that some of her mark might rub off onto Darrien.

  He reached into a saddlebag under Ilyenna’s leg, pulled out long sticks of cured meat, and began eating. The smoky aroma sent her mouth to watering. It had been a long time since she had eaten Enrid’s bread. She forced herself not to listen, not to smell. Instead, as they traveled steadily downward and into warmer country, she concentrated on the shrinking forest and mountains of her homeland. How long before she could see them again?

  She watched Darrien drink loudly from his waterskin, the crumbs of an oat cake scattered across the front of his shirt. Her throat nearly cracking for want
of moisture, Ilyenna worked her tongue over the roof of her mouth. A warm wind gusted from the south, thawing the chill from her bones. Winter had lost its grip.

  She closed her eyes. She should’ve gone with Chriel. She searched the trees, looking for any signs of fairies, listening for the sound and power of winter. But it was gone and had taken her powers with it. Ilyenna was truly alone.

  Darrien pulled his horse to a stop. Ilyenna scrambled down, careful to keep him in front of her. A tiam wasn’t supposed to walk before her master. When she was sure he and his men weren’t looking, she scooped up a chunk of melting snow and began sucking. With one eye on him and one on her surroundings, she searched for any signs of food.

  She saw some green shoots poking through the snow. Wild onions. Bending down, she worked them loose. Darrien turned just as she pulled them free. In two strides, he stood before her. He held out his hand. “I see you found me something besides cured meat.” The other men laughed.

  Her hands itched to take her knife from his belt. His gaze dared her to do so. She took a shuddering breath. He didn’t have to behave like this. She’d treated Otrok as a brother, and now the boy was dead. Tears blurring her vision, she held out the onions.

  Darrien jerked them from her, peeled off the outside layer, popped one in his mouth, and wiped the juice from his lips. At the sound of his crunching, Ilyenna remembered the fresh, mild taste and her stomach growled all the louder.

  Darrien grinned and strode a little closer. His breath, heavy with onions, blew against her face. She held perfectly still as his fingers combed through her hair again. It was indecent having her hair down like this, but she hadn’t had the time to braid it yet.

  “For these onions, will you sell but one smile, Ilyenna?” he said.

  She fought to keep her eyes from darting to the bulbs dangling from his hand. A smile today, a kiss tomorrow. Where would it end? No, better she never begin to play his games. Obedience. Honor. She kept her voice steady. “Every onion I find, I will deliver to you.”

  He grunted as he popped another in his mouth. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for the others to mount. He walked to his own horse, and Ilyenna followed. But after Darrien got on the gelding, his leg didn’t move from the stirrup “My horse is tired. You’ll have to run in front of us until he’s recovered.”

  She stepped back from the saddle, fists clenched at her sides. He’d made himself clear. She was playing the game whether she wished to or not. She began running. Laughter followed her. By the time the sun extinguished itself on the mountains, her lungs were on fire and her legs had no more strength to bear her up than rotted wood. She tried to concentrate on one more step. Just one. She stumbled and fell to her knees. She was vaguely aware of the rocks scraping her palms, of the mud soaking through her dress. More than anything, her whole body ached to stay put. She struggled to haul her feet under her. Her legs buckled, and she went down again.

  Someone gripped the collar of her dress and hauled her backwards. The fabric cut into her throat. She choked, her hands clawing at the collar. Darrien yanked her into his saddle, settling her in front of him. Both arms went around her.

  Her mind wanted to fight, but she was so tired. She slumped forward. Soon, the rhythmic motion of the saddle began to lull her. Night was coming on, and she’d had so little sleep over the last week. Her eyelids closed and she felt herself leaning into Darrien’s arms.

  The next morning, she saw the first of the Tyran fields. Here, in the lowlands, green feathers of wheat were already poking through the damp earth. The snow had melted in all but the darkest shadows. Winter was fast becoming a memory. The air hung heavy with the smells of mud and the ripe decay of last year’s leaves.

  Ilyenna wasn’t a winter queen anymore. She wasn’t even a clan mistress. She was one small step above a slave. Tears stung her eyes. She tried to focus on something, anything, to take her mind off the arms around her.

  With the fields came the familiar river-stone houses with split-shingle roofs. The houses grew in size and frequency the closer they came to the heart of Tyran lands. Darrien leaned forward and whispered, “I have a conundrum, little one. You see, you killed my brother, and for that I want to make you suffer. Yet, by killing him, you’ve moved me into his place—a place of power. For that, I’m grateful. Nor can I forget your own power to heal yourself. I must admit it fascinates me. Yet you stand helpless before me. Perhaps it’s time we tested that power.”

  Ilyenna leaned away from him. “I don’t have any power.”

  He went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “You see my difficulty? But yesterday, I realized all of it could be solved in the same way.” Darrien licked his lips as if savoring a lingering sweetness. She tried to drop from the horse, but he held her tight. “When I find what I want, I take it. And I want your power, and claim to your clan through marriage. Time, Ilyenna. I have five years. Has your answer changed?”

  She gritted her teeth. “It never will.”

  He laughed. “The longer we play this game, the higher the stakes. Remember that. All that is required is for you to say the words, and the game ends.”

  Fear tore at her resolve like wolves clawing a hole under the barn door. She held herself erect, trying to look every bit the part of a clan mistress. He must never see her fear.

  Soon, they reached Tyranholm—easily twice the size of Shyleholm. At the clan house stables, Darrien motioned for her to get off before dismounting himself. For the briefest moment, she considered vaulting into his saddle and heeling the horse away. But the Balance demanded she serve five years, regardless of the injustice of it.

  Besides, even if she somehow managed to get away, where could she go? The clans didn’t tolerate runaway tiams. The last one to run away was sold to distant lands as a slave. Ilyenna would be hauled back to Darrien. He could do anything he liked after that. She’d have no rights and no means of recourse.

  No, better to wait until the Council intervened.

  A stable boy came for Darrien’s horse. Cowering as if expecting a slap, the boy took the reins.

  Darrien jerked his thumb toward her. “Boy! Get me the soaked strap.”

  The boy cringed and ran.

  Ilyenna felt her face drain of blood. Soaked strap?

  Gripping her arm, Darrien steered her toward a tall pole. At the top, a rope dangled from a metal ring that had been driven into the wood. A beating pole—reserved for punishing thieves, abusers, and drunkards.

  She clenched her jaw. “What have I done to deserve a beating?”

  Darrien stopped at the base of the pole. “Will you tell me the secret of your power?”

  She pursed her lips. “Winter fairies healed me.”

  He snorted. “I want the truth, not children’s fairy tales.” He stepped closer. “Will you marry me?”

  “You swore,” she whispered.

  “I swore not to marry you unless you were willing. I’ll not force you, Ilyenna. But I’ll beat you for refusing to submit to my will. What is your answer?”

  “Undon swore I’d not be beaten.”

  Darrien leaned forward and whispered, “No, Ilyenna. He promised he wouldn’t beat you. He said nothing about anyone else.”

  They’d tricked her. Terror coursed through her body. “No. He couldn’t have meant this.”

  “And you’re going to appeal to him, are you? Because then I might just have to remember exactly who killed my father’s favorite son.”

  She shuddered. Darrien had her trapped, and they both knew it. Ghosts of the coming horrors danced in her mind.

  He wrapped her wrists with the rope that dangled from the topmost metal ring. “A good tiam submits to her master in all things. It may take time, but I will teach you how to be a good tiam.” He finished the knot. “You should’ve killed me, Ilyenna.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Give me another chance. I won’t make the mistake again.”

  He chuckled. “You have to decide, are you a healer or a killer?”

&nbs
p; “I killed your brother.” As soon as Ilyenna said it, she knew she’d made a mistake.

  Darrien’s eyes shimmered with pain that had twisted into hatred. “So you did. Perhaps we’re more alike than you thought.”

  The stable boy came running, warily holding a strap that dripped what looked like watered-down milk, but the way it made Ilyenna’s nose sting was unmistakable. The strap had been soaked in lye. It would cause tremendous pain and discomfort without leaving scars. She’d be lucky to abide clothes for days.

  Tears burned in her eyes. “I’m nothing like you.” But as she said it, she wondered if she was really all that different. Hammoth had reached out to keep her from falling, been reluctant to hurt her, and she hadn’t even hesitated to shove her knife under his ribs.

  A crowd had begun to gather. By the knots on their belts, most were Tyrans. But there were also a good number she recognized as Argons—mostly women who wore despondency like a shroud. So, Undon had taken Argons as tiams too. Ilyenna searched for someone she might recognize. Her gaze landed on Narium, Rone’s mother and clan mistress for the Argons.

  They’d taken two clan mistresses? It was unthinkable. Her mind tried to make Narium into someone else, but her eyes refused to lie.

  Upon recognizing Ilyenna, Narium gasped and whispered to another woman. The woman took off running. Narium straightened and their gazes locked. Sorrow and fear twisted the older woman’s features.

  Ilyenna tried to keep her emotions from her face, to stop her knees from shaking.

  How many feast days have our clans spent together? she silently asked the other clan mistress. How many times have I supped beneath your roof, and you ours? How could it come to this? What about Seneth and Rone? Are they even alive?

  Ilyenna’s eyes fluttered shut. Rone.

  Darrien jerked a knife from its sheath and held it in his teeth. He moved aside her mussed hair, then nicked the back of her dress and jerked it down, baring her back. She felt the cool air against her skin. Bare skin everyone could see. Humiliated, she tried to concentrate on how her flesh felt—whole and hale. She felt no pain. She needed to hold onto that feeling so she didn’t cry out when the beating began.