Page 18 of Weaving Winter

“You slept?” Bran asked.

I nodded. “Yes, actually. I slept so deeply I barely registered anything until morning hit.” I speared several sausages, stacked four hotcakes on my plate and smothered them in butter and jam, then added a spoon of the fruit compote to my plate. “This smells delicious.”

And it was. The sausages were made from pork—I could tell by how juicy they were. The hotcakes were light and fluffy, and the fruit compote was so thick that the juice had reduced to a syrup.

“Compliments to your cook,” I said. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

“We’ll mend clothes, fix harness straps…whatever needs tending to that doesn’t require venturing outside.” Bran poured me a mug of tea. “Would you like to help?”

I shrugged. “Of course, I’ll pitch in. I don’t take charity,” I added. “I’ll work for my keep.”

After breakfast, I followed Bran back out into the storm. He tried to shelter me as he led the way to a tent near the stables. I glanced at the horses. They were sheltered from the wind, and two men were sitting with them, tending to a fire. Whoever these people were, they cared for their mounts.

Bran ducked inside the tent and quickly shut the flap after I entered. I looked around. There were several large blankets, a few cloaks, and other pieces of clothing lying in a heap on the ground.

“Can you sew?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Yes, though I’m better at outdoor work. But I’m not going hunting in this weather. I can chop wood, though,” I added.

“You continue to surprise me. Or rather, you remind me of our women, rather than a village-dweller. Our women handle the same tasks as the men, although if it’s too big or physically taxing, the men usually take care of it.” He pointed toward the pile of cloth. “If you can sort, I’ll start mending the leathers. You can sew the garments.”

I sorted through the clothes, wanting to ask more questions, but I had already learned how reticent he was. I picked through the pile. There were several blankets, a few tunics and pairs of trousers, a cloak, and then several pairs of deer hide boots where the stitches were coming loose.

Bran picked up a boot where the heel was splitting up the back. He examined the way it was fashioned, then excused himself and ducked out of the tent. Outside, the wind howled even louder than before. I sorted the clothing into piles, then picked up one of the blankets and looked it over. The padded quilt was in relatively good shape except for one corner that was torn along the seam. I threaded the needle and tucked the thimble over my index finger, then began stitching up the rip with tight, uniform stitches. I didn’t enjoy sewing, but I was determined to pull my weight here. For the time being, I needed these people and I didn’t want to give them any reason to kick me out.

By the time Bran returned, I had mended the tear, and was working on the next. This one was harder. The rip wasn’t along a seam line, but it was small and relatively easy. I stitched away, glancing up as he returned.

He held up a leather patch. “Sonya wore a hole in her boot heel.” As he settled in and began to work, the wind outside strengthened.

“The Snow Witch…you said she’s real?”

“Oh, she’s real. And so is her story.” He paused, then asked, “What will you do? For your future?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t have time to plan it out. I thought I might join the People of the Sun, find a job, blend into one of their villages or cities. I can’t go home again. Garimorn will put a price on my head. So that’s forever barred.”

“Are there other villages among your people where you could live?”

I shook my head. “We’re all connected. If I were to seek refuge in one of them, word would get back and I’d be extradited. Either that or some scumbag would find out and blackmail me. No, I’m an outcast now. But…” I hesitated for a moment, but then I realized I was slowly feeling safer among Bran and his people. “Garimorn forces all his indentured serving women into his bed. He beds them all, beats them, and by the time their term of service is up, they’re either with child or so scarred they can’t find work elsewhere. I’d rather die in the wilderness than go through that.” I kept my focus on my work.

Bran was silent, and I didn’t look up. But a moment later, he placed his hand on mine. He gently took the sewing out of my hands and set it to the side. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. All for being late with your tithe?”

I could barely breathe as I stared into his eyes. But they were kind now, and he seemed sincere. “Yes. Garimorn is corrupt, and so is our Magistrate. But the Magistrate works behind the scenes—or rather, he doesn’t work. He’s a hedonist, and he lets Garimorn take over the heavy lifting so he can drink his days away. Garimorn is the real power of Renmark.”

Bran entwined his fingers with mine. “No woman should be treated such. But I know too many who love power so much that they are willing to forsake respect and devotion because of it.” He squeezed his eyes shut, as though he were remembering something that weighed on his mind. “We can’t travel south until it’s warm enough to do so, but until then, you may stay with us, and we’ll treat you right. When spring comes and we can make for the southern border, we’ll escort you there, if that’s where you still want to go.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. The feel of his skin against mine distracted me. It was hard to concentrate, his hands were so warm on mine. And up close, he smelled musky and warm, like a smooth brandy on a cold evening. I closed my eyes, all too aware of his proximity. No man had ever stirred these feelings in me before, and I had no idea what to do or say.

“Asajia…I love your name. What does it mean?” He held my gaze and every hair on my body stood at attention.

“Asajia means “frozen star” in my people’s secret language,” I said. “It also can mean snowflake. My last name, Wildwalker, is from my father. Among our people, we’re given the last name of the most active parent. Or rather, the most prominent. There have been five generations of Wildwalkers in my past. My grandmother was an incredible hunter, and she gave her last name to my father.”

“Are your grandparents alive?” Bran asked.

I ducked my head. “No, they were both killed in a raid. The Wolf People came through, disguised as wolves. Once near the village, they shifted shape and came in force into our village. I wasn’t born yet. The winter was exceptionally harsh and everybody was hungry. The Prince of Wolves brought his warriors down to our village and raided it. Ten soldiers and five civilians died in the attack. My grandparents were both killed. My father was spared because he was out on a hunting mission that day. My mother and he weren’t married yet.”

Bran paled. He let go of my hand and stood, pacing.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.

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