Page 35 of Frost Like Night
Lekan flopped out, arms splayed. “You’d better restrain me. Bed rest, for my own good, since I can’t be trusted to stay safe and uninjured anywhere else.”
Kaleo balled the fabric of Lekan’s shirt in his fist, leaning deeper over him with a look that prompted Ceridwen to chuckle.
“I’ve slept in tents next to you two,” she said. “I’m not sure your idea ofbed restis any safer.”
Kaleo roared with laughter and Lekan used the distraction to flip on top of him, but the movement landed him wrong on his wound and he yelped in pain. As Kaleo moved to check Lekan’s knee, their words softened, more teasing banter that, had Ceridwen been less used to them, would have made her blush.
She pushed forward, leaving them to their reunion. The camp stretched in a haphazard circle, more tents added whenever new refugees joined their group, creating unevenroads and paths. A messy, chaotic camp for a messy, chaotic group.
Ceridwen slid off her horse and eased it into a corral at the edge of camp. Everyone had settled in for the night, with only soldiers patrolling, casting nods as they recognized her. She studied each tent. Everything where it should be.
Her fists tightened involuntarily.
Well, everything almost where it should be. Three hundred of the refugees around her were Yakimian soldiers. There were no more than eight hundred people here in all.
Ceridwen growled. That meant there were three hundred places in this camp that could have been taken by slaves who actually needed saving.
Damn Giselle.
How many of the Yakimian spies had posed as soldiers here? How many had stayed hidden in the ranks of families and laborers? In the worst case, if every Yakimian soldier had taken up ranks as one of Ceridwen’s fighters, she’d have only about a hundred and fifty non-Yakimian soldiers.A hundred and fifty.To make any sort of stand against Angra . . . that amount was laughable. She’dhaveto use the Yakimian soldiers. But for what?
The refugee fighters had been causing mayhem despite their small numbers for years—they could continue the sort of guerilla attacks that had frequently crippled Summer’s forces. Surprise assaults from treetops, traps constructed on rough roads.
Ceridwen rubbed her forehead.
Would any of that really make a difference against Angra? Could she unseat whatever hold he had on Summer with guerilla fighters? Because she’d go after Summer first, regardless of Giselle’s plea. Let Yakim sweat a little under Angra’s threat.
“Wennie!”
Ceridwen grinned. Only one person had ever called her that, and the first time she had heard it, her nose had wrinkled. But that had only encouraged the now eight-year-old Amelie. The Yakimian girl had been just two when she had been sold to Summer, and it hadn’t taken long for Kaleo and Lekan to fall in love with her and bring her into their family.
Lekan hadn’t uttered a word about Giselle’s revelation. Not once had he said, “My daughter’s life was the currency that bitch used to finance her planned attack on Summer.”
Though Ceridwen knew Lekan well enough to realize he’d never even think anything like that. Ceridwen would just have to be ragingly furious for him.
She opened her arms to Amelie, who slid into her hug. “Lekan’s back,” she said, and Amelie’s already large brown eyes widened even more. The scar under her left eye, the brandedS, wrinkled with her smile, the marking old enough to be smoother and less noticeable than that of those who had been branded as adults. But it was still there, a screaming testament that, if Amelie had returned to Yakim, wouldhave earned her a quick trip back to Summer. She was Summer’s property now—and so she, like all the others Ceridwen and her group had freed, had to remain in this hidden camp, safe from any who would force her into a life of nonexistence.
A mask would hide that brand.Ceridwen swallowed. Sending her refugees to Ventralli was an option she had once considered—but not for long.
Amelie clapped, her wild black hair bobbing around her shoulders, and she ran off.
“Papa!” she shrieked, and from out in the plains, Lekan’s voice echoed back.
“Amy!”
Ceridwen smiled. It was refreshing to see a child still capable of being achild, happy and innocent in all the best ways.
A figure shifted on her left, and when Ceridwen turned, Jesse stepped into the light of a nearby lantern. The dark strands of his hair brushed around his shoulders, his collarbone, the dip of skin where he had unbuttoned his shirt. The angle of his jaw caught the light, sharp beneath a layer of beard that had sprouted after days without a proper shave. He had never looked so disheveled, but he wore his unkemptness like an outfit he had purposefully chosen, and Ceridwen’s lips threatened a smile at how utterly Ventrallan that was of him. To make something beautiful despite the challenges.
“Are your children here yet?” Ceridwen asked, her voice croaking halfway through her question as she realized . . . she was talking to him.
Jesse seemed just as shocked. His already tense body jolted in surprise, hands in his pockets, shoulders caved in a state of meek surrender. “No—I checked with a few of the soldiers.” Sorrow painted his features, but he shrugged it away, forcing optimism. “They might not have traveled by boat. It could be a few days.”
“We can send someone out to search for them.”
“Yes. Yes, please.” He caught himself, his eagerness, and reined it back. Afraid of pushing too far, of showing too much emotion.
Four years,her mind argued.I waited on him for four years.
