The Horsemen's Gambit

Chapter 11

Snice the day Cresenne ja Terba had arrived in this settlement with Grinsa and little Bryntelle she had known that she had no standing of her own among the Fal'Borna. They were a patriarchal clan who judged men by the magics they wielded and their skills in battle. As a Weaver, Grinsa had been welcomed immediately. The Fal'Borna saw in him a man who could make them stronger in the eyes of friend and foe alike.

But though Cresenne wielded three magics of her own-fire, healing, and gleaning-and back in the Forelands had been viewed as a powerful sorcerer in her own right, here she was seen as little more than a companion for Grinsa, and a poor one at that. Among the Fal'Borna, Weavers were expected to be joined to Weavers. Since she was just an ordinary Qirsi, the men and women of E'Menua's sept did not recognize her as Grinsa's wife. When first they arrived, everyone referred to her as his "concubine." Grinsa and she took exception, and by and large the Fal'Borna stopped calling her this, but that was still how they treated her. And she never doubted that most of the Fal'Borna considered Bryntelle Grinsa's bastard child.

Cresenne had made peace with all of this; at least she had tried. Occasionally she still overheard people speaking of her as "the concubine" and speculating on who Grinsa might eventually marry, and it made her blood boil. But for now at least she and Bryntelle were stuck here, and Cresenne knew she had little choice but to endure these slights as best she could.

Only with Grinsa's departure, however, had she begun realize just how much their family had come to depend on the kindnesses shown by the sept to a new Weaver. Upon their arrival, they had been given a z'kal, one of the light but sturdy Fal'Borna shelters; each night food had been provided for them-Cresenne wasn't even certain where it came from; every morning fresh wood had been placed outside their z'kal so that they might build a fire and keep warm.

The shelter was still theirs. But once Grinsa left, the food vanished, as did the wood. Gathering wood wasn't much of a problem, though she had to borrow a hatchet from her new friend F'Solya, and, because the other families of the sept had already gathered wood for the coming Snows, she had to range farther from the settlement in order to find enough to see them through. Still, she could hardly complain.

Food, however, proved to be a much more difficult problem. Unlike the rest of the Fal'Borna, Grinsa and Cresenne hadn't been there to plant crops earlier in the year, nor to hunt rilda earlier in the Harvest. Beyond the meager supplies they'd had when they arrived, they had no food stores on which to rely during the colder turns.

They still carried ample amounts of gold, most of which Grinsa had left with Cresenne. Gold only helped so much, though, when there was so little to buy in the sept's small marketplace. Cresenne went every morning, hoping to find peddlers from whom she could buy food, but on many days the marketplace was virtually empty, and even on those days when it wasn't, she found little food for sale.

Bryntelle was still nursing, and Cresenne was able to make do with what little she had each morning and at midday, but by the evening Cresenne was famished, and she knew that if she didn't eat well, her child would suffer as well.

By the fifth day after Grinsa left, Cresenne was already growing weak from not eating enough. She slept poorly and woke later than she had intended. She went to tan rilda skins as she usually did, but arrived well after most of the other women, including F'Solya.

Her friend looked over at her as Cresenne sat in her usual spot and reached for her first hide and the foul tannins the Fal'Borna used to soften the skins.

"Trouble waking up this morning?" F'Solya asked, a smile on her round face, her bright golden eyes shining in the morning light.

Cresenne nodded. "A bit, yes."

F'Solya's smile faded. "You don't look well." She leaned toward Cresenne and laid the back of her hand against Cresenne's cheek. "You don't have a fever. Are you feeling all right?"

Cresenne made herself smile. "I'm fine. Just… just tired."

The Fal'Borna woman frowned. "I don't believe you. Is your little one sick?"

"No, Bryntelle's perfectly well." She smiled again, and this time it was genuine. She longed for Grinsa's return, but there could be no denying that she had at least one friend who cared about her. "I promise you, F'Solya: I'm fine."

"You miss your man, don't you?"

"Very much."

F'Solya nodded knowingly. "That can be an illness of a sort."

For a long time they simply worked, saying nothing. After a while, F'Solya began to tell her stories about her family and other people she'd known in the sept. It was something she did often and Cresenne had come to enjoy the tales quite a lot. She knew only a few of the people F'Solya mentioned, but hearing the stories taught her a good deal about the history of E'Menua's sept, and even about the ways of the Fal'Borna clan. That, she thought, may have been why F'Solya told them in the first place.

Near midday, they paused in their work for a meal. As usual, two of the younger girls who cared for the children while the mothers worked brought Bryntelle and F'Solya's twin boys so that the infants could be fed. After the young ones had been nursed, the girls took them away again, leaving the mothers to eat. Cresenne had only a few pieces of dried fruit and a small block of cheese, which she ate in just moments. When she had finished, she reached for her skins again. F'Solya was still eating.

"That's all you brought for today?" the woman asked between mouthfuls. F'Solya had a huge amount of food in front of her. Fruit, cheese, bread, dried rilda meat; a veritable feast. At least it seemed so to Cresenne.

"I'm not very hungry," Cresenne said, intent on the hide she was holding.

F'Solya shook her head. "I couldn't live on the crumbs you eat. Not with those boys crying for milk a hundred times a day. It's amazing to me that…" She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the food before her. She even stopped chewing. At last, she swallowed and looked at Cresenne. "Where have you been getting your food?"

Cresenne shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "We had some with us while we were journeying, and I've bought some in the marketplace."

"They were feeding you before, weren't they?"

A faint smile crossed Cresenne's lips and was gone. "They were feeding Grinsa. I just happened to eat some of what they gave him."

"And now that he's gone, they've stopped."

"It's all right, F'Solya."

"No, it's not. I realize now, you don't look ill, you look half starved."

"It's not that bad."

"You and your daughter will have your evening meal with us tonight."

"That's really not-"

"Don't argue with me," F'Solya said, sounding more like a stern parent than a friend.

She smiled to soften the words, but Cresenne could tell that she was serious, and also that she was concerned. And thinking about it, Cresenne decided that she had cause to be. How long could Cresenne expect to go on eating as she had been before she did become ill? There were times when pride mattered more than other considerations, but this, she realized, wasn't one of them.

"All right," she said, smiling. "Thank you."

It wouldn't solve their problem beyond this one night, but at least for this day she would be able to enjoy some adult conversation with her supper. At least on this night, she wouldn't feel that she was so utterly alone in the sept. The thought of it should have been enough to raise her spirits. It wasn't.

The more she considered the matter, the more she realized how dire her situation had grown. It must have been her imagination, but she could actually feel the air growing colder, as if the Snows were determined to begin today. Where was she going to get food? She was as capable as anyone-before Grinsa entered her life she had never needed a man to keep her fed and clothed and sheltered.

Any other time of year, she would have gladly planted her own crops, or even learned how to hunt, if only the Fal'Borna allowed their women to do so. Now, though, there was nothing she could do. Would F'Solya feed her every night? She dismissed the idea immediately. It was too much to ask of anyone, and Cresenne didn't want to become a burden on her friend and her family. Already, just because of this one invitation, she felt as though she had become a beggar and made one of her daughter. She knew that F'Solya would scoff at her for feeling this way, and that she was being foolish. Still, she couldn't help herself.

"Perhaps I can bring something," she said after a lengthy silence. "The cheese we've been eating is quite good, and so is-"

"Stop it," F'Solya said, a kind smile on her face. "The idea isn't for us to eat what little food you have left. It's to give you a decent meal so that you can take care of your little girl."

Cresenne relented with a nod, and she said nothing more about the supper until they had finished working. After they put their skins and tannins away for the evening, they retrieved their children from the care of the younger girls and made their way to F'Solya's z'kal.

Their shelter was somewhat larger than Grinsa and Cresenne's and within, a bit more cluttered, but in most ways the z'kal felt familiar. Cresenne marveled that it should be so. She and Grinsa had only been with the Fal'Borna for a short while, and she still remembered how alien everything about the sept had felt for the first few days.

F'Solya picked some roots from her stores and placed them in a cooking pot, which she took back outside. Cresenne followed her, feeling useless.

"I should be helping you," she said.

The woman shook her head. "I do this every day. If you want to help, you can keep an eye on my boys, particularly I'Jeq." She pointed as she spoke so that Cresenne would know which of the twins she meant. It seemed amazing to her that F'Solya could tell them apart, they looked so alike.

Cresenne sat on a low stone, and quickly came to understand why F'Solya wanted the boy watched. Unlike his brother, I'Jeq had learned to crawl, and he seemed to delight in careering from one danger to the next. If he wasn't reaching for F'Solya's knife, he was crawling toward the hatchet that leaned against their woodpile, or toward the fire that his mother had just kindled. Bryntelle, who wasn't crawling yet either, watched him with fascination and delight, clapping her hands and squealing each time Cresenne had to scramble after him.

"He moves so fast," Cresenne said after rescuing him from the hatchet a second time. "How do you ever get anything done?"

"Wait until they both can get around like that," F'Solya said, a rueful smile on her face. "I swear I don't know if they're most likely to kill each other or themselves or me. But no good will come of it."

Cresenne smiled, then stopped the boy from diving headlong into the fire. "I suppose I'll be putting up with this before long."

"Girls are easier," F'Solya said, sounding sure of herself. "At least at this age."

F'Solya didn't have daughters of her own, but it occurred to Cresenne that in a settlement this small she would have watched parents raising their children since she was old enough to walk. Cresenne, on the other hand, had spent her early years traveling with the festival in Wethyrn, back in the Forelands. There hadn't been many families in the festival, and she'd had few friends her own age, much less opportunities to watch mothers and fathers bringing up their children. She'd always counted herself fortunate to have grown up with the festival, traveling the land with her mother. Until this moment, she had never stopped to consider that she might have missed out by not living in some quiet village in a remote corner of the Wethy Crown. But listening to her friend speak, she found herself wishing that she understood the ways of children so well.

F'Solya retreated into the z'kal for several moments and emerged again bearing several small pouches. "Herbs," she said, seeing Cresenne's puzzled look. "Some we grow here. Others I trade for. Most Fal'Borna think that silverroot and rilda have enough flavor on their own." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't. I was bored with the taste of rilda before the end of my second four." She opened each of the pouches in turn and dropped small amounts of the herbs into her stew. In moments, the air around the z'kal was redolent with the aromas of thyme, watermint, and several other herbs that Cresenne had never smelled before.

"What did you put in there?" she asked.

F'Solya appeared surprised. "Surely you have herbs in the Forelands."

"Some, yes. The thyme and watermint I know. But the rest…" She shook her head.

"We call it rivermint here, but I'm sure it's the same thing. I also put in rildagreen, which grows here on the plain, and Qosantian sage."

"Can I smell them?"

F'Solya handed her the pouches and Cresenne sniffed lightly at each one. The Qosantian sage reminded her of sages she'd had in the Forelands, but it was sweeter, more pungent. "They're lovely," she said, handing the pouches back to F'Solya.

"The next time we're in the marketplace together I'll show you where you can find them."

F'Solya took the herbs back into her z'kal. Cresenne steered I'Jeq away from the knife once more.

As F'Solya reemerged from the shelter she smiled and waved her hand over her head. "Here comes I'Joled."

Cresenne's eyes snapped up, first to her friend, and then to the burly man approaching the z'kal. Until that moment, despite playing with the twin boys, she had forgotten completely about F'Solya's husband. Now she felt a rush of fear, though she wasn't certain why. I'Joled had no reason to dislike her; the fact that F'Solya had befriended her should have made him more inclined to accept her as a guest. But she knew that people in the sept had been speaking of her and of Grinsa since their arrival, and that to many she was nothing more than the woman who shared the new Weaver's bed.

I'Joled slowed when he spotted her, the smile fading from his face. He was a handsome man, like so many of the Fal'Borna warriors, with his golden skin, long white hair, and pale yellow eyes. He wasn't much taller than F'Solya-Grinsa would have towered over him-but he was barrel-chested and broad in the shoulders.

"Who's this?" he asked in a deep voice, his eyes straying to F'Solya's face for just an instant before studying Cresenne once more.

But Cresenne was sure that he knew already. How could he not?

"This is Cresenne," F'Solya said evenly. She pointed at Bryntelle with the end of her stirring spoon. "And that's her daughter, Bryntelle. A beauty, isn't she?"

F'Solya must have heard the wariness in her husband's voice. Cresenne had never met the man, and she heard it. But her friend seemed to ignore it, and so Cresenne made herself to do the same.

She stood and forced a smile. "It's nice to meet you, I'Joled. Thank you for allowing me to sup with your family tonight."

He looked at F'Solya, who just stared back at him. Finally, he faced Cresenne again. "Of course." After a moment he added, "You're welcome." He entered the z'kal, pausing at the entrance to glance at F'Solya. The Fal'Borna woman smiled thinly. "Excuse me for just a moment," she said before entering the shelter as well.

Cresenne heard I'Joled say something, though she couldn't make out the words.

"She has no food," F'Solya answered. "The a'laq had food brought to them while her man was still here, but now they have nothing."

I'Joled said something else.

"Oh, we have plenty, and you know it. In fact I've been thinking that we ought to let her come here every night until her man comes back."

This time she heard I'Joled's response clearly. "And what if he doesn't come back? What then?"

"Shhh!"

Cresenne couldn't make out anything more after that, but a few moments later F'Solya came out of the shelter, paused briefly in front of Cresenne, and then crossed to her pot of boiling stew.

"I'm sorry about that," she said quietly.

Cresenne feared that she might weep. Loneliness, fear for Grinsa, embarrassment; she couldn't say which lay heaviest on her heart at that moment. Probably all three. "Maybe we should go," she said, walking to where Bryntelle still sat, playing with the grass and dirt around her and watching the crawling boy.

"No need for that." F'Solya wrapped a cloth around the handle of her pot and lifted it from the fire. "Let's get these children inside. The food's ready."

It took some time to arrange the children and serve out the food, but soon enough they were all seated around a small fire in the z'kal, eating the stew, which was wonderful. Cresenne made quick work of one bowl and shyly asked for a second. F'Solya grinned and spooned her more. Cresenne sensed that I'Joled was watching her and she assumed that he disapproved, but she didn't look his way, and he said nothing. In fact, for a long time no one spoke, though Bryntelle and the boys made enough noise for all of them. Eventually F'Solya and I'Joled shared a look and the man put his bowl down on the floor, threw another stick of wood on the fire, and looked Cresenne in the eye.

"F'Solya says you've had a hard time of it since… since your man left."

Cresenne chanced a quick look at F'Solya, but she was staring at her bowl of stew. "Yes," she said, meeting the man's gaze. "To be honest, it hadn't even occurred to me to wonder where our food was coming from until Grinsa was gone."

"I suppose in the Forelands you were given food all the time."

Cresenne frowned, not sure whether to laugh or be angry, but knowing that he'd take offense if she did either. "No, not at all," she said, willing herself to keep calm. "We bought our food or got it for ourselves, just like everyone else. Why would you think it was given to us?"

"Well," he began, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, "I've heard Weavers are rare in the North. I thought he'd be honored there."

"Weavers are put to death there. So are their families. The Eandi are terrified of them, and the courts decreed centuries ago that all Weavers were to be executed. Grinsa only revealed the extent of his powers to his most trusted friends."

"Is that why you left?"

Cresenne hesitated. They'd had numerous reasons for leaving, not least of which was the fact that Cresenne had once been part of a failed Qirsi conspiracy to overthrow the courts. She had turned against the plot eventually and had helped the Eandi defeat it, but many still viewed her as a traitor. Grinsa had been instrumental in defeating the Weaver who led the renegades and had revealed himself as a Weaver, leading some to call for his execution, despite all he had done on behalf of the Eandi. And since Grinsa was a Weaver, it seemed possible that Bryntelle would grow to be one as well. In short, none of them had much future in the Forelands. That was why they left.

"In part, that was why," she said. "We needed to start over, and that didn't seem possible in the Forelands."

I'Joled nodded. "I'd heard something about that. There's been some talk." F'Solya frowned. "That's enough," she said, her voice low.

Cresenne ate some of her stew, refusing to look at either of the Fal'Borna. This had been a bad idea. Yes, she needed to eat. But even F'Solya's friendship couldn't protect her from the tales about her past and Grinsa's that had made their way through the sept since their arrival. She wished only that Grinsa would return so that they could leave this place for good. And just thinking this made her eyes sting. Don't cry, she told herself sternly. Not in front of this man.

For a long time, none of them spoke, and when at last F'Solya broke the painful silence, she did so to talk about the storms that had passed over them recently, and how cold it would soon be on the plain. She asked Cresenne questions about the Forelands, most of them relating to the terrain and the weather. Cresenne answered, doing her best to keep her tone light, steadfastly avoiding I'Joled's gaze.

Eventually Cresenne excused herself, saying that it was late and that she needed to get Bryntelle to bed. She thanked them both and stood up to leave. I'Joled grunted a response to her thanks, but said nothing more. F'Solya, on the other hand, followed her out of the z'kal into the cold night air.

"Thank you," Cresenne said again, holding Bryntelle in her arms and adjusting her wrap to keep the child warm.

"You're welcome. I think you should come back again tomorrow."

This time Cresenne couldn't keep herself from laughing. "I think that's a bad idea. It's very kind of you, but I'm pretty certain that I'Joled wouldn't like it very much."

"I'll talk to him. It'll be fine."

"No, F'Solya." She laid her hand on the woman's arm. "I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful. But I don't… people in this sept think poorly of me already. I don't want them thinking that I'm a…" She stopped herself, fearing that to say more was to risk ruining the one friendship she'd built here.

F'Solya nodded and looked down, a small smile on her lips. "I think I understand."

"Do you? I want you to. You've been so kind to me and the last thing I want to do is give offense."

She looked up at that, grinning broadly. "No chance of that. I'm not easy to offend." Her smile faded slowly, leaving her looking concerned. "What will you do, then?"

Cresenne shrugged. "I can try to buy more food in the marketplace."

"That'll only work for so long. When the Snows begin in earnest, the peddlers will stop coming."

"Would anyone here sell me food?"

F'Solya's eyebrows went up. "That's a good question. You should speak of it with the a'laq."

"No," Cresenne said, shaking her head. "The a'laq and I don't really get along."

"Nonsense. He's a difficult man-all a'laqs are like that. That's how they get to be a'laqs. But he can help you. I'm certain of it."

Cresenne ran a hand through her hair and exhaled through her teeth. If it had been just her own life at stake she might well have starved herself rather than face the man. That's how much she wanted to avoid any interaction with E'Menua. But she had to think of Bryntelle, too.

"How would I approach him?" she asked finally. She understood Fal'Borna ways well enough to know that a woman didn't simply march into the a'laq's shelter and ask to be fed.

"Actually, I'd suggest you start with D'Pera."

Cresenne shook her head. "D'Pera?"

"Yes, the n'qlae, E'Menua's wife."

"What would I tell her?"

"The truth. She's a mother, too. She won't let you starve."

"All right," Cresenne said. "I'll think about it."

"No, you'll do it. First thing tomorrow morning. I'll come with you if you'd like."

"Yes," she said immediately. "That would make this easier."

F'Solya smiled. "Very well. Go, put your little one to bed."

Cresenne started to go. Then she stopped and gave the woman a quick hug. She hadn't seen other Fal'Borna do this, and she felt F'Solya tense momentarily. But then her friend returned the embrace before quickly releasing her.

Cresenne offered a small, self-conscious smile and walked back to her z'kal.

The following morning, she took Bryntelle to the girls who usually cared for the Fal'Borna children, and then made her way to the fire circle where she tanned each day. F'Solya was waiting for her. Seeing her friend, Cresenne had to resist an urge to flee. She'd had the night to think about it, and she'd decided that her first instinct had been the correct one: she wanted nothing to do with E'Menua. Since Grinsa had left she'd done all she could to avoid the man, thinking that she'd be best off staying away from the a'laq until Grinsa's return. She knew though that F'Solya would insist, and she had to admit that her friend was probably right to do so. Still, at that moment it was hard to tell if the hollow feeling in her gut was hunger or fear.

As Cresenne drew near F'Solya asked, "Are you ready?"

"I suppose."

The woman merely smiled and patted Cresenne's shoulder.

They found D'Pera weaving blankets with several of the younger women, and instructing them in the finer points of the craft. Cresenne had never actually been introduced to the a'laq's wife, though she'd seen the woman from afar. She was strikingly attractive, with long, thick hair that she wore unbound, and a bright, piercing gaze from which Cresenne had found herself flinching away the few times the woman turned it on her. She had small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise had surrendered nothing to age.

Seeing F'Solya and Cresenne approach, she frowned, got up from her work, and strode in their direction.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"

"This is a bad idea," Cresenne whispered.

F'Solya shot her a disapproving look, but quickly faced the n'qlae once more. "Forgive us for disturbing you, N'Qlae. We come seeking a favor."

Cresenne saw the woman relax, though her eyes narrowed as she looked from one of them to the other. "What kind of favor?"

F'Solya turned to Cresenne. It seemed there was only so much help her friend could give her.

"I… I wish to speak with the a'laq, N'Qlae."

D'Pera eyed her warily. "What for?"

"I… since… since Grinsa left, I've had very little food. We came too late to plant crops and Grinsa never hunted. We had some stores that we'd traveled with, but not enough to last me through the Snows. And I have a child-^"

"The Snows take their toll on all of us," the n'qlae said, her tone betraying little sympathy. "We can't just give food away."

"I realize that," Cresenne said, her voice hardening as well. The woman could probably have her banished or killed with a word, but back in the Forelands Cresenne had been victimized repeatedly by the renegade Weaver and his servants; she had promised herself that she'd never allow herself to be bullied again. "I have gold. I can pay for what I get. But I can't eat coins, and I can't survive on wind and grass."

The n'qlae continued to regard her with mistrust. "The a'laq and I have been together for more than three fours," she said. "In all that time he's never taken another woman into his bed. He has no interest in concubines and bastard children."

Living in this alien culture, Cresenne often found herself unsure of how to respond to things said to her. But never in her life had she been at such a complete loss for words. A part of her wanted to laugh in the woman's face: She had no desire to share E'Menua's bed! Another part of her wanted to slap D'Pera as hard as she could for thinking her little more than a whore. Mostly, though, she feared she'd weep. This was how she was thought of here in the Southlands. She'd fled the Forelands because, in part, she didn't want to spend the rest of her days as a traitor in the eyes of all she met. Instead, they thought her the type of woman who was always looking for the next bed to sleep in, the next man she could steal from his wife.

"I've no interest in being anyone's concubine, N'Qlae," she said, struggling to keep her voice even, "or in bearing anyone's bastard child. Grinsa is my husband; Bryntelle is our daughter. The Fal'Borna may not see it that way, but to be honest I don't give a damn." She realized that her hands were shaking, and though she was trying to keep her temper in check, she knew she wouldn't be able to manage it much longer. "I can't do this," she said, turning to F'Solya. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather starve than put up with…She clamped her mouth shut, to keep herself from saying more. She turned on her heel and began to walk away.

"Wait."

Cresenne would have liked to ignore the n'qlae's command, but she could only imagine what the Fal'Borna punishment for such a thing might be. She stopped and sighed. A moment later she faced the woman once more.

"I shouldn't have spoken to you so," D'Pera said, surprising her. "The a'laq promised your man that we would keep you safe while he was gone. It was a vow I encouraged him to give."

"Thank you for that," Cresenne said grudgingly.

"I'm not certain what he can do for you, but I'll take you to him. I expect he'll think of something."

"That would be… I'd be most grateful." She continued to stand there, wondering whether the n'qlae meant to do this now.

D'Pera gave her a curious smile and gestured in the direction of her z'kal. "Shall we, then?"

Cresenne nodded, feeling somewhat foolish. "Yes, of course."

She walked back to where the n'qlae stood and the three women began walking toward the a'laq's shelter.

After just a few steps, D'Pera stopped and looked archly at F'Solya. "Are you starving as well?"

"Uh… no, N'Qlae. We're fine."

"Then, I'd suggest you get back to work."

F'Solya looked back and forth between D'Pera and Cresenne. "But… Cresenne asked-"

"She'll be fine with me, F'Solya." The n'qlae smiled kindly. "Your concern for her speaks well of you, but I assure you she'll come to no harm."

"Of course, N'Qlae." F'Solya cast one last look at Cresenne, who smiled in return. Then she began to make her way back to the tanning circle.

"It seems you and F'Solya have forged a deep bond," D'Pera said, as they started toward the shelter again.

"She's been very kind to me."

"Do you have other friends here as well?"

The question made Cresenne uncomfortable, although she couldn't say why. "Not really, no."

"It must be difficult for you, being here without your… your husband, alone in a strange land."

"Grinsa and I have been apart before," she said, choosing her words carefully. "As long as I can feed myself and our child, I'll be fine."

"Of course."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Upon reaching the z'kal, D'Pera instructed Cresenne to wait outside while she went in to speak with her husband. She emerged several moments later and nodded once. "He'll speak with you."

"Thank you, N'Qlae."

Cresenne entered the z'kal and was greeted immediately by the pungent smells of sweat, smoke, and roasted meat. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the shelter. A fire burned in the middle of the floor, and she could make out E'Menua's form on the far side, but at first she couldn't see his face.

"Sit," E'Menua commanded, his open hand, illuminated by the fire, seeming to materialize from the darkness.

"Thank you, A'Laq." She sat opposite him. She could see his eyes now, gleaming in the firelight.

"D'Pera tells me there's a problem with your food."

Cresenne frowned. It was an odd way to describe her problem, one that made it sound like she was complaining. "In a sense, I suppose you could say that. While Grinsa was here, we were fed each night."

"Of course. He's a Weaver and a stranger to our sept."

"Yes. And if he were here, I'm certain he'd join me in thanking you for your generosity. But since he left, my daughter and I have been without food."

The a'laq appeared to shrug. "You're not a Weaver."

Cresenne took a breath, trying to keep her patience, certain that he was doing all he could to provoke her. "I realize that, A'Laq. But I also know that you pledged to keep us safe in Grinsa's absence."

E'Menua bristled. "Do you imply that I've gone back on my word?"

"I'm sure it's no more than an oversight. You have an entire sept to look after. You couldn't remember that we weren't here when the others planted their crops or hunted rilda. None of this is anyone's fault. But the fact remains that we haven't enough food to get us through the Snows."

"And what is it you suggest I do about this?" he said in a tone that could have frozen the warmest waters of the Western Sea.

"We do have gold. We can buy what we need from the sept. You can set the price and whatever…" She trailed off.

E'Menua was shaking his head. She could make out his face now, and though he didn't appear to be enjoying her plight, he didn't look particularly concerned about it either.

"We have no need of your gold," he said. "The Fal'Borna are traders; we don't accumulate coins as the Eandi do. We trade skins for baskets, rilda meat for smoked fish. Besides, the food that we have in our stores is there to get our people through the Snows, should the colder turns prove more difficult than we anticipate. We can't simply sell it."

Cresenne felt panic rising in her chest. "Then what are we going to do? Bryntelle and I I… before long we'll have nothing left. We'll starve."

He shook his head and offered what should have been a kind smile. But there was something predatory in those large, catlike eyes. "We won't let you starve. As you say, I made a promise to your man."

"Then what-?"

"You'll have to find another to provide for you."

"F'Solya and I'Joled offered," she said, knowing that she was giving her friend's husband more credit than he deserved. "But they have their boys to think about."

"I didn't mean them."

She stared at him, knowing they had come to the crux of their conversation. "Then who?" she asked.

"L'Norr. He's a Weaver, just like Grinsa. And he doesn't have a family to feed."

Cresenne knew just what he was doing and why. "I won't be… Grinsa is my husband. I won't share another man's bed."

"That's between you and L'Norr."

"But he'll expect something for his food, won't he?"

"He'll share his meals with you. I'll see to it. As I say, anything else is up to the two of you."

"There won't be anything else."

E'Menua regarded her placidly, a small grin on his narrow, tapered face. "You can go," he said, after a brief silence.

She wanted to say more, to tell him that despite all his efforts, there was nothing he could do to tear her and Grinsa apart. But she couldn't think of any way to say it that didn't sound weak and childish. At last, she simply stood and walked out of the shelter.

After the warmth of the z'kal, the harvest air made her shiver. Or was she trembling again?

Cresenne returned to the tanning circle and took her usual spot beside F'Solya. Her friend eyed her as she sat, but she said nothing, and Cresenne was just as glad.

After some time though, F'Solya's curiosity seemed to get the better of her. "Is he going to help you?" she asked.

Help me? she wanted to say. He has no interest in helping me. He wants only to destroy my life. But however close she and F'Solya might have been, she couldn't be that honest.

"He's not going to let us starve," she said, which was true.

The woman smiled, looking so relieved it made Cresenne's heart ache. "Oh, good," she said. "I knew he wouldn't."