Eynon’s expression went flat and his gaze fixed on her.
She heard Gareth’s sharp intake of breath. He stepped forward, placing himself between Eynon and Ryn. “Debts cancel each other out,” he said quickly. “If you were to forgive our uncle’s debts, we would no longer hold a claim on you.”
Eynon gave him a cold look. “What?”
“The coin you owe our family,” said Gareth. “For the scouting job our father took.” If Ryn did not know him so well, she would not have heard the slight hitch in his voice. “From which he did not return.”
“He did not complete the job,” said Eynon, voice silkier than ever. “I paid those who did.”
“He died,” snarled Ryn.
“His companions cannot confirm that.” Eynon flicked a piece of dried grass from his sleeve. “According to them, your father went into the mine and did not come out. Perhaps he tired of your family and decided to wait until the cover of night to slip away.”
“He would never have—”
“And it is all moot,” said Eynon. “Without a body, you can’t prove his death. And I am under no obligation to give you coin for a never-completed expedition. As for your uncle… he does owe me. He never was a good gambler. You are obligated to pay that debt.”
He gave them a smile and turned to go. Ryn breathed in, held that breath like her mother used to tell her to, and then exhaled slowly. She had to be calm. She had to handle this like a proper adult. She had to—
“Release the goat,” she said quietly.
Ceri looked up at her, confused. Then she loosened her hold on the goat’s lead. The goat blinked at her sudden freedom, looking about. Goats were rather opinionated creatures. Once they got it in their mind to do something, dissuading them could be a battle. As for Ceri’s goat, she had long ago decided that the yard was hers—as were the people within it. Intruders were not to be tolerated.
The goat took one look at Eynon and lowered her head. Hooves thumped on the packed earth, and Eynon heard the approach just in time. He turned to see the goat barreling down on him, and surprise flashed across his face. He tore into a run, fine coat billowing behind him. Chickens scattered out of his path as he sprinted away, enraged goat on his heels. Eynon snarled, scrabbled for something to defend himself with, and ended up tossing a handful of dead grass at the goat.
The goat was not deterred. She chased him from the yard, and the two vanished around a corner.
“Oh no,” said Ceri, in an utterly neutral voice. “The goat got loose.”
“You should get her back before she wanders to the baker and begins begging for scraps,” said Ryn.
Ceri grinned and skipped away, her hair ribbons still drifting over her shoulders.
Ryn stood there, shaking with anger, until Gareth came up behind her. “I’m not sure that was wise,” he said softly.
“Which part? Mentioning that he steals from the prince or sending the goat after him?”
“Both,” he replied. “But the first one worries me more.”
Ryn turned on her heel, stalked back into the house, Gareth still behind her. “Everyone knows he lines his pockets with the coin he should be sending to the castle.”
“Yes,” said Gareth, “but there is a difference between knowing a thing and threatening someone with that knowledge.”
She went to the kitchen and found several griddle cakes smoking ominously. She scraped them from the hot stone, her eyes watering from the sour smoke.
It was just the smoke.
And nothing else.
Gareth leaned against the wall, watching her work. He twirled the cooking spoon between his fingers. “We could do it, you know.”
“Do what?” She reached for the spoon, plucking it from his hand. She scooped a fresh dollop of batter onto the griddle. A stray droplet skittered across the hot stone.
“Sell this place.”
Ryn’s head jerked up. “What?”
Gareth shrugged. “It’s always been a possibility and you know that. Uncle’s debts mean we need the coin. And with the strange behavior of the bone houses—I don’t know. I would feel better starting over somewhere else.” His tone became gentler. “Ceri could apprentice to a baker. I could work for a merchant. And I’m sure graveyards near the cities could use a gravedigger.”
“We are not selling our home.” The words jerked out of her, each one painful. “Mam lived here—she died here. Da loved this place. And—”
“And none of that matters right now.” Gareth took a deep breath. “I understand you don’t want to leave. But if we can’t feed ourselves come winter…”
“We’ll find a way.” She turned the cakes. Perfectly golden on one side.
“But what if we can’t—”
“I can.”
“You’re not an adult yet, and I’m a year younger than you.” He ran a hand through his hair, streaking the dark locks with flour. “You can’t legally run the graveyard for another year. I know people have been letting us, but Eynon’s a bad enemy to have. What if—”
Ryn slammed her hand against the wall. It hurt, but it was better than listening to him. She pushed past him, walked out of the kitchen and to her bedroom. There was a window cut into the wooden wall, and she looked through it.
Ceri was in the yard, stroking a brush along the goat’s back. She was talking to the animal, saying that it was wrong to chase strangers, even though she couldn’t truly blame her for wanting to chase Master Eynon.
Ryn watched her younger sister. Ceri was comfortable here—with her goat and her friends, in a home built by their great-grandfather. She slept beneath a quilt crafted by their mother and ate on a table hewn from a slab of wood that their father had cut from a nearby oak tree. This place wasn’t just their home—it was their history.
They weren’t leaving.
CHAPTER 4
YEARS AGO, RYN’S mother would tell her stories of how Colbren came to be.
The village was founded in the roots of the Annwvyn mountains before the Otherking fled the isles. In those early days, it was not uncommon to hear strange noises in the night. In the morning, the damp earth was marred by clawed footprints, and livestock would often have vanished, leaving only tufts of bloodied fur behind.
One day, a woman had ventured into the mountain forests with a basket of her finest wares. She carried golden churned butter, and fresh loaves of bread studded with dried fruits, and apples that tasted of autumn sunlight.
She placed the basket on the mossy ground and waited until she heard the bushes rustle. Then the woman spoke to the empty air.
If you let us be, she said, we will bring offerings again.
She turned and left the forest, never glancing behind. But the next day, the basket was placed on the woman’s doorstep, emptied of its contents.
The disappearances of livestock ceased after that. There were no more strange tracks or noises, and Colbren was left alone. And every autumn, one of the farmers would leave a basket of their finest foods in the woods.
Even after magic fled the rest of the isles, Colbren still prospered.
When a vein of copper was discovered in the nearby mountains, the village flourished. Eynon, a distant relative of the cantref prince, came to reside in Colbren, and he took control of the mine. It was a source of wealth for all—sons of farmers became miners, and homes that were once crafted of wood were built in stone. Sentinels guarded the village at night, for fear of bandits who might try to rob the stores of copper.