Persephone had wondered the same thing. The old woman’s squinting eyes were so lost in the folds, creases, and wrinkles of her mushed-melon face that they all but vanished. When Padera spoke, one—and only one—would pop open with a powerful glare while the other squeezed tight as if she were taking aim.
At that moment, the old woman had her sight on Moya. “These old eyes can still thread a needle faster than you can explain why you’re hanging there and dangling your breasts in front of two men.”
Moya scowled and sat back in her swing.
“I don’t think you should go near the lodge,” Raithe told Persephone. “Before the Fhrey showed up, your chieftain was siding against you. Didn’t seem too happy afterward, either.”
“Konniger isn’t the problem,” Persephone said. “It’s Hegner who’s lying.”
“Maybe so,” Moya said. “But if Konniger wants to know what’s going on, he can come out and talk to the Fhrey himself.”
“This shouldn’t be about Konniger and what he should do or hasn’t done,” Persephone replied. “For the good of the dahl, the chieftain needs to know what is happening.”
Roan carried another Gifford cup of hot tea and handed it to Persephone.
“Thank you, Roan.”
Roan didn’t reply. She just nodded and made her way back through the debris to where Padera was working over the pit fire.
“I wish the Fhrey had accepted your invitation to stay in the lodge,” Moya said, grinning mischievously over her drink. “Can you imagine? Konniger having to move back into his family’s house? He hates them, you know. Tressa has been bragging all over the dahl about how wonderful it is to be out of that overcrowded pit. When she was safely in the lodge, Tressa called Autumn and her husband pigs and said she didn’t know how she managed to live there.”
“You really don’t like him, do you?” Persephone asked.
“What part of Konniger is making me marry The Stump don’t you understand?”
“ ’Bout time you married someone and stopped tempting every man from here to the Blue Sea,” Padera said, slurring the words through toothless gums. “You know, wars have started over women like you.”
Moya scoffed. “You’re so full of crap, old woman.”
“Brin?” Padera called.
Brin tore her eyes away from the doorway. “Augusta of Melen, daughter of Chieftain Eisol, started the Battle of the Red River when she refused to marry Theo of Warric. When Theo’s father was killed in the fight, Theo vowed vengeance and summoned all of Clan Warric to his banner. This resulted in what became known as the Ten Year War, which claimed the lives of a thousand men and instigated a famine that lasted two years.”
“See,” Padera said. The old woman handed the dead chicken she’d brought with her to Roan. “Pluck it.”
“I’m sorry.” Persephone sat up, making her seat rock. “But I have to side with Moya on this one. Konniger is making her marry a man who tried to kill me.”
“Why is that?” Padera asked, once more peering out at her with one eye.
“I wish I knew,” Persephone said. “I wouldn’t say we’re friendly, but I’m not aware of any ill will between us. I hadn’t had any trouble with any of them until yesterday.”
Roan, who stood next to Padera, struggled to yank feathers from the dead chicken, which she held by its feet. The old woman sighed. She took the dead bird and submerged it in the skin of water, which by then was boiling. She jiggled it vigorously up and down, waited a few seconds, pulled it out, and then submerged it again. The old woman did this several times, then plucked out a tail feather and smiled. “There,” she said, handing the chicken back. “Try it now.”
Roan pulled the first feather, and it slipped free without effort. “You’re a genius.”
Padera grinned, or more accurately her eternal toothless frown stretched wider. “You’re the genius. I’m just old. When you’ve raised six children, a husband, and dozens of cows, pigs, sheep, and who knows how many chickens, you learn a few things. Just remember, there’s always a better way.”
Roan nodded with fierce conviction, her eyes serious and focused as if Padera had charged her with a crucial task. “There’s always a better way. There’s always a better way…”
“Well, if you have to go, I’ll go with you,” Raithe told Persephone.
The big man stretched out his legs, which extended across a third of the room.
“Thank you, but I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. If I bring you into the lodge, it might start a fight.” She took a sip of tea.
“You can’t go up there alone.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. I’ll bring Delwin and maybe someone else I trust, like one of the farmers.”
“What are they going to do if he decides you’re guilty and wants to execute you right there in the lodge? You might need someone who can fight.”
“Maybe that’s how things are done in Dureya, but there’s a process here. Our Keeper of Ways will insist.”
“Your Keeper is a big man, is he?”
“A frail old woman, actually. But our chieftain respects our traditions and will listen to her. No one is executed without a public hearing.”
“Uh-huh, sure. I’ll be outside just in case. If you have trouble, yell.”
Flattered by Raithe’s concern, Persephone took a quick sip of tea to hide a self-conscious smile.
“So, Brin”—Moya leaned over the edge of her suspended netting—“what happened? To the woman who started the war?”
Brin took a second to think, and her eyes shifted in focus. “After Theo of Warric successfully besieged Dahl Melen, he burned it and killed everyone she ever knew and a good deal of livestock. Then Augusta of Melen killed herself.”
“Oh,” Moya said with a suddenly sour look.
“Raithe, Malcolm,” Padera barked. “Fetch us some water. Take those empty gourds by the door.”
Without a word, the two men got to their feet. Raithe bent low. The ceiling was too high for most to touch, but Raithe was tall and there were plenty of plants, gourds, and fish hanging from the rafters to bang his head on. They grabbed the containers and headed out.
“You sent Raithe to fetch water?” Persephone and Brin asked in concert the moment the two had left.
“Was just sitting there,” Padera replied.
“But…but…the man saved us…and he’s killed a god!” Brin declared, crawling back toward the fire and rising to her knees in protest.
“Then he ought to be able to handle carrying some water, don’t you think?” The old woman fixed her with a one-eyed stare and a misleading toothless frown that Persephone knew to be a smile.
“I can’t believe how fortunate it was, running into him in the woods,” Moya said to Persephone. The young woman clutched the teacup to her breast. A wicked smile crossed her lips. “He’s handsome.”
“You’re spoken for,” Brin reminded her.
“Shut up, will ya?” Moya scowled, huffed, and slammed her head backward on the netting, making a thrum sound. “The Stump can go hang himself. Got any spare rope, Roan?”