“But you own this place now…everything, including the bed, is yours,” Persephone said. “You could at least sleep in one of these hanging chairs. These are very comfortable, by the way.”
Roan stared at her, breathing faster, her eyes tense, her hands wringing the chicken’s legs.
“Relax,” Padera told her. “Calm down and give me that bird before you ruin it.” Padera took the chicken back from Roan. The old woman finished plucking the second half of the bird in a pair of minutes. Once stripped, she chopped off both feet and pulled the crop and gizzard out of its severed neck.
“Roan,” the old woman said. “Go to my house and bring back a bag to collect these feathers. You can save them and make a nice pillow. You’ll find a couple in the back next to dear old Melvin’s clothes box.”
Roan nodded once more with fierce conviction, the welling panic forgotten in light of the new task. She headed for the door but halted abruptly before stepping out. “Whoa!”
They all looked over and saw that Roan had nearly run into the giant who had arrived with the Fhrey. He was standing in front of the roundhouse, blocking the entrance as he bent down and peered in.
Persephone scrambled to her feet, and Raithe moved to her side. The giant didn’t say a word. Didn’t look at the rest of them. His eyes were fixed on Padera, who worked at removing the chicken’s viscera.
The old woman peered up through her left eye, a hefty scowl on her collapsed mouth. “You’re blocking my light.”
The giant glanced down at his shadow and shuffled over a step.
“It’s easier for you.” The giant’s voice surprised Persephone. She expected a loud booming roar, but his words were soft. “Your hands are small. There aren’t birds big enough for me to clean that way.”
Again Padera looked up, this time focusing on the giant’s hands. “You need a hook.” She glanced toward Roan. “My Melvin’s hands were too big for delicate work, too. Roan can make one that even your paws could manage. Can’t you, Roan?”
Roan, who’d been looking at the giant with as much wonder as the rest, narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. She wound a lock of hair, put the strands in her mouth, and chewed. Then she shocked everyone by walking up to the towering brute and grabbing hold of his right hand. Tilting it up to catch the sunlight coming in through the door, she studied it and placed her own hand against his palm. The difference was striking; Roan’s looked like a doll’s. The giant said nothing. Roan muttered to herself, nodded, and then scurried to the back of her house, where Iver’s workbench was buried beneath a pile of assorted sediment.
The giant watched her for a second and then turned his attention back to Padera and the chicken. “Stuffing?” he asked, struggling to see.
Padera nodded and raised the chicken up in the air. “Filling her with bread and thyme.”
“Garlic?”
“Of course.”
“Butter?”
Padera scowled.
“Okay, stupid question. I don’t always have access to any. What about pepper?”
Padera did her one-eyed glare, this time sucking in both her lips. “Do I look like a Dherg queen to you? Do you think Drome bestows great riches upon me? And before you ask, I won’t be adding saffron, gold, or emeralds, either.”
The giant lifted his shirt. Beneath was a line of pouches on a long string. He opened one, pinched some of the contents, and held out his hand.
Padera waddled forward, and the giant sprinkled a dash into her palm. One brow went way up.
The giant grinned.
“What’s your name?” Padera asked.
“Grygor.”
“Grygor, would you care to stay for supper?” Padera asked. Looking back, she added, “I think we’re going to need more chickens.”
—
The wall of Dahl Rhen was twenty feet thick, framed with wood, and filled with dirt. Grass grew on the top, but the constant traffic from men patrolling the wall had created a worn path that circled the entire dahl. After the evening meal, Raithe had walked the course from one side of the gate to the other, watching the sunset. The height gave him a nice view of the surrounding landscape. The expanse of the forest loomed to the west as a black outline with jagged edges. The eastern side of the dahl was gentle rolling hills of green. Even in the fading light, he could see the north–south road cutting through the fields.
Raithe walked with his leigh mor tied over one shoulder. The evening wasn’t cold. Spring had let go of winter’s hand and was reaching out toward summer. The transition was most evident in the sounds of crickets and the oscillating din of tree frogs, which was even louder on the forest side.
Traveling will be easier now.
Hearing the ladder’s creak, Raithe turned and was surprised to see Persephone climbing up. Trotting over, he extended his hand to help her up. The act was instinctive, but after feeling her fingers, the intimacy of the moment struck him. Hands could be such expressive things; hers were incredibly warm.
“Malcolm said you were up here. He thought I should let you know I was heading over to speak to Konniger,” Persephone said as she reached the top. “But honestly, I don’t think there will be any trouble.”
Persephone faced him with hands folded, still wearing her black mourning dress. Her head tilted down as her eyes looked up; that tilt made up his mind.
“Nice up here on a night like this,” she said. “I’ve walked this circle hundreds of times.”
“Not many places where you can see so far.”
“You haven’t been to the top of the tower in Alon Rhist then, have you?”
He shook his head.
“But you’ve seen it, right? The tower?”
He nodded. “Dahl Dureya is near Grandford. The tower is hard to miss, but it’s not like the Fhrey give tours.”
She looked north as if trying to see the great spire. “Did you have family in Dureya?”
“No,” he said, “not anymore. I used to have three brothers and a sister. Heim and Hegel died together in the High Spear Valley, fighting the Gula-Rhunes. They’re buried there in a mass grave.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I didn’t like my brothers. Not even Didan, who was the nicest and closest to me in age. Even he was a bastard. Stabbed me in the hand once because I was playing with his new dagger. Held me down and put the point right into my palm and said, ‘So you want to know what the blade feels like, do you?’ ”
She grimaced as if Didan’s stab had just occurred. “How old were you?”
“Six,” he told her. “So yeah, I had some pretty awful brothers, but my sister and mum were terrific. Luckily for us, my father and brothers weren’t around much. When they were gone, we’d stay up late, singing songs and telling stories. Kaylin, she was my sister, had an incredible imagination. Almost every tale had a ghost or dragon and a hero who rescued a beautiful girl. We’d be in the house around the fire with the winter gales shaking the walls, listening to her go on. She helped us forget how low we were on dung bricks and how cold the night would be. Kaylin could do that sort of thing with her stories, take you someplace else, someplace warm, someplace wonderful. Best times we had were when everyone else was off to war and it was just the three of us.”