The damp air felt cold again. Spring had taken a step back, retreating as if unsure of itself. Brin had given her a thick wool blanket from her parents’ house, the one with poorly stitched flowers outlined in yellow thread. Warm, though, and Persephone wrapped it to her neck.
“So she’s awake, and we’re still alive,” Moya said. The hero of the well raid was back to spinning, trying to finish a skein before she ran out of light.
“She’s still in a lot of pain,” Persephone said. “And seems a little confused. Who knows what will happen when she heals.”
“Suri with her again?” Brin asked. Brin sat on the floor, carding wool. Persephone knew the girl had always enjoyed visiting Roan, but since Raithe had arrived, she all but slept there. Sarah didn’t appear to mind as long as she completed her chores. Brin brought them with her, four big bags. The recent shearing provided mountains of wool and plenty of work, and Brin was quick to ask others for help.
“Padera is with her now,” Persephone replied, and resumed her own attempt at carding wool.
Persephone had little experience carding, combing, spinning, or weaving wool, although she’d seen each performed countless times. Watching and doing were radically different things. Persephone had managed only the one roving so far. What was supposed to result in a long, uniformly thick strand of clean fibers remained a short, dirty wad. She would have switched to combing, but Brin assured her that carding was easier. The girl had enlisted all of them, even Malcolm and Raithe. No one could turn down Brin’s bright smile, and there was a lot of wool.
“Padera?” Moya asked. “She’s probably just sleeping up there.”
“She took some knitting, I think.”
“She’s definitely sleeping, then.”
Brin leaned toward the door, looking out at the rain. “Where is Suri?”
The girl was nearly as fascinated by the mystic and her wolf as she was by Raithe—nearly. Nothing could distract Brin from the Dureyan for long, and she delighted in teaching him to card. Not surprisingly, Raithe got most of her attention, and his rovings were good, whereas Persephone’s and Malcolm’s suffered from neglect.
“Outside,” Moya said, pumping the foot pedal of the spinning wheel and making it hum. “Her and the wolf.”
“In the rain?” Brin asked.
“She doesn’t like being inside,” Persephone said.
This caught Roan’s attention. She was the only one not actively employed in the wool chores. Instead, she was on her knees near the cluttered rear of the house, sewing a patch of cloth to the side of her tunic. “Suri or the wolf?” Roan asked with a worried tone.
“Both, I suspect. But it has nothing to do with you, Roan. Suri is uncomfortable inside any place. She doesn’t even like being inside the walls of the dahl.”
Roan responded with her hallmark almost-smile, a trait as typical of her as Gifford’s walk or lisp. Life had battered them both. Gifford was a cripple on the outside, Roan on the inside, and Persephone wondered if that was the price of divine gifts.
All these people—all these amazing people.
She was haunted by visions of their bleeding bodies lying in the dirt as the dahl blazed. Persephone saw their future as she saw the leaf outside, teetering on the edge in a growing wind.
So much in jeopardy—so much at stake—and yet what can a leaf do to influence the wind?
“So why is she still here?” Moya asked.
“Suri?” Persephone looked up from her carding. “Still trying to work out why I was attacked, I think. Has something to do with bones, she told me.”
“Any clues?”
Persephone shrugged. “If she has any, she’s not told me. Maybe she wants to get all the facts straight first.”
“Speaking of puzzles…” Brin said to Raithe as she knelt before him in the creation of another perfect roving. “What’s the answer to the riddle?”
“Riddle?” he asked.
“The one you posed to the Crescent Forest.” Brin sat up straighter, closed her eyes, and recited, “Four brothers visit this wood. The first is greeted with great joy; the second is beloved; the third always brings sad tidings; and the last is feared. They visit each year, but never together. What are their names?”
“You remember all that word for word?” Moya asked, amazed.
“Excellent, Brin,” Persephone said. “Just like a true Keeper.”
Brin smiled. “I only heard it once, but I keep trying to solve it. Not that I’m wiser than the Crescent. I mean, you asked the forest, and it didn’t know the answer, right? So how could—”
“Spring, summer, autumn, winter,” Roan said from the back of the room.
They all turned and stared.
Noticing the silence, Roan looked up. “That’s right, isn’t it? The names of the four brothers?”
“Yes,” Malcolm said with a little smile. “Yes, it is.”
“Seems sort of obvious once you hear the answer,” Moya said.
Malcolm narrowed his eyes at Roan. “Pardon me for asking, but I’m curious. Why are you sewing a patch on your tunic? There’s no hole, is there? Not even a wear mark.”
“It’s not a patch,” she replied. “It’s a pocket.”
“A what?”
“A pock-et. That’s what I call it. You know, like a poke—a little sack? But this is a tiny one. So it’s a pocket. See?” Roan picked up a bit of string from her worktable and slipped it in. Then she let go, leaving it there as if she’d performed a magic trick. “Because it’s open on top, I can put stuff in and take it out with one hand, and it’s always with me.”
“That’s brilliant,” Malcolm said.
“As long as you don’t stand on your head,” Moya brought up.
“I don’t think Roan will be—” Persephone began, and stopped when Moya gave her a surprised look.
“This is Roan we’re talking about, Seph. Two weeks ago, I stopped her just seconds before she stuck a needle in her eye.”
Persephone looked at Roan, aghast. “Whatever for?”
“She wanted to find out how deep the socket was,” Moya answered for her.
“Oh, blessed Mari! Roan, don’t ever do that,” Persephone said.
“Okay.” Roan nodded without the slightest indication that she understood why. She then looked back at Malcolm. “I was thinking of putting a pocket on both sides.” She placed her hand on the other hip, marking the spot. “Next time Padera asks for needle and thread I won’t have to fumble with a pouch’s drawstrings.”
“You’re a marvel, Roan,” Moya told her. “A little batty, but amazing all the same.”
“She’s not batty,” Persephone said. “She’s a genius.”
Roan shook her head self-consciously and once more displayed the disbelieving look that broke Persephone’s heart.
What sort of monster was Iver?
Persephone had liked the man. Strange how it was possible to see someone for years yet still not know him.
“What do you think Konniger will do now?” Moya asked. Her spinning wheel made a little breeze in the house.
“Sarah told me he and Tressa are staying with the Coswalls,” Persephone said. “I didn’t mean to drive them out. They could’ve stayed.”