Brin stopped. She blinked and looked up. The girlish face surfaced once again. “You’re afraid, aren’t you?”
“If I wasn’t before, I am now.” She brushed Brin’s hair away again.
Brin nodded. She swallowed hard and stared down at the bed looking as if she might be sick.
“Look,” Persephone told her. “There’s no reason we all need to set out. Suri and Arion are the only ones with a part to play.” She thought a moment. “And I will have to go, too, of course.”
“Why you?”
“I’m the chieftain. What sort of leader would I be if I didn’t lead my troops into battle?” She nodded, mostly to herself, her lips firm on the subject. Most of Reglan’s battles had occurred before they were married, before she was even born. But there had once been a dispute with Nadak, which she remembered. Reglan had taken down his spear and shield and marched out the gate at the head of more than sixty men, all in war paint. Forty-three returned, and Nadak never challenged the might of Rhen again. They said Reglan had led the charge and had slain the first man with a masterful thrust of his spear. The story was told many times in the lodge. Persephone never thought to ask her husband if he’d been frightened the night before. At the time, they’d only been recently married, and Reglan had yet to discover his wife was worthy of any serious conversation. She seemed to remember him lingering in the Great Hall that evening even after the other men had left. He had come to bed late, waking her when he did. He kissed her on the head—yes, she remembered that. Such a strange thing, she had thought back then. Not so strange anymore.
Another knock sounded. Before Persephone could say anything, Moya entered with Roan in tow. “Why is it so cold?”
“Stone sucks the heat,” Brin said.
“Something sure sucks,” Moya grumbled.
“Seph is going to leave us here and go with Arion and Suri,” Brin announced.
“Like Tetlin’s malformed ass, she is,” Moya replied, making Brin laugh.
The girl saw Persephone scowl and stopped with a guilty look.
“She’s right. You’re all staying here,” Persephone said.
“I’m not.” There wasn’t any jest in Moya’s words this time. No attempt at bravado. She was serious. “I go where you go. Especially when facing a demon, whatever that really means.”
Her hand slipped down to the handle of her little sword. The weapon was always at her side, attached to the thick leather belt that hung off one hip in a manner Persephone thought provocative. Moya could wear a grain sack and look seductive, but the low-slung belt drew attention to her hips, and the unseemly weapon declared her wild ways. Any man would be titillated by such a woman. That had been the point, Persephone thought. Moya lived to break rules, to rebel and seduce. She had flirted with the Fhrey as one more taboo, one more conquest, and the sword was a trophy.
“I don’t think a sword will help against a demon,” Persephone said. “There’s no reason to risk your life.”
“What about you? You don’t even have a sword. Why are you going?”
“It’s my responsibility as chieftain.”
“And it’s my responsibility as Shield to the chieftain.”
“Shield? Who said anything about being a Shield?”
“I’m here to protect you, and I’m the only one with a weapon.” She made a show of looking around. “You see someone else volunteering for the position?”
Persephone grew frustrated. Moya was being ridiculous. “You can’t be a Shield, Moya. You’re a woman, and not even a big one. How do you expect to defend me? This isn’t a game. People could die. Be serious for once.”
Moya looked as if she’d been slapped. Then her jaw set and her eyes narrowed. “You’re a woman, too, Seph. Did you ever hear me say you couldn’t be chieftain?”
“It’s not the same thing and you know it.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because I’m not pretending to be something I’m not.”
Moya’s hand came off the pommel of her sword and fell limp at her side. She stood staring at Persephone for a long moment, breathing hard, pursing her lips. Then slowly she began to nod. “Okay…sure, so I’m not the best warrior in the world. You’re right. How could I be? I’ve only been training for a few weeks, and I am a woman. And everyone knows women can’t fight, right?”
Persephone didn’t answer.
“Right.” Moya nodded again, taking silence for a reply. “So what you’re saying is that…that…I’m good for nothing.”
“That’s not what—”
“Yes, it is. You might not mean it that way exactly, and you’d never say those words because you’re too nice, but that’s the truth of it.” She looked down at her feet. “You don’t think I know? You think I don’t hear what people say about me? Of course I do. It’s why no one really protested when Konniger ordered me to marry The Stump. Because the whole dahl thinks I’m some kind of whore.”
“No one has ever said—”
“They don’t have to.” Moya looked back up, her eyes glassy, her lower lip quivering. A tear slipped down and she pushed it away in anger. “But you know what, Seph? You’re right. I’m not a man. I’m not six feet tall, and I can’t lift you with one arm. I honestly don’t even know…if it came right down to it…if I could really kill someone. But I know this…” She paused and sniffled. “I’d die for you, Seph. I’d throw myself in front of a sword, a spear, or the gaping mouth of a demon to protect you. And I wouldn’t even think twice, because, as we all know, I can’t think. I’m not a genius like Roan or a Keeper like Brin. I’m not a mystic or magician. All I can do—all I’m good for—is to put myself between you and harm. But isn’t that what a Shield is? A shield? I might not be able to use a sword like Raithe, and I might not be able to wrestle even as well as Habet, but dammit, Seph, no one would fight harder to protect you. No one.”
Tears were coursing down her cheeks by then, but Persephone had her own to contend with. So did Brin. Roan was the only one with dry cheeks. She had wandered over to the desk and the wall of hammers.
Persephone leapt off the bed and threw her arms around Moya and squeezed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. You’re my Shield.”
“I’m coming, too,” Brin declared through sniffles. “I’m Keeper. I have to witness, just like at the council meetings. That’s why I came, isn’t it?”
Persephone frowned, but nodded.
Roan was bent over, opening the drawers of the desk and rummaging through their contents.
Moya crossed the room and slammed a drawer closed. “And dear Mari, we can’t leave Roan here alone. If I left a pair of shoes with Gronbach, I wouldn’t expect to find both when I got back. There’s something shifty and insincere about that Dherg.”
“I guess everyone comes then,” Persephone said. “Unless Minna chooses to stay.”
“Doubt it,” Moya said. “That wolf is crazy.”
—
Suri stood near the window, looking out at the vast white of the morning fog. She didn’t like being inside. The little people’s stone room was better than the hut of dead trees back in Dahl Rhen, and the door wasn’t bolted. That helped. She’d checked and managed to leave it open a crack, but still she missed the sun and wind. Minna felt the same way. The wolf lay with her head between her forepaws, looking up with forlorn eyes as if to say, Do you really want to go through with this? Suri didn’t have an answer, and so she stared out the window to avoid the conversation. Minna knew what Suri was doing. The wolf always did, and Suri felt lupine eyes burning into her back.