Suri was left to ponder this as they continued on. She couldn’t remember being unhappy as a child. All the misery in her life had started a year ago with Tura’s death. Before that, her life had always been wonderful, her youth a marvelous experience—at least the parts she remembered.
When I found you, you were wailing so loud you made the trees quiver, Tura had said.
And back in Dahl Rhen, Suri remembered Persephone saying,…Some children, the unwanted ones, are sometimes left in the forest, given over to the mercy of the gods.
Even Gifford hadn’t been dumped in the forest, thrown away as garbage and left to die. His father had loved him, and Gifford belonged to a village that raised him. For her, a desperate infant abandoned in nature’s palm and clawing at anything to live, how thick could the veil between worlds be?
You made the trees quiver.
They were heading out of the square, rounding the corner of the quaint little house that Suri thought might be Brin and Roan’s new home, when she felt abruptly cold, so cold she shivered.
Arion asked. “Feel that?”
Suri nodded. “Cold and clammy chills? Like someone dropped fish down the back of your shirt?”
Arion nodded.
“Thought it was my imagination.”
“You need to recognize that your imagination is more accurate than other people’s sight.” Arion moved to the side of the house. She put her hand to the stone and ran her fingers along it.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” Arion replied. “A message, I suppose.”
“Message?”
“A warning, like a bear urinating on a tree.”
Suri smiled; usually Arion’s explanations were vague or built on examples she didn’t understand. This, at least, she knew.
“Something is marking their territory with the Art?”
“Maybe, or just leaving its scent in its wake. This is strong or I wouldn’t notice. I’m not all that gifted in second sight. You probably are. Do you get any impressions? I just feel cold—cold and threatened.”
Suri nodded. “Very cold—like death, but damp and clammy. And…”
“And what?”
“Hungry—starvation and exhaustion; frustration, too.”
“Can you see it? Do you know what it is?”
Suri shook her head. All she had were sensations, emotions that lingered like smells. “What does it mean?”
Arion shrugged. “Maybe someone did something unpleasant here.”
“I don’t think so,” Suri replied as she, too, touched the wall of the house.
“What are you feeling?”
“I don’t think something bad was done, I think something bad will be done. And I don’t think someone will do it. I think some thing will.”
CHAPTER TEN
Lord of the Rhist
The Kype was this huge stone building filled with rooms, stairs, and corridors. It was where the rulers of Alon Rhist had lived. On the ground floor was the Karol, a small chamber where the keenig listened to grievances and passed judgments. Persephone used to call it her torture chamber: Each day there was a different torturer, but always the same victim.
—THE BOOK OF BRIN
Being the keenig, Persephone realized, was as rewarding as a punch in the face. The perks were equally as stellar, consisting of no sleep, no privacy, and excessive ridicule. Nothing she did was enough, yet every act was going too far. She’d been accused of favoritism toward people she’d never met, of knowing too little or too much, and of being insane. There were those who actually believed she was mentally unstable, suggesting the stress was driving her mad. Women weren’t built to bear such weight was a common sentiment expressed when she made an unfavorable judgment against someone. People, Persephone realized, had very short memories, even shorter tempers, and acted like children.
This was on grand display with Erdo, Chieftain of Clan Erling, who came before her that day in the Karol to plead his case for taking his entire clan home so they could help with spring planting. She sympathized with him—the man had a point—but sacrifices had to be made. That day it was Clan Erling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking down. She tried as hard as she could to sound compassionate, but after giving the same disappointing news hundreds of times, to hundreds of people, the sincerity was difficult to maintain. “We can’t afford to lose so many men at this time.”
“My people will starve!” He slapped the bronze railing that divided the room between the lower and upper half. The metal bar rang in the small chamber with a dull note.
“Erling will receive shipments of grain from the south to help them survive until—”
“We don’t want charity!”
“It’s not charity. Consider it payment for standing guard.”