Wolfsbane Winter (16 page)

Eldora hopped down from the rail and strolled over, brushing sawdust off her pants. She was a couple of inches shorter than Alana and her skin was several shades darker. A wiry firecracker of a woman, she ran her farm and her family with a no-nonsense attitude typical of the region.

“Was it lungworm?”

“Yes. If you send someone by my way this afternoon, I’ll give you a bag of the herbs it needs.”

“Reckon my Jed will volunteer for that.”

Alana tried to look nonchalant. “Whoever.”

“I’m thinking you could find a home for some cheese.”

Alana smiled. “Probably.”

“I’ll send a round up with Jed.”

“Thank you.”

In the farming community, neighbors would help each other as they could, with an informal barter system to even things out. Alana’s skill as a healer had become highly regarded in the valley, and the goods she received in return ensured that she never went short of anything.

“You’re a damn good animal doctor.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s like you understand what the cows are thinking.”

More than you guess.
“It’s mostly luck.”

“Don’t put yourself down, girl. I’ve watched you work.”

“It’s nice of you to say so.”

Eldora nodded thoughtfully. “You know, my Jed’s rather smitten with you.”

“Really?” Alana could not stop herself glancing up the hillside in the direction of her cottage. Now would be a good time to sidle away.

“It’s what now, over a year since your girl left you?”

“Something like that.”

“It won’t do to stay on your own forever.”

Alana gave a smile and a shrug. There was not a lot she could say.

“I don’t doubt you prefer women.” Eldora gave a snort that held more wry humor than anything else. “Nothing wrong with that, and I dare say it works just fine for folks in the city, or even Iron Wolves. But out here? I don’t see as it’s practical. Running a farm takes a family, the bigger the better, and that means kids.”

“I’m not sure how long I’m going to stay.”

Eldora gave her a shrewd look. “You don’t belong in the city. I could tell that the first time I saw you—unlike your girl. Now, she was like a cow up a tree from day one. Didn’t fit in at all.”

“Maybe.”

“I know it’s me sticking my nose in where it ain’t needed. But if you do decide to make a real go of it here in Neupor, well, I reckon a woman could do a lot worse than my Jed.”

Alana nodded in what she hoped was a thoughtful fashion. “Yes. I guess so. He’s a fine young man.”

Eldora patted her arm. “Anyway. You be getting on back, and think it over. I’ll send Jed up with the cheese this afternoon.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Be seeing you.”

Alana turned away, fighting to hold back a sigh of relief. She would have been far more tempted had it been Eldora’s daughter showing the interest, but her answer would have been the same. Hiding her magical ability was hard enough as it was. Eldora’s innocent comment about her understanding the cows had been uncomfortably accurate.
How could I hide, day after day, from someone I lived with?
Every emotion her lover felt would reverberate in her. In anger, in the act of making love, in an everyday grouchy mood, her lover’s emotions would become her own.
How long before she suspected the truth?

The local farmers had accepted her story of being a herbalist who had grown tired of city life. Her skill at healing both humans and animals had made her a welcome part of a community that did not normally look favorably on strangers, but if it became known that she was a member of the demon-spawn aristocracy, everything would change. Alana had a momentary vision of a pitchfork-wielding mob storming her cottage and setting fire to it with her inside. Maybe it would not go that far, but remaining in the valley would be out of the question once the truth about her was known.

Alana walked back along the track between the pastures and the trees, thinking things over, as she had done repeatedly in the months since Reyna left. Jed was not the first to show an interest in her. Alana chewed her lip, remembering Eldora’s remarks about children.

Same-sex relationships were common among the aristocracy and professionals such as artists and lawyers. Iron Wolf mercenaries in particular were notorious for their indiscriminate sex lives. Yet for most ordinary people, whatever their personal preference might be, children were an economic necessity. Alana had become familiar with the attitude among local farming folk that a long-term same-sex relationship was a foppish luxury they could not afford.

So could she use it to her advantage? If Alana let it be known that she was only attracted to women, and that men held no interest for her, would this discourage the suitors who were dreaming of the patter of tiny farmer’s feet? The locals would pass it off as another sign of her funny, city-born ways. The biggest advantage of spreading this story was that it would be true.

The risk was she might then become a target for every woman from miles around who felt the same way. What excuse could she use then? And saying no to them would be so much harder. Alana was aware the loneliness was starting to get to her. All it would need was an attractive woman coming on to her when she was feeling down, needy, or even drunk, and she would be in trouble.

Her cottage came into sight around a bend in the track. Alana stopped and turned around, staring across the valley at the distant mountains, while she battled with mixed feelings. Reyna had been right. She did not want to go back to Ellaye, but neither did she want to spend the rest of her life alone. If only she could learn to control her talent. Maybe she would be able to block her lover out of her head, well enough to keep her ancestry secret. But was that what she wanted? What value was there in a relationship based on deceit?
Do I just want to get laid? Am I that shallow?

Alana let go of the talisman, only then realizing she had gripped it out of habit. She tried to work on summoning her own, inner strength. Instead, what she got was a sense of malevolence. For an instant, she was convinced that someone was watching her, with hostile intent. Alana’s heartbeat surged. She was in deadly danger. She knew it. The emotion was raw, bestial.

Alana spun and faced the forest—an instinctive reaction. In that instant, the emotion vanished. Whatever it was had now gone and was no longer watching her. But what sort of animal had it been? It had lacked any anticipation of food, so that ruled out a bear, a mountain lion, or other predator big enough to pose a threat. Alana’s pulse slowed and her panic faded. Maybe it had been a particularly aggressive squirrel. And maybe it had just been her imagination.

After another deep breath, Alana shook her head and continued walking back to her cottage.

The section of log was about a foot long and a little too thick for Deryn to close her fingers around. Sun and wind had dried the wood out, leaving it too light and splintered to make an effective club. Yet the idea of putting its weapon capability to the test was so very tempting. How wrong she had been, thinking that her only source of amusement over the winter would be planning her revenge on Abran. As things were turning out, the thoughts of violence she could inflict on Sergeant Nevin were proving to be every bit as much fun.

Deryn took a moment, hefting the log in her hand and playing with the resulting image. A bigger, more solid piece of timber would make a better weapon, but she was not quite at the point of wanting to murder him. A couple of good blows to shut him up should do, and if the wood did splinter, it would be so much more effective when she completed her assault by shoving the remains up his ass. It was something to bear in mind if ever the time came to put fantasy into action.

Appealing though the image was, daydreaming about cracking Nevin over the skull was not what she was supposed to be doing. Deryn took a sharp breath and then tossed the log high over her shoulder. Immediately, she spun to the left, twisting and pulling the knife from her boot as she dived. Her shoulder hit the ground and she rolled on, up onto one knee. A dozen yards away, the log was falling. Deryn threw the knife with a sharp flick of her wrist, and watched it miss its target by an inch.

“Har, har, har. Better luck next time.”

Deryn closed her eyes. Yes. Splinters would definitely be better.

The unwanted audience was sprawled on a dilapidated cart parked outside the paddock gate. Deryn did not need to look to know that Nevin’s face would hold a smirk, and that Ross would be staring vacantly into the distance. To be said in Ross’s favor, he had managed to wash and shave himself that morning. Nevin had done neither. Nor had the sergeant changed the shirt he had been wearing ever since she arrived, although it was now tucked into his pants, which meant his gut would be spilling over his belt.

Deryn retrieved her knife and the log target, ignoring the two men partly out of disdain, but mainly because Nevin’s waistline was something she really did not need to see any more than she could help. She returned to her stance, facing the rear wall of the station with her back to the paddock, and tried to dismiss Nevin from her mind. Giving in to irritation could be fatal. Brise had taught her that. An Iron Wolf had to concentrate; had to stay focused. Deryn took a deep calming breath and again tossed the log behind her. Thinking about Brise rather than Nevin helped, and her aim was true. The point of the knife embedded in its target.

“Didn’t miss that time.” Ross rarely spoke, unless he was stating the obvious.

“Well, it’s a stupid fucking party trick, isn’t it?”

“It’s a good trick.”

“Yeah. But it’s all the Iron Wolves are good for—playing games. Who cares if you can hit a bit of wood? If you want to chop logs you should use an axe. If you want to fight you should keep your feet on the ground, not roll around in the dirt.”

And get your shirt mucky?
Deryn collected the target and pulled her knife free.

Nevin was not finished. “Throwing piddly little knives? It ain’t no good if you’re up against someone with a sword. Take my word on it.”

What did Nevin know about fighting? In fact, why go that far? What did he know about anything? Deryn would not have trusted Nevin to give a report on the weather. He would need three guesses to tell sleet from hail.

“You can’t expect women to do proper fighting. That takes skill and strength.”

Some day, when she was far away from Neupor, Deryn knew she was going to look back on that line and pee herself laughing. Even with her current irritation, she had to struggle to keep a straight face. The only exercise Deryn had seen Nevin take was walking to the latrine and back. He had not drawn his sword once. Possibly it was rusted into the scabbard. The only way he might win a fight was if he farted and his opponent collapsed from the stench—although this was not impossible. Despite the cold nights, Deryn was already appreciative that the station door did not close fully. If Ross had possessed the brains for it, she would have suspected him of deliberately sabotaging the hinges to ensure a supply of fresh air.

A shaggy, cream-colored horse stopped in the road beside the cart. The rider was a young woman, dressed in the loose, hard-wearing work clothes of a farmer laborer. Judging by the size of the horse, it was mainly used for plowing, rather than riding. The saddle looked decidedly unstable on its broad back. A couple of sacks were strung on either side.

Great. Another spectator.
Nevin and Ross had nothing to do, and would not have been knocking themselves out doing it even if they had, but surely the farm worker had something better to occupy her time.

Deryn’s mood improved marginally when it turned out that the new arrival had not stopped merely to gawp. After clearing her throat twice to attract attention, and being ignored, the woman spoke. “Sergeant Nevin?”

“Yeah?”

“Got a message for you. Finn wants you to see him at his farm.”

“Why?”

“He’s had trouble with a bear. It’s taken some of his sheep.”

“What’s he expect me to do about it?”

The messenger stared blankly at Nevin, clearly confused by his indignant tone and at a loss for what to say next.

On Nevin’s behalf, Deryn had to concede that the question did not have a straightforward answer. On one hand, the farm worker could point out that dealing with bears and similar problems was part of the job Nevin was paid for. On the other hand, anyone who had met Nevin would know that having any expectation of him doing something useful was foolishly optimistic.

After a lengthy pause, Nevin rubbed the side of his face and frowned, as if trawling through his memory. “Finn…his farm is round in Sprig Valley, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“How’s his cider gone this year?”

Of course. Deryn should have guessed. Nevin was angling for a bribe—something that went totally against the Iron Wolf code. You quoted your price and you did the job you said you would do. But apart from personal ethics, Deryn would have intervened anyway, just for the sake of upsetting Nevin. She slipped her knife back into her boot and strolled forward.