Followed by Fros(44)

I nodded.

“I can stay until Aamina comes,” he said, stepping past me to pick up the fallen books.

I winced, thinking of my promise to care for them. “I’m sorry, I can—”

“Do you want to heat water? For the coffee?”

I remembered the pitcher left in the fire and hurried over to it. Its base had begun to scorch black, and the handle sizzled under my cold touch. I set it down on the table and retrieved a clean pair of gloves.

As I pulled them on, Lo untied the small bag and said, in Hraric, “Tell me about your home in Iyoden.”

“Euwan?” I glanced at him. His countenance seemed darker than usual—worry, perhaps, or distrust. But I felt so glad to have someone with me—him with me—that I didn’t care if he glared swords at me.

“Well,” I said, pouring water, my trembling now nearly invisible, “It’s small, with a lot of spaces between houses, not like here. And the homes are larger, made of wood. There are a lot of trees weaving through it. A mercantile, a school, a turnery where my father worked, crafting wagon wheels and some personal commissions.”

I thought of Mordan and stopped pouring.

“Your home?”

I sat down, facing him. Cleared my throat. “A single-story home with three bedrooms, much larger than the ones here. Near a lake—Heaven’s Tear Lake. There were a lot of mosquitoes in the summer: small flies that leave itchy bumps on your skin when they bite you. We had a small kitchen with a wood-burning stove, a big living room, and a barn . . .”

When Aamina came midmorning, she nearly startled herself to death at the sight of Lo. Lo had relaxed, somewhat, though he remained watchful and spoke little, leaving me to do most of the talking. He excused himself before Aamina could even sit down, bidding me a quick good-bye with handtalk. And though I was grateful Aamina was there to keep me company, I found myself wishing he had stayed, even in his silence. The cavern seemed . . . empty . . . without him.

I half expected Aamina to begin lecturing me on propriety the way my mother would have, but she merely launched into a monologue about how her youngest child was faring in school. I wondered at that. Then again, why would anyone worry about the wiles of a woman who could kill a man just by holding his hand?

Thinking of the Northlander hunter, I remained quiet for the rest of Aamina’s stay.

In the following days, I found myself looking forward to Lo’s next visit—planning passages to discuss with him, stories to share. I even tucked the remaining coffee beans into the cubby of my bookshelf, hoping to share them with him again. Any time I heard, or thought I heard, footsteps outside my door, I ran to it with a girlish excitement fit for any winter solstice, but it was never him. I’d always find Rhono or Havid quickly retreating to their camels, or a new set of snow harvesters loading up their wagons.

But the days between Lo’s visits rolled by empty, one week, then two, then three. I began to fret that I had somehow offended him, or lost his trust by withholding information on Sadriel, whom I also had not seen, thankfully. As yet more time passed, the fear that Sadriel might have something to do with Lo’s absence started to eat into me.

I asked Aamina about it on one of her early winter visits, winter being no different than summer in Zareed, other than the nights growing longer. And my winter, of course, never gave way to any other season.

“He is captain of the guard, so he is very busy,” Aamina explained to me as she helped me pin my new mosaic drape over the one of the sight hound. With its simple yet vibrant squares, it resembled a quilt, and I was proud to have finished what I considered a grand piece of art. “And the dissenters are marching again, which always increases the guard.”

“Dissenters?”

“Grouches who want a king from the old line. They think our sheikh’s declining health is a good excuse to shuffle things around.”

I thought of Eyan’s words during our trip to Kittat, of the men riding out to scout the mountains, and felt cold metal pierce my lungs.

She stepped off her chair and looked at the new drape. “Very well done. I’ll bring you extra yarn next time I come.”

I hopped down, my head scarf falling to my shoulders. “Why extra?”

“My sister is pregnant as a melon—didn’t I tell you?”

She had, several times.

“She’s ripe as one, too, due to give birth any day now, and I need to be at her side when she does.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

Aamina nodded. “It’s a boy; I can feel it in my hips. Aunt’s intuition. I will be away until they’re on their feet, but Rhono and Havid will take care of you until I return, and oh, will I have stories when I come back! That farmer’s daughter eyes my sister’s husband like he’s a fresh-plucked chicken, so this new child will rile her well.”

Aamina chuckled, and I smiled, though the thought of not seeing her for so long tasted bitter.

Keeping true to her word, Aamina brought me a surplus of yarn in saffron, violet, and jade on her next visit, along with extra paper and extra rice. Three days later, no one came to my door—not Aamina, and not Lo.

My cavern became frightfully silent, save for the blowing—sometimes howling—winds outside. When my storm grew fitful, I spied neither Havid nor Rhono. When it calmed, I tried to invite both of them inside, desperate for company, but both refused without word. After that, Havid stopped coming altogether. I turned to my weaving for comfort and diversion and completed a simple, square-patterned tapestry the size of my bed, then unpicked all of it and started again. Sadriel did not reappear, not that I could see, but twice I had dreams in which I felt his eyes on me. When I woke, I could not tell if the sensations had been real or imagined. It made me tremble, and not from the cold.