But I felt it. The panic, the chase, the pain.
Is it possible I imagined the whole thing?
A branch snaps close by, footsteps crunching in the snow.
I try to stand, but my legs are too unsteady.
A tall, blond man bursts through the trees, a huge lynx loping along next to him. A slingshot is tucked into his belt, a brace of hares slung over his broad shoulder, their snowy bodies streaked with fresh blood.
Espen… Lord Bryher.
As he nears, panting slightly, I can feel his concern.
“You okay, Cassia?” He gives me a once-over, taking in my damp clothes, then the spread-eagled outline of my body in the snow. His fair complexion is flushed pink from the cold. He holds out a large hand toward me. “We heard a scream.”
Heat rises to my cheeks as he pulls me up. “That was me.” Beads of water drip from my lashes, and I gently probe my developing fat lip with my tongue.
“What happened?”
I swallow and open my mouth, then close it again. Good question. What had happened? I look at the hares over his shoulder. Was that what I’d experienced? The last moments of a hare he’d killed?
“I slipped on this damn ice and went down like a sack of potatoes.” I gesture to the ground with a laugh, hoping he doesn’t question me further. My cloak hangs damply as I brush off clods of snow.
Espen’s relief flows over his face. His pale blue eyes crinkle in the corners. “That was one hell of a scream.” He chuckles. “Thought you’d been shot.”
Yeah, so did I.
Espen’s lynx, Bram, tilts his head pointedly.
“You’re…hunting early.” I steer the conversation away from my little episode.
His face lights up. “New baby in the house. Thought I’d make the most of the crack-of-dawn wake-up call.” He bends down to pick up my satchel and the ephemeris, then hands them to me. “Up at the enclave again, were you?”
“Yes, I– Oh!” I grip his shoulder. The whole incident in the snow has addled my brain. These should have been my first words. After all, I'm standing in front of Timo’s father. “The snatchers are coming.”
His gilded brows raise at the news.
“They’re in Osele at the moment, but as soon as the Taiga Pass clears, they’ll come here. We need to get Timo out. The High Priestess said I can hide him at the enclave, but it has to be tonight.”
Despite being told Governance officials are on their way to kidnap his son, Espen looks surprisingly…unruffled. Bram rubs up against his legs like a house cat.
“I thought we had more time.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “Never mind…” He looks at me, smiling. “It’s under control. He’ll be long gone by the time they arrive.”
“The sisters say it has to be tonight.”
“I’ll make sure he leaves after dinner. Don’t worry, Cassia.”
Espen shifts the brace on his shoulder slightly, and the hare carcasses swing in unison, a few more drops of blood falling to the ground. Bram looks up expectantly. Espen follows my gaze.
“By the way, I’m cooking tonight, so hope you like hare stew!” He waves the unfortunate creatures at me.
I manage a thin smile. “You still want us to come over for dinner?” It seems insignificant now we know the snatchers are on their way, but Espen’s easy confidence settles my nerves. His large hand claps me on the shoulder, and I stagger forward under the force.
“Of course. Come early. We’ll be done by seven bells. You’ll still make it up to the enclave by early evening. Kensa’s desperate to see the star chart you’ve done for the baby.”
The huge man strides off toward the pines on the other side of the path. “Oh, and we have a surprise for you, too!” he calls back over his shoulder.
Before I can ask what, he disappears into the trees. Bram still sits there, looking at me. When Espen whistles, the tufts of fur on the tips of the lynx’s ears twitch. He opens his jaw and drops a dead bird at my feet.
I grimace. “Great. Thanks, kitten.”
Bram dips his head, then stalks into the forest after his master. I watch his powerful, feline body disappear from sight.
I take a deep, steadying breath, then step over the dead bird with a shudder.
I haven’t even had my breakfast yet, but I’m certain of two things. One, I need to have a frank talk with Gee about my magic, and two, I will not be eating Espen’s hare stew tonight.
Chapter Two
I skirt around the lake. It’s a novelty to see it unfrozen, sparkling in the morning light.
The wood cabin we’ve lived in for the winter is south of the main village. My boots crunch down the path alongside the paddock and stables, the melting snow giving everything a mirage-like sheen.
Smoke rises from the chimney, but I know my grandmother will be in our real home. The wagon sitting to the side of the cabin.
Painted a garish orange two springs ago, it’s now a worn, terracotta color, the paint peeling from the wood. Without the usual thick layer of snow hiding the green roof, it looks a bit like a large pumpkin on wheels.
My arms tingle beneath my cloak, anticipating the warmth beyond.
Stars, do I hate the cold.
It seeps right down into my bones, my toes always feeling numb. I crave sunlight on my bare skin, hot against my dark hair. After all, I was born and raised in the desert. I love coming to Henling each winter, but after three moons of snow, I’m ready to leave for warmer climes.
The silver lining to all this snatcher business means we’ll get to do just that. I can’t wait to join our troupe. I miss waking in a new place each morning.
I open the door. “Gee?” Sandalwood-scented warmth rushes out to meet me, instantly soothing my chilled cheeks.
“Get in here, you dirty stop-out,” my grandmother calls back. “And close the door. You’re letting the heat out.”
I duck in and fasten the latch with numb fingers. The colorful chaos of my home greets me. One small window lets in a trickle of morning light, and several candle stubs still glow. Despite the small space, Gee is nowhere to be seen. My gaze tracks around the printed scarves hanging from the walls, giving the inside a tent-like feeling. Trinkets and artifacts picked up from our travels clutter every surface, bottles of sand resting on top of battered books piled next to mismatched earthenware and pots.
Gee’s dark head pops up from behind an open trunk. Her favorite green, silk scarf covers her dyed, black hair. Bangles clack and fall down her thin arms as she holds up a wooden mask carved like a bird, squinting at it skeptically.
“Tidying?” I pick my way across the mess to our beds – two narrow cots, one above the other. I unfasten my damp cloak and hang it from the corner of the top bunk.
“Where did we get this, darling? Borl?” She taps the mask’s long, wooden beak with a fingernail.
I move an ornate horn from the bottom bunk to make space to sit, dropping the book and bag onto the floor. I eye the mask.
“Wasn’t it Lisahr? You traded it for that creepy doll.”
“Ah, so I did.” She looks at it again, suddenly pleased. “A bargain.” She throws the mask unceremoniously onto what I assume is the “keep” pile.
I lean down to unlace my boots.