Winter Queen (5 page)

5. Marked

Ilyenna lay on the ground, staring into Lanna’s clouded eyes, her grayish blue skin. She felt no grief. No pain. Nothing. Perhaps she was dead too. So she stared, waiting for her own eyes to glass over.

Voices floated in and out of her waking dreams. Only when one spoke right next to her could she make sense of the words. “
There’s two of ’em over here.”

She groaned, trying to make her mind work.

“She’s still alive!” he gasped.

“Alive? She can’t be.”

“But she is!”

Hot fingers brushed the snow off her face. “Get her on the horse.”

Strong hands gripped her arms and dragged her, then hauled her, belly down, onto a saddle. Why didn’t that hurt? Darrien had cut her there. Ilyenna tried to fight, to kick, but only succeeded in wiggling. Her body had no strength. The men tying her down didn’t even seem to notice her efforts.

“Look at her clan belt,” one of them said.

The other man grunted. “Looks like we found the missing clan mistress, eh?”

She managed to look at the man just finishing up her wrists. He frowned at her before grabbing the reins and leading the horse through the trees and onto the road. There, he mounted another horse and kicked it into a trot, pulling her horse behind.

The jarring ride clouded her brain, and she passed back into oblivion.

Some time later, hands gripped hers. She pushed against unconsciousness, but it was like trying to catch hold of mist. She groaned and shifted. A man pulled her from the saddle and carried her, at one point slinging her over a shoulder before taking her back in his arms. She nestled her head against a strong chest as her thoughts slowly ordered
themselves. Fairies. There’d been fairies. Dancing. Kisses. Power. Queen.

She heard a door creak open, and the arms dumped her on a bed.

“By the Balance, what have they done to you?” Bratton cried. When she didn’t answer, he shook her so hard that her head hit the bed frame. “Ilyenna! Ilyenna!”

Moaning, she pushed her brother away. The ropes beneath the straw mattress shifted as he sat next to her. She heard a door shut and a wooden bar fall into place. She groaned again and forced her eyes open. She blinked up at her brother. Something was wrong. Bandages wrapped his head. Dark blood had seeped through them and dried on the sides of his face. She pushed all thoughts of fairies far away.
“Bratton?”

He tipped a wooden mug to her lips. “Are you all right?”

She swallowed a mouthful of qatcha, nearly gagging at its strength. She pushed it away and glanced around. They were in one of the smaller rooms in the clan house. “Wh–what happened?”

His hands probed her stomach. “You’re covered in blood. Where are you hurt?” He shoved his hands through his hair, tugging the bandage awry. “By the Balance, I’m no good with healing. That’s your talent.”

She reached inside her torn dress and felt skin as smooth and soft as a child’s. In wonder, she wiggled the fingers of the hand Darrien had crushed. Her searching fingers found the matted blood on her head. “I’m not hurt.”

She remembered Darrien’s axe slicing her stomach. Remembered hunching over as the pain burned up her thoughts and hot blood seeped through her shattered fingers. “He gutted me. But the fairies healed me with a kiss.”

Still not quite believing it herself, Ilyenna glanced up to see disbelief and worry written across her brother’s face.

Suddenly, she felt so tired. “It was real. I saw them. They asked me to be their queen.”

Bratton smoothed her hair away from her face. “Listen to me, Ilyenna. In a battle, sometimes a man gets confused. That’s all this was. It wasn’t real—none of it was. But don’t say it again. You’ll frighten the others with talk of fairies.”

Ilyenna barely heard him. All of yesterday came back in a rush. The wool trampled into the snow.
The men. Lanna.

May the Balance protect
her, Lanna’s death was her fault. She closed her eyes. “Lanna’s dead.”

Bratton rocked forward and cradled his head in his hands. “You’re sure?”

Ilyenna nodded once.

Rage hardened his face. He spoke through gritted teeth. “She isn’t the only one.”

Ilyenna sat up in the bed, clenching the blankets in her fists. “What are you trying to tell me? Is it Father?”

Bratton pressed his palms into his eyes as if to stave off tears. “He was alive when the Tryans took him a few hours ago.”

Ilyenna felt her mouth go suddenly dry. “Otrok?”

Bratton swallowed. “He died trying to avenge his father.”

A wave of horror rolled through her. She’d gone to the dead, asking her brother and father’s lives be spared, and her request had been granted. In the space of a day, they’d gone from the brink of death to fighting in a battle. And in return, the dead had taken two others whom Ilyenna loved.

“The Balance,” she gasped.
“Lanna and Otrok for you and father.”

Through his haze of grief, Bratton stared up at her.

She scooted back, trying to get away from him. “You need to stay away from me.”

Bratton’s brows drew together in confusion. “What? Why?”

“Otrok and Lanna—their deaths are my fault.”

“You weren’t even with Otrok,” he said.

She shook her head, desperate to make her brother understand. “Bratton, I—I was so afraid you and father would die. I—I went to the dead. I begged them to spare you. And now, Otrok and Lanna are dead.”

Bratton gaped dumbly at her.

“Don’t you see? The dead spared you and Father and took two others in your place.”

Bratton shot to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides. “No.”

“I saw the shadows boiling, saw them crawl up my skin. I’m marked.” And will be, until the dead claim me forever as their own.

Horror dawned on Bratton’s face just before the doors behind him burst open and several Tyrans entered. Two grabbed Bratton; another two came for Ilyenna. They hauled her out of the bed and to the ladder.
“Down. Both of you.”

Bratton cast a hard look at her before climbing down. She followed him. The hall was filled with what remained of the Argon and Shyle clans. Most of the men had fresh wounds mixed with old ones. Many of the women and children were gone—perhaps Otrok had come in time for
the them to flee to their summer homes.

She reached the bottom of the ladder and stood beside Bratton, who glared toward the main doors.

Ilyenna followed his gaze to see a group of Tyrans, the sunlight streaming behind them and casting their faces in shadows. The guards at their sides took Ilyenna’s and Bratton’s arms and pushed them through their clan.

As Ilyenna came closer to the Tyrans, she could make out their features. At their center stood a man with twin streaks of white running down his ruddy beard. His gaze bore down on her.

Ilyenna recognized him immediately—Undon, the Tyran clan chief. All along the spectrum of the Balance, men ranged from good to evil. Ilyenna had the distinct impression Undon was on evil’s side.

A man flanked his side, a young man with a red beard. His stunned gaze met hers. It was Darrien. Unconsciously, she planted her feet and tried to twist her arms out of the guard’s hands. They relentlessly dragged her before Undon and his son.

“Otec’s children,” one of the men said. Then the guards backed up a few steps.

Ilyenna’s gaze flickered to Darrien and away again. If he told his father she’d killed his other son, she’d be dead in a handful of heartbeats.

Darrien opened his mouth to speak but stopped at the sound of a scuffle behind him. Ilyenna strained to see past them. Her father was thrown face first into the room.

She reached forward to help him to his feet. Bratton’s hand shot out, holding her back. A knot of anxiety unraveled in her chest. Her father was alive. And after four days, he was awake. The dead had kept their end of the bargain.

Holding himself up with one arm, her father met her gaze. The lines around his face seemed to soften. He glanced at Bratton and nodded slightly. Bratton nodded back. Ilyenna wondered what silent communication had passed between them.

Otec held his arm snug against his belly. Only then did Ilyenna see that it was hanging unnaturally, broken. Blood circled the back of his neck to drip from his chin. Bruises marred his weathered face.

A cry arose in Ilyenna’s throat. They’d beaten him. Her brother tightened his grip on her arm. She wanted so badly to help her father, but Bratton wouldn’t keep her back without good reason. Tears of helplessness slipped down her face.

Her father pushed himself up with his good arm. His eyes closed and he struggled to take a few deep breaths before slowly turning to face their attackers.

His face twisted with rage, Undon said, “Otec, you banded with my enemy, the Argons, and fought against our clan. In doing so, you became my enemy. Then your men murdered one of my sons.”

Ilyenna winced. Undon didn’t know she’d killed Hammoth. If he did, she’d already be dead.

“I come to claim the right of reparation for what you’ve taken,” Undon continued. “For the deaths of my men, I claim half your herds, half your wool, half your gold and silver, to be paid faithfully at harvest for the next five years.”

A gasp rippled through the clan. Ilyenna blinked in shock. Five years of giving up half of everything? They would starve.

Protests rose from Shyle throats.

Undon caressed his axe hilt. “For my eldest son, who would’ve been clan chief after my death, I claim tiams to serve five years.” He stepped toward Ilyenna’s father.
“You first and foremost among them, Otec.”

Her father—the clan chief—a tiam?
Until his debt is paid, a tiam must serve and submit. The Balance demanded it.

Somehow, her father managed to remain standing, though his body swayed. Ilyenna longed to run to his side, to offer him a steadying hand and tend to his wounds. “Undon, the Argon clan has been next to kin to the Shyle for generations.” Otec’s gravelly voice sounded strong. “We helped defend them and offered aid when you sacked them. This is no crime.”

Undon took a menacing step forward. “This was between me and Clan Chief Seneth. You made it between me and you as well.”

Her father shrugged away Undon’s warning, a dangerous thing to do when his enemy held an axe and he held a broken arm. “You’ve no claims here.”

Undon slowly turned to the men beyond sight of the door. “Seal the clan house. Bar the doors. Bring in the torches. Burn everything.” Embers of hatred smoldered in his eyes. “Everything.”

Cries and gasps erupted. Ilyenna’s eyes widened and her throat went dry. Bratton’s grip tightened around her, as if the strength of his arms could shield her from the flames.

“You do this, and the Council will band against you! Your wheat will grow red with Tyran blood,” her father cried.

Undon stepped forward. “The Council can’t even agree to plant potatoes in dirt. They won’t risk a war with my clan. Accept my terms. Only then will I forgive your betrayal.”

Ilyenna didn’t believe it. The Council would never stand for this treason. But the Council wasn’t here. The pounding of hammers rang in Ilyenna’s ears. Slowly, the light was being snuffed out. They were boarding up the windows. She gripped a fistful of Bratton’s shirt.

They had no choice. “All but the tiams and land,” her father finally whispered.

“You can burn.” Undon lifted his axe to slice off her father’s head.

“No,” Ilyenna cried as she tore herself from Bratton’s grip. Leaping forward, she threw herself at Undon, her fingers straining to scratch out his eyes. Her father’s good arm reached out and jerked her back just as Undon’s axe arched toward her skull. Bratton was moments behind, trying to pull her deeper into the crowd. She fought against him, struggling and cursing Undon.

Somehow, she managed to break free. She grabbed Undon’s axe handle just as he swung it. He wrenched it back, but she managed to hold on by her fingertips, knowing she’d die if she let go. “Honor to the Shyle! Honor to the Shyle!” she shouted her clan’s war cry.

Within moments, her clan surrounded her, bare hands against bare steel. They wrestled Undon’s axe from his grip while others took down Darrien. A scream tore through the air—the sound of a soul torn from its body.

Tyrans flooded the room by tens, axes shining with fresh blood. A Shyle woman dropped. And another. They were falling like lambs before wolves.

“Back!” her father cried.
“Back!”

With fresh wounds, her clan retreated. It had barely begun, and it was over.

Breathing hard, his glare murderous, Undon gestured for his men to bring Ilyenna to him. Bratton stepped between them. More of her clanmen blocked their path. The Tyrans pushed them back with their shields and bashed them with the butts of their axes.

“Stop,” she commanded her clanmen. “Let them through.”

Bratton grabbed her arms. “No! I’ll not let them harm you!”

She felt the bruises forming under his grip. “The clan needs one of us to live,” she whispered. He didn’t move. “I’m marked,” she reminded him. Unless she somehow managed to elude the dead’s attention, she was as good as dead anyway. She gently pried his fingers from her arms.