The wind was strong. When she pushed at the door to the castle wall, it resisted for a moment, then tore out of her hands, the gale swinging it open to bang against the wall. It was dark outside already, the torches sputtering.
The sentry standing nearest the door spun at the noise. She ignored him, trying to get the door closed against the wind one-handedly. With the ferocious wind, the door was acting like it was nailed to the castle’s wall. It wasn’t snowing anymore, but the wind made it seem as though it was, kicking up the light drifts that had fallen earlier that day to make them dance through the black air.
A gloved hand came into view over hers, and she could feel a warrior at her back.
“Move,” Niel’s voice said in her ear. She hadn’t realized it was him. Something in her gut relaxed, warmth pooling through her at Niel’s presence. Clutching the basket, Ayla quickly backed away. Niel yanked the door and shouldered it smoothly closed, like it weighed nothing. Ayla’s cheeks burned.
“What are you doing out here?” the knight said, turning to face her.
He was bundled up well. No plate armor tonight, not in cold like this. She couldn’t tell just how many layers of padded cloth and leather armor he wore beneath his fur-lined cloak, but he’d managed to fix his cloak’s hood up against the wind.
In answer, Ayla reached under the basket’s covering and removed one of the cloth bundles, still hot to the touch. She offered it to him.
“I thought something warm might do you and the men well.”
Niel frowned at her, then reached forward to accept it. He brought it up to his nose to sniff, then pressed the warmth to his cheeks.
“You didn’t need to do that. We ate before we came out.”
“Well, it’s cold. And you wouldn’t let me stand sentry.” Ayla held the basket in one hand as she rearranged the covering with her other. The wind tugged at the edges of her cloak, making it flutter behind her instead of trapping her warmth. She shuddered involuntarily.
“You’re not a soldier,” he reminded her.
“I have eyes, though, don’t I?”
He gave her a weak smile. Niel reached forward with his free hand to yank the cloak back around her shoulders. The move brought him closer to her. For a moment Ayla didn’t dare breathe. His dark eyes searched hers.
For the briefest moment she wondered what it would feel like if he bent his head down and pressed his lips to hers. But she was being utterly ridiculous. It would never happen. Nor should she wish it to.
“Nobody should be out this night if they don’t have need to be,” Niel said. “Get back inside, my lady.”
“I’ll deliver the others first,” she said, her voice coming out a little high. “Did you want me to take a bite for you?”
He hesitated for a moment, tension on his face. She'd only been joking—he seemed past the fear of poisoning—but she waited quietly for him to find his own answer.
“...No. I trust you.”
Why did that make warmth spread through her chest?
“Mind you enjoy them hot. They’re not as good once they cool off.”
Before he could answer she set off down the castle wall, her boots squeaking in the thin layer of snow that seemed to perpetually dust the castle’s walls. She could make out the dim shapes of the other sentries through the blackness, illuminated by the caged torches set at intervals along the wall. She didn’t let her eyes roam down to the fires of the town and the army camp beyond. How cold the Queen’s soldiers must have been below, without snug walls and hearths and mattresses. But they were there to get Ditmar’s castle back, Ayla reminded herself when she began to feel guilt pinching at her heart. She had said her piece, and if they were cold onheraccount, it was outside her control.
She reached the next soldier, and then the one after, chatting briefly with each.
It took her nearly an hour in the kitchen to feel warm again, once she’d left the bundles with the other sentries. Ayla stood as close to the oven she could bear, churning out trays of the pastries to accompany a pot of root vegetable soup for the other men. The other soldiers came into the kitchen to get their food. Some two-dozenatein there, too, instead of taking the food to the hall like she wished they would. Ayla didn’t have the nerve to ask them to leave. They deserved the kitchen’s warmth as much as she did, but having a squadron of armed men pressed tight into the confines, blocking the route to each door, made the room significantly less comfortable. They ignored her for the most part, not even meeting her eyes when they accepted the food with mumbled thanks. A few stared outright, their eyes narrowed and their chins high in a look that seemed to silently threaten her not to step out of line.
As she scraped the next batch of pastries free from their tray, one hand pinning the metal sheet in place with a rag, she listened to the noise of their laughter and chatter. Ayla found herself relaxing for a moment, until another soldier drew close, his shoulder nearly brushing hers as he reached for one of the finished pastries. Ayla flinched down and away, bursting to the side. The soldier raised an eyebrow and turned away. He’d been the man guarding the laundry when Isalde was locked in there, and she had never quite liked to be in the same room as him.
“Show some decorum, Adren,” a voice on her other side said. She turned, wooden scraper raised, and met captain Kerr’s eyes with a trembling expression. The man who’d nearly bumped into her, Adren, stepped slowly back, hands raised and eyebrow arched sardonically. “Lady Ayla. You’re safe with these men,” Kerr told her.
“I know,” Ayla squeaked. Shealsoknew that was the sort of promise every man made but few men kept.
“Lord Mount Eyron made it known that anyone who gave you trouble would be skinned alive. By him, personally.” Kerr’s eyes were on Adren as he said this, not on Ayla.
“He did?” she asked, and suddenly found it even harder to meet the men’s eyes. What did they think of her, flinching away from them at their every move? Surely they knew she didn’t think herselfbetterthan they were. She couldn’t help but be nervous around so many strange men. But she could hardly begrudge them warmth or food right from the oven when they were partially responsible for her newfound freedoms.
The men were quiet now, a few muttered conversations but no laughter or loud noises.
