Trust is a luxury I can't afford to waste, but neither is deception. These people have shown me kindness when they could have left me to die in the frozen cold. They deserve honesty, or at least as much as I dare offer.
"I left willingly," I tell him. "A marriage I couldn't accept, a future that would have buried everything I might become beneath duty and obligation. My family will claim abduction because the alternative reflects poorly on their ability to control their property."
"Property." Brakka tastes the word like something bitter. "Is that how noble Houses view their children?"
"Their daughters, certainly. Sons inherit and command. Daughters are traded for advantage, used to cement alliances or purchase influence." The words carry years of accumulated resentment. "I was to be sold to a man three times my age who sees women as decoration for his political ambitions."
"And now?"
The simple question contains multitudes. Now I wear clan colors and carry clan protection. Now I'm bound by ties I don't fully understand to people whose ways remain largely mysterious. Now I've burned bridges that can't be rebuilt, committed to a path whose destination remains hidden in fog.
"Now I discover what freedom actually costs," I say finally.
Brakka nods as if that answer carries sufficient truth to satisfy him. "Wisdom often begins with honest accounting. The elders will appreciate directness over diplomacy."
We reach the lodge entrance with twin tusks curved to form an archway, their surfaces covered in carvings so intricate they seem to move in peripheral vision. Beyond lies a chamber filled with morning light filtered through windows of polished ice, revealing figures seated in a rough circle around a central fire.
The moment of truth.
Whatever happens in the next few minutes will determine whether I remain here as guest or prisoner, whether the bond-right Vorrak granted me carries weight with the broader clan or represents merely one warrior's personal decision.
"Remember," Brakka murmurs as we cross the threshold. "They test strength, not submission. Show them the steel beneath silk, and they'll respect whatever choices you make next."
The lodge's interior swallows the sound. My footsteps, which seemed ordinary on packed snow outside, now whisper against rush mats that cushion every surface. The effect creates an intimacy that makes normal conversation feel like shouting.
Seven figures occupy carved chairs arranged in a deliberate pattern around the focal fire. Not a circle, something more complex, positions that suggest hierarchy and relationship in ways I can't immediately decipher. The elders range from ancient to merely weathered, but all share the same amber eyes that seem characteristic of the Ice-Blood clan.
And all of them are studying me with predatory focus.
The eldest, a woman whose white hair falls in elaborate braids decorated with carved bone and polished stone, gestures toward an empty chair positioned with clear intention. Not quite inside their circle, but not excluded from it either. A place for someone whose status remains undetermined.
"Sit, young Cyrdan." She has authority earned through decades of command. "I am Elder Thyssa, Speaker for the Ice-Blood in matters of tradition and law. We have questions."
I settle into the offered chair, grateful for the furs that cushion what would otherwise be an uncomfortable perch. The carved bone legs feel solid beneath me, but the symbolism isn't lost. I'm being supported by clan craftsmanship while remaining fundamentally separate from their inner circle.
"I'm honored to meet you, Elder Thyssa," I begin, drawing on lessons in diplomatic protocol that suddenly feel inadequate. "I understand my presence here creates complications. I'm grateful for the shelter you've provided and willing to discuss whatever concerns you might have."
A younger elder, male with scars that suggest significant combat experience, leans forward slightly. "Pretty words. But words are wind, as Brakka no doubt mentioned. We deal in harder currency here."
"Truth," agrees another voice from across the fire. "Truth and consequence."
Elder Thyssa raises a hand, and the other voices fall silent immediately. Whatever authority she wields here, it brooks no challenge.
"Your House commands significant resources," she begins without preamble. "Trade routes through the Eastern Reach, military alliances with Houses who might view interference in your affairs as provocation. Your disappearance creates ripples that extend far beyond personal inconvenience."
Straight to the heart of it, then.
"You're concerned about retaliation," I say, appreciating the directness even as it confirms my worst fears about the political implications of my flight.
"Concerned is insufficient," the scarred elder interjects. "Search parties are already forming. Your father has sent envoys to every settlement within fifty leagues, offering substantial rewards for information about your whereabouts."
My stomach clenches.Already?It's been barely two days since I fled House Cyrdan's walls. Father's response suggests panic rather than mere displeasure, which means the political ramifications are more severe than I anticipated.
"What kind of rewards?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
"Gold, primarily. Enough to buy loyalty from anyone not bound by stronger ties." Elder Thyssa's expression remains neutral, but something in her tone suggests the sums involved are significant. "There's also mention of trade concessions, favorable terms for clans willing to provide assistance in your recovery."
Recovery.The euphemism stings more than I expected. In Father's mind, I'm not a person who made a difficult choice. I'm property that's gone missing and must be retrieved.
