But then, the rhythmic thunder of hooves cracks across the frozen path.
We both stop.
Father’s hand tightens on my shoulder.
We turn at the sound, two gray horses pounding down the road, steam pluming from their nostrils, their riders draped in the pale-blue trappings. Heavy furs cloak their shoulders, glittering faintly with frost as if the winter follows them like a loyal hound.
Father tenses beside me. His eyes water, and I can’t tell if it’s the icy wind or something far more painful. We stand rooted as the hooves grow louder, shaking the earth beneath our boots, until the riders burst through our gate and yank their reins hard. The horses rear slightly, kicking up shards of frozen dirt.
“Bartal Devlin,” the dark-haired rider says sternly.
Father straightens, pulling his narrow shoulders back as if that alone might shield us. “Yes. I am Bartal.”
The rider exchanges a look with his fair-haired companion, the kind that never means anything good, before returning his pale eyes to us.
“You were meant to appear before Lord Luceran last week. You did not arrive.”
My breath stops. I snap my gaze to Father. “You told me you went. I saw you off. I packed your lunch.”
His frown deepens, but he refuses to meet my eyes. “I had work to finish here. I didn’t have time to ride that old nag a full day all the way to his castle.” He gestures to our ragged mare wandering the field, nudging hopelessly at dead grass.
I grab the front of his coat and turn him away from the riders. “There is nothing more important than keeping your appearance before Lord Luceran. You know that.”
Father stays stubborn as stone. “And tell him what, Neve? That I do not have his tithe? That I willneverhave it, no matter how many farmhands we send home? How many more of your mother’s things we sell?”
His words hit like a blade slipped between my ribs. They wound us both.
“He might have understood,” I whisper, though even as I say it, doubt curls cold and certain in my gut.
Father sets a rough hand on my shoulder. When I lift my eyes to his, he only shakes his head. “He would not understand. He would show neither mercy nor kindness. He is Fae, Neve. They do not care what happens to us, so long as they get their coin.”
He glances at the riders again, glimpsing their pointed ears, and then leans closer to me, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Have you forgotten? He killed his wife. If he can do that…” His breath shudders out. “Imagine what he would do tous.”
“Enough,” the dark-haired rider snaps, patience thinning like steam off the horses’ flanks. “You will come with us. Lord Luceran demands to see you.”
“Now?” I shoot back, my glare sharp. “In this weather?”
“Yes,” he bites out.
I shake my head. “It’s freezing. Our horse won’t survive that ride.”
“I will take him,” the rider says flatly. “Now come.”
My jaw clenches. I step toward him, hard enough that his eyes flicker with the slightest pulse of alarm.
“I said it’s freezing,” I repeat, “and not just for the horse. My father is not a young man. These winters have gutted him. He can barely breathe.”
“He can either ride with me,” the rider says, gravel in his tone, “or I can drag him behind. Either way, we are going to House Frostwyn.”
I hold his stare. I don’t look away, don’t blink. I could keep arguing. Maybe they’d get sick of me and leave. But they’d return. With more riders. With worse intentions.
“At least let me get him another fur,” I grumble. “I won’t have him freezing to death before he can plead our case toyourlord.”
The rider exhales through his nose. “Very well. But be quick.”
I give him a tight, mocking smile before turning to Father.
“Wait here. I’ll fetch another jacket and furs for us both.”
