Daughters Of The Storm (30 page)

So, in her head, she called to them:
Go to ground! All of you!

And every single one of them dropped to the earth and disappeared. The air shimmered as it collapsed around them, and the ground shuddered as though a herd of invisible oxen had passed momentarily over it. Ash's bones shook.

‘What was that?' Rose said, looking around alarmed. Her voice came to Ash's ears as though muffled by layers of wool. Ash's horse put her head down and moved to buck. Bluebell stopped, her long tattooed arm raised.

Ash's heart thundered. She didn't say anything.

‘The earth shook,' Rose said, superstitious fear making her face pale.

‘I felt it,' Bluebell said, her mouth a thin line. ‘I think we should pick up our speed.'

So they did and Ash shut down her sight and clenched her stomach so she wouldn't throw up over herself. Her joints felt bruised. The physical discomfort was a welcome distraction for a little while. Stopping her from thinking about what all this signified.

She could command elementals. A storm of magic was gathering around her, and she had neither knowledge nor power enough to stop it.

Nor, perhaps, the courage.

Sceotley was only a small village, but walled and gated from the wild woodland around it. It must have once been a town important to the giants, because the woods were punctuated by white ruins crumbled to head height by time and weather. They reached Sceotley by crossing a wide wooden bridge over the Gemærea, a turquoise-blue river that supported the village by way of trade and the abundance of Sceotley trout, considered a delicacy throughout Thyrsland. The river marked the border between Ælmesse and Lyteldyke, and as they crossed it, they left behind the last shire in which Bluebell had direct rule. She and her father had not been this far north on king's business in many years. She doubted the people who lived in these parts knew they were ruled by anyone.

The stables were poorly kept: dark, with mouldering straw. The dogs looked at Bluebell with pleading eyes as she left them in one of the boxes.

‘Would they let me keep my dogs at the alehouse?' she asked the terrifyingly old stable hand.

He smiled at her with teeth worn down to stumps. ‘I'd say not, my lady. But I'll take good care of them here if you slip me an extra coin.'

She did as he asked then reluctantly left, trailing Rose and Ash behind her.

The sweet steam from the alehouse called her. How she longed to sit still and drink ale, then fall into a soft bed — if there was one in Sceotley — and sleep for a long time.

As she was about to open the door of the alehouse, Ash tugged on her sleeve. ‘Bluebell,' she said, ‘we ought not stay here too long.'

‘Here? At the alehouse?'

‘Sceotley.'

Bluebell's stomach twitched. ‘We have to rest.'

‘Keep your head low. Hide your weapons and wear a dress.'

‘Wear a dress?' She almost laughed. Then said, ‘You're serious?'

Ash nodded. ‘Come. Around the side here and away from eyes.' She pulled Bluebell into the alley between buildings. ‘I have a strong sense it would be better if nobody knew Bluebell the Fierce was here.'

Bluebell shrugged and turned to Rose. ‘Do you have a dress I can wear?'

Rose dropped her pack on the ground and pulled out a length of fabric. ‘Do you want a shift as well?'

Bluebell was already unbuckling her weapons and handing them to Ash, wriggling out of her tunic. ‘No, I'll just throw it on. Hurry.'

The dress only came to her calves, revealing her gaiters and the leather straps that tied them on. Her tattooed wrists were also visible. Rose was trying not to laugh as she pinned the dress at Bluebell's shoulders with two amber and glass brooches.

‘Will I do?' she said to Ash.

‘Try to look a little less ... fierce,' Ash said, helping Bluebell back into her sword-belt and pinning her cloak: ‘And keep this covered.'

Together, they entered the alehouse. Ash urged Bluebell to sit down with Rose in a dim back corner while she went to order food.

Bluebell eyed Rose across the table. They'd barely spoken since they left the flower farm. ‘Are you still sore with me?'

Rose gave a humourless laugh. ‘Sore? That's what you used to say when we were children, after you wrestled me into submission over something.'

Bluebell shrugged.

‘In case you hadn't noticed, Bluebell, we are not children any more. I have a child of my own. And she is somewhere between here and the moon, I do not know where.'

‘They'd be in Withing. That's where I told Sighere to stop.'

‘We hope.'

‘I know. Sighere will protect her. That's why I sent him with her.'

‘If I knew she was home safe with those who loved her, I wouldn't mind so much ...' Rose dropped her head. ‘But it feels as though that cord between her body and mine was never cut, and it pulls and pulls at my guts to have her so far away.'

Bluebell realised she wasn't going to get any sense out of Rose and gave up, taking the opportunity instead to look around the room. A lot of smelly old fishermen and hard-faced women. No great threat. And yet, Ash's eyes were dark with concern over some unseen thing.

Ash made her way back from the bar then and shooed Bluebell out of her seat. ‘You face the back wall,' she said.

‘I don't like to sit with my back to the door.'

‘I don't want anyone to recognise you.'

Bluebell slid off the bench and swapped places with Rose. Now she felt uncomfortable. She couldn't see what was happening anywhere in the alehouse. ‘What is this about, Ash?'

Ash slid their cups of ale onto the table. ‘The moment we crossed the bridge, a cold feeling came over me,' she said. ‘You are too bright a woman to come into this dark place, I know it. I can say nothing more than that. These feelings aren't always clear, they run beneath my skin like instincts. Wordless, but certain.'

‘Perhaps we should not have stopped. There are woods we could have slept in.'

Rose shook her head. ‘The woods are wild. I saw no managed trees beyond the first few feet from the path. There would be wolves for certain.' Rose's eyes flickered, catching sight of something over Bluebell's shoulder.

Bluebell resisted the urge to look around. ‘What is it?'

‘It looks like a drunkard with love on his mind,' Rose said.

Bluebell braced herself. A moment later, an oily man with a flushed face was standing by their table, his right foot propped on the seat next to Bluebell's thigh.

‘Good evening, ladies,' he said.

Bluebell turned his face to him. ‘We'd thank you to leave us be,' she said.

‘But three good ladies such as yourself must surely be in need of the company of a good man.'

Bluebell bit back the retort on her lips, mindful of Ash's advice.

Ash smiled at him. ‘We sisters are all the company we need for each other. We simply want to have our meal in peace.'

He scowled, then walked away.

‘He smelled like trout guts,' Bluebell murmured into her ale.

Rose laughed.

‘Not so loud, Rose,' Ash admonished. ‘He heard that.'

‘What's he doing?' Bluebell asked.

The serving woman arrived with their meals then, thumping the plates onto the table with the kind of dull force only deeply unhappy people can achieve.

Ash glanced up under her eyelashes. ‘He's talking to another man. A big fellow.'

‘We've not heard the last of our new lover,' Bluebell said. ‘You'll see I'm right. Let's eat quickly and get to a room.'

They fell on their food. Bluebell would have wolfed it down under any circumstances, she was so hungry from the day's travel, but she could also see the building panic in Ash's face. They had to get out of there.

A few minutes later, they were standing at the bar. Rose asked the alehouse husband for a room.

He eyed them one by one, taking special notice of Bluebell. ‘Yes, we have a room. One of you might have to sleep on the
floor.' He nodded towards Bluebell. ‘Your tall friend looks like she's well used to hardship.'

‘Give us the key,' Bluebell snapped, earning a kick in the shins from Ash.

He handed the key to Rose and they turned to the door, only to find it barred by the oily man and his friend.

Bluebell bit her lip so she wouldn't swear. Her fingers twitched at her hip.

‘Let us by,' Ash said in a sweet voice. ‘We mean you no harm.'

The larger man huffed. ‘You were laughing at my friend.'

The hushed quiet behind them told Bluebell they had an audience.

‘We weren't,' Rose said. ‘We were laughing about something else. We offer you no disrespect.'

‘We see it differently,' said the oily man, ‘and we don't take kindly to women who talk out of turn.'

And, by fuck, Bluebell wanted to make him eat steel. Hot mist built up behind her eyes.

The larger man took a step forwards. ‘You see ...' he said, reaching for Ash's upper arm.

And that was it. Bluebell's sword was out and swinging down, its deadly edge stopping suddenly on his sleeve. ‘Touch her and you lose your hand. Then how would you fist your mister?'

Ash gave an exasperated groan. The man reached for his knife, but Bluebell grabbed him under the armpit and in seconds had him in an armlock, his back against her chest and her sword resting lengthways across his belly. His knife clattered to the floor. The oily man stood back. A long way back.

‘Do I have to spill your guts?' Bluebell asked him.

He shook his head.

She let him go, sheathed her sword. Looked around. Everyone was staring at her. She readjusted her cloak. The alehouse husband
was staring at her and she could see the wheels in his brain turning. She felt the first cool touch of regret.

‘Come,' Ash said, urging her ahead. ‘Let's be away.'

They found their way outside to the guesthouse, locking their room firmly.

‘The alehouse husband recognised you, I'm sure of it,' Ash said, pacing.

Bluebell pulled off her dress and handed it back to Rose. ‘So what do we do? Do you want us to leave?'

‘We need to rest,' Rose said.

Bluebell was climbing back into her own clothes. ‘What do you sense, Ash? Is danger near?'

‘No. It's not ... I can't control this. I'm sorry. We are both safe and not safe here, and I don't know why.' Ash sat heavily on the bed, her head in her hands.

Bluebell considered her by the flickering lamplight. On the one hand, she took Ash's fears seriously, but on the other, she found it hard to conceive of a world in which she couldn't keep two of her sisters safe. She had sometimes kept her entire hearthband safe. ‘Ash? What's wrong?'

‘I'm fine. I'm fine,' Ash said. ‘Let's sleep and be away early.'

Bluebell glanced around the room, spotted a large chest. She pulled it up to the door to bar it. ‘You two sleep, I'll keep watch,' she said.

‘You need sleep too.'

‘I'll doze. I'll be fine.'

She sat on the chest with her back against the door, the Widowsmith drawn, to wait for sunrise.

There were more appealing ways to be woken than being prodded by Bluebell's bony fingers at dawn. Rose opened her eyes, the
comfort of sleep fell away, and she was left instead with the memory that she was far from those she loved the most. Ordinarily, she would take a few moments to remember Rowan's soft kisses and derive small comfort, but Bluebell was insistent.

‘Come on. We must be away. Up and dressed, sisters.'

Ash was doing as she was told, but Rose wasn't in the mood for Bluebell's orders. ‘In good time, Bluebell,' she said.

‘Good time is now,' Bluebell said in reply. In the dim light, Rose could see her sister's eyes were darkly shadowed. Had she stayed awake all night on watch? A small pulse of guilt.

Ash put a cool hand on Rose's shoulder. ‘Take your time, sister. I'll pack your things.'