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I blew out my pent-up breath and ran two hands up my face and through my hair. My wife snuck into the woods despite a multitude of rules to make maps, and my sister was going to upset every tradition our father held dear and try to hunt.

“You two are gonna be the death of me,” I said, and I headed up my ladder on uneasy legs, ignoring Ess when she said we should talk about it.

Like hell, I wanted to talk about it.

Baer would have their hides if he found out.Whenhe found out.

Then he’d have mine for good measure.

Still, relief was washing through me, making my hands wobble and my head spin. I needed to lie on my floorboards for a moment while I pulled myself together and let the truth seep into my mind.

Fenli was not having an affair. It shouldn’t have come as such a relief, considering our relationship.

It shouldn’t have.

But it did.

Chapter Eleven

Fenli

Iwoke to rain on the slates above. It was still dark, pitch black in the hut, but I’d never needed the light. I heaved myself up from my bedroll, and then I was making my way to the door. Fresh air greeted me on the other side, rain-scented and rich with the fragrance of earth and sky, Rynwin and Toke both at work. I filled my lungs with it. Then I stepped out from under the eve and let the rains have me, same as everyone born of Toke.

This was how we worshipped, and I could never tire of the act. Stepping into his downpours felt like as much as a receiving as it did a giving, and it woke something in me each time. That bit of the god that had been planted inside me upon my birth, if the stories were to be believed.

I said the words I’d been taught as a child, the words my mother had whispered to me, even when I’d been tiny, and we’d lived as Runehall’s.

“The skies have spoken. This, an ancient tongue. Storm awoken. Let this witness come.”

And the rains cooled my eyes, licked my cheeks, ran rivers down my skin. The god of storm and sky met me there, or so they said, and I tried to feel his presence. I thought maybe I did. I could never be sure. I wantedto believe it, like I had as a child. Still, there was a voice in my head that said I was being stupid, that he was myth and story. That, if he was real, he wouldn’t care about me.

I tried to quiet that voice.

When I was good and soaked, I sat myself down on the wet earth to witness what Toke was doing. What was more fitting for a worshiper than to take notice of the acts of their god? I started to hum. The sounds I made were as old as our clan itself, six notes passed down through the generations. The song was a haunting thing, as deep and foreboding as thunder, and I loved it, loved venturing out under the wet skies to feel its vibration in my throat. I may have been a person of few words, but I’d never been without this—not even when I doubted.

There were no rules to how long the worshiper stilled. It could be for a few moments, or it could last for as long as the storm did. I was already soaked down to my underthings, and the rain was warm enough. I stayed. I felt a peace there, and peace was something I desperately needed.

When the winds picked up, chilling me and pulling goose bumps from my skin, I decided it was time to go inside. Once through the door, I ran smack into Roan.

“Shit,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing?”

I stepped away from him, pulling my elbow from his hand.

“I—I’m…”

Wasn’t it obvious? I wrapped my arms around my waist and moved past him. He had lit a lamp, and I could see that Goose had woken up enough to claim my spot and my pillow. Gods, I was cold. I needed fresh clothes.

I turned back to Roan. He stood there, stretching his back long and rumpling his hair.

“Do you mind?”

He stopped his lazy preening and looked at me like an idiot, his eyebrows high.

“What?”

“Don’t you think you should worship?”

The words tumbled out. I’d rather not have said anything at all, stayed quiet instead, but arguing with Roan was proving irresistible.