Page 39

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Fenli

H e had poured his heart out at my feet, and I’d left him standing there. I wasn’t going anywhere specifically, just away, just to catch my breath for a moment and try to settle my racing thoughts.

I couldn’t understand what was happening to me. Roan had told me he loved me. And I’d very nearly said the words right back.

Did I love him?

I was an idiot. Of course I loved him. I was crazy about him. As much as I tried my damnedest not to, I’d given my heart to him.

And now he was squeezing the life out of it.

How dare he tell me he loved me. How dare he give up everything to follow me into the woods and act like he was getting the good side of the deal.

And how dare he put me in this place of temptation, damn near begging me to wind those ribbons around his wrists and lead him into the forest like some kind of fae creature.

He’d really follow?

There was a chance I was going to be sick, so I pointed myself in the direction of our hut and started through the streets. The sky was lightening into morning, and I hurried for cover, hoping not to be spotted. I didn’t get far. Someone hooked my elbow, and I went wheeling back.

“Not so fast.”

It was Thaas. My skin prickled at the sound of his voice. I tried to pull away, but he gripped me tighter. I whirled to face him.

“Let go.”

“She speaks,” he said, and he pulled me closer to himself. “Look, I have to bring you over to the west hut, just for a bit. Some of the elders think it best we detain you until we can figure out what comes next. Don’t want you running off again.”

“I’m not going,” I said, trying to wrest myself from his grasp.

He laughed and easily swung me in front of him, his hands closed firmly around each of my wrists. Then he pushed me forward.

“You don’t have a choice, wolf-lover .”

Thaas had brought me to the west hut—the building that had sheltered them while they’d built the village up all those months ago—and he pushed me in, locking the door from the outside. I pounded on the wood with my fists, but it served no purpose but to make my hands red.

Finally, I turned away.

The hut was dark, only the occasional Saik shingle made from pressed goat’s horns to filter in some light high above. The table was long, built to seat many. There was something of a makeshift kitchen along the back wall with a cooking stove in the corner. There was no back door, no window even.

I was trapped. They’d thrown me in a hut and locked me in. Runehall’s were here arguing for me as I stood stupidly, unable to even help myself.

The door rattled. I heard laughing on the other side.

“Hello in there,” someone said. “Just wanted to thank you for finding those wolves for us.”

This brought about a new wave of snickering from what sounded like a small group of men, and my heart dropped to the bottom of my chest.

“We’re planning on taking care of them soon. Maybe tonight, yeah? Take the pups first and wait for the rest to return.”

He paused, giving me a chance to respond, but I had nothing to say. Maybe he’d hoped I’d yell and bang on the door some more. I could imagine they’d love that, but I wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction.

Another one piped up. “We owe you, Mute,” he said. “I’ll put the ears on a string just for you.”

I pressed my eyes shut and listened to their laughter, listened to it as it died down and they meandered away.

And I knew this was all my fault. I’d gotten too close to the wolves, and now I’d led the clan right to them.

They’d be ambushed tonight, and I was trapped with no way to help them.

The children of Runehall were here in the village, and that was my fault, too.

The clan had long been trying to put those embers out, and they’d nearly done it.

Then I’d gone and fanned the flames, stoking the fires with a few careless words.

I’d had every opportunity to take my place as Roan’s wife—who I’d gone and fallen in love with, no less—and spend my days quietly, caring for birds or peeling potatoes, and I’d refused .

Every action I’d chosen had brought me here.

Runehall was demanding me back. And the wolves would soon be gutted.

It was all unraveling around me while I remained locked in a hut with no say in any of it.

They were in the meeting house now, no doubt, deciding my fate without me.

All these years later and they still weren’t going to give me a lick of say.

Everything I hated, everything I’d never wanted, and here I was, caught up in the middle of it all.

No.

No , I realized, as clear as a loon call over still water. I couldn’t let it happen.

I wouldn’t let this happen.

Last time, I’d been a child. I hadn’t understood what was going on around me or the weight of the decisions they made in my place.

Now, I was grown. My years were not impressive to some, but I was woman enough, and I’d come to know myself as well.

I’d not stand idly by and let the elders of the clans resolve my future without me.

To hell with running away. I was going to get myself out of this cage they’d put me in and make every last elder rue the day he tried to plan my life. If they were going to discuss my fate, they’d do it with me at the center of the discussion. I was not mute, the way some supposed.

They were all about to find out just how much I could say.

I scanned the walls around me, looking for a weak spot.

The hut was made of thick logs. When I found nothing, I turned my gaze upward.

The roof was new and well-constructed. The horn shingles would be weaker and possibly breakable, but I had no way to reach them.

There was no ladder and nothing to fashion one out of.

Frustrated, I swept my eyes over the space again. There had to be a way out .

Then I saw it. The pipe coming up and out of the cooking stove rose to the lower part of the ceiling and vented out.

If I could dislodge the pipe and open up the space, there was a chance I could fit through it.

If I got myself onto the edge of the roof, I thought I could drop to the ground safely.

But first I’d have to get the pipe out of the way and get myself up there.

I walked up to the stove, and my heart beat harder in my chest as I scanned what I was working with. The vent was high but not impossible. I’d have to be smart. And careful.

A quick brush of my fingertips confirmed that the stove and pipe were cold with disuse. I grabbed the end of the table and drug it over, then went back for the chair. Climbing upright on the table and gripping my chair tightly, I lined myself up with the pipe, took a quick breath, then swung.

The pipe barely dented.

I widened my stance and readied once more. This time, I swung harder. Again, only a dent.

I cursed and swung. Aiming high, I bludgeoned the thing again and again, each hit bringing only a small progression over the last. When the pipe had bent enough to reveal a cloudy sky through half the vent, I tossed the chair to the side and climbed up onto the stove top itself.

Grabbing the pipe with two hands, I pulled backwards, putting all my weight into it.

The pipe didn’t give in the least, which was why it caught me off guard when it suddenly gave altogether, pulling away from the roof entirely.

I sailed backwards, airborne for only a moment, then hit the wooden floorboards with a crack.

My tail bone and the back of my skull both bloomed with pain, but it was my wrist that bit into my thoughts more than the rest. I’d reached one hand back to break my fall, but I’d injured my wrist in the process.

It was the same one that I’d sprained when retreating from the bear, and I cradled it to my body as I sat up, wincing as I did.

Gently, I ran my fingers over the area. It was tender and throbbing, but I’d not broken it.

I got to my feet, still holding the arm close, a tear streaking down my cheek, and looked up at the hole I’d put in the roof. It looked small. My stomach squeezed as I thought it. Here I’d gone and damaged the west hut and hurt my wrist. I was probably lucky I hadn’t broken my neck.

This needed to work. I needed to get myself up to that opening, and I needed to fit through it.

I was small, I reminded myself.

I just hoped I was small enough.

Getting the chair onto the table with one good hand was cumbersome, but I managed it and climbed up. From there, I put the chair on the stove. It barely fit. I had to move carefully or the whole thing would topple down to the floor and me with it. I didn’t want to repeat that trick again.

Slowly, I climbed onto the chair. I rose to my full height and looked up. The vent was painfully far above my head. A dark, sinking feeling washed over me once more. I reached up with my good hand, and my fingers just barely got a handhold.

Despair snaked through me. I’d have to pull myself up the vent with an injured wrist.

Damn the gods and all their children.

I didn’t think I could do it. But I’d already done so much just to get here, and the wolves had little time.

If I was going to get out of this hut and do something to stop the storm I’d created, this was my only chance.

My resolve strengthened. I set my jaw and reached both hands up, grabbing the edges of the vent on either side.

My bad wrist shot with a hot pain, but I held onto my handhold all the same.

Gasping, I grit my teeth and readied myself.

Then I sprang. The jolt of hurt was nearly blinding, but I got my elbow and one shoulder through the vent.

Holding on with everything I had, I swung my head through.

Panting with effort, I blinked in the bright light.

Now I just needed to get my other arm and shoulder through.

From there, I could plant my elbows on either side of me on the roof and pull myself up.

But I couldn’t fit myself through the space. The edge cut into the top of my collarbone, halfway between my neck and my shoulder’s point. I pressed up, growling with effort, trying to crumble the roof edge under the pressure of my force. It was strong. It didn’t so much as bend.

Frantic, I hung there, unsure of my next move.

I had to get myself back through the vent and drop onto the stove.

I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing.

I pictured what I would have to do, holding on to the edges, ducking back though and letting myself lower until I was hanging.

When I was steady, letting myself fall back onto the stove.

The chair had clattered to the floor when I’d leaped, I thought. Had I heard it? I hoped I wasn’t wrong.

But I knew the chair was not the biggest of my concerns. The real problem was my wrist.

This was going to hurt like a bitch.

I took a few more settling breaths, imagining what I needed to do—and then I did it.

I was through the vent and falling, my hands gripping the roof tightly, and then I hit the end of my arms .

Bright pain made tears spring to my eyes. Then my bad hand lost its grip entirely. I hung by one hand, swinging in the darkness, when I felt my fingers slip.

There was nothing to do but fall.