Page 4 of The Warlord’s Princess (Warlords of Tempest #3)

ASHA

Once we’re outside, Amber puffs out her chest, looking as proud as she can while covered in mud and shabby, threadbare clothes.

Before we crashed, we were never friends, but there was no bad blood between us.

That all changed on the shores of Melgrim.

Knowing the men valued strength, she relentlessly accosted me, telling others how useless I was and petitioning for my exile.

When the men left, and my weaves became necessary for survival, her tune changed, but I haven’t forgotten how she treated me.

Living with Ramsey, my life will already be hard enough, and I can’t afford to let her turn more people against me. Which she very well could, because she’s too loud to ignore.

And perhaps she’s discovered ways of dealing with Ramsey that will help me.

“How have we fared since arriving here?” Amber asks.

“There are a few men that grumble at our presence, but for the most part, we’ve been accepted.”

“You have me to thank for that, you know. If I hadn’t told the men Elena was pregnant, they’d have never taken us in.”

I don’t tell her about what actually happened. That I scurried my way through walls I’d never imagined existed to fix something I had no business knowing about.

As I look around the village, I’m reminded of that place, as their primitive huts and tents are adorned with metal in ways that speak to vast knowledge.

Judging by the way Amber is looking at the huts and stands, I’d say she sees it too.

“Violet told me Meg went over a cliff.” Amber smirks.

“It happened our first morning here, and she bolted at the sight of Eddard, though I know not why. He took her away to heal, and they’d just made it back before you came.”

“So they’re a couple?”

I nod.

“Which men are left?”

“What do you mean?”

“Elena and Grixis are a couple, as are Eddard and Meg. Who is left?”

I lift my shoulders in a big shrug. “Nori and Dogan seem close, but you never know with her. I suspect Fiona and Ulof will be living together soon, and Elric and Araelya have gotten close.” I decide not to tell her there’s chatter they’ve been intimate.

“That’s all? I thought we were supposed to be mating these men?”

“We are, but Grixis drilled it into his people’s heads that they need to practice proper courtship, and since we are demanding only one mate each, they seem to care about getting to know us first, to make sure they make the right choice.”

“What about Fenrick?”

“He’s been around the longhouse a lot, getting to know each of the women.”

“But he hasn’t taken a fancy to any of them.”

I strongly suspect she’s asking about Fenrick because he’s a part of the council, as power means almost as much to her as survival.

“I wouldn’t know.”

“Have any of the men taken a fancy to you?” She chuckles in a mocking tone.

If I wasn’t so desperate, I’d leave, refusing to suffer her company, but I may need her help if Ramsey tries to oust me from the village. Not that Elena would let him. But the tribe doesn’t need to suffer more conflict.

When I don’t take the bait, she asks, “What’s your job in the village?”

“I’ve been weaving.”

“Are your weaves even necessary with the hides and furs the men will provide for us?”

“The men hardly provide us with anything. We are making use of the skins of what Araelya and Elena catch, but they often catch smaller animals, leaving us with little. And even once we amass enough furs and skins, Elena says it’s important to show them we have culture.”

She snorts derisively. “I’m sure culture will make us look reaaaaal strong.”

Ignoring her jab, I grab a set of clothes from the longhouse and take her to the cave. When she sees no one is inside, her demeanor changes, her shoulders slumping, her face tilted forward, toward the ground.

It’s all a show. Her confidence. Her better-than-thou attitude. Perhaps he’s always been afraid of appearing weak.

“It’s hard to believe that places like this exist in Melgrim,” she whispers, taking in the colorful orbs floating near the water.

“Were there other such places where you went?”

She looks over at me; her face stricken. “Trust me, you don’t want to know what’s out there.”

Her words send a chill up my spine, though I don’t know why I should be surprised. Melgrim is brutal, with only a handful of men to tame the wilds.

Amber winces as she undresses. I move to help her, but she jerks away, eyeing me with distaste.

She really is the worst.

And yet I need her.

She sheds her clothes and I notice she has marks and cuts all over her flesh that weren’t there before she took off.

“Those look painful,” I say.

She frowns. “I hardly feel them now. It’s not that they’re numb. I just feel so much everywhere, the pain gets lost…”

I slip out of my clothes, and we get into the water. Admittedly, the warmth helps me calm, and I feel my heart return to normal for the first time since Ramsey stormed into the hut.

Amber takes a bar of soap on the stone lip circling the water, and presses it to her skin.

I try to think of something to say to help form a greater kinship, hoping to form a truce of sorts and learn more about Ramsey, but I know little of how to speak to someone like her.

“How is the longhouse?” she asks. “I worry it will be too muggy at night.”

“I suppose it’s fine.”

“Is it comfortable? Is there room enough for us all without tripping over each other?”

“I don’t know.”

Her head tilts to the side in confusion, her mouth falling open as she stumbles upon an unlikely thought. “Are you staying with one of the men?”

My cheeks flush with color. “Yes, but not for the reason you might think. My weaves take up so much space that I was put in Ramsey’s hut.”

Her eyes bulge. “No…”

“He’d gone off looking for you, and Dogan took me there.”

She stares at me, her expression a mixture of shock and horror.

“Was he ornery out there in the greater mainland?” I ask, hoping she’ll be forthcoming.

“He was stubborn, angry, grumpy, ill-tempered, and just plain mean.”

“Was there a time when he wasn’t?”

She sighs. “At first, we talked a little, but his expectations of strength far exceed what any Penticari woman is capable of.”

Meaning there’s no winning him over.

But I already knew that.

“What’s wrong?” Amber says in a teasing voice.

Instead of letting my distress show, I say, “Oh, I’m just thinking of how much I’m going to enjoy pissing him off.”

Her brow skews. “Doesn’t he scare you?”

“With Grixis and Elena on my side, there’s precious little he can do to me. If he destroys my weaves, he’ll look like a child. If he tosses me out, he’ll look emotional.” It’s the truth, but what I don’t say is that yes, I’m absolutely terrified.

“Good on you for growing a backbone.”

We finish bathing in silence. Despite the obvious pain she’s in, she doesn’t let me help her from the waters, or even redress, which makes her wince from all the ties to fasten.

She’s a shell of herself, trying to be what she once was, yet somehow, not able to be. What she experienced out in the greater island, whether it be Ramsey or something else, has forever changed her.

“I should bring you to the cleric’s hut.”

Orvell is barking instructions at Kairi when we enter, and I can’t help but feel bad for her, because she seems to be trying her hardest.

But some of these Tempest men are impossible to please.

Before I leave, Amber grabs my arm, and for a moment, her pretentious attitude melts away, making her look like a normal human.

“Just a word of advice: don’t let him see you as a mouse. You have no idea how bad it is out there. We’d die without the men, and we can’t afford for them to have a change of heart.”

Anxiety churns in my stomach, because I know she’s right. If we had stayed out by the shore and in the caves, we’d have gotten by for a while, but it was only a matter of time before the wilds of Melgrim claimed us.

Somehow, I have to be strong.

I bid her farewell and grab a bowl of stew before heading back to Ramsey’s hut.

He turns to face me when I enter, his hands clenched, his jaw tight. Of all the men, he’s the darkest, his blue hues looking nearly black when in shade.

Every part of me wants to run, but I know doing so would only make me fall further in his eyes. If that’s even possible.

I go to the floor and begin working my weaves. Harold eyes me from behind a basket, but he seems to know enough not to reveal himself.

“How long until you are done?” Ramsey asks in an even tone, which is somehow more terrifying than his shouts.

“Elena has asked that I make several blankets to last us through the cold season, then there is clothes?—”

“We have hides and furs for that.”

“Elena asked?—”

“Enough about Elena. Are you incapable of having thoughts of your own? Of deciding for yourself?”

Acting like a castle mouse will only make me look weak.

I force myself to look at him.

Of all the men, he’s easily the most handsome, which is a tragedy considering his temperament.

Be brave. Look him in the eyes, those silver orbs that see you for what you are.

“Of course, I can think for myself, but I have more than my own desires to consider. My people have suffered, and it’s my responsibility to do my part in preparing us for the coming month—if not years.

So while your honor may hinge upon driving a spear into a beast’s ribs, mine is in my weaves, to keep my tribe clothed and warm. ”

His teeth grind, but he says nothing, which is a win considering I’m sure he’d love to sling more insults at me.

I fold my weaves, bringing them to a corner as I try to figure out how I’m going to work with Ramsey in the hut.

I’d tried working at the table, but my weaves grow large, and when they hang off the edge, they distort, leaving me only the floor.

“I’ll keep to this corner, basketing my weaves when I’m not working on them.”

Ramsey sits down on the bed, placing his forearms on his thighs. “You smell.”

“Pardon?”

“Your scent is everywhere. All around my hut. I cannot escape it.”

“I just took a bath,” I argue.

“And still, you smell.”

I lift my arm and sniff, smelling nothing.