I continued to pick, dropping the fruit into the basket, covering the bottle and jars. I had to move slowly to avoid the thorns. Best to get some before Anna the Cook descended on the briar to pluck and snip for her own uses. Her rose-hip jell was wonderful in the winter months, spread on toasted bread with honey. My arm stretched in further, getting several good scratches for my pains. Perhaps this had not been such a good idea after all.

I froze of a sudden. The hairs on my neck had risen and drew my attention to the unnatural stillness.

There was something out there.

I held my breath. All the normal sounds of the garden were gone. The tiny birds settling in for the night, the small sounds of rabbits and the like, all were missing, as if a large predator was in the area. I wondered for a moment if one of the hunting dogs had gotten loose. Though my brother rarely hunted, he still kept a few dogs for the use of the huntsmen. But those dogs were all tail and wiggles, eager for a touch on the head and a scratch behind the ear. They’d not stay still for a minute.

I pulled my arm back slowly, and took a step away from the briar. I drew in a deep breath and held it, straining to hear over the noise of my own body. Nothing moved, and I could hear no sounds. I remained quiet and unmoving for a minute or two, glancing about as if my eyes could pierce the night.

Then my stomach growled and reminded me that the morning meal had been some time ago, and that Kalisa’s cheese only went so far. I laughed nervously. Overtired for certain. I dropped the last of the rose hips into my basket, then indulged in a good stretch. Which, in turn, caused my hair to fall out of its bun. Again. I cursed and fumbled with it, managing to get it pulled back. There was a tie in my pocket and I pulled it out to restrain the curly mass. The night was still silent when I picked up my basket and moved on.

Apparently I was the only large predator prowling the garden tonight.

The warm light spilled out of the castle windows as I moved through the kitchen garden and approached the back door. The High Court must be in fine fettle tonight. Considering that there was a war on, it seemed rather odd and inappropriate. But then, the lords and sycophants that made up the bulk of the Court would think nothing odd about it.

In our glory days, Xy had been a center for trade. The valley and the mountain passes were a gathering point for caravans, according to the history books. Xy had maintained a standing army, bolstered by the wealth of the merchants and the produce of the fertile soil. But in my great-grandfather’s time, the trade routes had dried up. To make matters worse, in my grandfather’s reign the Sweat had devastated the land. Grandfather had sealed the great trade gates, closing the mountain passes and isolating Xy even further. The standing army had been disbanded, leaving only the Palace and City Guard, and not many of them. The landed gentry that remained farmed the valley and Xy survived, small and alone, a shadow of what had been.

Xymund longed for the glorious days of old, and attempted to maintain a ‘court’, gathering the ‘lords and ladies’ and their children to fawn upon him. Since my father had added the craftmasters and the clergy to his council, there was quite a crowd willing to eat at Xymund’s table, and play at the game of nobility.

Once the Warlord had started his march up the valley, many of the Lords had fled their farms and manor houses and sought the city, bringing the fighting men at their command. This left the hamlets and villages normally under the lord’s protection to the mercies of the Warlord, and allowed the brute to advance swiftly, apparently to our very gates.

I slipped in through the old wood door, and tarried for a minute on the threshold. For all its size and huge hearths, the kitchen always seemed hot, overcrowded and cluttered. Here Anna the Cook reigned in all her glory. She was standing in the middle of the room, directing serving staff, cooks and footmen like the skilled general she was. A huge, fat woman, whose apron was covered in food stains, she tolerated nothing and no one. I noticed with envy that all her straight black hair stayed in its bun. Wielding her wooden spoon, she was a force to be reckoned with. Nothing escaped her scrutiny.

Including me.

She took one look and gave an exasperated snort, which set all of her chins wobbling at once. “Child, look at yourself.” Her voice boomed across the kitchen. Some of the staff looked up and glanced at me with sympathy, but then continued on with their work. Anna made her way over, scowling, her keys to the spice cupboard rattling as she moved. “You look like a ragged pilgrim.” She threatened me with her spoon. “You haven’t eaten, have you.” Her voice carried easily over the noise and confusion.

“Anna, you can read me like a book.”

“As if I would waste time reading a book.” She bellowed something out and before I knew it, she and I were seated at a corner of the large, battered wooden table amidst the dishes, eating fresh hot bread with her special honey butter slathered all over it. My bundles had been added to the dirty rag pile, and my basket sat on the table. She kept a stern eye on the staff as we ate and occasionally erupted into admonitions when things weren’t being done to her standards.

She sighed. “Have you been out working all this day?”

I stuffed my mouth with a bite of bread and waggled my eyebrows at her. Anna leaned back in her chair and let out a laugh that set her whole body to shaking. Anna, Goddess love her, knew how to laugh. She caught her breath, laid her fat arms on the table and looked at me shrewdly. “His Mightiness pulled the army back within the walls this day, against Warren’s wishes. The Warlord’s men are before the walls.”

“I heard as much in the market. Is that true?” Not that I doubted her. Anna always seemed to be the first to know.

“Aye.” She leaned forward and snagged the last of the bread. She turned her head and bellowed at someone over by the fire. Then she looked at me. “I hear tell that Warren was saying that His Mightiness panicked.” She sniffed. “Blood tells.”

“Anna.” I scolded her. She hadn’t liked the foreign queen and didn’t like Xymund and never had. But Anna was an institution and Xymund loved his comfort and his meals. So there was a truce of sorts. He stayed away from her domain, and she let him run the kingdom with a full stomach.

She shook her head, setting the chins to wobbling. “Heard tell he’s sent a messenger to ask for terms.”

My eyes flew open at that. I thought that the battles had been going well, but perhaps Xymund’s pride would not allow him to admit to anything less. For Xymund to even agree to talk to the man who had beaten him so soundly, so recently, was a sign that things were bad.

A plate appeared on the table, this time with slices of toasted bread and cheese, with roasted onion. I dug in, getting a piece before Anna could reach for one first. The cheese was still hot and bubbling on top, and I blew on it, eager for a taste.

Anna inhaled her piece, impervious to the heat. She reached out a fat finger and prodded my basket. “ Does he know that you were out there again today?”

I shrugged, my mouth full.

“I suppose you charmed your way past that son of mine.”

I shrugged.

She tapped her finger on the table, which caused ripples to move up her fleshy arm. “Watch yourself, child. Xymund is not Heath, to be wound around your finger. You are a thorn in his side, and you can only push so far.”

“Look whose talking.”

Anna focused a serious look on me, but said nothing more.

The doors to the main dining hall opened and in walked Othur, Anna’s husband and the castle seneschal. A great barrel-chested man, he made his way through the servants toward us. He was sweating, his brown hair plastered to his skull. He looked very tired and very pleased at the same time.