Page 73 of A Shard of Ice

All looks quiet.

Grigor’s cabin is a two-story wooden structure, its roof made of thick slab shingles rather than grass. Some of the shingles are missing but have been boarded over. There is moss and lichen growing all over the wooden logs. Grigor was right; it could indeed do with some repairs. Right now, it is a welcome sight if I ever saw one. Everyone gets a spring in their step as we approach.

On the roof, two chimneys are smoking, which means warmth. The oilskins help to keep us dry but with dark steadily falling, it’s getting more bitterly cold by the second.

I look around as we draw nearer, and nothing looks out of place.

“What do you think?” Xander asks me.

“I’ll go and take a closer look,” Thesha says. “Just to be sure.”

“Be careful, love.” Xander gives her a kiss on the top of her head, and Thesha rushes away.

We huddle under the cover of a tree. It looks like it was once a mighty oak, now only clinging to life. Rain continues to lash down.

It doesn’t take long for Thesha to return. “It’s just Grigor inside. Let’s go.”

We don’t walk but run to the house, laughing as we arrive at the door. I knock, and this time, the door is opened.

“Come in, come in.” Grigor smiles as he invites us into his home, which is surprisingly comfortable and very spacious.

We step inside, immediately feeling the warmth of the fire that burns in the large hearth at the center of the room. The walls are lined with wooden shelves filled with bottles of wine and dried meats hanging from hooks.

“I thought I’d get a fire going. Take off those wet clothes and warm yourselves.” Grigor gestures for us to make ourselves comfortable. “I’ll fetch blankets and fresh garments. I have a few items from my late wife that might fit you ladies. I may also have one or two oversized tunics, but they’ll still be a tight fit for you big fae lads.” He laughs from somewhere deep in his belly.

“That would be great,” I tell him.

There are wooden pegs by the door. We remove our coats and hang them there.

Grigor returns with towels and blankets. “I have a washroom through there.” He points at a closed door. “I have the fire going in the washroom, so there will be warm water for the bath soon enough.”

“You have a bath?” Kyrie asks, her eyes bright.

“Yes, and plenty of water. You can all bathe and change, but first, something to drink. Supper will be ready soon. It’s rabbit stew.”

My stomach rumbles at the thought of a hot meal.

Kyrie groans.

“Sounds wonderful. Thank you, Grigor,” Thesha says.

Grigor pulls the cork from a bottle. “Anyone for a glass of blackberry wine? It’s excellent. My late wife, Isolde, had the touch. She was a gifted winemaker. Actually, she was gifted atmost things; I was a lucky man indeed.” He gets this wistful look. “I still have a couple of bottles left.” He holds it up.

“You should save your wife’s wine. Don’t waste it on us,” Thesha tells him.

He waves a hand. “We don’t get many visitors in these parts anymore. My dear Issy loved entertaining; she’d want me to open a bottle or two.”

Outside, the wind howls, and the rain continues to fall in earnest.

“In that case, a glass of blackberry wine would be wonderful,” Xander says. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a good glass of wine.”

“Let’s sit at the table.” Grigor gestures to a long wooden table.

He pours us all a glass of wine in pretty pewter goblets and then returns with a jug of water and a couple of glasses.

“To new friends.” He holds up his goblet, and we touch them together before drinking. It’s strong but delicious.

“You weren’t lying about your wife’s winemaking skills.” Xander takes another sip. “This is wonderful.”

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