Page 395 of Warlords, Witches & Wolves

Chapter 8

When day dawned, Father had already left, and Mother had that steely look in her eye that said anyone who disobeyed her would rue it for the rest of their life.

So when Mother said, "We must finish shelling the chestnuts today," Rossa merely nodded and resigned herself to a day at home.

At least she'd be spared Bruno's company – Father had written the letter he'd promised, and Tobias and Silvana were preparing him for the journey to the Baron of Maraschal's lands. Tobias would take him on the morrow, and hope to be home before winter.

Rossa finished her breakfast, and headed for the smokehouse. The sooner she started, the sooner she'd be finished for the day. Maybe there'd be enough light to squeeze in some archery practice, when the chestnuts were done.

Mother had taught her to choose chestnuts the way her mother and grandmother had taught her, weighing each in her hand as she picked them. So Rossa knew what to look for when she sat in the middle of the smokehouse and summoned her magic.

Four baskets drifted into a line before her, ready and waiting. Rossa took a deep breath and sent her awareness out through the smokehouse. The ripest, ready to be released from their shells, rose from the racks where they'd been smoking for weeks, and floated to the nearest basket. Within moments, all four baskets were filled to the brim.

Rossa took two baskets in each hand, and headed outside to the table overlooking the lake that gave Mirroten its name.

"Good morning! I thought you'd be in the forest, training with your father," Swanhild said, already seated and waiting.

Rossa forced out a smile. "A message came for Father yesterday, so he left for urgent business this morning." She pulled off her soft slippers and tugged on her boots.

Swanhild's grin was as natural as the sky above. "Ooh, I wonder who his business involves."

"He's gone to the Emperor's court in Byzas. It could be anybody," Mother said, dumping the first basket of chestnuts into the pressing tub.

Rossa didn't wait for her to ask – she stepped into the tub and started crushing the shells with her heavy boots. Usually Silvana did this, but not today.

"So, do you think he's going to assassinate the Emperor, or work for him?" Swanhild asked.

"In that court, anything's possible, but from what he said last night, I suspect he's tangled in a squabble between two members of the royal family. He wants us to spend the winter up at the castle, just in case," Mother said.

Rossa stepped out of the tub, so that her mother could divide the crushed chestnuts between the baskets for peeling.

"I told him we'd go as soon as the chestnuts are sent to the mill," Mother finished.

Rossa's breath caught in her throat. Spending a whole winter at the castle in the mountains? She hadn't done that since she was a small child, hiding from the plague that had swept up the river, wiping out whole villages.

"Is Silvana going, too?" Swanhild asked.

"No, she's staying to take care of the town. Truly, I should pass the title to her and Tobias now, if I had any sense, and retire from the town council and everything." Mother's hands moved so quickly, prying the nuts loose from their shells, then tossing the nuts into one sack and the shells into a tub at her feet.

Swanhild laughed. "My mother would turn over in her grave to hear you say that! It wouldn't be Mirroten without Mistress Sara ruling over us all, she would say, before telling some story about how you terrified a grown man into doing your bidding. She would have loved to see you tame Master Zoticus."

That set Mother laughing, too. "Zoticus is the sort of man who can never be tamed. I never thought he could be content staying here in Mirroten, and he has gone away on his missions, as he calls them, yet he always returns to me. Maybe that's why Rossa hasn't fallen for any of the boys in town. She yearns for someone untameable, like I did."

"Is that true, Rossa?" Swanhild asked. "Is that why you spend so much time in the forest – looking for a wild man to take as your lover?"

Rossa choked. "I go hunting in the forest with my father!" They never encountered anyone else, except occasionally Swanhild, when the healer was out collecting herbs.

"So you don't know where the clearing with the ancient altar is? Remind me to show you sometime," Swanhild said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "It would not do if you got lost on your way there with your wild lover."

"Don't say such things in front of my mother!" Rossa hissed.

"Your mother, who has gone quite a telling shade of red? Oh, Mistress Sara knows exactly where her ancestors performed their ancient fertility rites, for she's the one who showed my mother, who passed the knowledge on to me. If I'm not mistaken, your brother Tobias was likely conceived before that very altar."

Mother rose. "I'm going to get more nuts." She hurried off to the smokehouse.

Swanhild smiled. "There, now she's gone…what's his name? Your lover in the woods?"

"I'm not in love with anyone!" Rossa cried, clenching her fists. Magic bubbled up within her. If she shed so much as a drop of blood, she'd sent the whole table flying, chestnuts and all. She fought to control it.

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