Page 112 of The SnowFang Storm

“If I’d known Faris would breech rational protocol and etiquette, I wouldn’t have come up here.” I leaned into the crook of the arm and back of the couch. I examined my hand and prodded it. Dang. That crack was worse.

He spun one chair around, sat on it and crossed his arms over the back. “If this isn’t a cult, what is it?”

Sterling was better at this than I was. “We’re an old Earth religion. We worship the Earth. Gaia, specifically. Camps all over the world. Can’t convert in, can’t join, can’t marry in, leave anytime you want, no indoctrination. We’re ancient, with recorded history going back over a thousand years. Some of us integrate with wider society, some of us reject it and live out in nature. Some of us try to live in both worlds. The camps don’t have much to do with each other, but we do have a central leadership council made up of recognized elders. Following me so far?”

“Yes.”

I probed a sore spot on my ribcage. “Sterling’s mother married an outsider. People think Garrett is Sterling’s biological father, but he’s not. The truth is, Sterling’s biological father is one of us, but Sterling was born out of wedlock. Not allowed. That’s why he gets called half-breed.”

“And you?”

The quickest and easiest way to explain this was the stupidest. “I’m a princess. We don’t have princesses, but it’s a quick way for you to understand.”

He leaned forward on his arms. “Go on.”

“Sterling and his father Garrett buy land to keep as greenspace so we have somewhere to live. Apparently there’s a concern that they’re doing it as a sinister powerplay.”

Hamid, expression perfectly calm, nodded. “Then I presume your marriage was actually arranged. Your influential father attempted to gain control of the situation by marrying you to him.”

I tilted my head back and stared at the ceiling. “You would think so. I heard something through the rumor mill and wanted to get ahead of it. It got ahead of me. Hell. I wonder if there’s anything resembling liquor hidden in this cabin.”

There didn’t appear to be anything resembling food, or any sharp implements, or blunt ones for that matter, except for the pitcher of water and two plastic cups. We snooped around and took a fresh inventory, and this time located a half-empty bottle of very old, very sketchy whiskey hidden under the box mattress of the one narrow bed.

“Victory.” I took a whiff of it. “Whew.”

“Don’t get too drunk,” Hamid advised me as he glanced at his watch again.

I poured myself a drink and raised my brows.

He actually grinned at me.

I saluted him with my whiskey and gestured to the chess set on the table. “You play?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We passed the time playing chess until well past dark. The FrostFur didn’t bring as anything to eat. By the time we called our game the bruises had bloomed purple and black between my chest, and a contusion had swelled up on my hip, excruciatingly painful, and bruises splotched the rest of my body. Every breath hurt, but Hamid diagnosed nothing more serious than bumps and bruises.

“We’ll keep an eye on this,” Hamid said as he examined the forming hematoma on my hip.

I warned him, “Don’t ask for medical supplies or treatment. They won’t give it to us and will make me look weak. Just help me cover up weakness. Don’t show concern, do not mention it, do not draw attention to it. That’s a point of protocol.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And play dumb. You’re a hired meatshield not getting paid enough for this shit.”

His smile was very thin. “That is exactly true, although you will get the bill for retroactive combat pay, so the compensation is not an immediate concern. I would prefer to get out of here alive.”

I laughed softly to myself. “Same. So whatever happens, don’t get involved. Play the mercenary card. If you try to intervene, you will only make things worse. They’ll just kill you, since you’re an outsider, and then, if I’m very lucky, they might eventually get around to killing me. We don’t deal with prisoners. We prefer brutality and suffering, and then a return to your family. It is always to send a message, and dead people are not very good messengers.”

Hamid didn’t flinch, but a somber light entered his eyes. He nodded.

I wanted to ask him how long until the calvary arrived, but decided against it. It’d just make waiting that much more difficult.

By morning my whole body ached from the nice haybale imitation I’d been forced to do the previous day. At least the cabin had a bed, and a couch, so Hamid and I hadn’t had to sleep on the floor. The wood stove only chased away the worst of the drafts, and it was a little chilly, but entirely survivable.

I craved a toothbrush and a bath. Neither would happen. Food did not materialize. The FrostFur pressing their faces to the thick glass made me grumble about a zoo.

I fiddled with the chess set. They were going to try to ransom me for all the arctic land, so they’d take all the shame and dirtiness of a ransom to help everyone else. Alan couldn’t possibly think it would work.

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