Winterling by Sarah Prineas

Author:Sarah Prineas
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

As the hanging carpet blocking the worst of the cold from the tent swung back into place, the sound of drumming and dancing from outside was muffled. The tent itself was lit warmly by a few lanterns and two braziers full of hot coals. In the middle of the tent sat the Mór on a camp chair draped with a carpet so that it looked like a throne. One of her crows crouched on the arm of the chair. She wore her usual plain black shirt and trousers. Instead of her leafy crown, she wore a band of silver in her hair. She also wore an aura of glamorie, of beauty and nobility. Rook squinted and saw, behind it, that the Mór looked more tired than usual, her face lined and her hair like a crest of ruffled black feathers, not shining, but dull. Her eyes were a little too bright, and darted around the room as if she was nervous. Seeing Rook come in, she caught his eye and gave a tiny nod. Wait, she meant.

On a chair beside the Mór sat the Huldre, the Lady of the people of this place. Rook knew about the Huldre. She had her own kind of glamorie. In the daytime she was a loathly old hag. As soon as the sun went down she turned into the cheerful-looking young woman sitting opposite the Mór. She had long, curly golden hair and rosy cheeks, and wore a clinging dress made of soft white leather trimmed with white fur, and a crown made of holly twigs and leaves. The dress had stains down the front from where the Huldre had spilled her dinner, and the hem was dirty from being dragged on the ground.

Rook stood quietly by the door. His head spun and the wolf bites on his arms and chest burned. It’d been a long day; first the ride through the Way that the Huldre had opened for them, then getting Phouka settled and persuading one of the horse grooms to re-bandage the bites. The groom hadn’t done a very good job; Rook felt the bites gnaw at him with every move he made. Then the business with Fer and the wildling girl, Twig.

“ … as soon as possible,” the Huldre was saying. Her body looked as fresh as a ripe apple, but the voice was cracked and dry like an old woman’s. “It is as if the land has been poisoned. Well, you are a Lady, as I am. So you feel the land, just as I do.”

“Of course,” the Mór said grimly.

“I do not like this way you have of bringing the spring, you know. It doesn’t feel right. But winter has lasted far too long,” the Huldre went on. “We can’t wait any longer for spring to come, so we will do what we must.”

The Mór shook her head. “I need more time,” she said. “I have added somebody new to my retinue and she needs training.” She hunched forward in her chair.

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