Shadow Heir

“I wish we could give them food,” I said. I saw a few children’s faces watching us from inside the huts, and they broke my heart. I kept thinking of Isaac and Ivy and what it would be like if they too were in these conditions. “I’d take a cut in my rations.”

“I’d encourage you to,” said Dorian, not unkindly. “That is, if I knew exactly how long our journey will last. The supplies we brought were just a guess. If they were accurately measured out, you shorting yourself a day or two wouldn’t matter. But for all we know, we’re two weeks low on food. We can’t risk it—not when we have the chance to undo the blight altogether.”

I nodded, knowing he was right, but that didn’t stop me from feeling bad.

Rurik returned, looking puzzled. “They say we can stay in a bunch of huts they have. They’re empty.” He didn’t need to point out the grim reason as to why there was so much empty lodging.

“What do they want in return?” asked Kiyo.

“That’s the weird thing,” said Rurik. “They didn’t ask for anything—just to protect them while we’re here.”

I raised an eyebrow at this. “Protect them from what, exactly?”

“Well, they weren’t exactly clear on that. Mostly all I got from them was ‘the storm,’” said Rurik. This, naturally, made all of us glance skyward. Nothing too different showed itself above, and my senses didn’t really pick up on any impending blizzard. With the blight’s nature, it was hard to say what might happen. “I agreed to whatever they wanted.” Rurik glanced at us for affirmation.

“You did fine,” I told him. I climbed down off my horse, unsurprised to find my body stiff and sore from riding. I knew I’d adapt in a couple of days, but they were going to be long days. “Let’s check out our accommodations.”

There were plenty of huts to go around. We each could have had our own, though Jasmine assumed she and I would share. I honestly think she didn’t want to leave me alone with Kiyo around. The huts were deceptively small, but as we entered ours, it was obvious this had once housed a family. There was plenty of space and even partitions to create common and sleeping rooms. We had clean cots and a dining table, and mercifully, no personal items of the lost family remained. The walls and roof looked as though they’d been built to keep out any breezes or tropical rain but had little effect on temperature control. A fire pit that had been intended for cooking was going to be our heat source.

We’d barely been in there a minute when a young woman came scurrying in behind us. She looked no older than Jasmine, yet at the same time had a haggard appearance from harsh living that had aged her beyond her years. She knelt by the cooking pit and began to deftly light a fire.

“Oh,” I said, “you don’t have to bother with that. We know how to make a fire.” It was a skill one had to acquire in a world devoid of lighters and kerosene.

“It is no bother, my lady,” the girl replied, not meeting my eyes.

“Eugenie. My name’s Eugenie.”

“I know who you are, my lady.”

The fire roared to life and caught so quickly that I suspected our helper probably had some sort of magical fire ability. Definitely a skill to possess in these times.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Rhona,” she said, getting to her feet. With her facing me now, I was able to get a better look and could see just how harshly the blight had treated her. Her cheeks were sunken in, and there were bags under her eyes. The scraps she wore to stay warm were hardly adequate and showed a figure that was mostly ribs. I also noticed she was missing two fingers off of her left hand and wondered if that was the work of frostbite. The hand had bandages on it, indicating a recent injury.

In that moment, I so badly wanted to give her food that my hands began to move of their own accord toward my travel pack. Dorian’s words came back to me, and I forced myself to look ahead. Giving her something—even a strip of dried meat—seemed like such a small thing. But what if that meat would keep someone in my party alive when we reached the Yew Land? What if it meant the difference between stopping the blight and failing?

Making a decision, I reached for my pack—and pulled out a sweater.

“Here,” I said. “Take this.”

Rhona’s brown eyes went wide. “Lady, I cannot. It’s too fine.”

Fine? It was one of the items I’d scraped together at a secondhand store in Tucson, a red wool Christmas sweater with white snowmen on it.

“I insist,” I said, summoning my most imperious, queenly voice. “It will be a grave insult if you don’t take it.”

My bluff worked. Rhona snatched the sweater and clutched it to her chest. “Thank you, my lady. Thank you,” she kept repeating. She backed out toward the door, bowing over and over. When she was gone, Jasmine sighed.

“You shouldn’t have done that. What if you need it later?”

“I have a couple others. And she needs it a lot more.” Noting Jasmine’s skeptical look, I added, “How can you see all that and not be affected by it?”