Chapter 5 Excuses in the Hunting Lodge

Scarlett’s POV (Before the War)

The cook had flour up to her elbows when I came in.

"Pack two portions," I said. "I'm going to the outer hunting lodge to count the gear. Nobody's checked it since the spring hunt."

"That takes half a day? Three days running?"

"If it's done properly."

She added a third loaf to the basket, then a little pot of the plum jam I wasn't supposed to know about. I watched her tuck it beside the bread and decided not to ask where she'd been keeping it.

"It's on my way anyway," I added, although I hadn't said where else I was going. She didn't ask.

Naomi picked up the basket and handed it to me, smoothing the cover cloth and tucking in the corners.

"Your father asked again last night. Which pack he's from."

"I'll ask him."

"You said that yesterday."

"I'll ask him today."

I shifted the basket to my other hand and went out into the wind coming off the ridge.

The lodge door had warped, and I had to lift it a little to shut it behind me. I set the basket on the bench, then went straight to the gear rack with my back to Ash. I counted a coil of snare wire twice before moving on to the hooks.

The floor had been swept since my last visit, and the cot stood closer to the window. Ash was sitting on it with his forearm bandaged, watching me. He didn't ask why I was there. I took down the short blade hanging beside the door and examined its edge in the light. It was sharp. I put it back.

"The kitchen packed extra," I said. "I was coming this way."

He looked at the basket, then at my empty hands. I hadn't brought oil or a cloth, or anything to write the count on. Before I could decide whether to explain that, he reached for the basket and lifted the cover.

I sat at the end of the bench and let him pass me some bread. Sunlight fell across the floorboards beneath the side window. The room smelled of freshly cut wood and dry leather, with the sharper smell of whatever they'd put on his arm.

Partway through the meal, he pushed a piece of meat to the edge of his plate with his knife. I'd chosen that piece for him. I leaned over and pushed the plate back toward him.

"Are you turning your nose up at that? I picked it out myself."

He glanced at the meat, then at me. "I didn't know saving my life meant you got to inspect my lunch."

I laughed and put a hand over my mouth, suddenly embarrassed by how loud I'd been. He was still looking at me. I reached across, took the piece he'd rejected and ate it.

"Well, I'm not letting it go to waste."

"Take the other one too, then."

"Don't push it."

He held his bowl while I finished the meat, then drank some soup and looked out at the trees. I watched how carefully he moved his injured arm.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Liar."

"Ask me again tomorrow."

Before I could answer, the door opened and Caleb came in, his coat stirring in the cold air. He'd patrolled the Redcliff border for years. We'd grown up together, and he'd been beside me for half the things Father had scolded me about.

He glanced at our bowls, then crossed to the cot and crouched beside Ash. Ash set down his soup while Caleb carefully turned his arm to look at the wound.

"Keep it dry. There's a fresh dressing and more of the salve in that packet. Change it tonight."

He left the packet on the bench and stood. "He needs rest, Scarlett. Don't keep him up."

"I know. I'm going."

Caleb nodded and pulled the door shut behind him. I got up and moved the basket farther along the bench, but I hadn't packed anything into it. There were still bowls and spoons to collect. I could stay until we'd finished the soup.

I sat down again. "Which pack are you from?"

Ash looked at me without answering, just as he'd looked at the patrolman beneath the oak.

"My father will ask again at supper," I said. "I gave you my name two days ago. It's only fair."

"You don't have to tell him anything."

"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one eating supper with him."

He didn't answer that either. I waited, then decided to try guessing.

"Greywater? You eat like a river wolf."

"How does a river wolf eat?"

"Fussily."

His mouth twitched, but he still didn't give me a name.

"Frostpine, then. You've got the manners for it."

"What manners do they have?"

"None. They just look like they do."

He turned his bowl on the bench. "You've met a great many of them, have you?"

"Two. At a wedding. I was nine, and one of them stepped on my dress."

He looked toward the fire, and I leaned sideways to see whether he was smiling. He glanced back before I could be sure.

"Does your father ask about everyone who eats his bread?"

"Only the ones who won't say where they're from." I pointed my spoon at him. "Don't try to make him sound unreasonable."

Ash took another spoonful of soup. I wanted to keep asking, but he hadn't answered Caleb or the patrol, either. I could try again tomorrow. A little smoke drifted out of the hearth, and I waved it away from my face.

"Does that chimney ever draw properly?"

"When the wind's from the north."

"So you sit here waiting for the wind to change?"

"Mostly."

"That sounds dull."

"It was, before you came."

I looked down at my bowl, pleased enough that I couldn't think of a reply. The soup had gone cold while we talked. I drank some anyway, then stood before I could find another reason to stay.

"I should go."

As I packed the basket, I noticed the hunting bag beside the door. On my last visit, I'd caught its strap on a corner of the rack and torn it halfway through. I'd hung it back on the peg, meaning to mend it later.

Now the torn edges had been stitched together. The stitches were small and even, much neater than anything I'd ever sewn. I glanced at his bandaged arm.

"When did you fix this?" I asked, still looking at the bag.

"I had nothing else to do."

I ran my fingers down the seam. The thread lay flat, without a loose loop to catch on anything. I wanted to ask how he'd managed it with his arm hurt, but I was still touching the strap when he came over to see me out. I let go and hung the bag back on its peg.

He rested a hand against the doorframe as I opened the door.

"You should sit down," I said.

I stepped outside into the shade of the trees and kept walking. I wanted to look back, but after all that pretending I'd come to count the gear, I wasn't going to stand outside his door as well.

Naomi was waiting by my door when I got home. She took the basket and looked inside. Both bowls were empty. She laid the cloth back over them.

"What gear do you need fetched tomorrow?"

I tried to think of something I hadn't counted. Nothing came to mind, and she was still waiting.

"Tell the kitchen," I said. "Two portions again."