F'Solya picked some roots from her stores and placed them in a cooking pot, which she took back outside. Cresenne followed her, feeling useless.
"I should be helping you," she said.
The woman shook her head. "I do this every day. If you want to help, you can keep an eye on my boys, particularly I'Jeq." She pointed as she spoke so that Cresenne would know which of the twins she meant. It seemed amazing to her that F'Solya could tell them apart, they looked so alike.
Cresenne sat on a low stone, and quickly came to understand why F'Solya wanted the boy watched. Unlike his brother, I'Jeq had learned to crawl, and he seemed to delight in careering from one danger to the next. If he wasn't reaching for F'Solya's knife, he was crawling toward the hatchet that leaned against their woodpile, or toward the fire that his mother had just kindled. Bryntelle, who wasn't crawling yet either, watched him with fascination and delight, clapping her hands and squealing each time Cresenne had to scramble after him.
"He moves so fast," Cresenne said after rescuing him from the hatchet a second time. "How do you ever get anything done?"
"Wait until they both can get around like that," F'Solya said, a rueful smile on her face. "I swear I don't know if they're most likely to kill each other or themselves or me. But no good will come of it."
Cresenne smiled, then stopped the boy from diving headlong into the fire. "I suppose I'll be putting up with this before long."
"Girls are easier," F'Solya said, sounding sure of herself. "At least at this age."
F'Solya didn't have daughters of her own, but it occurred to Cresenne that in a settlement this small she would have watched parents raising their children since she was old enough to walk. Cresenne, on the other hand, had spent her early years traveling with the festival in Wethyrn, back in the Forelands. There hadn't been many families in the festival, and she'd had few friends her own age, much less opportunities to watch mothers and fathers bringing up their children. She'd always counted herself fortunate to have grown up with the festival, traveling the land with her mother. Until this moment, she had never stopped to consider that she might have missed out by not living in some quiet village in a remote corner of the Wethy Crown. But listening to her friend speak, she found herself wishing that she understood the ways of children so well.
F'Solya retreated into the z'kal for several moments and emerged again bearing several small pouches. "Herbs," she said, seeing Cresenne's puzzled look. "Some we grow here. Others I trade for. Most Fal'Borna think that silverroot and rilda have enough flavor on their own." She wrinkled her nose. "I don't. I was bored with the taste of rilda before the end of my second four." She opened each of the pouches in turn and dropped small amounts of the herbs into her stew. In moments, the air around the z'kal was redolent with the aromas of thyme, watermint, and several other herbs that Cresenne had never smelled before.
"What did you put in there?" she asked.
F'Solya appeared surprised. "Surely you have herbs in the Forelands."
"Some, yes. The thyme and watermint I know. But the rest…" She shook her head.
"We call it rivermint here, but I'm sure it's the same thing. I also put in rildagreen, which grows here on the plain, and Qosantian sage."
"Can I smell them?"
F'Solya handed her the pouches and Cresenne sniffed lightly at each one. The Qosantian sage reminded her of sages she'd had in the Forelands, but it was sweeter, more pungent. "They're lovely," she said, handing the pouches back to F'Solya.
"The next time we're in the marketplace together I'll show you where you can find them."
F'Solya took the herbs back into her z'kal. Cresenne steered I'Jeq away from the knife once more.
As F'Solya reemerged from the shelter she smiled and waved her hand over her head. "Here comes I'Joled."
Cresenne's eyes snapped up, first to her friend, and then to the burly man approaching the z'kal. Until that moment, despite playing with the twin boys, she had forgotten completely about F'Solya's husband. Now she felt a rush of fear, though she wasn't certain why. I'Joled had no reason to dislike her; the fact that F'Solya had befriended her should have made him more inclined to accept her as a guest. But she knew that people in the sept had been speaking of her and of Grinsa since their arrival, and that to many she was nothing more than the woman who shared the new Weaver's bed.
I'Joled slowed when he spotted her, the smile fading from his face. He was a handsome man, like so many of the Fal'Borna warriors, with his golden skin, long white hair, and pale yellow eyes. He wasn't much taller than F'Solya-Grinsa would have towered over him-but he was barrel-chested and broad in the shoulders.
"Who's this?" he asked in a deep voice, his eyes straying to F'Solya's face for just an instant before studying Cresenne once more.
But Cresenne was sure that he knew already. How could he not?
"This is Cresenne," F'Solya said evenly. She pointed at Bryntelle with the end of her stirring spoon. "And that's her daughter, Bryntelle. A beauty, isn't she?"
F'Solya must have heard the wariness in her husband's voice. Cresenne had never met the man, and she heard it. But her friend seemed to ignore it, and so Cresenne made herself to do the same.
She stood and forced a smile. "It's nice to meet you, I'Joled. Thank you for allowing me to sup with your family tonight."
He looked at F'Solya, who just stared back at him. Finally, he faced Cresenne again. "Of course." After a moment he added, "You're welcome." He entered the z'kal, pausing at the entrance to glance at F'Solya. The Fal'Borna woman smiled thinly. "Excuse me for just a moment," she said before entering the shelter as well.
Cresenne heard I'Joled say something, though she couldn't make out the words.
"She has no food," F'Solya answered. "The a'laq had food brought to them while her man was still here, but now they have nothing."
I'Joled said something else.
"Oh, we have plenty, and you know it. In fact I've been thinking that we ought to let her come here every night until her man comes back."
This time she heard I'Joled's response clearly. "And what if he doesn't come back? What then?"
"Shhh!"
Cresenne couldn't make out anything more after that, but a few moments later F'Solya came out of the shelter, paused briefly in front of Cresenne, and then crossed to her pot of boiling stew.
"I'm sorry about that," she said quietly.
Cresenne feared that she might weep. Loneliness, fear for Grinsa, embarrassment; she couldn't say which lay heaviest on her heart at that moment. Probably all three. "Maybe we should go," she said, walking to where Bryntelle still sat, playing with the grass and dirt around her and watching the crawling boy.
"No need for that." F'Solya wrapped a cloth around the handle of her pot and lifted it from the fire. "Let's get these children inside. The food's ready."
It took some time to arrange the children and serve out the food, but soon enough they were all seated around a small fire in the z'kal, eating the stew, which was wonderful. Cresenne made quick work of one bowl and shyly asked for a second. F'Solya grinned and spooned her more. Cresenne sensed that I'Joled was watching her and she assumed that he disapproved, but she didn't look his way, and he said nothing. In fact, for a long time no one spoke, though Bryntelle and the boys made enough noise for all of them. Eventually F'Solya and I'Joled shared a look and the man put his bowl down on the floor, threw another stick of wood on the fire, and looked Cresenne in the eye.
"F'Solya says you've had a hard time of it since… since your man left."