Cresenne chanced a quick look at F'Solya, but she was staring at her bowl of stew. "Yes," she said, meeting the man's gaze. "To be honest, it hadn't even occurred to me to wonder where our food was coming from until Grinsa was gone."
"I suppose in the Forelands you were given food all the time."
Cresenne frowned, not sure whether to laugh or be angry, but knowing that he'd take offense if she did either. "No, not at all," she said, willing herself to keep calm. "We bought our food or got it for ourselves, just like everyone else. Why would you think it was given to us?"
"Well," he began, suddenly seeming unsure of himself, "I've heard Weavers are rare in the North. I thought he'd be honored there."
"Weavers are put to death there. So are their families. The Eandi are terrified of them, and the courts decreed centuries ago that all Weavers were to be executed. Grinsa only revealed the extent of his powers to his most trusted friends."
"Is that why you left?"
Cresenne hesitated. They'd had numerous reasons for leaving, not least of which was the fact that Cresenne had once been part of a failed Qirsi conspiracy to overthrow the courts. She had turned against the plot eventually and had helped the Eandi defeat it, but many still viewed her as a traitor. Grinsa had been instrumental in defeating the Weaver who led the renegades and had revealed himself as a Weaver, leading some to call for his execution, despite all he had done on behalf of the Eandi. And since Grinsa was a Weaver, it seemed possible that Bryntelle would grow to be one as well. In short, none of them had much future in the Forelands. That was why they left.
"In part, that was why," she said. "We needed to start over, and that didn't seem possible in the Forelands."
I'Joled nodded. "I'd heard something about that. There's been some talk." F'Solya frowned. "That's enough," she said, her voice low.
Cresenne ate some of her stew, refusing to look at either of the Fal'Borna. This had been a bad idea. Yes, she needed to eat. But even F'Solya's friendship couldn't protect her from the tales about her past and Grinsa's that had made their way through the sept since their arrival. She wished only that Grinsa would return so that they could leave this place for good. And just thinking this made her eyes sting. Don't cry, she told herself sternly. Not in front of this man.
For a long time, none of them spoke, and when at last F'Solya broke the painful silence, she did so to talk about the storms that had passed over them recently, and how cold it would soon be on the plain. She asked Cresenne questions about the Forelands, most of them relating to the terrain and the weather. Cresenne answered, doing her best to keep her tone light, steadfastly avoiding I'Joled's gaze.
Eventually Cresenne excused herself, saying that it was late and that she needed to get Bryntelle to bed. She thanked them both and stood up to leave. I'Joled grunted a response to her thanks, but said nothing more. F'Solya, on the other hand, followed her out of the z'kal into the cold night air.
"Thank you," Cresenne said again, holding Bryntelle in her arms and adjusting her wrap to keep the child warm.
"You're welcome. I think you should come back again tomorrow."
This time Cresenne couldn't keep herself from laughing. "I think that's a bad idea. It's very kind of you, but I'm pretty certain that I'Joled wouldn't like it very much."
"I'll talk to him. It'll be fine."
"No, F'Solya." She laid her hand on the woman's arm. "I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful. But I don't… people in this sept think poorly of me already. I don't want them thinking that I'm a…" She stopped herself, fearing that to say more was to risk ruining the one friendship she'd built here.
F'Solya nodded and looked down, a small smile on her lips. "I think I understand."
"Do you? I want you to. You've been so kind to me and the last thing I want to do is give offense."
She looked up at that, grinning broadly. "No chance of that. I'm not easy to offend." Her smile faded slowly, leaving her looking concerned. "What will you do, then?"
Cresenne shrugged. "I can try to buy more food in the marketplace."
"That'll only work for so long. When the Snows begin in earnest, the peddlers will stop coming."
"Would anyone here sell me food?"
F'Solya's eyebrows went up. "That's a good question. You should speak of it with the a'laq."
"No," Cresenne said, shaking her head. "The a'laq and I don't really get along."
"Nonsense. He's a difficult man-all a'laqs are like that. That's how they get to be a'laqs. But he can help you. I'm certain of it."
Cresenne ran a hand through her hair and exhaled through her teeth. If it had been just her own life at stake she might well have starved herself rather than face the man. That's how much she wanted to avoid any interaction with E'Menua. But she had to think of Bryntelle, too.
"How would I approach him?" she asked finally. She understood Fal'Borna ways well enough to know that a woman didn't simply march into the a'laq's shelter and ask to be fed.
"Actually, I'd suggest you start with D'Pera."
Cresenne shook her head. "D'Pera?"
"Yes, the n'qlae, E'Menua's wife."
"What would I tell her?"
"The truth. She's a mother, too. She won't let you starve."
"All right," Cresenne said. "I'll think about it."
"No, you'll do it. First thing tomorrow morning. I'll come with you if you'd like."
"Yes," she said immediately. "That would make this easier."
F'Solya smiled. "Very well. Go, put your little one to bed."
Cresenne started to go. Then she stopped and gave the woman a quick hug. She hadn't seen other Fal'Borna do this, and she felt F'Solya tense momentarily. But then her friend returned the embrace before quickly releasing her.
Cresenne offered a small, self-conscious smile and walked back to her z'kal.
The following morning, she took Bryntelle to the girls who usually cared for the Fal'Borna children, and then made her way to the fire circle where she tanned each day. F'Solya was waiting for her. Seeing her friend, Cresenne had to resist an urge to flee. She'd had the night to think about it, and she'd decided that her first instinct had been the correct one: she wanted nothing to do with E'Menua. Since Grinsa had left she'd done all she could to avoid the man, thinking that she'd be best off staying away from the a'laq until Grinsa's return. She knew though that F'Solya would insist, and she had to admit that her friend was probably right to do so. Still, at that moment it was hard to tell if the hollow feeling in her gut was hunger or fear.
As Cresenne drew near F'Solya asked, "Are you ready?"
"I suppose."
The woman merely smiled and patted Cresenne's shoulder.
They found D'Pera weaving blankets with several of the younger women, and instructing them in the finer points of the craft. Cresenne had never actually been introduced to the a'laq's wife, though she'd seen the woman from afar. She was strikingly attractive, with long, thick hair that she wore unbound, and a bright, piercing gaze from which Cresenne had found herself flinching away the few times the woman turned it on her. She had small lines around her eyes and mouth, but otherwise had surrendered nothing to age.
Seeing F'Solya and Cresenne approach, she frowned, got up from her work, and strode in their direction.
"What is it?" she asked. "What's happened?"
"This is a bad idea," Cresenne whispered.
F'Solya shot her a disapproving look, but quickly faced the n'qlae once more. "Forgive us for disturbing you, N'Qlae. We come seeking a favor."
Cresenne saw the woman relax, though her eyes narrowed as she looked from one of them to the other. "What kind of favor?"
F'Solya turned to Cresenne. It seemed there was only so much help her friend could give her.
"I… I wish to speak with the a'laq, N'Qlae."