D'Pera eyed her warily. "What for?"
"I… since… since Grinsa left, I've had very little food. We came too late to plant crops and Grinsa never hunted. We had some stores that we'd traveled with, but not enough to last me through the Snows. And I have a child-"
"The Snows take their toll on all of us," the n'qlae said, her tone betraying little sympathy. "We can't just give food away."
"I realize that," Cresenne said, her voice hardening as well. The woman could probably have her banished or killed with a word, but back in the Forelands Cresenne had been victimized repeatedly by the renegade Weaver and his servants; she had promised herself that she'd never allow herself to be bullied again. "I have gold. I can pay for what I get. But I can't eat coins, and I can't survive on wind and grass."
The n'qlae continued to regard her with mistrust. "The a'laq and I have been together for more than three fours," she said. "In all that time he's never taken another woman into his bed. He has no interest in concubines and bastard children."
Living in this alien culture, Cresenne often found herself unsure of how to respond to things said to her. But never in her life had she been at such a complete loss for words. A part of her wanted to laugh in the woman's face: She had no desire to share E'Menua's bed! Another part of her wanted to slap D'Pera as hard as she could for thinking her little more than a whore. Mostly, though, she feared she'd weep. This was how she was thought of here in the Southlands. She'd fled the Forelands because, in part, she didn't want to spend the rest of her days as a traitor in the eyes of all she met. Instead, they thought her the type of woman who was always looking for the next bed to sleep in, the next man she could steal from his wife.
"I've no interest in being anyone's concubine, N'Qlae," she said, struggling to keep her voice even, "or in bearing anyone's bastard child. Grinsa is my husband; Bryntelle is our daughter. The Fal'Borna may not see it that way, but to be honest I don't give a damn." She realized that her hands were shaking, and though she was trying to keep her temper in check, she knew she wouldn't be able to manage it much longer. "I can't do this," she said, turning to F'Solya. "I'm sorry, but I'd rather starve than put up with…She clamped her mouth shut, to keep herself from saying more. She turned on her heel and began to walk away.
"Wait."
Cresenne would have liked to ignore the n'qlae's command, but she could only imagine what the Fal'Borna punishment for such a thing might be. She stopped and sighed. A moment later she faced the woman once more.
"I shouldn't have spoken to you so," D'Pera said, surprising her. "The a'laq promised your man that we would keep you safe while he was gone. It was a vow I encouraged him to give."
"Thank you for that," Cresenne said grudgingly.
"I'm not certain what he can do for you, but I'll take you to him. I expect he'll think of something."
"That would be… I'd be most grateful." She continued to stand there, wondering whether the n'qlae meant to do this now.
D'Pera gave her a curious smile and gestured in the direction of her z'kal. "Shall we, then?"
Cresenne nodded, feeling somewhat foolish. "Yes, of course."
She walked back to where the n'qlae stood and the three women began walking toward the a'laq's shelter.
After just a few steps, D'Pera stopped and looked archly at F'Solya. "Are you starving as well?"
"Uh… no, N'Qlae. We're fine."
"Then, I'd suggest you get back to work."
F'Solya looked back and forth between D'Pera and Cresenne. "But… Cresenne asked-"
"She'll be fine with me, F'Solya." The n'qlae smiled kindly. "Your concern for her speaks well of you, but I assure you she'll come to no harm."
"Of course, N'Qlae." F'Solya cast one last look at Cresenne, who smiled in return. Then she began to make her way back to the tanning circle.
"It seems you and F'Solya have forged a deep bond," D'Pera said, as they started toward the shelter again.
"She's been very kind to me."
"Do you have other friends here as well?"
The question made Cresenne uncomfortable, although she couldn't say why. "Not really, no."
"It must be difficult for you, being here without your… your husband, alone in a strange land."
"Grinsa and I have been apart before," she said, choosing her words carefully. "As long as I can feed myself and our child, I'll be fine."
"Of course."
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Upon reaching the z'kal, D'Pera instructed Cresenne to wait outside while she went in to speak with her husband. She emerged several moments later and nodded once. "He'll speak with you."
"Thank you, N'Qlae."
Cresenne entered the z'kal and was greeted immediately by the pungent smells of sweat, smoke, and roasted meat. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the shelter. A fire burned in the middle of the floor, and she could make out E'Menua's form on the far side, but at first she couldn't see his face.
"Sit," E'Menua commanded, his open hand, illuminated by the fire, seeming to materialize from the darkness.
"Thank you, A'Laq." She sat opposite him. She could see his eyes now, gleaming in the firelight.
"D'Pera tells me there's a problem with your food."
Cresenne frowned. It was an odd way to describe her problem, one that made it sound like she was complaining. "In a sense, I suppose you could say that. While Grinsa was here, we were fed each night."
"Of course. He's a Weaver and a stranger to our sept."
"Yes. And if he were here, I'm certain he'd join me in thanking you for your generosity. But since he left, my daughter and I have been without food."
The a'laq appeared to shrug. "You're not a Weaver."
Cresenne took a breath, trying to keep her patience, certain that he was doing all he could to provoke her. "I realize that, A'Laq. But I also know that you pledged to keep us safe in Grinsa's absence."
E'Menua bristled. "Do you imply that I've gone back on my word?"
"I'm sure it's no more than an oversight. You have an entire sept to look after. You couldn't remember that we weren't here when the others planted their crops or hunted rilda. None of this is anyone's fault. But the fact remains that we haven't enough food to get us through the Snows."
"And what is it you suggest I do about this?" he said in a tone that could have frozen the warmest waters of the Western Sea.
"We do have gold. We can buy what we need from the sept. You can set the price and whatever…" She trailed off.
E'Menua was shaking his head. She could make out his face now, and though he didn't appear to be enjoying her plight, he didn't look particularly concerned about it either.
"We have no need of your gold," he said. "The Fal'Borna are traders; we don't accumulate coins as the Eandi do. We trade skins for baskets, rilda meat for smoked fish. Besides, the food that we have in our stores is there to get our people through the Snows, should the colder turns prove more difficult than we anticipate. We can't simply sell it."
Cresenne felt panic rising in her chest. "Then what are we going to do? Bryntelle and I I… before long we'll have nothing left. We'll starve."
He shook his head and offered what should have been a kind smile. But there was something predatory in those large, catlike eyes. "We won't let you starve. As you say, I made a promise to your man."
"Then what-?"
"You'll have to find another to provide for you."
"F'Solya and I'Joled offered," she said, knowing that she was giving her friend's husband more credit than he deserved. "But they have their boys to think about."
"I didn't mean them."
She stared at him, knowing they had come to the crux of their conversation. "Then who?" she asked.
"L'Norr. He's a Weaver, just like Grinsa. And he doesn't have a family to feed."
Cresenne knew just what he was doing and why. "I won't be… Grinsa is my husband. I won't share another man's bed."