FrostFire by Zoe Marriott Page A

that was not essential. I lived in fear that one day Ma would abandon me too and I would wake to find myself left behind in one of those nameless villages, cast off like a broken stool or a worn-out blanket, alone in the world forever.
    But no matter what she felt about me, no matter how she flinched whenever I came too near, or how often I heard her sobbing harshly in the night, she never tried to escape without me. She never even threatened to. She never let me go cold or hungry when she wasn’t colder or hungrier herself. She never beat me hard enough to kill me.
    Or to break the skin.
    My poor ma. Perhaps by the time I was twelve she had begun to believe that we were safe again. That the Wolf was gone. Perhaps she was just too tired to keep running through another winter. Either way, that year she made the decision to stay in a little village on the edge of the mountains until spring came. It was a decision we were both to regret.
    I clawed my way out of the familiar misery of the memory-dream, jackknifing into sitting position with a choked gasp. My hand fumbled for the reassuring lump of the wolf tooth resting over my heart as I looked around with sleep-blurred eyes.
    I was used to waking up in a different place every time I opened my eyes – especially lately – but this … this was something different.
    I was sitting on a thick pile of rugs. Layers of black, grey and white-spotted furs lined with bright silks were piled over me. They were as soft as the down on a baby chick and finer than anything I had seen in my life, let alone touched. A wooden screen, decorated with enamel panels that made a forest of gold and silver trees, curved around my sleeping place.
    Where am I, Father?
    I heard a muffled footfall, and the screen drew back to reveal a tall woman with untidy grey hair, a tattoo on her face and uncomfortably sharp eyes. Memories fell into place with an almost physical thud.
    Livia.
    “Are you all right?” Her voice was less brisk than I remembered it, almost hesitant. “You were … calling out.”
    “Calling out?”
    “For your mother.”
    My face flooded with heat. “Just dreaming. It was nothing.”
    I fidgeted under her look of barely concealed pity and peered past her at the rest of the space. The roof was peaked canvas and the wooden poles holding it up were hung with glass oil-lamps. The richly embroidered tapestries on the walls depicted mythical creatures – flying horses, fire-breathing lions, three-headed serpents – in faded shades that showed they must be very old. Underfoot, there were layers of rugs, just as fine as the wall-hangings. I saw a low table as long as I was tall, legs deeply carved with strange patterns. The surface was strewn with papers and books, quills and ink. There were chairs and even a proper wooden bed, neatly made with a deep blue coverlet. Only a very sharp eye could make out the tell-tale shapes of the hinges that allowed such luxurious items to be folded for travel. If this was a tent, it was fit for a prince.
    Or a nobleman sent into the wilds by his king.
    “This is Luca’s tent, isn’t it?”
    Livia nodded, draping her arm casually around the top of the screen. “He carried you here last night. You fell asleep, sitting up, at the gathering place. You must have been exhausted.” She paused for a second. “He was pleased to see you.”
    “Oh.” I looked down at the mottled grey fur that covered my knees. “Where is he?”
    “He had to go out on a patrol. He asked me to wait until you woke up and to then show you around; help you to settle in.”
    Something – panic, probably – must have shown in my face. She added, “He’ll be back by tonight.”
    I thought of smooth grey river stones, attempting to keep my expression blank. “I’m sorry to trouble you.”
    She smiled and pushed the screen back a little further, gesturing at the untidy table. “Not a bit of it. I was taking the opportunity to amend my records. When I try to do it in my own