Silver Secrets

Chapter 28: Mel

The morning after we leave Aster's house, we have to shake a powdery layer of snow off the tent before we can pack it up, and though we heap them with every spare blanket we have, we still have to swipe frost off the horses every morning, while their breath mists the air and they stamp the frozen ground. Eventually we sacrifice several of our precious blankets to drape over them at night. If we lose them here, we're never going to make it out of Deepacre.

The snow almost disappears once we reach the shelter of Deepacre Wood, but the cold doesn't. Even though I'd packed a fur hat and gloves that cost me three weeks' wages last winter, I still wake up every morning with my nose red and cold. Even Rowan's extraordinary warmth isn't enough to keep numb fingers at bay, no matter how many times he warms my hands between his at night. The most comforting thing about those Deepacre nights is that if we're freezing, so are any bandits that might still be lurking between the trees.

Early in the afternoon on one particularly bitter day, Rowan pulls his scarf away from his nose, raises his face to the sky, and sniffs. "Wood smoke," he calls over to me. "I can smell wood smoke, about a mile upwind."

I hold a strand of hair up in front of me, spluttering when it blows right back in my face. "So we just follow the road until we find a house?"

"I can smell people. I think it's a village."

"Maybe they'll have an inn." We haven't spent much of the money we brought with us, but I'm sure we'll have enough to stay a night. Maybe even two.

"One way to find out." Rowan digs his heels into Mistil and we set off towards the village at a trot.

Half an hour later, we pass a sign nailed to a tree that welcomes us to Mag's Leigh. When we reach the top of a hill, the village itself rises up to greet us. Small, snow-sprinkled wooden cabins line narrow muddy streets, smoke drifting from every chimney. My stomach grumbles at the smell of a bakery, though I can't see one. The place is quiet, but not deserted, and the warm smell of sawdust fills the air.

"There's an inn, look," I say, pointing to one of the only buildings in Mag's Leigh with two floors. The other is some kind of warehouse. As we pass it, I glimpse a gang of men and women sawing and heaving logs around a dusty interior.

"If you stay with the horses, I'll go see if they have any rooms," Rowan says, swinging down from the saddle.

I scowl at him as he disappears into the warmth, then pull my cloak around me tighter against the snow. I glance over the street again. There isn't a lot to see, but perhaps I'll be able to get a warmer cloak somewhere.

A bell tinkles and I turn to find Rowan shouldering his bags. "They have a room for the night, and they start serving dinner in a couple of hours. Food's free of charge, for us. Someone'll come out for the horses."

"Free food?" I jump to the ground, almost getting my cloak tangled around my legs as I do.

Rowan grins impishly. "As soon as the innkeeper realised I'm a werewolf. Apparently Celyn's lot buy a lot of wood from the village. The caves are only a few miles away, actually."

"I thought they'd just cut their own."

He holds the inn door open for me. "Kind of hard to get a whole log into those caves."

"True." I duck into the dim common room. It's virtually empty apart from four grizzled old men sat at a table near the fire, playing cards. It's instantly obvious that one of them is cheating. It's so prominent in his thoughts that I can't help noticing.

The innkeeper looks like she's about to take us up to our rooms, but then she mentions something about Celyn to Rowan and soon she's asking after the entire pack, while Rowan tries to pretend that the whole subject doesn't make him intensely uncomfortable.