Scarlett Ashford's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The veteran's warning still hung in the cottage air when the wolf growled at the door. Scarlett rose and cracked it open. Fresh boot marks cut the snow beyond the trees. Not hers. Not the old man's. A scout had followed the veteran's trail here, and the scout would report a redheaded woman and a wolf. She could not run without leading him deeper. She had to end it in the valley. "Deserters leave a scent," the veteran said. He limped to the window and pointed north. "One man, maybe two. They circle before they strike. You have an hour, no more." Scarlett needed the scout close and off his guard. She looked for bait and found a strange neighbor down the path. A short blond man stood at an ice-carved table, jabbing a spoon at a bowl. Four black candles burned on the clear surface. He tasted, spat, and slammed the spoon down. "It's a disaster," he barked. "The queen wants a dessert fit for a throne of ice, and this slop tastes like wet snow. Move, I need cream." He yanked open a frost-covered fridge that glowed with cold light and hauled out a tub. "There's an armed man hunting me," Scarlett said. "I need noise and light to draw him." The chef looked at her wolf, then her knife. "Fine. You want a show? I'll give the idiot a show." He lit the candles higher and clattered every pan he owned. Scarlett hid behind the ice table while the chef whistled and cursed at his bowl. The racket carried across the snow. Within minutes a shape crept from the pines, sword low, eyes on the noise. The scout stepped past the table toward the open door. Scarlett took him from behind. She drove her shoulder into his back and pinned his sword arm against the ice. He twisted hard. She pressed her blade to his throat. "Who sent you?" she said. "The warlord. He hunts deserters." The scout grinned through his teeth. "He'll know your face by tomorrow. Others ride behind me." Scarlett went cold. Others. She could not let him carry her name back. She struck the pommel of her knife against his skull, and he dropped. The chef stared, cream dripping from his spoon. "Well. That's one way to season a valley." The veteran came out on his stiff leg and studied the fallen man's belt. "A palace crest. Ice towers." He held it up. "Your warlord dines at the ice queen's palace within the week. That is where he is going. That is where you take him." Scarlett bound the scout and looked at the crest. She had a place now, and a road. But the dead man's words rang in her ears. Others rode behind. She had bought silence with one scout, and more were already coming.