The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

“Just this year, yeah,” Neeve said.

Enid’s brow furrowed. “Might someone have been angry at her over it? One of the other folk from upriver—might one of them have wanted to stop her from joining your household?”

The folk of Last House exchanged serious looks. Another unspoken conference between them, and there was a story here Enid very much wanted to know.

Mart said, “Don’t know. We only ever saw the three or four who came down to trade. They seemed . . . they seemed like family. So I wouldn’t have thought they would hurt her. But who knows? Who knows with them?”

“When are you due to see them again? What season do they usually come to trade?”

Neeve said, “They were just here a couple of weeks ago. I wasn’t expecting to see them for a few months. Unless . . . unless Ella decided to stay. We told her to come visit any time, that we would work it all out. I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Hand over her mouth, she retreated.

Enid watched her a moment, standing in the open, catching her breath. Was never easy, seeing something like this happen to someone you knew. Someone you liked. “Right. If you think of anything else, if anyone stops by looking for Ella—come tell us, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mart said. “You’re going to need that pyre soon, I think.” The smell was becoming evident.

“I think we should.”

“We can do it today,” he said.

“Thank you,” Enid said.

The body lay in the shade of the building. Full of silence, full of questions. Enid covered her up again just as gently as she’d uncovered her.

They all came out from under the house, bent over in the shadow and emerging into the glaring light of day.

Juni was waiting there. Not too close, just enough to see. To hear what they said. To pass judgment.

Seeing Juni and Neeve almost side by side, their similarities were eerie. They were the same height, they had the same faces, the same build—were both stout, middle-aged women who rounded their shoulders and crossed their arms, hunching in. But their differences were also stark. Made from the same mold, but used so differently. Neeve looked older; her hair was grayer and the lines around her mouth and eyes cut deeper.

Juni’s clothing was haphazard: a tunic and trousers thrown together, wrinkled and splashed with whatever she’d been working on. She was a busy woman who spent time outside, who expected to get dirty. Neeve wore a dress and apron, faded, but neat and carefully mended. Neeve did a lot of handwork—Enid remembered the sewing baskets throughout her house.

The two women didn’t look at each other and seemed determined to keep the others—like a wall—standing between them. An old, old bitterness.

“Come on,” Mart murmured, and led them away, back to the road leading uphill. He folded an arm around Neeve’s shoulder, and she huddled between him and Telman. A close-knit group that looked out for one another. That should have been a good thing.

“Well,” Juni declared, once the group had moved on. “Did they recognize her?”

“Yes,” Enid said. “Her name was Ella.”

“Did one of them do it?”

Enid almost laughed at her. “You were out here listening to everything they said—did you hear a confession?”

She frowned. “I thought you’d have been able to tell. You can’t trust any of them. Kellan said he didn’t know her at first.”

“Juni, I’m very grateful for your hospitality, but please let us do the investigating.”

“Right, yes. I’m sorry. I’ve got some biscuits up at the house if you’re ready for breakfast.”

“Sounds lovely. We’ll take some with us, if that’s all right. We have some walking around to do.”

Not long after, eating biscuits on the way, Enid and Teeg walked toward the bridge. The sun was high now, a perfect time to examine the riverbanks.

“So Kellan lied,” Teeg said.

“He did.”

“He had to know we’d find him out.”