Toff might have tried, but none of them wanted anything to do with him, either. Gren had seen to that. They were all too frightened to befriend Toff. Gren was telling them that they'd be hauled off to the Queen's dungeons, like Haldis and Sark. Gren was already spreading the rumor that Haldis and Sark's arrests were Toff's fault. Perhaps that was his plan all along. Toff had no way to reason with Gren's warped logic and since he no longer had the bruises to prove he'd been badly beaten, the others were all siding with Gren. At times, he was thankful for the healing he'd received. At other times, he wished that things had been left alone.
* * *
Toff wound string around the last bundle of cornstalks with practiced ease and hefted it onto the wagon Father Willow brought to the field. Mother Rain had taken all the younglings back to the village with her—it was best to take them to their parents when they were so frightened.
"Time to go back," Father Willow said. Toff climbed onto the wagon seat beside Father Willow, who looked as if he wanted to say something else to Toff but ended up holding back. Toff sat in silence, watching the bare field pass around him as Father Willow flapped long reins against the horse's backs. Together, they drove off toward the village.
* * *
"Some of the little ones fell." Toff answered Corent's question over dinner. Corent had asked him how strong the quake had felt out in the field. "I staggered, but managed to keep standing. Mother Rain had to come and take the little ones back to the village." Redbird lifted an eyebrow at Corent when Toff mentioned Rain. Toff pretended not to notice, dipping into his stewed potatoes instead.
"I've talked with Mother Fern; she is willing to teach you how to make pottery, Toff," Redbird said casually. Toff lifted his head and stared at his foster-mother in surprise.
"I don't want to make pottery," he blurted without thinking.
"You're good with your hands," Redbird said stiffly. "Tiearan thinks this might be a suitable fit for you."
"What would Father Tiearan know about anything?" Toff wanted to storm away from the table, but Redbird would only place another mind restraint and that frightened him. Tiearan couldn't see through Gren; how would he know what Toff might be good at doing?
"Son, you are treating your foster-mother disrespectfully," Corent admonished. Corent's hair was going toward purple—a true sign that Corent was angry or upset.
"Father, may I be excused?" Toff was back to staring at his bowl of stewed potatoes.
"You must eat more of your food before you may get up. And you will clean the kitchen tonight." Corent was definitely not happy with Toff. Toff chewed his lower lip. Everyone else was treating him badly, why not his own parents?
* * *
"You'll break that if you're not careful." Redbird was getting onto him when Toff banged the crock down harder than he meant to after drying it with the cloth in his hands. The cloth was hand-woven by Mother Berry and her apprentice weavers. Those were girls, mostly, but Toff had more interest in weaving than he did in making pottery, and he didn't have much interest in weaving. "Wash the cabinets too," Redbird told him before walking out of the kitchen. Toff wanted to grumble, but was afraid she'd hear.
* * *
Toff heard Corent's voice as he passed his foster parents' bedroom on the way to bed later. He stopped to listen—he couldn't help it.
"What else was I supposed to do? The others won't have anything to do with him and Fern was the only one willing to take him," Redbird snapped at Corent, after Corent's voice rumbled something that Toff didn't catch. Corent's voice rumbled a second time. "I know Willow would be happy to take him, but he'd keep him out all night during calving season."
Toff wanted to speak up immediately; he didn't mind being out all night during calving season. Father Willow didn't talk much but at least he didn't ignore Toff like so many of the others did. Besides, nights were almost as well-lit as the days, but calling it night meant it was the time designated to sleep. Father Tiearan said it was the only way to keep order in the village.
"Zervias would have counseled us, but he is no longer here. The Queen allowed him to leave." Corent had walked closer to the door and Toff could hear him now.
"Zervias," Redbird snorted. "He left us when we needed him most."
"I do not blame him—we failed to listen to him when it was important."
"And what would you have done differently? Tell me that!" Redbird was angry.
"You know what should have been done differently." Corent was angry as well. Toff tiptoed away.
Chapter 3
Kifirin had come for dinner—a rare occurrence. Ry and Tory ignored that for the moment; Uncle Shadow had come and brought Sissy with him. Their mother was nearly in tears when she saw her daughter.
"It's okay, Mom, really," Sissy said, hugging her mother.
"Nissa, honey, your dad needs to bring you more often."
"You could come to Grey House," Shadow muttered. Queen Lissa turned sharply toward Uncle Shadow. "I'm just saying," Uncle Shadow had both hands up; whether in defense or resignation, Ry couldn't tell.
"And you know why I won't," Lissa snapped.
"Lissa, Dad and Grampa want to apologize. Really. But you cut them off every time." Uncle Shadow attempted to defend himself.
"I might have thought about it, until they took my Nissy away. At age six, no less." Ry gave Tory a look. They were going over this old ground. Again.
"Lissa," Uncle Shadow sighed and pulled a chair out at the long table in the family dining hall.
"I'll shut up, but I won't forget," Lissa said and pulled her chair out before anyone else could get to it.
"Uncle Roff's here," Tory whispered as he took his seat next to Ry at the table. When the Queen sat, everyone else could sit. Somebody was supposed to pull her chair out for her, though. She was angry and kept everyone from helping her. Roff had come in late, too—it looked as if he'd rushed through a shower to get to dinner on time. His hair looked slightly damp and his wings weren't held as snugly against his back as they normally were. Ry figured that Roff was letting them dry out before folding them tightly.
Ry and Tory were fascinated with Roff's wings. When he had them fully spread, they measured more than twelve feet across, wingtip to wingtip, and felt like the softest leather. Roff had let them touch when they were younger. They now knew that Roff was being patient with them—his wings were sensitive, though he often used them as a weapon when he sparred with someone on the practice grounds. Lissa remarked once that wings like Roff's, which resembled those of a bat, were the basis for the old myths. When Ry asked what myths, his mother had brushed off the question. Ry still didn't have an answer for that.