a steadholt, and she knew the signs of a strong holding-and one in a heightened state of alert. The steadholt's central buildings had walls higher than some military encampments, reaching nearly twice the height of a man and made of seamless, dark grey stone, laboriously raised from the ground by a powerful earthcrafter. The gates, heavy oak bound with steel, were half-closed, and a grizzled holder wearing an old sword stood on the wall above them, squinting laconically out over the distance.
Outbuildings stood not far from the walls, all of them one-story affairs, including what looked like a forge, vast gargant burrow, a combination barn and stables, and several animal pens. The granary, she knew, would be within the central enclosure, along with the kitchens, the living areas, and several smaller holding pens for animals, usually used only in emergencies. A pair of gargants, tended by a tall, handsome young man with wind-ruddy cheeks and black hair, stood in harness, waiting patiently while he threw several long, heavy ropes into a sack and secured it to one side of the harness.
"Frederic," Bernard called, as they drew closer. "What are you doing with the team?"
The young man, already tall and strong for a boy not yet old enough to depart for the Legions, tugged at a forelock with one hand and ducked his head to the Steadholder. "Taking them down to the south field to pull out that big stone, sir."
"Can you handle the fury in that one?"
"Thumper and me can, yes sir." The boy started to turn away. "Hullo, Tavi. Glad you're back in one piece."
Amara looked at the shepherd boy, but Tavi barely lifted his gaze to the other young man. He waved a hand, the motion vague.
Bernard grunted. "There's another storm in the air. I want you back in two hours, Fred, whether the stone's moved or not. I have no intentions of more people getting hurt."
Frederic nodded and turned back to his work, as Bernard strode on to the gates, nodded to the watchmen over them, and slipped into the stead-holt proper. Once inside, Bernard said, "Tavi."
The boy, without waiting to hear anything else, paced toward the side of the great hall and flung himself up the wooden staircase built along the outside of the building and into a door on the upper story, where Amara knew living quarters would commonly be situated.
Bernard watched the young man vanish inside with a grimace on his face. Then he let out a heavy sigh and glanced back at her. "You, come with me."
"Yes, sir," Amara said, and sketched a small curtsey. It was then that her ankle chose to give out on her altogether, and she wavered to one side with a little yelp.
Bernard's hand shot out and gripped her shoulder, through the scarlet cloak, steadying her-and closing tightly over the painful cut on her upper arm. She let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and her balance swam.
The big Steadholder stepped forward and simply picked her up as though she weighed no more than a child. "Crows, girl," he muttered with a scowl. "If you were hurt, you should have said something."
Amara swallowed, as a pang of relief from her beleaguered body warred with a nervous anxiety at the Steadholder's sudden proximity. Like Aldrick, he was an enormous man, but he exuded none of the sense of placid, patient danger that surrounded the swordsman. His strength was something different-warm and reassuring and alive, and he smelled of leather and hay. Amara struggled to say something, but wound up remaining awkwardly silent as the Steadholder carried her into the great hall and then into the kitchens behind it, where warm air and the smells of baking bread wrapped around her like a blanket.
He carried her over to a table near the fire and promptly sat her down upon it.
"Sir, really," she said. "I'm all right."
Bernard snorted. "The crows you are, girl." He turned and drew up a stool to the table and sat down on it, taking her foot quite gently between his hands. His touch was warm, confident, and again she felt soothed, as though some of that confidence had transferred into her by the touch. "Cold," he said. "Not as bad as it could be. You used crafting to keep your feet warm?"
She blinked at him and nodded mutely.
"No substitute for a good pair of socks." He frowned over her foot, fingers moving smoothly. "Hurt there?"
She shook her head.
"There?" Pain flashed through the whole of her leg,