said. "Shadowed magic is nothing to play with. I won't lead a boy or a woman there. One man is already dead; there is no need for more."
"I see," said Lehr over Seraph's soundless snarl.
"You know, of course, that I should serve you notice" - the steward changed the subject - "since your brother is simple and you are not yet fully of age. But it is too late to bring in another family to farm, and you are a stout lad. The Sept will give you this year as a trial."
Lehr bowed his acceptance to Forder, and Seraph bit her tongue. No one else would farm this far into the mountains. If the steward drove them out there would be nothing for the Sept. But she knew Forder, knew that if she antagonized him enough he'd send them away for spite.
"The Sept is generous," said Lehr. "We will do our best to deserve the chance he gives."
"Huntsman," said Seraph, seeing a dim reflection of her own wild grief in his eyes. "Thank you. There are very few who would have the courage to get near a Blighted Place just to identify a dead man. Knowing is better than waiting with false hope."
Few men as well would have roused the steward to bring the news as soon as it came to him. It had been the huntsman, of course, who had forced Forder to come out at night instead of waiting until tomorrow. Gratitude and grief ripped through years of habit and she sketched a glowing sigil in the air that hung between them briefly.
"Traveler's blessing upon you," she said, "and upon your house. Good fortune hold by you and yours."
In the darkness she could see the whites of Forder's eyes, but the huntsman was made of sterner stuff, as befitted a man who braved Blighted Places.
"And to yours," he said with a quick nod before he mounted his horse.
As soon as the huntsman's foot was in the stirrup, Forder had his own horse in motion. Then they were gone, disappearing into the night, leaving only the lingering sounds of trotting hooves behind them.
Seraph ushered her children into the cabin and lit the fire with a wave of her hand. A corner of her mind noted how easily she shed the cloak of good Rederni wife she'd held to since she married Tier, but she tucked the thought back with her grief as she dealt with the more immediate problem of her children.
The Guardian lurked in the room like a restless spirit, adding fear to the mix of shock and sorrow. Rinnie clung to him, sobbing heartbrokenly. Lehr was pale and still wore the air of calm he'd donned for the benefit of the steward - but his hands held the remains of Tier's bridle in a white-knuckled grip.
Tier would have known how to ease their sorrow. He would have said something wise and soothing. He would have held Rinnie until she fell asleep. Then he would have talked to his sons until there was a bandage of comfort between them and their grief.
Seraph wanted to scream and rage until she was too tired to feel any more.
"There was nothing," she said, "that Tier loved more than you three."
Lehr's face whitened and she went to him and hugged him fiercely. She knew it was the right thing when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her so he could press his forehead to the crook of her neck.
She would keep them safe, she vowed silently, as she had not been able to keep her clan or Tier. And if she cried, only Jes could see.
Rinnie fell asleep finally. Jes carried her up the ladder to her half of the loft and rejoined Seraph and Lehr where they sat on a bench in front of the fire.
"She wasn't afraid of me," he said.
Seraph smiled and patted the space beside her. "She didn't seem to be, did she?"
He didn't sit down. "Everyone is afraid, even you and Papa."
"And me," said Lehr with a tired smile that was more in his eyes than on his mouth. "Still, it is just a general unease, isn't it? I'm not really afraid of you, just twitchy."
Seraph nodded. "She might have felt that, but there are worse things than fear."
"People don't touch me," said the Guardian, looking down at his hands as if he missed the weight of Rinnie's warm body.
Lehr looked at him sharply, because Jes almost couldn't bear to be touched most of the