Edmond

True to her word, Ysanne went to sleep on the right side of the bed, and after pulling together the quailing threads of his courage, Edmond joined her.

And nothing at all happened.

There was no sound in the room, but for the crackling of the fire, and at first Edmond found that unnerving. In the village, he'd shared a room with his siblings, and he'd got used to the sounds of them breathing, mumbling, sighing, and snoring.

Ysanne didn't breathe.

She lay next to him, as still and silent as a corpse, and the strangeness of that made it hard for him to fall asleep. But eventually, once he got used to it, he finally drifted off, and when he did, it was the best sleep he'd had in years. For the first time since leaving the village, he didn't have to worry about protecting himself, or keeping warm, or finding food in the morning. For the first time in a long time, he was able to just sleep.

By the time he awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. Ysanne crouched in front of the fire, moving half-burned logs around.

"Good morning," she said, glancing back at him.

He sat up and scrubbed sleep out of his eyes.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"It's a long time since I've been there, and I think today I should explore our surroundings a little more," Ysanne announced, straightening up and wiping her hands on her breeches. "You can't survive on smoked horse meat all winter, and it would be good to know if there are any other food sources nearby."

Edmond started to climb out of bed, but Ysanne held out a hand to stop him. Despite all the manual labour she had done lately, her palm still looked soft as silk.

"I'll be going alone," she said.

"I can help," Edmond argued.

Ysanne shook her head. "I can move faster without you."

It wasn't meant as an insult, but it stung, nonetheless. Back in the village, Edmond's family had relied on him. After the plague ravaged everything he loved, he had relied on himself. He was not used to relying on someone else. He was not used to feeling helpless.

But already he was starting to understand that there was precious little point arguing with Ysanne. And she was right. He had neither her strength nor her speed; all he would do was slow her down. What good did that do either of them?

Ysanne tied her hair at the nape of her neck with a strip torn from her old dress.

"Don't leave the house while I'm gone," she said. "If I come back and find you frozen to death, I shall be very annoyed."

After she had gone, Edmond busied himself by cleaning the kitchen floor. Any part of the horse that could not be used had been buried in the snow outside, but the stone slabs were still stained rusty red. He used the kitchen pots to bring in snow, which he melted in front of the fire, then he used more rags from Ysanne's dress to scrub away the stains.

It was hard work, but he found himself strangely enjoying it. Until now he hadn't realised how much he missed having a roof over his head.

He was so lost in his work that he almost didn't hear the voices. It wasn't until a bark of laughter shattered the winter-locked stillness outside that Edmond's head snapped up.

The laugh came again, followed by a raspy male voice, but Edmond couldn't hear what he was saying. He dropped his makeshift cloth, and climbed carefully to his feet, trying not to make any noise.

Then he remembered the fire in the main room and silently cursed. Anyone outside could see smoke coming from the chimney – it didn't matter how quiet he was. Whoever was there, they already knew he was here.

Tiptoeing back into the main room, he picked up the longest of the knives that Ysanne had unpacked from her trunk.

What should he do?

What if the people outside were travellers, like him, just looking for somewhere to rest awhile?

Considering he knew exactly how hard it was to be in that position, the last thing he wanted was turn them away if they needed help, but the house wasn't his to offer.

And if they weren't humble travellers . . .

Edmond gripped the knife tighter.

He moved to the windows, pushing aside the makeshift curtains that Ysanne had hung up, and peeking out through a gap in the wooden boards.

Four men milled about outside, looking up at the house. They were all taller and broader than Edmond, and all of them had knives, swords or axes shoved through their belts.

Edmond's heart plummeted. Just because they were armed didn't mean they meant trouble, but he'd encountered more than his share of thieves and thugs on the road, and every instinct he possessed screamed danger.

One of them approached the house, and Edmond fell back from the window, heart thumping. If Ysanne was here, she'd make short work of these men, but she wasn't, which meant the house was his responsibility. It was down to him to defend it.

As he edged towards the door, someone knocked on it, a slow, heavy thump-thump-thump, that sent Edmond's heart into his throat.

He was outnumbered – badly.

He was no stranger to violence – both before and after leaving the village. He had been beaten to the ground and kicked when he was down, and he didn't doubt that it would happen again one day. But he didn't want to die today.

Could he run?

Yes, it meant abandoning Ysanne's house, but she'd understand, wouldn't she?

Except . . . where would he go? Even if he abandoned the house, how far would he get in the snow? There was little point fleeing from these men, only to freeze to death.

The knocking came again, and Edmond held his breath, trying to decide what to do. Maybe he could hide in the cellar –

The decision was made for him when the men outside tried to open the door.

Edmond threw himself against it, using his own body weight to slam it shut. He needed both hands to do it; he was forced to slide his knife into his belt.

"Who's there?" said the raspy voice, and Edmond closed his eyes, trying to marshal his panicked thoughts.

"We don't mean any harm," said the man outside, his voice crooning slightly.

Edmond didn't believe him for a second.

The door shook in its frame, and Edmond pushed back with all his strength, but this winter had left him skin and bone, and his arms trembled with the effort. If they really wanted to get in, he couldn't stop them.

Maybe he could let them in one at a time, and cut their throats as soon as they crossed the threshold. But that would depend on them being stupid enough to not realise what he was doing, which seemed unlikely.

Think, Edmond.

The door rattled again, and this time it slid open a couple of inches, before Edmond managed to get it shut again. With both hands pressed against the great slab of wood, he couldn't reach for his knife, but if he took his hands off the door, the men outside would get inside.

Fear made it hard to breathe.

Even if Ysanne came home in time to help, she wasn't entirely invulnerable. Despite her strength and speed, her ability to heal, she could still be killed.

Edmond leaned back slightly, taking some of the pressure off the door. It was too late to run and hide. All he could do now was fight.

The door started to slide open, and Edmond backed off, pulling the knife from his belt. A face appeared in the doorway, leering and grinning, with winter-cold eyes and a thicket of dark hair. The man stopped when he saw Edmond, and his grin widened.

"It's just a boy," he laughed.

Edmond lunged.

He slashed with the knife, and the laughing man's left eye disappeared in a spray of red. His laugh became a scream, and he fell back through the open doorway. Edmond slammed the door shut, but he had bought himself only seconds. The voices outside bellowed with rage, and then the door shuddered in its frame as they set to work trying to force it open. Edmond held it as long as he could, and then he abruptly let go, leaping back so that the door swung open, and the men pushing against it overbalanced and toppled onto the floor.

While they were sprawled at his feet, Edmond desperately stabbed down with the knife, skewering a thick shoulder, and then he stabbed again, the point of the knife puncturing someone's hand.

Then iron-hard fingers wrapped around his ankle. He tried to pull away, but the man's grip was too strong. He yanked hard, and Edmond lost his footing, falling to the floor. The breath rushed out of his body, and his elbow painfully jarred, but he kept tight hold of the knife.

"Little bastard," his attacker hissed, releasing Edmond's ankle and grabbing his throat instead. He rammed his other hand into Edmond's face, and the world slid sideways.

Edmond tried to struggle away, but the man held him tight and hit him again. Blood flooded into Edmond's mouth as his lip split.

Behind his attacker, the other two climbed to their feet. Outside, the thicket-haired man writhed in the snow, clutching one hand to his ruined eye and moaning.

Edmond swung wildly with his knife, and scored a shallow hit along his attacker's cheek.

The bigger man instinctively recoiled, taking his hand off Edmond's throat, and Edmond scrambled back, but another man was already there, swinging a booted foot into Edmond ribs. He rolled out of the way and scrabbled to his feet, and as one of the would-be thieves came at him, Edmond buried his knife in the man's thigh. The man snarled, but the wound didn't slow him down; he hit Edmond so hard it felt like his brain had rattled loose in his skull.

Everything felt dizzy and foggy around him.

Vaguely, he saw the man pull Ysanne's knife from his thigh, hissing through his teeth.

Then he felt the bright red spike of pain as the man plunged the knife into Edmond's side.