How I wanted to rise up and attack, but this wasn’t about me, and Zery had risked a lot by giving me passage. If I attacked Alcippe now, the priestess would win. She’d be proven right, her standing elevated-even if I killed her, she’d survive in martyrdom. I couldn’t have that. I wanted to take from her what she’d taken from me-what we each valued most. For me, it had been one of my children; for her, it would be her standing in the tribe.

I wanted her to mess up, and I wanted to be the person to expose her. I wanted to take her down.

I stood, and captured Alcippe’s gaze. “Another time?”

“Soon,” she responded.

I smiled, then turned my back on her as she’d done to me earlier. The warriors parted, and I took a breath. Adrenaline pumped through me, but I needed calm to gain trust. Calm and strong, that was the persona that would enable me to get more. I squared my shoulders and grabbed the attention of the warrior I’d pegged as the leader.

“Anyone here know either of the girls who were killed?”

Her gaze flowed down my body, assessing me. I angled my head, showing I expected an answer but was confident enough to wait for it.

Finally…“All of us. At least somewhat.”

“But some more than others?”

“Some.”

Ah, the joys of conversing with a warrior. Knowing I wasn’t going to get many clues from her, I surveyed the rest of the tribe, looking to see who seemed most interested and most nervous. One of the women working in the garden showed a sudden interest in removing a stubborn weed. She bent down and hid her face.

I stepped away from the warriors, on a straight path to the hearth-keeper now up to her neck in pumpkin leaves.

I bent down beside her and rolled over a pumpkin, checking for rot. She glanced up. “Are you a hearth-keeper?” she murmured. She was young and pretty, with a round face and caring eyes.

The pumpkin was solid, orange, and ready for picking. I gave it a thump for effect, then twisted it off the vine. “I’m not anything. I take care of what needs taking care of.”

A line formed between her brows. She was having a hard time fitting my words into the tidily divided world of the Amazons.

“You know why I’m here.”

She glanced up. One of the older hearth-keepers picked up a hoe and chopped at the ground. I moved to the side, blocking her view. “Zery sent me.” It was a stretch, but close enough. “I heard some of the girls were sneaking off to Madison. You know anything about that?”

Her gaze danced around the clearing, but when it landed back on me, I could see she’d made a decision. “A few of us. We’ve been doing it for a while.”

Jackpot. I jerked another pumpkin from the vine and shoved it into her hands. “Don’t we need to put these somewhere cool? So they don’t rot?”

“Good idea.” She rubbed dirt from her pumpkin with a rag she had tucked in her jeans, then stood. We walked past the glarer, neither of us sparing her a glance. I changed my walk, putting as much warrior swagger into it as I could muster. I could have tossed a little magic her way, but that would have just got Alcippe back on my ass. Besides, Bubbe always said the greatest strength was great restraint. Not something I usually practiced, but now seemed like a smart time to start.

We passed Alcippe on our way around the house. Her fingers twitched as I walked by. I smiled at the girl walking beside me and attempted chitchat, saying something nonsensical about which pumpkins made the best pies-as if I knew. The young Amazon played along, and we both passed the high priestess without darting a glance in her direction, but the hair on the back of my neck curled upward, and my eyes scanned the terrain ahead, watching for another attack. Earth was Alcippe’s element of choice-not that she couldn’t call on one of the other three-but since it seemed to be her steady fallback, like air was mine, I assumed it was her area of strength.

We made it to the root cellar intact, but as the girl started to descend the steps, I stopped her. Being under a pile of earth and stone with Alcippe so close did not seem like a good plan. “Is there somewhere else we could go?”

She adjusted the pumpkin, wedging it against her hip for a better grip, then glanced at the back of the farmhouse. “We could make pies. You were just talking about it.”

I was? “How private…?”

“Plenty. Everyone’s outside. It’ll be fun and get me out of cooking later.” She laughed. “Not that I mind.”

Yeah, who would mind standing over a hot stove, slaving away for a bunch of ungrateful warriors? I suppressed a grimace. Instead, I stepped back and held out one arm. “Lead on.”

A bounce in her step, she headed toward the back door. I smacked my palm against the pumpkin pressed against my stomach. I was going to bake a pie. Mother would love this.

Chapter Eleven

Luckily, the back door led directly into the kitchen, not a room I’d spent much time in during any of my stays at this safe house. Future warriors, which had been my mother’s plans for me, did not learn to cook; future priestesses, my grandmother’s plans for me, were considered a threat to all things culinary. Their tendency to play with the elements, especially fire and wind, wreaked havoc with recipe outcomes.

By the time I’d settled into my own artisan plan as an adult, there had been no reason for me to enter the kitchen.

So, the room happily held no bad memories. I could almost pretend I wasn’t in the house where I’d lost my son at all.

Almost.

“Is there a problem?” Dana, she’d told me her name a few minutes earlier, stopped in the process of pulling an apron over her head. Her face showing curiosity and a little concern, she watched me as I stared through the door that led from the kitchen into the rest of the house. The dining room I remembered. Things hadn’t changed much in ten years-same battered oak table and chairs, same ugly 1970s gold chandelier. Memories started creeping back.

“No, nothing.” I shoved the swinging door closed with my foot and turned my back on it.

Dana chattered merrily, pulling pie pans, spoons, butter, and other necessities from cupboards, drawers, and the refrigerator. In the kitchen, or maybe out from under the other Amazons’ watchful glares, she was a different person-confident and content.

I grabbed a knife and did the only job I knew for sure I’d be able to master. I chopped the pumpkin in two and scooped out seeds, dumping the stringy stuff onto a cookie sheet Dana had set out for the purpose.

“The trips to Madison…” I prompted.

“They were fun. Maybe because we knew we weren’t supposed to be going there.” While Dana pulled out various ingredients, she watched as I cut the pumpkin into pieces. When I was done, she tossed them into a bowl with water, covered it with a lid, and put it into the microwave.

Pumpkin-cooking under way, she cut butter into a bowl of flour with a fork, sprinkled some ice water on top, and started kneading the mixture with her bare hands.

I watched, somewhat fascinated. It was like watching Bubbe perform a new spell. How this mess would work out to dessert was beyond my understanding.

After only a few seconds of kneading, she flipped the dough out of the bowl onto the flour-covered tabletop and held out a rolling pin. “Make it that size.” She nodded toward a pie pan.

I wiped my hands on my pants. Horror shot through Dana’s eyes. I spun, expecting Alcippe or a band of warriors to be standing behind me, but aside from Dana and me, the kitchen was still vacant.

With a shrug, I picked up the rolling pin and did my best to flatten the dough. “So, Madison. You went there to…?” I prompted.

Dana edged around me and took the now-steaming bowl of pumpkin from the microwave. After dropping the pumpkin into a blender and pureeing it smooth, Dana replied, “Boys, of course.”