Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

The storm had weakened by the time they left Hearthfang, though it had not ended.

Winter storms in the mountain territory eased and returned, pressed back and gathered again, and this one had only stepped down to a lower register overnight. Wind still moved low across the outer paths, carrying fine snow over the carved stone walkways and piling white drifts against the lower cliff walls, but the pressure that had kept everyone inside the previous evening had released enough for movement between households.

Nia adjusted the fur-lined wrap more securely around her shoulders while following Kael down the descending path cut along the mountain face.

The cold outside was sharper than she had expected after the alcove morning. It reached through layered wool quickly, reminding her body of everything the hearthstones had let her forget.

Shen moved in closer on her left without comment, broad enough to cut part of the crosswind coming off the ridge, and stayed there while Kael continued ahead with the heavier storage bundles balanced under one arm. Neither man acknowledged the adjustment. Nia kept her eyes on the path while snow compressed sharply beneath their boots.

Below the higher residential tiers, smoke already rose from vent stacks scattered through the territory. Morning activity had resumed despite the continuing storm: distant movement near the grain storage lifts, hunters returning through the lower pass in small groups, the faint ringing of toolwork carrying upward through the cold air. Warm lights showed in distant vent slits. The smell of morning fires reached even this high.

The mountain compressed in winter, but it did not stop.

Nia breathed into the edge of her scarf while they descended another stretch of snow-covered stone.

“What do people usually do during storms like this?”

“Depends,” Shen said.

Kael adjusted the storage bundle higher against one shoulder without slowing. “Sleep.”

Nia looked at him. “That explains why your family treats storms like hibernation season.”

“Efficient use of weather.”

“That sounds like something people say right before sleeping fourteen hours.”

Shen’s shoulder shifted lightly beside her.

“The children usually end up running through the vent corridors,” he said. “Most families stay together once the snow gets heavy. Repairs. Toolwork. Preserving food if storage runs low.”

“Everyone complains about the noise,” Kael added.

“Do they actually.”

“Not usually.”

“It gets too quiet otherwise,” Shen said.

Wind crossed the path sharply before easing again around the next curve of mountain wall.

Nia tucked her fingers deeper beneath the edge of her wrap. “Were winters always this crowded?”

“Crowded,” Kael repeated.

“Occupied,” she corrected after a moment. “Your mountain feels occupied in winter. Even when the halls are quiet.”

Kael glanced back once. “You stopped looking nervous about that.”

Nia opened her mouth.

Closed it again.

Shen’s attention shifted briefly toward her before returning to the path ahead. “Most people settle into it after the first winter.”

Snow-covered cedar branches stretched from the lower slope beyond the carved trail, dark needles dusted white beneath pale winter light. Shen’s attention moved toward the slope below the path before she noticed what he was looking at.

“The frostberries survived the storm.”

She found the shrub after a moment: dark tangled branches pushing through packed snow with a scattering of small red berries still clinging to the outer stems.

“Those are edible?”

“In small amounts. Tart enough to use dried in grain cakes, or cooked down with rendered fat into preserve.” Shen paused. “You could probably ferment them if the late-season cold concentrated the sugars enough.”

Nia studied the berries while they walked. “There’s probably more you could do with those.”

“You’re thinking about experimenting already.”

“I’m always thinking about experimenting.”

“That explains the starch conversation during dinner.”

“It was an important conversation.”

Kael made a low sound ahead of them that carried just enough amusement to be noticeable without becoming a laugh.

Behind the frostberry shrubs, climbing vine remnants wound along part of the cliff support beams near the path, stems brown and dormant but still holding their structure against the stone.

“Do those put out growth in summer?”

“The bitterstem vines grow quickly once the temperature rises,” Shen said. “The early shoots are edible. Some households use them in broth before the bitter compound develops.”

“When does that happen?”

“Around here.” He indicated a point roughly level with her shoulder. “After that the concentration becomes dangerous without processing, though the compound has medicinal use at the right dilution.”

A defense response tied to growth height, then. Probably pressure from grazing animals large enough to reach the middle stems consistently once the plant matured past ground coverage.

Kael had stopped several paces ahead before she realized she’d slowed again.

When she looked up, his expression carried the patient look of someone who had already accepted this was going to keep happening whenever she found new plants.

“Sorry.”

“The vine will still be there later.”

“I was thinking.”

“So was Shen.”

Nia glanced sideways.

Shen did not look remotely apologetic.

By the time they reached Kael’s home, the cold had worked all the way into her fingers. Stepping through the door into the warmth held inside by banked hearthstones and insulated vent channels felt like something her body had been waiting for since they left Hearthfang.

The familiar layering of the household air settled around her before she finished closing the door: cedar smoke, dried herbs, old wood, and the faint grain-flour undertone of the kitchen space. Her shoulders loosened against the cold without conscious thought once the warmth closed around them again.

Kael set the storage bundles near the kitchen wall. Shen moved toward the hearth without being asked, crouching to open the lower heat vent and stir the buried coalstones back toward life beneath the ash.

Nia unwound her scarf while scanning the kitchen shelves, already working out what the available ingredients could become.

“We still have most of the smoked fowl?”

“Half a leg and the wing portions,” Kael said, settling onto the bench near the hearth.

Nia crouched near the lower storage baskets and began pulling things free: grain flour, dried root bulbs, preserved greens sealed in rendered fat, fermented herb paste, onions, and the remaining smoked fowl from the upper shelf.

Shen set the water basin beside her before she reached for it.

Nia paused halfway through pulling the root bulbs closer. “You already knew.”

“Mm.”

He loosened the rendered fat seal from the preserved greens while she started slicing.

After another moment, she glanced over again. “I’ve only made this twice.”

“Three times.”

The root bulb slipped slightly beneath the knife.

Nia narrowed her eyes at the cutting board while Shen continued separating the greens like nothing unusual had been said.

Behind them, Kael remained entirely too comfortable beside the hearth.

Nia held the grain flour toward him without turning around.

He took it with a quiet grunt and started working the dough.

The kitchen settled into steady movement after that.

Root bulbs softened slowly inside the heated stonepot while preserved greens folded into broth darkened by fermented herb paste. Kael worked another flatbread against the hot cooking stone beside the hearth while Shen separated smoked fowl into smaller pieces near the cutting board beside her.

Outside, wind pressed low against the outer wall again.

“The western grain lifts were icing this morning,” Shen said after a while.

Kael glanced over briefly while turning one of the flatbreads. “Again.”

“The lower supports froze.”

“Rhaegar’s going to be irritated.”

Shen slid another strip of smoked meat toward the cutting board near her hand. “He already was.”

Nia stirred through the thickening broth slowly. “How much grain moves through those lifts once winter starts?”

“Less after first freeze,” Shen said. “Most households already stored enough by then.”

“The outer trade routes slow too,” Kael added. “Snow closes the southern pass first.”

Nia watched the broth darken around the root vegetables. “That still sounds like a stressful way to organize food.”

“Winter’s easier if preparation starts early enough.”

“That feels like a sentence people here say constantly.”

Kael looked at her once across the hearthlight. “It’s usually true.”

Wind moved low against the outer wall again before easing away.

Nia adjusted the stew thickness with another spoonful of fermented herb paste before her attention shifted upward toward the drying bundles hanging beside the upper vent shelf.

“What does stoneleaf do cooked?”

“It stays bitter,” Shen said without looking up. “Usually used in long-simmered broths.”

“What if you blanched it first before adding it to something acidic?”

He looked over then.

“Why.”

“The bitterness might settle differently if the sharper compounds break down first.” She turned the leaves between her fingers thoughtfully. “Especially with enough fat separating the herb from the fermented paste.”

Shen considered that quietly while continuing to cut the smoked meat.

“The rendered skin might work.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

Nia set the leaves aside near the cutting board for later experimentation.

The stew thickened steadily in the stonepot while rendered fat warmed the kitchen with its heavy savory smell. Outside, wind pressed low against the outer walls again before easing away.

“The grain fermentation idea would still work,” Nia said while adjusting the broth. “If the starch changes properly during fermentation, the interior texture should stay softer with less rendered fat.”

“You’ve been thinking about bread for several days,” Kael observed.

“The harvest bread was denser than it needed to be.”

“It was still good.”

“I know.” Nia stirred slowly through the broth. “I just keep noticing ways it could improve.”

Shen separated another strip of smoked fowl near the cutting board. “You think about food the same way healers think about medicine.”

Nia glanced over briefly. “Food systems matter.”

“Mm,” Kael said from beside the hearth. “You’ve explained that several times.”

“Because fermentation changes storage life, texture, nutrient retention—”

Kael held up one hand. “I know.”

The warmth climbing into her face felt deeply unnecessary.

She turned back toward the stew before either man could look at her for too long.

The meal came together gradually after that, resolving into bowls balanced against their knees near the hearth while winter pressed steadily against the outer walls.

The stew turned out well.

The herb paste gave the broth more depth than the preserved greens could have carried alone, and the smoked fowl held enough salt through the cooking process to balance the heavier root vegetables without overwhelming them.

For a while only eating sounds filled the room.

Then the quiet changed.

Nia looked up.

Shen sat with one forearm resting loosely against his knee, bowl still mostly full in one hand while hearthlight moved softly across the side of his face. Nothing about him looked tense. The stillness around him simply carried direction now, the same quiet certainty he settled into whenever he had already decided something important and saw no reason to avoid saying it aloud.

He looked at her.

“I want to stand beside Kael as your second mate.”

The room remained still around the words.

Nia became aware of the ceramic warmth in her hands, the line of hearthlight across the floorstones, the sound of wind moving low against the outer wall beyond the vent channels.

Kael continued eating.

Entirely unsurprised.

“You discussed this.”

“We understood it,” Kael said.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything now.” Shen turned the bowl once between his hands. “I wanted you to know where I stand.”

Nia looked down at her stew.

Steam drifted slowly upward from the broth while wind moved low against the outer wall beyond the vent channels. Across from her, Kael continued eating without visible concern, one arm resting loosely against his knee beside the hearthstones.

The morning returned in scattered pieces afterward: layered warmth before sunrise, the water pot already moved toward the better heat, frostberries beneath snow, bitterstem vines climbing the cliff wall, Shen answering half-formed questions as steadily as if he had already settled himself into the shape of her life long before saying any of this aloud.

The bowl stayed warm in her hands.

Outside, the storm settled deeper against the mountain.

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