The mountains hated them.
Elyra had known this since the second hour of the climb, when the carriage wheel cracked against a hidden rock and the entire convoy lurched sideways, sending her shoulder into the wooden frame hard enough to leave a bruise she'd feel for days.
She didn't complain. Veyrannese women didn't complain. They endured. They smiled through frostbite and smiled through funerals and smiled through marriages that turned to ash in their hands, and they kept their spines straight while doing it.
Like mother taught me. Like her mother taught her. Smile, Elyra. Smile until your face cracks and then smile some more because that's what the blood demands.
She adjusted the fur across her lap and stared out the carriage window at the grey teeth of the Veyran Range.
