Bhotta's Tears: Book Two of the Black Bead Chronicles by J. D. Lakey

Mora’s Second. Amabel wielded most of the power of a First Mother without any of the constraints of politics, diplomacy, or mercy, making her a formidable force in the day to day lives of the villagers. No one wanted to be on her bad side.
    The children saw the lunch pails but they were careful not to show interest. Amabel could easily refuse them a noon meal if she thought they needed to learn a lesson. The apprentices dropped the lunch pails on the nearest workbench before crossing the room to the boys. One of them collared Tam and pulled him over to the bay doors to inspect his split lip in the brighter light. The other pulled a thermopack out of the satchel she had slung over one shoulder. The healer’s apprentice ran her fingers along the thermopack’s spine to break the cell walls and mix the chemicals inside. Frost collected on its outer skin as she applied it to Connor’s swollen eye.
    Cheobawn, her stomach growling, eyed the pails. They had only brought four. Cheobawn opened her mouth to point out the mistake, when Amabel pointed a finger at her.
    “Come along, little miss,” she said in a tone that forbade argument. Without a backward glance to see if she was being obeyed, Amabel turned, retracing her path out of the maintenance shed. Cheobawn looked wildly around, hoping to find someplace to hide. Tam’s dark eyes did not miss her look of panic. He pulled his chin out of the healer’s hand and flicked a fingersign at her. Quiet, Stay, it said.  
    “Where are you taking her?” Tam asked loudly. Amabel stopped and turned. She stared at him, a feline smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
    “I do not see how that is any of your business,” she said coldly.
    “Cheobawn is my Packmate. I am her Alpha. It is my right to ask after her disposition.”
    Amabel snorted, annoyance warring with amusement. “Tsk. Little leopard cub, all snarly, with your milk teeth and your little growls. Be careful where you point your claws when there are bigger claws in the room.”
    “There are rules that even the High Council must follow,” Tam said stubbornly. He was not going to back down. Amabel glared at him but he did not flinch from the Mother’s gaze. ”Pack dynamics is one of those rules,” Tam insisted.
    “Yes, but this little chit is not yet eight. You have no claim on her. If you insist on knowing, Mora wants her cuts seen to with more than spit and elbow grease. I prefer not to practice healing in the dust and wood chips, if you don’t mind. Come along Cheobawn. Finn, I will return her when I feel she is fit.”
    With that, the older woman turned and strode away, her skirts snapping around her in their vain attempt to keep up. Cheobawn had no choice but to follow.
    Do not worry, she signed at Tam, whose face was dark with suppressed anger. I will be alright. Cheobawn hoped that her face expressed more confidence than she felt.  
     

 
     
    Chapter Six
     
    The fountain in the middle of the central plaza also happened to be the radius point of the great circle defined by the dome over their heads. At the northernmost point of the plaza’s circle stood the temple. The village infirmary lay just to the east of that, its placement a mirror of the Common Rooms on the opposite side, where the communal meals were served. Four great promenades radiated out from the center, marking the four compass points. The North Promenade led directly from the North Gate, through the village, under the arched courtyard of the temple spire, and into the plaza. Every village shared this architecture, if they shared nothing else. This ensured that the largest and most frequented public spaces were convenient to everyone who lived there.
    Cheobawn followed Amabel through the North Gate but when Amabel turned off the North Promenade, she paused, confused. Amabel strode away, not bothering to look back. Racing to catch up, Cheobawn found herself playing Dancing Molly behind the Master Maker as she wound her way through the