| |
I woke the next morning, to silky fingers trailing in my hair.
“Open your eyes, Livy...”
My body stirred beneath the covers, as my mind fluttered back to consciousness. I had been dreaming, I thought. Dreaming of a shaded road, speckled with cyclamen and winter jasmine. I had been looking for someone, or they had been looking for me? There had been a pair of amber eyes, I was sure of it. But already, it was slipping away like a knife through warm butter.
Those cool fingertips again, and a sweet scent drifted over my pillow.
“I made breakfast.”
That’s nice...wait...what?!
My eyes flew open, as I bolted upright on the bed—nearly dislodging the beautiful woman who’d perched on the mattress beside me. There was a muffled gasp of surprise, and her dark curls swung backwards, as I grabbed her by the shoulders with both hands.
“Why would you do that?” I demanded. “Is everyone all right?”
Trina stared back in hard silence.
It was a testament to both her admirable self-awareness, along with her stunning incapacity for such things, that she said nothing to contest this. She merely stuck with the facts.
“I didn’t prepare the food myself,” she answered stiffly. “I went next door, and Edda gave me a basket of rolls left over from dinner the night before.”
My lips twitched, as my pulse slowed to normal. “You scavenged breakfast, then.”
“Well, I re-plated it. That has to count for something.”
It does.
“It doesn’t,” I answered, stretching out my arms. There was a painful crack near my elbows, courtesy of hauling all those crates. “You’re little better than a fox.”
“There are worse things to be.” Her eyes twinkled as she stared down at me, catching the streams of sunlight pouring in the window. “Get dressed, little dove. Come eat the breakfast I scavenged. I want to hear all about your day.”
* * *
By the time I shoved a dress over my head and forced my tired body down the hallway, Trina was already bustling around the kitchen—pulling down glasses for fresh milk from the neighbor’s cow, and throwing open the kitchen window to let in the summer breeze.
The last of the springtime blooms had fallen away, but we still had the flowers Karmen had threaded over the rooftops and kept stubbornly growing in the garden. If I closed my eyes, I might have been standing amidst a sea of blossoms. Or been dunked in a bucket of perfumare.
“Did you know there’s a scented oil people are spraying on their skin?” I asked randomly, taking a seat at the table. She had indeed plated Edda’s biscuits. She must have been missing our time together as much as me. “This woman half-assaulted me with it in the market.”
Trina’s eyes flashed up. “Did she charge you for it?”
I shook my head, sniffing absently at my wrist. “It smelled like a dream...”
She stared at me a moment, then settled down with a smile, folding her fingertips beneath her chin. It had been years since we’d come to the settlement; she had been already full-grown. But I sometimes remembered how young she still was. In moments like this, I could see it.
“So you’re enjoying yourself, then?” she asked coaxingly, plopping a piece of bread onto a plate and pushing it my way. “Is it everything you’d hoped?”
I might not have had a lot of friends in the settlement, and even with the few there were, I played things close to the vest. But it had never been like that with Trina. I’d spent the weeks before the festival walking around with the same moony expression as everyone else—wondering after the king and his nobles, the foreign ships in the harbor, the queen. It wasn’t until the day got closer, I’d started to realize how very many people were coming. And how constantly thirsty they would be.
“Parts of it are,” I said slowly, thinking back to the market. I picked up the biscuit, turning it between my fingers. “I think I saw a monkey. There was a man who was spitting fire. I saw a girl with skin like dark chestnut, and braids that hung to the floor. She was beautiful.”
Trina smiled, passing me the honey. “And the king? You didn’t say much about him.”
I shrugged, the memory already fading. “You were right. He’s just an old man.”
A kind man, that was surprising.
“What else did you expect?” she asked.
“I don’t know...beams of light. A golden chariot. A throne made from the bones of his enemies, and blood-red hair that fell to his knees.”
There was a pause.
“You read too much.”
“You should read more.”
“How is your work coming?” she countered, steering the conversation towards something else. It was clear, this was what she’d been wanting to discuss from the beginning. Not the festival itself, about which she apparently cared very little. But my own part in it. “Any problems?”
My eyes flashed across the table before I reached into my pocket and drew out a leather pouch, half-stuffed with silver. I tossed it onto the table between us.
“See for yourself.”
Any other person I knew would have gasped aloud. Any other person. Trina didn’t even look. She merely smiled sarcastically, pulling out a pouch of her own. This one was heavier.
It was filled with gold.
“Streð mik!” I cried, reaching with both hands. Only once had I ever touched a piece of real gold. There had to be over a dozen. “You’ve gotten all that from only three days at the brothel?! I hope you paid Edda for the biscuits...”
She regarded me calmly. “Liv, I have nothing to do with the brothel. I’m shocked to hear such an establishment is permitted within the walls of our fair town.”
I flashed a childish grin, biting the edge of a coin. “I saw Margarethe yesterday, battering some poor man with a ladle.”
Her lips twitched, but otherwise, her face stayed clear. “Well, it’s good to hear of that happening anywhere.”
She pushed to her feet, sweeping the coins back into the pouch, and then placing the pouch not in the jar, but beneath a loose floorboard at the far side of the kitchen. It was impossible to spot, if you didn’t know it was there. But with a well-placed dig of one’s boot, we could both pop it open.
I was just gathering up my silver, ready to add it to the pile, when she returned to the table and placed it back in my hand. “Keep it,” she said. “Find yourself a little treat.”
“Are you sure?” I asked in surprise, already half-risen from my chair. “Trina, you said yourself there was going to be—”
“I know what I said, but I clearly underestimated the base nature of men, and just how many would be willing to travel across a mountain range to celebrate a birthday party.” Her eyes softened a bit, latching onto mine. “I see how hard you’ve been working. I appreciate it, Liv, I really do. Go back to the market—get something you like. You’ve earned it.”
With a little smile, I slipped the coins back into my pocket, already dreaming about which of those exotic wonders I might actually get to buy. A bottle of that scent, perhaps. Or perhaps a fur wrap for when the weather got colder. For a glorious moment, my mind wandered to the monkey—
“You never answered my question.”
I glanced up in surprise, to see Trina still watching me across the table—those dark eyes of hers fastened inquisitively onto my face. She waited a moment, then repeated it again.
“...were there any problems?”
My pulse quickened, as a series of images flashed through my head. Henny getting kicked on the ground, the silver coin between me and the soldier. The group of girls, turning to mock me in the stable. And then the moment that overtook them all. That ringing voice, loud as a god’s.
ENOUGH!
“No,” I shook my head innocently, “no problems.”
She smiled, and reached for a biscuit.
The rest of the meal was spent in laughter and conversation—jokes, and gossip, and catching up on the little things we’d missed. I’d like to say I enjoyed it, like I should. But the honey soured on my tongue, and the bread sat like a stone in my stomach.
I had shared my entire life with Trina. I had laughed with her, and yelled at her. I had come to her crying when something upset me, and let her patch me back up again.
I’d done everything you could think of, and then did it all again.
But I had never lied.
* * *
“Pick up the pace.”
I cast a quick look over my shoulder, kneeling beside the giant barrel where I was refilling my pitchers of ale. Usually there was someone present who’d do it for me; they liked to keep us girls moving amidst the people, not shuffling with the tankards in back. But a few of the serving boys had overdone it the night before with the ale, and only three had showed up this morning. Henny wasn’t among them, though I suspected his reasons were different than most.
“We’re going to run out,” I murmured, forcing in the stopper and rising quickly to my feet.
The kitchen mistress stood behind me, counting what remained of the goblets and slicing marks into a tablet. In the time since I’d arrived that morning, her customary smile had soured to a chronic grimace, and spools of her auburn hair had begun to turn grey.
“If that happens, there’s more beside the granary. But that’s meant to be a last resort, and the new shipment isn’t due to arrive from the harbor until after lunch.” She threw a quick look into the hall, tapping my shoulder. “The pace, Liv. More people just came inside.”
I nodded swiftly and tied back my hair—fastening most of it in a braided knot, and letting the remaining tendrils spill down my shoulders. Although it had never been said directly, we were supposed to make a bit of an effort when serving in the great hall. Loose curls, painted cheeks, a flash of skin to make the lords happy as we filled their cups. Until that very morning, I’d done my best to comply. But given the depths of our logistical quagmire, pragmatism reigned supreme.
“By all the hells,” she cursed softly, shaking her head, “you could at least tug down your—”
Probably best for our friendship, if she doesn’t finish that sentence.
With a sarcastic salute, I picked up my tray and hurried back into the main chamber, spotting the empty glasses immediately and falling into rhythm with the other girls. It was touch and go on the first day, but we’d learned to make a kind of circle, a wheel that stayed in constant rotation, so that if one of the nobles happened to need something, one of us was never very far away.
Sometimes, that rotation was upended—like whenever the king graced us with his presence. Through no fault of their own, the servants would find themselves staring, angling, trying to drift closer. When his glass lifted into the air, no less than five different people would race forth.
It was a miracle there hadn’t been collisions.
I used to be among them. That first night after the sacrifice, I felt like I’d stepped into someone else’s dream. But when the king dropped his fork, and upon kneeling to retrieve it, I discovered he’d forgotten to lace his boots, the spell was effectively broken for me.
He was just a man, as Trina had warned me.
At any rate, I had better things to do.
What should I get from the market...?
Of all the days for my aunt to discover the concept of charity, she couldn’t have picked one that was better. The king was leaving directly from his chambers to a hunt, and was taking about half his lords with him. Lunch would be a picnic-style feast of whatever they happened to kill, and the rest of us wouldn’t be needed again until supper. A single meal, then I could leave the smoky hall behind, and wander again those sunlit streets—this time, with my own agenda.
If only there weren’t so many options. If only I could decide.
Perhaps it should be the perfumare.
Even though I’d bathed twice since having it spritzed on my wrist, I couldn’t stop sniffing at my skin—hoping some trace of it remained. The woman selling it seemed kind enough and was sure to give me a good price, I just couldn’t imagine there wouldn’t be—
“More ale!”
My head snapped up and I glided forward, flashing a distracted smile, as I leaned forward and filled a nobleman’s glass. He was too busy shouting at someone across the room to look at me, and I was too distracted to notice if he had. If I’d been paying even the slightest bit more attention, it wouldn’t have come as such a shock when the same request came almost immediately again.
“Is there any left for me?”
I turned at once to the table beside me, already reaching for a glass. I found an outstretched hand instead. Our fingers collided and twined, as my head jerked up in surprise.
“I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t—”
The words caught in my throat, when I saw who it was. Handsome and smiling, and looking just at home beside the king’s table, as he’d been sitting in the grass beneath the stands.
Erik.
He eased the pitcher from my hand, pouring a cup himself.
“You did nothing wrong,” he said easily, angling towards me in his chair. There was a whole table of men sitting around him, but nearly all of them were decades older and focused on their own affairs. “I was hoping I’d see you again. I felt as though we...left too quickly, the day before.”
A blush rose in my cheeks, and my eyes flashed around the chamber to see if anyone was watching. We weren’t forbidden from speaking to the bannermen. Quite the contrary, it was often encouraged. But given the hectic pace of the morning, it wouldn’t be appreciated now.
Not to mention, the bannerman in question.
Already, half a dozen other girls had noticed us talking and were staring from various points around the chamber with the deepest dislike. At that point, it would make sense to buy an amulet from the market. I was most likely getting hexed, seven different ways.
“Well, we couldn’t stay under there the whole day,” I said nervously, wishing he’d give back the pitcher. “At some point, we’d asphyxiate on all the sawdust.”
He laughed then, a sound I’d yet to hear. Several of the men sitting with him glanced over in surprise, warming at the sight of it. They looked between the two of us, exchanging secret smiles.
“I should be getting on,” I said quietly, not wanting to draw more attention.
“Of course,” he said immediately, releasing the pitcher, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” I backed away with a parting smile, quoting back the same words he’d said to me a moment before, “you did nothing wrong.”
He smiled in return, watching as I slipped back into the crowd.
It was only the second time I’d seen him in the chamber; the first was the night that he’d arrived. Whether he was merely taking advantage of the half the bannermen’s absence, or if he’d come for some other reason, I could never know for certain. But I couldn’t keep from looking at him as I drifted around the tables. There were several times I saw him looking at me as well.
But why? He knows what I am.
“Well, you’re a pretty one!”
A large hand closed on my elbow and I jerked to a stop, slopping a good deal of ale over the tips of my boots. One of the lords of the riverlands had pushed back in his chair to get a better look at me. He was doing this with great appreciation, his eyes sweeping slowly up and down.
“Are you only a serving girl? Or do you perform other tasks as well?”
Charming.
I clenched my jaw, forcing a tight smile. “Only a serving girl, I’m afraid. My husband would allow nothing else.”
As I delivered the familiar script, I pulled tentatively my arm away. But either the man didn’t notice me trying, or hadn’t yet decided whether he was doing to let me go.
“Your husband, eh?” he quoted, tilting his head with a drunken smile. The sun hadn’t even cleared the eastern forest, yet he’d been drinking for the better part of the day. “And what does your husband do for a living? Does he work in the settlement? Is he here now?”
The mistress appeared in the doorway. “Liv, we need you,” she called.
“Excuse me a moment.”
With a sigh of relief, I wrenched myself away and hurried back to the kitchen, forgetting the pitcher I’d been carrying on the table, but vowing in that moment, to let it remain. The woman expected no different. No one there had any need of me, she’d simply seen from the door.
“Thank you for that,” I murmured, still feeling the coil of his fingers on my arm. “I know we’re meant to be entertaining, but I’m honestly not—”
She shook her head, holding up a silencing hand. “We’re meant to tell you that, and you’re meant to consider—nothing more. You’re a free woman, Liv. That choice remains entirely yours.”
A loud cheer rang out behind us, emanating from that same table.
“To Joran of the Westbluff!” the men called, lifting their glasses.
It wasn’t the same man I’d been speaking with; this one was seated a few chairs down. But the entire table had come together to salute him—taking the pitcher I’d left behind, and pouring it playfully over the man’s head. He’d won the previous night’s archery contest.
As a reward, they would apparently drown him.
“That’s my fault,” I grimaced, watching the ale drip off the table. “I left it—”
“You can leave it again,” the woman interrupted, waving me towards the door. “That’s enough for this morning, I can have one of the others clean it up. Remember the king’s hunting with the first half of his lords until supper, so there no need to return until then.”
I stared back at her, unable to let such graciousness alone.
“Why do you keep doing that?” I asked directly, cutting through whatever progress we’d made to get to the core. “Letting me go early, saving me from some drunken...”
I trailed into silence, understanding at the same time.
Trina.
“You know my aunt.”
The woman chuckled under her breath, sweeping a wisp of hair from her eyes.
“I’m surprised it took you so long to put that together. Do you think these jobs come easily to girls of your station? Is there anyone in the settlement who doesn’t know your aunt?”
I glanced around the room, acknowledging that silent truth.
Doesn’t speak very well of us...
“I promised her I’d keep an eye on you, so long as you were in my care. And she promised me, you were a hard worker who’d stay out of trouble.” She looked me over, eyes twinkling with a smile. “Looks like she was half right.”
“Through no fault of my own,” I inserted piteously.
She chuckled again, waving me out the door. “Through no fault of your own...”
With a quick smile, I thanked her again, and left just as quickly as I’d come—setting my remaining pitcher on a tray, as I yanked the braided knot out of my hair and hurried out the door. It wasn’t just that she’d released me, it wasn’t just that I had coin to spend and a royal market just up the street. Her mention of Trina had reminded me of something I’d resolved to do that morning. In a twist of irony, it was the same thing Trina had once done for me herself.
She wanted me to stay out of trouble? Well, this wasn’t my trouble.
It belongs to someone else.
After casting a furtive look in either direction, I pressed myself against the stacks of wooden pallets, and started gliding down the street—heading not towards the busy market, but to the service alley that ran behind the length of the great hall. It was loud, having shared a wall, but deserted.
I wasn’t entirely sure, until I got closer, that my plan would come of anything. Ulrik didn’t know Henny hadn’t come that morning. He’d only told him the place he was to wait, every day, to surrender his hard-earned coins. With any luck, he was waiting there now.
But he wasn’t going to find Henny. I had something else in mind.
Silent as a wildcat, I placed one foot in front of the other—slinking along with such stealth, I was impressing myself. As I walked, I reached into my sleeve and extracted a long knitting needle that I’d stolen from our yarn cupboard at home. Trina didn’t sew and would never miss it, and I thought it more prudent that my precious silver knife—in case things started to go wrong.
There was a clatter of boxes around the corner. The sound of muffled voices, followed by a bark of laughter that sounded closer to a dog’s. I stopped where I stood, gripping the needle.
Crap.
Ulrik’s friends had tired of the game already, and I hadn’t counted on them being there. I had a single chance, against a single man—and even then, I was likely flattering myself. Most likely, I’d rake him across the cheek, scream something threatening, then receive the same beating myself.
It wasn’t the best of plans, but I was plagued with guilt about the day before.
A single twitch of my fingers, and I could have sent all three of them running; helped my friend off the ground and assured him that his tormentors would never return. That was what I’d wanted to do. But that kind of defiance was forbidden to me. Sewing implements were not.
Doesn’t matter if there’s three of them, you’ve already committed.
Perhaps it was because of this asinine line of thinking, that some far-flung god took pity on me. No sooner had I reached the corner, than there was a murmur of farewells, and two of the boys I’d seen the day before started walking towards the market—leaving just a single man behind.
The very one I had been waiting for.
My eyes narrowed, as my ears started ringing with his taunts from before. You are working for me now, do you understand? Those are my coins; each day, you will bring them to me.
My body coiled as I crept forward, gripping the needle like a sword.
Give me the silver.
I was going to stab him, somewhere, before he managed to stop me.
Give me the silver!
I was going to make him feel even a hint of the same pain, of the same terror, that he’d made Henny feel the day before. I was going to spring from my hiding place, and—
“Liv?”
I whirled around with a silent gasp, the needle still raised above my head.
Erik stood behind me wearing an expression of pure shock. How he’d managed to find me, I had no idea. In my mind, I’d been as silent and untraceable as a mountain cat. But those creeping precautions felt a bit silly now, as he stood plain as day in the middle of the alley.
“What are you...?” He trailed into silence, unable to make sense of what he saw. When he’d seen the flash of the needle, he’d reached automatically to catch it—probably thinking it a knife, or a dagger, or something else that would make sense. He was still holding my wrist. “Isn’t that...?”
A flaming blush spread across my cheeks.
I was right, he’d thought it was a blade. Those were his only points of reference, and his mind had no comparison for anything else. His blue eyes widened before returning to mine.
“What on earth were you going to do with that?”
I was so upset, I might have been crying. As things were, I merely stood there in front of him, my fingers curled into impotent fists of rage. One set, at least. The other was still in his hand.
A bannerman asked you a question. Find your breath.
“I was...” I stammered, trying to find words. “I was just...”
What?
I was creeping around like some earthbound Valkyrie, plotting out vengeance while my intended victim whistled tunelessly around the corner? I was going to avenge my guilt at having failed to save a boy by letting myself get kicked to pieces the same way?
An unlikely thought occurred to me: I could tell the truth.
“That man in the alley was harassing a friend of mine,” I finally managed, emphasizing the words with a jut of my chin. “I was going to teach him a lesson.”
Silence.
If the lovely Viking had been surprised before, I had now truly stunned him. His lips parted and there wasn’t a single discernible expression anywhere on his face. Twice, his eyes flickered to the needle. Like there must be something more to it. Like it must have collapsed like a telescope; now it would open to a formidable spear. When that didn’t happen, his eyes returned to mine.
“...with this?”
His voice was tentative, almost apologetic. A feeling of shame and helplessness swept over me, so sudden and overwhelming, I had to bite my lip to keep tears from spilling down my cheeks.
“Yes,” I declared, “with that.”
Gods help me.
Something came over him then, a kind of warming, like the grasses in a field when the sun peeked over the hills. It was little at first, barely noticeable. But it wasn’t long before it had overtaken every part of him, brightening every feature, and spilling over into a sparkling laugh.
I glared up at him, clinging to anything remaining of my pride.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, trying to quiet himself. “My mother always warned me to beware of women and sewing sticks. I wrote it off as well-meaning hysteria. I see now, she was right.”
Remembering at the same time he was still holding on, he lowered my arm gently and released it, allowing it to fall back to my side. The needle, he kept. Perhaps to keep me from doing something rash; perhaps out of a vague sense of his own self-preservation.
I flatter myself again.
“It’s rather sharp,” he continued with a well-kept smile, bouncing the tip against his palm. “I wager you might have done some damage.” He paused a little. “I also wager that whatever man is waiting around that corner, is armed with something more. May I ask...did you have a plan?”
It was that delicate voice again, he was trying not to offend me. At that point, it scarcely mattered. Whatever new levels of shame I’d plunged into—I’d taken great care to find them myself.
“Shock and awe,” I answered tightly, unable to look him directly in the face. “Something comparable to mythology.” His eyebrows lifted, and I gave a little sigh. “I told you, he was harassing my friend. Kicking him. Demanding he surrender his coin. I had to do something.”
Erik softened at this, his lovely smile fading. “The boy...is he hurt?”
I shook my head, eyes on the ground. “Not much.”
“And he asked you to confront this man?” he asked, sharpening a bit with disapproval.
I shook my head again, lifting my eyes to his. “I came on my own.”
He paused then, staring down at me.
A kind of stillness came over him, something that reminded me of that fleeting moment outside the stands the day before. Then there was a slight shifting of expression, a decision.
“Wait here.”
My hand flew out of its own accord, catching onto his cloak.
“Why?” I asked breathlessly. “What are you doing go do?”
It was one thing when I’d been prowling by myself amongst the forgotten cutlery. It was quite another to get one of the king’s own bannermen involved.
He glanced at my fingers, lips curving with a faint smile.
“Shock and awe,” he replied. “Something comparable to mythology.”
“But—”
“Take this.”
He pressed the sewing stick back into my hand, reaching for the clasp on his cloak. It fell from his shoulders, as I stared down in confusion—unable to follow the sudden change of course.
“You don’t want to...?” I trailed off, wishing instantly I’d kept my mouth shut.
He glanced over from several paces back, draping his discarded cloak across one of the large barrels that lined the alley. His eyes found the needle before returning with a twinkle to mine.
“...use it?” he quipped.
My cheeks stained red.
“I think we can do better,” he continued, reaching for the hilt of his blade. “If you’re looking for a weapons, and there’s a sword around...use the sword.” He lifted the entire thing from his belt, sheath and all. It was a beautiful piece, worth more than my house. “Can you hold this as well?”
I blanked in surprise, staring between us. “You’re...you’re letting me use your sword?”
Silence.
There was a chance he thought I was kidding. Or perhaps he was merely so taken with my innocence at the question, he found the entire notion rather quaint. But he crossed the distance between us, setting the weapon on the barrel and whispering the answer as he leaned past.
“I am the sword.”
Oh. Right.
At once, my panic returned in a fluttering of hands. With it, some of my senses. There was a reason he’d discarded his main weapon. Penalties against street brawls were double, when there was a bladed weapon involved. Already, he was striding away from me, towards the adjacent alley.
Ulrik was lingering there obliviously. There was a chance he’d started to pee.
Do something!
“Don’t you at least—”
But it was too late, he was gone already. The most I could do was throw up a wild prayer and chase after him, rounding the corner only a few seconds after he did himself.
Ulrik was still turning in surprise, as he swept unerringly across the dusty alley. He was still opening his mouth in confusion when he received a shattering kick to the chest.
I froze where I stood, feeling the impact in my boots.
“What the bloody—”
“There was a boy here the other day,” Erik said unfeelingly, watching as he slumped back against the wall, “a boy who is under my protection. You attacked him, kicking him like a dog.”
Ulrik gasped in pain, lifting a hand between them. “My lord, I didn’t—”
Another kick, this one broke something.
“Except I know that you did. I am from a place much different than this, and know little of southern customs. Is that common? For a privileged boy to attack a servant, demanding his pay?”
Another kick. There was blood in the alley.
“I didn’t know,” Ulrik cried, sagging against the wall, “I didn’t know he was under anyone’s protection. I thought he was just another servant,” he looked a bit farther, pointing, “like her.”
Big mistake.
Perhaps he was hoping for some kind of solidarity in rank, perhaps he was taking comfort in the idea of a witness. But comparing the worth of the beaten boy, to the stricken girl at the mouth of the alley, wasn’t the wisest path to take. Erik threw a swift look over his shoulder, catching my eyes for the briefest of moments, before turning slowly back around.
Some men grew enflamed with anger, steaming with the force of it, their skin reddening in rage. Erik was cold, like snowfall on the distant mountains. Aloof, and unreachable.
Without a shred of expression, he reached down and seized Ulrik’s cloak, lifting him up with just a single hand. The second he was standing, he pulled back the other and punched him full in the face, the back of his head cracking against the wall. There was an agonizing cry, like an animal who’d caught a boot in the ribs, then he coughed out a bit of blood and merely stood there.
I watched in shock, astounded he wouldn’t run.
“You will compensate the boy.”
“I took nothing from him.”
“What might you have done?”
Ulrik paused, he didn’t even know. The fun had been in the game, the rewards were so slight as to be meaningless. By a strange compulsion, he glanced at me. I held up two fingers.
“A pair of silver coins,” he answered.
Erik nodded slowly. “Tomorrow, you will place them in his hand.”
I thought there would be argument, I thought Ulrik might at least try to fight back. But he merely nodded, like a schoolboy at his lessons.
Erik released him, and cocked his head to the square.
He took off running so fast, I could only think of the ribs I’d heard cracking, how they must have been digging into his lungs with every step. He was halfway to the courtyard by the time I unlocked my frozen muscles and walked slowly forward, flinging drops of blood with every step.
Shock and awe.
We stood there for a moment, staring after him. The shade of the alley had rendered him nothing but a shrinking silhouette, and before long, even that had vanished, slipping into the crowd.
I cast a secret look at Erik.
I might have worried about repercussions. I might have worried about a lot of things. But somehow, it was difficult to find those fears when I was standing in his presence.
Say something! He did this for you.
“He suspected I’d brought a needle,” I finally managed. “He left before things got worse.”
Erik nodded slowly. “I got that impression as well.”
We stood there another moment, then turned to each other.
He wasn’t remotely shaken, as I would have been. Neither was he flushed with that revolting excitement I’d seen in so many others—when the fight was over, but they were still clamoring for more. He was as calm as the river that ran steadily through our forest, his eyes staring into mine.
“Why were you looking for me?” I blurted suddenly.
He blinked in surprise. “...what?”
“I’d thought you were still feasting with the others,” I explained, piecing it together at the same time. “There was no other reason for you to have been in the alley.” I hesitated, wondering if I’d gone too far. “Were you looking for me?”
Calm, I’d described him. Steady as our endless river. But with the tug of a simple question, that composure unraveled like a kite caught in the trees. A spot of color stained his cheeks, and in a flash, I was reminded of the shy boy who’d been mending chainmail as the crowd applauded.
“Oh, that...that doesn’t matter anymore.”
I tilted my head, trying to catch his gaze. “Why not?”
He drew in a breath, looking very much as though he wished he’d stayed in the feasting hall with the rest of them. “I didn’t realize you had taken vows.”
I blinked, then again. “Pardon?”
“Your husband,” he said a bit stiffly, staring over the top of my head. “I heard you tell one of the lords you were married. I hadn’t thought when we...” He caught himself. “I didn’t know.”
I stood there for a few seconds, unable to formulate a coherent thought. Then slowly, the corners of my mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “Erik...I don’t have a husband.”
He nodded automatically, then his eyes flashed to mine. “What?”
“Ask half the girls in that chamber, they’ll all claim to be married.” Well, maybe they wouldn’t say that to you. “It’s a thing we say,” I explained, “to keep the lords’ hands to themselves.”
“...oh.” He stared in bewilderment, offering a vacant cough. “Oh...”
I almost felt sorry for him.
His face was calm, but his eyes were racing—quickly cataloguing everything he’d ever heard, at every feast he’d ever been to. I gave him a moment, then steered him gently back on course.
“Does it matter now?” I asked coyly. “The thing you were going to tell me?”
He stared at me a moment, then started to smile.
