37

GRIMBOL’S TALE

Drest didn’t move. Everything within her had turned cold.

“I don’t know if she’s still alive now,” Grimbol went on slowly. “She would not let any man mark her fate, and men don’t take that kindly.”

Drest opened her mouth, then closed it.

Merewen.

She’d known Grimbol, she’d once said.

She’d wanted to take Drest far away, to a village where they would live together.

She’d been willing to give her life for Drest by the castle wall.

But she had never told the truth, though she’d had the chance. As if she did not want her daughter to know.

Drest kept silent.

“She was the one who healed me,” Grimbol was saying, “so I could go to the old Lord Faintree and be told that I had fallen from his grace. Aye, lass, it was that battle, the one that decided everything. She followed me on my walk to the castle. She saw the old lord cast me away. She took me to Launceford, to her hut. I healed on her bed, and there planned my revenge. I made my first war-band in her town.”

For a moment, Drest heard only the pounding of her heart.

“When my Lady Celestria died, I feared the castle. They’d blame me, I knew, and seek not just me in revenge but my wee lads as well. So I fetched your brothers from their villages, and their mothers gave me them gladly, for they knew they’d all perish if my lads stayed. The headland was my secret, and that’s where I went. With the lads. And Merewen. And you.” He glanced at his daughter. “I will tell you this, lass, though it shames me: Your mother did not come willingly.”

Drest winced.

Had she been like me and did not want a life of hiding?

“Why was she not there when I was growing up?” Drest asked softly.

“Because she left when you had seen but one year.” Grimbol frowned. “She wanted to take you. I did not let her. Aye, it might have been safe by then, but I would not see you grow up a lass like any other in a village. I wanted you to grow up with the lads, to be as strong as they. I wanted you to be able to hold your own against any man, be he villager or soldier. Or knight.”

Because of Celestria, Drest realized with a start. You’d seen her die by a knight’s blow. You wanted to be sure that your own wee lass would never fall like that.

“Your mother spoke fierce words to me, but in the end, she agreed. And so we parted forever.”

Grimbol squeezed his daughter’s hand and let it go.

“Would you have rather grown up in a town with a mother? I’ve never thought to ask you. It would have been a quiet life, and you’ve not had that. But I always thought you’d have a better life with us.” He faltered. “Was I wrong?”

That was what Merewen had been talking about: a quiet life in a hut like Elys’s.

And in a village—fetching water, frying hearth bread, picking herbs. Having time to rest in the sun. Knowing other lasses. Spending every night inside.

Yet—if she’d grown up that way, it would have been a life knowing nothing else—not what it felt like to carry a sword, or climb a cliff, or run until her breath had shriveled up in her chest.

A quiet, safe life as someone else.

She met her father’s eyes. He was cringing, waiting for her answer.

“Da,” Drest said softly, “that’s a foolish question. Did you not see me fighting out there? Do you not know what I am?” She set her hand on his. “I’m a warrior. I’ve always known that.”

He drew his daughter to him and held her tightly in his arms. “A true warrior, and the best one of my war-band. Braver and stronger than the rest. Lass, I could not be prouder of you.”

But she pulled away. “Da, the lads are your war-band. Not me. I’m sorry, but I can’t follow your orders. I never have.”

Grimbol bit his lip. But he did not say a word.

In silence they sat together, the waves thrashing against the wooden hull at Drest’s side. Shadows drifted over the deck between the torchlight like islands. Drest watched them combine and shift.

Sir Reynard approached and knelt beside them. “We’re nearly there. Grimbol, I must have a word with you of how we’ll manage things at the castle. The lord and I were talking. For weeks, I expect, you and I must keep frequent company.”

Grimbol sighed and rose. “I hope you can stand it, Reynard.”

A small sigh seemed to fill Sir Reynard’s chest, but he didn’t let it out. “And you, Drest—once we arrive, just stay at Lord Faintree’s side, and you’ll be safe.”

Because of the wolf’s head. She watched Grimbol and Sir Reynard wander away across the deck.

Then Emerick was beside her, beaming so much that she could not help but smile in return.

“Drest,” he said, taking her hands, “we’re almost home.”