Warrior, page 13
“Then I hope you finish.”
He was gone a moment later, striding across the courtyard with such purpose, I felt certain he was going to meet with someone important. But when he reached the shade of the blacksmith’s shop, a dozen tiny hands shot out to greet him as the children leapt upon him again. He fell to the game with endless patience, dying theatrically a hundred times with the thrust of a wooden sword.
Even so far away, I found myself laughing—staring with such complete absorption, I didn’t realize an old woman had sat down beside me, until she placed a gnarled hand on my knee.
“Edda!” I gasped, clutching my chest in surprise. For so many years, I had seen the woman only at the house beside me, I sometimes forgot she could exist any other place. “I didn’t know you were coming to the settlement. I would have walked down with you.”
She shook her head with a toothy smile, waving this away. At nearly sixty, she was one of the oldest people I knew. Her hair, which had been blonde in youth, had turned a fragile shade of silver.
“You left early in the morning, long before me. I would not have come at all, but I heard they were fighting today—and that’s always a good show.” She eyed me a moment, then followed my line of sight to the young man tumbling amidst the babes. “He’s very handsome.”
It took everything I had not to blush.
“Is he?” I asked, pretending not to have noticed. This worked about as well as looking up at the winter clouds, and denying there was going to be rain.
“Very handsome,” she confirmed, smiling to herself at my expression. “And I am not the only one to have noticed. It seems he’s caught the village eye.”
I glanced over with confusion, then saw a gaggle of girls who had wandered out from one of the taverns. They were watching him from the other side of the courtyard, hands clasped over their hearts, a thousand swirling whispers about the things they’d like to say. When they spotted me by the well, the one in the center lifted her hand in a rude gesture, setting the others giggling.
I stifled a sigh, turning my eyes somewhere else.
The thing about those girls, was that they wouldn’t have tormented me if I was just another manut. It wasn’t that they were inherently prejudiced or cruel. It was because I was pretty. It was my curse. If you were poor, best that you not be pretty. Being pretty invited all sorts of unwelcome things. Trina navigated it the way she did everything—by conquering it. If they would laugh at her expense, she would be laughing the loudest. If they would make her a whore, she would own the brothel. I was less sure of myself, and quick to those charms. I would assess a situation, and nine times out of ten, I would run. That being said, I seemed to be staying a lot lately.
Maybe I’m broken.
“They’ll stare at anything,” I said briskly, turning the parcel in my hands. I didn’t know why I’d lingered in the courtyard. I should have delivered it and been done. “Better for one of them to find him handsome, than me,” I added, surprised by how bitter it sounded. “The man is the nephew of a great lord—one of the king’s own bannermen. It is something beyond my reach.”
Edda tilted her head in surprise, turning to face me. “If something is already within our grasp, we would never have to reach,” she countered. “You would condemn the entire enterprise—”
“I wouldn’t waste the time,” I interjected sharply, regretting that I’d drawn attention to it in the first place. It was that stupid, dreamy smile. I couldn’t get it off my face. Never mind about that, it was gone now. “To entertain such a notion, is only to invite trouble. I know better than that. Those men live a different kind of life.” I lifted my eyes, staring. “To collide with mine...it would shatter.”
A thoughtful silence fell between us, as the old woman took my hand in her own. It went on for so long, I didn’t think she was going to break it. But just as I’d decided to make my excuses and leave, she squeezed my fingers so abruptly, my eyes flew up in surprise.
“Often the things that sting most, offer the sweetest honey.”
There was a hitch in my breath, and my eyes softened to warm butter. Before I knew it, I was smiling all over again, dropping my gaze to our twined fingers.
“Karmen used to tell me that,” I said softly. “She’d say it all the time.”
“A wise woman.”
Yes, she really was.
A door had opened somewhere over her shoulder, and a beautiful woman was storming across the courtyard. I say storming, because whenever she took a step, her raven curls fanned out in a cloud behind her. In reality, she wasn’t storming at all. She greeted us with a lovely smile.
“Good morning, Livy. Why, hello there, Edda.” Trina came to a stop, her hands finding their customary place on her hips. “You know, it’s strange—I so rarely see you anywhere besides your own garden, it’s almost hard to believe you can exist anyplace else.”
The old woman scowled, while I snorted into my hand.
I was thinking the same thing.
“What are we talking about?” she continued cheerfully. “Me, I hope.”
“Not in the slightest,” Edda replied stiffly. “We were actually talking your far worthier predecessor, and that handsome boy over there.”
Trina ignored the first part, scanning around the courtyard. “Which handsome boy?”
At that point, I genuinely couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed him. The rest of the village was staring like they’d been placed under some kind of spell. Even the surely blacksmith, who in sixteen years I’d never seen crack a smile, was leaning against the post of his shop with misty eyes, like he was remembering his own childhood.
“That one,” I said pointedly. “The one who looks like a young Thor.”
Trina cast her scorching gaze his way, appraising him critically. “I suppose,” she determined. “In an irritatingly ethereal sort of way. At any rate, he’ll soon be trampled to death by those children.” She turned to me instead, forgetting him on the spot. “I’d have thought you’d still be serving in the great hall. What’s that in your hand?”
I glanced down, remembering at the same time.
Funny you should ask.
“It’s funny you should ask,” I replied innocently, waving it between us. “It’s a parcel for the mistress of the brothel. Something of wild importance, apparently. I know you abhor such places, but you wouldn’t happen to know where I might find her?”
At that point, Edda wisely took her leave.
For years, my aunt and I had been doing this little dance. For years, I had been undeniably losing. But never in my life had I been granted such an opportunistic barb.
I milked it for all it was worth, smiling sweetly.
“I think it’s coin,” I whispered loudly.
Trina’s eyes cooled, as her arms folded smoothly across her chest. “Give it to me.”
“I can’t give it to you,” I said quickly. “I can only give it to the mistress of the brothel. That being said, I saw you just came from there. Perhaps you’ve seen her?” My eyes widened suddenly, lips parting in shock. “Trina...what were you doing in the brothel?”
It was a miracle her eyes weren’t shooting actual fire. “If you must know...I was finding myself a whore.”
By the gods.
I snorted with laughter, leaning back with a sparkling smile. “Were you now?”
“Liv, I think it’s time I told you: I’m interested in women now.” She spoke with a complete lack of inflection, never breaking my gaze. “As a repeat customer, I’ve gotten my pick.”
“Well, that makes perfect sense.”
A muscle twitched in her jaw. “Yes, it does.”
We stared at each other a moment, then I tossed her the parcel. Without bothering to open it, she slipped it into the pocket of her cloak. No doubt she’d distribute most of it amongst the ladies in her employ, and then stash what remained under the loose board in our kitchen floor.
Having completed that bit of business, she plopped down beside me, flashing a signature smile. “So what’s on the agenda for today? Back to the feasting hall? I’ve got some errands myself, so I could linger for a while, if you like. We could walk back after supper together.”
I nodded automatically, and actually opened my mouth to agree—when suddenly, recalled that for one of the first time in history, I already had plans.
“Actually, I...I was thinking of going to watch the fight.”
She snorted with laughter, then glanced at me. “Oh, you’re serious?”
I nodded with a flush.
“You’re serious,” she repeated, unable to believe it.
There was a reason, I hadn’t a shred of interest in most of the combative games the rest of our people valued. There was a reason that instead of actually watching the boulder-toss, the best I could do was joke. It had all come from a single woman.
“I’m sorry, have you hit your head on something?”
“It’s not the craziest idea,” I said defensively, wishing my cheeks weren’t so terribly red. “It’s a festival to honor the king’s birthday. When else would I have a chance to sit in the same stands?”
I’d thought it a good defense, not seeing the obvious crack in logic. Of course, Trina picked up on it right away. The woman was a bloodhound.
“Sitting in the stands?” she asked. “You won’t be serving?”
WHY didn’t I say I’d be serving?
“No, I just...I was actually...someone asked me to go.”
“One of the serving girls?”
“...one of the fighters.”
The conversation paused then, and with some dark instinct, I knew there would be no saving it. If there was one thing my lovely aunt despised more than men who delighted in beating at each other, it was if any of those men would dare to involve me.
“One of the fighters,” she repeated flatly. “That’s who you’re going to see.”
There wasn’t a question. There was no room for a reply.
I tried anyway. “Trina, he’s not—”
“No, Livy, you don’t need to tell me anything about him. Because those kinds of men aren’t different, you see. In fact, one could scarcely call them men. Pounding away with their fists, when there are actual people who need protecting? Making games out of violence, like our world isn’t already soaked in enough?” She shook her head slowly, eyes blazing into mine. “They are little better than animals. Mindless animals who understand nothing more than death and blood. There is no glory in it. There is no honor. It is a waste, and nothing more. I’m surprised you wouldn’t see that.”
She pushed abruptly to her feet, throwing a look across the courtyard.
Erik was still playing with the children, but the game was winding down. The wooden blades they’d been using were littered around the dirt, and the little girl he’d been comforting earlier had wrapped her fingers around his brow like a kind of crown. I’d thought Trina had been too far away to hear anything that Edda and I had been saying, but I must have been wrong before.
As she headed back to the brothel, she turned around and said one last thing. “Stay away from bees, Liv. They rarely offer honey.”
* * *
In all my life, it had been only twice that I’d failed to heed Trina’s advice.
The first had been at six years old, when she’d caught me climbing on the roof and said the thatching was too weak to support me. I’d tumbled over the kitchen window the very next day, and broken my arm. The next had been a few years after, when I’d decided to forsake a life of service, and employ myself as a farmer. I could coax seeds from the earth, I was sure of it. For weeks, in the springtime, I’d knelt over the frozen earth, staring with anticipation, lugging buckets of water from the river, despite the daily torrents of rain. By the end of the season, I’d gotten a single sprout, which turned out to be a weed. In a show of support, Trina had eaten it. I’d loved her all the more.
Only twice, I’d ignored her counsel. But I ignored it that day.
Perhaps I’d merely minimized the importance; it was more of a suggestion, than a command. At any rate, this wasn’t some crazy notion—half the settlement would be in the same place. As the hour drew near, I’d even begun to rationalize. Perhaps when I was seen, someone would find use for me, and put a pitcher in my hand. At that point, I’d be no longer spectating. I’d be working.
By the time I headed to the arena, those were the things running in my head.
The stands were already packed by the time I got there, and for the first time, I wondered where I was going to sit. It scarcely seemed to matter, there was no way Erik would be able to pick me from the crowd. It was my own nerves, I was considering. Did I want to be close enough to catch the details, living and dying with each swing of the fists? Or was it better to create some distance—so I could only infer the breaking of bones without hearing the actual crunch?
Hardly optimistic.
Determined to put a better spin on things, I drew in a determined breath and marched into the rafters—deciding I wouldn’t be able to see much of anything amidst the churning crowd, unless I had some height. It was funny now, to think how I worried about such things. Because no sooner had I reached the top level, than a hand seized onto my elbow, dragging me right back down.
“—never saw a more oblivious girl! Didn’t you hear me calling?”
I gasped in surprise, trying to find my balance, then stumbled quickly after the girl who had grabbed me, having seen her serving beside me in the feasting hall before.
“Where are we going?” I asked, casting a look at the field.
The contestants were milling about on the grass, laughing good-naturedly, with glasses of ale in their hands. At the sound of the bugle, they would split into pairs, and proceeded to beat each other for the king’s entertainment, but until that moment, there was no need not to be civil.
I looked for Erik standing among them, but she was pulling me too fast.
“Where do you think?” she snapped, casting an irritated look over her shoulder. It was only then, I saw where she was taking me; past the jostling audience and straight to the box of the king.
I started in surprise, pulling on my wrist.
“No, I’m uh...I’m not here for that.” I caught her sarcastic look and doubled down, trying to play it off as a mistake. “I finished my work at supper, I’ve only come tonight for the games.”
“Yes, well—we’re short-staffed.” She reached the top of the stands, where a dark curtain was draped around the royal box to shield if from the others, and thrust a familiar pitcher into my hands. “Take this, and stand in the background. If anyone asks, just say you’d always planned to help; there will be a silver coin at the end of the night. We have the best view in the arena,” she added, catching my expression, “you’ll still be able to watch the games.”
That much was true enough.
With a little sigh, I cast a final look over my shoulder and then resigned myself quickly to my fate—taking the silver pitcher and drifting idly behind the chairs. The queen might have recovered, but not enough to make an appearance. It was only her husband who was seated on the velvet chair, the one beside him was empty. After pouring a splash into the goblet of a southern bannerman, I took my place in the back and watched as the competitors drew straws from a cup, dividing into pairs and waiting along the sidelines for their turn. I could see Erik, by now, his pale hair gave him away, shining softly in the fading sunlight. I was so focused upon seeing him, so busy hoping he would see me, I scarcely noticed when another man pulled back the curtain and entered the box.
“Ale,” he commanded, without looking.
I jumped in my skin and hurried forward—not realizing who he was, until it was splashing into his glass. My stomach jumped and my pulse skittered away from me. He’d yet to see my face, being shielded himself by a shaggy mane of hair. I melted back quickly, feeling unexpectedly faint.
“Steffen,” the king greeted him warmly, patting the empty chair beside him. “If you don’t mind being queen for a night, I have a place you can sit. I’m not surprised to see you.” He added, glancing over the field, “Come to cheer your nephew on?”
“He insisted upon fighting,” Steffen replied, sinking into the vacant space. He glanced at the velvet as he did so, then lifted his eyes to the grass. “I could not talk him out of it.”
The king threw him a curious look, studying the side of his face.
“Why would you try? You and Ander were fighting in games like this, by the time you were his age. And I daresay Erik shows more promise,” he teased, “if you’ll allow me to say it.”
Steffen chuckled tonelessly, lifting his glass. “I’ll allow you anything; you are the king.”
A bugle sounded, and the pair of men in the center of the grass leapt upon each other like jackals, kicking and twisting and punching to the delight of the crowd. There seemed very little form to me, but there were many who seemed to find some logic. Erik was ignoring the person trying to speak to him, staring intently from the edge of the field.
“Bunch of idiots,” Steffen muttered, watching them. In three large gulps, he drained his goblet—raising it once more. “That little one with the belt is going to get a broken arm.”
The king nodded in silence beside him, looking over the grass.
It was said that in his day, the man had been a great warrior himself. Fighting at the Wilding, at the Blackfoot Hills, all the battles that our people lifted into lore. Along the way, he’d rallied an entire kingdom, married a foreign princess, raised three sons—all of them now dead. Looking at him now, it was almost difficult to imagine. Nevertheless, his eyes were remarkably clear.
A bugle sounded, the match had finished. The boy with the belt shattered his arm. They were still dragging him away when a new pair took the field. One of them was tall as a bear, with rippling muscles and a beard like Odin. The other was just seventeen, and had invited me here.
Please...don’t die.
The king leaned forward with a grimace, sizing them up. “He drew Haldon?”
Steffen shrugged without concern. “The straws treat each man fair. He could have done worse than Haldon.” He paused a moment, considering, “Though it won’t be the easiest match.”
