We continued working for a while longer, making our way through the pile of dented armor, as the tournament gathered energy outside. The rocks had grown larger—big as wagon wheels, big as tables—and the competitors were wheedling down. There had been several injuries already, but that did nothing but excite the crowd. At one point, one of the bannermen stumbled and the rock he’d been carrying smashed into the side of the stands. There was a violent quaking, and the young man threw out a reflexive arm, blocking my chest. The timbers groaned, and a hush fell over the crowd. Then, when it became clear the place was still standing, they screamed all the louder.

  The two of us locked eyes in silence, then returned to our work with a little shrug.

  The sun was sinking behind the western trees, splintering the space beneath the rafters with shafts of golden sunlight. They illuminated the links on the chainmail, and backlit his fair locks with an ethereal glow. There were several times when I’d thought we might speak again, several times I caught him watching me. It looked like he’d just made up his mind, but whatever he’d planned on saying, it was waylaid just as quickly by a chorus of distant shrieks.

  The two of us glanced through an opening in the canvas, to where someone had erected a maypole on the far side of the clearing. A group of young women was already dancing around it, their long dresses swishing around them, their long hair strung with the same pale flowers that covered the walls of my house. Every so often, one of them would trip, or the fiddler would lose rhythm, and all the ribbons would tangle. They would burst into laughter, starting all over again.

  “They look like they’re having fun,” he murmured, watching a moment longer, before throwing me a swift look. “Why aren’t you out there with the rest of them?”

  For a hundred, hundred reasons.

  “Do not be fooled by the ribbons and flowers,” I answered lightly, recognizing many as the same girls who’d been spying from the stable just a few days before, “they are vipers. They have big plans for you,” I added, working out a tangle in the metal coils. “I’d wear your armor.”

  “Oh yes?” he asked curiously, trying to catch my eye. “And what are these plans?”

  I shrugged with a dismissive smile, never seeing the way he smiled in return.

  “I’d need to climb a few rungs before they’d tell me that.” I finished the piece I’d been working on and picked up another. This was a vest, nearly intact, but for a single hole. “But I do know, they’re convinced you can speak to horses. And you might have a drinking problem.”

  He went utterly blank for a moment, before tilting his head with a frown.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “That you’d need to climb a few rungs?”

  I glanced up in surprise, thinking that if anything, he’d have been more interested in the bit about the horses, or perhaps the casual alcoholism. I hadn’t even remembered what I’d said until I heard the words back. Our eyes locked, and I tried to read him. Perhaps he was merely teasing me, I’d certainly teased him enough myself. But his face was open, and his eyes were true. My stomach clenched, and I found myself strangely reluctant for what was about to happen next.

  “I’m a manut,” I said flatly, dropping my eyes to the chainmail, “without a living mother, or a father to give me a name.” Each word was brisk, like pulling off a bandage. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to see how they fell. “Those girls live inside the settlement, but I was grateful to be allowed past the gates. The festival brings a great many jobs, and I needed the coin.”

  There it is. Now you know.

  There was an initial flush of embarrassment, but it faded quickly. After so many years, I’d grown well-used to such things. There was a reason I’d ducked under the stands in the first place, and those girls, vipers though they might be, were absolutely right. Someone like him, wasn’t for someone like me. There was no point in denying it. We were as the gods had made us.

  I watched him go still in my periphery, uncertain what to say in reply. It couldn’t have been what he was expecting. After a long while, he answered in a quiet voice, “I’m sorry if they were cruel.”

  The girls at the maypole kept dancing. He didn’t look at them again.

  Time passed as we worked in companionable silence, passing back and forth the materials, as we made our way through the rest of the pile. Torches were being lit around the settlement, and the great boulder-toss had nearly reached its conclusion. The contestants had been narrowed from more than thirty, to a single remaining pair. One of them was a barrel-chested man I remembered serving at the outdoor tables with the bannermen. The other was leaner, but stood just as tall beside him; a wolfish man with a perpetual scowl, and a coif of shaggy greying hair.

  The barrel-chested man went first.

  “For the king!” he shouted, drawing the support of the crowd.

  We watched as he bent at the knees and picked up one of the large rocks that had been wheeled into the pasture earlier that morning. All of the smaller ones had already been taken, and the ones that remained must have weighed nearly as much as a horse. His arms wrapped around the base, and with a great heaving breath, he lifted it off the ground. That was impossible enough, now came the throw. Round and round he spun, twice, then three times. On the fourth, he released the stone with a mighty yell—sending it tumbling across the length of the field.

  There was a mighty cheer from the crowd, as a servant ran forward to mark the exact place it had stopped. His opponent had already selected a rock of his own, rubbing his hands together.

  It took a second for me to place him.

  “Your uncle?” I asked quietly.

  The boy nodded, staring through the slit.

  With a lot less fanfare than his opponent, the man lifted his rock with apparent ease, spun a single time, then sent it flying. This one didn’t go quite as far as the other, but as it turned out, it didn’t have to. With a horrible crack, it knocked into the first from behind, pushing it out of bounds.

  Strategy, not strength.

  There was a roar of approval from half the audience, while the other half leapt to its feet in scandal. A dozen fights broke out within a matter of seconds, as the judges themselves ran onto the field, waving their fists at each other and shouting such a jumble, it was impossible to understand.

  I glanced at the boy next to me, unable to interpret his expression.

  “That’s one way to do it,” I ventured.

  His lips twitched wryly. “I suppose.”

  There was a dryness to his tone that surprised me, and my mind flashed back to the night I’d first seen him—being presented to the king in the flickering torches of the great hall. Suddenly, it was easy to imagine why he might have sought to hurry the moment, ending it on his own terms.

  Probably safer off the podium. Probably better under the stands.

  Regardless of whoever had been declared the winner, the event was clearly over and people were rising to leave. The archery contest would be wrapping up on the other side of the settlement, and the first of the wrestling would be starting that night as well. The stands creaked and groaned as a hundred pairs of feet shadowed above us, splintering the sunlight as they poured onto the grass.

  “I should go,” he murmured, gathering up his things. The words were quiet, said with the faintest tinge of regret. “There are people who will be looking for me.”

  I nodded and pushed to my feet, handing back the piece I’d been mending. Between the two of us, we’d nearly made it through the entire pile. We stood there looking at it a moment, before our gaze lifted to each other, silent and brimming, with all those things we never managed to say.

  He gave me a little nod, then pulled back the fabric and stepped outside.

  Goodbye, then.

  The canvas rippled shut behind him, leaving me alone beneath the stands. For the space of a single aching moment, my chest tightened so much, I was unable to pull in a breath.

  Supper will be ready soon. You’re expected to pour.

  The thought sharpened me, and the picture steadied. I smoothed down my skirt and stepped through the canvas myself—only to see the boy standing just on the other side.

  I stopped abruptly, thinking he’d already gone.

  “Those girls...what did they say?”

  Every part of me froze, staring up at him in surprise.

  The crowd was milling around us, but he was a lone point of stillness—those impossible eyes of his locked onto mine. There was an intensity to his face, but otherwise, I could read nothing into it. My mind filled with other faces instead. A dozen angry faces, hurling a dozen jagged words.

  I drew in a breath and flashed a tight smile.

  “Who can remember?”

  He regarded me steadily, yet seemed to soften a little. “I would remember,” he said quietly, “if they said it to me.”

  There was a little pause.

  What’s the harm?

  “They said...” I trailed into silence, forced myself to start again, “they said that in no version of this world, would someone like you ever know my name.”

  I didn’t bother adding, they were right. I didn’t bother adding, it was probably strange for him to be seen talking with me. It was one thing beneath the shelter of the stands, it was quite another to be done in public. He was a lord, I was a servant. People were already starting to stare.

  Something passed across his face then, cutting through that careful reserve. It was quicker than I could identify, just a flash in the eyes—like a cloud has passed over the sun.

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  The world dimmed around us, there was nothing but his eyes.

  “It’s Liv,” I finally answered.

  He warmed with a golden smile.

  “Liv,” he repeated softly, “I will not forget.”

  He was already walking away, by the time I came back to myself. The trail of his cloak skimmed the tips of the grass, and his hair was stirring in the summer breeze.

  “What’s yours?” I called out.

  He looked over his shoulder, finding me in the crowd.

  Names are very important where I come from. You meet a man named Gorm, you know he is pious. A woman named Hilda—she is a fighter. So I should have been more prepared the day I met this handsome stranger. He was young when our paths crossed. Barely a hair upon his chest. But even then, jostled around in a sea of others, it was clear this was a man born for something greater.

  “Erik.” He nodded his head and disappeared into the throng of people.

  I nodded to myself. Names were very important. Erik was born to wear a crown.

  Chapter 9

  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.

 

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