‘And you kept your promise, in spite of the dangers. I shouldn’t ask you for more.’
He winced harder. ‘You’re going to, then?’
‘I was hoping you might stay with me.’
‘Princess … I’m an old raider twenty years past my best and my best was none too pretty.’
‘Doubtless. When I first saw you I thought you were as worn as an old prow-beast.’
Jenner scratched at the side of his grizzled jaw. ‘A fair judgment.’
‘A fool’s judgment.’ Skara’s voice cracked, but she cleared her throat, and took a breath, and carried on. ‘I see that now. The worn prow-beast is the one that’s braved the worst weather and brought the ship home safe even so. I don’t need pretty, I need loyal.’
Jenner winced harder still. ‘All my life I’ve been free, princess. Looked to no one but the next horizon, bowed to no one but the wind—’
‘Has the horizon thanked you? Has the wind rewarded you?’
‘Not hugely, I’ll confess.’
‘I will.’ She caught his calloused hand in both of hers. ‘To be free a man needs a purpose.’
He stared down at his hand in hers, then over at Thorn.
She shrugged. ‘A warrior with nothing but themselves to fight for is no more than a thug.’
‘I’ve seen you tested and I know I can trust you.’ Skara brought the old raider’s gaze back to hers and held it. ‘Stay with me. Please.’
‘Oh, gods.’ The leathery skin around Jenner’s eyes creased as he smiled. ‘How do I say no to that?’
‘You don’t. Say you’ll help me.’
‘I’m your man, princess. I swear it. A sun-oath and a moon-oath.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Help you do what, though?’
Skara took a ragged breath. ‘I said I would see Throvenland free, and my grandfather’s hall rebuilt, and Bright Yilling’s carcass left for the crows, remember?’
Blue Jenner raised his craggy brows very high. ‘Bright Yilling has all the High King’s strength behind him. Fifty thousand swords, they say.’
‘Only half a war is fought with swords.’ She pressed her fingertip into the side of her head, so hard it hurt. ‘The other half is fought here.’
‘So … you’ve a plan?’
‘I’ll think of something.’ She let go of Blue Jenner’s hand and looked over at Thorn. ‘You sailed with Father Yarvi to the First of Cities.’
Thorn frowned at Skara down a nose twisted from many breakings, trying to work out what moved beneath the question. ‘Aye, I sailed with Father Yarvi.’
‘You fought a duel against Grom-gil-Gorm.’
‘That too.’
‘You’re Queen Laithlin’s Chosen Shield.’
‘You know I am.’
‘And standing at her shoulder you must see a great deal of King Uthil too.’
‘More than most.’
Skara wiped the last wetness from her lashes. She could not afford to cry. She had to be brave, and clever, and strong, however weak and terrified she felt. She had to fight for Throvenland now there was no one else, and words had to be her weapons.
‘Tell me about them,’ she said.
‘What do you want to know?’
Knowledge is power, Mother Kyre used to say when Skara complained about her endless lessons. ‘I want to know everything.’
For Both of Us
Raith woke with a mad jolt to find someone pawing at him.
He grabbed that bastard around the throat and slammed him against the wall, snarling as he whipped his knife out.
‘Gods, Raith! It’s me! It’s me!’
Wasn’t until then Raith saw, in the flickering light of the torch just down the corridor, that he’d got his brother pinned and was about to cut his throat.
His heart was hammering. Took him a moment to work out he was in the citadel in Thorlby. In the corridor outside Gorm’s door, tangled with his blanket. Just where he was meant to be.
‘Don’t wake me like that,’ he snapped, forcing the fingers of his left hand open. They always ached worst just after he woke.
‘Wake you?’ whispered Rakki. ‘You would’ve woken the whole of Thorlby the way you were shouting out. You dreaming again?’
‘No,’ grunted Raith, sitting back against the wall and scrubbing at the sides of his head with his nails. ‘Maybe.’ Dreams full of fire. The smoke pouring up and the stink of destruction. Mad light in the eyes of the warriors, the eyes of the dogs. Mad light on that woman’s face. Her voice, as she shrieked for her children.
Rakki offered him a flask and Raith snatched it from him, rinsed out his mouth, cut and sore inside and out from Gorm’s slaps, but that was nothing new. He sloshed water into his hand, rubbed it over his face. He was cold with sweat all over.
‘I don’t like this, Raith. I’m worried for you.’