Orm leaned in closer and dropped an arm along the back of my seat, his hand brushing my shoulder. “You shall have to rebuild your stamina,” he suggested, his tawny eyes fixed brightly on me.The eyes matched his yellow-gold hair, the trademark of a clarion dragon.
“I have missed the arena,” I admitted.
“You should join me tomorrow. We can spar.” His thumb stroked my shoulder in small circles, and I knew there was nothing inadvertent about it.
“She just got out of the infirmary. She won’t be ready to spar for some time.”
Orm jolted rather guiltily at the sudden voice intruding into our conversation. He glanced apologetically to Vetr, who loomed over us with a stern look on his face.
“Of course, I only thought to suggest … we might do some light training.”
Already, Vetr was shaking his head. “It’s an unwise idea. She’s still mending a broken rib.”
Orm sputtered and then gave up in defeat, nodding deferentially. “Of course, how foolish of me.” He gave me a contrite look. “Perhaps when you are better we can spar.”
“That would be nice. I’m sure a few more days, and I’ll be up to it.”
Vetr grunted low in his throat.
Orm reached for his glass. “If you will excuse me, I’m going to refill this and fetch some more of that delicious roast mutton.”
As he left us, I sent Vetr a questioning glance. “Why do you look so cross?”
He shrugged and bit out with his usual bluntness, “It was a stupid suggestion. He should not have asked it.”
“My rib does feel better.”
“Good. You’re mending. Let us keep it that way.”
“Are you enjoying the feast?”
He nodded once. “It’s a good time.”
“You don’t dance?” I motioned to the spinning figures. Kerstin was laughing, brash as ever, her gold-shot chestnut hair whipping like a banner on the air as Mats whirled her around.
“It’s for the young.”
I laughed. “You are young.”
“I’m the oldest here.”
“Still young, though.” I was perfectly aware that he was twentyseven. The same age as Fell—or the age Fell would have been. My smile dimmed a bit.
“I suppose the burden of responsibility adds years.”
I nodded. “I don’t feel much like dancing either,” I offered up to him, still towering over me.
“Good, as you have a broken rib.”
I angled my head, a crick forming in my neck. “You seem fond of mentioning that.”
“Moments ago you were agreeing to spar in the arena. I just want to make sure you remember it, too.”
“I’m not likely to forget what happened to me.”
Vetr nodded slowly, the silver light of his eyes glinting, and I was reminded of when he stood between me and Anders, a knife in his hand, prepared to defend me. “Nor shall I.”
We fell silent. I watched the dancers for several more moments, sipping my wine, wondering how much longer I needed to remain before I could make my excuses and retire for the night to the solitude awaiting me in my den.
