“Courage, honor, wit, and an understanding and acceptance of the Ostman ways. I admit, I have much to learn yet, but I would like the opportunity to try.”
“What say you, sister? Shall we humor our esteemed guest?”
Astrid narrowed her eyes at him, but Cormac saw the glimmer in them. She found the entire ordeal amusing. Her fingers rapped over the oaken tabletop, as though she were deep in thought. Then, with a telling curve at the corner of her full lips, she gave her answer.
“Aye. I’ll be impressed if he lives through it, let alone wins it.”
“There you have it,” Sitric proclaimed happily. “We’ll begin in a fortnight, though you’re welcome to begin training with my men as you please.”
Cormac offered his thanks, but instead of feeling relieved that their ploy had worked so well, he grew more concerned that this was a mistake.
A very dangerous mistake.
Chapter Nine
The next fewdays kept Astrid too busy to meet with Cormac. She and her mother spent dawn till dusk scraping together enough workers and materials to build temporary houses for their influx of guests. After dinner, she collapsed onto her bed in an exhausted pile of stress and worry. If she didn’t start preparing Cormac, he wouldn’t have any real advantage over the men who arrived in ten days.
Five days after Cormac interrupted their breakfast with his shockingly thoughtful speech, Astrid decided that no matter how tired she felt, she would go to his room and start teaching him the rules and expectations of the games. But that was hours from now.
At present, Astrid sat at the table in the hall with ledgers spread and a pile of counting stones.
“Alright,” she rubbed her throbbing temples. “If he’s invited fifteen men, and they each bring at least two companions, we’ll need to feed an additional forty-five mouths for over a month.”
“I’m far less concerned over the food than I am the ale,” her mother remarked, shuffling the papers until she found the one she wanted. “Our next shipment won’t arrive for weeks, and I’ve only been buying enough for the household and our guests.”
“But the ale’s the most important thing!” Astrid grabbed the parchment from her mother, as though staring at the numbers herself might alter them. “Sitric will kill us if we run out of ale.”
“Oh, I’m well aware, dear. And that’s just the beginning of our logistical problems. Even working as we’ve been, I’m concerned it’s too much for just the two of us.”
That gave Astrid an idea. Cormac’s wry comment from nearly a sennight ago—that perhaps she should get to know Sláine better—had been bouncing guiltily through her mind ever since. She hated that he had been the one to suggest it, but it was a good point nonetheless.
“What?” her mother asked, clearly sensing the shift in her mood.
“We could ask Catrin and Sláine to help,” she suggested. “It would alleviate some of our problems and give us the opportunity to see how they handle household responsibilities.”
In response, Gormla called Bodil, the nearest serving girl, over to her. “Find the princesses and ask them to join us here,” she ordered.
As Bodil hurried off to do her mistress’s bidding, Astrid set down the ledger. “Alehouses,” she thought aloud. “We could use the alehouses. They never run out.”
“Yes!” Gormla agreed, pointing at her with a grin. “Hurry down there now and ask about their stores. We can discuss precise measures when you return.”
“Why me?” Astrid protested, standing anyway.
“You’re younger and faster,” Gormla answered. “I’ll start in on the meals while you’re gone.”
Without another word of argument, Astrid left the hall and headed down the hill into Dyflin toward the alehouse. News of the coming tournament already buzzed about the town around her, palpable excitement tinged the air. As she walked, however, the reality of her situation sank in further with every step.
They were ordering food.
She was securing a steady supply of ale at this very moment.
This tournament was really happening, and that meant that she would really be married, unless she finally got a plan into place aside from simply refusing the marriage.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about it, she certainly had. Night and day, she’d contemplated just how she could get out of this ordeal, but no answers had come. For the first time in her memory, Astrid couldn’t solve a problem. And that, in and of itself, posed an entirely different sort of problem.
Perhaps it was because this particular problem was so close to her. Not only was marriage deeply personal, but it also held far-reaching consequences that would determine the course of her life.
Some of her ideas had potential, but the strategies of them yet eluded her. Some of them were as far-fetched as the notion of marrying anyone but a fellow Ostman had once been. One of her favorite ideas had been simply getting on a ship herself and sailing far north in search of her sister. It had been many years since Gytha had married the King of Noregr and left for the northern reaches of the world.
