For the first time, the Dags were relatively quiet as they also dug into the hot meal.
But soon enough, friends and family sought out Maz and Yarina, or called to them across the fire, congratulating Yarina on her war wound and offering a myriad of interesting ways to dismember Korvin for Maz. This considerably cheered up Maz. As did his constantly refilled mug.
A young boy offered to refill mine as well. I hesitated.
Yarina nudged me. “Too good for our mead, princess?”
I glared at her and held out my mug. The boy filled it with a grin and moved on.
“When in Dagriel, I suppose...” I muttered to myself and gulped half of it.
“That’s the spirit!” Maz thumped me on the back, causing me to splutter. “It’s no Sunshine, but don’t tell Davka that.”
Davka cuffed him on the back of his head.
“Did you make it?” I asked her. “It’s lovely.” A small burp escaped me, which seemed to please her. She dipped her head at me.
Drums started appearing around the fire, and suddenly I was grateful for the extra mead. If only I had some hot, buttered biscuits to go with it.
My gaze couldn’t help wandering over to Aiden. The flames danced between us, but nothing could hide those green eyes when they met mine.
I felt warm inside and out. My ever-racing mind had slowed and centered.
Gods, he’s beautiful.
His black eyebrows drew down as if wary of my attention.
But then a slow drumbeat echoed around the camp, tearing my gaze away.
Frieda rose from her fur-covered chair. She thumped her staff, and an immediate hush settled over the crowd. Even the dogs stopped barking and lay down.
“Tonight, we thank the Four for bringing our warriors home.”
Cheers and whistles answered her. Maz lowered his head, staring into his mug. I tentatively squeezed his arm. His hand shot out and kept mine there. I squeezed harder, the memory of clutching his bloody, unconscious body in the Wolves’ wagon still too vivid.
I slugged back the rest of my mead. Gods damn it, that was good.
Frieda thumped her staff again. “We also gather to remember those we lost. We may not have bodies to burn”—sad murmurs rippled around the fire—“but we have their names, their memories. We have the love we bore for them, and we will carry that in our hearts until we meet them across the Abyss.”
Resounding agreement thundered. I found myself nodding along.
“Zolta, brother of Halka. Bronwyn, daughter of Dietra and Gamli...”
The drums continued their sorrowful beat as Frieda listed off the dead. Soft cries fell like rain, making me feel cold again.
What had become of their bodies in the Den? Perhaps Renwell had burned them where they lay. Or they’d been gifted...
Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard.
Don’t think about him. Don’t think like that. The gods will find their souls. They will. Their loved ones will see them again.
A woman’s singing lifted my blurry gaze. A short, round woman had replaced Frieda. She was wrapped in fur and a darkred skirt. Her graying braids coiled around her head like thick weaves of yarn. And her voice... was beautiful.
“Everything given
Must be returned
Every story
