“Well, if someone finds their goat missing, only to turn up at another house, they can cry thief and bring a fine or punishment upon their neighbor. Or it can be handled another way.”
“Like what?”
A dark gleam flashed in Frigg’s eyes. “The one who was robbed can craft a heist against the first thief. Bring evidence you were wronged, and you are free to restore your belongingswithinterest.”
“Meaning?”
“The heist better make off with not only the goat that was stolen, but some penge coin or a few hens. No killing is allowed, no blood is to be drawn. Stealth is the key. If successful, the royal house will give the second thief a banner stating ownership of the entire haul.”
It seemed like madness. “What’s to stop the first thief from retaliating?”
“The banner.” Frigg paused at a small, wooden gate that led to the back paths toward the Black Palace. “If the first thief chooses to retaliate they do so knowing the Kryv and the Black Palace will make their own moves against them. No one wants to go against the royal house.”
“How did they come up with such laws?”
“I think the way the king and queen see it is if you are foolish enough to thieve and get caught, you earn what’s coming to you. And if you’re even more foolish to thieve, get caught, then have your haul and more taken in return, they find you embarrassing and stand against you.”
“And does it work?”
Frigg nodded, balancing on a fallen log on the side of the path as she walked. “There is actually very little crime here. Squabbles, sure. You heard my own father do the same.”
“Well, your father doesn’t seem the type who’d get caught.”
Frigg’s palm pressed to her heart. “Good hells, that was awfully nice of you to say.”
Her eyes burned in sincerity, as though I’d stumped her with such utter praise she didn’t know what to make of it.
What a strange place this was. Schemes were dealt with greater schemes, and honor was brought to house names by who pulled off the cleverest moves.
I kept close to her pace until we rounded a bend, and my blood turned to ice. Even Frigg let out a gasp of surprise.
On foot, four men approached from some of the lower townshipsthat speckled the hillside of the palace. Silver-eyed Raum stood next to a man with wavy red hair who held the hand of another man with a scar through his brow.
I didn’t pay them much mind; I was too lost on the sharp, shadowed stare of the form in the middle.
The alver king stopped where the paths converged, practically drinking me in with his dark gaze.
“Ah, hello.” Raum waved. “Didn’t see you, which never happens. I see everything.”
“Profetik,” Frigg whispered, as if sensing my confusion. “Heightened senses.”
Gods, could he really see anything? Through clothing? I folded my arms over my chest, and Raum laughed, muttering something to the king I couldn’t make out.
The king took a step forward, shifting a few rolls of parchment between his hands. He stood nearly two heads taller than me, black coated him from shoulder to toe, and his dark chestnut hair was kept tied at the sides, but a little tousled—like his sons’.
What was I to say? Should I say anything? Was I to bow? Did I hold out a hand?
All my body managed to do was tremble like a damn hummingbird when he stopped three paces away.
Say something. Anything would be better than this . . . silence.
Frigg took a step closer to my side. “Maj made her a gown.”
The king glanced at the woman, his expression unchanged. “Good.” His voice was a rasp, deep and dark. It faded and he returned again to his scrutiny of me. Surely he must expect me to speak.
“We’ve all been rather keen to thank you for stopping us from dying by tea. It would’ve been a horribly embarrassing way to greet the gods after all the bloodier things we’ve done,” said Raum.
“No thanks needed.” Gods, my voice trembled. “Forgive me for being distant, I . . . I haven’t been feeling well.”
