“I’ve taught myself since coming here, but after a few days, I realized each gesture is almost burned in my memory. I know it sounds impossible, but once I see them, the words are felt more than understood. I simply know them. Doesn’t make sense, I know.”
“Almost like something wants you to hear him. How fascinating.” Emi raised one brow, staring at me over the rim of her horn.
I responded with a frown, and stifled the urge to kick her shin under the table.
“It is interesting,” Thane said. “Maybe a unique trait of a melder. But I don’t recall Fadey being the same.”
Fadey hated me and would rather cut off my hands than listen to them, I insisted.
Thane tilted his drinking horn my way. “Well, you hated Fadey.”
“Why did you hate the last melder so much?” Lyra’s eyes glistened.
He was a pompous ass.
Talk shifted to other things, like predictions on who would become lovers after tonight, how many times Ingir would complain about Damir’s presence at the wedding, and how Lyra wanted the prince to place Jarl Jakobson in the back of the hall so he could not see a thing.
Food grew heavy in bellies, and some folk abandoned the hall to sneak away to rooms. Damir had taken his two new interests to his chambers. Ingir, too, had done away with the debauchery. Hundur dozed in his throne, and it was the first time his wife seemed at ease as she picked at a few extra bites on her plate.
Thane and Emi dug their heels into an argument on who was the better knife fighter, and even dragged a breathy laugh from my chest.
“Ly.” Darkwin nudged her shoulder. “I’ve had all the ale I can stomach for the night.”
He winked when she rolled her eyes. Darkwin had a woman with dark curls wrapped around his arm.
Lyra bid a swift farewell, then returned to her place at my side, her thigh pressed firmly to mine.
“What interesting folk you claim, Melder Bien.” A Myrdan woman with dark hair fashioned in a circlet of intricate braids, and each finger dressed in silver rings, leaned over the table. “Forgive me, I overheard the prince speak of the former melder as though you might be like him. I took a guess. I’m Lady Solveig, and have been interested in meeting the young melder.”
Lyra shuddered at my side. She didn’t respond.
Yrsa lifted her chin. “Lady Solvieg, what need do you have for the melder?”
“So I was right.” The lady returned a wolfish sort of grin toward Lyra. “No need, my lady. Mere curiosity.”
“Regarding what?” Lyra cracked a finger under the table.
Where no one could see, I took hold of her palm and rubbed the same finger, as though soothing the knuckle from the pop.
Solveig grinned, as innocent as a viper in the grass. “I merely find it fascinating the Jorvan king keeps you in his hall.”
“She is not one of my father’s hounds, Lady,” Thane grumbled.
“Of course.” Solveig snickered. “I only mean, with the history of your disappearance, and the vengeance our enemies must feel, well, it places all our heads under the blade in a way.”
Lyra blinked. “I would never intentionally bring harm to anyone.”
“I’m not sure Tomas Grisen would agree.”
“Lady Solvieg.” Yrsa clapped her drinking horn on the table. “You are crossing a dangerous line.”
The woman feigned stun. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I should not have said a word.” Solveig dipped her chin, but lifted a glare at Lyra. “If you care for your prince and my princess, Melder, I do hope you will consider staying out of sight. The Dravens care more for your blood than the previous melder since their prince died trying to hide you, after all.”
Violence was no stranger, and it throttled me now. I had never slaughtered a woman for insults, but tonight seemed a good time for a first.
Solveig took note and chuckled. “Then again, you already have your own Draven watchdog.”
Yrsa shot to her feet. “Gerta Solveig, leave this hall. You will not step foot at the royal vows. I will personally cast blood wards to bar you out. Should you attempt it, I’ll be certain my father returns you to Myrda in chains.
