“Hilda.” Lyra took the woman’s hand and squeezed. “How are you?”
The bone crafter woman had dark eyes that collided with the paleness of her hair. They hardened when she lifted her gaze and met mine. “I was torn from my husband after being wed a month.” Hilda pasted a false smile on her lips and peeled her attention to Lyra. “How would you be?”
I did not feel guilt over what was done. That would be reckless and hint that I cared about crafters.
I didn’t.
In truth, I would rather live in a world without any craft at all. Too many wars had been fought for a drop of the gods’ magic. Too many families much like Hilda’s had been upended.
Darkwin did not allow the somberness of the table to last long. Perhaps the side of him that was raised as a jarl’s son was still there. He had a knack for drawing folk to laughter and drink and entertainment, like most jarls saw fit in their oversize longhouses.
Soon enough Hilda was laughing and mocking Darkwin for his overwrought tale of his skill during the day’s training. Her brother’s mouth twitched like he might grin before he hid it through a long draw of ale from his horn.
Emi cut Darkwin at the knees by regaling them with a story of how he wore his leather training gambeson backward for the whole of the first week during his training in the warm months.
Lyra’s head fell back when she laughed, and I did not realize I’d gotten lost in the sound of it until cheers and applause drew my attention to the center of the tavern.
Thane stepped into the hall.
The prince had braided his hair in a ridge down his head and donned his favorite sea blue tunic and was, no mistake, reveling in the endless genuflection of the inner fortress travelers.
Thane was gracious enough to greet most, but the way the prince shouldered through the crowds, he was aiming for the familiar.
His gaze caught mine across the hall, and he smirked before clambering atop one of the tavern tables.
“My ladies, good sers, so rarely do we have such a gatheringfor a revel in the fortress. You honor us.” The prince allowed a bit of applause before going on. “Now, eat, drink, and be entertained. You are honored guests tonight.”
The moment the prince hopped from the table, drums thundered to life again.
“Ah, here are my friends.” Thane clapped one hand on Emi’s shoulder, the other on Kael’s. “Darkwin, I hear Captain Dahl was quite pleased with you today.”
“I told you,” Kael murmured to Lyra. He grinned back up at Thane. “I’m honored to hear it, my prince.”
Thane took Lyra’s hand and pressed a kiss to the top. “Súlka Bien. Forgive me for not using your proper title.” Thane leaned closer, voice low. “Might bring danger your way, and I’d be left to deal with the grousing of that somber sod at your back.”
Lyra lifted her chin, watching me in the corner of her eye. “I fear it is just what he does, my prince. No matter what joyous thing might’ve happened in the day.”
Thane barked a laugh.
I frowned.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” The prince stole a horn from the table and stepped beside me. “It isn’t as though you weren’t aware of your constant state of annoyance. It is a revel, within the gates, Stav at every door. It would not kill you to enjoy a horn or two.”
It might and that might kill you. I gestured low enough that only he would see.There is tension.
Thane shook his head. “There is always tension. We have enemies who are never appeased and will be less so the moment they discover our lovely Lyra is behind these gates.”
I started to gesture that the feeling went deeper, but Thane was pulled away by Emi to dance. Darkwin was spotted by a boldyoung woman who whispered in his ear, and in the next moment he followed her to the center of the tavern with other couples.
Lyra sat away from the two bone crafters, sipping on her horn. She looked back at me for a long breath, then replaced Thane’s spot at my side.
“You’ve not taken a drink of your prince’s ale, Sentry Ashwood. Not thirsty?”
All at once a thought—perhaps a memory—snapped through my head like a lash across my mind.
Shadows were thick, only the flicker of golden light from a few lanterns danced across the mossy stones of a feed barn.
Keep low. Keep down.
