As if to remind the living that the earth was filled with the dead, it seemed cooler here, just a bit darker though it was only early afternoon.
Braya hated it here. She was alive and she wanted to remain that way. She didn’t want any more of her family in this place—not for a long time.
Her father came here every day after he ate. No one disturbed him while he stood before the stone. Braya didn’t know if he spoke to the stone that was all that was left of his son, or stared at the grave, or wept.
Pulling on her belt and girding up her loins, she approached silently and placed her palm on his forearm. “Father?”
He turned his hooded face to her. She could see the alarm in his glassy gray eyes.
She offered him a tender smile. “Forgive me for disturbing you.”
“’Tis quite all right,” he assured her in a soft, mild tone, soothed by her smile. “I was seeking Ragenald’s counsel regarding the scoundrel Bennett, and his men.”
Good, Braya thought, then he hadn’t yet made his final decision. “And has he given it?”
His broad chest fell from his long, deep sigh. “Alas, he has not.”
She looked down at the stone. She missed her brother. Raggie was the only person in her life who fed her desire to fight as well as any man. She was a reiver, as good at thieving and fighting as the other men, better than Galien. She never apologized to him for it, and she never would. She’d worked hard—she still did—practicing at being the best. She was three and ten when Ragenald died. Since then, no one in her family, direct or distant, praised or rewarded her for her skill. In fact, all of the men at the games, or the ones she’d raided with, scorned her just for being there with them, whether she’d helped save their miserable lives or not. “I would offer mine,” she said, lifting her eyes to her father’s.
He stared at her with indulgence filling his gaze and nodded.
“I would beg you to truly listen, Father, for one day I may be standing here overyourgrave. Or mayhap, ’twill be mine or Galien’s if we attack the castle.”
“With the help of our kinsmen, we can triumph over them,” he said, sounding indulgent now, as well.
“I do not doubt our victory. ’Tis what happens after that which concerns me.” She didn’t have much time to convince him before he sent her away, or Galien arrived. “We will lose a powerful ally. Aye, ’tis more peaceful now in the summer months, but what about when we need to raid more frequently? What will the other reivers do when they learn our protection is gone?” He looked like he might try to answer, so she quickly continued. “Father, we have known Robert Adams since I was a child, before he became a border guard. Do you truly believe he would look you in the eyes and lie? Or that he would kill any one of our lads if they were innocent? What if he and Sir Torin are innocent?”
He shook his head. “How will we know?”
“I do not know yet, but if Sir Torin is guilty then let us bring his head to the fallen lads’ fathers. Let the knight’s blood be enough before we lose more, Father. A war with the warden will cost us too much.”
“If he is guilty, I shall send Galien into their midst. I—”
What? Galien? Braya pushed away from her father. “You would send him over me? Why?”
He had no answer, so she provided him with more direct questions. “Am I not a better fighter than Galien?”
“You have shown yourself a worthy opponent against him and the rest of our kinsmen at the games,” he allowed. “But the stranger felled four men—”
“Proving that ’twill take cunning,notstrength to take him down,” she countered.
He stared at her and, for an agonizing moment, she feared he would dismiss her and her concerns. Then, he dipped his gaze to his first son’s grave. “Aye,” he finally said, lifting his gaze to her. “You are the most clever of my children.”
“We do not want to lose you, Father.”
His gaze went soft as he pulled her in for a quick embrace. “Let me ponder my decision. I will inform everyone of it in the morn.”
She nodded, pressed against his strong chest. “I know you will do the right thing, for you have proven yourself wise.”
He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, my dear. ’Twould seem then that you take after me in more than just your sword arm.”
What was that? A compliment? Was he calling her wise, or strong?
“Now go,” he said as he gave her a little push away, scattering her thoughts, “for I must speak with your brother.”
She wasn’t sure which brother he meant since Galien was making his way over. She passed him on her way out of the cemetery without a word when he cast her a questioning look.
She finished the rest of her morning chores, pondering her father’s words and finding herself smiling for most of the morning. After that, she enjoyed some conversation at the riverbank with her cousins, Lucy and Millie. The topic was, of course, apples—poor, pregnant Millie’s passion for them, and the scarcity of them being found during raids.
