Calder catches Odo grabbing one girl by her backside and burying his face between her breasts.
“Good morning, Jarl Calder,” a curvy woman with golden hair, her features framed by a tight bun, announces her presence. She loiters at his arm as she pours Salt mead into his empty flagon.
“Good morning.” Edmund winks at her, but Calder can feel her gaze burning into him.
Out of his peripheral vision, he observes her steeling herself to approach him. At last, she touches his shoulder and leans down by his ear. “The others may not understand you, Calder.” Her sudden attempt at seduction fails as her fear of him permeates her words.
He grinds his teeth, knowing his impulse to sink his blade through her neck hangs by a thread.
“I can withstand anything you wish to give me.” In a bold mood, she presses her trembling lips to his bearded cheek.
Edmund and Gunni both stop chewing.
He cracks his neck. “While I applaud your courage, if you wish to continue in your worthless life, I recommend you never breathe the same air as me again.” He swats her hand off his shoulder and rips the pitcher from her grasp.
As her eyes widen and her hand jumps to her mouth in shock, he slams the pitcher on the table, eliciting a squeak before she darts away.
“I thought you were going to rip her apart on the spot,” Gunni says through a mouthful.
“I’ve heard all of your rumors, Calder,” Edmund says, studying him over his flagon. “I’d be curious to know if they are all true.”
“Is there a question in there?”
“Even my fathers didn’t know why Uncle Sig sent you to Skalor. Why? What brought you here, never to return to Treland?”
“My King knew I was born in Skalor and raised here until my fifth winter, when my father rescued us from Lavinia. Sigvid wanted information on the Draemonium threat. The mission quickly grew complicated.”To say the least.
“Did you kill your wife and son?” Edmund pushes his plate away and lays his forearms on the wooden table. “You are a coldhearted bastard, but disposing of your family seems harsh.”
You have no idea.
Calder glances around, but everyone else in the hall is distracted by their congregations brought from their individual holds. He doesn't care what others think of him, yet still relies on his terrifying persona to be left alone. Before he can respond, Gunni leans into Edmund.
“This is an eye for an eye, Gothi,” he jabs a finger into his upper arm. “Calder tells you his truth if you tell him yours.”
Edmund smirks as he takes a long drink of wine. Finally, he tilts his head, assessing him. “You first.”
Calder’s thick, muscled arms clunk on the table, shuddering the platters. “I did.”
Mid-drink, Edmund spits out his wine, spraying all of them to Gunni’s verbal dismay.
“By the gods! I have so many questions-”
“Your turn.” Calder doesn’t flinch as Gunni curses Edmund for the regurgitated wine. “Who are you really, Gothi?”
Edmund grunts, tousling his hair to one side. “I am Lord Edmund Slodesson-Alexandrite of the Ridge Province in Treland.”
Gunni gapes at the son of the infamous warrior, Slode, who also serves as King Sigvid Thordsson’s Second-In-Command.
Calder sips his mead with a faint grin. “I suspected. I just needed you to confirm it for me.”
The boy’s cockiness and unparalleled abilities with an axe were the only tip-offs he needed. His dark hair and eyes were only a slight nod to his old Drengr friend in Salt.
“Did your wife and son deserve it?” Edmund presses, and Calder grumbles low in his chest.
“Pass,” he says, feeling the familiar sensation of sinking into the void, clutching his chest. “How did you end up a Gothi?”
Edmund removes his pipe and takes a moment to light the bowl before answering. “I bedded the daughter of a high-ranking lord. Well, and his wife. His steward. And his son.” He ticks off on his fingers as he reclines on the bench.
