“We are all settled,” I said.
Gort offered me his shovel hand. “Shake on it.”
Some things were universal. I stood up, took his hand, and shook it.
“Do you need help settling Shana in?” Reynald said.
“She is waiting with our cart around the block. Just point us to the rooms, and we are good to go.”
I waved at the west wing. “Take anything you like in there.”
“Will do.”
Gort turned and headed for the outside door.
Reynald circled the table and leaned on it with both hands, so our eyes were level. His eyes were very green today, like spring grass in sunlight. They seemed to change color depending on lighting, on what he wore, on if a bird flew overhead . . . And I was thinking entirely too much about his eyes.
“Is there something you would like to ask me?”
Why not? “How old are you?”
“Thirty-eight.”
“What year were you born?”
“3006. Became a squire at twelve, in 3018, knighted at seventeen in 3023, served for twenty years, received the Green Purse last year in winter.”
“You don’t look thirty-eight.”
His dark eyebrows came together. “How is thirty-eight supposed to look?”
Put like that, it did sound ridiculous, but I had marched into this conversation, and I had to keep going until I got myself out of it.
“Like Gort.”
“Gort is forty-seven. Nine years older than me.”
“I meant that Gort is forty-seven and he looks fifty. You are thirty-eight and you look thirty.” In-great-shape thirty. Not the-war-life-ground-me-into-dust thirty.
“Gort was a battle sergeant. He marched on foot with the bladesmen and spearmen. I am a knight. I rode a horse.”
He had a point.
“Come to think of it, where is Striver?” Reynald and his stallion were inseparable.
“He died.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
Was Striver supposed to be dead during this time? I didn’t know. The book started with Reynald riding on Striver into Kair Toren expecting a happy reunion and instead finding out that his wife had died and his son had been kidnapped. Striver was in numerous flashbacks but there was no mention of him in the main plot after that opening.
We stared at each other some more.
“Would it help if I grew a beard?” he asked. “It might make me look older.”
Now who was being ridiculous. “No.”
“We must resolve this now, because I need you to trust me, Maggie. There might be times when I tell you to do something for your safety and you must do it without hesitation.”
