His people, seated along the long tables, talked and laughed before them. Candles threw a warm glow over their heads.
“When Lynjef died,” he paused, scoffing, “and it was of old age, Trisha, in case you’ve cooked up some morbid storiesabout his passing already…” He continued, “I felt no need to find another one.” Something raw and jagged clouded his gaze, enough to tighten Trisha’s throat. “More importantly, he was… loved.”
Blainor’s voice broke off, as though admitting it would have cost him something. His fingers bent until he forced them to relax. “It wouldn’t have been right to replace that memory, not so soon.” Staring past the candles and the people, he fell silent, “Is that enough to satisfy your curiosity?”
She bit her lip, unable to forget the thickness in his voice. Did he mourn the old bard or someone else Lynjef reminded him of? “I guess so.”
“You guess? You’re a difficult bird to please, Starling.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, my lord. You haven’t really tried.”
A moment of silence before a slow smile spread across his lips. He reached for his drink, but his eyes were knowing; their brilliant shade sent her heart skittering.
The sweet mix of honey and mead’s zesty tang mingling over her tongue, Trisha’s ears perked up. Next to her, Fjorten’s low, gravelly voice lit a sense of familiarity. Settling more comfortably in her seat, she took another sip. On Blainor’s other side, Byne was still exchanging quiet words with Senneth. The seneschal shook his head, expression pinched.
Byne pressed further until turning toward the Warlord. “My lord, did you consider the situation at Halsdal?”
Blainor rubbed his nose, then sniffed. “Forefathers’ bones, woman. I’ve been back less than a day; Blutmeer can wait until morning.”
“You must send a raven,” Byne said. “It’s a four-day ride. If you want to avoid bloodshed during the summer’s assembly, you’ll want Gend here before its start.”
“Remind me again of the reason for auxiliary command?”Blainor’s eyes darted between Byne and Senneth. “You had full authority to handle things.”
“Annath,” Byne offered the name as if it explained everything. Trisha’s face tilted. Hadn’t Senneth mentioned that name at their arrival?
Blainor’s expression darkened. “So, what did Gend Blutmeer do to earn Annath’s ire?”
“Nepotism, though he didn’t use that word.”
“No. I’d be surprised if he even knew what it meant. But why accuse Gend? Annath doesn’t have relations in Halsdal.” He grinned like a wolf. “Unless he’s sneaked into Blutmeer’s stronghold to spread his seed, and Gend’s finally caught on to that.”
“If I may, my lord,” Senneth said, “Chief Wolfsbach accusesyouof allowing Blutmeers to use their pastures.”
Blainor’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what Gend’s been telling him? That fool.”
“It’s… unclear,” Byne said. “Apparently, they’ve met. It didn’t go well.”
“I see.” Blainor drummed the table and shook his head. “I should thank the ancestors. Orin didn’t mention anything; Annath hasn’t contacted the other clans.” He pressed his lips together. “First thing in the morning, send a messenger to both. They’re to present themselves to me in ten days.” A morbid resolve settled on his brow. “The snakes may slither, but even they must still when I chop off their heads.”
His attention trailed to Trisha, who was listening to the exchange with uneasy interest. “Does this shock the Warlord’s Bard?”
She didn’t know any of the names tossed around, but she understood enough. “Is the Warlord asking for advice?” Trisha raised a brow. “It seems my lord has it all figured out—yield or gibbet.”
“Exactly, Starling. We’ll make a Northerner out of you yet.”
“With a wolfskin and a battle axe strapped to my back? No, thank you.”
His gaze flicked down, as though noticing her appearance only now. “As delightful as such a sight might be, this time I’m inclined to agree,” Blainor murmured.
Annoyingly, heat crawled up her cheeks. Reminding herself not to let him distract her, she said, quickly, “Perhaps I could accept the battle axe after all. It would protect me better than a locked door. Wouldn’t you agree, my lord?”
“Are you planning to repeat your song from Graystein?” Blainor’s sharp voice commanded others’ attention. “Some cling to the ancient traditions more than others. I’d advise against testing your limits.”
“Wisely said, m’lord.” Fjorten’s words garnered an affirmative nod from Kaiden.
“A song isn’t an invitation,” Trisha insisted.
“Go ahead, then,” Blainor snorted, exchanging a look with his cousin. “Not that I need an excuse to hammer sense into Gend and Annath.”
