“I dinnae wish to keep from the river,” Nacht said. “The border clans grow restless.”
“They are always restless after the crowning of the Vaich,” said Rask. “They’ll be wanting their pay… or their blood.”
“It isnae simple legacy which stirs them, a-nis,” said Nacht, glancing at the Vaich. “There is noise beyond the mountain. Raids to the north. You inherit hungry enemies.”
The river Fír and the mountains beyond served as the two countries’ divide, but such rugged expanses invited unsavory fiends. The mountains were teeming with beasts of men and land alike who swore allegiance to nothing.
“I thought old Lach’Dun had settled things with the Dúnan Toor,” said Skyre.
At this mention of the mountain clans, Nacht soured. “The Dúnan Toor are a savage breed I trust less than I might throw them. Still, whatever treaties were made with Lach’Dun are no treaties of yours. One should not chase another man’s gold.”
“I dinnae chase it,” Skyre said simply. “I have gold of my own.”
“And you will need pay your due,” said Rask.
“We shall see about that,” said Skyre.
The crown had a long history of paying bribes to the men in the mountains, but Skyre had no intention of making such honorless agreements. Lach’Dun had been the first to command the border clans, and Skyre would demand the same respect. If they were men of Cullach, then they would bow or meet fire.
“My father dispensed of the blood brides. But there’s no sayingyoushall be shown the same favor. And anyway,” Jor said with a smile, “His Majesty clearly enjoys using skin as tender.”
Skyre imagined himself lunging over the table, putting his hands to Jor’s warm throat. Nacht’s expectant gaze was all that gave him pause.
“I won’t be held at blade point nor pursestraps by my own subjects,” Skyre said curtly. “The Aardmût comes soon, then I will ride out and meet with them.”
“Meet with them?” Nacht asked.
“They’re savages, but they’re not unreasonable,” said Skyre.
“It is never wise to wander into the bellies of beasts,” said Nacht.
“Aye,” said Greyv, swiping the miniature banner of the Dúnan Toor from the map. He held it up in the morning light, which diffused through the emblem of a white tree. “We’ll be sure to make them chew first.”
Skyre smiled. “I suppose you havenae heard, but your Vaich shan’t be killed. I will ride out and set things right myself. If these rowdy clans be nails, my Aarden Féin shall be a hammer.”
Rask grunted, but Nacht said. “Bold words from a fresh young thing. I enjoy seeing a little color in your cheeks.”
“Suppose I cannae convince you to ride with us?”
Nacht settled his helmet beneath a thick arm. “I will stay for the Reaffirmation and nothing more. My service to you, my laird, is service to the land. I mind the river.”
“I will decide of that,” said Skyre. It was hard to know what Nacht was thinking, but the Vaich decided it mattered little. “I want the strongest warriors for my Féin, and you are strong, indeed.”
Nacht said nothing, just nodded in lieu of a bow. He went out after that, and Skyre couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
A laugh split the room and he cut his gaze to Jor. “You’ll never win respect like that.”
“Like what?” Skyre threw back.
Jor’s smirk was maddening. “A show horse riding into war… Really, whatdidthey teach you in those woods?”
Rask went sharp as a blade. The air crackled. Skyre’s fist clenched till his knuckles popped. It was one thing to insult him, another crime entirely to insult his teacher.
“You seem to think yourself clever, though are hardly wise enough not to wander into dangerous water,” growled Skyre.
Jor cocked his head. “Is that what this is? I hadn’t noticed.”
Skyre stepped forwards, but Greyv held him back. “Turn that fury to the fray, huh? There’s barbarians to kill—much better sport.”
