Savine sat back, sour, wiping her fingers on a cloth. Rikke sat back, sulky, hands on the bench behind her and her bony shoulders up around her ears. “You’re asking a lot, Leo. Of me and of my men. Don’t pretend you’re not. I need to think on it. Maybe the Long Eye’ll open in the night. Show me the answer.”
“I understand. It’s a big decision.” The uncomfortable silence stretched, and Leo looked down awkwardly at the floor. That was when he saw the Circle painted there, around the table where they ate. Five strides or so across. The same kind he fought Stour Nightfall in. The kind men of the North had been fighting in since before words were written. “What’s the Circle for?”
Rikke’s face slid into shadow, the gleam of one eye in the darkness. “Folk who don’t agree with me.”
New Friends
Rikke woke with a lurch, flinging off the furs like they were throttling her, thoughts chasing each other around her sweaty head. Took her a moment to remember where she was. Who she was.
She still wasn’t used to sleeping in her father’s bed. But it was likely the best bed in the North. Huge, even though he’d been small. Always said he wanted to keep rolling and never fall out. He’d had the frame carved by the best shipbuilder in Uffrith, monsters prowling over the wood, and bought the goose-feather mattress for its weight in silver off some Styrian merchant. Other than Rikke, it was probably the thing he was proudest of in the world. Broke his heart to leave it when Black Calder took the city, filled him with joy to find it in one piece when he came back. Always said he’d spent half his life sleeping on the dirt, so he’d sleep the other half in comfort’s pillowy embrace and make no apologies.
She still wasn’t used to sleeping in her father’s bed, but it made her feel close to him, even though he was gone. And when you’re left the best bed in the North, what should you do, sleep on the floor?
She swung her feet down and wriggled her bare toes into the cold boards, nodding to herself as all the pieces dropped into place in her mind. Might be she’d had a vision, might be she’d had a dream, might be she’d just had an idea, but whether you put it down to magic, luck or wits, she saw now what had to be done. Someone had to pick the course, after all. Wouldn’t be pleasant. Wouldn’t be easy.
“But easy is for the dead,” she whispered, and stood.
That morning had a feel of summer, chilly but bright, curved streaks of cloud high up against the blue like dragon’s ribs. Rikke shifted her chagga pellet from one side of her mouth to the other and drew that bright red cloth about her shoulders. It was quite a thing for some woven thread, so beautiful it made her feel beautiful, which was a rare feat these days. And who should be sitting on the bench in her father’s unkempt garden, watching the sunrise sparkle on the sea, but the one who gave it to her?
“Savine dan Brock herself!” said Rikke. “You’re up early.”
She seemed a different woman without all the powder and paint and costume. Younger and softer. More ordinary and more honest. Like a warrior without his mail, maybe. “No choice,” she said, laying her hands on her belly. “He, she or it seems intent on kicking me this morning.”
Rikke sat beside her. Watched the fishing boats rock on the waves while she gathered the courage to ask. “Can I feel?”
Savine considered her, eyes narrowed against the low sun, then she took Rikke’s hand and guided it to her stomach.
Rikke frowned. Waited. Frowned. A little knobbly pressure shifted under Savine’s gown, then was gone. Just that, but Rikke found she was grinning like she’d seen High Art. “It moved!”
“That’s what it does.” Savine winced as she shifted on the bench. “That, and the moment I piss I need to piss again.”
“Sorry I was a sour host last night,” said Rikke. That came out a little sour itself. Her pride had been hard fought for and she didn’t like swallowing it, even if her father had always said pride buys nothing. “In Uffrith, we’re used to getting pushed from both sides. Being pushed brings out the worst in me.”
“Sorry I was a sour guest,” said Savine. “I am used to fixing on what I want then treading on whoever I must to get there. Where I come from, nice wins no prizes.”
Rikke slowly nodded. “Honestly, it’s much the same here.”
“I should have told you how sorry I am about your father. Leo has spoken of him so often I almost feel I knew him. He was distraught… when the news came.”
“Aye.” And Rikke frowned towards her father’s grave, half-hidden by the overgrown bushes. She was making even less progress on the gardening than he had. “He’s always had a big heart, Leo.”
Savine leaned close to murmur, “He could use his heart less, I sometimes think, and his head more.”
“Why would he need his head when he’s got you? I mean, he might come up with an idea you don’t like.”
“Fair point.”
“And your father? What’ll he feel about what you’re planning?”
“My father.” Savine’s face turned stony. “You suppose he has feelings. He always told me that to change the world you must first burn it down.”
“He’d get on with my friend Isern, I reckon. She always says you must make of your heart a stone.”
“Sound advice. I very much admire what you have achieved here, you know. It cannot be easy for a woman to take charge.”
“Someone had to. The old men were making quite the fuck-up.”
“Honestly, it is much the same in Angland.”
“You should get a couple of the most troublesome ones to kill each other,” said Rikke. “You wouldn’t believe how thinning the pack brings the other old dogs into line.”
“You haven’t killed each other, then?” Leo had stepped out into the sun, a worried look on his face. There was no disguise in him at all. He couldn’t have hidden a tree in a forest.
His wife was craftier. Far, far craftier. “We’re better friends than ever,” she said, with a smile could’ve sweetened seawater.
Rikke did her best to match it, wondering whether Savine had friends, or just people that were useful to her. Then she wondered if she was any better herself. Then she wondered whether it even mattered. Long as everyone made sure they stayed useful, of course.
“I had a vision in the night!” she said, throwing up her hands then slapping them down on her thighs. “I asked for a vision and I got one. Have to tell you that’s not usually how it works. It started off with me climbing a hill of bones.”
“That… doesn’t sound great,” said Leo.
“That was my thought! Dusty under the fingernails. But when I got to the top, the sun rose over green uplands, and there was a lion, and it wore a crown.”
Leo frowned at Savine. “I don’t want the crown. A new Closed Council and an honest government and I’ll be satisfied.”
“’Course,” said Rikke. “But it’s a promising sign. And when signs are sent, you’ve got to attend. What’s the point of the Long Eye if you’re not going to listen?” She thought about that. “Or look? Anyway, my point is… I’m with you. The men of Uffrith will be with you. Just make sure you put us on the other wing from the Great Wolf, eh? Wouldn’t want to kill that fucker at a bad time.”