Banners flapped in the wind, the carriage wheels squeaked, and the horses shifted and shimmied, chuffing at their bits, their breath harsh and their big hearts thundering. Hod had expected the arrival of the king—the villagers and the Northmen had talked of nothing else for days—but he had not expected Ghisla.
“Tell me what you see,” he begged the old woman beside him. He kept his eyes shuttered so she wouldn’t be frightened, but he felt her suspicious gaze and smelled the ale on her breath. He also heard the exact moment she took pity on him. Her tension eased and her attention shifted, and she began to speak.
“Oh, it’s grand, it is. Flags of every clan, but the red flag of Berne first. King Banruud is of Berne, he is. He’s a big man and fine looking . . . like most of us Bernians. You have a look of a Bernian. Who was your mother?” she asked, getting too close and peering into his face, her nose almost touching his.
“I am a Bernian. Full-blooded. My mother was Bronwyn. She was a harlot, but she has assured me my father was of good Bernian stock.”
“Oh. Well then,” the woman said, and immediately shifted away, just as he’d intended.
“Tell me more,” he pled.
“The king is riding a black horse. No carriage for him. The princess has just disembarked. Oh, she’s a beautiful girl. She’s grown! A lady now, tall and slim. Her robes are black, but she is dressed in white. Her hair is white too . . . such an odd color. Like silver.”
“Moonlight,” he offered.
“Yes! Like moonlight,” she said, and clucked her tongue in approval.
“Is there . . . another woman?” he asked, striving to keep his voice even. “Perhaps . . . the queen?” He steeled himself.
Arwin had predicted Ghisla would be queen, and she was traveling with the king and the princess. There were no other daughters present. It was a logical conclusion to draw.
“The old queen? Queen Esa? No. No. She does not travel when the king visits the clans.”
“No, not the old queen,” he said. “Not Esa. Another woman.”
“I cannot see . . . Oh, there. She’s just stepped out of the carriage. Yes. The king has brought a daughter of the temple.”
“Describe her,” he insisted, though he needed no confirmation that it was Ghisla. “Please.”
“It is Liis of Leok. She does not smile or wave.” The woman sniffed. “Cold as ice, she is. I’ve seen her once before at the Tournament of the King, and she was just the same.”
“Cold as ice?” Hod asked. His chest was ice. Ice and fire, and he struggled to keep his tone politely disinterested.
“She’s pretty, I suppose. Her eyes are quite blue, but her cheekbones are too sharp and her hair too severe. The daughters all wear their hair in braided crowns, but it does not suit her. She’s a little on the small side. Too thin, if you ask me. She wears the purple robe of the keepers and a dress in Leok green. Some say the king favors her. But I don’t know why.”
“Ghisla,” he breathed.
“No, no. Liis. Liis of Leok,” the old woman corrected, like he wasn’t just blind but deaf too.
“You said the king favors her?”
“Yes. It is said she has a beautiful voice. Mayhaps she will sing . . . and I will form a more favorable opinion.”
“But she is not . . . his queen?” he asked.
The old woman cackled. “She mayhaps thinks she is. She acts as though she is our better. But no. She is not the queen. Banruud has not taken another queen. Not since poor Alannah, Odin keep her.”
Hod followed Ghisla’s movements, tracking her thrumming heart through the press of people on every side. The old woman kept prattling on, describing things he cared nothing about. He wanted only to know about her.
He had not allowed himself to nurse hope these last years. He’d done nothing but survive. But now he was here. And she was here.
“The daughters have gone into the keep,” the old woman announced. “The king and Chief Benjie are approaching the Northmen. The North King is a fearsome man. He blackens his eyes like the keepers and wears bones in his hair and rings in his ears. I hardly dare look at him. Be glad you are spared that, blind man.”
Had he not been so distracted he might have smiled.
“Some think there will be an announcement soon. A betrothal. Perhaps that is why Liis of Leok is here. Then mayhaps . . . the Northmen will go,” the woman added, wistful.
“Thank you for helping me,” he said, bowing slightly. He began moving away. There were plans to be made.
“I’ve not seen you before in the village,” the woman said, moving with him. She wasn’t ready to stop talking now that she had someone to listen to her. “Did you come from the inlands?”
“No. I came with the Northmen.” He opened his eyes and smiled, showing her his teeth and his empty gaze.
She gasped, and he heard her shuffle back. She would not follow him now.
“Liis of Leok is not cold,” he said as he turned away.
The old woman huffed as if to say, “How would you know?”
“And her voice will make you weep.”
He found Gudrun, the North King, sprawled on a pile of skins in the company of a handful of his men. They’d taken possession of a chateau overlooking the port of Garbo and the North Sea not far from the chieftain’s keep. Benjie had promised the ousted landowner it would be returned to him when the Northmen left. Hod doubted the man would want it. The Northmen were filthy, and they had no regard for the possessions of others. They’d taken it, and it was theirs now.
They’d burned the furniture that got in the way; they required space to sleep and there weren’t enough bedchambers for so many. The iron tub off the kitchen had not seen a single use, except for a place to piss when the hour was late and the pisser was lazy. The great hall of the keep reeked of sweat and waste and animal fat, and Hod steeled himself against the barrage on his senses as he stepped inside. The Northmen did not live this way in their own lands; they had wives to scold them there. But none of them seemed to mind the mayhem or the stench, and they stretched themselves in front of the fire, discussing the day’s events.
When they were not on the boats, Hod did not sleep among the other men. He’d learned he was safer—and a good deal cleaner—when he pitched his own tent and kept his distance from the others. In the beginning, he’d not had that luxury. The North King had kept him under constant watch, but slowly that had changed. Hod had earned his solitude and the king’s trust, and he was mostly left alone. He was greeted when he walked into the room, and Gudrun told him to sit.
“I would rather stand, Sire.”
The men laughed. It was an ongoing joke they never tired of. Hod did not sleep among them . . . and he rarely sat. In the beginning, the Northmen had amused themselves by throwing things at him, trying to catch him unaware. He’d sustained more cuts and bruises that way than from all the fists and fights put together. He’d learned it was best not to ever let down his guard. So he didn’t sit, and after a particularly brutal barrage, he’d begun to carry a shield strapped to his shoulders. He could ward off a great deal with his staff, but it was nice to have something always at his back.
“I wish to speak with you, King Gudrun. Alone, if I may,” he added.