20
THORNS
Ghisla and Alba were escorted to a well-appointed chamber on the back corner of Chief Benjie’s keep and told to enjoy a brief respite before dinner. Berne rose up from the water’s edge in green shelves, and the chieftain’s keep occupied the perfect vantage point, with water on one side, meadows edged in forest on the other. The windows of their room were guarded by huge trees, and Ghisla thought if they were so inclined, they could climb from the window and scale them, which oddly comforted her. She liked the idea of an escape route, even if she had nowhere to escape to. The branches were fat and sprawling, perfect for climbing, unlike the prickly pines on Temple Hill.
Water for bathing was brought in by a handful of aging porters, and Ghisla and Alba washed and changed into fresh gowns because they dared not sleep and be caught unprepared when they were summoned. Ghisla unwound, brushed, and rewrapped her hair and then assisted Alba with her tresses.
“I would like nothing better than to crawl into that bed and be done with this evening,” Alba said as Ghisla ran a brush down the silvery length. “But I am too hungry to beg off, and Father will insist I make an appearance. Benjie is odious, but I don’t mind his wife, Lady Beatrice, though I would have liked a small repast to tide us over.” Ghisla’s stomach growled in agreement, and Alba laughed, her eyes meeting Ghisla’s in the mirror.
“I do not think they planned on us,” Ghisla murmured. “This visit seems to have been hastily arranged on every front. They are scrambling to be ready for a feast and have had no time to think of their individual guests . . . even if that guest is the princess herself.”
“It was the arrival of the Northmen that necessitated it. Benjie was caught unawares, as usual. I do not know why Father would have brought us here otherwise.”
Alba grew pensive and Ghisla’s tension mounted. It was an odd visit indeed.
“You don’t think . . . you don’t think he will just . . . give me . . . to the North King, do you, Liis?”
Ghisla gasped. “No, Alba. A contract would have to be drawn. Such things take ages and planning. There would be celebrations and signings. You are the princess of Saylok.”
“They have been given gold and grain and even land. Yet they keep returning.”
“You will not be tossed at the North King’s feet like a bag of silver. You are the hope of Saylok.”
“I am a pawn,” Alba said, her voice flat.
Ghisla’s hand stilled in the princess’s hair. “It would be far more likely that I would be given away. The king is already speaking of a marriage between Elayne and Aidan of Adyar. He will marry us off first. You are his prize.”
Alba shook her head, and her white hair danced around her shoulders. “You are the only one of us he has any use for. I don’t know if that makes things better for you . . . or worse.”
They waited for three hours to be summoned, and when they finally were, it was Benjie and his lady, Beatrice, who knocked on their door to accompany them to the hall where the feast would take place.
Ghisla hated Chief Benjie even more than she despised Banruud, and she made no effort to hide her feelings. The chieftain was bothered by her disdain; he thought she should grovel for his favor. He took every opportunity to demean and dismiss her, and this night was no different.
“She should not be present,” Benjie said, not looking at Ghisla. “The other daughters are not in attendance.”
“But I will be in attendance,” Alba protested. Lady Beatrice did not dare argue with her husband.
“Yes. Of course. You are the princess,” Benjie said. “We have not set a place for her at the king’s table. She will stay in her room.”
“But . . . ,” Alba argued.
“It is just as well. I have no wish to be there,” Ghisla said. “The company in Berne has never been to my liking.” She curtsied deeply, excusing herself from the princess, and bid them all good night.
Alba cleared her throat to hide her laughter, and Benjie sputtered, but Ghisla turned back toward the chamber, grateful to be excused from any official duty. Benjie thought he’d insulted her, but he had given her what she wished for most: an hour or two of solitude.
“You will make sure there is something sent to my quarters?” Alba insisted to Benjie’s wife. “Neither of us have eaten all day.”
“Of course, Princess,” she soothed, and dispatched a servant to see that it was done. Ghisla shut the door, bolted it, and fell across the huge bed, tugging at the heavy coil of her hair. Her head ached and her neck screamed, and the gold pins that kept her braid in place felt like twenty six-inch thorns. She pulled them free and unraveled her braid, running her fingers through it almost frantically, moaning in pain and relief as her hair tumbled down her back. She brushed the tangles free, her eyes closed, sparing a thought for poor Alba, who would have to endure her braid and her crown for several more hours.
Ten minutes later, a knock sounded—supper—and she rose, grateful for Alba’s thoughtfulness. She was famished, and she would have gone to bed hungry if not for her. The servant would have to forgive her streaming hair.
She unbolted the door, eager, but it was not a kitchen boy or a serving wench on the other side.
“You will come to the hall,” Banruud said, eyeing her unbound tresses.
“I have been disinvited.”
“Benjie forgets himself.”
“I do not want to sup with him.”
“You will sup with me.”
“But I have taken down my hair.”
“Good. I prefer it that way.”
He held out his arm. There was something there, in the set of his mouth and the hollows of his cheeks, even the way his hairline came to a peak directly above the grooves between his eyes, that reminded her of Hod. It had been obvious to her that the king was Bayr’s sire—his size, his movement, his midnight hair were all repeated in Bayr—but Hod was there too, and sometimes she studied the king’s face too long, too often, trying to see him. The king had misinterpreted her searching look more than once.
“You will not eat if you do not come to the hall. The North King has requested that you sing.”
Ah. So that was it.
She didn’t want to sing. She didn’t want to sit in the hall amid three dozen warriors who ate like wolves and belched like frogs and skewered anyone who disagreed with them. But she was hungry, and if the king said she would not eat, she would not eat.
She settled her hand on his arm and gritted her teeth.
“You are wise, Daughter.”
“And you are gracious, King,” she purred.
They were announced at the door: “Liis of Leok and His Majesty, Banruud of Berne, King of Saylok.” Those who were sitting rose, and there was a quiet clamor about their combined entrance, but Ghisla did not let her eyes rove the hall. She kept her gaze fixed and her face frozen.
She’d learned that looking at men only encouraged them, and the Bernians were the worst of the lot. Their chieftain had allowed the clan to fall into disarray. Mayhaps it was the way he governed, taxing his people into the ground while placating marauders, but his warriors were more vicious and less disciplined than those of any of the other clans. Aidan of Adyar had complained mightily that the Bernians had begun to steal from and plunder the farms and villages on his border. Bayr had sent emissaries complaining of the same in Dolphys, but Banruud ignored Bayr and attempted to bribe the Chieftain of Adyar. Banruud was no fool, and he’d noticed Aidan’s interest in Elayne of Ebba. When they’d left Adyar two days ago, she’d heard Banruud’s parting salvo: “It is time for the past to be done away with. The daughters of the temple will be given back to their clans—or to new clans in marriage. They serve no purpose in the temple. We must find you a wife, Aidan.”