“I don’t understand your play,” Hod said again.
Gudrun washed his mouthful down with loud gulps of ale and wiped his fingers on his trousers.
“You said he would not want to part with the woman. You were right. I simply wanted to make King Banruud feel as though he’d won and I’d relented. It made negotiations much easier later on. And it provided an opportunity to put your skills on display.”
“My skills,” Hod said, voice flat.
“I want to make your father love you, don’t you see? I am repairing a bond.” His tone was mischievous, and Hod heard his grin. When he did not elucidate but began preparing another bite, Hod prodded him, just as Gudrun expected him to.
“He does not know he is my father, Sire, and there is no bond to repair,” Hod said.
“He does. I have told him,” Gudrun said, swallowing.
“What purpose does that serve?” Hod whispered. He was not surprised. Gudrun used every weapon at his disposal, and Hod had supplied him with it, long ago. It had provided him with a story any man could understand: the blind, bastard son of a king seeks revenge on those who rejected him. It was only a matter of time before Gudrun wielded the information against him.
“It serves my purposes, Hod.” Gudrun thumped his chest to emphasize his words. The action made him belch, and he laughed again. He was in fine spirits this morning.
“I have agreed to bed—er, wed—the daughter.” Gudrun laughed at his wordplay. “In exchange I have promised to be a very good North King and stay in my own lands. The Northlands will not attack Saylok, and Saylok will not raid the Northlands. It’s all very civilized and familial. We will set sail today, and I will return next month to retrieve my bride.”
“Retrieve your bride . . . where?”
“I’ve been invited to Temple Hill.” Gudrun spread his arms and sat back in his chair, making the rungs groan against his girth. “To the castle of the King of Saylok. The mighty Banruud wants to show his people that he has tamed the North King and saved the clans from being overrun by Northmen.”
“I see.”
“You will not be sailing with us, Hod,” Gudrun added.
Hod waited, tensed.
“You will go with Banruud to his hill. I have convinced him I must have a man I trust on the mount to prepare for my arrival and to ensure that no treachery is afoot. If he kills you, he can’t very well expect me to hold to my end of the bargain.”
“You do not intend to hold to it regardless.”
“Yes. But he thinks he has the upper hand. He has invited us to the mount during his Tournament of the King. He informs me that the fiercest warriors from every clan will be in attendance. I have told him I worry I will be ambushed.” The irony was as thick as the grease on his plate.
“It is a valid concern,” Hod murmured.
“The king insists that a wedding at the end of the tournament will be well received by the chieftains. Coronations and celebrations are done during the week, as I understand it.”
“This is true.”
“I have agreed to his plan with great . . . reluctance.”
“Understandably.”
“Banruud has asked that you be ready to depart today. I doubt he will welcome you. But you must make yourself useful to him . . . until I arrive.”
Hod’s fingers flexed around his staff, but he nodded, impassive. “Very well.”
Gudrun wanted a reaction, and Hod did not give him one. The king’s irritation was evident in his exhale. “You will have until then to make the Songr want you again,” he murmured. “You should thank me. Of course, if she is the king’s Songr, you may not want her.” He sucked at his teeth. “She is rather appealing, Hod. Not plain at all. Long hair like spun gold. Sweet little bottom and enough breasts to fill a man’s hands. Her eyes are the bluest I’ve ever seen—shocking, how blue—and her mouth is a rosebud, soft and pink and plump; it is a shame you cannot look at her.”
“I’ve always seen her well enough.”
Gudrun chuffed, and Hod did not know whether the man grinned or glowered. He was silent, studying Hod, and when he leaned toward him, his voice intimate and low, Hod did not shrink.
“Do not fail me, Hod.” His greasy breath wafted over Hod’s lips. “And do not cross me.”
“I have never crossed any man,” Hod replied softly. “They have crossed me.”
Gudrun chuckled, this time in earnest, and he sat back in his chair, the tension leaving him. “If you do, the little Songr is mine. I may take her yet.”
If Banruud and the North King had addressed terms of an accord, they were not announced. Instead, the Northmen prepared to sail, and the king’s party prepared to depart from Garbo. The Bernians seemed relieved—overjoyed even—to see both, and they’d gathered on the docks and around the chieftain’s keep to point and speculate.
The king’s men were in their saddles and the wagons loaded, and the North King and his men, including Hod, were lined up to bid them adieu. The only point of contention seemed to be who would leave first.
Ghisla and Alba had been escorted to the carriage, and they watched from behind the parted drapes they’d drawn over the open windows.
“Do you think they are really leaving?” Alba whispered, flabbergasted.
“Yes. I think they are.” And Hod would be leaving with them. She had not slept at all, hoping he would find her. He stood beside the North King, his hand on his staff, a shield, his bow, and a small satchel slung over his shoulders. She wondered suddenly if he was listening.
“Father must have promised them something,” Alba said, and her fear was palpable.
Ghisla had lain beside the king in his chamber, but she had not touched him while she sang—she always tried not to—and she had not divined his thoughts. Mayhaps next time, for Alba’s sake, for both their sakes, she should.
Banruud reined his horse around and halted in front of the North King, obscuring the view from the carriage, but his words were clear.
“We have saddled a horse for your man, Gudrun. I hope his skills extend to riding.”
“I will walk,” Hod answered.
“You will not be able to keep up, blind man,” Banruud argued.
“I will keep up well enough.”
“Hod does not trust the horse between his legs,” Gudrun inserted. His men laughed as he intended for them to do.
“Why not?” Banruud asked. “Surely you are not afraid?”
“I can only hear the horse,” Hod explained evenly. “Their hearts are like cannons and their instincts interfere with my own. I will be of more use if I walk.”
“He’ll make it eventually, Highness,” Gudrun said, and the Northmen laughed again.
“It is three days’ hard travel to reach the hill,” Banruud protested.
“Yes. I know. If I fall behind, I will catch up to you by day’s end,” Hod replied, unbothered.
Banruud was silent for a moment, and his horse shimmied, impatient.
“You will ride on the carriage. There. On the footman’s stoop.” Banruud pointed toward Ghisla and Alba. “It will not be pleasant for travel, but you will not be left behind, and you can guard the rear.”