“Gudrun, may I present the daughters of the clans,” Banruud said, striding toward the robed assembly. Gudrun followed eagerly. Some of the Northmen dismounted, eyes suspicious, hands on their weapons, and trailed after their king.
“I see only old men,” Gudrun mocked. The daughters’ hair was the only thing that set them apart—Master Ivo had dispensed long ago with any clan-colored distinctions—and they’d raised their hoods to cover their heads.
“We want to see the daughters, Master Ivo,” Banruud ordered, coming to a halt before the Highest Keeper.
“They are not yours to command or display, Majesty,” Ivo replied, his tone mild, as though he spoke to an insistent child.
Banruud moved so close to Ivo, he appeared to be speaking to a lover, whispering assurances in his ear, but Master Ivo raised his eyes to Gudrun, who stood over the king’s shoulder, and spoke to him directly, ignoring King Banruud.
“What is your purpose here, Northman?” the Highest Keeper queried. His tone was so cold the crowd shivered.
“I want to see your temple, priest.”
“I am not a priest. I do not save souls or speak for the gods. I am a Keeper of Saylok.”
“And what treasures do you keep, old one?” Gudrun grinned, and his men laughed around him.
“Let us see the daughters,” Elbor hollered, showing his support for the wishes of the king. “They belong to the people. Not the keepers.”
A few clanspeople cried out in agreement. Others protested, frightened by King Banruud’s company, unnerved by the Northmen inside the walls of their precious mount.
Benjie, still seated on his horse, among a handful of Gudrun’s men and Banruud’s guard, raised his voice in agreement.
“You worship the gods, but you obey the king, Highest Keeper,” he said.
Lothgar of Leok grunted his agreement and Josef of Joran stepped forward, demanding a viewing as well.
“Daughters of the clans, come forward,” Banruud bellowed, his hand on his sword. The keepers shifted, a pathway opening among them, and Ghisla and her sisters, their eyes fixed above Banruud’s head, their purple robes hiding them from neck to toe, descended the steps.
The crowd strained to get a better view, and Gudrun smirked as they stopped in a straight line before him, not shrinking but not acknowledging him in any way.
The North King touched the fiery coils of Elayne’s hair. Ghisla heard her whimper slightly, but she did not pull away.
“Elayne of Ebba,” Banruud said.
“Elayne of Ebba,” Gudrun grunted, his eyes shrewd. He moved on.
“Liis of Leok,” Banruud announced, almost dismissing her. He seemed eager for Gudrun to move along, but the North King moved his face within an inch of hers, willing her to meet his gaze. He blew a stream of warm air against her lips.
“Hello, Songr,” he whispered.
She did not respond or even deign to look at him.
“Such an icy wench,” he hissed. He laughed and moved on to Juliah as the king introduced her.
Juliah was not ice, she was fire, and when Gudrun paused in front of her, she glowered at him disdainfully, her top lip lifted in the smallest of sneers.
“Juliah of Joran does not like me,” he murmured. “Though I might enjoy changing her mind.”
“Dalys of Dolphys,” King Banruud intoned.
Dalys had begun to shrink, her slim shoulders bunching around her ears, but Gudrun ran the tip of his finger along the silky underside of her jaw and demanded she lift her face.
When she did, his lips curled.
“Your chieftain is so big.” He shot a look toward Bayr. “But you are a runt. I want a woman,” he said, dismissing her without another word. The crowd rumbled, and the Highest Keeper gnashed his teeth, but Gudrun wasn’t finished. He moved to Bashti, who met his gaze with all the disdain he’d just shown Dalys. She was not a big woman either, but she demanded attention. Gudrun gave it to her.
He pressed his thumb to the swell of her full lips as though he intended to check her teeth. When she snarled and snapped at him, he laughed and lifted his eyes to Banruud, releasing her before he lost a finger.
“You have six clans, Banruud . . . but only five daughters,” he mused.
“The princess is of Adyar,” Aidan spoke up. “She represents our clan among the daughters of the temple.” Aidan had remained by Bayr’s side, though his eyes had clung to Elayne throughout the North King’s inspection. His voice was controlled, but his hand clung to the hilt of his sword, and Ghisla knew she and Hod were not the only ones who nursed secret affections.
Gudrun turned and considered Alba once more. Like the daughters, she was unflinching beneath his scrutiny. “I think you lie, Chieftain. Who is that?” Gudrun pointed, his eyes sharp. “Do you seek to hide her from me?”
Ghost stood among the keepers, Dagmar beside her, but the hood of her robe had fallen back a few inches, and her thick, white braid was a stark contrast to the vivid hue of her robe.
If Ghisla had not been facing him, she might have missed Banruud’s response. He recoiled beside Alba, drawing her back with a vicious jerk, his eyes wide with horror.
“I want to see her, priest,” Gudrun insisted, curling his fingers at Ghost, beckoning her forward. Ghost had already ducked her head, shrinking back into her robe, an ivory slice of cheek the only visible part of her face. Dagmar was rigid beside her.
“She is not a daughter of the temple, King Gudrun,” Master Ivo replied, but his eyes were glued to Banruud.
“No?” Gudrun sneered. He began mounting the stairs, shoving keepers aside. The crowd cried out, frightened by his aggression. Gudrun stopped in front of Ghost and pulled her hood from the wreath of her silvery-white hair. Her chin snapped up, her eyes gleamed, and Gudrun cursed and stumbled back, almost falling when his foot glanced off a step. The crowd in the courtyard gasped, the collective inhale like a crack of angry thunder.
“She is not a daughter, Majesty,” Master Ivo repeated, though it was not clear to which king he referred. “She is a keeper.” He paused, his gaze still clinging to King Banruud. “We call her . . . Ghost.”
“I want to see the temple,” the North King demanded, his voice ringing imperiously, but he had retreated several more steps. Ghost did not re-cover her hair or drop her gaze, but Dagmar had taken her hand in his, and without a word, the robed keepers moved back around her protectively.
“And you shall see it, King Gudrun,” Banruud promised, finding his voice, though it rattled oddly. “It is open to all during the tournament. But we’ve traveled far, and you are hungry. We will dine first and enjoy the games. The temple can wait.”
Banruud turned away, dismissing the Highest Keeper the way he had been dismissed. He gripped Alba’s arm and drew Gudrun and his men forward with a wave of his hand. The North King followed reluctantly, turning back more than once to study the temple, her daughters, and her rows of huddled keepers.
26
SOLDIERS
The ship was sinking, and secrets were oozing through the widening cracks in the bow like terrified rats. Ghisla’s own secrets trembled on her lips, but she clenched her teeth and bit them back, willing the rodents to swim.
Ghost had been careless. She should have kept her head down. Instead, she’d stood among the keepers on the temple steps, and the North King had seen her. Banruud had seen her. He’d seen her, and he’d known her. She would not be able to hide from him any longer.