Benjie, still seated on his horse with 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 grunted his agreement and Josef 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 the five daughters, their eyes fixed above Banruud’s head, their robes hiding them from neck to toe, stepped down from 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. She swallowed, her pale throat working to stifle her fear, but she did not pull away.
“Elayne of Ebba,” Banruud said.
“Elayne of Ebba,” Gudrun repeated, his eyes shrewd. He moved on.
“Liis of Leok,” Banruud intoned. Gudrun studied Liis, his brows raising at her golden beauty and piercing blue eyes. He moved his face within an inch of hers, willing her to meet his gaze, but she was stoic, even as he blew a stream of warm air against her pink lips. He laughed as though her stillness impressed him and moved onto Juliah as the king said her name.
Juliah was not ice, she was fire, and when he paused in front of her, she glowered at him disdainfully, her top lip lifted in the smallest of sneers.
“Juliah 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 hissed, 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 of Ebba throughout the North King’s inspection. His voice was controlled but his hand gripped the hilt of his sword, and Bayr wondered if he was not the only chieftain who nursed secret affections.
Gudrun turned and considered Alba once more. Like the daughters, she was unflinching beneath his scrutiny. Bayr was not. His stomach was filled with hot coals, the heat wafting from his mouth and his eyes, steaming from his ears and causing his palms to tremble and his legs to shake.
It would take so little to make him draw his sword and ease his agony. He would slay the North King first. Banruud would follow.
Bayr felt Ivo’s gaze, cold and creeping, like icy fingers across his blazing skin and knew the Highest Keeper divined his fury. Ivo simply shook his head.
“I think you lie, Chieftain. Who is that?” Gudrun pointed, his eyes sharp. “Do you seek to hide the white daughter 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 against the vivid hue of her robe.
If Bayr had not been so aware of Alba, he would have missed the moment Banruud recoiled, drawing Alba back with a vicious jerk. His eyes were wide with horror.
“I want to see her, Keeper,” 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,” 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 gasped, the collective inhale like a crack of angry thunder.
“She is not a daughter, Majesty,” 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,” Gudrun 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.”
Clutching Alba’s arm, Banruud turned away, dismissing the Highest Keeper and drawing Gudrun and his men forward with a flick of his hand. Gudrun followed him reluctantly, turning back more than once to study the temple, her daughters, and her rows of huddled keepers.
Bayr and the other chieftains fell into step behind him, grim-faced and silent. Even Elbor seemed shaken. The king had some explaining to do, and Bayr, signaling to Dred and Dakin to accompany him, was not willing to let Alba out of his sight.
26
Ghost didn’t feel herself fall. She must have locked her legs or forgotten to breathe, but one moment she was staring into the pale green eyes of an unkempt king, and the next she was in Dagmar’s arms being carried into the shadowed recesses of the temple, the daughters hovering around her, Ivo’s staff clicking against the stones from somewhere behind them.
King Banruud had seen her. He’d seen her and he knew. The memory flooded back, the snippet of time she’d lost, the details etched in black and underscored by the sharp gasp from the horrified crowd.
She’d grown complacent. She should have kept her head down. She’d been facing the setting sun, the pinks and golds of Saylok’s skies warming the temple stones and her pale cheeks. She’d forgotten herself in her fear for the clan daughters—in her fear for her own daughter—and she’d stood among the keepers instead of staying safely inside the temple walls.
He’d seen her, and he knew.
“Are you unwell, Ghost?” Elayne asked as a gentle hand passed over Ghost’s brow. Her kohl-rimmed eyes met Ghost’s, and Ghost shook her head in shame.
“I’m a fool, Elayne. I was afraid, and I forgot to draw sufficient breath. I’m fine. See to the others. You were all so brave . . . and I am so proud.”
“Go, Elayne,” Dagmar urged kindly. “I’ll look after Ghost.”
“Our life together is marked by moments when I find myself in your arms, and I never get to enjoy it,” she whispered at Dagmar as he eased her down onto a cold bench in the sanctum. Ivo had instructed she be brought there.