He patted my hand with a smile.‘You coming to Murus when you did has been a blessing for my family.’
Swallowing a lump that had formed in my throat, I shook my head.
‘Yes.I felt it the moment I saw you.I appreciate your loyalty to me and my children, and I sense that you will find something to fill that empty spot.’He tapped his chest meaningfully.‘In Capita.’
His words were kind but odd.‘What do you think I will find in Capita?’He let the question hang between us, his only response a smile and quick glance over at the curator, who was watching us eagerly.
‘Now, I might sound like an overprotective father, but I want you to stay safe.’He held up his hand to stop the protest he knew would come.
‘I know you are skilled and strong and train as much as my captains, but I cannot help worrying about you as though you were my own.’He patted my hand again.
‘Thank you for your concern – I’ll stay safe,’ I said.He released my hand with a nod and returned to his daughters.I shivered as though a door had been opened and a draught had been let in.
As I made my way back to my room, I replayed Lord Warwick’s words and the curator’s strange behaviour.I was deep in thought, so it took me some time to notice that the man walking ahead of me was Torgrin.He had just seen me at the dinner party, so where was he going?
To my shock, Torgrin reached my room and let himself in as if it were his own.I was ready to confront him, but something held me back.
I found the room next to mine unlocked.It was dark and cold, with only a few pieces of old furniture inside.I all but closed the door behind me, leaving a crack of light coming in from the corridor.
My patience paid off when I heard my bedroom door open again a few minutes later.I held my breath, praying he wouldn’t notice the door to this room was slightly ajar.He passed my hiding place, his arms filled with clothes and books.
And then it hit me.The previous owner of my room was Torgrin.Had he moved into the barracks with his men and instructed Tomas to give me his room in the fortress?
Torgrin disappeared around the corner and I slipped back into my room.At first glance, nothing appeared out of place.He hadn’t taken or moved any of my belongings.Then I opened the chest of men’s clothes at the foot of the bed to find it empty.
I sat down on the edge of the bed.Why hadn’t he told me this was his room?He must have needed his things before now.
Oh no.
The entire pants conversation with Atlas and Torgrin on that first day at breakfast took on a whole new meaning.My groan of embarrassment filled the silent room.I’d worn Torgrin’s breeches around the fortress and in front of his soldiers fordays.
My spiral into humiliation was interrupted when my eye caught on a corner of rug that was flipped over.I pulled it back further, exposing the flagstones underneath.Getting down on my knees, I pressed down on the stones to see if any moved.One paver shifted a little under my hands.I tried to lift the stone out but couldn’t get a good grip with my fingertips.
Digging through my pack, I found a dagger and raced back with it.Wedging the tip of the blade under the stone, it lifted enough that I could grab it with my fingers.Beneath the stone was a small hideaway that held a black journal and something wrapped and bound in leather.I pulled them out and took them to the writing table.
I paused.Had I not been hard on Torgrin for invading my privacy when he had come into my – well,his– room when I was sleeping?
I paced back and forth, glancing nervously at what I had found in the hole in the floor.Torgrin wouldn’t have hidden these things if they weren’t private.
I should put them back.That’s the right thing to do.
I picked up the leather-bound item, and before my brain could catch up with what my hands were doing, I was unwrapping the ties binding the leather.
A dagger fell from the wrappings.
My father’s dagger.
My mother had this dagger the night she had gone missing.The last time I had seen it was while I watched from the shadows as a soldier stabbed another man in the hand with it.
I sat down on the floor, holding the blade in disbelief.How had Torgrin gotten it – and why had he kept it all this time?He hadn’t just saved it.From the lack of rust on the old blade, he taken the time to clean and polish it over the years.
I got back up off the floor, holding my father’s knife close to my chest.I took the black journal and went to the bed that had once smelled like trees and rainstorms, but now only smelled of washed linens.Positioning myself against the cushions and placing Torgrin’s journal on my raised knees, I ran my fingers over the smooth cover.I looked around at the pictures I had put up on the surrounding walls.The snowcapped mountains, the horse that I now realisedwasNightmare, and the little stream just outside Murus.They took on a new life now that I knew Torgrin was the artist.Is that what I would find in his journal?More drawings?
Taking a deep breath, I opened the cover to see a sketch of myself rendered in charcoal.I looked sad.My eyes were downcast, my lips slightly parted and showing a little of my upper teeth.He had drawn each and every freckle across my nose.How had he gotten so many details right when he barely looked at me?Or was the intensity of those rare moments all he needed?
I turned the page and saw his tidy, strong scrawl.It was cursive and perfectly angled.His penmanship was far superior to my own.
I began to read.
