“Not as a dowry,” I’d said meekly. “But we have some dogs who are ready to live out their days before a fire. They’ll miss me sorely. Perhaps I could bring just one with me? The loss would not remove anything from the castle’s wealth, and it would soothe both my spirit and his.”
“Marrying a king should be salve enough,” she said bitterly, as if she thought that I did not yet realize how much she wished to marry the fae king herself. “You’ll take no dogs from us.”
Perhaps she wouldn’t be so frosty if she had seen the melancholy knight when he described my future husband. I had to clench my jaw very tightly last night to keep a tear of self-pity from forming when he told me I’d marry a golden, arrogant man. But I didn’t dare shed a tear when I looked at him and his vassals. Their worn clothing and weapons, their lined faces and haunted eyes, spoke of men who had fought this war to the very bone. Who was I to say I would not fight, too? Who was I to say that they should bleed for our country, but I would not?
So, I’d said nothing, and I’d been able to hold back tears even once he’d left, channeling all my feelings into preparing the dogs for my departure.
We pause now at a small bridge, and the soldiers are quick. One lights a fire, another jams sausages onto sticks to roast them – I recognize cook’s handiwork there – while a third chops into the ice on the stream. There’s nowhere to sit, so we stand ringing the fire, warming our hands, cooking the sausages, and eating them while they are still hot and bursting with juice.
“Trail is up ahead maybe an hour,” the scout calls as he rides up to us, dismounting quickly to bring his horse to water with the others. “Only our tracks on it from the ride in yesterday. We can camp in the same spot.”
“Mmm,” Sir Oakensen says.
I wait to see if he’ll say more, but he only leans into his dog and offers her a third of his meal. She eats quickly and then presses her forehead to his and lifts a paw. She’s somehow more eloquent than any of us.
“You don’t mean for us to sleep out of doors?” Lady Fliad says, horror in her voice.
The knight gazes at her steadily as if he is rehearsing what he plans to say before he says it. When he speaks, his tone is mild. “We will have many days of hard riding to your grandfather.”
“There’s no need to leave the main roads,” Lady Fliad insists. “There are inns along them and good smooth roads. Proper feed for the horses. Proper food for us. We can’t live in … this … for a week.”
She huddles into herself closer, looking around her at the cold that forms white pillars from our breath and the steam rising from the snow where the sun hits it.
We wait for him to reply, but he says nothing. Eventually, one of his men speak – Rangen, I think.
“Begging your pardon, lady,” Rangen says with a quick glance at Oakensen as if for permission. “The roads don’t run straight to where we’re going. It would double our time.”
“Then we double it,” she says, looking at Sir Oakensen.
He doesn’t meet her eyes.
“We double it, don’t we?” she insists, her voice growing high in pitch. “You wouldn’t ask a lady to sleep in the snow. Exposed. I’ll die. And for what? To deliver this girl to the army a breath sooner? It’s not worth it.”
He speaks then.
“Peace,” he says and the soldiers around him seem to melt at the word, as if he’s made the sun rise with it. “Peace must not tarry.”
There is a weight to his words, like a judgment.
I walk carefully to Lady Fliad’s elbow and ask quietly, “Can I help you with your horse, my lady?”
She’s shaking her head, clearly furious, and so upset she can’t find the words, but she lets me guide her gently away.
“What’s wrong with my horse?” she demands the moment we’re free of the men’s ears.
“I think his mouth is hurt.”
It is as good as time as any to check and see and it draws her away from what might be a powerful conflict.
She calms as we examine her horse. The mare’s mouth is swollen and painful.
“We can swap horses,” I say. “While I tend to her.”
She nods, but she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is inward, thinking and brooding and I can only hope she finds some kind of equanimity for I have none to lend her. I’m stretched and strained with the looming future, and I’d cede to her the role in a heartbeat if I thought I could.
7
HALDUR OAKENSEN
