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‘I’ll try harder the next time I hear the speech.’
Ash shuddered inwardly. The words had stuck in his throat, but people wanted to hear about heroes not failures. ‘It won’t be given again.’
‘I was distracted. I apologise.’
The earlier glance between Kara and Valdar had been telling. She had welcomed the interruption in the antechamber, maybe even requested it beforehand. Valdar certainly was her devoted slave. How far had it gone? Kara was his wife. But did he truly have a right to her any more? All he knew was that he wanted her.
When he had seen her standing in front of the priest next to the blond hulk of a warrior, something had twisted inside his gut.
He remembered the man from his youth. They used to be rivals at games and swordplay. His father had always held Valdar up as the sort of son he’d wanted. Kara was his woman, not anyone else’s, particularly not Valdar Nerison’s. He would reclaim her. He would show her that he was worthy of being her hero. He could do it. He was more than a match for Valdar.
‘You look very serious,’ Kara said, frowning. ‘The king’s speech was more than gracious in the circumstances and your recital of your adventures is sure to have fired skalds’ imaginations. You will get a saga out of this. You always wanted to be in a saga. Stop acting like it is Ragnarok because I didn’t laugh at one of your jokes.’
Ash forced another swallow of the ale. Wasn’t that what she wanted, as well—a hero for a husband? And what would happen when she discovered he was just a man, a flawed man? He pushed the thought away.
‘Thinking. Things have changed since I last attended a feast in Sand. And I hadn’t expected to notice the empty spaces and missing faces as much as I have.’
She toyed with a piece of bread, shredding it into ever smaller pieces. ‘It must be hard to be the only one who returned from that félag.’
Ash gave a reluctant nod. The dead were always with him, but tonight more than ever. They knew he was no hero. They knew his words were an exaggeration at best, but he couldn’t risk losing her by appearing less than a hero. ‘You should know I’d have changed places with any of them if I could. They were good men, better men than me.’
‘You knew them better than I.’
‘That I did.’ Ash gestured towards where the skald sat, tuning his lyre. ‘When am I going to hear the lament my father commissioned about my death? Several have mentioned it. Or weren’t you planning on that song at your wedding feast?’
Her cheeks flushed scarlet. ‘I didn’t think it appropriate for my wedding. He might know it. It was popular for a few years in Raumerike.’
‘Ask him to play it.’
‘Why?’
To know what my father thought about me. A man wants to know how he is remembered. Even if he is not worthy of that remembrance. Ash clamped back the words. If he wanted to regain Kara, she had to think he was a hero, the ideal husband for her. ‘I thought it would be amusing.’
‘Amusing.’ Kara placed her cup down with a thump. ‘That is what you think a lament should be—an amusement? Sometimes I wonder if I ever knew you, Ash Hringson.’
‘What else? Amusement is far better than sorrow, but I will wait.’ Ash clapped his hands. ‘I wish to hear some Raumerike songs. It has been far too long. Please my ears, skald, and you will be well rewarded.’
* * *
Kara bore the feast for as long she could. She listened to the toasts and the songs. She made meaningless small talk with various people, but her sense of unease grew with every passing breath. She had to force her voice to be loud and firm, whereas Ash appeared not to be suffering any sort of fear or trepidation. He’d actually wanted to hear the lament his father had commissioned.
Silently she thanked the gods that the skald was one Valdar had hired so he hadn’t committed the verses to memory. The last verses were about Ash’s ghost imploring his infant son to grow up to be a brave warrior like him. There was never a dry eye at Jaarlshiem when the piece was sung. Instead the skald had sung drinking songs and songs of past Raumerike battles. Everyone had joined in and the ale had flowed.
The entire situation reminded her of the feasts before Ash had left when she’d faded into the background as he held everyone in the palm of his hand with his ready wit. He kept up a steady stream of banter and was willing to drink every toast.
Ash’s shoulder nudged her after the third drinking song. When the fifth started, his hand brushed over hers as he reached for the trencher that they shared. A deliberate caress. She made a stabbing motion with her eating knife. He gave an unrepentant smile and reached for her hand again. This time, he brought it to his lips.
