I took in a shaky breath, still a little uncertain if I were dreaming or in the Middle World.“What should I call you then?”
“I am Arik, king of the Norsern.”
“K-king?”I knew the word, but it was an old word, a powerful one.
He nodded.“It is not something to concern yourself with at the moment.Think of fire.Imagine it in your mind and then move the fire into your chest.Keep your heart warm.”
I thought maybe he had misspoken as it was such a childish, absurd request.He had a very mild accent, rich and bellowing, but he chose the old-fashioned, slower way of saying things, so I wondered if there could be an error in his words.
“You can see pictures in your mind?”he said.
I froze.Was this all a test from the order?Before I was to be given a vault of my own?
I shook my head.I could, but I wouldn’t tell him that.Envisioning was similar enough to dreaming that I knew it shouldn’t be spoken of.
“Then you must look at real fire.Look now.Look at it while we speak.”
I turned my head to watch the flames nearest me dance.It was a nice sight at first, but the longer I looked, the more it felt too bright.My head throbbed.
“I will have the next herbs put in hot milk for you so there will be less ale.You will need to change your clothing.Fell said you refused the dress offered.He would allow your refusal.I will not.”
“Fell?”I turned to look at the king.
“Keep eyeing the flame, Gentlewoman.”He pressed a thick finger to my chin, turning my face back to the brazier.“Fell, the blessed fool who brought you to me.Ah!Here.This will suit your colouring.”
A sea dog with dark blue eyebrows and painted blue lips presented what I knew was a dress.It was much finer than the first offering I’d been presented.It was dark blue, with a grey cloth belt and matching cloak lined with fur.
I pressed my nose to the floor in the most pathetic, grovelling bow I could.“I cannot?—”
“You can and will.No one will steal your gold, Gentlewoman.You have my word.My word is oak.”
I didn’t budge.
“Gentlewoman, do not force me to force you.Take the gown and change in the chamber there.I will see no one interrupts you.”
I held steady, thinking of my order’s punishments, expecting them, dread leaving a horrid taste in my mouth, my fingers curling into the white fur that covered the floor.
He said, “You will die if you stay in wet clothing.”
“Please,” I said, recalling the pulsing sting of nettle whippings, the squirm of a leech in my mouth, attaching itself to my tongue.“I beg you.”
“Enough of this nonsense.”His voice felt like the vault’s sting—I didn’t need to lift my face from the floor to know what his expression would hold.I didn’t need to be told I would be doing what he requested; I knew it.I also knew it would be better to submit, as maybe I could transfer some of the gold while I changed.Maybe I could hide it within the chamber to retrieve later if no one truly watched me as he promised.
“Soten.”
I raised myself partially up.I knew the voice that had spoken.Pinkbeard was crouched near King Arik, looking at me as they chatted in their gurgling, deep language.
“He asks you wear this around your wrist,” the king pointed at a thin woven grass bracelet sitting on the furs before me.“It has protective properties.”
I looked at Pinkbeard, the blueness of his eyes, the flatness of his brow, the concern etched in his face.
“Is he a conjurer?”I said.
“All people are conjurers,” the king said.“Only some do not use their power and then complain they do not like their lives.”
I very much wanted Pinkbeard not to be mixed up in sorcery.I’d been told of magic and how quickly the illusion of it fades, how brutal the after-curse of it could be.
“Now, Gentlewoman, waste no more of our time.Do you need help rising?Here, take my arm.”
