Jorn frowned, and his gaze shifted to King Arik’s.The king’s wolfish eyes gleamed as he grinned anI told you so, sort of grin.The way the two of them looked at each other sped my heart.
“Is winning wet?”I said.I hated being wrong, especially in front of other people.
“Either,” said King Arik, not bothering to look over at me.“Depends on the type of win.”
Jorn was still frowning.He crossed his arms.“You prompted her?”
King Arik shook his head.
“What did you say to her before?”
“I said to think of it as a song.Each stone as one word in the song.She cast and read.”
“No understand,” I said.I actually had understood each of their sentences, but not the tone of them.
They both ignored me.Jorn spoke too fast for me to follow.He might also have been throwing in words from his first language; this was something he did when he and King Arik didn’t want their conversation to be understood by those within hearing range.It seemed like they were thrilled, and then it seemed like they were arguing, and then the king told me I was dismissed.
The Norsern had worn off on me a little by then.I stood before the two of them, glaring, utterly exhausted by not understanding people’s words.You must understand, I’ve left out all the pointless non-interactions I had with people who said something to me, and I stood there dumbfounded, and then they said it again louder as if maybe I just hadn’t heard them.And then, when I stood there looking stupid, they laughed and moved on or took the bread they were asking me to pass them.Something of this nature had happened a hundred times since I’d ended up in the Land of the Northernmost Star.I was nauseous with it.Especially when, clearly, I was the one being discussed.
King Arik noticed me still standing there and laughed.“Why, Gentlewoman, you look pithy.”
“If you both spoke slower?—”
“If you learned faster?—”
I felt my face erupt into a scowl.“I am learning as fast as I can.”
“I doubt that very much.”
My breathing changed—my shoulders desperate to move in tandem with my angry lungs.“If I could learn faster, I would,” I said.
King Arik grinned.“Is that so?”
“Yes,” I said.“It’s driving me mad to have such little sense of what is happening around me.”
“If I could teach you faster, you would want this?”His brows rose.
“Yes,” I said.“More than anything.”
His grin widened.“Well then.I will make it easy for you.No more Islish.It is done.”
And that’s how the most tedious three moons of my life came about.King Arik forbid any who knew Islish from speaking it with me and had them refuse to respond if I spoke Islish to them.
It was painstaking.
I hated him for it.
I cried.I cursed him in my thoughts.I was so lonely I thought I might die.It didn’t help that winter attacked with a brutal, sparkling ferocity, leaving everything dark and colder than I could comprehend.Cold enough to burn.In my desperation, I got lazy with the structure of the language.I skipped thewetanddryandbefore-this-dayandafter-this-dayendings and said everything in the present, addingtomorroworyesterdayonto the end of my phrase.I cheated and saidoneandoneandonewhen I wanted to saythree,or I saidthis many, holding up my fingers.I gave up entirely on thehigh-voiced, low-voiced, life-thrower, womb-carrierdistinctions and called everyoneeveryone.
But it worked.
I learned to say—albeit crudely—what I meant to say.I learned to cut through people’s chatter and repeat their words simplified back to them:you mean this?Often, they would laugh and say yes.Or they laughed harder and said no.
I remember, very clearly, the day I first felt I actually knew the Norsern language.We were once again in the great hall—me, Reedman, Dania and a few others we often dined with.Dania’s youngest boy, Layf, was beneath the table, sitting on Reedman’s feet, giggling as Reedman moved the child around by lifting his legs.Her oldest boy had been there with us earlier in the night, but had been collected by the roving band of palace children that I only ever caught glimpses of.My music teacher—who was just as brilliant as King Arik had promised—was there as well, debating what he called “the climb” of music with one of the many bards in King Arik’s employ (the king used bards as spies, if you have not surmised that already).The king was playing a bone chip game with one of his captains.Incense thickened the air.It was a standard evening.
A young man, maybe one year younger than I, entered the hall, his axe glinting on his hip.He caught my eyes because of the swiftness of his walk—he was in a state, nervous and angry and determined.Because fighting was so common in the floating palace, I had quickly learned to sense it coming so I could get out of the way.
The young man didn’t fight.He walked up to King Arik, nodded his head politely and said, “My captain.I want him back.This has gone on too long.”
