“But does he know?” Torsten is serious. For some reason, this question is important.
“I don’t think so,” Fhord tells him as his gaze catches mine, glaring at me. “He doesn’t trust Sifa, so he wants me to watch her. Make sure she’s loyal.”
“And he trusts you?” I demand. “You’re the reason I lied to him.”
“Maybe if you were a better liar, we wouldn’t be stuck together.” He twists his chin to look again at Torsten. “I’ll go alone. I don’t want you exposed to her for too long.”
“I’m not contagious.” Almost of their own accord, my hands find my hips and my back straightens. I didn’t think I could hate this man more. But here we are. “I won’t infect them.”
“You have no idea how much danger you’d expose them to,” Fhord spits out. “You put all of us at risk. We’ll go alone.”
Now it’s the woman’s turn to laugh. “Are you sure you can put up with her that long?”
“This is what must happen. I’ll be fine. If she can just learn to hold her tongue,” he adds as his eyes shoot daggers at me again.
“I said I’d go with you. I didn’t say I’d put up with your nonsense. I’m not going to be treated like a child.”
“Then stop acting like one.” His voice is low, brittle.
“Enough,” the woman interjects. “You’re right,” she tells Fhord. “You two can go alone. I don’t think any of us could stand to be with you.”
“As I said,” he responds.
By the gods, I hate men who have to get in the last word. Who always need to be right.
“What are we waiting for then?” I demand. “I’m just as anxious to get this over with as you. Your friends know what they need. Let’s go.”
“Sit. Wait for me.” He points a finger at one of the chairs. When I don’t move, his finger wiggles a little, as if his ire could prompt me to move. Instead, I stroll over to the fireplace and lean against the hearth. Lifting my hand, I pick at a nail. And then I yawn.
“Insufferable female,” he mutters as he stomps down a hall.
Fhord returns a few minutes later, dragging a pair of bags that look to be filled with an array of weapons. Well, at least he comes prepared.
“Which of those is for me?” I ask, hoping I’ll get the ax peeking through the opening in one.
“Why would I give you weapons?” Fhord drops his load on the ground. “Get these on Sigurd.”
I have no idea who he intended to ask, but his people seem to know. A tall, lanky man rises, his tawny skin and umber eyes rich and radiant in the soft light of the fire. He sways as he walks, like a young tree in a fierce storm. It’s a wonder he can stay upright.
Fhord walks back down the hall and returns a few seconds later with a third bag. This one seems to hold clothes and other supplies. “Do we have enough food?”
Again, the others know exactly who he’s talking to. This time, a woman responds. She’s a beauty, with luscious blond hair braided down her back and bright purple eyes. But her breasts draw my eye. They’re huge, a pair of watermelons sitting proudly on her chest. I’d have trouble walking with those things. She’s got the hips to pull it off, but it’s still good she’s sitting down.
“You’ve got enough for two weeks. You’ll need to get water after a few days.”
“Fine.” Fhord turns to me. “Come.” And then he strides down the stairs.
I hate responding to his command, but I don’t really have a choice. We need to leave, and unless I’m prepared to sit around and pout like a child, it’s time to go. So I follow him.
We don’t go through the front door this time. Instead, he leads me to a courtyard that’s nearly as surprising as the building. It’s lush, with green grass and plenty of shade trees, most of them rich with one fruit or another. It feels like one of the parks that Vanatians with power and wealth stroll through at night.
Except for the horses. They’re dressed for the journey. I ignore the large stallion—Sigurd, I assume—because Fhord has somehow gotten possession of Hilde, the mare that carried me from the training grounds. She seems just as bitter as she did there. Until she sees me.
When I catch her eye and smile, she stills, letting the tall, thin man finish strapping a bag to her saddle. She paws at the ground twice, her nostrils flaring, and watches me from across the courtyard.
“Do you have any apples?” I ask Fhord.
“What?” he demands, his eyebrows slamming together.
