Beneath her hands, his body let go of the last bit of tension it had been holding, and within minutes, he was asleep.
The banquet hall had been prepared for a king.
The long tables groaned under food the city had not seen in weeks.The Valthorne generals and their subsequent commanders occupied one side of the hall; the Borjigin nobles who had been spared occupied the other.
It was, Varok announced loudly, “An excellent feast!”
Despite the obscene temptations of human gluttony played before him, Ragnar had not looked at the food once.
He sat at the high table, his wine cup raised at intervals without being drunk from, his responses to the conversations directed at him technically adequate, and his attention entirely elsewhere.
Nyraxa leaned toward him.
"You're staring," she said pleasantly.
"I'm not staring."
"You have been staring since she walked in."She considered."Before she walked in, actually.You were staring at the door."She tilted her head in confusion."I genuinely cannot tell whether you want to kill her or—"
"Nyraxa."
"I'm just saying the line appears very fine this evening."
Across the hall, Azul slipped between tables, completely at home in a room full of people who had—until recently—most likely regarded her as a blight.She wore red with stunning gold plates, cut to her figure.Her hair was dressed with gold pins that caught the torchlight every time she turned her head.The bruising on her cheek had been covered, though Ragnar knew it was there, and the knowledge sat in his chest like a coal.
Naturally, Somadina had paid, though his method of punishment was not one Ragnar would've considered, but if Azul wished for it, who was he to decline?
She laughed at something one of the Borjigin elders said, and the sound carried across the hall.
Ragnar's hand tightened on his wine cup.
"You're going to break that," Nyraxa observed.
He set it down.
"Has she looked at you?"Nyraxa asked.
"Once."
"And?"
"She smiled."
Nyraxa waited.
"Briefly," Ragnar added.
"Devastating," Nyraxa said, with complete sincerity.She reached for her own wine."I'll pray for you."
The dance was announced after the third course.
Borji rose from his seat and turned to the Valthorne side of the hall.The hall quietened as he spoke.
"There is a custom among the Borjigin," he said, raising his goblet, "performed at the coronation of a new Igwe and at any gathering where something worth honouring has occurred."He paused, letting the translation settle."A woman of standing dances in the courtyard.The assembled company watches.And those who wish to honour her pave her path with coin.”He dropped his cup, a grin playing on his lips."The more coin thrown," Borji continued, "the greater the respect shown.There is no ceiling on generosity.It is considered the highest public compliment a woman can receive in this city."He glanced once, briefly, at Ragnar."I thought you should know the custom before it begins."
He sat down.
Ragnar—who was listening rather attentively—turned to Varok.
