Page 206 of Season Warriors & Wolves

I looked at Sigurd, not one sign of reaction. So Snow had not told him his aunt was our insider.

Isjordians are retreating again. There have been revolts through the city when they got news of the Islines joining Queen Moriko. Silas is struggling to squash them this time. No more potions, say the whispers, the herbs have been faulty and killed a few hundreds before Melanthe realised. Not enough people are willing to dig up graves for innocents either. Soldiers are losing spirits. Even more so when we spread word that those who turn into beasts die when they turn.

“More Isjordians have joined our camps?” Mor asked.

Snow nodded. “I still think it's because of my warm hospitality. Once you figure out what that is, you should try it.”

The way Snow irritated Mor should not make me laugh, but it always did.

The Isliners had camped close to the Koy city borders, hidden under the protection of the forest nearby. Unlike their cold blessing, they had blended rather well between Hanaians, the odd Adriatians and the Olympians circling the borders. The only cautionary looks came from one.

I handed Sigurd a bowl of warm, herby stew. “You’ve been watching them all day. Olympians.”

“Have you been watching me all day?”

“It is my duty. Was,” I said, sitting beside him.

“Thought your duty was to be married to the grumpy woman.”

“Gods let me pick my struggles as the day goes.”

He laughed, the sound so strange even to him because shadows were murky with almost sad amusement.

“Why are Olympians something that makes you feel cautious?” And fearful.

He glanced at me. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Adriatian, by blood. So, what is the answer to your perplexity?”

He ate a few spoonfuls from the stew, chewing hurriedly. “There was once this…boy I met in our lands. He had black hair like the Sky Queen and was blessed by the Sky God like her—a little too much, if you ask me. I’ve never felt the sort of horror in my life like the one I saw that day. Sky and earth became one, I felt the clouds fill with thunder touch my fingertips. Hail rained down the shape of blades, just as sharp and deadly. The wind cut through your skin like glass. That was not even the worst. Have you seen a man being drained of their breath?” He shook his head, stuffing his mouth with more stew. “And even though he’d slain a whole village and injured me to the point of death, he cried and apologised, holding his shaking hands over my bleeding wounds trying to save me. He stayed and nursed me to recovery in the middle of nowhere, begging for forgiveness till the day he left and marched back where the damned hells he’d come from. That might be the only day in my sodden life that I’ve been afraid.” He pointed his spoon over the Olympians proudly wearing our crest across their chest. “These might be men, but he seemed like a man too.”

“When…when was this?”

Sigurd stopped chewing, thinking about it for a moment. “My daughter was about eight back then, so around fourteen years ago.”

Fourteen years ago. He had dark hair like the Sky Queen. Hells.

“I saw how you fought at the courts,” he said, pulling my attention again. “Dirty.”

“Using my intelligence, knowledge and my opponent's lack of them, is not playing dirty. It’s called being smart.”

He huffed a short laugh. “You remind me of my daughter, Iskyla, she is much the same in a sense, but she likes to call it playing dirty. Takes big pride in her tricks.”

Ah, the one Thora had called ‘a massive bitch’? “Do you take pride in your tricks?”

“I have no desire for trickery. Lived too many lives to care for much.”

“You’re a king. Desire and greed are a pillar in your foundations. Not to mention your blessing being war. Why would anyone reign war on anything if not for greed?”

He lowered his bowl down, staring right ahead at both of my people. “Where I am from, that word does not bear much meaning. I’m just a man others follow when the wind is too harsh to guide them. Our blessing is indeed war. We are at war every day, girl. Me, you, them. With ourselves, our anger, our happiness, our own thoughts. We’ve become great masters of those. Our souls are at amity because we won those wars—the greatest wars. It is why we found peace being shunned by our own kind in a rough corner of this marvellous realm. I cannot say that all have won those wars. Some make their blessings their curse. There is good, there is bad, there are lost and there are those who don’t want to be found, as there always will be.” He flashed me a crooked grin. “Did I pass your test? Have I lied?”

So, he knew of my intentions. “No. You haven’t lied,” I said, sipping my stew. Old knowledge always beat the new. What he said was too fascinating to my ears to ignore.

He shook his head. “Smart woman indeed.”

Eren had sat alone by the large fire set up between camps in Fernfoss, his attention was on Cai who stood a few feet away, speaking with Snow.

He gave a big brotherly smile when I sat next to him. “You look exhausted,” he said, kneading my shoulder and a little whoosh of relief left my lungs.