Page 13 of Lord of Fire and Ice

She caught him in a sidelong glance. “You really don’t know how to behave, do you?”

“Never saw the point. In the South, they called us barbarians.” He shrugged. “I felt honor bound to live down to the name.”

Curiosity tickled her imagination like the single bead of sweat that tickled down her spine. “What was that like? Living in the great city, I mean.”

“Grander than you can imagine,” he said. “In Constantinople—that’s what the Christians call it, you know—the homes of the nobles have water running into them, piped in from the mountains far away. And the marble floors are heated so no one ever has to wear stockings unless they wish.”

“It sounds wonderful,” she said, curling her toes. On bitter winter nights, she never could keep them warm.

He regaled her with tales of the many races who lived and prospered in the southern city. In the vast market, a man might find goods from exotic Cathay and Hind and the Upper Nile. Her mind refused to imagine people by the hundreds of thousands attending the games in the gigantic hippodrome. Surely there weren’t that many souls in all the nine worlds.

“Of course, the Christians there are half-mad,” he said. “One faction is always out to declare the others heretics to their faith.”

“We have had priests come here,” she said. “A few of my people wear the cross, though most still seem to prefer Thor’s hammer. Did you convert while you were in the city of the Christians?”

He shook his head. “No, but our gods seemed mighty far away. I fought beside men who wore the cross, but in the heat of battle, they cried out to Thor to save them. Who’s to say who heard that prayer? God is God. It’s foolish for us to argue over what to name him.”

That sounded like sense to her.

Since Brandr had been assigned to lead the emperor’s elite personal guard, much of his service had been in the imperial palace.

“No emperor rests easy once his sons are born,” Brandr said.

“Why? Are they afraid enemies will attack their children?” Katla’s protective nature rose up against any who would plot against a child.

“Hardly. The son isn’t usually the one in danger,” Brandr said. “The quickest path to the imperial crown is for a prince to kill his father.”

“That’s terrible.”

Brandr leaned forward on his elbows. “The thought occurred to me a time or two.”

“You would’ve killed your father?” Katla whispered. Norse law meted out the worst possible punishment for those convicted of patricide. One who murdered his father would meet Death on the wings of the Blood Eagle, his living lungs ripped through his ribs and spread across his back.

“No, probably not. But not because the old bastard didn’t deserve it.” Brandr stood suddenly and strode to the bucket of switches near the heated stones. “Ready for a birching?”

Katla wanted to ask him more about his father, but he’d abruptly changed the topic.

“I’ll do you, and then you can do me.” He retrieved a bundle of wet switches and tested them for softness against his own thigh.

Flicking herself with a bundle of birch switches was part of the bathing process. It made Katla’s skin glow, and the smell of softened birch leaves filled the bath house with a fresh scent.

“I usually do myself,” she said.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” he said with a frown. “In Byzantium, a noblewoman has half-a-dozen body servants to tend her. She never has to lift a finger.”

“So did you attend a noble woman at her bath?” she asked with a grin.

“No, but I’ve stood outside the bath house with my sword drawn for one. A royal princess can’t be too careful when she’s meeting her lover in a pool covered with rose petals.” He held the bundle of birch out to her. “You can switch me first if you like.”

***

Brandr didn’t expect her to agree, but astonishingly enough, she took the switches from him. The offer had been the only thing he could think of to make sure the subject of conversation stayed changed.

He hadn’t meant to let his murderous thoughts about his own sire slip out like that, so raw, so feral. He was in awe of his father. He hated his father. His feelings festered in a tight knot. It was such a jumbled tangle he resisted trying to untie the collection of mismatched threads.

He still hadn’t wrapped his mind around the death of Ulf the Ruthless. There was so much unfinished business between them, it was more than he was ready to tackle.

So instead, he smiled at the naked woman before him.