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“It happens at the end of every cycle of the moon.”
With a huff, Noé adds, “It’s where every idiot whines about his problems to Luka, who –” He seems to search for the right word.
“Mediates?” I supply. “Finds a solution?”
Eldon makes a face. “Exactly. They can’t solve their own daft problems, so they make Luka do it for them.”
“Why don’t you appoint a magistrate or a justice of the peace to do that?” I suggest only to be greeted by horror-stricken expressions. “What? You don’t have anyone you can trust? Or . . . or is the decentralization of power forbidden?”
Eldon looks impressed, Noé like I’ve sprouted a second head, and Luka just shoves the last bite of his eggs into his mouth before he stands. I grab on to his arm to stop him. “May I go to the baths later?”
He shakes his head. “We’ll go together, after mediation. Stay in the stronghold.”
“Does that include the stables?”
His patience at an end, he takes hold of my neck and leans down to my ear. “Do you ever stop, woman?”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He makes a growly noise of disapproval that arrows its way directly between my thighs. “Fine, you can go to the stables.” He pulls away but not before he breathes in the scent of my neck, making me quiver.
“Oh, Luka?”
“What now?”
“Thank you.”
He brushes a gentle thumb across my bottom lip as I smile up at him.
♦♦♦
In the beginning Kata only reluctantly agrees to the lessons, but after the first hour of instruction, she’s in high spirits. Both she and Bron take to the concept with ease, and even Ion, who only watches in the beginning, can’t resist learning how to spell his name.
In the map room, with the supplies that Bron found in the scribe’s chamber, we make good progress. The quills are of decent quality, as is the ink and the parchment. Bron also brings along documents he found lying on the desk of the dead man. While we’re eating lunch, which we had sent upstairs, I scan them.
“What the . . ?” I mumble.
“Pardon?” Bron asks.
“Well,” I say slowly, skimming one to the end. “It seems the scribe was in the process of writing some kind of report to this first deve person, Kharon.”
Bron nods. “Yes, we pay taxes based on the scribe’s reports. It’s about such things as apple yields and wool production, is it not?”
Shaking my head, I focus in on the names that I recognize. “No, this is about specific people.”
“What?”
“Yes, it reads like gossip almost. For example, it mentions that Luka has decided to go through with the marriage contract even though he’s against it. And here,” I squint at the page, “he speculates about the chances of Gray challenging Luka for leadership because he’s the only man with a chance to beat Luka.” Turning the parchment over, I find the other side blank. “Sounds like he was a spy. Is that normal?” Poor Kata fidgets, like she doesn’t want to be privy to such information, but Bron is thoughtful. “Can I keep this? Show it to Lu–”
The door is shoved open without a knock and Ion is immediately on his feet. In one fluid movement, he has his chair twisted around to be used as a barrier and draws his dagger. The rest of us just startle in our seats.
The old man in the doorway halts. Curiously, he ignores Ion’s weapon in favor of taking in what’s on the table with what I think is revulsion. I assume it’s the writing paraphernalia, and not our lunch, that has his hackles up.
“Can I help you?” I ask, barely masking my instant dislike. Whoever this guy is, he thinks he has the right to judge us. He’s going gray at the temples, but is dressed in a warrior’s vest, the mountain lion burned into the leather on his left breast.
Apparently the dislike is mutual because he skewers me with a haughty look. “You must beher.”
“I must be,” I agree. “And you are?”
