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“It would put my soul at ease, Pjika. Tak. Ah, Grigor,” Arkhady said, looking more lively than she’d seen him in months. “How fared your trip to Wulfsgate?”
Anastazja only realized her uncle was seated at the far end of the table when her father addressed him. Grigor was the irregular shadow of Fanghelm—rarely there, and when he was, he blended in so seamlessly, they often forgot he was. He was her mother’s younger brother, the solemn protector of the Cross, more mercenary than man. Though he was only a decade her senior, he wore the grim pall of one who’d had the misfortune to live a dozen lifetimes.
“We’ll speak later, Arkhady,” Grigor growled with a quick, hard look pointed at Magda. He returned his focus to his oversized bowl of porridge.
“Are marriage contracts not the business of women?” Magda snorted. “Oh, you think I didn’t know what you sent our bear south to do?”
“Marriage contract? For whom?” Anastazja couldn’t help asking.
“Niko,” Arkhady answered. A tremor started in one hand and then traveled to the other. He tried to look at Magda, but some unseen force was keeping his gaze fixed forward. “To Lord Dereham’s youngest daughter. The poor girl’s betrothed died of the sweating sickness, and now your brother is a serious contender for her hand.”
“No.” Magda’s low hiss silenced the table. “There will be no marriages for the twins until they’re ready.”
“Ready.” Anastazja shook her head, laughing. “We’retwenty.Niko should be running his own keep by now. By the standards of this kingdom, I’m already an old maid.”
“We make our own standards,” Magda said. “And we do not go behind each other’s backs to broker betrothals we have not agreed need brokering.”
“As you say, dear,” Arkhady said, monotone, and went back to his food.
“That’s... That’s it?” Anastazja shoved her bowl so hard, it tipped. Gelatinous porridge slowly crept across the porous wood. “Niko has the opportunity to make the finest marriage he could...”To break free of this wretched woman and her curse.“And you want to wait? For what? There will be no better match for him than a Dereham!Ota,he’d be alord!”
“Ana.” Arkhady’s sharp warning had the tremor of a rare moment of clarity.
Anastazja looked to Grigor for help, but he was leaning back in his chair, mired in his own thoughts, his arms crossed. He’d never treated Magda with anything but cold regard, but he’d never spoken against her either.
“We’ve sufficiently broken our fast,” Magda said with a decisive shove back from the table. She towered over Ana. “Get dressed. Meet me outside. If you still have questions, little bird, you can ask them ofme.”
Asterin greeted him with a hug so fierce, Tyreste sputtered through an awkward laugh. He clapped his hands on his old friend’s back, prepared to break the embrace, but Asterin wasn’t letting go.
“Tyreste.” Asterin released him with a sigh, shaking his head as he drank him in. Tyr’s old commander looked as dashing as always, groomed and garbed for a meeting with a lord, not a reunion with an old friend at dawn. “I daresay you’ve grown.”
“I daresay as well,” Sesto said with an appraising look. His brows shot upward, creasing his bald head. “Been hauling timber, have you? Sacks of bricks?” His mouth curved in bemused consideration.
Tyreste inspected himself, frowning. “Ahh...”
“It was a compliment,” Sesto whispered, winking, and pulled him in for a quick embrace. “It is good to see you, Scribe.”
Tyreste’s mouth hitched in a half grin at the old moniker. “You too, Abbot.”
“Rhiain wanted to come along—tried to come along—and you know I’m not in the business of telling my wife what she can and cannot do, but... not that Icould,even if I wanted to. We are, after all, talking about Rhiainach.” Asterin blew out a breath. “It took some persuading...”
Sesto curved a hand on his face and mouthedwhipped.
Tyreste chuckled, whisked back to a far different time in his life, one as awful as it was wonderful. “Reckless as ever then?”
“Less so now that we have children,” Asterin said. With a half-hidden smile, he continued. “And we thank the Guardians for it every day. Needless to say, she couldn’t be here, but she was insistent I come for both of us.” He gestured toward the table, and they made their way to their seats. “It’s been far too long, Tyreste. I meant to come see you sooner. Guardians know Rhiain has been wanting to... but with the little ones and the business, time gets away from you.”
“Perhaps if you’d quell your libido long enough to let the womanbreathe, we might have more opportunities to travel,” Sesto quipped.
Asterin flushed and shrugged, a small smile playing at his mouth. “I’m a lucky man. I know it today as well as I knew it the last.” He accepted the ale Tyreste had poured him from the pitcher he’d readied while waiting. Asterin took a long swallow. “Penhallow ale is as fair as I remember it. Was good to see Olov again. He seems well.”
“He is,” Tyreste said, an edge of wariness creeping into his words. “He likes it up here. We all do. It’s... different.”
“That it is,” Asterin agreed. He gave the tavern floor another sweeping look. “The tavern alone is bigger. What is it, twice the size as the one in Parth?”
“Three times,” Tyr said, “according to my father, who is quite precise with his accountings in other areas, so I’ll assume he’s accurate about this as well.”
“Does it ever fill up?” Sesto asked. “Like the other one?”
