design. “One of these, I’d think.”
Conor took one after another from the rack, testing the feel in his hand, the distribution of weight. He’d been trained to fight with whatever he was given or whatever he could pick up on the battlefield, but the first two felt wrong. The third reminded him of the weapons to which he had been accustomed at Ard Dhaimhin. It was the most worn of the bunch, its handle and crossguard scarred, but it was balanced and the blade was true. “This one.”
She nodded toward another wall where an array of fleece-lined sheaths with their leather harnesses and baldrics hung side by side. He chose the first that fit the blade and tested the draw to make sure the sword would not stick or slide out.
“Now for the dagger.” Briallu moved to a large bench upon which was displayed an array of short blades. Conor reached out, but she raised a hand.
“A man chooses his own sword, but a woman must choose the dagger.” She gave him a smile once again tinged with amusement. “It is usually the wife’s responsibility, but since you are inconveniently without yours, I will have to do.”
“I’m not familiar with that custom.”
“Does it not make sense? If a man loses his sword and must use his dagger, he no longer battles for honor or glory. He fights to return home to his loved ones. His wife’s heart goes with him and gives him strength.”
It was the kind of superstition Conor had been taught to cast aside by his Balian instructors. But he remembered his relief when he had woken up after the ambush in Siomar and found they had forgotten to take his dagger. Aye, he had been fighting for his loved one then.
Briallu moved to the table, closed her eyes, and hovered a hand over the weapons.
Conor couldn’t help himself. “This is your selection method?”
“Shhh.” She didn’t open her eyes. “I am never wrong. Don’t distract me.”
After a few moments of wordless “searching,” she closed her hand around one and lifted it in triumph. “This one is meant for you.” She turned to him and presented it, hilt first.
It had absolutely nothing to commend it above a dozen other similar daggers, but the moment he grasped it, the hilt warmed in his palm. His eyes widened.
“I told you. I’m never wrong.”
About what? Surely, he’d just imagined the sensation, based on the power of her suggestion.
She retrieved the leather baldric he’d chosen, slid on the sheathed sword, and gestured to him. “Let’s fit this.”
He obeyed, far too taken aback by the radiating dagger to do anything else. He dipped his head so she could slip the harness over his shoulder and beneath his left arm. Then she reached around him to buckle the belt at his waist, her hands brisk, businesslike. Even so, he found himself holding his breath at her nearness.
“In Gwydden, only long swords are worn on the back. Short swords go at the hip.” Her hands went to the buckle at his chest to take up the slack in the strap.
“I feel like one of your horses with all this tack.”
She chuckled. “You will become used to it with time, I’m sure.”
With time. He sobered. It had been a month since he had lost Aine, and he was no closer to finding her than before. He shifted the unfamiliar baldric on his shoulder and gave Briallu a sober nod. “Thank you.”
Her smile faded, a hint of hurt surfacing in her expression. “You’re welcome.”
Outside, Talfryn was standing by, watching the other men practice. He glanced up when he saw them approach, his eyes lighting on Conor’s weaponry. “I see my daughter already got to you.”
She winked at Conor. “It’s shameful that a warrior should be without his weapons, Father. Someone needs to see to the important details around here.”
“I know you do. Just don’t tell your mother I said that.” Talfryn chuckled and bestowed a doting smile on Briallu, leaving Conor to again wonder about the informality of this family.
“My lord”—Conor grimaced at Talfryn’s reproving look, but he continued—“might I speak with you in private when you have a moment?”
“We do have things to discuss, don’t we? Come.” Talfryn headed toward the side door near the barracks. Conor followed him down one corridor and into another one, where he pushed open a chamber door. A library, it seemed from the books, or perhaps the prince just enjoyed having his study filled with reading material. He gestured for Conor