and unraveled her braid, running her fingers through it almost frantically, moaning in pain and relief as her hair tumbled down her back. She brushed the tangles free, her eyes closed, sparing a thought for poor Alba, who would have to endure her braid and her crown for several more hours.
Ten minutes later, a knock sounded—supper—and she rose, grateful for Alba’s thoughtfulness. She was famished, and she would have gone to bed hungry if not for her. The servant would have to forgive her streaming hair.
She unbolted the door, eager, but it was not a kitchen boy or a serving wench on the other side.
“You will come to the hall,” Banruud said, eyeing her unbound tresses.
“I have been disinvited.”
“Benjie forgets himself.”
“I do not want to sup with him.”
“You will sup with me.”
“But I have taken down my hair.”
“Good. I prefer it that way.”
He held out his arm. There was something there, in the set of his mouth and the hollows of his cheeks, even the way his hairline came to a peak directly above the grooves between his eyes, that reminded her of Hod. It had been obvious to her that the king was Bayr’s sire—his size, his movement, his midnight hair were all repeated in Bayr—but Hod was there too, and sometimes she studied the king’s face too long, too often, trying to see him. The king had misinterpreted her searching look more than once.
“You will not eat if you do not come to the hall. The North King has requested that you sing.”
Ah. So that was it.
She didn’t want to sing. She didn’t want to sit in the hall amid three dozen warriors who ate like wolves and belched like frogs and skewered anyone who disagreed with them. But she was hungry, and if the king said she would not eat, she would not eat.
She settled her hand on his arm and gritted her teeth.
“You are wise, Daughter.”
“And you are gracious, King,” she purred.
They were announced at the door: “Liis of Leok and His Majesty, Banruud of Berne, King of Saylok.” Those who were sitting rose, and there was a quiet clamor about their combined entrance, but Ghisla did not let her eyes rove the hall. She kept her gaze fixed and her face frozen.
She’d learned that looking at men only encouraged them, and the Bernians were the worst of the lot. Their chieftain had allowed the clan to fall into disarray. Mayhaps it was the way he governed, taxing his people into the ground while placating marauders, but his warriors were more vicious and less disciplined than those of any of the other clans. Aidan of Adyar had complained mightily that the Bernians had begun to steal from and plunder the farms and villages on his border. Bayr had sent emissaries complaining of the same in Dolphys, but Banruud ignored Bayr and attempted to bribe the Chieftain of Adyar. Banruud was no fool, and he’d noticed Aidan’s interest in Elayne of Ebba. When they’d left Adyar two days ago, she’d heard Banruud’s parting salvo: “It is time for the past to be done away with. The daughters of the temple will be given back to their clans—or to new clans in marriage. They serve no purpose in the temple. We must find you a wife, Aidan.”
Banruud escorted her to a seat at the high table next to Alba, who was seated on his left. Benjie and Lady Beatrice sat on his right, and thankfully conversation with that end of the table was impossible.
Ghisla sat with her spine straight but her eyes on her plate, wanting only to eat and be done—hopefully Banruud would not keep her or Alba past a song or two.
“There was a seat for you after all,” Alba murmured, barely moving her lips. “And Benjie has angered my father. It’s been lovely so far.”
It was far from lovely. The conversation was stilted, and every man had his hand on his sword. The Northmen did not seem to trust the king or the Chieftain of Berne, and they wouldn’t eat what was put before them. Instead, their king stood and traded his plate with Benjie, letting it clatter on the table, food dripping from every side. His men followed suit, trading their plates with the warriors of Berne and the king’s party until they were satisfied with their selections. Ghisla had her plate taken three times before the swapping was complete.
Banruud was not amused, but he tolerated the North King’s suspicion, as no one had