raised to call the crowd to attention. “In the spirit of peace and negotiation, I have brought King Gudrun of the Northlands to see our temple and to take part in the tournament. I bid you to welcome him and his people. We are in need of strong alliances. May this be the first of many such visits.”
The people murmured nervously. No one jeered, but there was no jubilance in their greeting, no cheers or waving of their colors. Many began shuffling toward the wide gate only to be cowed by the bone-studded, leather-clad Northmen who spilled out onto the drawbridge.
Alba began to descend the final palace steps, her sense of duty demanding she bid the visitors welcome, but Bayr moved forward with her. Aidan must have been of the same mind, for he too remained at her side. Josef and Lothgar trailed them as they walked out into the courtyard to present the princess of Saylok to the king of the Northlands. Elbor, evidently not wanting to be left behind, hurried to join them, though he cowered behind Lothgar.
As Alba neared, King Banruud dismounted and extended his hand toward her.
“Father, I thank Odin for your safe return,” Alba said, projecting her voice to the crowd. She stepped away from the chieftains and pressed the back of Banruud’s outstretched hand to her forehead in traditional greeting. Turning to the North King she curtsied, low and lovely, and rose up gracefully. “King Gudrun, we welcome you.”
There was an appreciative murmur among Gudrun’s men, and the North King slid unceremoniously from his horse and grasped Alba’s fingers as though to press a kiss on her knuckles. At the last moment, he turned her hand so her palm was facing up. With exaggerated pleasure, he licked upward from the tips of her fingers to the pulse at her wrist, and his men roared in rowdy approval.
Bayr growled, a deep, guttural rumbling that caused Gudrun to raise his eyes and withdraw his tongue.
“Is that not how it’s done in Saylok?” the North King asked Bayr, sardonic. “Or is she yours, Chieftain?”
“May I present my daughter, Princess Alba of Saylok,” the king interrupted, but his eyes censured Bayr, his expression hard, his mouth tight. “The Temple Boy has fallen back into his old ways. He returns to the mount after a decade and immediately considers himself the princess’s protector.”
“Temple Boy?” Gudrun repeated, his eyebrows raised in query.
“I am Bayr. Chieftain of Dolphys,” Bayr said carefully. Slowly. He did not acknowledge the king but kept his gaze on Gudrun.
“Ah. I have heard of you, Dolphys. You are known for your strength. I should like to test it.” Gudrun sucked at his teeth.
“These are my chieftains—Adyar, Joran, Leok, and Ebba. You’ve met Berne,” the king introduced, tossing his hand toward the men who trailed his daughter. Bayr was not the only one who bristled at the introduction. The clan chieftains were subordinate to the king, but the implication that they were “his” did not sit well.
Banruud offered his arm to Alba, who took it without hesitation, though her fingers barely touched his sleeve and her posture did not relent. Banruud nodded toward the keepers standing in silent observance on the temple steps. Ivo had moved out in front of them, a stooped crow bent around his scepter.
“Gudrun, may I present the daughters of the clans,” Banruud said, striding toward the robed assembly. Gudrun followed eagerly. Some of the Northmen dismounted, eyes suspicious, hands on their weapons, and trailed after their king.
“I see only old men,” Gudrun mocked. The daughters’ hair was the only thing that set them apart—Master Ivo had dispensed long ago with any clan-colored distinctions—and they’d raised their hoods to cover their heads.
“We want to see the daughters, Master Ivo,” Banruud ordered, coming to a halt before the Highest Keeper.
“They are not yours to command or display, Majesty,” Ivo replied, his tone mild, as though he spoke to an insistent child.
Banruud moved so close to Ivo, he appeared to be speaking to a lover, whispering assurances in his ear, but Master Ivo raised his eyes to Gudrun, who stood over the king’s shoulder, and spoke to him directly, ignoring King Banruud.
“What is your purpose here, Northman?” the Highest Keeper queried. His tone was so cold the crowd shivered.
“I want to see your temple, priest.”
“I am not a priest. I do not save souls or speak for the gods. I am a Keeper of Saylok.”
“And what treasures do you keep, old one?” Gudrun grinned, and his