Derina screamed and came running down the stairs. Norward was grinding the side of Reeve’s head against the fire’s dying embers. “Take my place, puppy?” he snarled. “Draw sword against me? Have a taste of the hell that awaits kin-slayers, Reeve of the Silver Spurs!”
“Stop!” Derina cried, and seized Norward’s arms. The scent of burning hair and flesh filled her nostrils. The strength of the knotted muscle in Norward’s arms astonished her-she couldn’t budge him. Reeve screamed in terror. “Don’t kill him!” Derina begged.
Norward flung Reeve up and away from the fire, then down to the flags. Reeve wept and screamed as Norward took the long patterned blade and hacked off his spurs, then kicked him toward the stair. Reeve rose to his feet, his hands clutching his burns, and fled. Derina stared in amazement at the transformed Norward, the tall young man, half a stranger, standing in the hall with drawn blade… Tears unexpectedly filled her eyes and she sat down sobbing.
Norward put the sword away and was suddenly her brother again, his eyes mild, his expression a little embarrassed. He reached out a hand and helped her to her feet.
“Come now,” he said, “it was a lesson Reeve had to learn.”
She clung to him. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“Truthfully,” her brother said, “I am a bit puzzled myself.”
Next day Reeve kept to his room. At dinner, Lord Landry looked at the bruise on Norward’s cheek and said nothing, but there was a pitiless, amused glint in his eye, as if he’d just watched a pleasing dogfight; and he sat Norward down at his left hand, where he’d had Reeve before.
Six weeks later, after Yule, Burley and Derina left for Burley’s home, where a new wing had been built for them. To Derina, the three small rooms and their whitewashed stone walls seemed more space than she’d had ever in life. It was not until spring that she and Burley journeyed back to the great flint-walled house perched above the switchback mountain road, and then it was not on a mission that concerned pleasantries.
Derina rode the whole way with her insides tying themselves in knots. Burley marched a captive before them, a man bound with leather thongs, and Derina was terrified that the captive-or the news she herself bore-would mean Burley’s death.
But Burley’s family had decided this course between them, and brushed her objections aside. If they had known her father as well as she, they would have been much more afraid.
When she arrived the old flint-walled house seemed different, though she could see nothing overtly changed. But the people moved cheerily, not with the half-furtive look they’d had before; and there was an atmosphere of gaiety unlike anything she remembered.
But Burley was not cheered: grim in his buff coat, he marched his captive into the hall and asked for Lord Landry. The servants caught Burley’s mood, and edged warily about the room.
Landry, when he came, was half-drunk; and Norward was at his elbow, a tall man, deep-chested and powerful, that Derina barely recognized.
“Daughter!” Landry said, one of his cold smiles on his lips, and then he saw Burley’s captive, the shivering shepherd, and he stopped dead, looking from the shepherd to Burley and back again. “What’s this?” he growled. The shepherd fell to his knees.
“First,” Burley said, “I bring proper and respectful greetings from my father and my family to Lord Landry. This other matter is secondary-we found this fool grazing his flock on the upland meadow that was ours by marriage contract, and he had the temerity to say he was there on your order, so we had him whipped and now we bring him to you, to punish as you will for this misuse of your name.”
Landry turned red, his neck swelling; his hand half-drew the dagger at his belt. Norward put a restraining hand on Landry’s arm. “Now’s not the time to make new enemies,” Norward said, and Landry forced down his rage, snicked the dagger back in its sheath, then strode briskly to where the captive cowered on his knees and kicked the shepherd savagely in the ribs. “That’s for you, witless!” he said.
“My lord-” the shepherd gasped.
“Silence!” Landry shouted, before the man could say something all might regret. He looked up at Burley, staring blue eyes masking his calculation. “You’ve handled this matter well,” he admitted grudgingly. “I thank you.”
“I bring other news that will please you, I think,” Burley said. He took Derina’s hand. “Derina is with child, we believe, these two months.”
For a moment Derina was petrified-with a child on the way, what more use was the father? But then an unfeigned smile wreathed Landry’s features. He embraced Derina and kissed her cheek. “There, my pet,” he said, “have I not always said you were my favorite?”
Even though she knew perfectly well it was Landry’s style to play one family member off against another, still Derina’s nerves twisted into a kind of sick happiness, the assurance of her father’s favor.
“You’ll give me the boy I need,” Landry said. “These others-” He looked at Norward. “-they league and conspire against me, but I have the mastery of ’em.”
He turned to the shepherd, drew his knife again, and sliced the captive’s bonds. “In celebration, we’ll give this simpleton his freedom.”
The shepherd rose, bowed, and fled.
Nicely done, Derina thought. Not a single regrettable word spilled.
Norward advanced to clasp Burley’s hand. “Welcome to our house,” he said. “Your advice, and that of your family, will be valued in the days to come.”
Burley smiled, but his eyes glanced to Derina, who looked back in purest misery. There was something happening here, and it was nothing good.
Dinner found Landry at the head of the table, with his wife on one side and Norward at the other. The big sword still hung in its sheath behind her father’s head. Reeve-burlier than ever, and full of smiling good humor despite the burnscars on the side of his head, sat beside his brother, and Edlyn played happily with her daughter at his elbow. There was no sign of Medora or any other plaything.
Derina watched it all in silent, wide-eyed surprise. Her father was smiling and complimentary, and praised her in front of the others. She found herself casting looks at Edlyn to see how her older sister reacted; but Edlyn’s attention was all on her daughter, and the anticipated looks of hatred never came.
They all looked so well. Happy, strong, their skins glowing with health. Derina felt like a shambling dwarf by comparison.
Then, offhand, Landry changed the subject. “There’s an army marching in the lowlands,” he said, “one of the Princes. He’s got three thousand men, and his proclaimed ambition is to invade the highlands and tame our mountain folk.” He barked a laugh. “If so, he’ll find us a hard piece of flint to break his teeth on.”
“There is not enough wealth in the highlands to pay a Prince’s army,” Norward said. “If he comes, he will find the pickings poor indeed.”
“Likely he intends somewhere else, and the story is a mere diversion,” Landry said, “but there’s no reason in taking it lightly. I’m bringing in supplies, and preparing the place for a siege. They can’t drag any engines up the mountains big enough to hurt our walls.” His eyes flicked to Burley. “I’ll trust your kin to support us, and raise up their strength against any invaders.”
“We have no love for lowland princes,” Burley said.
Landry laughed. “Let ’em lie outside our walls till the cold eats their bones!”
Landry snatched up a cup and offered a toast to the defeat of the Prince-and his sons and Burley drank with him. They were mountain men pledging against their ancestral enemies of the lowlands, and in a matter as fundamental as this their views were united.
Derina felt cold as ice as she saw Burley pledge himself to Landry’s war, and remembered Edlyn’s husband doing likewise, three years ago.