“Asta?” he whispered.
I drew back and kissed him. He released my waist to take my face in his hands. His calloused, beautiful hands. He kissed me as if he’d never get the chance to do so again.
I was smiling when he released me. “You are so loved, Alby, son of Padraig.”
Viggo shut his eyes tightly. “I am going to kill Bryn.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
After three days of pretending to be sick, I was itching to move. Hemming had been nice enough to stop by my rooms and report to me the goings-on of the hill, but there was very little to report. Lennart occasionally dropped in to tell me of Hemming and Gabor’s movements after their shifts, but he had yet to verify whether they were working for the traitorous Holgarians or not. Dagmar was quick to shoo away my visitors and eager to force-feed me the disgusting medicines Bryn brought by.
Viggo was banned from seeing me. For whatever reason, Dagmar was convinced it was his fault I had ingested the harmful toxin that had caused me to go insane, so it was his fault that I had fallen ill. I begged her to let him come in the first two times he knocked on my door, but my handmaiden was most insistent. She took the flowers he brought and slammed the door in his face. I sulked and smelled my flowers until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’m feeling much better, Dagmar,” I said on the morning of the fourth day. “Can’t I go outside? I’m so tired of this room.”
Dagmar placed a hand over my stomach, as if she could feel the imaginary ailment through my clothes. “Let’s wait until this evening to be sure it’s passed. It would be a shame for the royal family to witness you vomiting.”
And so I waited. Instead of faking a loss of appetite, I scarfed down every meal she brought me. Instead of curling up and groaning as if I had a stomachache, I sat up and read the books she provided. When evening came, she was convinced I was better.
“Thank you so much for taking care of me,” I said, climbing out of bed at last.
“What do you plan on doing with your last evening off?” Dagmar asked somewhat suspiciously.
I hurried to the closet to change out of my nightshirt. “I intend to see the only friend you haven’t allowed me to see since I became sick.”
Dagmar frowned. “He can’t be trusted.”
“So far, the only person on this hill that has been attacked is the king,” I reminded her as I looked through my clothes. “Viggo had no reason to suspect I was in danger. I myself didn’t think to check my drink before tasting it. It was no one’s fault.”
“Fine,” Dagmar said with a huff. “See the scoundrel if you must, but I’m going with you.”
I was thrown on my back with an ‘oof!’ A cloud of dust floated up around me, making my nose twitch. Viggo pounced like a predatory cat upon its prey and threw a volley of punches at my face. I caught one of his wrists and twisted my hips, throwing him off balance. He hit the ground and rolled. I sprang to my feet, fists at the ready. Viggo coughed and spat dirt before rising. He wiped his slick, stained face with his shoulder before adopting a similar defensive stance. We regarded each other, panting, weary. I lowered my fists. Viggo raised his eyebrows in a silent question. I gestured to the benches stationed along the edges of the training grounds, too tired to explain. Fortunately, he understood and followed me.
How I’d missed sparring with him! He had been a little hesitant when I showed up at his door with Dagmar in tow. It had only taken a few minutes into our grappling match for him to return to his old self, however.
Dagmar looked up from her knitting and stiffly set the half finished baby blanket aside. “Have you finished beating each other senseless?”
I wordlessly lifted the pitcher sitting beside her and poured water into the waiting glass. I handed the glass to Viggo, who accepted it with a hoarse “Thank you,” and began guzzling it down.
“You both look like you’ve been rolling around with the dogs,” my handmaiden said with a sniff. “Why you insist upon wrestling like animals is beyond me.”
“We have to keep our skills and senses sharp or we’ll begin to lose them,” I rasped. “You didn’t have to watch.”
“Someone has to keep an eye on that boy,” my handmaiden murmured, squinting at my friend.
I shook my head while pouring myself a glass of water. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have done it in warrior academy, when I successfully infiltrated the wooden gatehouse and keep he was in charge of defending.”
“We lost by one man!” Viggo exclaimed. “It was barely a victory.”
“But a victory nonetheless,” I said, smiling over my glass.
He waved away my comment and poured himself more water.
I turned to Dagmar. “Honestly, I’m safer in his company than anyone else’s. Please, for me, will you get some sleep? Heaven knows what time it is and chances are you’ll be awake before anyone else is to tend to me in the morning.”
Dagmar gathered her knitting supplies. “Yes, all right. But if you’re not in bed within the hour, there will be consequences.”
“If you know I’m not in bed within the hour, Mother dearest, then you won’t be sleeping.” I shooed her away. “Goodnight and rest well.”
She trudged off, grumbling about ‘ungrateful’ children and ‘barbaric’ practices. Viggo and I shared a smile before settling onto the abandoned bench. We would look fearsome to anyone passing by with our disheveled hair, our white shirts turned brown with sweat and dirt, torn trousers, and dirty feet. Viggo was sporting a black eye and I had scrapes across my back where his nails had dug in. They stung and bled a little at first, but were dry and numb now. I leaned back against the rope fence with a sigh, exhausted but content.
“Do you think Bryn’s still awake?” I asked.
Viggo shrugged. “It isn’t uncommon for him to stay up all night studying, but he still has a lot of food to test in the morning. Perhaps he allowed himself a few hours’ rest.”
I grinned. “Then we shouldn’t disturb him for a midnight pint.”
“I don’t think he’ll be too put out if we drink without him, but the pub is closed.”
I wove my fingers through my hair and extracted several pins. “Not for long.”
Viggo leaned against the wall and watched me work, mouth twisting in amusement. “Well, it’s a comfort to know you don’t excel at everything.”
I carefully jiggled the hairpin. “This requires too much concentration for a clever retort.”
“Give it up, Asta,” Viggo said, chuckling. “You’ve been fiddling with that knob for hours. Let me try.”
“No,” I said slowly, still focused on the doorknob, “because I’ve pushed most of the pins within the lock, and I know the moment I give up, you’ll manage to push the last one into place and claim the victory.”
“This isn’t a competition. I’d like to have a drink before the sun rises.” He knelt beside me and elbowed me in the ribs. “Stop being stubborn and move over.”
I bit the air between us, snapping my teeth together with an audible crack.
Viggo blinked at me. “That was ladylike.”
Scowling at the doorknob, I continued jiggling.
“You’re gripping the bottom pin too hard. Relax it a little. Here.” He reached for my hands.
I could grapple with him in the dirt, struggle against his grip for hours, but the moment his fingers brushed the back of my hands in such a casual and intimate manner, I lost the will to oppose him. I moved aside with a defeated sigh. I watched his agile fingers work the hairpins until the lock clicked and the door was open. Viggo let out a triumphant “Ha!” and jumped to his feet.