Page 27 of Court of Treachery

“WhoisRagnar?” she asked, furrowing her eyebrows. The others shared glances that were not lost on her. She snorted impatiently. “Oh, come on. There’s clearly something everyone—except me—knows. Ragnar isn’t here to answer for himself, so you might as well just tell me. There’s little use keeping me in the dark now.” It soured her to speak so harshly to them, but being the only one who did not know what everyone else spoke of infuriated her.

Brand pursed his lips. “She’s right,” he said to Aedon.

Aedon shrugged. “Fine. But don’t let it change how you think of him. He’s still the kind-hearted, generous, level-headed Ragnar you’ve come to know.” His words sounded more like a warning to Harper. What could be so very bad that she did not know?

23

HARPER

“Ragnar Dúrnir is König Korrin’s first cousin. Their fathers were twins, pulled from the womb at almost the same moment.”

Harper raised her eyebrows, her mouth falling open. “Wait. You mean…?”

“Yes. For a time, it was considered that Ragnar would contend with Korrin for the throne. Korrin, being the eldest child of the eldest dwarf, took the throne once his father passed on. Ragnar was happy to see him do it, for he had never wanted that life, nor the life of any dwarf here in Keldheim.”

Ragnar could have been king—and yet he had travelled with them as a veritable pauper? Acook? She could not fathom who would choose that life if given a much easier alternative. It was so ludicrously far from anything Harper had thought possible. She voiced her questions aloud.

Erika laughed, a short bark. “Not everything is about money and power, girl.”

Harper rankled at the derision in her tone, drawing herself up as tall as she could and staring down her nose at the nomad, her cheeks hot and her mouth stumbling over a retort. It was notwrong to seek plenty and comfort—thank you very much—she longed to say, but she could not get the words out.

Brand stepped in. “I’m sure she well knows it. Ragnar was not made for this life.” He gestured at the halls around them. The stone cut into precise vertical and horizontal lines, the perfectly flat surfaces. The oppressive, silent weight of the mountain. Harper would not want to be here for a lifetime either, in fairness. Already, she felt suffocated, longing for the freedom of the open sky above her and the wind on her face. “It might be hard to believe it, but in some ways, he prefers the life he leads with us. We ask and expect nothing of him but himself.”

Harper thought on that for a moment. “He said that he did not fit in here. What did he mean?”

Brand stayed with her as Aedon and Erika flitted about their temporary abode, pulling out blankets here, earthenware bowls and utensils there, delving into every nook and cranny they could under the unwavering light of the small, faelight-filled alcoves that passed for windows in the main room. “Dwarven culture is very particular. There are expectations. The higher your class, the more there are. The same is true for all societies I have seen. Ragnar did not conform to those expectations—or wish to.”

“Which are?” Harper was not sure whether she had been too bold.

To her surprise, Brand sighed. “As you might expect, dwarven culture is very different to your culture, or mine. You might be expected to wed or bear children, yes?”

Harper scowled but nodded.

Brand chuckled darkly. “I know. That’s how I felt about my lot, too. Ragnar was expected, as the king’s cousin, to uphold their values. To war with them, to mine with them. It is not his way, as you well know. He fights when needed but would prefer not to. Whilst he loves to craft, and perhaps might be suitedto turning the products of the mines into priceless pieces that would surely be unrivalled amongst his people, as the cousin of the king, he is forbidden to follow such a profession—whilst crafting is respected here, as the king’s cousin, he is far above that, you understand. Several of the mines in Valtivar, and one here in Keldheim, fell into his possession as his inheritance. He could mine the minerals, the metals, and the gems, but never enjoy and enhance their beauty.”

Harper turned this information over in her mind, picking over each new facet. She understood that, to a degree. And yet, she had never wanted to work her fingers to the bone at Tam’s inn, or scratch for any food she could to survive. Her sympathy for Ragnar diminished.We all must do things we don’t want to. At least he could have had a life of privilege to make up for it.She clamped down on the harsh, judgemental thought as bitterness coated her tongue.

Her sourness must have shown, for Brand ruffled his wings and cleared his throat. “I know. Perhaps it sounds wanton to you. There was one thing he objected to above all else.”

Harper waited, not expecting that he would change her mind.

“The dwarves keep slaves. Tikrit.They’re a small breed of goblins, as dim-witted and feral as they come, but they make excellent workers when compelled with whip and rod. They’re the creatures who do the dwarves’ mining, in return for meagre food and working conditions.”

Harper gaped.The dwarves keep goblins?She shuddered as thoughts of bared, pointed teeth dripping gore flashed into her mind again, then shoved the memory as far down as she could.

Brand smiled grimly. “Yes, exactly. They’re not very tasteful creatures, even thetikrit, which are the most miserable excuse of a goblin I’ve ever seen. I cannot say I agree with the practice, but it is what it is. Ragnar despises thetikritand could think of nothing worse than dealing with them daily, of having them inhis mines, and of perpetuating such cruelty, even on creatures so undeserving of compassion.”

“What did he do?” Harper hardly dared ask.

“That, I do not know. But to say that he iswelcomein Keldheim is not the best way to put it. They owe him a duty of respect through his rank, so they will give him that, but nothing more.”

Harper chewed her lip. “Does that respect extend to rescuing him?”Or trying to. She dared not think about Ragnar, imagine in what state he would be, if even alive, faced by the monsters that had taken him. That made the caged animal inside her, the one that longed to lash out at the confines of this tight, airless space, quail with helpless terror.

“That’s what we will find out,” Brand said heavily. “For Ragnar’s sake, I hope Korrin decides swiftly, and in his favour. We do not have time to dally.”

Harper’s stomach swooped with sickness at his words, as the constant undercurrent of worry rose in her once more. No matter his value to these people, his kin, Ragnar was their friend, and he was worth saving. She felt helpless.

It was into the next day—not that they could see the night sky far above them—when they at last sat to eat a small meal, courtesy of the dwarves. The sweet breads and unknown meats with a hint of strange spices were foreign to Harper’s tongue, but a welcome change from the repetitive food of the road or, worse, nothing.

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