Page 24 of The Bone King and the Starling

“It is,” the male holding me says, his eye twitching. I glance at my hands in my lap, trying to focus on keeping my stomach clenched so that I can hold myself upright. It hurts too much as it is to lean all of my weight on his arms. For as best as he attempts to hold me away from him, his arms still occasionally brush my new wounds.

“Gods help us,” she curses. “Have you called Hilde?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you to do.”

“Fuck,” she says and she doesn’t walk away — she runs. The male moves on.

I don’t deign to ask him to explain the female. I am shocked enough by his actions and now hers and pained enough by his arms pressing into all of my bruises and wounds that it is no great burden for me to remain silent as we pass through the open doors of the great hall.

The slightly warmer space envelops us, making me shiver against the contrast. There is a fire pit in the middle of the hall that was overrun by tables last night, but that is now being lit. Rushes are being gathered and pushed back against the walls. Tables are already set up — only four this time, forming a square around the fire pit, as most villagers will take their first meals at home.

The only people in the great hall at this hour are Chief Olec, Rosalind, their two unmarried daughters, Chief Olec’s top men and their families, the king and the fighting men and women he brought with him. Only the chief, Rosalind, the king and five additional men sit, at present, at the high table. They line one side, so it feels like a tribunal as the king’s man carries me to them.

I don’t dare look at the chief or meet Rosalind’s eye, but my treacherous gaze cannot be helped when it comes to King Calai. I glance at his face, feeling so strange being presented before him like this after what passed between us last night. It was so…intimate. A rare glimpse at a man of his power and rank as he became totally and utterly wild.

Now, he has returned to a state of composure. Relaxed back in his seat, a lazy smirk on his face that fades the moment our eyes meet. He’s swirling a pint of something — honey mead, perhaps? — but the motion of his wrist stills as his gaze sweeps my face fleetingly before moving to the male holding me, and then to my outstretched and bare feet.

He sets his cup down on the table, the motion deliberate, careful. His posture remains as it was, easy, not a care in the world. His expression is inscrutable as ever as it focuses on the warrior carrying me. There are muscles laced with tension standing out in his neck.

He does not speak.

“You enjoyed yourself last night then, my liege?” Chief Olec laughs in his deep chortle. I always found it pleasant. I don’t now, and tighten the clasp of my hands in front of my body.

The king still does not speak.

Chief Olec leans in towards the king and speaks in a mock whisper that carries across most of the hall. “I understand if you’d like to forego any favor you intended to bestow on her. It does not seem she was robust enough to withstand your desire. Perhaps we can find you a heartier female to warm your furs tonight.”

Olec’s words surprise me. Not only because they are cruel, but because it seems that he does not share the same designs as his wife to barter me off to the males of the village or, if he does, he does not seem so concerned about the fee that I am alleged to owe Tori. Tori had been…cruel when he came to speak to meof it earlier. I do not look forward to any time Tori and I may spend alone going forward…but, fearing Rosalind’s wrath and the quantity of coin she expects from me, I know better than to try to reject him.

The king still does not look at Chief Olec, but he does finally shift in his seat. He leans back even further, becoming more relaxed. He glances at my face, just once — at my cheek, not at my eyes — and his own expression tightens.

“Puhyo,” he barks, voice harder than I’ve ever heard it. Hard and mean. “Explain.”

“She is injured and she has no shoes. I bring her before you now to get to the bottom of it. My lady fears her attacker and will not name him.”

The king shoves away from the table hard enough that every glass that had been standing falls over. Ale and wine and water pour across the table’s wooden surface. The king, however, remains seated. “Where is Hilde?”

“Coming.”

“Bring my little bird here.”

Puhyo obeys the king’s order and brings me forward around the table, yet instead of depositing me in King Calai’s lap, as I believe the king intended, he sets me down on my feet a few feet away from the king. I cannot muffle my grunt as my feet light on the floor and Puhyo’s arm brushes the back of my shift.

“Apologies, my lady,” the male, Puhyo, says and before I can beg his mercy, he grips me by both shoulders and turns me around so that the king can see my back.

I don’t want anyone seeing what happened to my back. No one but Ebanora’s mother. She will care for it, because she is a good, kind woman with a healer’s gift. She has taught me some, but with the positioning of the wounds in the center of my back, I cannot get to them.

“Your lady?” Chief Olec chortles, his voice surprisingly slurred even though it is early morning yet. “That is quite an exaggeration.”

Both males ignore him. I don’t move. The sudden rush of air around me and the events of the past day — plus, my lack of breakfast — coalesces and makes me swoon.

Puhyo catches my elbow. “She is injured.”

The king says nothing, but I can hear the creak of the chair as he rises. There is a soft tugging on my hair, and another on my shift as the collar is loosened enough for him to inspect me.

“Her face was struck and here, on her back, she was lashed,” Puhyo says softly. “She is sore from your attentions, too. She walks with a limp.”

“A good bedding then! A maiden such as Starling here would undeniably walk askew for a few days after being roughed up by a male like you.” Chief Olec laughs.

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