Page 112 of Heart of Winter
“Nock!” Baldi cried.
Cold and clumsy though his fingers were, Rune’s muscles knew the feel of the fletching, knew just how to grip the arrow and string together. He let out a deep breath, forcibly relaxed himself, and his vision seemed to clear a little.
“Draw!”
His recurve bow took an immense amount of strength to draw, and he prided himself on the way his arms and shoulders carried the burden, one long, smooth movement that stretched the string tight.
Beside him, Haldin swore, softly.
“Loose!”
In the split second after he released, Rune worried that so much drink might have really ruined his chances. But then his arrow struck true, in the center of the bull’s eye, and Haldin’s sailed over the wall and into the night.
“Ha ha!” he exclaimed, punching a fist into the air. “I win!”
“Best three out of four!” Haldin barked.
All four of Rune’s hit the target, clustered together.
One of Haldin’s managed to land in the far outer ring. He turned and threw down his bow after the last shot, face flushed as scarlet as his hair.
Rune laughed along with the rest of the spectators. “That’ll teach you to brag.”
Haldin shot him a nasty glare. “So you’re good at one thing, Torstanson. One thing that doesn’t even matter.”
Rune felt the smile drop off his face. “Fuck you,” he said, eloquently.
Haldin stormed off back into the palace, leaving Rune feeling hollow and no longer victorious. And more than a little unsteady on his feet, his face too hot, suddenly. Sweat prickled beneath his clothes, and his stomach churned.
Baldi clapped him on the shoulder. “Ignore him. Come on. Let’s go get a pint to celebrate.”
The idea repulsed him. Rune shook his head, which proved a bad idea. He swallowed a wave of nausea and said, “You go on. I want to stay here a minute.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Baldi and the others trooped back inside, talking and laughing and shoving and stumbling. It was a relief when the door closed and they were gone. Rune tipped his head back and looked up at the stars, at his own breath steaming overhead. He closed his eyes when the stars began to spin, and just…stood. Letting his hot, dizzy spell past. Feeling the snowflakes alight on his face.
He owed Leif an apology, he realized, with an inward wince. He’d been an ass tonight, and it wasn’t Leif’s way to be rude to people at parties – even if that person was Estrid.
With a sigh, he straightened, waited for his vision to settle, and headed for the door.
He was nearly there when a shadow detached from the wall and slid in front of him.
Ormr.
“If you wanted to try your hand with a bow, you missed your chance. I would have beaten you anyway.” Rune moved to step around him.
And was caught by a hand against his chest.
Had he been sober, Rune could have easily ducked away, or forcibly chopped Ormr’s hand aside.
But still reeling from too much wine and liquor, he stumbled back.
“What – what in the Val-Father’s name do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, regaining his balance. “Get out of my way, shithead.” He shoved at the wolf-shirt.
But missed. Overbalanced, stumbled forward – and Ormr struck him in the throat.
