Page 14 of Heart of Winter
“Spring?” Oliver asked. “But it’s as I’ve told you: Drakewell – the whole of Aquitainia – will be conquered before then!”
Erik met him with only the mildest interest. “And so I’m to do what? Raise an army in the middle of the night? Send them harrying off to invade Aquitania for you?”
Oliver bit his lip, hard. “We can’t–”
“You asked me to honor an old alliance, Mr. Meacham, and I’m prepared to do so. But of the two of us, I’m the one with the greater understanding of how these sorts of things work.” With a ringing note of finality: “I will decide when – and if – Aeretoll marches to war.” He reached for his cup, and the conversation was done.
5
The rest of the meal passed uneventfully. Revna, Birger, Magnus, and the princes kept up a lively conversation about the mundane goings on of Aeres, even managing to draw Tessa into the discussion, inspiring a quiet laugh or two from her.
King Erik sat back in his chair andbrooded.
Oliverhatedhim.
But of the two of us, I’m the one with the greater understanding of how these sorts of things work. The words burned through his mind, a continuous loop. They’d been an insult, a sharp slap meant to put him back in his place.I’m the warrior king, and you’re just the frightened little boy in the back of the tent. Oliver found his hands clenching to fists over and over, and had to force them open again each time; fought not to grind his teeth.
When servants came to clear away the plates, a round-faced, motherly woman in an apron with many pockets came for Tessa. Tessa’s usual maid, Hannah, had stayed behind with Amelia, too frightened by the prospect of “Northern barbarians” to risk the journey. Revna introduced the two, and Tessa was swept off to her room in Hilda’s very capable-looking hands.
Tessa glanced back over her shoulder before she went, checking on Oliver. He forced a smile for her and waved her on, intent on returning to his own chambers and stewing angrily until the exhaustion of the day’s travel finally dragged him down to sleep.
A hand landed on his shoulder, though, and he turned to find Magnus offering him a cup. “Here, then. I’m off the clock, and some of us are having a nightcap.”
“Oh, no, that’s very kind–”
The cup was thrust into his hands; some of the amber liquid inside slopped over the edge and onto his hand, the scent of it nose-searing in a way the dinner wine hadn’t been.
“I really ought–”
“Come on, then!” Magnus threw a heavy arm around his shoulders, and he found himself steered out of the room, down the hallway, and into a smaller, cozier room with timbered ceilings, a roaring fire, and swirling wreaths of pipe smoke. Benches lined the wall, and chairs were scattered in a loose semi-circle around the hearth, padded leather seats and furs and lap blankets thrown over the backs, but all of the furniture clean and simple, and well-worn, nothing like the ornate, carved pieces he’d seen so far. An entire wall was dedicated to racks of weaponry: axes, swords, pikes, halberds.
This was a lounge area for the off-duty guards, Oliver realized, as he was pressed down into a chair close to the fire and Magnus dropped down beside him.
“Brother!” Magnus crowed, as a guard dragged off his helmet and joined them, his black beard, and hair, and the shape of his face highlighting a stark family resemblance.
“Lars,” Magnus said, “this is our visiting Southern lordling, Oliver. Oliver, this is my good-for-nothing brother, Lars.”
“Sod off,” Lars said, peaceably, and fixed Oliver with a bold scrutiny. “And what are you doing dragging lordlings in with the help?”
“Aye, well, he’s not a lordling per se….” The hand he slapped down between Oliver’s shoulder blades felt supportive, even if it nearly caused him to choke on the mouthful of frightfully strong spirits he’d just sipped.
He coughed, wiped his mouth, and offered, “I’m a bastard.” Because the whole day was so absurd, why stand on pretension at this point?
“Oh. Well.” Lars visibly relaxed, slumping back in his chair. “In that case.” He nodded. “Pleased to meet you.” Then he cocked his head. “You’re not the one that came with her ladyship?”
“Just so,” Magnus said. “They’re cousins. Can’t you tell by the hair?” He chuckled, and tousled Oliver’s auburn curls as if he were a child.
Oliver sighed and took another swallow.
Lars made a face. “I hate to say it, lad, but you’ll be taking her back home empty-handed. Erik isn’t one for marrying.”
“Why not?” Oliver asked, wildly curious at this point. He glanced down at his drink. How strongwasthis stuff?
Magnus and Lars shared an unreadable look.
“Oh, I suppose he has his reasons,” Magnus said, easily, sipping from his own cup. “But see this, brother,” he said to Lars, leaning forward in his chair. “Leif’s going to marry the lovely young lady.”
“He is?”
