Page 16 of Heart of Winter
“Yeah, you look it.”
“No. I am.” Oliver aimed an admonishing finger at him that earned a laugh. No one here was going to take him seriously, were they?
Perhaps getting stumbling drunk on his first night had something to do with that.
He lifted his head to his most imperious angle and sniffed. “I’m quite sure I can – can find my way.”
After much too much laughter, and several more attempts at convincing him, Magnus finally shuffled off, and Oliver headed for the second staircase that would take him back to his room, deciding it wasn’t so shameful that he had to grab at the wall every now and then.
He reached the staircase, and placed his foot on the lowest step – but paused when he heard the low rumble of deep voices. He glanced off to his right, where the hallway branched away from the stairs. A dozen or so paces down, a door stood open, the warm glow of candlelight spilling out into the corridor.
“…a single set of tracks. No one saw a thing.” That was Erik. His deep voice sounded rougher than it had at dinner, unsteady and stressed.
“Someone must have, given the number of guards we…” Birger, his voice lowering so the rest of his words were indistinguishable.
Oliver tapped his fingers silently on the handrail, debating.
Had he been sober and clear-headed, there wouldn’t have been a debate at all. He wasn’t one to pry into people’s business, and here he was far from home, in what – with a few exceptions – was essentially hostile territory. He needed to march straight upstairs, drink off an entire pitcher of cold water, and go to bed.
Drink had always made stupidly brave, though.
Slowly, painfully slowly, trying to make sure he placed his feet just right, with the over-concentration of the intoxicated, he crept down the hall on tiptoe until he stood just outside the open doorway. It opened inward, and was only halfway ajar; if he leaned just a little, he found he could peer through the gap at the hinges and see the interior of the room without risk of being seen in return.
Birger sat a carved desk, each of its legs nearly as big around as one of Oliver’s own, parchments and ledgers spread out before him. His gaze was trained on the figure that paced back and forth in front of the fireplace, hands tucked behind his back, silver-shot black hair hanging down on either side of his face like curtains. Erik.
Oliver felt a fluttering in his belly that he blamed on too much drink.
“We’ll find–”
“We should have already found him,” Erik said, halting, turning to face his advisor. He’d lost a layer of clothes, down now to a white shirt with loose laces at the throat that revealed more than a hint of broad, strong, furred chest. His eyes glowed pale against the backdrop of the amber fire, and the dark stone wall behind him. “How –howcan a man slip within these walls undetected, and then back out again?”
Birger let out a deep breath. “We’ve tripled the guard since, but there are ways. Grates, service tunnels.”
“He had help,” Erik said, grimly. “He must have.”
“Who of your guard do you doubt?”
“Of my personal, household guard? None.” A muscle leaped in his jaw, and his gaze lowered, nostrils flaring with anger. “At least, I never have before.”
“Bjorn’s handling the questioning with the wall guard. Very thorough, but you could sit in if you like.”
“No, I trust him.” Erik took a huge breath that lifted his shoulders, and seemed to shrink in on himself with the exhale. He leaned back and rested against the mantelpiece, arms folded. “We’ve still not found what was taken.”
“We may not,” Birger cautioned. “Not until we need it.”
This was definitely not a conversation Oliver should have been privy to.
“We’ll get it sorted, lad, don’t worry,” Birger assured.
The idea of anyone calling tall, terrifying King Erik of Aeretoll “lad” was absurd, but Oliver watched Erik relax a little more after hearing it. His face softened, its lines still hard, and precise – beautiful – but not edged with tension, now.
“That leaves our other problem,” he said, sourly, face screwing up in a displeased expression that was shockingly boyish.
Birger chuckled. “Not a problem – unless the boys decide they want to arm-wrestle for the honor of the fair maid’s hand.”
Erik rolled his eyes, and Oliver found himself smiling. “I’m embarrassed by my own kin, Birger. Like neither of them have ever seen a pretty girl before.”
“None of the Aeres girls arethatpretty. Hells,” he said, chuckling, “none of them are as pretty as the lad.”
