Page 16 of Edge of the Wild

He heeled the door shut and took a mild glance around the room, one brow lifting a fraction. “What has you in stitches, Askr?”

Askr took a wheezing breath and wiped at his watering eyes. “Your Southern boy, here.” He pointed a freckled finger at Oliver. “Face like an angel and a tongue like a razor.”

“Yes, well.” Erik moved around the table, set the mug and basket before Oliver, and then dropped down into the chair beside him. “Let’s make sure you focus more on the razor part and less on the angel part, hm?”

“Ah. No.” Askr drew his composure back together with some effort. “I’m not into the lads,” he said, easily, without rancor. “And the last time I looked at a young lass, my woman beat me nearly blind.”

“Didn’t beat any sense into you, though, did she?” Erik said. “Shame.”

Askr chuckled, but thankfully didn’t lose himself to another fit of guffawing.

The mug, Oliver noted, was full of hot, strong tea. The basket – which Erik nudged closer to him with a pointed look – held buttered toast and bacon. “Skipping meals again?” he asked, the near corner of his mouth twitching in the faintest of private smiles.

Oliver’s stomach flipped, but not so wildly that he couldn’t eat. He took a sip of tea and then picked up a triangle of toast. “Not on purpose.”

“See that you don’t,” Erik said, growing serious. “You’ll need to keep your strength up for our journey.”

“You’re bringing him along, then?” Askr said.

“I am. And it’s more like he’s coming than me doing any bringing. And he’s sitting right here,” Erik said, pointedly.

Askr huffed a laugh, but nodded. His attention shifted to Oliver. “Has he warned you yet what you’ll be walking into? Dreki Hörgr is no heated, carpeted palace such as this.”

“I didn’t suspect it was,” Oliver said.

“He can handle it,” Erik said with a note of finality. “Though apparently, my lords, neither of you think so.”

Oliver munched toast and watched Ingvar bow his head a fraction in quiet acceptance of the reproach.

Askr, though, true to character, lowered his red brows and puffed out his chest. “We’re only asking him about the Sels. That’s why he’s here after all, isn’t it? To get us all riled up to fight them?”

A darted, sideways glance proved that Erik’s jaw had clenched, but his voice was pleasant when he said, “Were you drunk during the council meeting?”

Birger and Ingvar both tried to turn snorts of laughter into coughs.

Askr glared a moment – then grinned. “Aye. A little. No more than usual.”

“Hmph. Well, then. What approach should we take at the festival, do you think? The clan leaders will take some convincing.”

“Aye,” Askr agreed. “But. Your boy here” – he tilted his head toward Oliver – “makes a good case. If you’ve got him, and a map, we should be able to get it through their thick skulls.”

Oliver felt his brows go up in surprise.

“The boy has a name,” Erik said, still pleasant, but with a new edge to his voice.

Askr laughed again. “So he does. Mr. Meacham, tell us again about the reserves at Drake Hold.” He added a hasty, “If you please,” in response to Erik’s look.

Oliver swallowed a bite of bacon, sipped his tea, and waded into the tedious fray once more.

2

Revna woke with a start, bleary-eyed, disoriented, drunk-feeling. She scrambled upright, clutching at the edge of the sofa, registering a warm weight sliding off her shoulders. Her eyes burned, and she wiped the grit from them, swearing under her breath. She felt as if she’d taken a bad spill off her horse, sore and exhausted, her breath coming in rough hitches. She didn’t remember leaving Rune’s chamber, but she must have, because she lay now on a sofa in the common room; someone had covered her with a blanket.

“My lady,” Astrid’s voice called softly, full of worry. She turned her head, wincing as her neck twinged, and spotted her maid rising from a chair. “Are you well?”

Mouth as dry and rough as unspun wool, Revna croaked, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Only a few hours.”

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