Page 38 of Edge of the Wild

Oliver blinked at it, still reeling fromYour Lordship. FromOllie.

Erik’s look was fondly patient. “This one’s yours.”

“Mine?”

His hand had gone suddenly lax on Erik’s tunic. Erik picked it up, and slipped the jeweled ring onto his index finger. “Yes. Yours.”

Oliver stared at it. He tilted his hand so the light glinted off the gemstones, bright, flirtatious winks like sparks. “I…” Erik’s hand settled at his back again. “Thank you,” he managed to choke out, finally. “My lord. My lady.”

Helga beamed.

Kjaran said, “Come get out of the cold. My people will have already prepared for your coming.”

Erik’s hand steering him forward, warm and grounding even through his layers of clothes, Oliver followed their hosts out of the vestibule and into a great hall that was even more stunning.

The high, vaulted ceiling was held up by a double line of square-cut columns, each inlaid with long ribbons and runes of silver that flickered and gleamed in the light of the cressets mounted to each. Low, wide fireplaces with silver mantelpieces marked both sides of the long room, benches before them already being filled by cold, tired travelers. A single line of trestles down the center of the room held platters, and cups, and decanters, all of it silver or silver-chased, the food steaming, its rich scent filling the air. A third hearth waited at the end of the room, the banners mounted above all of silver inlay, rather than woven cloth.

A smaller, round table had been set in front of it, circled by chairs rather than benches. Lord Kjaran invited them to be seated with a wave. Still a little dazed, attention caught between the silver on the walls and the new, jewel-set silver on his hand, Oliver found himself in a high-backed chair, between Erik and Birger. A goblet of wine landed in front of him, and he picked it up immediately, gratified to find that it was mulled and steaming.

After his first sip, he glanced around to see that Magnus and their other guards were nowhere to be seen – and that there wasn’t room for them at this table, anyway. As their host and hostess took their seats, the last two chairs were filled by a strapping young man and a girl Tessa’s age: Kjaran’s children, judging by the family resemblance. It made sense, he supposed, that guards wouldn’t dine at the high table – but it stood in contrast to Oliver’s first night in the North, in the private family dining room at Aeres.

“A good day’s travel, was it not?” Lady Helga said, and Oliver snapped back to the moment at hand.

He was a consort; he had to comport himself appropriately.

“We made good time,” Erik agreed, reaching for his own cup.

“A good snow pack makes for quick travel,” Birger said. “The deer seemed to have an easy go of it.”

“Horses, too,” Leif put in.

Servants bearing laden trays arrived, and bowls of soup, platters of roast fowl and potatoes were handed around. The conversation turned to small talk, inquiries about health, and harvest, and local gossip. Oliver ate his soup, content to sit and let the fire, and the press of his lover’s shoulder against his own, warm him through, and thaw him out.

He reached for his cup, and the ring on his hand captured his attention again.Hisring, he supposed. A gift from their hosts – the only gift given out save the matching ring they’d given to Erik.

Aside from the gemmed beads in his hair, Oliver had never owned anything so costly in his life. Much as he’d loved his horse back in Drakewell, he knew that she had been a bit of a runt, and deemed too flighty for hunting; if Uncle William hadn’t given her to him, she would have been sold off.

And now here he was: owning jewels. Being given them on a bed of velvet.

Belatedly, he realized someone was speaking to him. He snatched his head up, feeling caught-out, and saw that Lady Helga was smiling at him. “I’m sorry?” he said.

“Your ring,” she said, nodding. “I said I hope it suits. Do you like it?”

Consort, he reminded himself.Act like you’ve earned that, and aren’t a stumbling fool. “Yes, of course, my lady,” he said. He picked up his cup and offered her a polite smile. “The craftsmanship is very fine.”

She beamed, settling back in her chair with a glad wriggle. “We provide all the finest silver for the kingdom – take those beads in your hair, your lordship: those were crafted right here at Silfr Hall.”

“My compliments. Do you mine the gems as well?”

“Nay, those come from other keeps,” Kjaran put in.”

“The sapphires and rubies came from Ulf Holm,” Helga said.

“The diamond” – Kjaran gestured to Erik’s hand, where it rested on the table, the diamond at the center of his new ring rippling along its facets with candlelight – “from the Fault Lands.” His tone grew serious on the last, pricking Oliver’s interest.

“The Fault Lands,” he said. “Isn’t that where Lord Náli is from?”

Kjaran’s expression closed off between blinks. “Aye.”

---