Page 8 of Blood of Wolves

“I am afraid,” she said. “But that’s not your fault.”

His hands tightened on hers, one corner of his mouth plucking in a wide smile. Started to speak – and was interrupted by Olaf’s arrival.

Behind them, the baby cried, and was shushed by its mother.

Below them, the palace rumbled with uneasy humanity.

It seemed so unfair, she thought, to have found the person that could make her so happy and hopeful, here on the eve of disaster.

~*~

“That’s another ten head of sheep, my lady, and fifteen cows – two ready to drop calves any day now,” the young scribe pacing at Revna’s side reported, his face blotchy with stress, but his voice and hands admirably steady as he consulting the parchment he carried.

“And the stables are full,” she said, biting back a sigh. They dodged around a huddle of children sitting on furs in the middle of the hall – all the trestles were put away against the walls to make room for pallets and rugs – and she offered them a tight smile in passing. “We need all the livestock we can get, though. Right now, milk’s more important than meat. Have the stable hands start moving the sheep down into the caves and basement storerooms so the cows can have the temporary lean-tos in the yard.”

“Yes, my lady.” He offered a fast bow and took off at a jog to do as told.

The moment he was gone, he was replaced by a maid. “My lady, one of the children was sick on the second story, and we’ve run out of clean linens. We’re washing more, but–”

“Take down those drapes in the upstairs parlor and use them.”

“The – thedrapes, my lady?”

“Those ugly blue ones. I’ve never liked them.”

The girl’s step faltered – and a kitchen boy came rushing up, dodging through the swelling crowd. “My lady!”

It was a call that seemed to come from all corners. “My lady! My lady!”

The fire had blazed up suddenly beneath a cook kettle and the afternoon’s stew burned.

A gate had been left open and two cows had gotten into the mews and frightened all the birds into a frenzy.

There were pigs in the garden, rooting up bulbs.

A child tottered into her path, a little girl with golden braids no older than three, clutching a doll and crying heartily, face flushed and wet with tears.

Revna scooped her up and propped her on a hip. “There now, where’s your mummy? Hm? What’s the matter?”

“Revna.”

It was the first time anyone had said her name all day. From the moment she’d awoken, it had beenmy ladythis andmy ladythat, save a fewMumsfrom Rune. SoRevnabrought her up short.

Not least of all because it was delivered in Bjorn’s deep voice, pitched just loud enough to cut across the din of the hall. A pleasant shiver skittered down her spine as she stopped, and turned to meet him.

He didn’t have to weave his way through the crowd – people scrambled to get out of his path, and so he strode right up to her, the way clear, a question already gathering on his lips as he reached her. But then he halted, and his gaze shifted to the now-sniffling girl in her arms, and his brows drew together in puzzlement…no, in thought. When his gaze shifted back to her face, she decided she didn’t want to try and parse out his expression, because that way lay madness.

“You got the last of them inside?” she asked.

His brow smoothed a fraction, concern plucking at his face. “Yeah. Down to the last milk goat – I searched each house myself.”

She nodded. “And the Sels?”

“At anchor.” His jaw tightened, and he lowered his voice a fraction. “Theyletus evacuate.”

“I know.” The pleasant shiver of before gave way to a wholly different kind of tremor. “But why? What are they waiting for?”

“I don’t know. But I think it speaks to their confidence in their siege engines.”

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