Page 8 of Enamored
“We experienced several storms that caused delays.” It was the truth. We had faced storms off Norvegia’s rugged western coastline. But the delays had been in hours, not days.
From the pinch of Rasmus’s lips, I surmised he knew the truth, had likely already queried the ship’s captain.
“When needling someone, do not yelp when they needle you back.”Another line of ancient wisdom, the reminder to live with whatever might come my way as a result of defying Rasmus.
He narrowed his eyes, and I could almost hear his mind at labor, coming up with a form of torture that would teach me he was in control, just as he’d always been.
The silence stretched once more, and my muscles tightened in preparation for his judgment.
“You are attracted to the Princess Elinor.”
A current of surprise zinged through me. I opened my mouth to deny him but immediately closed it. In the same instant, I regretted my hesitancy.
By switching subjects so abruptly, Rasmus had purposefully thrown me off guard. It was a tactic used in conversation to gain insight into the truth of a matter, giving the other person little warning or time to come up with a false narrative.
My mind quickly sharpened, and I worked to compensate for my mistake. “Of course I’m attracted to the princess. What man wouldn’t be? She has grown into a stunning woman.”
Stunning didn’t quite describe Elinor. The rumors that had reached all the way north to Finnmark hadn’t exaggerated her beauty. She was exquisitely lovely. When I’d ridden in from the harbor and gained my first sight of her at the tournament field, my emotions had battled in a swordplay of their own. First, surprise and admiration for the beautiful young woman she’d become. Then, sadness for the loss of our friendship. Finally, resolve for what must be.
After all, it had taken years of trying to erase her from my memory, years until I’d stopped caring about and missing her. I wouldn’t let the time and effort be for naught.
By the time I’d dismounted, I’d had the inner clash well under control. I’d put her from my mind, far away where she belonged.
But seeing her descending the staircase at the ball in her extraordinary gown had drawn every thought, every dream, every infatuation, and every desire for her out of captivity. The sharp pain in my chest had been too much to bear. I’d spun to leave only to find Rasmus across the grand hall watching my reaction intently. Apparently, he’d seen enough to understand just how conflicted I was.
Though I’d tried to keep out of his sight for the duration of the dance, ’twas possible he’d continued to surreptitiously watch me, scrutinizing my every weakness, looking for anything important to use as leverage against me.
Even now, his inspection was calculated, and I composed my expression into one of indifference.
“You still care about her, though you have tried not to.” Rasmus spoke as if he’d read my thoughts.
It was another tactic, one of stating a fact with such assurance and authority that the other person believed his emotions and thoughts were entirely readable.
Though I’d only just completed the first phase of training to become a wiseman, I was already more learned than most of my teachers. I knew the best way to parry Rasmus’s tactic was to counter with one. “You are all-seeing, Your Excellency. Thus, you surely can also see mycarefor the princess arises from the heart of a loyal subject and nothing more.”
Pretending to believe in the other person’s exaggerated skill, flattering them for it, and then playing upon the false skill—I could do this well.
His eyes narrowed. Did he realize I was capable of joining in his games of the mind, that he could no longer easily back me into a corner?
He studied me a moment longer before picking up his ocular lens and dropping his attention back to the scroll.
Though I had no clock to count the passing of time, I’d learned to do so internally, organically by the pace of my breathing and the pulse of my heart. Long minutes dragged by as he scrutinized the text, until thirty, forty-five, and finally sixty ticked past.
If Rasmus thought to weary and frustrate me in order to weaken my instincts, he would learn I’d grown stronger, that I could wait for hours and remain just as alert.
Before the striking of the sixty-first minute of silence, he spoke without breaking his inspection of the parchment. “The Sword of the Magi. Tell me all you know about it.”
Again, his change of subject would have caught someone else off his guard, but I was prepared, my mind quickly able to locate the information I’d stored there from the many facts I’d memorized about ancient relics—especially this one, which was kept in a special case at the Stavekirche of Vordinberg.
“The Sword of the Magi was a gift from the eastern wisemen who visited the Christ in Bethlehem. They anointed the sword with oil, bequeathing upon the weapon the power of Providence so that the bearer of the sword would not perish but have strength to defend himself against the unjust, the unfaithful, and the untruthful.”
“What else?”
Was there more? I rapidly searched the archives within the recesses of my learning to uncover more information. “Joseph used it to defend the Christ child against the Roman soldiers who were following Herod’s orders to kill the babe.”
“And?”
“When escaping Bethlehem, Joseph is believed to have taken it with him to Egypt and hidden it there. Later, pilgrims discovered the sword and returned it to the Holy Land. With the increasing turmoil and fighting in the Holy Land, eventually all the ancient relics were sent to various abbeys and monasteries for safekeeping. And the people of Norvegia were given the sacred task of protecting the sword.”
