Page 31 of Songs of Retribution

I kicked back in the carriage seat and let my voice turn teasing. "Why don't you have tattoos? Afraid of needles?"

A grin snaked its way up Orman's mouth and his eyes sparkled. "They ain't tattoos, mate. Those marks are made of ash and bone paint."

Ash and bone paint. Saints, where did they get the bones? That sounded like a nightmare. Of course, that's why we were here. There were no fighters in the world like the elves, though they never fought on behalf of other courts aside from commissions they accepted to deal with wild fae.

I looked up at Orman. "So you moved away from home and gained a terrible fashion sense in the process?"

"You're one to talk." We reached the hay-sweet and animal-ripe edges of a stable.

"Excuse me?"

Orman tossed me the bridles and moved to unlatch the cart. He didn't continue, so I spoke again. "Elisa likes how I dress and that's all that matters."

"Listen, Neia, I love you, I respect you, and I'm occasionally afraid of you." He pushed the cart into a place next to others and turned to face me. "But the flat fact of the matter is, you're marrying up."

I leaned away from him and placed my hands on my hips. "Oh, saints damn you for crafting an argument you know you'll win."

He grinned and nudged me with his elbow. "Come on. Let's go get ourselves arrested."

And so we did. I expected Orman to put up some resistance when we crossed the town to guards who stood at a central building that was book ended on both sides by massive silver bowls holding burning oil and smelling like something earthy and bright. But he only offered his wrists and nodded for me to do the same. I groaned and lifted my arms. It wasn't the first time we'd been arrested during a job.

A couple of well-armed women shoved us into a dank cell with stone walls and rusty bars. After a few hours passed, I paced the tight space back and forth. Two-and-a-half strides covered it from one wall to another.

Orman looked up at me from where he leaned on the back wall, his arms crossed. "Could you stop?"

I whirled on him and threw my hands out, nearly smacking him because of the lack of space. "I'm not good at sitting still. And why are these cells so small?"

"It's a jail cell, not a guest room. I never understood why so many cells we've ended up in were so comfortable."

I crossed my arms as well and tucked into a corner. "I bet the tavern rooms here are every bit as fucking terrible."

Orman chuckled again, his eyes gleaming from the torch that burned on the wall outside the cell. "It's amusing that you assume elves have rented rooms available."

"Where do visitors stay?"

"They don't."

Feet echoed down the hall and Orman stood, his posture straightening and his expression growing serious. A man with gray at his temples and tight lines around his eyes who stood taller than Orman with equally broad shoulders approached the cell and glared at both of us.

Orman bowed at the waist, lowering his head nearly to his knees before rising. "Heill ok sæll, Sigurdur Kuninkaan."

Sigurdur—the man Orman had wronged. He looked Orman over carefully, his eyes skimming the clothing he wore and dashing his gaze to me before giving a derisive sneer and turning his attention back to Orman. "I thought I made it clear to never return here."

"You did, Kuninkaan. And I have honored my word to stay away up to this point. I have vital information that has urged me to return."

The man glared, the striped ash and bone markings on his face glistening in the light. "Did I suggest you could return under certain circumstances?"

Orman bowed again, not as low. I’d never seen him so demure, and it left me unsettled as he spoke. "You did not, Kuninkaan. However, the information I have is imperative for the elves’ well-being."

The man rested his hand on the gleaming weapon at his side—an ax with a thick wooden handle and a fine line on the blade. "Go on then. Tell me what news you have to share that is worth your life."

Orman looked back at me, and his eyes were haunted, filled with darkness I’d never seen before. "The Seelie fae mean to end all magical beings. They stir up a war and delve in old, dark magic to achieve their ends."

Sigurdur stared at Orman for a moment before scoffing. "Have you grown so weak in your years away, Orpo?" Orman shuddered but his expression didn't change. I’d never heard Orman use that nickname before, and from his reaction I imagined it wasn’t a kind one. "You believe fairies could take down the elves now? Have you forgotten your education, your oaths, the blood you spilled until you could execute each move to the point of perfection?"

"I have never forgotten my training, Kuninkaan. Or the honor you showed me by sponsoring my education.” The man Orman crossed was his sponsor to the elven academy then. I knew little about elf customs, but they were a fierce people and I imagined betraying the being who paid for one’s education was a high crime. “I have kept every one of my oaths until I've returned here today to bring a warning and to ask for your permission to speak to the neuvosto."

"Permission not granted." Sigurdur moved closer to the bars and shook his head. "I don't understand what I once saw in you. You had potential, but you show up here with some fairy woman"—he gestured dismissively at me without looking my way and I clenched my teeth—"speaking nonsense. You were once called the strongest son of Jökulheim. Soon your bones will be ash, your life a waste."

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