Half a War

Contempt, and who could blame her? Skara’s throat felt so closed up she could hardly speak. ‘You must be thinking what a soft, weak, pampered fool I am.’

Thorn took a sharp breath. ‘Actually I was thinking … of how it felt when I saw my father dead.’ Her face might have had no softness in it, but her voice did. ‘I was thinking what I might have felt to see him killed. To see him killed in front of me, and nothing I could do but watch.’

Skara opened her mouth, but no words came. It was not contempt but pity, and it choked her worse than scorn.

‘I know how it feels to wear a brave face,’ said Thorn. ‘Few better.’

Skara felt as if her head was going to burst.

‘I was thinking … standing where you’re standing … I’d be crying a sea.’

And Skara heaved up a great, stupid sob. Her eyes screwed shut, and burned, and leaked. Her ribs shuddered. Her breath whooped and gurgled. She stood with her hands dangling, her whole face hurting she was crying so violently. Some tiny part of her fussed that this was far from proper behaviour, but the rest of her could not stop.

She heard quick footsteps and was gathered up like a child, held tight, held firm, the way her grandfather had held her when they watched her father burn on the pyre. She clung to Thorn, blubbering into her shirt, howling half-words not even she understood.

Thorn did not move, made no sound, only held Skara for a long time. Until her shuddering stopped. Until her sobs calmed to whimpers, and her whimpers to jagged breaths. Then, ever so gently, Thorn eased her away, pulled out a scrap of white cloth and, even though her own shirt was soaked with slobber, dabbed a tiny speck on the front of Skara’s dress, and offered it to her. ‘It’s for cleaning my weapons but I reckon your face is a good deal more valuable. Maybe more dangerous too.’

‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Skara.

‘No need.’ Thorn flicked at the golden key around her neck. ‘I cry harder than that every morning when I wake up and remember who I married.’

And Skara laughed and sobbed at once and blew a great snotty bubble out of her nose. For the first time since that night she felt something like herself again. Perhaps she had escaped from Yaletoft after all. As she wiped her face there was a hesitant knock at the door.

‘It’s Blue Jenner.’

When he shuffled hunched into the room there was something reassuring in his shabbiness. At a ship’s helm or in a queen’s chambers he was the same man. Skara felt stronger at the sight of him. That was the man she needed.

‘You remember me?’ asked Thorn.

‘You’re a hard woman to forget.’ Jenner glanced down at the key around her neck. ‘Congratulations on your marriage.’

She snorted. ‘Long as you don’t congratulate my husband. He’s still in mourning over it.’

‘You sent for me, princess?’

‘I did.’ Skara sniffed back her tears and set her shoulders. ‘What are your plans?’

‘Can’t say I’ve ever been much of a planner. Queen Laithlin’s offered me a fair price to fight for Gettland but, well, war’s young man’s work. Maybe I’ll take the Black Dog back down the Divine …’ He glanced up at Skara, and winced. ‘I promised Mother Kyre I’d see you to your cousin—’

‘And you kept your promise, in spite of the dangers. I shouldn’t ask you for more.’

He winced harder. ‘You’re going to, then?’

‘I was hoping you might stay with me.’

‘Princess … I’m an old raider twenty years past my best and my best was none too pretty.’

‘Doubtless. When I first saw you I thought you were as worn as an old prow-beast.’

Jenner scratched at the side of his grizzled jaw. ‘A fair judgment.’

‘A fool’s judgment.’ Skara’s voice cracked, but she cleared her throat, and took a breath, and carried on. ‘I see that now. The worn prow-beast is the one that’s braved the worst weather and brought the ship home safe even so. I don’t need pretty, I need loyal.’

Jenner winced harder still. ‘All my life I’ve been free, princess. Looked to no one but the next horizon, bowed to no one but the wind—’

‘Has the horizon thanked you? Has the wind rewarded you?’

‘Not hugely, I’ll confess.’

‘I will.’ She caught his calloused hand in both of hers. ‘To be free a man needs a purpose.’

He stared down at his hand in hers, then over at Thorn.

She shrugged. ‘A warrior with nothing but themselves to fight for is no more than a thug.’

‘I’ve seen you tested and I know I can trust you.’ Skara brought the old raider’s gaze back to hers and held it. ‘Stay with me. Please.’

‘Oh, gods.’ The leathery skin around Jenner’s eyes creased as he smiled. ‘How do I say no to that?’

‘You don’t. Say you’ll help me.’

‘I’m your man, princess. I swear it. A sun-oath and a moon-oath.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Help you do what, though?’

Skara took a ragged breath. ‘I said I would see Throvenland free, and my grandfather’s hall rebuilt, and Bright Yilling’s carcass left for the crows, remember?’

Blue Jenner raised his craggy brows very high. ‘Bright Yilling has all the High King’s strength behind him. Fifty thousand swords, they say.’

‘Only half a war is fought with swords.’ She pressed her fingertip into the side of her head, so hard it hurt. ‘The other half is fought here.’

‘So … you’ve a plan?’

‘I’ll think of something.’ She let go of Blue Jenner’s hand and looked over at Thorn. ‘You sailed with Father Yarvi to the First of Cities.’

Thorn frowned at Skara down a nose twisted from many breakings, trying to work out what moved beneath the question. ‘Aye, I sailed with Father Yarvi.’

‘You fought a duel against Grom-gil-Gorm.’

‘That too.’

‘You’re Queen Laithlin’s Chosen Shield.’

‘You know I am.’

‘And standing at her shoulder you must see a great deal of King Uthil too.’

‘More than most.’

Skara wiped the last wetness from her lashes. She could not afford to cry. She had to be brave, and clever, and strong, however weak and terrified she felt. She had to fight for Throvenland now there was no one else, and words had to be her weapons.