Lana was already waiting in the antechamber that led into her rooms when Jormand finally emerged from the stairwell. She’d come back from the courtyard to find her apartments furnished and stocked with clothes, bedding, and even a loaf of bread and a jug of wine on a platter left in the sitting room. She picked at the bread, but nerves wouldn’t let her eat.

One of the doors off from the first room was a bedroom as it turned out, and it was there that the clothes had been laid out for her. There were three dresses in all, and one coat paired with a simple shirt and trousers as well as a pair of sandals that tied all the way up her calf.

The coat was a little tight and constricted her movement more than she would have liked, and two of the three dresses dragged across the floor behind her when she walked. She wasn’t sure if that was purposeful or if they were too long, but Ingrid had worn a dress that did that to an even more extreme level. It worked for her, with her impeccable bearing, but Lana did not think she had what was needed.

You’d only look like a fool. She told herself as she moved on to the only one left.

The last dress, a simple but luxurious garment of green silk hung high enough that she could walk comfortably and it didn’t restrict her movement too greatly. It had clearly been made for someone with even narrower hips than she, but in the mirror it did not look too strange. It left her arms uncomfortably bare, but otherwise it covered her well enough.

She had become somewhat used to dresses in Maerin, and it did not bother her as much as it might once have. She did have to admit it was a pretty thing, understated in such a way as to say that she chose to forgo intricacies in favor of simpler beauties. It also let her conceal her knife on her inner thigh without it showing. She was sure to strap it on tightly.

Next to the dresses on the bed there was a wooden box, rectangular and no longer than her forearm. It sparkled with inlays of silver and a strange opalescent material that glittered as it moved. Inside was a collection of jewelry, much of which was either too large or too small for her, but some fit. Lana had never really worn jewelry before. That wasn’t to say she’d never seen it, after all, it was relatively easy to steal and far too valuable to ignore.

It felt strange to try to force rings onto her fingers or bracelets onto her wrists where they pressed on her skin like shackles, but other pieces felt more natural. She found a pair of golden cuffs that fit on her upper arms that she liked, ending in spirals on the ends where a little gap was left. She also found a golden collar, that even though it stayed close to her neck, did not constrict at all. In the mirror, she was impressed by the woman she saw. There was a hunted look in her eyes that did not belong in those of a lady, but everything else was pristine, elegant. The picture of a well to do lady. She exuded a confidence that she did not feel and when she moved, she looked more graceful for only wearing different clothes.

She spun around and her dress flared out like the petals of a flower in bloom, then fluttered down to rest so gently she could hardly feel the cloth against her legs. She’d always wondered what that would be like, but dresses were a hindrance in her old way of life, and not the sort of thing someone like her could afford.

When Jormand arrived, he tromped down the stairs looking like a warrior out of legend. He wore his hammer on a strange belt that went from shoulder to hip, over a forest green jacket that spoke of being made for combat, somehow. It was certainly too fine for that, with its silver fittings and rigid fabric, but the image stuck in Lana’s head.

The jacket and belt, even the heavy boots and leather gloves added perspective to the man. He looked… natural in it, like he’d lived his whole life that way. His still bruised nose no longer looked like the product of an accident, but rather the tame result of grueling battle. He still walked with a slight limp from his wounds, but now it made Lana think of pain being overcome rather than weakness showing. She knew the same core of Jormand remained, but this… it made her see him more clearly. No common harborside brawler could look so natural in that.

He stopped at the landing and noticed Lana, a strange look flitting across his face. It was gone in a moment, so quickly that Lana could not be sure it had ever been there. He made a formal bow to her, surprising in its elegance as always. Sometimes she could forget that Jormand was steeped so deeply in noble society. The facade he showed was so rough and unfinished that it was shocking to see those edges crumble to smoothness.

Lana attempted a bow in return, but she could tell that it was considerably less impressive. For a simple motion, it was damned easy to mess up a bow. He only grinned, then made his way over to her.

“That dress does not do you justice.” He said. It was an offhand comment she told herself, nothing more. But her cheeks were becoming warm with an unwelcome blush, and she didn’t even have any makeup to hide it. Apparently northerners did not use it at all. Up until that point, she’d actually been happy about that fact.

Jormand didn’t seem to notice the effect his comment had had and Lana was happy not to let him know. She was just nervous, that was it. After all, she was about to lie to the entire court of Derranhall. Everyone in that room, even the lowliest servant in the corner, had more power than she. If they found out that “lady Lana Tel” was a sham… Well, she didn’t know what would happen, but she was sure it wouldn’t be good.

Lana scrambled to open the door for Jormand. She wasn’t exactly sure what the right thing to do was between the differing levels of nobility. Was she supposed to act like his equal? Like a servant? Whatever the correct course of action was, he stepped through the door without a word. Lana trotted to catch up as he walked down the hall, his long legs keeping her from being able to walk with a normal gait while still keeping pace with him.

When she did catch up, a little out of breath from nearly running in shoes that certainly were not designed for any sort of activity, Jormand looked surprised. He slowed down immediately, blessedly, but still kept a quick pace. At least Lana was able to match him. He made an apologetic face. He probably hadn’t even noticed. Everyone here in Derranhall was massive. Even the shortest people were taller than Lana, and broader besides. Well, at least he had noticed eventually, and he made an effort to maintain a reasonable pace.

They took the corridor south along the outside of the hall where windows showed the darkness of evening already descending on the world outside. The corridor was lit by the glow of occasional lanterns that sat in alcoves mainly as a source of light for the trinkets that were also housed there, but they provided enough that Lana did not worry about tripping.

In the unstable light of flame, the pieces in the alcoves that Lana had already passed in daylight took on new twisted and writhing forms. A sculpture of a woman wrapped in silk, that reminded Lana of Jormand’s sister, Vilde, with its proud features and self-assured smirk, by day had seemed lifeless and cold. Now seemed to move and breathe as the light of the lantern hung above danced across its surface. A painting of a naked man who looked disturbingly like Jormand, locked in combat with a bear was cast in hellish light that exaggerated the suffering of the poor fellow as he was raked with the unyielding claws of the beast. Lana shivered, tearing her eyes away. Even though she told herself that it was all a trick of the light, she began to walk faster to be away from the alcoves. Jormand complied, seemingly without thought.

The route they took was more or less direct from what Lana could tell, but it was still a long walk to the great hall that dominated the very front of the building. The nearer they got, the slower their pace became, this time because of Jormand, whether or not he was aware of it. Lana felt that she should say something, but even as she thought she was beginning to understand this brute of a man better, she was far from sure of what to say. Was he nervous? He didn’t seem capable of that. She’d seen him launch himself bodily into foes better armed and armored than he without so much as a flinch. But what else could it be?

Lana could tell that they were nearing the front of the hall. The corridor they were walking took a turn to the right and at the now visible end, stood the door that would lead them to the entryway. It was here that Jormand stopped altogether. Almost immediately he let out a massive sigh and his entire being seemed to shrink a little. He shook his head and showed his teeth in a grimace.

“I don’t want to open that door.” He said. He sounded defeated and just tired. Tiredness was such a mundane thing, she hadn’t expected it from him. Exhaustion maybe, the kind earned after a long day of fighting. Maybe even fear at confronting what was certainly a frightening situation by Lana’s estimation. But fatigue was just… too human for him. Lana remembered Rianne saying once that Jormand Derran was more beast than man, and even after getting to know him better on their travels, she’d never been able to shake that vision. Here, in the dimming hallway of his childhood home, she was forced to reconsider.

“Why not?” Lana asked. She was hesitant to offer advice unprompted, but clearly he was waiting for something.

Jormand just stood there, looking at the door. “I don’t know.” He said. “Maybe I’m afraid that I’m making a mistake. Maybe I’m afraid that I’m right and this really is the best choice we have left…” He turned to Lana, looking conflicted. The reflection of lantern light from over Lana’s shoulder shone brightly in his eyes. “This shouldn’t be up to me, Lana.” His voice was strained. The poor man had shouldered a massive weight, trying to steer the future of his family and potentially that of many others if his father’s plan did succeed.

She nodded, unsure of what to say. She understood his fears, what he was proposing did seem dangerous and drastic, from what little she knew. “Do you think one of your siblings would do better?” She asked. She already knew what his reaction would be, he’d made his stance clear, but he needed to strengthen his resolve.

He shook his head, just as she’d expected. “No.” He said simply, sounding a little reassured, but only a little. That weight on his shoulders hadn’t lessened, he was just more sure that he needed to carry it. Then, staring ahead once more, he said again, “I don’t want to open that door.”

“You don’t have to,” Lana replied, reaching up to take his hand and pull him forward towards the end of the hall, gently but with enough force that he followed, “I’ll do it for you.” She pulled the door aside and their dim corridor was bathed with the light of endless lanterns that hung in the hall’s entry.

The much wider hallway was lined on either side with people, all tall, wide, and burly for the most part. The kind of people Lana was beginning to think all northerners were. Many wore bits of armor and even more were armed, mostly with short swords and axes, the weapons of sailors… and pirates. A few heads turned as Lana and Jormand entered, but most concentrated at the end of the corridor where the doors to the great hall were.

They entered the narrowed lane created by people on either side and made their way towards those doors. Lana was careful to follow the instructions that Jormand had given her before. She kept one pace behind him and to his right, as he’s said, and kept her gaze up and ahead, even as more and more eyes turned to scrutinize her.

Never before had she felt so small. In Maerin, her small stature had always been a help. Being small meant she took up less room but it also meant that she needed less food and looked like less of a threat to potential targets and sympathetic people alike. Here, it just made her feel weak. Any one of these people could lay her out with a single punch, and they knew it. The best that she could do was ignore them and march on as if they weren’t there.

Just before they made it to the great doors, Rianne appeared from the crowd, once again transformed. She hadn’t changed again, but she’d added bracers, mail-backed gauntlets and her bronze, white-crested helmet. She carried that under her arm, which left her head and face exposed. She’d braided her long red hair so that it hung down over one shoulder and it glittered with dozens of polished bronze beads, hardly noticeable until they caught the light, and then they shone spectacularly. She wore no makeup but that did not mean she wore nothing. Emeralds the size of Lana’s fingernail hung from each of her ears in fine gold earrings, as well as a line of small hoops that ran up the side of her right ear. There was another on the right side of her nose too, and all of it reflected the lantern light in what Lana assumed was an entirely purposeful display. The dainty bits of gold in concert spoke of ferocity in a way Lana could not quite understand, but it was fitting for such a woman.

The three of them entered the hall amid murmurs from the crowd outside. Within, it was silent. The hall had been entirely rearranged since Lana arrived. The benches and tables were gone and nothing stood on the dais at the end of the room. Instead, divided down the middle by the long firepit, which now lay cold, were four groupings of three chairs each. The first was occupied by Ingrid, who now wore a silver diadem crafted to look like antlers in addition to her crimson dress, and two men sat behind her. One Lana did not recognize, but the other was the same man who had met them at the door to Derranhall. Jormand had named him Brandt, Lana thought. He wore a crimson robe that matched Ingrid’s dress both for color and for quality. It looked to be silk as well, with silver buttons and accents along the sleeves.

One more of the chair clusters was filled, this one with Jormand’s brother, Suhren, and his small entourage. Only one of the chairs behind him was occupied, by a woman with greying hair and a deep frown. The boy looked up as Jormand entered, but then went back to staring at the empty firepit immediately.

Lana hardly had a moment to take in her surroundings before Jormand led her and Rianne to another of the clusters of chairs, the one next to Ingrid’s. He did not say a word to anyone. Lana took the seat by his right shoulder and Rianne took the one by his left and then they sat, waiting.

The last family member, Jormand’s sister Vilde, was a long time in coming and when she finally did appear, it was foreshadowed by a growing murmur from the people outside. She burst into the room with four men in retinue. All five of them, Vilde included, were outfitted head to toe in armor and carried swords on their belts. Vilde herself carried her helmet under her arm, but the others wore theirs, as if they anticipated a fight. Ingrid and Jormand both jumped to their feet when she entered, opening their mouths to protest, but Ingrid got to it first.

“What is the meaning of this, Vilde?” She demanded, almost shouting. Her voice rang out loud and clear as a winter’s wind in the mostly empty hall.

Vilde froze, midstride. Then, without saying a word and without so much as glancing at her mother, she made a little wave, as if on her own accord, and two of the four men promptly turned and left. Ingrid and Jormand took their seats once more, and Lana was left wondering what exactly had happened. Surely Vilde had known what would happen, right? She turned with a questioning look to Rianne, but only received a confused shrug in reply.

Once Vilde and her advisors took their seats and were settled, Ingrid stood once more and spoke.

“I, Ingrid Derran, seat of house Derran and lady of Derranhall, do call this meeting to choose the successor to my late husband, Martim. As is my right as seat, I hereby appoint Brandt Varderran as steward and relinquish my title and my claim to it.”

At his queue, Brand stood from his seat. Ingrid took the diadem from her head gently, astoundingly she did not disturb a strand of her braided hair in doing so. She handed it to Brandt, who accepted it with reverent hands. Then Ingrid took her seat again. Brandt, with the diadem in grasp, walked to the middle of the room, at the end of the firepit closest to the empty dais. As soon as he took his place, the doors swung shut, cutting off the murmurs from outside in the corridor abruptly.

“Announce yourselves.” He shouted, breaking the uneasy silence that was beginning to form. Jormand, Vilde, and Suhren all leapt to their feet immediately. Suhren, who had managed to beat his siblings in his haste, spoke first.

“I, Suhren, thirdson of Martim Derran, come to seek the title of house seat.” He ended with a smug grin that provoked a scowl from Vilde, but she did not let that stop her from saying her piece as soon as he let out the last syllable.

“I, Vilde, firstdaughter of Martim Derran, come to seek the title of house seat.” She somehow managed to imbue the same words with far more weight than Suhren had managed. Then all eyes turned to Jormand. He waited for a moment before speaking.

“I, Jormand, secondson of Martim Derran, come to seek the title of house seat…” He paused once more to take a shaky breath. “On behalf of Ketrim, firstson and heir to Martim Derran, and so do renounce my claim to the title.” After that there was silence. Suhren and Vilde sat again, and so did Jormand a moment later. And with that, it had begun. Ingrid wouldn’t have to announce herself, so Jormand had told them. She would still have a vote later however and so still played a key role in the proceedings, especially since she carried the weight of having been the de facto seat of the house during Martim’s prolonged absence. Sitting leisurely in her chair, her hair and clothes arranged just so, she looked far more fit to the role than any of her children who practically hummed with nervous energy.

“You are all welcome in Derranhall,” Brandt proclaimed after they had all taken their seats. As steward, it was his job to ensure that none of the contenders became too rowdy. In the end, it would be he who proclaimed the new seat, although he did not really have any power. He was just there to witness the vote and to remind those present that this was meant to be a debate, not a fight. Looking at Vilde who was stroking the sword she wore very fondly, Lana began to think that Brandt might have more work to do than she had first thought.

Once the proceedings began, Lana found it more and more difficult to pay attention to what was being said. Suhren started, as he had been first to announce himself, then Vilde, then Jormand. All three had some manner of speech prepared and each sounded much the same as the others to Lana’s ears. They spoke about how they would each lead house Derran to a brighter future, expand borders, increase wealth, forge new alliances, so much fluff that Lana doubted any of them really meant. After a while, it became easier to just distract herself with other things while it all went on around her.

At first she studied the advisors that the other siblings had brought with them, starting with Suhren’s singular advisor. She too was peering around the room rather than paying attention to the speakers. Her dark little eyes passed over Lana more than once but they never did stop. Set into a face that had not been shown any kindness by time, they were enough to keep Lana’s own gaze from lingering. She would have to ask Jormand later who that woman was. She must hold some important position to be Suhren’s advisor, but even in her rumpled silk robe, she looked more like a farmer or laborer than a lady.

Vilde’s advisors at least looked a good deal more intimidating. They wore armor that Lana knew to be incredibly valuable, forged of iron in the style of imperial sailors, but painted in green and black rather than blue. Their faces were shadowed by the brims of their domed helmets which extended forward and curved down at the cheeks to hide much of their faces. It only made them more intimidating. All Lana could see underneath those helmets were stern frowns partially obscured by greying beards.

Ingrid’s remaining advisor on the other hand looked far less dangerous. He too wore a grey beard, but it was wispy and poorly kept. So too was his hair, which was tied back loosely, although a good deal of it had managed to escape. He was balding and his face was wrinkled and leathery, the face of a seasoned sailor. He wore a robe much like Brandt’s, although his looked out of place. The cloth looked too fine for him and he appeared uncomfortable too, often moving in his seat and fidgeting incessantly. But he was not the one Lana was worried about.

Her eyes kept drifting back to those two hulking beasts sitting behind Vilde. Those did not look like the kind of men you brought to talk. Neither had said a word thus far, none of the advisors had, but both kept hands on their sheathed swords at all times, sitting stock still in their chairs. She was sure their eyes moved, covered by those dark shadows.

The speeches dragged on and on. Once Jormand had finished his, it was back to Suhren to speak again, saying even more of the same. Lana did not understand what they were trying to prove here, each clearly only supported their own claim, and not one directed a word towards Ingrid, who Lana assumed would be the deciding vote. Vilde and Jormand stared daggers at each other the entire time and Suhren just looked like he was trying to get their attention.

Once, Lana looked to Rianne for clarification, but the lady looked just as baffled as she. So it dragged out and Lana watched and waited for her turn to speak.

But her turn never came. At some indiscernible point, the speeches began to devolve. More than once, Jormand or Vilde descended to shouting. Brandt stopped them each time, but Lana was becoming worried. Vilde had moved from extolling her own virtues to attacking Jormand instead. She claimed that he had abandoned the family in moving to Maerin and that both he and Ketrim had forfeited their rights to the title they fought over. Her goal was clearly to anger Jormand, and it was working. Lana ached to lean forward and warn him that he was walking right where she led, but he’d told her in no uncertain terms that she was to say nothing until called upon. So she watched and waited as he and his sister became more and more heated.

It got to the point where Brandt could no longer control them and Ingrid got involved. She stood from her chair, breaking with tradition and shouted her two children into submission, but it only lasted a short while. Soon enough Vilde was standing herself and shouting across the room at Jormand who seemed to only be keeping his seat by his white-knuckled grip on the chair. Lana could see him shaking with rage as Vilde taunted him from across the room whilst boasting once more about her own accomplishments.

The tension ran deep, even when someone else was speaking. The firepit in the room was empty of flame but there was enough heat between the two siblings that its crackling dominated even the brief silences. Jormand had begun to trace a finger along the wicked beak of his hammer and Lana’s anxiety was only mounting with each passing moment. She looked to Brandt and Ingrid in hopes that one of them would see what was about to happen, but they stood by tradition. And though they each appeared wary, neither stepped in to stop the siblings.

Lana heard it when she looked away for a moment, the soft sound of an oiled blade sliding from its sheath, and even as she looked back the hall was a flurry of movement. At once everybody was standing and she stood with them. Each person clutched a weapon. Lana had drawn her knife as quickly as her skirts would let her and scrambled behind her chair, but peeking around, she could see light glinting off bared blades all around the hall.

Rianne crouched beside her, sword in hand and helmet set firmly on her head, but Jormand still stood just before his chair. He held his hammer in a shaking grip, but otherwise appeared calm. She’d seen it before. He was ready for a fight and he knew how to do that and how not to lose control.

Across the firepit from him, Vilde and her two men looked like mirror images of one another, eyes shadowed by helmets and hands clutching swords. All three looked to Jormand, coiled and ready to strike.

Ingrid, Suhren, and their advisors had moved to the end of the hall, near the dais and where Brandt stood. All held long knives in sure grips as they looked warily at Vilde and Jormand. Silence reigned now, a jarring departure from the earlier shouting.

“You are unfit to lead,” Vilde was saying from across the room, like she had said so many times before. Lana imagined she could see spit flying from the punctuated words. “You would pull this house to ruin, trying to hide behind the authority of an invalid and a boy leagues away, and don’t say again that you won't.” She stalked forward the last few steps that she could, up to the edge of the firepit. “You’re nothing but a wastrel and a traitor, coming back here with your southern whore in tow, expecting us to bow down and worship at your feet like old blood dogs.” She leaned out over the firepit, her neck stretching out those few more inches and the lantern light caught her face underneath that visor. It was a mask of contempt and disgust, her lips peeled back in a scowl and her eyes narrowed to slits. “They’ve broken you,” She said in a suddenly soft voice that carried across the room like a cold wind, “Once you were someone I would have been proud to call brother, back when you rode the waves for the sake of this family. But now… You’re no better than the mud I scraped off my boot this morning.”

With a yell, she launched herself over the firepit, her sword clattering and scraping on the stone. Her two “advisors” were right behind her, vaulting across with swords at the ready.

Lana had no time to think. Jormand met his sister’s sword with his hammer and the shriek of metal on metal filled the room. She dashed around the chairs to intercept one of two men, but Rianne made it before she did, blocking his strike with her sword. The others, Brandt, Suhren, and Ingrid included rushed down to defend Jormand as well. They had finally chosen a side it seemed. Shrewdly they’d waited until one of the two broke tradition and now they came to its defence.

Lana could not see what happened there, she was far too distracted by what was just in front of her nose. Rianne held her own against the colossal soldier, but only just. His harrying strikes had her constantly on the back foot, slowly retreating. If she kept doing that, he would be able to reach Jormand soon, but she had no choice. This man was simply more skilled than Rianne. Faster, stronger, better equipped for the cramped space with his smaller weapon, and he used that to his advantage. He stayed just within Rianne’s reach so she did not have the space to maneuver her sword, and it was working. Twice he scored hits on Rianne’s thighs, and she did not make even a single one. The blood ran down her leg, staining her trousers and she began to falter.

Lana didn’t know what to do. She had only been in a real fight once before, but just like then, she was entirely in the dark. She didn’t know what one was supposed to do on a battlefield and she only had her knife. But the man wasn’t paying attention to her, his eyes were on Rianne and he was intent on pushing her back.

Lana knew how to use that. She knew how to not be noticed. Avoiding the massive man’s eyeline, she dashed around him, only to find a matching backplate covering her target. He did not take long to notice her there. He turned his head to look at her but before he could ready his sword to strike, Rianne engaged him again, taking another cut on her upper arm for her efforts. It was the only opening Lana would get so she leapt at the man, her knife flashing for the tiny gap between the back of his rimmed helmet and the base of his neck.

She felt her blade drag across rough bone. But the man didn’t fall. She clung to him with her legs and arms and once more rammed the blade home. It scraped against his helmet as he tried to shake her off, but it found it’s target. It came to an abrupt stop as the knife met his spine, but she wrenched it forward, ripping the bronze blade through his neck and throat and spraying blood across Rianne who stood in front of him.

The man collapsed backward, landing on Lana’s legs and pinning her to the floor. His ruined throat croaked and gurgled as he grasped at it with both hands, but it was no use. The light faded from his wild eyes as red blood slowly replaced the green and black of his armor. And then he was still.

Around Lana, the skirmish still raged. She saw motionless bodies and slick blood on the floor but Vilde and her other soldier still fought. Rianne had collapsed against a chair and Lana was pinned by the immense bulk of the felled soldier, so she screamed.

All heads turned towards her, shocked by the high pitched noise. Then Vilde saw her man laid out on the floor and she ran, her remaining soldier just behind her. Jormand just collapsed on the chair behind him. He didn’t look to have any new wounds, miraculously, but spots of blood were appearing from beneath undamaged clothes. His old injuries had reopened. Past him, Ingrid knelt over Suhren, her bloody knife cast aside. His face was ashen white, but Lana could only see a small cut on his arm. His advisor, the sour looking woman lay dead on the floor, though her knife was wet with blood. Brandt tended to an injury suffered by Ingrid’s other advisor, but none of them stood to chase after Vilde.

Through the open doors, Lana could see that the hall was already empty with no sign of the crowd that had been there before nor of Vilde, except for a splattered trail of blood drops. Lana still struggled to get unpinned, but despite her best efforts, she could hardly budge.

With a roar, Jormand launched himself up. He nearly toppled over but turned it into a headlong dash instead, racing down the hall, his hammer gripped tightly in his hand.

Lana finally managed to wriggle free eventually, and, without a moment’s hesitation, ran as fast as she could in her dress and sandals down the hall after him. She passed by closed doors and lit lanterns, but not another soul crossed her path as she tore down the corridor and out the doors of the hall, where she was greeted by a wall of cold air far stronger than she had been expecting. She pushed past the cold and ran on anyway, even with her light garments. Outside, a few sentries looked confused as she sprinted past, but the gates were open and she caught a glimpse of Jormand on the path leading down to the town below.

The pathway down, though worn smooth by centuries of shoes, was littered with loose stones and, as Lana half-tumbled further down the mountain, gnarled roots that clung to the meager earth they could find and reached up to catch the toes of her sandals painfully. Despite her reckless sprint and leaps to clear larger rocks that left her shins aching, Jormand managed to stay far ahead of Lana. At least he was no longer gaining ground. But Lana knew her limits and after not getting adequate rest or nutrition for days, her strength was beginning to fail.

She followed Jormand more by sound than sight, especially as they neared the bottom of the mountain and the trees began to thicken. Agility trained to perfection from weaving through the streets of Maerin kept her from tripping and falling on her face, but only just. Each time she leapt over a protruding root, she half expected to come crashing down right on her face amid a fluttering of green silk. But each time she managed to regain her footing just in time to keep her momentum. Her lungs were beginning to ache from the cold air and her throat screamed in pain, but she kept running.

The hike up to Derranhall had been a long and arduous one, and the run down was no easier, if considerably faster. It was helped by the fact that the solution to a near fall was to increase her speed or launch herself forward as far as she could and hope for better footing.

Lana was surprised when the trail evened out and the treeline ended, suddenly replaced by wooden buildings that popped up beside the widening road without warning. Some were pressed up against the mountain, but they were hardly visible until you were right on top of them. Then suddenly they were everywhere, huddled buildings, low to the ground that leaked an artificial twilight into the streets. In that light, Lana caught sight of Jormand again, standing still in the middle of the road, facing away in the direction Vilde had presumably fled.

His shoulders heaved from his mad descent and he clutched his side, suffering from a cramp, or maybe from wounds reopened by exertion. Lana allowed herself to slow to a trot to catch up with him. Looking behind, she found that they were alone, nobody had followed them, not even the guards. Well, they wouldn’t have done any good. There was no sign of Vilde, and in their armor, the guards would have been even slower than Lana and Jormand.

As Lana approached, Jormand slowly sank to his knees. They hit the packed dirt of the roadway with a thump and he sat back, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. His hammer had fallen from limp fingers onto the dirt, and he did not move to retrieve it.

“Where did she go?” Lana asked as she came level with Jormand. He looked up, the soft light making his face a strange collection of grey and shadows.

“I don’t know,” He said. “The docks probably. She would’ve had her ship ready.” He shook his head, looking drained and weary.

Why would Vilde have had her ship ready? Unless… “Do you think she planned this?” Lana gasped. She wouldn’t have done that, would she? Just to have the title? But she had killed for that title in the end. She had intended to kill Jormand for it.

He only shrugged. “I don’t know.” He said again. Lana had expected him to be bitter at having let Vilde escape, but if he was, he didn’t show it. He just looked sad, and tired.

“What do we do now?” Lana asked. They had to go after Vilde, right? She’d tried to kill Jormand! Her own family! And who knew where she’d intended to end? Ingrid, Brandt and the others had tried to intercede on Jormand’s behalf, would she have cut them down too? Just to claim the seat for herself.

Jormand pushed himself up from the road, his breathing considerably calmer now. He picked up the hammer and slipped it back into the loop on his belt while he wiped his forehead with the other hand. “We find an inn.” He said matter-of-factly, then started marching down the road.

“What?!” Lana exclaimed, hurrying to catch up with him, “Aren’t we going after her?”

“There’s no use. Her ship is fast, she’ll be out of sight of shore long since.” He called over his shoulder.

Lana shook her head in confusion. She supposed that he could be right, ships did move so very fast after all. She still felt queasy thinking about that.

“We’ll discuss what to do about her in the morning. For now, we need to rest… and eat, and I’m in no mood to make the climb.”

Lana’s stomach growled, reminding her of just how hungry she was, and she wasn’t going to forget about her tiredness any time soon, not to mention the cold that only got worse by the minute. Jormand was right, they needed rest and food. And Vilde wasn’t really her problem anyway. So why was she so concerned about it? Was it because a murderer was getting away? She’d turned a blind eye to far more gruesome deaths in Maerin before. Was it because she’d been in danger herself?

Lana did not have long for her thoughts to stew. Jormand led them to a building far bigger than most in short order. It had a stone foundation, which marked it as a deal nicer than a lot of the other buildings in the town, and two floors. It was small by Maerin’s standards, but even though it was short, it sprawled out wide like a warehouse. The entire thing, aside from the foundation, was made of wood, which still seemed strange to Lana, but it was an inn and there would be beds in there. She would not say no to a cozy bed. A meal too, if it could be found.

As it turned out, it could indeed be found. After the inn’s proprietor, a portly man with a full beard and a head as bare as an egg, overcame his shock at seeing a bleeding man in courtly finery with no perceptible wounds and a woman still panting from running down a mountain burst through the door, he had them a table set up in no time at all.

It was late for new guests, he said, but he seemed to recognize Jormand and made an exception. The meal he brought them was meager, but Lana wasn’t complaining. She wolfed down the cold beans and mutton in seconds and washed it down with a mug of mead. Jormand was equally ravenous and soon his meal too was gone.

The innkeeper said that he had a room available as he cleared away the dishes and after he disappeared into another room, a bleary-eyed girl, still disoriented from sleep, scurried out to lead them to it.

Up the stairs and down the hall they followed the girl until she stopped in front of one door that looked much the same as all the others. She turned an iron key in the lock, then handed it to Lana before stumbling back the way she had come. Lana turned to say her thanks, but the girl had already disappeared down the stairs.

Jormand gave the door a push and it drifted lazily inward on resistant old hinges. Compared to the rooms she’d been given in Derranhall, the inn’s room was plain and even drab. It wasn’t quite as nice as her accommodations had been in Galier’s inn either.

It's still leaps and bounds better than you could’ve hoped for in Maerin. She reminded herself. Sometimes it snuck up on her just how much she’d already become accustomed to aristocratic finery, and it was a bitter thing. There had been a time when she could have slept on cobblestones through a rainstorm. Now she would struggle without a roof.

The room was furnished with what most guests would be expecting. A dresser and washstand integrated into one wide construction dominated one wall, and a bed the one across from it, to the left as they entered the room. Directly across from the door was a wide window, the shutters cracked to allow a small breeze in. There was no fireplace or anything else for warmth even though it was a chilly night, although a stone chimney did run through one of the walls from below. Perhaps it would radiate enough heat. She hoped so. The sole blanket looked thin.

Upon entering the room, Jormand shuffled over to the bed, covering a yawn with the back of one hand. Despite the noble attire and patches of blood on his coat, he looked like a boy tired from a long day. His wind-tousled hair floated in a crown of curls around his head, making him look a little ridiculous. Lana had to stifle a giggle at the sight.

Looking around the room, Lana didn’t see another bed, not even a pallet on the floor. The innkeeper must have thought they were a couple. For some reason that thought made her cheeks color. Mentally she berated herself for behaving like a fool, then set herself to the long task on unlacing her sandals. They really were needlessly complicated, these noble contraptions. Pretty perhaps, but more effort than they were worth.

Jormand was slowly peeling back his coat on the bed, wincing as he revealed the stained bandages beneath.. He’d cast his belt onto the floor, along with his hammer, his boots and footwraps, and his leather gloves. The only light came in from the window or under the door, but it was dim. Not enough light that she should be able to see him, yet his sweaty torso shimmered with an even dimmer light cast by a pendant that hung from a leather cord around his neck. Lana did not recognize it, she didn’t think she’d seen him wear it before, but the tiny bit of light it shed matched the glow from a ring he wore on his left hand.

Soulstones. Lana had heard of them before, an incredibly expensive and sought after commodity in Maerin. It was said they came from the north, but Lana did not know where. Just the two Jormand wore were worth a small fortune. Enough to set up someone like Lana for life, back in her days of thieving. Even with that life gone now, she felt a hunger rising within her. If she had even one…

Abruptly, she was snapped back to the moment. “Could you help me with these?” Jormand was asking. He’d begun to peel off the bandages to assess his injuries, wincing as each new wound was uncovered. Luckily they did not look too terrible, even if they pained him. They’d already begun to heal with remarkable speed and seemed to have stopped bleeding again already, none looked infected either.

Lana hurried over to the window and threw the shutters open the rest of the way, letting in a good deal more moonlight along with a cold wind. Clear and bright, it was more than enough to inspect Jormand by. To Lana’s shock, nearly every cut from the smallest scratch to the deepest sword wound had already scabbed over! It was those scabs sticking to the bandages that pained him.What she saw was impossible, but, as she wiped away the remaining blood, still wet even though the wounds were not, she could not deny what she could see with her own eyes. It was like he’d already had days to heal, rather than perhaps a half hour.

Jormand looked rather surprised himself, but he shrugged it off, thanked her for her help, and set to work pulling off his trousers. Lana went back to shutter the window again. The icy wind’s fingers prickled her skin and made her shiver. The shutters hardly even seemed to stop it, like it was trying to force its entirety through the tiny cracks.

Jormand had stripped down to his skin while Lana’s back was turned, and, to her embarrassment, she let out a small shriek and covered her eyes with a hand to hide his nakedness.

Over her own suddenly heavy breathing, she heard him mutter “Sorry” then some shuffling and when she uncovered her eyes, he’d covered up. Slightly. He had tied his coat around his waist so that it hung to his mid thigh. It was more than nothing, but not by much.

“No, no it’s alright,” Lana stammered, silently willing her heart to stop racing. But it would not comply as hard as she tried.

A thin column of light, let in through the gap between partially closed shutters, landed directly on Jormand, lighting his face and torso, but leaving his arms in shadow. In that cold light, his body was etched from pale marble, like one of those statues she’d seen and admired in Derranhall.

He bore the unmistakable scars of a life spent in combat. They were rough and ragged, some looked like they had torn through muscle and never quite healed, leaving troughs and divets that made Lana feel sick to her stomach.

Behind the old scars and new scabs, Jormand was built like a soldier. Lean and strong and built with a purpose. The display made her feel queasy. This was a machine made to kill, and she had seen it do just that. But… beyond that, well hidden and caged, she could see a shocking vulnerability. The way his shoulders hunched forward and the not so confident grin on his face, like he was ashamed of what he showed.

Jormand was not beautiful by any measure. He’d been cut from the stone with a messy hand and a dull chisel. His nose had been broken one too many times and he radiated danger like a hunting cat, but still Lana’s heart caught in her throat and she was suffused with a warmth that was unwelcome, even though it counteracted the wind’s chill a little.

“I… I can take the floor…” Jormand offered, looking at the bed with a critical eye. There definitely were not enough blankets for that, but she’d be more comfortable not sleeping next to that wouldn’t she?

“It will only get colder,” She was surprised to find herself saying, “Better for us both if we share, I think.”

He nodded and sat down heavily on the bed. As he moved, the awful marks he bore moved too, writhing like beasts of the darkness and catching the light in strange ways that flesh should not. Somehow, even among all the uneasiness Lana felt watching them, there were pangs of sympathy too. Here was a man mistreated by life, a thing she knew far too well. He covered it most of the time, the same as she did. He did such a good job that Lana had never really suspected, though she had seen this before. Disgust warred with empathy, but empathy won by a shred. He was not yet so twisted that she could not see something like herself within him.

She stood there awkwardly, looking down at him, for a moment, while he looked back up at her with fearful eyes. Did he fear what she would think of him? That she would judge him? She couldn’t imagine why. Despite the damage, he was powerful, and she was not. She was a twig compared to a gnarled oak.

“Would you um... mind looking away?” She asked, her cheeks coloring once again. Just because she’d seen all he had to offer did not mean he wanted him to see her.

“Oh, sorry.” He said, then turned to face the wall, tugging the blanket out from under him and tossing it to her.

It felt wrong, stepping out of her dress while he sat just a pace away. She had learned early on in her life to keep out of the sight of men. Women too, as a precaution. Eyes always wandered, and sometimes worse. Her knife kept most at bay, and she’d run from many more. She trusted Jormand, after a fashion, but she couldn’t overwrite so many years of instinct, not so quickly.

Her mind went back to the trip they’d spent in the hidden cubby of a caravan wagon together. She’d seen the same hidden part of him then too. He had been frightened and anxious, all the things she felt, but he’d needed her help then and she remembered the feeling of his hand in hers, holding on for all he was worth, but still somehow gentle, so unlike the beast her eyes showed to her.

Why was she thinking about that now?

The blanket was surprisingly warm; a little scratchy on her bare skin, but it covered her enough to quiet the intrusive instinct to run. She clambered onto the bed next to Jormand, taking a seat gingerly to keep her blanket from falling. Her bare shoulders were cold, but the rest of her was warm, warmed by a little fire kindled in her chest that kept her thumping heart alive.

“Thank you,” She said softly, meaning more than just the simple words.

Jormand just nodded silently, as he often did. No need to speak. He was a simple man, or so it appeared. Dedicated to his bloody craft and uninterested by anything else. But Lana thought she was beginning to crack that image and see the infinitely more complex one beneath.

He leaned over the bed to move his clothes into a pile, topped by his belt. His hammer he leaned against the foot of the bed, its head dully shining in the moonlight. Lana tried not to look at it. It matched him so well, an innocent tarnished beyond recognition by its master. She shivered and tore her eyes away.

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking to her, his voice all out of place tenderness.

“I-I’m just cold.” She mumbled. She did not want to admit how disgusted she was by that hammer. It had saved her life, that’s what it had done. But the brutality and carelessness with which it had…

Jormand wrapped an arm around her and held her close, his warmth seeping through the blanket. She wasn’t really cold, but it felt good. Those arms, so equipped to do violence. She had never thought they could be capable of being soft and welcoming. She burrowed into that tender embrace, clutching her blanket around her and turned her chin up to look into his eyes. Why could she see no hostility in them? Should he not be angry, after all that had happened? Why were they so enticing. She did not want to look away, but eventually, tired eyes and days of fatigue won.