Lyssia kept a tight hold on her surprise as her attention returned to Magnor. There was something about her father's tone, equal parts cautious and cautioning, that quickened her need to seek out the answers to her questions herself.

Her eyes had not stayed further than his shoulders since first encountering him. She felt silly now, sending her eyes on a goose chase to find a clue as to her father's odd statement. But she had to look no further than his belt.

Peeking out from beneath the fingers of Magnor’s right hand was the round dulled edge and piked top of his father’s poleaxe. The one with the dust devil etched into the side with a gold-tipped chisel.

"It is clear to me that the Kongr of Dunival now stands before us.”

Magnor’s whole demeanor changed. He pulled together whatever melancholic strength he had left and drew himself up straight and tall, lifting his chin proudly. “You are.”

“You are newly gilded by this title. Tell me quickly how it came to pass to you and whether you intend to sign the peace treaty that your father had a hand in crafting. And do not lie to me, boy."

“A week has gone by since my father’s body was cast to sea. It was a hunting accident. A stray spear that was not meant for him, or so I was told. I was not present when he fell...” Magnor cast his glance out the window, leaving the crowd of listeners to ponder the edge of new anger in his voice.

Lyssia’s father fell back into his seat. His hand reached out to grasp the arm of Lyssia’s seat. “I am sorry to hear of this tragedy. Your mother - how does she bear this loss?”

“My mother...you do not know? My father never wrote to you?”

A cold dart of pain pierced Lyssia’s heart.

“She was taken from us by lung fever last winter. The pain of it...my father...please forgive his lapse in judgement in not confiding in you with his grief. You would have understood what he faced better than I.”

“Oh...oh no…” Lyssia sighed. The change she had noticed in his demeanor during their ride, his sullen silence and nervousness made sense now. How could she not have seen that something was very, very wrong.

The Kongr’s fingers bumped against Lyssia’s as he clenched the wooden chair arm tighter. She dug her nails into the wood beside his, refusing to give ground. Her other hand jumped to her heart.

“Your own pain must be immense, and you must bear it on your own.”

“My brother has been a great comfort to me. Together we realized that what Dunival needs most in its time of mourning is friendship.”

Lyssia’s father leaned forward once more as Magnor’s voice took on a more measured tone.

“Tirne set course the same day I did. He is bound for Listoria in hopes that their stubborn Kongr might finally grant him an audience. And I have left my people to come to you, Dizean. To tell you of our loss and of my intention to continue the legacy of peace my father set before me. To strengthen it, better it, if I am able.”

“But why show up now?" Lyssia's father asked. "Aon-Yute is the time of treaties. In but one month’s time, we will come together to remember the treaty day---”

“I have never understood my father’s need to celebrate the Drakun’s treaty day when there are no Drakun Kongren present. Why not honor our own treaty day? Why not---my apologies, Kongr Dizean.”

Magnor bowed his head, fighting to regain even breathe.

“Dunival is in a precarious position at present. I feared we could not wait to solidify our friendship with our only ally, but my new duties will not allow me to dally through the Yute season. I must have peace with you now, for my people’s safety, and for mine.”

Lyssia’s father stepped down from his seat. He stood almost toe to toe with Magnor, his arms by his sides, mirroring Magnor’s open posture. Lyssia had only a moment to feel envious of Magnor’s unflinching stance.

“I wish to honor the peace I enjoyed with Dunival under your father’s rule.” Dizean reached across to clasp Magnor’s shoulder, and after only a moment’s pause, Magnor returned the gesture. “Kongr Magnor…”

Lyssia’s father swung Magnor around to stand beside him and raised his voice. “If it is agreeable to you, I will declare one more night of Urd-Yute. We will honor my friend, Rijek, tonight, and his Drottingr. Tomorrow I will send for my Jarls to witness your name added to the treaty papers. But for tonight, let us remember one who devoted his life to peace.”

“Only if the Drottine would bless such a celebration with her melodious voice.”

“So it shall be.”

Lyssia’s father flicked his fingers toward Carryn. She gritted her teeth as she stepped forward but offered no comment beyond a curtsy and a demurely murmured, "My Kongr.”

“Carryn, I need you to take charge of our guests’ arrangements. Eindre has told me that Nimeah has taken to bed with dizziness and fatigue. He does not want her to exert herself in such a condition, and I agree. You have the keys. It is time for you to step up and take charge of the steads’ running during our guests’ visit.”

“Eindre has told you this?” Seaka had followed Carryn, and upon hearing this news, she dissolved into angry muttering. “Bed rest...Nimeah...not likely...I think…”

“Seaka.” Lyssia hurriedly stood and took her arm. She directed Seaka to give courtesy to her father and then hauled her back to where she had left the boys. “Roakev is going to visit my aunt. Perhaps you should go with him to check on her. And then afterward, he might find someone to assist you in carrying the supplies we gathered at the Mart to the village. ”

“It would be my honor to be your escort, Mistress Lach.”

Roakev grabbed Seaka’s arm and, directing a bow toward his father who stood on the other side of the room, oblivious to his son’s presence, he guided her toward the door that stood propped open at the back of the hall. Lyssia watched them go with a relieved sigh.

Roakev would care for the disgruntled Lach with patience. He had almost as much experience dealing with Seaka as she did.Seaka had been a determined nurse through every one of his mother’s eight pregnancies and miscarriages. Surely she wasn’t with child again. It must be something else that affected her now. Though it wasn’t Lyssia's place to comment on such things.

Lyssia was not close to Roakev’s mother by any means. She did not seem a very pleasant woman to be around. The woman was always complaining of fatigue or headaches. Always frowning and sighing. Still, Lyssia did not like to think of her suffering. She whispered a hopeful blessing for health at Roakev’s retreating back.

She returned her attention to the room, her eyes seeking out the newly christened Dunival Kongr. She wished to offer him private words of condolence for his loss.

And an apology, she thought. I must apologize for the way I acted toward him on the road. I must have seemed so cold. I made things worse, and it is my job to make amends.

The Kongr’s audience had dispersed into groups all intent on their own conversations, and Magnor had disappeared into a sea of travel-stained cloaks. Her chance to speak with him was gone, but the way had been made clear for her to gather her skirts in hand and rush to Carryn’s side.

There was much to be done before the supper hour. The Dunival guests would all need clean sleeping quarters. There would be plenty of room for them and the soon-to-be arriving Jarls in the second lodging facility and ample space for their animals to be quartered in the stables, but Carryn would have to move swiftly to have the rooms ready in time to give their guests a chance to rest and bathe. Supper plans would have to be made for tonight - a grand feast fit for a Kongr and Drottingr’s remembrance celebration - and for the rest of their stay as well.

Not to mention that arrangements that had been made for Eda-Yute would have to be altered or canceled to make way for this change in the treaty schedule. They had not been expecting a party from Dunival for another fortnight at least. Carryn would likely not have a moment to spare until Magnor’s boat left port again with the Dunival men in tow.

“Aunt! Tell me how I may assist you. I wish to be of use.”

“No, Lyssia.” Her father beckoned her to return to his side. She glanced back over her shoulder to see Azerian take her place. Let others say what they would of her outspoken cousin. He was a dutiful son and a stalwart friend.

“Lyssia, leave Carryn to her work. You must work on making yourself presentable for your performance. You will need Bjark’s help to choose a song, of course, but first, you need to take care to wash away the dirt from the road and find something respectable to wear.”

“Yes, father.” Lyssia clenched her hands in her skirts. He spoke to her as if she was a child, but she recognized his next words as a peace offering.

“I asked that the fires in the bathhouse be stocked for use today, but no one else should have need of it while they are busy with preparations for tonight. I will instruct Carryn to have water sent to our visitors’ rooms so they will not accidentally disturb you. You may take the key to the bathhouse and enjoy the steaming pool if you like. It would surely be relaxing after your long day. So long as you are alone…”

Lyssia glanced up with a small smile before lowering herself into a curtsy. “That would be pleasing, father. Thank you.”

He nodded to her in dismissal and turned to motion Eindre forward. Bjarke materialized out of the crowd behind her uncle, and the look he gave Lyssia sent her tripping on her heels in the opposite direction. She left before she would be pulled into conversation with the Skald and, key in hand, retreated for the solace of the bathhouse and its scalding hot water.

**********

“Twelve.”

Lyssia added the last hot stone to the bathing pool, dropping it carefully into place along the line marked around the pool’s outer edge. She spared only a moment’s regret for using all of the stones that had been left to heat over the fire’s warming shelf. The steam rising from the pool combined with the pleasant hiss and crackle of the fire and the gentle light that filtered through the hatch in the roof that she had left partially cracked were already working together to put her at ease and made it difficult to care about such things.

“I’ll put them back in the fire,” she promised herself, throwing the gloves she’d used to handle the hot stone beside the pile of clothes she’d already discarded. They knocked against the key she had borrowed from Carryn and sent it skittering a few inches across the ground. She kicked it idly back toward her boots, shimmied out of her shift, and slid into the shallow end of the pool.

A long sigh escaped her as the warmth worked its way past her sore muscles and into her bones. Lyssia had brought along a comb to use on her hair once it was free of its confines. She dunked her head beneath the surface of the pool twice, shaking her braid out, and then lifting up on her toes, she stretched out her arms and kicked up. Suddenly, she was weightless, and her worries drifted to the bottom of the pool alongside the warming stones.

She closed her eyes only for a moment.But that moment stretched and settled heavy upon her brow, and before she knew it, she was walking the maze of her dreams again. Dreams of a young Dunival Kongre who offered her a necklace and a troublesome Ilvanian boy who offered her everything.