There was no jostling to help her down from her horse or rush to open the door for her. No one jumped ahead and insisted on calling upon the Lach themselves.

“Please wait here,” Lyssia said after pulling up beside the fence surrounding the hut and using the wooden planks to step down. “I shall be but a moment.”

A chorus of quiet agreement met her words.

She did not know what made her look back as she stepped up onto the raised porch that ringed Seaka’s hut. It put her more at ease to feel the rushes tickling the top of her head than it did to see the seven riders waiting for her. She felt again that she was stepping into a day from her childhood.

A day stolen away from the stead before her studies took over her days and it had been Seaka’s job to watch her. If she blinked, she imagined the Jarlsons would disappear, and she would catch sight of herself at seven running around the back of the porch to deposit another wrapped bundle of rushes in the pile to be hung, dried, and woven into mats.

Goosebumps trailed up her arms as she laid a hand against the thin wooden door that was too small for its opening. The cracks at the top and bottom kept neither wind nor sound out. If Seaka was going to answer the door, she would have already.

Lyssia knocked twice, paused, then knocked again.

“Mistress Lach!” she called, counting to ten before testing the door. She knew it would be unbarred. There was nothing worth stealing in the Lach’s hut.

The house contained only three rooms. The front door led directly into the largest room, which was about the size of Lyssia's bed chamber. This was where Seaka prepared her ingredients for her famed salves and teas, her poultices and tinctures. It was also where she ate her meals, as evidenced by the single bowl and plate set out on the table between piles of dried flowers. Two bubbling cookpots sat on hooks over the fire.

A single door set near the fireplace led to Seaka’s bed chamber and a tiny closet just big enough to have housed Lyssia’s wardrobe. She had peeked inside it during one of her first visits, but Seaka had been so upset when she found the closet door opened that Lyssia had vowed never to go near it again.

"Memories." That was the Lach’s answer when Lyssia gathered the nerve to ask her about the wooden box that sat in the bottom of the closet. "I cannot let them go, but I cannot leave them sitting out in the open."

Lyssia had never forgotten those words. She looked now toward the direction of the Lach’s bed and the closet of memories. Seaka wasn't present in the main room, but Lyssia should be able to see her through the open door if she was resting.

Quieter now, Lyssia called out, “Mistress Lach?”

“Yes. I’m coming. What is it?” Seaka grumbled, popping up from behind a cabinet with a basket in hand. “Oh, Drottine. What a lovely surprise.”

“Not...not quite.” Lyssia stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Fine. And you?”

“What?”

Lyssia’s eyes tracked Seaka as she deposited the basket atop a listing pile of empty containers and crossed to the fire. She took a soup ladle hanging by a peg behind the first pot and dipped it into the liquid, but paused with the ladle halfway to her nose.

“Did you not ask how I was? My mistake…” Seaka brought the ladle to her nose and took a deep whiff. “Tonic needs more time. This, however…” She replaced the ladle and took down another one that looked suspiciously identical. Dunking it into the second pot, she gave the it’s contents a stir and carefully took a sample of the steaming liquid. “...is done. Rabbit stew. You’re welcome to a bowl.”

“I’m afraid there isn’t time to eat a meal, Seaka. We need to---”

“Did you mean to ask me?”

“I’m sorry...what?”

Lyssia was beginning to get worried. Seaka seemed more scatterbrained than normal. Perhaps she had spent too long cooped up with whatever was boiling in the first pot. The stench was already beginning to make Lyssia feel dizzy. She reached out and grasped the edge of the table, sinking onto the worn bench.

“How I am. Did you mean to ask me? I thought I’d taught you better manners than that. It’s a simple question. Even I can remember to ask---”

“My apologies, Seaka. How are you?”

“Hmmm, oh yes. Fine. Thank you for asking. Hungry. Will you be wanting some stew?”

“No. I have been sent on an urgent errand to deliver you to the stead.”

“Oh, aye, and what urgent business has Dizean sent his daughter on this time? If it’s a cough, I have a tonic ready...almost. I’ve heard a lot of complaints about coughing fits in the village this week. Thought I ought to be prepared.”

“We are housing guests from Dunival.”

“Dunival? How unusual.”

“They arrived early for the peacemeet. One of them fell down screaming at the negotiations table. Kongr Magnor says it’s travel exhaustion, but I’ve never---”

“Kongr Magnor?”

“Rijek is dead. Kongr Magnor has refused to sign the peace treaty until we agree to promise aid in the event of a potentially imminent attack on Dunival. So, as you can imagine, things were going about as well as a bear trying to play the flute!”

“Ha!”

“Just horrible! And then one of his men passed out, and then he woke up and he just...just started screaming and…”

It all came rushing back to Lyssia. The screaming. The fear. The urgency she had felt when setting out. Lyssia jumped up from the bench. When had she sat down? She felt more comfortable in this ramshackle little hut than she did anywhere on her father’s land. She longed to slide closer to Seaka, share her lunch and work, and beg for a walk in the woods once the work was done.

But no. She had left a man screaming in pain back at the stead. She had promised to ride like the wind, and here she was sitting like a log.

“I shouldn’t have told you everything I just did, but that is the situation as it stands. We have to go. Now! Our escort is waiting outside!”

“Calm yourself, Drottine. You’re no good to anyone if you have a panic fit. Here, have a bowl of stew. It’s good for the nerves. And while we eat, you can tell me everything.”

Seaka slid her bowl of stew over toward her and reached across the table to grab another one. She dumped the contents unceremoniously on the table surface and turned to ladle stew into it.

“I’ve told you everything I know. We don’t have time for this!”

“Road exhaustion, your guest said. If that’s true, the situation isn’t all that dire. You lot always come knocking as soon as I’m about to sit down for a meal.”

“You are always welcome at my father’s table. You will be chiefly compensated for your lost bowl of rabbit stew. There is a man in pain, Seaka. Does it matter why?”

“No. No, it doesn’t. But that’s no reason to get snippy with me. Hand me that, would you?”

She pointed to a flask that sat half-hidden under the pile of tiny green and white petals she’d emptied from the bowl in her hand. She tossed the bowl over her shoulder and took the flask, sniffing its opening suspiciously. Satisfied that the flask was not contaminated, she held it over the pot and attempted to ladle stew into it.

This flask went into a long bag held upright by a hard frame along with a collection of other odd implements as Seaka began to pack up. “At least it will do someone some good. It’s my own fault. I should bar that door. She can’t even tell me his symptoms. Passing out and screaming...could be anything.”

“Do you think it could be exhaustion? Some form of travel sickness? Or...”

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Nothing. Can I help with anything?”

“Bank the fire. Shutter the windows. Grab that stack of cloths.”

Lyssia hurried to do as she was told. It was a relief when Seaka declared herself ready and she was able to lead the Lach outside. Roakev offered to ride with the Lach, but he required assistance in getting her into the saddle.

A Jarlson stepped forward to take her bag and was rewarded with a scowl from the Lach. Roakev had to coax her into releasing it. “It will slow us down, Mistress Lach, and we can’t afford that. Your tools will be in good hands.”

Sorev met them as they were approaching the fields they would have to ride through again. Lyssia spurred Arvid into a gallop before he could speak. She surged ahead of the group and down a wide middle path, the others following as close as they dared, and Sorev was forced to take up the rear position.

Lyssia led them straight to the stable yard and jumped at the fence, hurrying to help the Lach dismount.

“I’ll show you where the Dunival guests are quartered. Could someone bring her things please?”

“Yes, Drottine.”

“Over here!” Azerian came running around the back of the kennels that sat catty-corner to the stables.

“Azerian! I’m taking her to the lodging house. You should run ahead and tell them we’re here.”

“No need. Our sick friend has been sequestered in the kennels.”

“The...kennels?” Lyssia tightened her hold on Seaka’s arm. “Why?”

“It was Magnor’s idea. Just until we know what’s wrong with him.”

“Alright then. To the kennels.”

“No, I’m…” Azerian licked his lips, nervously glancing over at Roakev. “I’m supposed to tell you to stay away. Your father doesn’t want to risk your health.”

“He’s right,” Roakev said, stepping forward to join Azerian in blocking her path. “I’ll take the Lach.”

“You’re expected to report to the Kongr and your father. Just you.”

“Right then. I better not keep them waiting. Drottine.” Roakev nodded to her and turned on his heel, marching off in the direction of the receiving hall. She watched his bunched shoulders rise quickly, once, twice, before finally releasing in a long sigh.

“Roakev! Wait! Uh...Seaka?”

“I can take myself to the kennels. You, boy, bring my bags.”

Azerian stepped forward to take them from the Jarlson who had them in hand and hurried to guide Seaka toward the door at the back of the long shed.

“Well, I…I see they don’t need me. My aunts are probably busy in the kitchens. I wouldn’t want to get underfoot there.”

She felt odd speaking her thoughts out loud, but she didn’t know what to do with the remaining Jarlsons standing silently before her. A quick look revealed they were just three in number. Sorev had slunk off right away, leaving his horse to be tended to by someone else.

One other Jarlson - the only fair-haired rider among them - had disappeared while her back was turned. She couldn’t guess his reasons, but Sorev had assuredly left to report to his father all he had seen and heard. Halvor would find some use for the information. Sorev was going to make her come to him for the lambing number, and oh, what a joy that meeting would be.

“But that’s alright. I prefer tending to my own horse. I think he deserves a nice rub down after that run.”

Lyssia held a hand against Arvid’s neck, and he turned to sniff along her sleeve. “And a snack, of course, you silly creature. Come along.”

Roakev’s horse had circled the group and was making its way after Roakev. Lyssia hurried to take hold of its lead. “Easy, Sikurd. Easy. Why don’t you come with us?”

Arvid, used to Sikurd’s presence, did not protest as Lyssia pushed them together and herded them back to their places in the stables. She waved aside the worker who came forward, and he left without protest. She was used to her caring for Arvid. The three Jarlsons followed her inside with the rest of the horses in tow.

The silence didn’t last long. She knew it wouldn’t, but she found herself immediately questioning her decision to dismiss the only other person at work in the stables when one of the Jarlsons turned aside from his horse to lean into Arvid’s stall.

“Drottine, you seat your horse very well.”

“Thank you,” Lyssia murmured and turned to busy herself with collecting the tools she needed - brush, comb, oilcloth - and laying them out on the hip-high wall that separated Arvid and Sikurd. She was having too many unscripted interactions lately for her own comfort level. It made her feel petty to admit it, but she was not made to endure small talk.

The Jarlson - nameless, faceless, and yet somehow giving off the air of a charmer - was not deterred by her turned back.

“He is a Dubkir horse, is he not?”

“Yes.”

“And his name?”

“Arvid.”

“Arvid? Hmmm. Why does that name sound familiar?”

“Because Arvid was her great grandfather. Am I correct?”

Lyssia glanced up at the tallest Jarlson, who smiled at her over the questioner’s head. The shorter boy scowled and pushed him away, but he just took a step back and nodded to her. “My grandfather saw him crowned. He was a great man.”

“Yes...thank you…” Lyssia picked up the comb and began to work it through Arvid’s tangled main while he snuffled at the hay he’d left behind in his stall, searching for his promised treat.

The third Jarlson, who as far as she knew was busy with making his horse comfortable in the stall on the opposite side of Sikurd, surprised her by popping up behind her. “Are you interested in horses, Drottine?”

Lyssia jumped. She couldn’t help it. She was alone in Arvid’s stall, but she hadn’t realized how thoroughly surrounded she was. She covered her reaction by reaching for the cloth and bending to rub the sweat from Arvid’s legs. “I suppose. I mean...yes. I am.”

“My house is the keeper of the Dubkir herd. My father’s father, father, and I - we raise them. They’re half-wild, even after learning to take a saddle, and beautiful every one.”

Now that had Lyssia's attention. Dubkir horses were treasures. She had known that the Jarl currently in possession of the herd and their grazing grounds would be in attendance, but she didn’t know he had a son. Lyssia gave Arvid’s side a pat, trailing her hand along his back as she moved on to his back hooves. “The winter was kind to the herd?”

“Very. We had two winter foals born on the first day of frost. Tiny little things. I spent much of the winter cooped up with them in the barn. It was the most peaceful month I’ve spent in a long time.”

“I admit that does sound...nice. Tell me, what does carrying for two foals over the winter entail?”

Lyssia glanced sidelong at the Jarlson. Her eyes flew to the clasp of his cloak. A shield painted with stripes of yellow and green. She noted the triumphant smile he threw toward the other two Jarlsons. He wandered back to his horse’s stall as he answered her question, taking up his own oilcloth and brush. The others retreated to care for their horses as well.

The stalls were positioned in groups of threes with higher walls between the groups. The Jarlson with knowledge of the Dubkir was lucky enough to be so close, and he used his advantage to keep control of the conversation. But the distance between stalls did not stop the other two from offering their thoughts on horses and horse care.

Lyssia took care of Arvid, even sneaking to the other side of the stable while the Jarlsons bickered blindly amongst themselves about the best way to patch a damaged saddle to collect fresh oats and water for him, before moving on to Sikurd’s stall. He had waited patiently, and she tried to handle him with as gentle and thorough a hand as she had shown Arvid.

She had vowed to take her time, both for the horse’s sake and for her own. She had to have something to report back to her father after spending a whole afternoon in the company of the Jarlsons. She was learning a lot about them in their speech and their silences. They didn’t seem in a hurry to leave the stables either, and she had to wonder if they had been ordered to get to know her as she had been ordered to learn more about them.

Lyssia was slightly amazed by the unflagging energy that the Dubkir boy showed when speaking about horses. Would he be as outspoken given a change in topic?

The older Jarlson enjoyed interrupting to make jokes, but he was just as helpful in providing snippets of history. She would ever have known looking at him that he had a scholarly mind.

And his short friend who took it as his job to make sure that Lyssia did not go too long between adding to the conversation? It was obvious from their playful needling that they had grown up with each other. If his friend could be counted on as an ally, could he?

Though she knew time was passing, Lyssia didn’t register the lateness of the hour until Roakev flung open the doors at the end of the aisle and came stalking into the stables.

“There you are, Lyssia. I have a message from the Kongr. A message for all of you.”“How is the Dunival man?” Lyssia rushed to ask.

“I’m told he’s doing okay, but Seaka has advised that he stay where he is until she can be sure why he keeps passing out.”

“What does the Kongr say?” the Dubkir Jarlson asked. They had all left off their work with their horses and converged near Sikurd’s stall.

“He says that too much stress is not good for anymore, least of all for a group of men who hold the fate of a treaty in their hands. My uncle proposed that the Eda-Jute hunt for tomorrow continue on schedule, and the Kongr...agreed.”

Lyssia held her response in check and glanced around the circle. There was no reaction to Roakev’s words except for a tightening of shoulders and tense nods.

“Well…” Lyssia said when Roakev turned to her.

It seemed odd timing for a hunt, but was she really going to complain about a chance to leave the stead when she had been moping about her captivity this morning?

“...it’s a good thing I took some time to pamper Arvid and Sikurd. They’re getting their fair share of exercise this week.”

“Thank you for your help, but I can see to my horse now. You should rest before the hunt. The Kongr has requested that you join us.” Roakev opened the door to the stall and stepped back, palm held out to help her step over the threshold.

For a brief moment, Lyssia considered refusing to leave. It felt too much like Roakev was ordering her to go to her room. But she was tired. She stepped around Sikurd slowly, reaching out to trail a hand along his neck as she passed, and placed the brush in Roakev’s outstretched hand.

“I wouldn’t miss a hunt. You’re thoughtful to think of me, Ro. I will go rest. Gentleman...” She passed through their midst, sweeping into a low curtsy to acknowledge their bent heads. “Thank you for providing me company this afternoon. You may tell your fathers that you have succeeded in your aim to gain my attention, and I shall tell my father that you are excellent conversationalists. Until tomorrow.”

She was halfway across the grounds heading toward her bed when she thought to turn around and retrieve her saddle and pads. They could use a cleaning before tomorrow’s hunt as well, and she could take care of them in her room.

How best to announce her presence before disrupting whatever conversation was being had without her?

She shook off her unease. Who cares what the boys were talking about. She wouldn’t let them stop her from doing what needed to be done. A little voice in her mind warned her to approach the doors slowly and not go barging in, and she was thankful that she listened to it when she heard her name spoken by a voice she did not know well.

A prickling feeling at the base of her neck warned her to approach the doors slowly and not go barging in. Lyssia was thankful that she listened to it when she heard her name spoken by a voice she didn’t know well.

“Not at all what I thought she would be like.”

Lyssia shook her head in disbelief. The Dubkir boy was still talking. She thought it was the shortest Jarlson who answered him.

“I know. I always thought her a bit standoffish. I thought, ‘Maybe she’s shy’, or, ‘Maybe she’s simple’. But she’s definitely not that.”

“It’s pride. That’s what it is. She has her father’s weakness for pride.”

“No! What do you mean?” Finally, the older Jarlson entered the conversation.

“Did you see the way she looked down at those poor people? And the way she handled Sorev? I’m warning you. She has a temper. Am I right, Roakev?”

“You are entitled to your opinion of my uncle---"

"Dizean the mournful."

"Dizean the proud."

"Dizean the coward…my father's name for him."

"You may think what you want, but I wouldn’t go shouting your opinions of him in public. As for Lyssia, I’m afraid you’ll have to find out for yourself...if you dare...”

Lyssia leaned toward Roakev's familiar voice. She didn’t like what he was saying about her, but like everyone else, he would have his reasons in order if asked. And at least she trusted his voice. She had spent an entire afternoon listening to these voices. Why couldn’t she be sure which voice belonged to which boy?

Listen to me. I do have a weakness for pride. What’s his name is right. I really have to find out their names...

“I don’t know about her father, but I do know you’ve pegged Lyssia wrong.”

“Oh, all of this from a couple of hours spent with her, Caldin?”

Caldin. That’s the older one...she thought.

“Haven’t you ever thought it a burden what she’s forced to carry every day?”

“I don’t know that I’ve thought much about it, to be honest. I suppose - so long that I could stand the face underneath - that it wouldn’t matter.”

“Hush now, you lot! Hold your tongue! So it’s true then? Your fathers…” Roakev’s voice trailed into a whisper.

If Lyssia leaned any closer to the opening, she might very well fall through the door. All this time, she knew that people talked about her. It was a simple truth and not a matter of pride to admit it. But she had never hidden behind a door to hear what was being said about her.

If she turned back around and left now, it wouldn’t be like she was running away. She had no reason to run from those gossipers, those magpiers, those...those...boys.

But she wouldn’t run. And she wouldn’t stomp her feet and yell and make a scene. She was smarter than that. But she wouldn’t pretend that their words didn’t sting.

There was nothing for it but to take a deep breath and walk forward.

“Oh, hello again,” she chirped, cheerful as could be. “I forgot my saddle. Would you mind handing it to me, Ro? And the pads too. Thank you. Good day.”

Someone might have tried to speak to her. She didn’t know. All she knew was that the guilty look in Roakev’s eyes was one she was unaccustomed to. She looked away. Now she could turn around and head for her room.

But she wasn’t running. No, she would never run from him.

**********

It was too much to ask for a good night's sleep, even after such an eventful day.....