Chapter 26 Greta
Greta
Greta was outside in the arena, working the ice bears in their newly fitted battle armour when Aren arrived, carrying two mugs of fragrant hot chocolate. The falconer was wearing a woolly hat and scarf over his uniform, and his nose was nipped pink.
‘Pardon the interruption,’ he called, in his usual chirpy voice. ‘It’s freezing out this morning. I figured you might need something to warm you up.’
Greta almost sagged with relief. ‘You read my mind.’ Despite her fur-lined leather gloves and warm frock coat, she was beginning to lose feeling in her fingers, and it had been some time since she had felt her toes at all. ‘I swear winters on Carrig are never as bad as this.’
After issuing a quick command to the bears to relax their defensive postures, she skipped over to Aren, gratefully taking one of the mugs.
She cupped her hands around it, sighing as the steam warmed her nose.
The chocolate was thick and fragrant, and heaped with so many melting marshmallows, it was streaked with white.
‘I swear you’ve given me three times more marshmallows today,’ she said, comparing their mugs.
‘Figured you could use the extra sugar,’ he said, with a wink. ‘It’s armour day after all. I know how difficult the fittings can make the beasts.’
Difficult was an understatement. When the armourers arrived at sunrise, the beasts were already pacing, like they sensed something was afoot. Despite the sleek design and relative lightness of the plated armour, no wild thing liked being dressed in anything, even if it was for their own good.
‘You’re lucky the birds fly free,’ said Greta. ‘We just about got through the wolves. I swear Tollo tried to take the armourer’s hand off.’
‘And the snow leopards?’ said Aren, stifling a chuckle.
‘Remarkably well-behaved, in comparison. But we’ve only fitted half of them. And I haven’t done their drills yet. It’s going to be a long day.’
An hour before noon and it was already a long day.
‘Then I’ll bring you as many of these as you need,’ he said, gently clinking his mug against hers.
Greta took her first languid sip. He did the same. His eyes were bright and burnished, drinking her in over the rim of his mug. She felt a curious heat gather in her cheeks, a sense that this moment might mean more to him than it did to her.
A stray black curl peeked out from under his hat.
A part of her wanted to reach out and tuck it away.
The part that said Aren could be good for her.
The part that told her she should forget about the king and the traitorous flicker that ignited in her chest whenever he was near.
And yet, despite the fact that Aren was handsome and thoughtful and good company, her heartbeat remained steady in her chest.
He laughed at her as she lowered her mug.
‘What?’ she said, feeling a flurry of self-consciousness.
‘You’ve got a marshmallow moustache.’ Before she could scrub the offending moustache off her face, he reached out, lightly smudging it away with his thumb. ‘There,’ he said, his eyes softening. ‘Better.’
Greta blushed, taking a small step backwards. He dropped his hand. ‘Thanks,’ she said, with an awkward huff. ‘The bears would never take me seriously again.’
‘I think they’re far more distracted by those terrifying-looking spiked helmets they’re wearing,’ he said, gesturing past her. ‘Why do you suppose the king insists on them?’
‘Because the king can do whatever he likes,’ said an all-too familiar voice.
Greta spun around, nearly spilling hot chocolate all over herself.
Alarik was standing a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest. His bright eyes narrowed as he looked between them, and by the diamond hardness of his gaze, Greta got the impression that he had just witnessed her embarrassing moustache incident.
And he was not happy about it.
‘Unlike the king’s falconer, who should be working right now,’ he added, pointedly.
Aren paled. ‘I was just taking a break.’
‘And now it’s over,’ said Alarik. ‘If you’re done pawing at my wrangler, she has work to do, too. Work that does not involve you.’
Greta winced. The king truly was in a foul mood today.
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Of course. I’ll just … I’ll go now.’ Dipping his chin, Aren threw an apologetic glance at Greta before absconding from the arena with the swiftness of a hawk.
Greta sipped her drink as she watched him go. ‘Was that really necessary?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s terrified of you.’
‘Good.’ Alarik stuck his hand out expectantly. ‘Let me have a taste of that.’
She handed him her mug, surprised as he took a sip of his own. Grimacing, he handed it back to her. ‘Ugh. Way too sweet.’
‘All the more for me,’ she said, clutching it to her chest.
He frowned at the mug like it had personally offended him.
Greta made a point of taking another languid sip. He watched her, his throat working as he swallowed.
This time, she made sure to wipe her mouth. His eyes lowered, watching that, too.
‘I suppose you’ve come to check on the beasts,’ she said, feeling the sudden urge to look away from him.
To give herself a moment to breathe. ‘The armour is well-fitted, as you can see. Minimal restrictions in movement. I was just about to run through some attack manouevres if you’d like to join me. ’
‘With pleasure,’ he said, mood brightening.
Greta sipped her drink to hide her smile. She was well aware that the other soldiers found the king’s presence at their training sessions unnerving, but the truth was she liked Alarik’s company in the arena. And outside of it. She was glad of it now, even if he had chased poor Aren away.
They wandered over to where the ice bears were assembled, looking all the more fearsome in their plated armour and spiked silver helmets.
Alarik wandered up to Baldur and Nel to inspect the fit. ‘Impressive work,’ he remarked, as he circled them. ‘I’ll send Borvil down later after his nap. See that the armourers take special care with him.’
Greta laughed before she could help it.
He crooked a brow at her over his shoulder. ‘Do I amuse you, Iversen?’
More often than he probably meant to.
‘That bear is spoilt rotten. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re a soft touch.’
He offered a fleeting smile. ‘Depends on the creature.’
‘And what about people?’ she said, before she could help it.
He paused, canting his head. The silence swelled. She gulped her hot chocolate, desperately thinking of something else to say.
‘Only on rare occasions,’ he said, still looking at her.
Feeling flustered, Greta went to place her empty mug on a nearby wall. When she returned to the bears, she launched straight into their drills, ensuring they could still stretch and lunge with ease.
Alarik remained at her side throughout, offering his own commands. The ones they had been practising for weeks now. Greta was pleased to see the ice bears responding efficiently, easily submitting to the will of their true master.
‘They’ll make a fine regiment,’ Alarik remarked, once the bears had been thoroughly put through their paces. ‘Good job, Iversen.’
Greta summoned a smile, even as her stomach twisted. Sometimes, she could forget in the thrill of wrangling that the end goal was war.
It would always be war.
‘What is that?’ said Alarik, watching her more closely than she’d realized. ‘The shadow that’s just come over your face? Should I be more effusive with my praise? I admit compliments are not my strong suit.’
She shook her head, embarrassed at her own reaction. What kind of Gevran feared the drums of war? ‘I was just thinking about all that’s yet to come.’ She looked back at the ice bears. Those beautiful, majestic beasts all poised and ready to fight upon her command. Ready to die.
Voice quietening, Greta asked, ‘Will it be soon?’
He turned back to her. ‘You needn’t worry about the war, Iversen. When the time comes, we will ride into battle together.’ His voice took on a new intensity, his eyes blazing with the promise of victory. ‘You will not have to face the steel blades of Vask alone.’
Greta quailed. How could she tell him it was not herself she feared for, but his beasts? These soft-hearted creatures who had filled her heart with such gladness these past months, these animals she had grown to love as dearly as her own beloved Lupo back on Carrig.
These creatures who were the king’s own weapons.
Made to maim and kill.
Expected to die.
‘Iversen.’ His fingers on her wrist jolted her back to him. He looked uncomfortable now, his voice taking on an edge of concern. ‘Your eyes are turning blue.’
She blinked back her tears. ‘Sorry.’
‘I won’t let anything happen to you on the battlefield,’ he repeated. ‘And don’t forget, you are Tor’s sister. You’ve been training your entire life.’ At her quizzical look, he added, ‘You can fight, can’t you? You have been trained?’
‘Uh.’ She stalled, wondering how best to proceed with this next unsettling truth.
His eyes darkened. ‘Iversen. Don’t lie to your king.’
She blew out a breath. ‘I’m afraid things in that department are a little … dire.’
‘What do you mean?’ he said, aghast. ‘You own a sword, don’t you?’
She shook her head. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know how to hold a sword properly. I never really had a taste for it.’ She rolled her hand. ‘Fighting and bloodshed … and all that stuff.’
His jaw slackened. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’m as serious as Borvil’s bad breath,’ she said, solemnly.
He bit off a curse, dragging his hands along his face. ‘We’re going to have to change that,’ he muttered, more to himself than to her. ‘Fast.’