Chapter Four
Baldr has been shirtless for six minutes, and I know this because I’ve counted every one of them instead of watching the arrows.
This is unfair to the arrows.
One sails past the straw target, strikes the dirt, and skips another three feet toward the wall where I’m sitting.
I duck. And I squeak. An actual squeak, out loud, in a yard full of soldiers, at an arrow that already stopped moving.
The arrow stops far enough away that I’d need to lie down and stretch both arms to touch it.
Nobody comments. Eleven recruits in this yard and not one of them turns around. Eleven people deciding at the same second to pretend that didn’t happen.
I love them. Every one of them.
Baldr walks to the arrow and pulls it from the dirt. Sweat runs between his shoulders. His dark shirt is folded beside me on the wall, where he put it after the second drill.
He looked straight at me while he took it off.
Then he asked me to keep it clean.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
“Again.” He carries the arrow back to the smallest girl in the line.
She takes it and frowns toward the target. “I missed.”
“You did.”
Her frown deepens. “By a lot.”
“Also true.”
“You’re supposed to tell me it was close.”
“Was it?”
The girl studies the distance between her arrow and the target. “No.”
“Then I’d be a terrible teacher.”
Two older boys laugh. Baldr points at them without turning his head.
“Both of you missed the entire target on your first round.”
“The wind changed,” one says.
“Between here and the target?”
The boy glances around the open yard. “It could have.”
“You may explain that to the fence you hit.”
The girl smiles. Baldr hands her the bow.
“Feet first, Runa.”
She plants them wide enough to survive a flood.
“You still need knees.”
Runa adjusts.
Baldr crouches beside her. He doesn’t move her arms into place. He holds his hands beside them, shows her where they should go, and waits while she copies him.
“Don’t fight the bow. Pull until your thumb reaches your cheek.”
She draws.
The arrow shakes against the string.
“Keep looking at the middle.”
Runa releases.
The arrow catches the outer edge of the straw and stays there.
I jump off the wall. “You hit it!”
Every recruit looks at me.
Runa looks delighted.
Good. I regret nothing.
Baldr turns his head. He waits, then grins.
“I brought my own audience.”
“She hit the target.”
“I saw.”
“You weren’t reacting enough.”
“Should I jump too?”
I look over his bare chest, then up to his face. “That seems unsafe.”
One of the older boys makes a choking sound.
Baldr’s gaze moves toward him.
The boy examines his bowstring.
Runa pulls her arrow from the straw and runs back to the line. “Can Lady Solveih come every time?”
“Yes,” I say.
Baldr is still looking at me. “We’ll discuss her fee.”
“Apple pastries.”
“Expensive.”
“I offer a specialized service.”
“Loudness?”
“Support.”
He laughs and sends Runa to the end of the line.
I climb back onto the wall. Baldr’s shirt has shifted closer to the edge. I fold it once more and set both hands on top of it.
Asta would tell me to stop touching the shirt.
Asta is inside the hall with three packing lists and no authority over this yard.
Excellent.
The next girl sends her arrow into the middle ring. The boy after her hits the post holding the target. Everyone winces.
Baldr checks the split in the wood.
“Did I kill it?”
“It may recover.”
“Should I apologize?”
“Tomorrow. Give it time.”
The boy nods with great seriousness.
Baldr teaches all of them differently.
One needs his elbow lowered. Another keeps closing both eyes before he releases. Runa pulls too hard and sends her second arrow over the target, but it stays inside the yard, so we celebrate progress.
He never laughs when they get it wrong. He lets them laugh at themselves, then gives them another arrow.
I’ve watched him settle trade disputes, quiet a courtier, remember a leaking roof, and stop an entire training yard with one word.
He’s best at this.
The bow in his hand is shorter than the ones the guards carry. It still looks enormous when he demonstrates the grip.
“You aren’t trying to pull the string away from the bow.” He raises it. “Bring it to you.”
He draws in one smooth motion.
The yard goes quiet.
His back tightens. The string rests beside his mouth. Both eyes stay on the center of the target.
He releases.
The arrow drives into the middle ring.
Oh.
I want to do that.
I want to know how heavy the bow is and whether the string will bruise my fingers. I want to hear the arrow leave from two inches away. I want to find out if I can hit the straw or if I’ll become the second person to attack the fence.
Baldr lowers the bow.
“Again,” one of the boys says.
“You’ve seen it once.”
“That one could have been luck.”
Baldr hands him the bow. “Then you’ll have a good story when you beat me.”
The boy decides he has urgent work elsewhere.
Baldr looks toward the wall.
I nearly ask.
Runa reaches him first with three arrows tangled in one hand. One slips through her fingers. Then another.
Baldr catches both.
I sit back down and decide I’ll ask when the drill ends.
There’s plenty of time.
We don’t leave for Myrkvier until Baldr finishes the harbor work and Asta packs enough clothing to survive the end of the world.
The purple cloak is hanging beside my bed. I’ve tried it on twice since the market.
The hood is excellent.
The pockets are even better.
Asta found the stuffed unicorn in one of them this morning and accused me of packing emotionally.
I stand by my decision.
Baldr sends the recruits to collect their arrows. They scatter across the yard. Runa crawls beneath the target for reasons nobody understands.
He comes to me with a cup of water in one hand.
His chest is still bare.
This remains unnecessary.
“You’re staring.”
“You gave me your shirt.”
“For safekeeping.”
“Then I’m keeping an eye on the person who belongs inside it.”
Baldr drinks. Water touches his lower lip.
He takes his time swallowing.
Terrible man.
“How am I doing?”
I inspect him because he asked. “Very safe.”
“The shirt.”
“Oh.” I lift one side. “Also safe.”
He sets the cup on the wall and steps between my knees.
I stop holding the shirt up.
“Thank you for coming.”
“You promised entertainment.”
“I gave you eleven children with weapons.”
“And no shield.”
“I stood between you and the arrows.”
I point at the one still resting in the dirt. “You missed that one.”
“It wasn’t close.”
“I made a sound.”
“I heard.”
My cheeks warm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“All eleven were pretending they didn’t hear you.”
He noticed. Of course he did. I may need a new country after all.
Baldr braces one hand on the wall beside my hip. He smells of clean sweat, salt, and the soap he used after the market. I know the soap because he kissed me outside my room last night and I spent far too much time close to his neck.
Tonight is going very well.
“You’re very patient with them.”
He glances toward the yard. Runa has come out from beneath the target with two arrows and a rock.
“They’re learning.”
“You teach the youngest group yourself?”
“When I can.”
“Why?”
His gaze returns to me. “You think I’m doing it badly?”
“No. You’re annoyingly good at it.”
“Annoyingly?”
“It’s difficult to maintain standards when you keep adding talents.”
His hand closes around my knee through my skirt. “What standards?”
I look down at his fingers.
I had standards.
Probably.
“Sól?”
“You’re distracting me during a serious conversation.”
“I’m standing.”
“Very close.”
“You’re speaking quietly.”
“There are children with arrows.”
“They’re fifty feet away.”
“Runa is collecting rocks. We can’t assume anything.”
Baldr laughs. He leans down and kisses me.
His mouth is warm. Mine opens under it, and his hand slides from my knee to my waist. I set both palms against his chest.
Sweat.
Right.
He pulls back.
I keep my hands where they are for another second, because removing them too quickly would be suspicious.
“You were asking why I teach.”
I wipe both palms on his shirt.
Baldr looks down.
“Safekeeping,” I remind him.
“Clearly.”
The recruits begin arguing over a missing arrow. Baldr stays between my knees.
“My parents thought strength was worth teaching.” He picks up the cup. “They didn’t think the same of emotion feeding.”
“Your brother.”
“Eirik.”
Baldr drinks again. “When our hungers showed, they found me instructors. Every weapon. Every language they thought a leader might need. Eirik got whatever lessons were left.”
“You were children.”
“Yes.”
“You were twins.”
“Also yes.”
I stare at him. “That’s awful.”
“It was stupid.”
He says it easily, but his thumb presses into the side of the cup.
“Did Eirik want to learn?”
“Eirik wanted everything they told him he couldn’t have.”
“Did you help?”
“I tried.” Baldr’s mouth pulls into a small grin. “He let me show him a sword grip once. Then he realized I was being careful with him and broke my nose.”
I blink. “On purpose?”
“He said no.”
“Did you believe him?”
“He smiled while he said it.”
I laugh.
“It was a very bad week for me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you aren’t.”
“I’m a little sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He watches the recruits. One of the older girls has found the missing arrow tucked behind the target.
“I couldn’t change our parents,” he continues. “By the time I had enough standing to push back, Eirik didn’t need their teachers. He’d found his own.”
“Did he forgive them?”
“No.”
“Did he forgive you?”
Baldr rolls the cup between his palms. “He knows I tried.”
That isn’t an answer.
It’s the only one he gives me.
Now I’m picturing two boys with the same face in the same house. One got the teachers. The other learned wherever he could.
“So you teach all of them.”
“I make sure they all get the same start.” Baldr nods toward the recruits. “What they become after that belongs to them.”
Runa drops the rock on her own foot.
She yelps.
Baldr is across the yard before it stops rolling.
He crouches, checks her toes, and makes her wiggle all of them. The rock is small. Her boot is thick. She survives.
I stay on the wall with his shirt beneath my hands.
Eirik wanted everything they told him he couldn’t have.
Myrkvier is three days down the road. I’m going into Eirik’s hall carrying twelve ribbons and a stuffed unicorn in my pocket.
This should go well.
The drill starts again.
Baldr makes them shoot in pairs. He turns it into a game, and the game becomes a competition within seconds. Arrows strike straw, wood, dirt, and once the side of another arrow.
I want a turn more with every round.
When Runa hits the outer ring again, she runs to me first.
“Did you see?”
“Every bit.”
“I kept my knees.”
“They were excellent knees.”
She beams and runs back.
The light moves behind the hall roof. Wind comes over the courtyard wall and dries the sweat on Baldr’s back. He finally calls the last round.
I slide from the wall.
Now.
I’ll ask now.
The recruits empty their quivers, collect the arrows, and carry the bows to the rack. Baldr checks each string before he hangs it.
I pick up the smallest bow from the wall.
It’s heavier than I expected. Smooth wood presses into my palm, worn pale near the grip.
Baldr turns.
I lift it toward him. “This one too.”
“Thank you.”
He takes it and checks the string.
He thinks I’m helping.
I am helping.
I also want the bow back.
One question would do it.
The young recruits gather around Baldr to say good night. Runa hugs him around the waist, darts away, and returns because she forgot her rock.
I can ask next time.
Baldr invited me today. There will be another day after Myrkvier, when the ore is delivered and the harbor work has vein-silver again.
Plenty of time.
The children leave in twos and threes. The gate closes behind the last boy.
Baldr reaches for his shirt.
I hold it against my stomach. “Are you sure?”
“You’ve damaged it enough.”
“I kept it off the ground.”
“You wiped your hands on it.”
“The ground is much worse.”
He holds out his hand.
I look at it.
He raises his eyebrows.
“You could remain shirtless.”
“Could I.”
“The walk to the hall is short.”
“You’ve given this thought.”
“I’m trying to save time.”
“Very practical.”
I give him the shirt.
He drapes it over one shoulder.
Oh.
That works too.
Baldr carries the empty water cup toward the equipment chest. I gather my coat and basket from the far end of the wall.
My blue wool basket is full of useful things: two balls of yarn, my hook, a heel of bread, three buttons, and one folded packing list I stole from Asta because it included the words emergency stockings.
No emergency has ever required stockings.
I hook the basket over my arm and step away from the wall.
My heel catches on the low wooden stake beside it.
I get one foot free.
The other doesn’t follow.
The basket flies off my arm.
Baldr drops the cup.
He catches me around the waist before I hit the dirt.
Both my hands land on his bare shoulders. My knees strike his thighs. For one confusing second, I’m held sideways across him with both feet off the ground.
“I had that.”
“You were falling.”
“I was stepping.”
“Toward the ground.”
“That part was still undecided.”
He sets me upright.
His arms stay around me.
Mine stay over his shoulders.
We’re very close.
Sweat shines along his collarbone. His breathing moves beneath my palms. He looks down at my mouth, then back at my eyes.
I know he did that.
He knows I know.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Certain?”
“I didn’t reach the dangerous part.”
“The ground?”
“Yes.”
“It remains a threat.”
“It has been there all day.”
“Waiting.”
I laugh. His hand moves across the back of my coat and stops above my hip.
He still doesn’t let go.
“I can’t in good conscience let you walk back alone.”
“Because of the ground.”
“I’ve seen what it can do.”
“You’re very brave.”
“I’ll manage.”
He bends and picks up my basket. The shirt remains over his shoulder.
I should tell him to put it on.
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
He puts his free hand at my waist.
We cross the yard slowly. I don’t trip once. This is partly because Baldr guides me around every stake, stone, and patch of uneven dirt.
It’s mostly because I’m watching his hand.
The warmth of it reaches through my coat. His thumb moves each time we turn. My room is inside the hall. We have walked there hundreds of times.
We reach the hall much too quickly.
Baldr opens the door and follows me into the passage. His bare shoulder brushes mine.
“Still safe?”
“No.”
His hand tightens at my waist.
The guest wing turns ahead.
Baldr’s thumb moves again.
Oh.