She blinked, caught somewhere between guilt and anger. ‘I hope you hate to hear it.’
‘That why you did it?’
Anger won. ‘I did it because I needed to you selfish prick!’ she barked. ‘Not everything’s about you and your great big talents and your great big choices and your great big bloody future.’ She stabbed at her chest with her finger. ‘I needed something and you chose not to be here!’ She turned her back on him. ‘No one’ll complain if you choose not to be here again.’
The tapping of her hammer chased him back up the steps. Back to the courtyard of Bail’s Point, and the war, and the smoke of dead men.
Digging
Raith’s back ached, and his chest was sore, and his long-broken hand and his newly-burned hand both stung in their own ways from the work. He’d dug ten graves’ worth of mud already, and found no sign of Rakki, but he kept digging.
He’d always fretted over what his brother might do without him. Never thought about what he’d do without his brother. Maybe he’d never really been the strong one after all.
Spade up, spade down, and the calm thud, thud of the blade in the soil, and the steady heaping of the earth to either side. It spared him from having to think.
‘Looking for treasure?’
A long figure stood at the lip of the pit with Mother Sun behind, hands on hips, gold and silver glinting on the unshaved side of her head. The last person he’d hoped to run into out here. But so it goes, with hopes.
‘Digging for my brother’s body.’
‘What’s that worth now?’
‘It’s worth something to me.’ He flung soil so it scattered across her boots, but Thorn Bathu wasn’t one to be put off by a little dirt.
‘You’ll never find him. Even if you do, what then?’
‘I build a proper pyre, and I burn him proper, and I bury him proper.’
‘Queen Skara was thinking of burying Bright Yilling proper. She says you have to be generous to your enemies.’
‘And?’
‘I bent his sword in half and buried that. His carcass I cut up and left for the crows. I reckon that more generous than he deserved.’
Raith swallowed. ‘I try not to think about what men deserve.’
‘The dead are past help, boy.’ Thorn closed one nostril with her finger and blew snot onto Raith’s diggings through the other. ‘All you can do is take a price from the living. I’ll be heading to Skekenhouse in the morning. Take a price from the High King for my husband.’
‘What price will pay for that?’
‘His head’ll make a start!’ she snarled at him, spit flecking from her twisted lips.
Being honest, her fury scared him a little. Being honest, it excited him a lot.
Reminded him of his own. Reminded him of a simpler time, when he knew who he was. When he knew who his enemies were, and all he wanted was to kill them.
‘Thought you might want to come along,’ said Thorn.
‘Didn’t think you liked me much.’
‘I think you’re a bloody little bastard.’ She poked a stone with her toe and it rolled down into the pit. ‘That’s just the kind of man I’m after.’
Raith licked his lips, that old fire flickering up in him like Thorn was the sparking flint and he was the ready tinder.
She was right. Rakki was dead, and no amount of digging would help him.
He chopped the shovel hard into the soil. ‘I’m with you.’
Skara was changed. Or perhaps she’d been changing bit by bit, and he hadn’t seen it till now.
She’d given up the mail, and looked less like the great painting of Ashenleer behind her. But she still wore the long dagger at her belt, and the armring with the red stone Bail the Builder once wore into battle. She still had the sword Rin made, though some boy from among the burned-out farmers knelt beside her with it in Raith’s place.
A queen indeed, and with learned advisors at her side. Blue Jenner hadn’t lost his raider’s slouch, but he’d cut back his wispy hair, and trimmed close his beard, and gained a fine fur and a gold chain to sit on top of it. Owd had shed weight and heaped on dignity since she was Mother Scaer’s apprentice, a disapproving frown on her sharpened face as she watched Raith skulk into the audience chamber, his stolen helmet clutched under his arm.
Skara looked down at him, chin high and shoulders back so her neck seemed to go on a mile, quite at home in Bail’s great chair and seeming as lofty as Laithlin ever had. Could it really be the same girl whose bed he’d shared a few nights before? Whose fingers had trailed across the scars on his back? Whose whispers had tickled at his ear? Seemed a dream now. Maybe it had been.
He wobbled out a bow. Felt quite the fool, but what else could he do? ‘I’ve, er, been thinking—’
‘My queen would be the proper opening,’ said Mother Owd, and Skara made no effort to put her right.
Raith winced. ‘My queen … I’ve been offered a place on Thorn Bathu’s crew. To lead the attack on Skekenhouse.’