Brand looked over at Rin, already pounding at the bellows. She shrugged. “Steel is patient too.”
“You’re not, though.”
“Go have your talk.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Before I change my mind.”
Brand pulled his gloves off and led Yarvi out into the little yard, noisy with the sound of running water. He sat on the bench Koll had carved for them in the dappled shade of the tree, breeze cool on his sweat-sheened face, and offered Father Yarvi the place beside him.
“A pleasant spot.” The minister smiled up at Mother Sun, flashing and flickering through the leaves. “It’s a fine life you and your sister have made for yourselves.”
“She made it. I just happened along.”
“You’ve always played your part. I remember you taking the weight of the South Wind across your shoulders.” Yarvi looked down at the scars snaking up Brand’s forearms. “There was a feat to sing of.”
“I find I care less for songs than I used to.”
“You are learning. How is Thorn?”
“Already back to training three-quarters of every day.”
“She is carved from wood, that one.”
“No woman firmer touched by Mother War.”
“And yet she has been the needle that stitched two great alliances together. Perhaps she was touched by Father Peace too.”
“Don’t tell her that.”
“The two of you are still … together?”
“Aye.” Brand had a sense the minister knew these answers, but that every question had another hidden in it. “You could call it that.”
“Good. That’s good.”
“I suppose so,” he said, thinking of the screaming argument they’d had that morning.
“It’s not good?”
“It’s good,” he said, thinking of how they’d made up afterward. “It’s just … I always thought of being together as the end of the work. Turns out it’s where the work starts.”
“No road worth traveling is easy,” said Father Yarvi. “Each of you has strengths the other lacks, weaknesses the other makes up for. It is a fine thing, a rare thing, to find someone who …” He frowned up at the shifting branches, as though he thought of something far away, and the thought was painful. “Makes you whole.”
Took a little while for Brand to gather the courage to speak. “I’ve been thinking about melting down that coin Prince Varoslaf gave me.”
“To make a key?”
Brand pushed a couple of fallen leaves around with the side of his boot. “Probably she’d prefer a dagger but … a key’s traditional. What do you think Queen Laithlin would think of it?”
“The queen has had three sons and no daughters. I think she is becoming very much attached to her Chosen Shield. But I’m sure she could be persuaded.”
Brand gave those leaves another push. “No doubt folk think I’m the one should wear the key. I’m none too popular in Thorlby.”
“The king’s warriors are not all admirers of yours, it is true. Master Hunnan in particular. But I have heard it said enemies are the price of success. Perhaps they are the price of conviction too.”
“The price of cowardice, maybe.”
“Only a fool would reckon you a coward, Brand. To stand up before the warriors of Gettland and speak as you did?” Father Yarvi put his lips together and gave a faint whistle. “People may sing no hero’s songs of it, but that was rare courage.”
“You think so?”
“I do, and courage is not your only admirable quality.”
Brand hardly knew what to say to that, so he said nothing.
“Did you know Rulf melted down his earnings from our voyage and made a key of his own?”
“For who?”
“Thorn’s mother. They are being married in the Godshall next week.”
Brand blinked. “Oh.”
“Rulf is getting old. He would never say so, but he is keen to step back.” Yarvi looked sideways. “I think you would do well in his place.”
Brand blinked again. “Me?”
“I told you once that I might need a man beside me who thinks of doing good. I think so more than ever.”
“Oh.” Brand couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You could join Safrit, and Koll, and be part of my little family.” Every word Father Yarvi let drop was carefully weighed out and these did not fall by accident. He knew just what to offer. “You would be close to me. Close to the queen. Close to the queen’s Chosen Shield. The helmsman of a minister’s ship.” He remembered that day on the steering platform, the crew thumping at their oars, the sunlight bright on the water of the Denied. “You would stand at the right hand of the man who stands at the right hand of the king.”
Brand paused, rubbing at his fingertips with his thumbs. No doubt he should’ve leapt at the chance. A man like him couldn’t expect too many like it. Yet something held him back. “You’re a deep-cunning man, Father Yarvi, and I’m not known for my wits.”
“You could be, if you used them. But it’s your strong arm and your strong heart I want you for.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You can ask. But make sure you want the answer.”