I grit my teeth as the blade cuts deep, the pain lancing along my bones. My blood flows bright and sure, forming a small puddle in the basin after several long moments. “How much am I supposed to shed?” I ask.
Halina translates my question, but Kauko doesn’t seem to hear. He’s utterly absorbed by what he sees in the basin. His hands shake as he finally presses a cloth to my arm. “I guess that’s enough?” I ask.
Kauko licks his lips as he lifts the basin from the table, but then he shouts in surprise and drops it as its contents start to steam, and the basin falls to the floor and cracks. My blood doesn’t spill, though. It’s dried to flakes in a matter of seconds. Kauko stomps his foot and turns to Sig, who starts to giggle again. He grabs Sig’s arm and shoves him toward the door, barking at him nonstop in Kupari. Both of them head into the corridor, and Halina and I stare after them.
Finally, she turns to me. “That boy . . .”
“What just happened?” I look down at the cracked basin, my dried blood.
“Sig did that.”
“Cooked my blood to dust? Why?”
Her brows are drawn together. “Is that the right question, though, little red?”
“What do you mean?”
She picks up a cracked half of the basin, and my blood becomes a brown haze that clouds the air. “Maybe the better question is—why was old Kauko so upset about it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Kauko did not return after he bundled Sig out of our training room, so my arm throbs with its new, unhealed wound as I walk with Sander toward Thyra’s chamber. It’s on the other side of the tower, just below the main level. “What have you heard about our warriors?” I ask. “How are they faring? Nisse is concerned that disease will find them.”
Sander gives me a nervous glance. “He’ll know I told you.”
“He didn’t seem upset. He wanted me to talk to Thyra about it.”
“And what will you say, Ansa?” He tilts his head. “Have you jumped?”
I suck in a breath. “Don’t ask me that right now.” For some reason, it makes my cheeks burn, though I have no reason to be ashamed.
He looks down at me for a long moment. “Have you given it much thought? All of us who are raid prizes, we grow up knowing we come from someplace else. We all have to make peace with it.”
I lower my gaze to the floor. I’m not sure I ever did.
“None of us have ever discovered we were meant to rule in that other place, though,” he adds.
“It doesn’t matter. I am Krigere.”
“I won’t argue with that. All I’m saying is—that’s not all you are. And I would think it would complicate things, especially as you consider helping your chieftain . . . whichever one you end up choosing . . . to destroy the people over whom you could have been queen, had you not been stolen as a child.”
“Not now, Sander,” I growl. The thoughts swirling inside my head are already too much, and they threaten my control.
“All right,” he says softly. “I suppose your choice will become obvious soon enough.”
I chew my lip. “Did you know she’s starving herself?”
“I’ve seen the guards handing off her dishes, piled with untouched food, to the kitchen staff.” He rubs the back of his head, quick and frustrated. “This can’t go on forever. Something—or someone—will break. I suppose I have a choice to make too.” He gives me a rueful smile. “Though I think yours might matter a good deal more than mine.”
That truth sits sour in my stomach. I grab his arm as we enter the corridor where her chamber lies. “I just want to belong to a tribe, Sander. I need to be part of something strong. You of all people understand that.”
He looks down at my hand, curled into his sleeve. “I do, Ansa, though my opinion isn’t one that holds weight.”
“It does with me,” I say. “We’ve had our differences, but we are alike in many ways.”
He nods, though his smile is drenched in sadness. “Then I suppose . . .” He sighs, looking up the hall to the six guards sitting outside Thyra’s door. “I suppose whatever strong thing you choose should depend on how you define strength. I’ve been thinking on that a lot lately.”
It feels like something massive is pushing against the walls of my skull, demanding attention I can’t offer right now. “Speaking of strength . . .” Eager to move away from the subject, I wave toward the guards, one of whom is using a stone to sharpen his dagger. “Is she so fearsome that she requires half a squad to guard her?”
“After Thyra escaped her chamber, Nisse tripled the guard and threatened all of them with death should they fall asleep during their watch. He won’t let anyone but his own hand-picked warriors near her.” He arches an eyebrow. “So I guess that means he trusts you now.”
Part of me feels pride and relief at that, but a small part of me, a tiny, tenacious kernel of loyalty to Thyra, itches and aches. “I’m only speaking to her for the sake of our warriors. They shouldn’t suffer for this loyalty.”