The Last One

eight

I stared down at my bowl of stew, slowly rolling the spoon around in it and watching how the broth coated the chunks of vegetables. My mind was consumed with thoughts of Erik and how he managed to be so lucky that he was not in his camp when we attacked.

"I saw you."

I looked up at Sihtric strangely. He took a bite of his stew, but his eyes lingered on me. "Yes?"

"During the battle," he elaborated at last. I said nothing as I dropped the spoon against the side of the bowl, I wasn't hungry.

"What of it?" I asked, my voice slightly confused.

He glanced at my shoulder, as if he could see the wound straight through my clothes, and then he looked back to my face. He smirked at me but didn't respond at first. "Out with it," I said as my curiosity reached its peak.

"You are skilled," he took a sip from his cup. "Who taught you to fight?"

I diverted my eyes to the window. The light that spilled through was not enough to light up this room. "My brother."

"So he was a warrior?" He asked. I nodded. "Was he half as skilled as you?" His eyes were playful.

I giggled, and it felt strange escaping my body. My cheeks felt hot in response to his compliment, but I didn't respond. I looked back at the window longingly.

"Ready?" He asked as if sensing my need to be in the sun. I nodded again. He stood, and I followed him. He held the door open for me. It was such a small gesture that made the heat in my cheeks reach for my ears. It was like he had just noticed that I was a woman.

Once outside, I was able to relax again. I breathed in. "He was." I sighed as I remembered him fondly. "But like my father, he was kind. Both were too gentle for viking life."

"But not you?" He was facing me, his eyes locked on mine.

I shook my head. "I guess it was in my blood alone."

Sihtric cocked his head slightly. I traced the line of his jaw with my eyes. Realization dawned on his featurs. "They were not your natural family." He stated.

"No," I responded softly. His gaze held something new now; some hint of relatability. "But I find blood means little."

He diverted his gaze finally before speaking again. "Blood means nothing. My kin were never anything but callous to me." He looked at me again, his face lightening again as he spoke. "The family you choose is often better."

I felt sadness wash over me as he spoke of his childhood again. I didn't press the matter, and neither did he. Instead, we took to walking, and I followed him. I didn't know where anything was in this city anyway, and so what choice was there?

Funny, Craven didn't have walls, and I had been accustomed to running free out into the trees and fields surrounding it as a child, never feeling quite content to be inside. As I grew up, however, duties were handed off to me for house care, and I was less than obliged to participate in cooking and cleaning, but I learned and did as I was requested.

"We will find him again."

I nodded. "I am sure. A snake never remains hidden for long."

He snorted but said nothing more. His eyes were not so accusing when he looked at me now. Instead, they were warm and trusting. I found myself wanting to look at him more. Inwardly, my stubbornness said no way, not this man who had accused you of plotting with the enemy. I argued back to myself that, of course, I would do the same in his position. Besides that, he owed me nothing when we met; I was just some strange Dane woman who wandered directly into their camp.