He trailed off, but Marra knew that he was thinking about the curse-child. “I’d prefer you were close, too,” she said. “It’s fine. No worse than the road.”
Fenris made a noncommittal noise. Marra knew perfectly well what he meant. Once you added walls and a door, things became … complicated.
It’s not complicated. It doesn’t have to be. He’s your friend and you’re here to kill a prince and that’s all you need to know or think about. She forced a smile. “I suppose beds like this aren’t quite what you’re used to.”
Fenris shrugged. “I’m not really used to anything. I slept in barracks for a long time. When I was traveling, I’d sleep on the ground. Sometimes I’d go from sleeping on dirt to sleeping in the best guest chamber in the castle.”
“And sometimes in fairy forts,” she added.
His face changed. She felt as if a shutter had closed in his eyes. You fool, why did you say that? “I’m— I’m sorry,” she said, stammering a little. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked about it—”
“It’s all right.” He reached out and took her hands in his. The room was so small that he could do so easily. “Marra … Princess Marra…”
She winced. “Don’t. I’m not. I mean, I am, but I’m really a nun, except I’m barely even that.”
“You are the princess of the Harbor Kingdom,” he said. “I learned that at the first inn we stopped at in your homeland. Your sister Kania is married to Vorling of the Northern Kingdom.”
Of course he’d learn that. You should have guessed. It’s not like it was much of a secret. She told herself this firmly, trying to ignore the sudden clawing in her chest that screamed that he would tell Vorling, he would betray them all, he knew too much and it would all be used against them …
No. This is Fenris. He is a friend, and he has never been anything but decent. She stared down at their joined hands, trying not to feel trapped, wondering what price she would have to pay for his silence.
“People love to gossip about the royal family,” he said. His voice was very gentle. “They told me why you were sent to the nunnery. A few people thought there had been some scandal, but most of them said that you would be Vorling’s third wife if your sister died. You were being held in reserve, they said.”
no no my mother said that I was out of the game I was set free I was sent away because I did not have to stay at court because I hated it and I was free
She looked at her own thoughts and they seemed to belong to a much younger Marra, one who had never been to the goblin market, one who had never built a dog out of bones. One who could afford to be innocent and ignorant. I can no longer afford to be that person.
“It’s probably true,” Marra said, marveling at how steady her voice was. “My mother never said as much, but Vorling is obsessed with having his own blood sitting on my father’s throne. And, of course, our harbor was worth controlling anyway. A good, deep harbor is a kingdom’s wealth. I could never have been allowed to marry anyone else and produce a son that might challenge that. And there was always the chance that my sister might die, like our older sister did, and that I would need to be pulled out of the convent and sent to the altar.”
Fenris nodded. His hands were warm. He turned them gently and caught both of her hands between his palms. “I suspected as much. So do many of your people. They know that Vorling is ambitious.” He paused, as if weighing his words, and then said, almost hesitantly, “They still remember your sister Damia fondly.”
“She was so beautiful,” said Marra. “And so kind.”
He squeezed her hands tightly. She took a deep breath, wondering if she was going to cry again. No, it seemed not. The pain had softened over the years, the edges worn down by time. She gazed dry-eyed at their hands. Her left hand had never quite recovered from spinning the nettle thread. One of the knuckles was more swollen than the others, and there was a numb band along the side of her little finger.
“After the second or third inn, I felt like I knew too much,” Fenris said. “You know hardly anything about me, and I had heard so much about you and your family.” He took a deep breath. “So. Yes. I slept in a fairy fort. There was a battle, you see. One clan overthrew another. It happens, though the Fathers try to keep it from coming to that. The clan that was destroyed had been fostering a young lad as a squire, and the lady of the conquering clan said that her people would not make war on children, so he was spared by her command. He was handed over to us, who served the Fathers. He could not have been more than thirteen, and a young thirteen at that. His voice was as high as a novice nun’s.”