Nine

Unable to sleep, Volas stepped out of his tent to practice with a spear in the cool night air. As he went through the movements, the soft sounds of a woman’s pleasure reached his ears. He tried to focus on the spear. It was probably a servant woman. Marravae had made it clear she was displeased with Myrin, and the only other men of her station were himself and her brother. 

The thought of being the one to coax such sounds from Marravae came unbidden to his mind and he tried to shake it from his head. There would be time for that. First he would practice. She was fond of the spear and he would show her he knew how to use it well.

The way she’d slipped beneath his defense and put his hunting dagger against his balls had pleased and impressed him every bit as much as it had embarrassed him. Volas knew he should be better than that.

Ignoring the occasional sound, he practiced until he saw Myrin slipping out of Marravae’s tent. It took all his will not to throw the spear and kill him as he stole back to Gaeleath’s still belting his robe. Why would Marravae allow him… he stalked to the tent and opened it with the tip of the spear.

“Marravae?”

“Volas? Wait a moment please?” She sounded tired but not angry.

The sound of water splashing and of a trunk being pawed through carried out of the tent as he held the flap partly open. After a few moments she called quietly, “Come in.”

She’d lit a lamp and placed it on the low table where she was seated, In night clothes and a robe, on the cushions. The tent reeked of sex and Marravae eyed him with the look of a woman who expected to be chided bitterly.

“Why?” He turned and planted the spear in such a way that it held the flap slightly open before sitting across from her on the cushions. There were things he wanted to say but the question would serve to start with.

“He’s going to be my husband.” She rubbed her temple as he’d seen Gaeleath do.

“Am I so unworthy that you won’t wait to see if he fails?”

“You’re not unworthy, Volas. And he isn’t going to fail.” She looked so tired.

Volas inclined his head slightly, “He will fail. If I have to kill every boar that comes toward us myself. The terms were clear, nowhere were the circumstances dictated.”

“If you want to be that devious, you didn’t say when, where, or exactly how the boar had to be killed either.” Marravae narrowed her eyes at him but a faint smile played at the corners of her mouth.

He grunted and settled into the cushions more comfortably. “You want to see if he can do it.”

“I know he can do it, I want him to see he can do it. If he learns to like hunting I might actually get to go to something more satisfying than hare coursing in the coming years.”

“Whether you wed him or not, you will be invited hunting with me yearly. More often if you wed me instead.” He smiled as she laughed and stretched out on the cushions.

“That’s probably the most compelling proposal I’ve ever gotten, unfortunately, I’ve already accepted Myrin’s.” Her golden eyes were warm and the hint of regret in them gave him hope.

“If he fails at killing the boar, you would be free to accept it. I will be as devious as I need to be to give you that opportunity.”

“If he fails through your deviousness he won’t break the arrangement. He and I have an understanding outside of it. That’s part of why I was so angry when he wagered me like a horse.” Her eyes were growing heavy as she lay across the cushions. “But I understand, he wants your respect.”

It burned that she went to bed with a man who held her in such low regard. “This understanding is new? You’ve arrived at it here?” 

She nodded sleepily.

“I would prefer she didn’t speak of our understanding.” Myrin snapped pushing into the tent. “Marravae… is she talking in her sleep?”

“Nearly.” Her lids were fluttering as if she were trying to open them but failing. It was somehow charming. “She said you want my respect. That was why you made the wager.”

“You were talking about our understanding, not about respect.” Myrin looked at him sharply.

“The understanding,” Volas tried not to grit his teeth, “is why she was so angry with you for placing the wager.”

“Ah. It’s a mistake I won’t make twice. My dove has a temper.” Myrin settled onto the cushions at her head, pulling her partly onto his lap. Watching the woman he wanted wrap her arms around Myrin’s thigh and sigh contentedly as he stroked her hair was torture.

The Cuphisian Prince seemed to notice. “She’s very affectionate. If I had to watch her with you I would be plotting your death.”

“I nearly murdered you when I saw you coming out of her tent.” Volas looked him in the eye expecting him to smirk.

Instead, the man spoke grimly, “If you had been bedding her instead of speaking to her, your spear would have been lodged in your chest.” 

Volas rose and moved to the decanter, there were three glasses laid out, two already poured, but he chose to take two of the clean, up-ended, glasses and pour two fresh drinks. Bringing them back he handed one to Myrin, “If I were the one she had chosen, I would do the same.”

“That almost sounded respectful.” Myrin looked at him with surprise as he took his seat again.

“If you succeed in killing your boar, you will have a measure of respect.” He took a drink of the peppery Cuphisian Zophin. “And a yearly invitation for you and your wife to come hunting in the Reach.”

Myrin blinked in surprise. “Yearly?”

“She wants you to enjoy hunting so that you’ll take her. There is nowhere better to hunt than in the Reach. If you don’t enjoy it there, you’ll never enjoy it.” Volas studied his face as the man moved through bafflement into amusement.

“I’ll take her hunting. I’ll do anything I need to. My dove is rare and making her happy will be a task I welcome.” Myrin looked down at the woman whose head was resting on his lap. “Bridgeburn will be the dowry her father insisted the Cemiri do not provide. It will ease her entry into the court and make it easier for them to see her worth.”

“The Cemiri believe the man receiving the bride should be the one to compensate the family for her loss. To part with a daughter and to have to pay for the loss is too bitter. When King Vothus gave his daughter to Prince Emmyth, he received nine saplings, nine chests of gold, gems, jewelry, and trinkets, and nine casks of fine honey wine.”

“Small chests.” Myrin looked at him in disbelief.

“As small as the one she brought her clothes in, no smaller.” Volas gestured to the trunk that was still partly open, a piece of fabric hanging out of it.

“I understand now why my father insisted neither tradition be upheld. She would be worth every cent, but emptying the treasury for a wife isn’t something that could be condoned.”

“If you’ll part with her, I’ll give you Bridgeburn and the Flatreach Keep on the other side of the Vimt. If wealth is what you desire…” Volas emptied his glass as he watched the Cuphisian consider the offer. Flatreach Keep was the bottleneck all goods made their way through, and an immensely wealthy city surrounded it. 

“That is an offer that cannot be turned down without a moment’s consideration. But perhaps it’s selfish of me, I’d rather have Marravae.” Myrin finished his own glass.

“Perhaps you aren’t entirely unworthy.” Volas stood and came around the table. “Let me put her into bed. We should both get an hour or two of rest before breakfast.”