Page 41 of Fortress of Snow

“Why?” Ro straightened with lightning speed, staring hard at her. “Who with?”

“If you must know...” Mazy lowered her voice. “I am going with Sir Berenger.”

“Oh, Mazy, that’s so exciting!” Ro spoke so loudly that it seemed the whole room stopped what they were doing to turn and stare at them.

“Keep your voice down. He’s right outside,” Mazy whispered, her cheeks starting to burn.

“How can you expect me not to be excited?” Ro squeezed her arm and let out a strangled squeal.

“Roesia, you’re embarrassing yourself and Mazy,” her father said gruffly.

“You have to tell me everything that happens,” Ro gushed, ignoring her father.

“Nothing will happen. He’s a friend, that is all, and he is a man of honor and integrity.”

“Promise me you will tell me everything or I won’t let you go.”

“There will be nothing to tell, but very well. I will tell you if there is anything to tell. Now let me go. He’s waiting.”

Ro squealed under her breath, her attempt at curbing her enthusiasm, but she let go of Mazy’s arm.

Mazy hurried out, her stomach doing flips, but it was only because of Ro’s foolishness. Sir Berenger was her friend, and they were only going to eat supper.

She hoped no one she knew was there. She didn’t want to answer their questions about the handsome knight she was eating with.

Sir Berenger led the way back down the street to the Sword and Shield. Inside, they found a place at a table, and the innkeeper’s daughter brought them cups of ale, bowls of stew, bread, and a dish of butter.

“I’m very curious,” Mazy said as they began to eat. “What was it like to see the king?”

“It was a little strange.” His eyes clouded over.

“How so?”

“Well, I was remembering the last time I saw him, a few years ago, when my brothers and I were falsely accused of treason. The king was present at our trial. It was a very bad time, a lot of bad memories. But all is well now. The king was pleasant enough.”

“I would be so frightened to speak to the king.”

“He is very young, an ordinary-looking eighteen-year-old.”

“Were his apartments very luxurious?”

“Not especially, what little I saw.”

They ate in silence, and then Sir Berenger said, “How have you fared the last two years? My sister wrote a bit to me—information she got from your letters to her—but mostly just to say that you were in good health and were safe and happy. Tell me about your life here in London. You must have many tales, working in the market as you do and seeing so many people.”

“I will, but you also have to tell me about what you’ve been doing the last two years.”

“Very well. But you start.”

She wanted to tease him about making her speak first, but he was so handsome—the hard lines of his jaw and chin, the short beard, the clear blue of his eyes—that she needed to hurry and distract herself, as her heart was starting to beat so hard it was stealing her breath. He had a tiny scar on his jawline, another along his cheekbone, but the scars only made her want to wrap her arms around him.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and the first story that came to mind was the one she’d thought about only moments before.

“I always carry two knives in my pockets, just in case I need them. One day I came home from selling bread in the market, and as soon as I walked in the back of the alehouse and closed the door, a man jumped out of the shadows. He must have been hiding behind a bag of flour. He grabbed me by the neck and said, ‘Give me your money.’

“I hold a knife in my hand when I walk through the dark alley behind the alehouse, so I stabbed him in the arm with it. He let go and I ran out the door and around the front and told Ro’s father what happened. He got a few men who were in the alehouse to go after the man. They found him in the alley. He was crying and holding his arm where I had wounded him.”

Sir Berenger listened to her story without once taking his eyes off her. Now that she was finished, he let out a burst of air, as if he’d been holding his breath, and said, “Well done.”