* * *

A week had passed since the incident at the horse market.

Harald had suffered no serious harm, but he was confined to bed on the doctor's advice that he rest for a while, just in case. Of course, Harald was hardly the sort of boy to listen to a doctor, but even he could not withstand his mother's wrath.

Gidwin and Tommy had been placed under disciplinary confinement for failing to protect Harald properly. Gidwin had also been beaten by his father for his failure, and Tommy by the knight he served.

Tommy's injuries from the market had proved less serious than expected. If anything, the beating from his knight might have been more dangerous.

Hakon had been made Harald's page in recognition of his bravery. Or rather, it was less a reward for bravery than a matter of choosing someone to relieve Harald's boredom.

A page was generally a boy between seven and ten who served a noble or knight while learning basic etiquette and deportment. At ten, he became eligible to serve as a squire.

Even noble children went to distinguished houses or their liege lord's household to serve as pages, so it was no paltry, laughable position. For a commoner, it could be considered the first step toward advancement.

No punishment had been imposed on Valeri. Of course, punishing him would have been absurd. He deserved a reward, and he had received one.

His rewards included silk clothes, a cloak, a belt, leather boots, and a sword. Compared with what he had worn before, the transformation was like a chrysalis becoming a butterfly. In appearance, he was indistinguishable from a true noble.

The earl's household had also agreed to care for Snow, the horse Valeri had acquired, as they would a warhorse. Given the enormous expense of keeping a horse, that was arguably the greatest reward of all.

As an aside, although Harald had called Snow a gift, it was Earl Æthelred who had actually settled the price. More precisely, he had settled it without paying a single coin.

The horse dealer had come to collect his payment while the earl was in a towering rage. The earl told him to choose between taking the money and dying, or leaving empty-handed and alive.

The dealer had no real choice. He could only leave.

On his way out, however, he handed Valeri a set of tack and said:

["Watching you tame that man-eating horse, then ride it without tack and cut down two men—that was a rare spectacle. Consider this my payment for it. Unlike that damned earl, I pay what I owe. I'm sorry I failed to recognize your worth."]

He looked like the leader of a band of mounted brigands, but he was a surprisingly decent man.

At any rate, the incident at the horse market had sent a storm through House Winslow, and only Hakon and Valeri had emerged unscathed.

That did not mean Valeri was free of worries, however. His concern might have seemed trivial, yet it could weigh heavily on the person bearing it.

Valeri opened his eyes. It was dawn.

The logs in the fireplace had long since gone cold and no longer gave off even a wisp of smoke, but the room remained warm.

His new room was spacious, easily large enough for four beds. With bunk beds, it could probably accommodate as many as eight people. His own bed was stuffed with horsehair from tails and manes, along with wool, making it wonderfully comfortable and refreshing to sleep in.

If he woke rather than sleeping late despite all that, it was purely out of habit.

Valeri got up, straightened his bedding, and went to the window. He opened the wooden shutter, propped it up with a rod, and looked outside. The cold dawn air seemed to sweep the residue from his mind.

The window faced southeast. Turning his head, he could see the distant mountain ridge awash with the spreading colors of dawn—purple, red, and gold. Without even showing itself, the sun opened the world through its presence alone.

He did not bother waiting for the sun to rise. Turning away, he poured water from a pitcher into a basin and washed his face. He dried himself with a clean towel, then dampened it to give the rest of his body a quick wipe.

After putting on a shirt and roughly sweeping his hair back, he opened a drawer and took out some food: a paper-wrapped chunk of ham, cheese, hard bread, and an apple.

He sliced off what he wanted with his dagger, put it on a plate, and sat down to eat. Every so often, he glanced through the square, picture-frame window at the dawn sky changing color as morning approached.

Once he had finished every last bite, he gave the plate a cursory rinse in the basin and wiped it with a dry part of the towel.

He washed his dagger in the same water, dried it thoroughly with another dry section, then applied camellia oil and wiped it once more.

Valeri divided a single towel into four sections for washing himself, drying the plate, and tending his dagger. Only when everything was finished did he fold it neatly and drape it carefully over the table.

The servants who came to clean later would refill the pitcher, empty the basin, and take away the plate and towel, replacing them with fresh ones.

With his clothes, his food and lodgings, and the servants waiting on him, he now lived no differently from a true noble.

Even so, his room was always kept so immaculate that it scarcely looked inhabited.

It was only a small, insignificant habit, but Valeri believed that small habits accumulated to make a decisive difference when facing an enemy.

In the end, then, nothing had changed from his days in a tiny room with a straw bed and no fireplace. Nor had it been any different before his return, whether he was ranging across battlefields or begging in back alleys.

Valeri finished dressing and left his room with the gambeson he had borrowed from Harald for the trip to the horse market.

He was not alone in the corridor. Servants were already busy beginning their day's work. When they saw him, they bowed instead of regarding him with unease or quietly looking down on him as they once had.

Some dipped their heads quickly as they hurried past. Others greeted him with their own attempt at formality. The young maids giggled among themselves and barely managed a greeting before scurrying out of sight.

The change in his treatment was, in effect, due to the earl's official recognition. With his rewards, his new quarters, and his fine clothes, he looked every inch a dashing prince.

Above all, his exploits had been those of a boy hero.

Yet for some reason, Valeri did not particularly welcome the change. Was he mad to think things had been better before? It simply made him uncomfortable. He did not know anymore.

Valeri hurried out of the keep. As he crossed the courtyard, he saw Gidwin and Tommy training hard in protective gear.

They carried heavy stones around the training ground as though competing, picked up practice swords to spar, then took up the stones for another circuit before sparring again. Over and over.

It looked exhausting even at a glance, but their eyes were alight. The incident at the horse market had evidently given them a powerful incentive.

They were panting in utter exhaustion when their eyes met Valeri's. They tipped their chins in acknowledgment. Their swollen eyes and cheeks still bore the marks of their beatings.

Valeri returned a brief nod and went straight to the stables. There, he saddled and bridled Snow, led him outside, mounted, and rode out of the castle.

He galloped down the hill, but instead of entering the village, he headed toward the river. More precisely, toward the washing place.

He reached the river shortly afterward. As soon as he dismounted, he removed Snow's bit and bridle.

A horse was controlled by placing a bit in its mouth, securing it with a bridle, and pulling on the reins. Pull left, and it went left; pull right, and it went right. Pull both, and it stopped.

But the bit pressed directly against the horse's gums and tongue, making its very presence painful.

That was why handling a horse required a delicate touch. An urgent situation might call for a hard pull, but whenever possible, even in haste, it was best to be gentle when taking up or releasing the reins.

In that respect, Valeri was an excellent horseman. And whenever he dismounted, he always removed the bit and bridle.

Most people tied their horses to something to keep them from running away. Valeri did not.

He stroked Snow's head and fed him the carrots and apples he had brought.

“Living is itself a bridle. Run away in pursuit of freedom, and survival will put another one on you. In the end, there's no escaping it.”

Snow blew out a snort as if in agreement. A smile formed on Valeri's lips.

He tossed the bridle carelessly onto the ground and went to the washing place, leaving Snow free to wander. At this early hour, no one else was there.

Valeri squatted down and examined the gambeson he had borrowed from Harald. It was stained with blood. This was his greatest concern at present. He had to return it, so why would the stains not come out...?

Originally, he had intended to give it back as soon as they returned from the horse market. The bloodstains had made him decide to wash it first, but washing had not removed a single stain, and the wool stuffing had taken forever to dry. The rain had only made matters worse.

And so he had spent an entire week wrestling with the garment. Lye, vinegar, urine—he had tried everything the village women suggested. Some attempts had stripped the color, and scrubbing with a pig-bristle brush had damaged the fabric.

By now, it seemed better to leave it alone. Still, he kept trying to remove the blood, dabbing it with water so as not to soak the wool inside. Naturally, it did no good.

He was going to all this trouble solely because of the countess. His very existence must cause her pain. How would she feel if even the love she had poured into something for her son were stolen from her?

“Damn it. I should have taken it off and given it back right then...”

Valeri sat alone at the washing place, dejected. But he thought it would look strange to keep it any longer, so he resolved to return it that very day.

Or rather, he tried to resolve to.

Keeping her spirited son confined to bed was all but impossible. How many times had she cycled through scolding, pressing, and coaxing him?

At least since Hakon's arrival, Harald had managed to stay in his room tolerably well, teaching him his letters and chess, or throwing cloths over themselves to act out the deeds of legendary heroes.

Only after expending all that energy during the day would Harald fall asleep at night.

Countess Sibild spent her days embroidering in his room so that she could keep an eye on him, then returned to her own bedchamber once he was asleep.

Seated beside his bed, she leaned forward slightly and watched Harald sleeping, his breathing soft and even. He was so dear to her that the depth of her love was closer to pain than joy.

Then came a knock.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

“Shh.”

Sibild instinctively turned toward the door to hush the visitor, though it had not even opened yet.

But to her surprise, the person who eased the door open and stepped inside was not a maid. It was Valeri. Sibild's eyes widened, uncertainty flickering in them.

Valeri was trembling inwardly, but he kept his manner as calm and courteous as possible as he offered her the gambeson.

“I'm sorry, my lady. I couldn't get the bloodstains out. Please forgive me for taking so long to return it.”

Somewhat bewildered, the countess accepted the gambeson. It was frayed in places, faded in others, and, above all, stained with blood throughout.

Her hands trembled slightly. It seemed to convey the desperate urgency of Harald's rescue.

Valeri bowed his head and was about to leave when Sibild spoke.

“... You don't need to return it.”

“Pardon?”

“This... was made for you from the start, Wid. If anything, I'm sorry it took so long to give it to you.”

“... What...?”

Sibild looked down at the gambeson in her hands and considered for a moment before speaking. This had required a certain resolve on her part, too.

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting its light over them both.

“I married into this house at fifteen. I was sixteen when I conceived Harald. About six months later, I think, the earl brought you home.”

“...”

“It would be a lie to say I felt no resentment. Every day, I mourned the dead gods, asking them to take away my resentment, envy, and hatred. For years. In time, I began to feel sorry for you as well, Wid. What had such a little child done to be denied a mother's love?”

In a certain sense, those words were shocking. At least, they were to Valeri.

“But then the resentment would well up again, and I hated myself for it. I tormented myself with guilt. So I wanted to make something that would prove it. Proof that my feelings for you weren't only hatred. This gambeson is that proof. Spinning the thread, weaving the cloth, cutting it, sewing it... I did it all for you, Wid. I'll make you new cloth. Just give me a little time. And...”

Sibild trailed off. She turned to the sleeping Harald, the child she loved so much it hurt. And then...

She looked at Valeri. This time, she did not immediately avert her gaze or leave as she usually did. She faced him directly. To Valeri, she still looked rather young.

“From now on, Wid, if you don't mind, I'd like to be your mother. Would that be all right?”

At those words, Valeri nearly cried. But only the rims of his eyes reddened a little. He clenched his teeth and held back the tears to the end. As far as he was concerned, someone like him had no right to shed them.

Not after what he had done before his return. Had he not brutally murdered her before the earl's eyes? He had no right to cry.

At the same time, Valeri realized what a coward he had been. He had fled from sincerity out of fear, and what had he done instead? Used people and resorted to schemes and intrigue.

For the first time, Valeri felt ashamed of himself.

“No. You needn't go that far. I don't deserve it.”

“...”

“As you know, my lady, the earl had two wives before you. Both died in childbirth. That's why he fears such things. In truth, he loves you and Harald more than anyone. He simply has no room to indulge his feelings while struggling to protect his house and lands. So please don't be too disheartened by his indifference.”

Listening to him, Sibild was inwardly astonished. He had considered things so deeply, even things she herself had not understood. His insight left her speechless with admiration.

“Please keep this to yourself, my lady. I am not a bastard. I have a father and mother of my own. The earl is merely raising me because of a promise.”

What? She seemed to have just heard something momentous. Sibild looked startled and bewildered, needing time to understand and accept what he had said.

“Still, thanks to those words of yours, this household may yet survive. I'll take my leave.”

Valeri's tone remained calm and courteous to the very end. With a gentle smile, he bowed to the countess and left the room.

Whatever else might be true, what mattered was that each held a measure of tender affection for the other. At least that was not founded on a lie. Those feelings were sincere.

Some time later, the neatly repaired gambeson was delivered to Valeri. He treasured it above all his other clothes. For the first time, he felt he had something that was wholly his.

End of Part 2 — Each One's Way of Loving.