Sigrid was amazed.
Hrafn, clever as a fox and shameless as only he knew how to be, in so little time had already managed to get himself a mansion in the second ring, while she and Briorn were still collecting scoldings from the Hird instructors as if they were medals.
The house rose before the two of them with its clean walls, wide windows and well-kept garden. Beside her, Briorn sniffled loudly, and there was the other half of the scene. If Hrafn was clever as a fox, and as he himself said, Briorn was dumb as a door, he was also strong and talented, but even so dumb as a door when he wanted to be, and he wanted to with admirable frequency.
"That cripple is one lucky bastard, huh," Briorn grumbled. And as if the insult were not enough, he still blew his nose in the garden.
"Briorn!" Sigrid complained. "Do not be disgusting."
"Ah, look at all these servants. They can handle it." He sniffled again and wiped his hand on his own coat. "Besides, I'm kind of sick."
Sigrid opened her mouth to scold him again, but Briorn was already laughing. "And that story about swallowing thick liquid is whore stuff," he concluded, bursting into a shameless guffaw.
It was as if all the intelligence he possessed were used to create ever more creative, obscene and unnecessary offenses. The servants guiding them cast offended looks in the direction of the small voroir, but none dared say anything, because however small he was, Briorn was still one of the elevated.
They limited themselves to moving on, guiding them through the garden to the great door of the mansion, they went up to the second floor, where they passed through a clean and perfumed corridor, lined with oil paintings and pale walls, and at last stopped before a door with the word office written above it.
The servant bowed and opened it for them to enter, Hrafn was already waiting for them inside, he wore clothes of green and black cloth, seated behind a table of solid wood. The smell of coffee filled the whole air and beside the butler, resting on a stand, was an imposing armor, the sight pulled from her a small stare of envy, since hers would still take a while to be ready.
"Sigrid, it is good to see you," said Hrafn. Then he cast a falsely lost look somewhat higher up. "Where is the dwarf? Did he not come? I cannot see him."
"You'll see me very well when I shove my foot up your ass," Briorn snarled at once, his face already red. "You shameless cripple."
Hrafn pretended to hear something coming from very low down and began to lower his eyes little by little, with a solemnity so offensive that Sigrid had to bite the inside of her cheek not to laugh. "Ah," he said at last. "There you are."
"You shitty bastard."
Briorn rolled up his sleeves and went at him without thinking twice, threw himself over the table with active megin and a clenched fist, aiming straight at Hrafn's face, and Sigrid barely had time to react, when an irritated sound cut through the room. Quick roots came out from under the table and curled around the small voroir's wrist and legs before he could complete the movement.
The wood cracked under the effort of containing an elevated made to be violent, but it held. "Do you want walnut cake?" Hrafn asked, in the middle of all that, raising a piece up near Briorn's nose. "It is delicious."
Unlike Sigrid, Briorn did not seem especially impressed by branches coming to life and trapping his limbs as if that were the most natural thing in the world. What impressed him was the smell, his eyes widened, and for an instant the drool almost fell.
"Well," he said, trying to seem dignified. "I wouldn't turn that down."
Dumb as a door, Sigrid thought, and easy to distract as a dog. The roots let him go, his hand was quick to the cake, and then he pulled a chair so fast that Sigrid barely saw the movement. He served coffee for himself before Edvard could do it and began to eat with the total surrender of a glutton.
"Hrafn," said Sigrid, still trying to follow the whole scene. "What was that?"
"Liv," he answered.
As soon as his voice fell, a low and cute little squeal sounded from under the table, a little thing came out from there and began to climb his body in happy little cries until settling on top of his head. Hrafn raised a hand and began to pet her naturally."This is my mystical bond," he said.
Sigrid forgot the rest of the world for an instant, for the little creature was enchanting in a way almost unfair, it seemed made of wood, leaves and joy. "I said the cripple is one lucky bastard," Briorn commented, with his mouth full. "I don't even know what that is, but fuck... it seems awesome."
Sigrid was still too confused to answer anything, so she did the most sensible thing and decided to listen. Hrafn invited the two to sit down, Edvard served food and drink, and then he began to tell what had happened in the last few days. He spoke of the mine and the outpost, while she listened to everything attentively.
The part about the fight and the bravery lit in her a shine hard to hide. She also wanted to begin her own adventures, find her own monsters, survive them and come back different. Instead, she spent her days being corrected by the Hird's blue instructor, a woman so severe that she would probably step on a smiling child if that made Sigrid's posture straighter.
But then Hrafn spoke of the deaths and the air grew heavy, with Sigrid feeling the taste of the conversation change in her mouth. And it got even worse when he ended it all with an almost obscene simplicity. "I think that was it. Ah, and I am also going to get married."
"I'm telling you he is—"
"Get married?!" Sigrid interrupted.
The word came out louder than it should have, the surprise hit her much deeper than she would have liked, and that embarrassed her at the same speed, making her straighten in the chair and control her voice before continuing. "Hrafn... what do you mean get married?"
"Well, it happens that..."
What came next was another monologue, Hrafn did not explain much, but he made the farce obvious and that brought Sigrid some relief, as well as concern, he seemed to get himself into more complicated things every time she blinked.
"So you are going to take part in a duel to save the girl you like?" Briorn asked, understanding everything wrong with a conviction almost admirable. "I'll help you with that, brother. We'll fuck them up."
Sigrid closed her eyes for an instant. There he was again, gloriously dumb, charging over the conversation with the elegance of a door falling off its hinge. "It's not—" Hrafn began, but then thought better of it. "Thank you, Briorn. That was exactly what I was going to ask you both."
"But I'm not going to die so you can dip your biscuit, huh, cripple," the little one warned, pointing the cake at him. "If you start getting beaten, I surrender real fast."
Hrafn and Sigrid shook their heads at the same time and looked at each other for an instant. It was, indeed, what could be expected from Briorn. "I need to ask the instructor," said Sigrid, a little embarrassed. "I still can't move without authorization."
"Did you make an agreement with the Hird?" Hrafn asked, with no weight in his voice.
The relief from his calm answer made her smile with embarrassment, she had thought he might be disappointed. But being who he was, he probably already had a plan b and c. "Yes," she answered.
"There is no problem." Hrafn pointed to the little mandrake, still nestled near him. "With your help it would be four against three. But three against three may work too."
The little thing seemed to understand the part where she was included in the group. She jumped onto the table and began to show off with a contentment so pure that Sigrid felt her chest tighten with tenderness. "Can I hold her?" she asked, unable to hide the desire in her voice.
"If she lets you."
Sigrid extended her hands slowly, the little mandrake seemed suspicious at first, but then something changed in her, and as if she had decided Sigrid was safe, she began to climb her fingers, walked along her arm and at last settled in her lap. Far too pleased with herself for having found a comfortable place.
The rest of the conversation went on in lighter directions, with Briorn producing some new indecency every time he opened his mouth, always with that same mixture of courage, filth and stupidity that made him Briorn. Hrafn returned it with his usual clever quickness, mocking him without any effort at all. The smell of coffee remained in the air, and Sigrid with little Liv in her lap realized that she was happy.
She raised her eyes to Hrafn once more, to the way he smiled while saying something wicked, to the natural way with which he spoke of his own marriage, for something inside her to tighten.
He is going to get married.
Even knowing that marriage was an agreement and a political solution pushed by necessity, the idea still brought a feeling she did not know quite how to name. Perhaps it was better that way, some things were safer when they remained nameless.