Kristofine set down two bowls of stew and a plate of bread, then to Steiner’s surprise sat down and began to eat.’
‘I don’t have long,’ she said, ‘but I’m famished and you looked like you needed a dining companion.’
Steiner laughed. ‘Dining companion? You make me sound like a merchant.’
‘You’re a blacksmith, aren’t you?’
Steiner smiled and began to eat. ‘What’s got into Verner tonight? He’s not himself.’
‘Worried for Kjellrunn, I expect,’ replied Kristofine. ‘They’re close, aren’t they?’
‘She’s always pressing him for stories of Frøya and Frejna, mysterious crows and the old wars. Children’s tales really. You wouldn’t guess she’s sixteen summers.’
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ agreed Kristofine. ‘You keep a close eye on her while that ship is in the bay, won’t you?’
Steiner nodded, struck by the seriousness of Kristofine’s tone.
‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about your sister.’
‘What did you come here to talk about then?’ replied Steiner, feeling out of his depth and not knowing in which direction to swim.
‘You don’t speak to many girls, do you?’ said Kristofine.
‘I don’t speak to many people. Mainly just hammer metal on an anvil.’
‘Maybe another mead will loosen your tongue.’
Steiner watched the woman cross the tavern as excitement and confusion vied for the upper hand. It had been a curious day; it looked to be a curious night.
The compact made between the Solmindre Empire and the Scorched Republics allows a member of the Synod to enter all dwellings across Vinterkveld in order to carry out an Invigilation. Taking children from their parents is no small matter but the children are dangerous. The threat of open rebellion weighs heavily during times such as these and a Vigilant should take as many soldiers as they can gather. You must meet resistance with intimidation, and match violence with brutality.
– From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
Kjellrunn hated the kitchen. The ceiling was too low, the chimney never seemed to spirit away the smoke as best it could, and the table at the centre was too large. She had spent a lifetime shuffling and side-stepping around the vast slab of timber. Such a large table and rarely anything good to eat, a bitter irony. She belonged in the forest and lived only for the summer months when she could wander through the trees for hours, alone and at peace.
Steiner served a dollop of porridge into a bowl from a wooden spoon. He hummed quietly as he circled the table, serving more porridge into his bowl, then sat down and began to eat, barely noticing her. Marek was already in the smithy, tinkering with some half-finished project.
‘Why are you smiling?’ said Kjellrunn, her porridge untouched. ‘You never smile.’
Steiner looked up, spoon halfway to his mouth, eyebrows raised in surprise. ‘What?’
‘And you’re humming. You hate music.’
‘I don’t hate music, I just can’t sing. You have the greater share of that talent, always singing folk songs and laments and Frøya knows what else.’
‘You hate music,’ said Kjellrunn once more, hearing how petty she sounded. Steiner shrugged and continued his repast.
They sat in silence for a moment and Kjellrunn began to eat.
’No singing today, Kjell,’ said Steiner. ‘There’s Imperial soldiers in town, perhaps a Vigilant too. You know how they feel about the old gods—’
‘Goddesses.’
‘Fine, goddesses.’ Steiner rolled his eyes. ‘Just keep your songs for the forest, eh? And pull a comb through that briar patch you call hair. You look like a vagrant.’
Kjellrunn showed him the back of her hand, raising four fingers to him, one each for water, fire, earth and wind. In older times it had meant good luck, but these days it insinuated something else entirely.
‘And don’t let anyone catch you flipping the four powers in the street. The soldiers will hack your fingers off to teach you a lesson.’
Kjellrunn stood up, feeling as restless as the ocean, her pique like jagged snarls of lightning.
‘Why are you so happy today, with all these soldiers here and a Vigilant too? What cause have you to be happy when you’ve a witch for a sister?’
Steiner dropped his spoon and his eyes went very wide. The fragile autumn light leeched the colour from his face.
‘Kjell …’
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was so low she could barely hear herself over the crackling fire in the hearth. ‘I didn’t mean it. Of course I’m not a witch.’
Steiner rubbed his forehead a moment, picked up his spoon and then put it down again, his appetite fled.
‘I was in a good mood because Kristofine and I started talking last night and, well, it was nice. I don’t know if she likes me or what I’m supposed to do, but it was …’ He floundered for the word, then shrugged. ‘Well, it was nice. And there’s precious little of that in Cinderfell.’
‘Oh,’ was all Kjellrunn could manage in the cavernous silence that followed. The kitchen suddenly felt very large.
‘Father needs me,’ said Steiner, not meeting her eyes as he stood. A moment later he was gone.
The dishes didn’t take long but sweeping the kitchen was always a chore on account of the huge table. Kjellrunn put off leaving the cottage for as long as she could but the shops would only stay open for so long. She entered the smithy with downcast eyes. She disliked the smithy more than the kitchen, all darkness and fire; the smell of ashes and sweat.
‘I need money for food,’ was all she said as Marek looked up from his work. Steiner was filing off a sickle blade, pausing only to spare her a brief glance. She imagined she saw annoyance in the set of his brow. He turned away and continued his work.
‘Business has been slow and I’ve not got the coin for meat,’ said Marek. ‘Unless it’s cheap.’
Kjellrunn nodded and noted just how few coins he’d given her.
‘Sorry,’ he said, and Kjellrunn felt his shame in the single word. Not enough money to feed his children right, that was hard to take for a man like Marek.
‘I’d best go with her,’ said Steiner quietly. ‘What with the Empire and all.’
Marek opened his mouth to object but said nothing and nodded before turning back to his work.
They had no sooner slipped through a gap in the double doors to the smithy when Kjellrunn spoke first.
‘I’m sorry about this morning. You do smile, of course you do. I’m just not myself today is all.’
Steiner put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her close, pressing his face into her tangled hair to kiss her on the crown.
‘Of course you’re yourself today. Who else would you be?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘You’re