While he rambled with pride over the feats of Jorvandal and the depravity of Dravens, I rolled the end of my braid around one finger, casting a glance at Emi. She was focused ahead, her face unreadable.

I looked back at Ashwood.

He kept a steady distance, back to the wall, his attention wholly placed on a knife he spun in his hands.

Could he hear Stonehands and the mutters of hatred toward his people? Did Roark even consider Dravens his people anymore?

My fists curled at my sides. My pulse quickened; unbidden words to remind Bjorn Stonehands to watch his words in front of two prominent Draven Stav danced over my tongue.

“Moving on.” Stonehands frowned at the lot of us and ushered the crowd forward.

I blew out a breath as the moment to be bold faded, the way it always did.

We were led to the upper bridges that looked down over the lower roads of the township at the base of the hillside. Vendors and tradesmen crowded the bridges and upper roads. It gave Stonehands a bit of respite to set his gaggle of visitors free to spend florin coin on a few pearl combs, exotic pastes for skin spots, or sugared strips of vibrant fruits from mountain orchards.

A woman in front of me clung to a man’s arm. She handled a new satin coin purse with delight while the man gave up two large silver florin.

I stepped across her path to be free of the crowd, but she waved me over. “Here alone?”

“In a sense.”

“Bold of you.” She looked at the man by her side. “We were recently wed, and took to traveling for a fortnight.”

Her new husband kissed the corner of her mouth, eyes alight with sickening affection. “How dull it must be to travel by oneself.”

“I’ve grown rather fond of it.” I offered a narrow look at Roark and Emi, both standing at the end of the bridge.

The woman lowered her voice, as though sharing a bawdy secret. “Ligstaad, the township in the easternmost hills, is the territory of Jarl Hendrikson and has a great many young men. You might go there next and find a husband of your own to join you.”

“Then I would be forced to share all the food.” I plucked a small sample of seasoned fish a vendor passed around.

“Jarl Hendrikson is my father,” she went on with a touch of pompous propriety. “Travel back with us. It’s dangerous for a lady to be on her own.”

“How wonderous it sounds, but alas I’m doomed to die in these walls. See that man?”

Roark’s face shadowed when I pointed his way.

The jarl’s daughter blanched. “The Sentry?”