‘No. I grew up on a cattle farm. The nearest I came to a sword-play was swinging the yard broom about.’

She stared back at him. ‘Then you are a fool, Lannigon Gudbrandr,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I thought you were … I … I thought you had … You could have been killed!’

She turned away and stormed off, her cheeks flushed. Lann caught Fleya smirking. ‘What is she so annoyed about?’ he asked.

Fleya shrugged. ‘Princess Astrid is clearly concerned for your safety,’ she said, but her face suggested Lann was clearly missing something. Turning away, she laid a hand on King Erik’s forearm and stood.

‘My apologies, King Erik,’ she said with a bow. ‘But I too must leave the celebrations early. I have much preparation to do before our meeting tomorrow.’

Left alone, Lann picked at the sweet hilfenberries that had appeared on a plate in front of him while watching the revellers. Amidst the jollity he felt that he and Erik alone were sombre. It wasn’t immediately obvious – Erik raised his cup to Volken nobility and warrior alike, smiling and nodding at their jokes and even making a few of his own – but Lann saw how serious the king looked when he thought no one was watching. Lann could guess why. Tomorrow Fleya would attempt to restore the king’s memories, and Erik clearly dreaded what he might discover.

Turning his attention away from the king, Lann spotted one other grim face in the crowd: the red-robed priest who had presided over the trial by combat. The man’s eyes were fixed on him. After a moment, Lann rose and walked the length of the hall to speak to him.

‘Congratulations on your jarldom,’ the man said as the youngster drew near.

‘Thank you,’ Lann answered, after a brief hesitation. ‘The honour is strange to me still. It feels too … grand, somehow.’

The priest nodded, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. ‘How refreshing. Most men would kill to receive such an honour.’

‘I did kill for it,’ Lann answered with a shake of his head. The image of Frindr Oknhammer’s bloodied corpse flashed into his mind’s eye and he struggled to fight back the gorge that rose up inside him.

The priest nodded his head. ‘The king merely wishes to show his gratitude.’

‘I know it is an honour,’ Lann answered quickly, thinking he might have offended the man. ‘And I am not ungrateful to King Erik for bestowing it on me.’

‘But …’

‘But it’s not what I am.’ The priest raised his eyebrows and Lann continued. ‘Many of the men in this room were raised to take on the position of leaders and rulers. It is what they were meant to do. Prince Erik –’ he stopped, correcting himself – ‘King Erik himself was tutored and trained specifically to take the throne.’

‘And you, Lannigon Gudbrandr? What were you meant to do?’