10
Thomas’s eyes flew open, vague dread and wisps of memory from a dark dream chasing through his mind as he oriented himself to his surroundings. It was dark. The fire had burned down to coals, which did little to cast light other than a reddish glow. Memory flooded back. He and Celyn had been invited to bed down in the thegn’s hall.
All at once he longed for clean air. He needed to clear his head, needed to get outside, away from this close, smoky place, rank with the smell of dogs and unwashed bodies. He rose, and Celyn stirred at his movement.
“What is it, boy?”
“Just need some fresh air. And the latrine.”
Celyn grunted and rolled over, but lay still, his breathing deepening again.
Thomas made his way carefully through the hall, skirting dogs and sleeping men. Two boys—slaves, he
