Chekwe sat and watched the morning light stream through the window to play on Marna’s flame-colored hair. She was asleep, as usual. She was tucked into a cozy bed in Kristuff’s castle, her frail body piled high with blankets and furs. The furs rose and fell with the deep rhythm of her breathing. Since they’d arrived at the castle a week ago, she had woken only a few times to wordlessly take food and water. It worried the hell out of Chekwe. He dulled the edge of his anxiety, and the pain of his broken ribs, with occasional sips from a white-oak tumbler of whisky.
The sunshine spilled into the room through a fine glass window. Chekwe took his tumbler and went to look outside. The room was three stories up and had an expansive view of the land along the Lead River. Spring was rioting along
