SS 02 - Half the World (2015) by Joe Abercrombie

Author:Joe Abercrombie [Abercrombie, Joe]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy
Published: 2014-11-21T05:00:00+00:00

AS SOON AS THEY stepped through the towering bronze doors of the palace Thorn went from embarrassment at being dressed like a princess to shame at being dressed like a peasant. The slaves here looked like queens, the guards like heroes of legend. The hall in which they were received was crowded with jewel-encrusted courtiers as brightly colored, as pompous and, as far as Thorn could tell, every bit as useless as the peacocks that swaggered about the immaculate gardens outside.

She would happily have shrivelled away into her new boots but they had great thick soles, and she had grown the past few months, and she stood taller than Father Yarvi now, who was taller than most himself. As always she was left with no choice but to push her shoulders back and her chin up and put on that bravest face of hers, however much the coward behind it might be sweating through her absurd crimson tunic.

Duke Mikedas sat above them in a golden chair on a high dais, one leg slung casually over its carven arm, his fabulous armor covered with gilded swirls. He was one of those handsome men who fancies himself more handsome than he is, dark-skinned and with a twinkling eye, his black hair and beard streaked with silver.

“Greetings, friends, and welcome to the First of Cities!” He flashed a winning smile, though it won nothing from Thorn but the deepest suspicion. “How is my mastery of your tongue?”

Father Yarvi bowed low and Thorn followed. Bow when I bow, he had said, and that seemed to mean whenever possible. “Flawless, your grace. A most welcome and impressive—”

“Remind me of your names again, I have the most abysmal memory for names.”

“He is Father Yarvi, Minister of Gettland.”

The woman who spoke was long and lean and very pale, her head close shaven. Elf-bangles rattled on one tattooed forearm, ancient steel, and gold, and broken crystal glittering. Thorn curled her lips back from her teeth, and only just remembered in time not to spit on the highly polished floor.

“Mother Scaer,” said Yarvi. “Every time our paths cross it is a fresh delight.”

The Minister of Vansterland, who whispered in the ear of Grom-gil-Gorm, and had been sent south by Grandmother Wexen to warn Prince Varoslaf not to paddle in the Shattered Sea.

“I wish I could say the same,” said Mother Scaer. “But none of our three meetings has been altogether pleasant.” She moved her ice-blue gaze to Thorn. “This woman I do not know.”

“In fact you met in Skekenhouse. She is Thorn Bathu, daughter of Storn Headland.”

Thorn was somewhat gratified to see Mother Scaer’s eyes widen. “Whatever have you been feeding her?”

“Fire and whetstones,” said Yarvi, smiling, “and she has quite the appetite. She is a proven warrior now, tested against the Uzhaks.”

“What curious warriors you have!” Duke Mikedas sounded more amused than impressed and his courtiers tittered obediently. “I’d like to see her matched against a man of my household guard.”

“How about two of ’em?” snapped Thorn, before she even realized her mouth was open.

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