The next morning was warm and still. While the dew was still on the grass, Belegorn walked through the old wooden door of Morfindel and Adurant’s tavern.

Adurant was talking to a customer but looked up when Belegorn came in. “Oh,” he said, “hello, Belegorn.”

Morfindel glanced up from putting away mugs. “Belegorn!” she said. “What happened to you?”

“I had a little tumble in the bushes,” Belegorn said, picking at a bandage on his cheek. “It’s nothing though.”

“Hardly nothing,” Adurant said. “You’re covered in bruises.”

He was covered in bruises, and he had bandages on his arms and face, and his ego was wounded deeply. But he just shrugged. “If you think I’m hurt that badly, I could use a drink to ease the pain.”

Though Belegorn had requested it, he was pleasantly surprised when Adurant began to fill a mug without complaint. Morfindel continued putting away glasses.

Belegorn watched her closely, searching for signs that she knew which bushes he was talking about. If she figured that out, she would be able to tell that he had been climbing up to Aranna’s room. If she knew that, then she would be able to tell Hadhod, who would probably axe-murder him in his sleep, stuff his body, and use it as decoration in his living room. Or put his head on the wall, or use his skin as a rug. Belegorn knew he had made a mistake by saying he’d hurt himself in the bushes. He also knew how much Morfindel would laugh if he were made into a rug.

No, the little voice in the back of his head said. She wouldn’t laugh. Despite her stern nature, he knew she loved him. She was his older cousin—she had to love him.

“Did you hear the news, Belegorn?” Morfindel said.

“What news?”

“About Aranna.”

Belegorn started. Was it Hadhod who had seen him? Did he order his arrest for breaking into Aranna’s room? “What about her?”

“Hadhod is holding a contest,” Adurant said, putting the filled mug before Belegorn, “and Aranna will marry the winner.”

Belegorn jumped up, knocking his stool over, and leaned over the counter. “Who can enter?”

“Anyone,” Morfindel said. “Will you?”

“You better believe I will!” Belegorn said. “I’ll blow every other lovestruck male out of the water! I’ll win Aranna, and I’ll—” He stopped.

Morfindel gazed at him with narrowed eyes. “And you’ll what?”

Belegorn smiled weakly. “And…uh…I’ll win the contest.” Morfindel would skin him alive if he had said he meant to marry Aranna for the wealth.

Her pale blue eyes stared at him intently. Belegorn held her gaze with his own gray irises before she looked back to her work.

Later, Belegorn would wish to have muttered, “That’s what I thought,” but in truth he had been scared out of his mind. Morfindel was perfectly capable of blackening his eye or loosening a tooth—anything that would dissuade him from seeking Hadhod’s money.

But Morfindel did not go back to her work. She lifted her skirts to mid-calf and stalked quickly out of the room, her bare feet slapping softly against the wooden floor.

Belegorn waited until she was clear of the door and out of sight between the pig pen and the barn before he said, “How can you stand that woman? I could hardly bear the fourteen years I had to live with her.”

Adurant laughed. “You know you don’t mean that.”

Oblivious of Belegorn’s curious stare, Adurant took up Morfindel’s job of replacing mugs and dishes on the shelf. Ever since Belegorn was old enough to get on Morfindel’s nerves he had told himself that he couldn’t stand her. “Yes,” Belegorn said. “I don’t mean it. I do love her like a sister, and I know she loves me.” A lie. She only felt responsible for him, said the voice that normally dominated his thoughts. It pushed the little voice to the back of his brain.

“She just doesn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Adurant said. “You’re like a baby brother to her.”

“But I’m not! I’m not a child anymore, Adurant.”

“I know that, Belegorn. But she doesn’t. Not yet.”