The Raven Girl

Chapter 39

The great hall was once more filled and the air was heavy with smoke, meat and laughter. Asta sat amid it all, dressed not in plain fitting attire but in finery that seemed somewhat too fine for her now, after all that had happened. She didn't feel like the daughter of a rich lord anymore – Eirik had succeeded in reducing her down to nothing but a commoner and a criminal.

Still, she attempted to sit well in the blue wool dress and heavy jewels. She had to. Every eye would be scrutinising her: the women would watch her posture, sneer at her manners, claim she were no better than a lowborn because they knew her only as a servant and a traitor, the men would laugh at every blunder, every mistake she made, and it was likely somebody would mention her family. At least one person, she wagered, would challenge her about them, suggest she was just as bad.

She was glad for the wine. It eased her nerves a little, softened the blade that cut into her stomach every time somebody so much as looked at her. It was sweet and hazy and tasted of a world without sadness; it was another reality in itself.

Rickard sat at the high table with his friend Filip and countless other faces she vaguely recognised. She sat on a table not all too far away but far enough – she was wedged in with those with a slightly looser mouth, a slightly coarser tongue. The table next to hers was where the children sat. That would have been far more preferable and much less intimidating because children were, all in all, not judgemental as adults were. They forgave where adults held grudges, and they did so without expecting something in return.

She nibbled courteously at the food offered and tried a smile. This had been, after all, what she'd wanted. She was free as anyone could be and she had to keep it that way, by earning her place at court. That meant proving herself loyal to the King and country and apart from her family. If they asked her questions, she would have an answer – an honest answer – and their curiosity would be satisfied and they could move on.

At first, those who sat at her table took no notice of her. That was, until the wine and the platters were removed and they caught an eye of her. Then everybody took notice of her, all at once, and their heads turned and their eyes narrowed and they looked upon her with the scrutiny she knew they would.

"Of all tables, you are sat here. I would've bet you'd be sat with the King."

"And I would've bet I'd be sat with the servants," she laughed feebly, hoping to shake off their prejudices. It seemed that, at least here, they thought her privileged and undeservedly so. She was a Ravner who had run from exile, served a little for the previous king and was offered a place in society above most honest men and women who'd worked all their life. Of all things, she hadn't expected that, hadn't even thought of the possibility. That meant thousands of people would hate her for the sudden forgiveness – she would live happily and they would not, even if they'd served their king faithfully for as long as anyone could remember.

No one else laughed.

"How odd," one said, "that you were hidden all this time. We barely knew of your existence here until we're told you are to be smiled upon when seen. How long have you been here?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

"Well, how have you come to be here?"

"Did you tire of exile? Did you get bored of your hard, hard life?" another sneered, though he risked a reprimand from the King himself with his tone. They couldn't be so blatant in their hate for her. Courts didn't work that way, he should have known. If one hated another, they had to do so discreetly.

"Not bored," she said, curtly. "It wasn't boredom that sent me here, it was fear. And it was no good decision, I'll tell you."

They glanced at each other, smirking.