Page 26 of The Magic of Vanaheim

Blinking, Håkon snapped out of his thoughts. “Sure.”

He hadn’t missed anything Talvinen had said to him over the noise of the feast, had he? But his husband continued to look at him expectantly and seemed to be waiting for an answer. On the battlefield, such a slip could easily have cost his life. If he wanted to survive, Håkon had to pay attention.

“Isn’t the mead to your liking?” Talvinen repeated after several seconds of silence. He seemed rather amused than annoyed, but his indulgence with Håkon could end at any time.

The cup of mead Talvinen had filled for him was still untouched. If only Håkon had known the rules of the game they were playing. But he didn’t understand the boy, and he wasn’t going to get drunk while trying to figure out what theVanrwas plotting.

“I’m not in the mood for drinking.”

Talvinen pointedly looked at Håkon’s plate. “And not hungry either after the day you’ve had?”

“Not particularly.”

It was a blatant lie. He was hungry, and the food Talvinen had served him looked good enough to offer to a king, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. It wasn’t even the fear of being poisoned but the uncertainty that paralyzed him. Was this a trap or a test? Was he expected to dig in to show his fearlessness or was he expected to refuse to prove his wits?

“I see,” Talvinen said thoughtfully, taking a deep swig from his jeweled mead cup before offering it to Håkon. “How about we share?”

Pushing the cup into Håkon’s hand, Talvinen snatched a piece of meat from Håkon’s plate and started to chew. No poison then, unless—Håkon pushed the doubts away. He downed the mead in one go.

“See. That wasn’t so bad.”

Picking up a piece of bread, Håkon began to eat. He could feel Talvinen’s eyes on him. His husband watched him eat with a pleased expression, snatching a few bites from their shared plate now and then.

“What’s your favorite food?” Talvinen asked around a mouthful of stew.

“What?”

“Your favorite food. What do you like to eat?”

“I eat,” Håkon said gruffly.

“Oh, come on, mighty warrior. You must have some preferences.”

“Why would you want to know, anyway? Are you going to serve me my favorite every day?”

Talvinen only smiled that weird smile he often directed at Håkon. If Håkon hadn’t known better, he’d call it fond.

“Try me,” the boy implored.

“Honey cake. But your cooks will hardly know the right recipe. It’s all about the spices.”

“Maybe I can find someone who knows how to prepare it.”

Håkon’s heart started to beat faster. Gudrun. He needed to convince Talvinen that she would make a valuable addition to his household.

“I doubt that. I have heard the food in Vanaheim is tasteless. Even the old handmaid sent to accompany my sister could do a better job than your cooks.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a soft smile spreading over Talvinen’s face.

“The old handmaid in your company, I see. What was her name again?”

“She’s called Gudrun,” Håkon said haltingly. “And she served my sister for many years.”

Although he feared to put Gudrun in even greater danger by showing any interest in her, Håkon needed to seize this opportunity.

“Shall I have her prepare your food?”

He didn’t have to pretend to be less than eager about the prospect. Having his food made by Gudrun would be a special kind of punishment. But it couldn’t be helped if he wanted to ensure Gudrun’s relative safety. Håkon shrugged.