“As for you, my Lady Singer, I have questions.”
Runa smiled up at him impishly, hugging his arm. “Walk with me, my Lord, and I may have answers to give.”
Einarr and his betrothed wandered the empty streets arm-in-arm, neither of them minding in this moment that desertion that had bothered him not long before. Eventually they came to a broad, tree-lined green, and Runa guided him over to sit in the shade of a large oak. Only then did she let go of his arm, to turn and lean against his side.
“Even half a season seems like such a long time…” She sighed, content.
Amused, Einarr arched an eyebrow. “Even after waiting seven years from our first meeting?”
She jostled his ribs with an elbow. “That’s different.”
He chuckled. “You’re not wrong. And when Trabbi told me you’d been captured…”
“You have no idea how surprised I was they’d…
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