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from the turf and sagged into the river. The current swelled briefly, sending a surge of icy water up the bank and over Achan’s ankles. He gasped as the freezing liquid seeped into his shoes and sent a violent shiver through his body. He turned to Gren, his mouth gaping, and uttered a small cry.
    She giggled and jumped to her feet, clapping. “You’ve done it, my good knight. Look! Mine enemy retreats.”
    Achan turned back to the river to see the sapling floating downstream. One branch remained above water, flapping in the wind like a sad flag. He laughed and turned to Gren. She stood beaming, her hair blowing about her face.
    He marched toward her, knelt, and offered her his wooden sword on the palms of his hands. “For you, my lady.”
    She hugged the waster to her heart, but her smile faded. Her eyes focused just over Achan’s head and went wide with fright. “Riga, no!”
    Achan reached for his sword, but someone pulled him away by the back of his tunic. The weary threads cracked under the pressure. He realized that it wasn’t Riga pulling him—because his assailant dragged him past the potbellied peasant. Riga glared down over chubby cheeks. With his thick, sneering lips and squinty eyes, he looked to be suffering severe indigestion.
    Achan’s captor yanked him to his feet and twisted him around.
    It was Harnu. The scar on his cheek had mottled and darkened in the cold air. His jaw clenched as if something in his mouth tasted bad.
    Achan smirked. These two should take more care over what they ate if it affected their appearance so.
    Harnu gripped both of Achan’s wrists with one strong hand, squeezed his shoulder with the other, and pushed him back until his body leaned dangerously over the edge of the riverbank. Achan tried to get a decent foothold, but his frozen toes ignored his commands.
    Riga spoke from the allown tree beside Gren. “Is this stray bothering you, my dear?” He draped a pudgy arm around Gren’s shoulders.
    Her expression steeled, but she didn’t move away.
    “Leave her be!” Achan yelled. “She’s done nothing to you.”
    “It’s her honor I seek to protect, dog!” Riga said. “No maiden should consort with a stray at all, much less…alone.”
    Achan fought against Harnu’s grip, pedaling his wet feet on the muddy bank, hoping to get some anchorage. “What Gren does is not your business.”
    “On the contrary. She is my business, or hasn’t she told you?” Riga leered at Gren. “But of course, my dear. Why would you waste your sweet breath sharing such intimacies with a stray?”
    Achan didn’t like Riga’s tone or the flush in Gren’s cheeks. “What are you on about?”
    Riga straightened and sucked in a deep breath that brought his stomach in and his chest out. “Gren and I are betrothed.”
    Achan’s gaze flickered to Gren. The fact that she wouldn’t meet his eyes told him that Riga spoke truth. “Gren?”
    Harnu squeezed Achan’s wrists tighter, preventing his wiggling hands from escaping. Achan’s mind clouded.
    Gren suddenly looked up. Tears streaked down her chin. “My father has made arrangements with Vaasa Hoff.”
    Achan’s face tingled as the blood drained away. Gods no. It couldn’t be true.
    Riga snatched the sword from Gren and held it up. “Pilfering a squire’s practice sword is a wicked thing to do, even for a stray. Whose is this?”
    Achan lifted his chin. “Mine.”
    Harnu leaned as close to Achan as possible without giving up his dominant position. “You’ll never be a knight, goat boy. Or a squire or a page. And you’ll never—”
    “Marry a pretty girl,” Riga said from Gren’s side.
    Harnu’s breath smelled like soured milk. “The closest you’ll ever get to the high table is to clean the scraps from the floor when everyone’s gone.” With that, Harnu shoved Achan backward.
    Gren’s scream silenced in Achan’s ears when his body plunged beneath the icy surface.
    Muted bubbling…a gulp of frigid water…a foot on