XII

Torundel was happy. For the third time in his life he felt close to another human being... the first time had been his grandfather and the second time a picture of Queen Dô, dead now two hundred years.

It was morning and the bedroom was untidy and light, yellow beams of sun made the old darkwood furniture gleam. The sound of the enormous waves rising and sinking against the rocky coast could be heard through the open window.

Uranumsia was naked, the cold sea air embraced her brown body.

‘I can be your death, Torundel,’ she whispered. ‘There was a letter from Count B this morning early. He wants you to come to his manor house in the mountain this afternoon. You will have to do your best. If you don't, I am sure he will have you killed.’

Torundel was not surprised. But his lack of concern would have been surprising to him just a few days earlier. He knew now how Sang Utor and Sang Hortuscany had gone through their trials, how they had shown danger and humiliation so little concern. Laughed in the face of the twelve Gods of Death.

He rose from his bed and stood beside her. The sea was red like blood.

Torundel was happy.

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Torundel the Shitposter! part XII

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