Iduna planted her fists on her hips and glared up at the sullen stable boy. "So you're telling me that you're welching on the bet?"
Sten's gaze darted around at the small crowd that had gathered in the stable's dusty exercise yard. Except for one of the trainers who lounged on the back fence watching with mild interest, their audience was mostly other teenagers who worked in the gardens and stables. They waited in hushed anticipation. Sten's bushy red eyebrows scrunched together as he considered his answer, clearly trying to decide which was worse – admitting defeat at the hands of a girl or getting a reputation as a welcher.
Iduna fought to keep the glee off her face. Sten was a bully and an oaf, as stupid as he was cruel. This dose of humiliation she'd dealt him was long past due.
"He didn't even buck," Sten muttered, scowling so hard that his piggy eyes completely disappeared under the furry brows.
Iduna shrugged. "The bet wasn't whether or not he would buck. The bet was whether or not I could ride him. I rode him, so I won that bet. And you said anybody who could ride the donkey could have him. Everybody heard you."
She looked around. Heads bobbed all around the yard. Even the boys that had bet against her were nodding. Sten had been quite loud in his proclamation that he couldn't break the wild donkey, then no one could, and he would give the beast to anyone who could gentle him.
"And that means Esel belongs to me now." Iduna raised an eyebrow. "Unless you're welching."
Sten's meaty fists clenched and unclenched by his sides, his eyes darting around again, gauging the audience. All he got were expectant stares. He was the meanest kid in the castle, but a bet was a bet, and welching meant dishonor. The unwritten code of the stable yard. In her three years in Arendelle, Iduna had learned to use it to navigate any number of difficult situations.
This one, however, might be the most satisfying.
"He didn't even buck," Sten said again. "Why didn't he buck?" Esel had tossed Sten onto his backside half a dozen times during his unsuccessful attempts to break him. "How did you do it?"
"There's more than one way to tame a jackass," Iduna said. An angry flush rose from the base of Sten's thick neck and raced up to the tips of his ears. Iduna bit back a giggle – his red hair made it look like his head was on fire, and she swore she could see steam coming out of his ears.
She stepped around him and walked over to her prize. Esel pricked up his ears and snuffled around her pockets. She slipped him a carrot and patted his neck.
Her friend Tuva slipped up next to her. "Wow, Iduna, that was brilliant!" She tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, shooting a glance at the still-smoldering Sten. "Sten looks really angry, though."
"Not all jackasses have four legs," Iduna said with a snicker. She took the donkey's halter and started leading him toward the stable, already mentally spending the money she would make from selling him. There was a little camp on the outskirts of town where trappers and prospectors stayed when they came for supplies. There were always one or two looking for pack animals and –
"You foreign bitch!"
"Iduna, watch out!" Tuva cried.
Before Iduna could react, something struck her hard between the shoulder blades. She sprawled face-first in the dust, crying out as small bits of stone and wood gouged her cheeks. She rolled over, gasping and coughing, to find Sten looming over her, his face crimson with rage.
"You swindled me!" Sten roared.
He grabbed for her, but Iduna quickly rolled between his legs. She'd barely made her feet when he came after her again. She sidestepped a wild swing and danced away from him, mind racing. Why was he violating the two of the most sacred tenets of the yard – Thou Shalt Not Welch and Thou Shalt Not Hit A Girl?
She shot a quick look around. No one seemed inclined to get involved or call Sten out. There were a few shocked faces, but most looked on eagerly.
Everyone loves a good fight.
By calling her a foreigner and then accusing her of swindling him, Sten had effectively removed her from the protection of the yard's unwritten rules. In the minds of most of the onlookers, the code no longer applied to her.
Maybe he's not as dumb as I thought.
Sten lunged at her again. She ducked under his arm, then planted a boot on his backside, sending him skidding into the dirt. She retreated quickly, thankful that she was wearing a boy's shirt and a pair of old breeches instead of a dress. Her odd riding wear may have marked her as an outsider, but it also didn't get in the way of her movement.
She ought to make a run for it. She didn't need the donkey, and Sten would break her in half (or worse) if he caught her. But she'd tamed that jackass and won the bet fair and square, and damn if she was not going to collect on it. Sten was going to pay up, along with everyone else who had bet against her.
Casting around desperately, she spotted a long-handled rake leaning against the fence. She scrambled toward it. Her hand closed around the handle, and she spun around to find Sten almost on top of her, swinging a huge fist. Her dodge wasn't quite quick enough, and the fist landed a glancing blow on her shoulder.
A foul Northuldra swear escaped her lips at the jolt of pain that raced down her arm. Spirits, if he hits me full-strength…
She lashed out with a wild, one-handed swing. The crack of the rake handle against Sten's jaw filled her with vicious satisfaction, but the blow had little force behind it. The rake was clumsy and unbalanced, and she knew she had only slowed him down a bit.
She backpedaled quickly to get some separation from him, then jammed the rake tines into the ground. A stomp of her boot heel snapped the handle, and she had a makeshift staff. Too bad I don't have a spear tip for it. She gave it an experimental twirl, then thrust it forward to catch the charging Sten right in the gut.
"Ooooooph!" Sten's breath left him in a rush.
He backed off, gasping for air. Sensing a real fight, more people from the castle grounds were gathering around the yard. Iduna was vaguely aware of someone calling for bets.
Sten shook himself like a great beast, his beady eyes narrowing at her. The two of them circled each other warily. Iduna's blood sang in her ears, drowning out the crowd, and her body thrummed with manic energy.
She twirled her staff again, smiling, taunting him. He charged like a bull to a red cape. Iduna sidestepped, rapping his knuckles as he went by, then twirled and took a two-handed swing, walloping him on the backside. The crowd hooted with laughter.
Sten's face twisted with rage, and he charged again. Iduna dropped and rolled, thrusting the rake handle between his feet as he went by. It cracked across his ankles, and he went down hard.
The audience shouted its approval. Out of the corner of her eye, Iduna saw money changing hands.
Sten scrambled to his feet, cursing viciously. Their dance continued, with Sten swinging and grabbing at her, and Iduna staying just beyond his reach. Her staff was quick in her hands – it found Sten's wrists, shoulder blades, and backside in a series of lightning-fast strikes that had their audience whistling with appreciation.
"Cunt," Sten spat, rubbing his hand where she'd scored a hit. "I'll teach you."
Iduna rolled her eyes. "You couldn't teach a fish to swim."
His face went purple, and he rushed her again. Iduna dodged, but he was the quicker this time, catching the staff as she swung it. He yanked it from her hands, sending her stumbling into the crowd. A pair of arms wrapped around her from behind, holding her fast as Sten advanced on her.
Panicked, Iduna jabbed her elbow back hard into her attacker's gut. A whoosh of warm air blew past her ear, and the arms dropped away. She spun on her heel, her arm already coming around for a right hook. She saw a pair of green eyes widen in shock right before her fist landed between them.
"Owwwwww!" Iduna shook her throbbing hand. Her voice suddenly sounded way too loud, and she realized that the crowd had gone deathly silent. Horror rushed through her when she looked down and saw the tall, lanky boy sprawled in the dirt at her feet, his hand covering his face. Blood poured from between his fingers. Oh, Spirits help me…
"Your Majesty, I'm so sorry!"
"Ouch!" Iduna flinched as Gerda gently swabbed the cuts on her cheek.
"Sit still," Gerda ordered. She dabbed at Iduna's cheek once more, then eyed it closely. "I think that's got it. They're little more than scrapes." She turned to rinse the cloth in the small basin. "I doubt you'll have a scar. If you don't pick at it!"
Iduna gave her a sheepish look and quickly lowered her hand. "Thanks, Gerda. For getting Esel for me." A loud bray came from outside the window of Gerda's tiny kitchen. "I think Esel is saying thank you as well."
Gerda let out a dismissive tsk. "Of course. Though I can't imagine what you were thinking, making any kind of bet with that Sten. A cretin, the same as his father, not sure why Master Kane keeps him on." She wrung out the cloth she'd used on Iduna's face and hung it on a rack to dry.
Iduna shrugged and dropped her gaze to her lap. She fidgeted in the chair, brushing at her filthy breeches. She really should go bathe and change clothes, put on a dress. It probably wouldn't be long before someone came for her…. "Gerda?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Will I…will I get thrown in the dungeons?"
"What?"
Gentle fingers lifted Iduna's chin. Gerda crouched in front of her chair, brown eyes filled with concern. "Iduna, honey…is that why you were hiding? You think you're going to get thrown in the dungeons?"
Iduna bit her lip, holding back tears. "I punched the King."
Gerda smiled gently. "I think you have a credible claim to self-defense. You didn't know who grabbed you. Besides, I thought you and King Agnarr were friends?"
"Yes?" Iduna gave a little one-shoulder shrug. "At least I think so?" She wasn't completely sure. Agnarr had been acting strange around her lately – always shuffling his feet and running his fingers through his strawberry-blond hair. Stammering over his words like he couldn't remember what he wanted to say. "He's been acting weird lately."
The corner of Gerda's mouth twitched. "I see. Even so, surely you don't think he would –"
"No! Not him!" She twisted the fabric of her breeches between her fingers. "It's…well, look what happened to Jarri…."
"Oh, honey…." Gerda grasped her hands. Iduna winced at the pressure on her bruised knuckles.
"Jarri didn't punch the King, he didn't do anything wrong, but he still went to the dungeons."
"And was quickly released," Gerda reminded her. "The mood was uglier then. The Northuldra fiasco was still fresh in everyone's memory."
But they nearly killed him before they took him. The image of Jarri's battered face swam in Iduna's vision. Just because he was Northuldra.
As if reading her thoughts, Gerda said, "No one knows you're Northuldra, dear."
"I know." She'd been careful, changed her hairstyle and clothing (mostly), and had only a trace of her accent left. "But I'm still…different."
"And there will always be those who fear that," Gerda said. "The ignorant and small-minded. But I think most people are better than that." She squeezed Iduna's hands.
"Ouch!" Iduna pulled her swollen hand away.
"Let me see that." Gerda took her hand and examined it critically, brushing her thumb gently over Iduna's battered knuckles. "Is this from punching the King?"
"Yes. I got him right between the eyes. I think I might have broken his nose…"
Gerda made an indignant noise in her throat. "With his nose, that's unfortunate. Let's get a cold cloth on this." She stood up and put her hands on her hips, looking at Iduna with a gleam in her eye.
"Then…I will show you how to throw a proper punch."