Page 59 of Made

“Very good.”

At that, Vidar intended to be off to hopefully find Niall on a stool or bench or chair close to a fire in a tavern where music is supplied by the raised voices of ale drinkers, but he was stopped by Carnigal.

“You’ll no’ be forgettin’ yer promise, will ye?” asked the crow. It was audacity of the inappropriate and perhaps insulting variety, without regard for Vidar’s warning. But what does one expect from a crow? The way Vidar turned his head toward Carnigal made the bird wish he’d kept his beak shut. “Never ye mind. No mind. No matter. Carnigal is aloft.” Without another sound, he took flight.

Smart bird, thought Vidar. What would it be? O’Malley’s, Fare Thee Well, or The Knight’s Goose? Which to try first? He liked the sound of Knight’s Goose. Irish royalty hadn’t knighted citizens for a thousand years, but some were still infatuated with the idea.

In a cloak of invisibility, Vidar leaned against a wall across from The Knight’s Goose and watched patrons come and go. He’d checked to see if Niall was there when he’d first arrived and confirmed the prince was nowhere to be seen. After a decentwait, he decided to proceed to O’Malley’s and whiled away an hour watching without success.

It’s been said you’re likely to find what you’re after in the last place you look. It’s a statement full of both wisdom and silliness, both of which can sometimes live together happily.

A brief foray inside Fare Thee Well found Niall sitting alone on a bench at a small round table made for two people facing each other. As Carnigal had said, the lad was studying the goings on like he was doing field research on tavern-goers.

Vidar collected a large mug of ale from the bar and casually made his way past rowdies toward the back wall where a healthy fire cast moving shadows on people and things close by.

“This seat taken?” he asked Niall.

After giving him a critical look laced with something that might’ve been confusion, or perhaps irritation, Niall shook his head wordlessly.

As demigod of the north, Vidar was a hunter at heart. And there’s one thing at which all hunters must excel. Patience. It’s even more important than precise targeting. More than once, it had proven to be a great advantage. It helped to win Ilmr. It would also help to gain Niall’s confidence. So, rather than attempting to initiate conversation right away, Vidar sat, sipped his ale, and joined in with a couple of drinking songs topped off with raucous laughter.

Finally, after an hour and three rounds, Vidar looked at Niall. “You seem familiar to me.” Niall nodded. “Your looks favor the royal family.” Niall said nothing and gave away nothing. “Ah! I know! You’re the prince. The… younger prince?”

Niall turned face and body toward Vidar. “Keep your voice down. I’m not fond of being recognized.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Because, when people figure out who I am, they always want something.” Vidar shrugged. “What is ityouwant? Let’sget it over with. Name the thing. I’ll say no, and you can be on your way.”

Vidar laughed softly. “It’s your lucky night, young prince. I have a surprise in store.”

Niall blinked rapidly then showed a flicker of interest. “Well, what is it? I warn you. I’m not fond of the unexpected.”

Vidar smiled. “That’s unexpected.” Niall couldn’t help a tiny smile from forming at Vidar’s clever play on words. “I’m out this dark night for a bit of song and company. I want nothing more.”

The prince did look surprised. “Truth? Or ploy?”

“Truth,” Vidar lied. “I’m Vidar. And I’m the sort who can get what I want on my own.”

Niall nodded. “Niall,” he said before downing the last large gulp of grainy red ale. He looked at the sediment left at the bottom of his mug. “If you’re seekin’ nothin’ from me, thatisa surprise.” Niall held his mug aloft, a signal for one of the barmaids to scurry over with a refill. “Quite novel actually. ‘Tis why, if you’ll forgive me, I’m findin’ it hard to believe.”

“Nonetheless. It’s still true,” he lied again.

When a fresh mug was delivered, Niall studied it, turning it round and round. “The name, Vidar, sounds familiar.” He ran through lists of names in his head hoping for a clue. “Got it! You’re named after the god of the northern hunt.” Vidar shook his head and smiled. “No?’

“No. I’m not named after anyone. I am god of the northern hunt.”

Being a narcissist through and through, Niall found himself seated across from someone who might be worthy of his company. He smiled. “Why would you be here? In a small tavern in a nearly nameless Irish town.”

“Why does that seem hard to accept? Since the beginning of time, gods have mingled with mortals.”

Niall barked out a laugh. Though he was mortal, he’d never really thought of himself that way. It might be fun to chat with a fella who looked down on him.

“That much is true. Still, if I were in your boots, I doubt I’d find myself here.”

“Why not? You’re prince of the land. Yet here you are.”

“Again. You are right. Some might think it odd.”

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