by A. E. Rayne
She almost smiled, but forced herself to simply nod.
‘Good, then let’s go.’ And grabbing her hand, Arnon pulled her down the pier.
‘What? Go where?’ Alys’ heart raced, panicking, head turning left and right. ‘Go where? Arnon?’
‘Let them stock the ship. They’ve got enough coins. They know what we need. And as for us...’ he purred, pulling her close. ‘The tavern owner has a room for us. Just for a while. We won’t need long, though, will we, Alys? Just long enough to remember how it was before those bastards took you away from me.’
Alys wanted to sob. She wanted to hold her ground and not move. To cry out and beg him to stop. She thought of Reinar, uselessly, hopelessly, knowing there was nothing anyone could do to help her now.
Ilene found Elin in the stables, talking to the horses. ‘And they’re not even your horses!’ she laughed.
‘I like horses,’ Elin said, stroking the muzzle of a gentle roan horse, who appeared to be falling asleep beneath her hand. She felt sad, sighing deeply.
‘What is it?’ Ilene crunched into an apple, feeling bored. The waves of excitement and exhaustion after the battle had gone now, and she was hungry for something new. She thought of Sigurd often, wishing she’d gone with him, tempted by the thought of seeing Arnon de Sant again too.
‘Nothing,’ Elin tried.
‘Who do you have to talk to? If not me, then who? Something’s wrong. Likely something to do with your husband, so why not say?’
Turning around, Elin stared at her. ‘I suppose there’s no one else to talk to anymore. Agnette has set against me, I could see it in her eyes. She used to look at me with affection, and then pity, and now...’ Elin shook her head. ‘That dreamer turned everyone against me, didn’t she?’
Ilene nodded vigorously. ‘She wrapped them all around her little finger. Who knows what magic she used? Dreamers are all witches. All of them.’
‘You really think that? Witches?’
‘Of course! You can’t trust them. Especially not Alys. She made her husband miserable. Likely she was always making plans for how to get rid of him. She wanted to become a lady, you could see that. When she got to Ottby, she made straight for your husband, following him around, making him give her your clothes.’
‘My clothes? She wore my clothes?’
‘She did. That cloak.’ And Ilene pointed to Elin’s golden cloak, still splattered with blood and mud.
Elin was furious. ‘And my dress? A green dress?’
Ilene nodded. ‘Alys followed Reinar around, dressed as though she was a lady, pretending to help him, but she was just trying to find herself a new husband.’ Ilene finished the apple, giving the core to the horse, who gobbled it up. ‘You coming back ruined that plan, so now she’s gone back to her own husband. She’s put a spell on him for sure. After what she did, lying about who she was? Abandoning him? Only magic would keep him going back to her.’ Ilene’s rage boiled as she thought of the smug bitch, tempting and teasing Arnon back to her bed again.
‘And do you think she’ll come back? To Ottby? That Sigurd will find her?’
‘Depends, I suppose. She is a dreamer after all. Depends on whether she wants to be found.’
It wasn’t happening to her.
Alys could hear Thenor’s deep voice, warning her that the path she had to walk down was not necessarily where she wanted to go.
Arnon lay over her, occasionally fingering her hair, grunting in her ear. Mostly his attention was fixed on the wall, arching his back as he shunted his body against hers.
But Alys wasn’t there.
Her cloak lay on the dirt floor of the tiny shack, and she imagined herself lying curled up beneath it, enclosed inside it, safe in the darkness. Closing her eyes, she listened to her heartbeat, thumping like Eddeth on a drum, and she thought of clouds, loose and free and drifting.
Soft, billowy clouds.
Arnon bent to kiss her, bristles scratching her lips, tongue in her mouth.
It was all so horrifically familiar that she felt defeated.
And eyes closed, the drumbeat eventually becoming hypnotic, Alys slipped away.
‘Poor Magnus,’ Jonas sighed, shaking his head at the sliver of salt fish Vik was offering him. ‘His father’s been raised from the dead by the Goddess of Magic. He’ll want to act.’
The afternoon sky was darkening on the horizon, or was it a storm?
Heads that had been turned to the water for most of the day were now looking skywards, worried by the colour of those clouds. Shards of light shone through, but as they watched, the sky darkened to a deep leaden colour, threatening another night of terror.
The mast creaked, and Vik glanced up, feeling the wind quicken considerably. Sigurd was swaying down the deck, checking on everyone, struggling to stay upright. Ludo hung over the port gunwale, searching through the darkening gloom for some sign of land. They were hoping to reach Torsas by nightfall, but there wasn’t even a hint that they were close yet.
Vik’s hand tightened around the tiller, swallowing down the last mouthful of salt fish. ‘Magnus loves his mother more than anyone. I remember how that felt. I remember the burning need I had to protect mine. He’ll be smart, though.’ Vik hoped he was right, doubting that Arnon de Sant would treat the boy well. ‘Besides, we’ll find them soon. Eddeth said they’re at Torsas, and we’re not far away now.’ He peered through the clouds, hoping he was right. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll be there soon.’
Jonas nodded, heart racing. He felt fear and panic building, the worry of the serpent and the angry goddess and what she might try next, the worry over Magnus and his fears for Alys too, but most of all, right then, he felt the absence of his wife. She was the wisest person he’d ever known, the calmest and the kindest. She could soothe him with a word or a touch. She could slip into her dreams and find a beacon of light in a world of darkness.
But without her, Jonas felt lost, fearing that he would never be able to put his family back together again.
11
Magnus shook all over, despite his new cloak, which was made of bear fur, dark-brown, and thicker than anything he’d owned before. The man who’d bought it for him seemed like the least horrible of the crew.
Ebben.
He was the youngest man on board, the son of the helmsman, and he often looked at Magnus with a hint of sympathy in his eyes.
The five remaining men had stocked the small ship with food and furs and barrels of ale, thanks to their generous benefactor, and were now happily drinking as they awaited Arnon and Alys’ return.
Magnus felt sick, wiping raindrops from his eyes, watching the end of the pier that led to the road to the tavern.
They had rooms at the back.
That’s where his father would have taken his mother.
The men on the ship had been laughing about it. Laughing about what Arnon would do to her. Magnus didn’t want to hear them laughing about his mother. He curled his hands into fists, wishing he could hurt them. He wanted to make them shut up, but he thought of Jonas and Vik, hearing their voices in his ears, calming him down. He looked up to them, wanted to be like them, and more than anything, he was determined to make them proud by not doing anything silly.
Ebben handed him a waterskin. ‘You should drink something.’ He’d just turned eighteen and was struggling to fit in with the men, feeling as though he had more in common with the ten-year-old boy.
Magnus wanted to shake his head, but keeping his eyes on the pier, he took the skin with a nod, drinking quickly. Handing it back to Ebben, he wiped a frozen hand over his lips. ‘Do you have a mother?’
Ebben blinked. ‘Somewhere.’
Magnus turned to him, taking his eyes off the pier for a moment. ‘You don’t know where she is?’
Ebben glanced over his shoulder, but his father was too busy telling a joke to even look his way. ‘She left us when I was small. Ran off with another man. My father’s friend. I never saw her again.’
‘Oh.’
<
br /> Ebben moved closer, standing next to Magnus. ‘Your mother is pretty.’
Magnus smiled. ‘She is, but she doesn’t care about that.’
‘No?’
‘She cares about my sister and me. About keeping us safe from our father. He’s always been cruel.’
Ebben didn’t have anything to say to that, and Magnus felt confused, not sure if the young man was being friendly or just spying, planning to share everything he said with his father.
‘Some men are cruel,’ Ebben said eventually. ‘I think that’s why my mother ran away. It’s what I’ve always told myself, anyways. Though maybe it was because of me? I was always getting in trouble.’ He tried to smile, wanting to lighten the mood.
‘I doubt that’s the reason,’ Magnus said. ‘Mothers care for their children, don’t they? We’re their blood. They wouldn’t leave us. Not unless they had to. Unless there was no other option, they wouldn’t leave us.’
He turned his attention back to the pier, hoping to see some sign of his mother.
‘Where did you go, Mirella? I thought you were dead.’ Jesper Vettel circled the woman who stood before him looking as beautiful as when he’d last seen her; as frustratingly perfectly beautiful as ever. ‘I thought you were dead!’ He’d given his son to a servant, who had taken him out of the chamber, and Jesper could hear the baby’s cries echoing loudly in the corridor.
Mirella didn’t smile. She hadn’t wanted to come back, and yet she’d missed him with every breath she took, every moment of every day. ‘You were cruel. You didn’t care for me at all, Jesper. I needed to go away, to escape you.’
He was shocked by that. ‘Cruel? But I loved you. I treated you like a lady. A queen! I talked about marriage. I wanted to marry you!’
The fire spat in the distance, and Mirella sighed. ‘Marriage is like being caught in a trap, and I’m no helpless animal, Jesper. You hurt me, and confused me and made me doubt myself entirely. I did not wish to be trapped by you. Not for the rest of my life.’
‘Yet you have returned.’ Jesper stopped before the tall young woman, running a hand down her cheek. ‘You have come home to me.’
‘Though now you have a wife and son. It doesn’t appear that you missed me at all.’ Jealousy was stirring, overriding good sense. It had always been the way, Mirella knew. She had seen Jesper’s wife in her dreams, and after that, it had been impossible to stay away, as much as she’d wanted to.
Jesper Vettel had always been impossible to love.
Impossible not to.
‘Miss you?’ He clasped Mirella’s hand, pulling her to him, his pale blue eyes narrowing with desire. ‘I wanted to die without you.’
‘But here you are, Jesper, alive and well.’
He smiled. ‘There are some things more important than love, you know that. Like power. The throne. My father demands many things of me, but none as great as being his heir. He doesn’t trust Gunnar, and who could blame him? My brother has the brain of a turnip.’ And not even waiting a heartbeat, Jesper leaned in, kissing Mirella.
She pulled back quickly. ‘Your wife?’
‘From what I hear, she’s betrayed me.’
Mirella frowned, watching his smile grow. ‘And when did you discover this?’
‘Why just now. Betrayed me, she has. I will have her killed for her disloyalty, and then we will be married, Mirella, my love. And you will never leave my side again. We will have many sons, and once I sit upon the throne, they will stand behind me, and you will sit beside me, and we will be unstoppable.’
Mirella stared into his eyes, wanting to believe everything he said.
But she didn’t.
And yet, she kissed him with a need greater than anything she could contain because, for all his flaws and all her fears, Mirella Bergstrom loved Jesper Vettel.
Alys watched them.
Her parents.
She felt both disturbed and sad. Confused too.
Jesper Vettel had been cruel, murderous, and violent. And her mother had been unable to resist him, as she had once been unable to resist Arnon.
Alys turned away from her parents, feeling lost.
Her mother was a dreamer, and never once had she come to find her. Never once had she tried to help her, rescue her, advise her. She had simply abandoned her and disappeared.
A hand on her back had Alys stumbling forward, then quickly turning around.
The woman standing before her had blue-grey eyes full of sadness, her blonde hair pulled back from a kind face, drawn with worry. ‘Don’t go looking for answers, my darling,’ Eida Bergstrom warned. ‘Don’t go looking for your mother. You will only end up disappointed.’
Eddeth had dozed on and off throughout the afternoon, trying to find answers. And leaning on Stina’s arm, she started mumbling, writhing around on the chest.
Sigurd’s head was up, and he turned away from Ludo, walking towards the women.
Stina felt torn, wanting to keep Eddeth dreaming, though nightmares weren’t pleasant for anyone to endure.
And then Eddeth lurched up, panting, sweat pouring down her frozen face. ‘I... but... I!’ Blinking at Sigurd, she staggered to her feet, turning around in confusion. ‘Where are we? Where are we?’
Sigurd grabbed her as she stumbled. ‘Getting closer. We’ve spotted land, so we’ll be at Torsas by the time it’s fully dark, I’d say.’
Ludo came to join them, wanting to see if Eddeth was alright. ‘Have you seen something, Eddeth?’
She nodded vigorously, mouth so dry that she couldn’t get her words out. ‘They’re... leaving! They’re leaving Torsas!’
‘What?’ Sigurd’s eyes burst open. ‘You’re sure?’
Eddeth sneezed explosively. ‘I....’ she croaked, looking pleadingly at Ludo.
‘Water?’
And nodding some more, Eddeth grabbed Sigurd’s hand. ‘They’re leaving. I saw the boy, he’s on a ship. Just a tiny ship. The men are waiting.’
‘For what?’ Stina wondered.
Eddeth closed her eyes, trying to drag back the remnants of her dream. And when she opened them, Jonas and Ollo were there too, all of them staring at her. ‘For that horrible man, Arnon. And Alys. They’re not there. Not on the ship.’
Jonas felt worried. ‘Why? Where are they?’
Ollo nudged him. ‘Husband. Wife. Likely you’ve forgotten how that goes.’
Jonas growled, not welcoming the reminder.
Vik kept glancing over his shoulder, wondering what was happening, wishing they’d move closer so he could hear what they were saying, but the wind was a droning whistle, and he turned back around, sighing.
‘They’re waiting, which means that soon they’ll be leaving.’
‘For where? Did you see Lotta?’ Jonas had so many questions, though Eddeth looked more muddled than ever. She couldn’t stop blinking and sneezing and twitching. He wanted to put his hands on her arms to keep her still.
‘Orvala. They said Orvala, but if we hurry, we might catch them!’
Ollo was already turning away, aiming for Vik.
Sigurd frowned, tension tightening his shoulders. ‘How many men, Eddeth?’
She closed her eyes again, trying to see the ship. ‘A handful... one, two... five!’
‘Well, that’s something,’ Ludo grinned. ‘We can handle five men.’
Sigurd agreed. ‘If we can get to them in time.’
Mirella was struggling to focus on matters of importance.
Yet, they were all important, she knew.
Like Tarl’s favourite game, barta. Your attention had to be on the piece you were moving, but also on those you might expose to danger. On those you knew you wanted to move in the future too.
For everything mattered. Everything was interconnected.
Like a body.
Her own body vibrated with the need to be back in her chamber, away from the distractions of the hall. Tarl was like a boisterous child, loud and disruptive, needing to be at the centre of all that was happening.
He struggled to focus on anything but defeating enemies, which would do him no good as king, she realised with a frown.
‘Mirella!’ Tarl had only just noticed her, and he stepped away from the fire, goblet in hand, boyish grin on his bearded face. ‘Are you just going to hide away like a little mouse? That’s not like you!’ He slipped an arm around her waist, guiding her to a corner where a brazier was sparking with hot flames. And motioning to the fur-covered chairs that surrounded it, he took a seat.
Mirella remained standing. ‘You must make plans to leave. I have seen an opportunity, an enemy who has grown tired of the fight. One who will be open to talk of an alliance. Our ever-present friend, the Lord of The Murk. If you send word, he will meet you. Sit down and negotiate with you.’
Tarl laughed. ‘You were serious about finding allies? Now? But winter is here! A winter greater than any other. That’s what you’ve promised. And now you want me to take my men out of the city? In winter?’ He laughed, and it was loud, rumbling in his chest. He was a hulking man with broad shoulders and muscular arms, one of which reached out to Mirella, trying to encourage her to sit down. ‘What’s troubling you? You seem more on edge than usual.’
‘What’s troubling me is that you appear happy to do nothing. As though you’re content with where we are. But we are only halfway up the mountain, Tarl Brava, so how can you be content to just collect heads and stay in the same place, clinging to the side of the mountain?’
Tarl frowned. Sometimes, Mirella acted like his mother, and he didn’t want to think of her that way. ‘I’m the Lord of Orvala, the only true city in the North. And you think I need to go around begging for alliances? From that sneaking bastard? He’s been prowling my borders for months. Why would I sit down with him? If he’s so desperate to talk, it likely means he’s tired and wants to go home. It would be the perfect opportunity to crush him!’
