by A. E. Rayne
He frowned after her, bemused, before hurrying to catch up. ‘I could kill you,’ Tarl said when he caught her. She ignored him, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her to him. ‘I could kill you!’
Mirella turned her face up to his, blinking through the snow. ‘No, you couldn’t, but I could kill you before you even try. Know that, Tarl Brava. I came to Orvala to help you, and I will, but don’t push me into a corner. I am doing everything I can to get you onto that throne, but do not push me.’ And temper sparking, Mirella sucked back everything else she was tempted to say, staring into his black eyes.
Waiting.
It didn’t sit comfortably with Tarl that he had to bend to Mirella’s will, but he knew that she had helped him rise. And if he followed her guidance, she would help him become a king. ‘Fine.’ He wanted to kiss her, which he could tell she knew, and forcing his eyes away from her, he started walking, bellowing into the night. Eventually, he took a breath, waiting while Mirella caught up to him. ‘We will walk until we freeze, and you can tell me about the Lord of The Murk and why I shouldn’t just tear him and his scum to pieces. And then we’ll return to the hall and hold our hands to the fires while they heat us through.’ He didn’t even look at Mirella, but he had the sense that she was trying very hard not to smile.
Ollo whipped off his trousers, wanting to get the best seat, eager to rest his head against the wall of the steam house. It wasn’t spacious, and despite losing so many of the crew, there were still enough men left to compete for seats. So, hairy belly jiggling, he clambered up the benches, a big smile on his face.
Sigurd was slower, his frozen hands stiff and struggling with his swordbelt. The narrow house was hot, swelling with clouds of steam, and he couldn’t see much, but he could feel the tension in his body ease slightly, relieved that they weren’t still trekking through the forest, wondering where they were going to sleep.
‘Maybe we should sleep in here?’ Ludo grinned, scuffing off his wet boots. ‘Warmer than the barn!’
Jonas laughed. ‘Having slept in a barn lately, I’d second that. Though likely we’d never wake up!’ He yawned, the waves of warmth already working away at him.
Vik joined in, stark naked as he took a seat on the bottom row of benches. ‘Well, that won’t get us anywhere, will it?’ He closed his eyes, certain he could fall asleep in a heartbeat. ‘No, we just need to feel our toes and fingers again, get some food in our bellies, have a sleep, and we’ll be off come morning.’
‘Do they have horses?’ Ollo called down. ‘I hope they have horses!’
‘So do I,’ Jonas agreed. ‘It’s a strange place, though. So big, yet there’s only those two here.’
‘They had a sickness last year,’ Vik said, eyes still closed. ‘Edwin lost his parents and his brothers. Now it’s just them to manage the whole place. Not sure if they’ll have any horses. They look like they’re struggling to do much on their own. Probably had to let them go.’
‘Or they ate them,’ Ludo suggested. ‘They look a little strange.’
‘Ha!’ Sigurd snorted, finally free of his clothes. And taking a seat beside Vik, he closed his eyes, remembering the sea, hearing Dagger breaking apart, the raven’s cry above his head. He quickly opened his eyes, feeling unsettled. ‘We just need a night to recover, then we can start again. But whatever we’ve been through, and whatever’s coming our way, at least we’re not poor Alys and Magnus.’
Jonas sighed, worry digging a deep frown between his wild eyebrows. ‘Exactly. We just have to hope we get to them in one piece. That Alys can keep them both safe until then.’
‘She can,’ Ludo assured him. ‘We saw what she did to Torvig. She saved Stina’s life. She can hold on.’
Sigurd closed his eyes again, seeing himself in that shed, facing down Torvig.
Wishing he had the chance to go back and do it all again.
‘We’ll have a house,’ Arnon breathed in Alys’ ear. ‘A big house with rooms. We’ve never had that, have we? But I’ve got silver now. Silver to buy us whatever we need.’
There were many sides to Arnon, Alys knew, and this was the romantic one, where he was almost childlike, talking about life as though everything was possible. When it wasn’t. Alys knew that it wasn’t.
But she nodded.
‘And more children! We need more. More sons. Better sons.’
Alys pressed her lips together, refusing to play the game.
She nodded some more.
‘And I’ll become the warrior I was born to be, with a real lord. Not like that useless prick, Arald Husak. He just wanted to sit in his chair and drink!’ And saying that, Arnon tipped the last of his ale into his mouth.
Alys didn’t say a word.
‘Why aren’t you speaking?’ Arnon snapped. ‘You don’t want that? You don’t what those things?’
‘I feel sick.’ It was dark now, and the ship was smacking into the waves, rocking and tilting, and Alys was wondering if she needed to vomit. She’d watched Magnus rush to his feet repeatedly as the waves grew and the night deepened around them. And now she was finally thinking of joining him.
Arnon’s breath didn’t help, overpowering her, despite the best efforts of the wind. His nose was almost touching her cheek, his hands pawing her constantly. She couldn’t get away from him.
But she would.
And closing her eyes as he slid a hand up her dress, she tried to think of Orvala, hoping her daughter was there.
Safe.
Waiting for her.
Lotta stared out the window.
Braziers burned along the docks, flames blowing almost horizontally, struggling in the strong wind. She didn’t want Mirella to return, but she knew that soon, she would.
The servant Mirella had left watching her was a quiet old woman, nodding off by the fire.
Lotta eyed the door nervously, yawning herself. She was tired, but her desire to escape was growing. She remembered the tavern and the old shed she’d slept in with Ulrick and Bergit, and if she could just get out of the hall, she could make her way there, convince Ulrick to leave.
To take her and run away.
‘From me?’ Mirella wondered, opening the door, slipping the key into her purse. ‘Is that what you want to do, Lotta de Sant? Run away from your own grandmother?’ She took Lotta’s hand, pulling her towards the fire, where her servant spluttered, eyes wide open now, sitting up straight. ‘You may leave, Bathilda,’ she snapped, barely looking at the woman, who fumbled to gather up her knitting, shuffling to the door.
Lotta wished she could follow her, and she swung around, wanting to get away from Mirella, who held her hand tightly, pulling her back to the hearth, pushing her down onto a chair by the fire.
‘I won’t hurt you,’ Mirella promised, releasing her hold on the little girl. ‘But I won’t let you go. I can see everything you see, even in your dreams. I can hear your thoughts. All of them. So don’t think of escaping, for there is no point. Not now.’
‘But why?’ Lotta couldn’t stay silent any longer. ‘Why do you want to keep me? Why am I here?’
Mirella saw the tiny freckles sprinkled over her nose, reminded of Alys. She had tried to avoid thinking of her daughter for twenty-eight years. Twenty-eight years of being a mother in name only, to a girl who thought she was dead.
And a granddaughter who thought the same.
‘You’re here because you’re meant to be here. Because you will help. I have seen that, Lotta. You will help.’
‘Help who?’
‘The gods. Those who are righteous. Those who believe in freedom. Those who wish to take back Alekka from arrogant bullies like Ake Bluefinn, who seek to crush the North and hold the South hostage.’
Lotta didn’t understand.
Mirella smiled. ‘You are a child, and that is not for you to worry about, but believe me when I say that soon everything will change. I have spoken to those who know. I have seen how it will go, Lotta, and with you by my side we’ll be unstoppable.’
‘But my mother? What about my mother?’
Mirella stiffened. ‘Your mother is coming, don’t worry. Your mother is coming to us soon.’
Eddeth and Stina had remained in the barn while the men enjoyed the steam house. Stina hadn’t wanted to take off her clothes in front of them, and after what she’d been through, Eddeth didn’t blame her. She had no such qualms herself, but she chose to keep Stina company instead. The lady of the longhouse had refused their help with supper, and so they lay on hay bales in the barn, talking about how they could help Alys.
Eddeth didn’t know. ‘If Alari is working against her, I’m not sure what we can do. I had two books. Two ancient books! Now they’re both gone. Eaten by that sea serpent, most likely. The horrible beast!’
‘At least we weren’t. I keep thinking about those poor men.’ Stina saw images of Falki Grimsson being swallowed whole, certain she’d heard the serpent crunching his bones. Shuddering, she opened her eyes. ‘I’m not sure I feel like any supper. Especially not fish.’
Eddeth chuckled. ‘Well, we lost everything, not just my books. All our food and ale. Everything! So eat while you can. Soon it will be whatever we can find. And in this weather, that won’t be much. You’ll need your strength, Stina. Trust me! What lies ahead of us will require strength of body as well as mind.’
‘Will it? What do you see?’ Stina sat up, wondering how long those men would be. She’d seen enough of Ollo Narp to know that he’d likely be in there for hours, though hopefully, Sigurd would stay awake long enough to drag him out.
Eddeth didn’t know. ‘I have feelings!’ It was hard to explain. ‘I don’t see what’s coming, but I have feelings. And danger is out there, waiting to pounce.’ Her eyes rounded, and her belly growled, and nothing else popped into her head.
Yawning, she lay back on the hay bale, closing her eyes.
Stina watched her, feeling worried, but grateful too. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Eddeth. Glad I met you.’
Eddeth didn’t open her eyes, but she smiled.
Ulrick was struggling to smile.
They’d left their miserable shed behind, heading back to the hall, where Bergit tried to make conversation with Solveigh, who stared at the door to the corridor, ignoring her. Eventually, Ulrick had disappeared into a corner to talk to Tarl Brava, leaving the two women alone.
‘You must be excited about what’s coming?’ Bergit smiled, enjoying the wine. It had her head spinning, and even Solveigh’s miserable face couldn’t dampen her good mood.
Solveigh looked confused. ‘Coming? You mean my evil husband leaving? Yes, I suppose I am. Though he will return, won’t he? The gods have blessed him with fortune and luck. According to the witch, he will unite the two halves of Alekka. He will wear the Sun Torc!’ She sat before the fire on a stool, shoulders slumped, eyes glazed, full goblet of wine in her hand. She thought about simply tipping forward into the fire and letting the flames burn her face. If she was disfigured, Tarl wouldn’t want to keep her as his wife. He wouldn’t want to touch her. He’d get rid of her, possibly kill her.
And frowning, she started to think it through, wondering how much the flames would hurt. How much of her body she would need to set on fire...
‘The Sun Torc? I thought it was lost? Broken?’ Bergit was intrigued, so, keeping one eye on Ulrick, who looked miserable and was therefore likely making a poor impression on his new lord, she started prying Solveigh for information.
‘Your wife will be good company for mine while we’re gone,’ Tarl suggested, pleased to see Solveigh talking to someone.
Ulrick smiled distractedly at Bergit. ‘She has a way about her, that’s for sure. She likes to take care of everyone.’ He thought of Lotta, realising that wasn’t true.
‘Well, Solveigh needs a friend. Orvala is new to her, and she hasn’t warmed to anyone here yet. Perhaps your wife being a stranger will help?’
‘I hope so,’ Ulrick said, though he wanted to talk about other things. ‘What is your plan for making this alliance, my lord? From what I’ve heard, the men from The Murk won’t fall into line easily.’
‘No?’ Tarl turned his body towards Ulrick, giving him his full attention. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘I was in Ennor, months ago now. I trekked across the South, listening, talking, learning what was going on.’
‘But not in The Murk?’
Ulrick shook his head. ‘No, but those in Ennor knew all about their intentions. They’re ambitious. They don’t seek small victories, looking to gild their reputations. They want real power. A chance to rule.’
‘Many do. Those men over there did!’ Tarl laughed, flicking a hand at the heads on the high table. ‘Many seek power, but few have the skill and resources to claim it.’
Ulrick turned his attention to his cup, holding his tongue.
Which Tarl sensed, and he frowned, wanting to know what the man was hiding. ‘Why do you know so much about my interests, here, in the North?’
‘A lord relies upon his scouts to give him knowledge of what has been and what is to come, for that lord is always making decisions. I gathered information, took it back to Jesper and his son. I was their eyes, their ears.’
Tarl liked Ulrick Dyre, and he smiled. ‘You seem wise, I think. Not as interested in what you can do for yourself as the need to please your lord.’
Ulrick supposed that was true, though Bergit wouldn’t be happy to hear it.
Some men sought glory and fame, but he’d never entertained such dreams. He liked being useful. Valuable. Needed. And now this lord was looking at him with interest, and Ulrick felt a lift, trying to forget about Lotta.
Bergit hadn’t wanted her anyway.
He stared at his wife, who met his eyes, smiling across the flames.
They were in Orvala, with a chance to start again, and Ulrick was determined to take it.
Ollo took a seat before anyone else, reaching for the nearest ale jug, and Vik felt like a parent whose child had terrible manners. And as he thought it, Ollo picked his nose, wiping snot down his trouser leg.
Vik turned to Elfa, who’d made a clumsy effort to decorate the table with sprigs of fir and a few misshapen twigs, and smiling, he took the tray of smoked fish from her. ‘You must have a good fishing spot around here!’ he called to Edwin, who was stoking the fire.
‘Oh yes, I spent days down there before it froze, getting every last fish I could find!’ Edwin’s cheeks were still rosy as he approached the table. There were four long tables in all, and Sigurd’s crew filled half of them, grateful for the benches and the warmth and the promise of the long-awaited meal to come.
Elfa returned to the table with a plate of cold flatbreads and a nervous smile. ‘Eat up,’ she giggled. ‘I’ll bring everything else shortly.’ She glanced at her husband, bobbing her head.
‘You’re the first visitors we’ve had,’ Edwin said, taking his seat. ‘Our first time to be hosts all by ourselves!’
He sounded as nervous as his wife, Sigurd thought, though he couldn’t blame either of them. They certainly hadn’t asked for fifteen hungry mouths to feed; hard-looking men, some with weapons, sitting around their house, gulping down their winter stores. He didn’t blame Edwin and Elfa for their nervousness, but hopefully, after a little ale, they would start to relax.
‘Shouldn’t we wait for Eddeth and Stina?’ Aldo mumbled, eyes on the door.
Sigurd nodded. ‘Yes, let’s do that. They won’t be long, I’m sure. Stina will keep Eddeth awake.’ He grinned, waiting while the ale jug made its way around the table, wondering what Eddeth would make of the steam house.
He’d never felt so warm in his life.
And feeling almost happy for the first time in weeks, he grabbed the jug, pouring himself another cup of ale.
Eddeth was snoring, and Stina didn’t want to wake her.
Sometimes, Eddeth jerked an arm or a leg, and Stina was convinced that she was having a dream.
She rested her head against the wall, sighing deeply. T
he door to the steam house was locked, and she felt safe, though she had no intention of closing her eyes.
No intention of falling asleep like Eddeth.
Eddeth ran through the snow, Vik chasing after her.
He had a furry hat on his head, and he dropped to the ground occasionally to scoop up a handful of snow, squeezing it into a ball, throwing it at her.
Eddeth squealed with delight, running for the shelter of the stables.
The door was ajar, and she slipped inside, panting, cheeks red, certain he would catch her at any moment.
She saw Wilf staring at her, standing in one of the open stalls, and she ran to him, hand on his muzzle, pleased to see him.
Her breath smoked around them both, and Eddeth inhaled deeply, blowing out great big puffs.
Turning around slowly, she sneezed, wondering what the smell was.
Wilf knocked his head into her, whinnying loudly, and she turned back around, staring at him for a moment, convinced that he was speaking to her. His mouth didn’t move, but she could almost hear him bellowing at her to wake up.
She turned away, too distracted by the smell to listen, and stepping forward, she walked across the stables to one of the closed stalls, wondering what had happened to Vik.
Lifting her hand, she prepared to open the door.
And then, hearing a noise, she stopped.
‘Eddeth!’
Vik sounded in trouble, and removing her hand, Eddeth hurried out of the stables, searching for him. The snow was bright white, thick on the ground, and she turned in circles, the panic in Vik’s voice echoing around her until she felt panicked herself.
And then she saw him, falling before her, hand out, blood running down his beard. ‘Eddeth! Help! Help me!’
19
The ale was strong, Ollo thought, head spinning.
