by Kit Caine
Wolfric spread her fingers along the stones at her back, pressing herself into the wall. She could smell the sweet notes of wine lingering on his breath. She wet her lips and swore she could taste it.
His deep-sky eyes followed her gaze to his drink. "Would you care for some?" He tilted the wine towards her.
"No, thank you," she kept her voice low as the murmur of monks chattering in the background faded. Their light footfalls retreated as they scurried down the hall to the antechamber.
Ceadda stepped forward, stealing her attention and pressed the cup to her lips despite her weak protest. Cool liquid slid between her teeth. Oak and cherry danced on her tongue.
His lips parted slightly as he poured the drink into her mouth. "Good, right?" he whispered, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her ear.
The soft patter of monk's feet echoed down the hall. "I saw him come this way just a few moments ago.”
"There is no telling what trouble those two have gotten themselves into." It was Jorgensen’s voice carrying over the erratic beat of her heart.
Without a word, Ceadda grabbed her arm, yanking her into a shallow alcove between walls.
She sucked in a breath, thoughts abandoning her, and looked up into his face.
He really did have the most peculiar eyes. Like stars come down to grace man. She traced the contours of his face, noting where the boy had fallen away and the man had filled in. The biggest change was his hair. She had seen him bald all her life but now he had these waves that fell around his shoulders. Before she could stop herself, her fingers sank into the silk. She rubbed the fine threads, testing their softness.
"You like it?" his voice was velvet against midnight.
Her gaze snapped up to meet amethyst eyes. She was losing her mind. If he didn't find her out soon, he would if she carried on like a lovestruck maiden. "Sorry," she murmured, removing her hand. "I'm surprised Jorgensen allowed you to grow it out. I wish I could." She pinched her eyes together as soon as the confession left her lips. Why was she unraveling all at once?
Ceadda tipped her chin back to meet his eye and roamed her face. She could see the words on the tip of his tongue. Did he see her? The real her? He pushed her hood back with a gentle hand, running fingers through her short curls. "Why would you want to do something so unfair?”
"What?" She didn't understand or maybe it was the lazy trail his fingers burned down the curve of her neck. Either way, she was lost. Her eyes started to drift, lids lowering as devilish hands wove a tale of sin up the back of her head and through her hair. She had almost forgotten the strange words when he spoke again.
"How much more beautiful could you possibly want to be? Enough to make Freya jealous?"
She pushed back against his chest, haze lifting. “You speak blasphemy.” In all the years she had known Ceadda he was devout, completely dedicated to his scriptures, training to join the holy wars.
The man before her now had seen a different world; spoke of forbidden gods.
“There is so much I want to tell you, Wolfric.” He pressed impossibly close. “I know the church teaches us that this is wrong, but who are they to tell us that our sin is greater than theirs?”
This was too much all at once. She needed to get out. Squeezing from the narrow passage, she escaped the close confines and sucked in a shuddering gulp. Not much better, but at least she could focus.
Torches cast a golden haze throughout the hall and tangled with shadows as merry notes of Christmas festivities filled the main hall and trickled toward her. She should be out there drinking too much wine and enjoying the music, not sneaking in dark halls with Ceadda. Doing what exactly? She groaned inwardly, cursing herself a fool. One look into amethyst eyes and she turned into a weak-kneed mess. What was she thinking?
She bent, retrieving the discarded sack; resolve hardened.
“So, you really plan on running again?”
She turned to meet his voice. He had retreated further into the alcove. Hood thrown over his head. Shadows danced on his face, but his eyes were striking even in the low light. Were they glowing or was the nearby flame playing tricks on her?
Imogen wanted nothing more than to be pressed against him again, but... she wasn’t Imogen. She was Wolfric, and Wolfric shouldn’t be here. Not like this.
With shaking arms, she slung the sack over one shoulder. “You don’t understand.” Her voice faltered. “If I stay here….” She couldn’t bring herself to finish that sentence. “It’s just better if I leave.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “If you would let me, I could understand a lot more.”
He walked toward her with slow, measured steps as if she would disappear in a cloud of smoke if he moved too quickly. And he was right. Every one of her muscles tensed for escape. She should run down the hall, leave through the back while everyone was distracted. She should turn away before he came any closer, but her feet rooted to cold stone. If he knew the extent of her lies he wouldn’t look at her with that buttery gaze. If he knew everything she’d done to steal this name, he would turn her in to the magister--or worse--he would despise her.
She tore her eyes away before he could see tears building there. “You don’t know anything about me. You think you do, but you don’t. You would hate me if you knew even a fraction of the truth.”
“Im--” He stopped himself. A dozen minute emotions flickered across his face and each fled before she could register them. “I’m,” he started again, “not who you need to hide from. We grew up together, Little Wolf. You aren’t capable of anything so horrendous.” He extended an arm toward her but she snatched her fingers away.
“I am,” she breathed, mind flashing back to the hanged girl—to the stench of her corpse swinging on a noose. It should have been her tied to that tree. That girl was innocent.
The contents of her stomach sloshed, slowly rising in her throat. There was no going back. No repenting for her sins. “I have to go.”
Turning on her toes, she pressed into a sprint towards the kitchens. The back entrance was her only option for escape.
A few precious hours stretched between the moment the monks sobered enough to mobilize and alert the authorities, and her mad dash off the monastery grounds.
She glanced back at the crash of boots meeting stone. Ceadda raced behind her. His long legs swallowed the distance between them. “Wait!” he shouted at her back, but she pushed faster.
Strong arms clamped around her wrist, pulling her into his chest. “Just let me go,” she panted. “You have no idea.” Tears streamed hot down her icy cheeks. For so long she kept them at bay but now she couldn’t staunch the flow no matter how she tried.
Drunken monks lifted heads from their cups to stare at the pair. She snatched her arm away.
“Wolfric.” Ceadda’s hand tightened around her arm. His face twisted in an almost pained expression. “I know.”
Her body tensed, face pinched, etching a line between her brows.
He knew?
Everything in that moment slowed. Her breath. Her heart. The air stilled as all her focus trained on Ceadda, her eyes watching his lips for his next words.
Those deep-sky eyes searched her face, peeling back each layer--exposing everything she’d ever hidden. “You’re just like me,” he continued. “You didn’t want this life. It’s one our fathers forced on us. We’ll never be able to choose our paths, but I think that won’t matter if we….” he grabbed her hand, pulling her close and away from prying eyes.
Her heart ruled as she padded toward him. Foolish really, but her mind had lost control. He wrapped her tighter, hand splayed on her lower back. She could melt into his arms and drown her worries, but that wouldn’t change her truth.
He cupped her cheek in his palm and her skin tingled under his touch. She was a fool. Her heart lurched slow and thick with the realization. All her pieces finally converging.
Every smile.
Every stolen glance.
They all accu
mulated to the same answer: She loved him. She’d loved him all her life and not known it until this moment.
A strangled laugh escaped her throat. What did it matter? She had to leave. Her loving him didn’t change the fact that her lies were unraveling. But before she abandoned the one person who mattered most, she wanted to pretend that she was Imogen again. A simple girl who could choose her own life. Just one breath she should live as Imogen. Have one thing for herself. After all this time, she deserved that much.
Ceadda tugged at her waist, pressing their bodies together. Her mind flicked with worry. Could he feel the bindings under her robes? Just seven strips of terry cloth stood between him and her pile of lies. Air pinched in her lungs—her mind filled with haze.
Just one breath.
Just one.
She could be Imogen for one breath.
He thread their fingers together, digit by digit. His heat seeping into her skin. His scent enveloping them both. “I don’t care what you think you’ve done.” He lifted her chin with a finger and she was helpless but to stare back into deep-sky eyes. “Whatever it is, the gods can piss on it.” His voice crackled against her skin, igniting her from the inside. He bent, mouth brushing hers for less than a heartbeat. When he pulled away, she touched her scalding lips.
If anyone saw them…she didn’t want to think about what the other monks would do.
Before she could turn and check if they had been caught, the double doors of the main hall crashed open. Wood and metal framing splintered with the blow. Music died in a breath as the monks turned toward the disturbance.
Strained silence blanketed the festivities. Wolfric held her breath, staring at the open doors as wind whipped through the shattered wood, snow collecting on the cold stones.
Abbot Phillips was the first to react. He stood, gathering silken robes around himself and padded toward the door. Every head turned with him, waiting for his judgment.
Wolfric reached for her dagger and found the sheath empty.
"We need to go.” The tension in Ceadda's voice forced her to meet his eyes, searching.
"What’s happening?"
He didn't speak, his brows pinched, features turned stone. "Just trust me. We’re getting out of here." He tugged on her arm, ushering her toward the crypts. But she ground her heels into the floor. He had been gone more than a year, and she barely recognized the boy he’d once been. He had secrets of his own now.
A cry to rival thunder exploded through the interior hall, followed by white and ice. Both their heads craned toward the sound. Wood splintered. Stone groaned and the walls toppled to the ground in a heap of dust.
Wolfric held her breath as the thunderclap reverberated through her core. White light filled the hall before it imploded. Everything flew from the blast. Wooden furnishing shot against the remaining walls. Monks disintegrated. Her body froze. The earlier chill intensified, lingering in her core. All she could do was watch as her world dissolved. Before she knew what was happening, her feet left the ground--her body seemed weightless until it wasn’t. The floor came up to meet her face, skull smashing into stone. A loud pop rang in one ear as the cries of chaos sang in the other.
She didn’t know how long she laid there before she could move again. Ceadda pushed her shoulder, his mouth moving, but the ringing in her head drowned out his voice.
He rolled her into an upright position. Her ribs ached in protest.
What happened?
“We need to go.” Ceadda helped her off the ground. “The Northmen are here.”
She half read his lips while struggling to hear him over the bells pounding her ears.
Raiders.
That didn’t make sense. It was the middle of winter, and the pillaging season was well over. There shouldn't be a way for the barbarians to cross the sea. “How?” she croaked on a dusty throat.
She needed a weapon and to get the remaining monks somewhere safe. Minutes ago she had been ready to abandon her brothers and this place, but their cries drowned all urge to flee. She couldn’t leave them. Not like this.
Wolfric swayed to her feet, the walls spinning. Sweeping her surroundings, she could finally see the hall. Destruction reigned. Ash and snow drifted from the broken roof in a horrific blend of gray and white.
Monks were strewn across the floor--bleeding, moaning. Pieces of men were scattered every way she turned. Some still twitching. Her stomach rolled, its contents threatening to flavor her tongue.
What could possibly do this? What weapon could cause this amount of destruction? Then her mind wove back to this morning, to the monks huddled together, whispering about strange magics. The Northmen selling their souls to false gods for power. She scanned the mess of the hall and caught a glimpse of something glowing and white snaking across the floor.
"Hurry." Ceadda grabbed her arm, and dragged her away from the carnage. She had spent her life in these walls— at least the life that mattered. These monks were the closest thing she had left to a family and she couldn't leave them like this. She wouldn't.
"Let me go!" She wrenched from his grip. "If you are coward enough to run then go!” She burned him with a stare. The boy he’d been would never run out on his brothers. Not in a battle. Not when this is what they’d spent their lives training for. What happened to him? How could he have changed so much?
He scoured her with his eyes, jaw ticking, lips tight. "What Jorgensen and I did on the pilgrimage changed everything. There are pieces in play that you don't understand. Do you honestly think they train us this hard just for some meaningless crusade?"
The sound of boots crunching through frost and snow echoed through the night--the sound of any army. She searched the hall for a weapon and plucked a dagger from a dead monk with one hand and crossed herself with the other.
Her fingers shook as she scraped chunks of him from the blade on her robes and poised it for attack.
"You’re a damned fool! You can't fight them. None of us can." He pulled her harder this time, but she wasn't strong enough to break from his grasp. “You need to get out of here. They are not after you. They want me, and what I stole from them.”
Her mind sputtered as her feet dragged along stone. He pulled her towards the crypts again. "You? Why would they want you?"
But her mind unraveled the answer before the words hit air. "You didn't go on pilgrimage, did you?"
He didn't turn, didn't stop to look at her. "No." He went silent as curses filled the hall behind them.
Boots crashed through the crumbling monastery. Her home fell to pieces, her brothers dying as she fled.
She was a coward, no better than Ceadda.
With gentle hands he urged her down the steps ahead of him and grabbed a torch off the wall. "Watch your footing.” His voice cocooned her as they descended the spiral steps toward the crypts.
There were over a hundred choice words she had for him, but none of the curses she knew fit the way her heart twisted now.
When they reached the bottom step, Ceadda pushed ahead of her and started tapping his boot on stone tiles.
“What are you looking for?"
"It's not what I’m looking for, it’s what they are." He jerked his chin toward the ceiling. Even below ground, the pounding of feet echoed in her ears.
"Just give it to them so they’ll leave." She tried to be brave, but she could hear her voice shaking. A liar and a coward.
He looked at her for the first time since he dragged her to his dank hell. "You and I both know that isn’t true. We barely survived the last raid. When the Northmen come they leave nothing behind.”
She held her breath, remembering when the barbarians last landed on their beach. They took everything they could carry--picked the coffers clean of anything precious.
His words snaked a cold trail down her spine. "And you led them straight to the monastery.” Her jaw ticked. “I hope it was worth it."
Ceadda stomped, foot cracking a stone below. Those tiles were at least five inches thick. How was th
at possible?
He knelt and cleared the rubble. "I was doing what needed to be done. Why do you think they make us train so hard?” He fished an arm into the ground, elbow deep in dirt, searching for something. “If the Northmen get their hands on this then the death they’ve wrought here will pale in comparison to the destruction that will reign." He hauled a slate wrapped in crude cloth from beneath the flooring. A corner of fabric fell away, revealing a stone tablet. Her eyes squinted as she caught a hint of runes.
That was it? That was what they were after? She didn't understand. "The savages can barely read, what would they want with a tablet?"
"This isn't just a tablet. It's something far more dangerous. We need to get out of here. Now."
She opened her mouth to ask another question but the words died on her tongue with the sound of boots plodding down the stairs. The voices of men followed by the clatter of weapons.
They were coming.
Chapter 6
"Get behind me," Ceadda took her arm, leading her toward his back.
A man with long blonde hair edged around the corner, eyes low and scanning. They landed on Ceadda and his smile widened. "It has been a while, boy," he spoke in broken English, his accent almost too thick to understand.
One hand rested on the hilt of his weapon and the other dangled at his side--his gait confident.
"Just give it to him," Wolfric hissed at Ceadda's back. Her grip on the dagger tightened. Ceadda wasn't the only one who had trained. She had been slow and clumsy compared to him, but she worked that much harder, and got better.
More men filed into the room, over a dozen--more than the one she was almost confident she could take on.
Ceadda turned his head, whispering, "Don't try to do anything stupid. Please. I’m the one they want, and this stone."
“Then give it to them."
Men continued to fill the dark crypts. She couldn't count their number now, but it was more than their combined force could ever hope to defeat. And the savages had magic. It was real. She’d bore witness to it’s destruction. The mercy of barbarians was their best hope.
