Berengar approached, and the two men faced each other. The muscles in his face tensed with loathing, and he raised his sword and charged with a savage cry. Stormsson ran to meet him, and the battle began with a clash of swords. Though Berengar held a slight advantage in size, it was his only such edge in the fight. Already he was weary from the effort he’d expended killing dozens of men, unlike his enemy, who was well rested. Berengar was without armor, whereas Stormsson wore mail over his leather armor, coupled with the added protection of his iron helmet. Even more frustrating, Stormsson wielded a murderous greatsword while Berengar possessed only a single-handed blade. Nevertheless, with each exchange his foe gave ground. Their blades met again, and Berengar struck his opponent in the face and sent him stumbling back in the dirt.
Before he could advance, two more warriors came running toward him, each equipped with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. Berengar took them on at once, battering their shields aside and forcing them to the ground. Stormsson leapt at him while he was distracted, and Berengar met him in a forceful collision that sent the Viking’s helmet flying. Stormsson attacked in a frenzy, raining down a flurry of attacks. Berengar countered his last attack and knocked his foe off his feet. The Dane’s sword landed beside him.
Stormsson reached for the weapon only to find Berengar’s blade at his throat.
“You’re beaten. Yield.” Berengar seized Stormsson and forced him to his knees. “Now tell me—who’s been helping you inside the castle? Who helped you arrange the king’s murder?”
Before Stormsson could open his mouth to speak, a dagger exploded out of the front of his mouth, and he pitched forward, bleeding.
“That was for my mother,” Ravenna whispered to him, holding Berengar’s dagger.
Stormsson gasped and reached out for his blade. “Please,” he managed to say as blood spurted from his mouth. He wanted his sword, so that he might take his place in the afterlife.
Berengar kicked the sword away. “Your gods are false, Dane. You will never enter Valhalla. Your home will be the halls of Hell, where your brother awaits.” He cast his blade aside and picked up the axe, turning to the princess. “Now we must leave. You won’t be safe until we reach the castle.”
They started toward the stables, but he staggered and fell, feeling the full effect of his injuries.
“Berengar!” Ravenna exclaimed, running to his side.
“It’s all right,” he said weakly. “You’re safe. That’s all that matters. Leave me behind. I’ll only slow you down.”
Ravenna’s expression hardened. “Never.” She helped him to his feet and managed to support his weight with her slender frame. Together the pair made their way to the stables, where they took one of the horses and fled into the moonlight.
The warden drifted in and out of consciousness. On more than one occasion he woke with a start, jostled by the horse underneath them as it galloped across the plains. He found himself held tightly in the arms of Ravenna, who gripped the reins while at the same time guiding the horse through the darkness. The people of Munster were renowned for their horsemanship, and their princess was no exception. He closed his eyes and took solace in the warmth of her body against his amid the winds.
Ravenna followed the river north. Eventually they came to the place where the Suir joined the Rivers Nore and Barrow.
“Hold on,” Ravenna said as the mare’s hooves rattled over a bridge that spanned the rushing waters. “There’s a town ahead.” The princess brought the horse to a halt in front of the Inn of the Three Sisters—named after the confluence of the three rivers—and helped Berengar off the horse. Together they stumbled into the inn, which was all but deserted at the late hour.
The innkeeper quickly emerged, drawn by the loudness of their sudden appearance and perhaps expecting trouble. He stared at the two newcomers, bewildered.
“Good heavens,” he stammered. “Is that blood on your shirt?”
“He’s been hurt.” Ravenna helped Berengar to a table near the fireplace. “Send for a healer and bring this man something to eat. We’ll need lodging at least for the night, if not longer.”
The innkeeper bit his lip and looked over the two travelers with considerable skepticism. “I don’t want any trouble. This is a respectable establishment.”
The princess’ expression flashed with anger. She slipped a golden ring from her finger and thrust it into the man’s hand. “I believe that should cover our costs. Keep it.”
The innkeeper stared at the ring in wonder, as its worth was more than anything inside the inn. He bowed low. “Of course, my lady. I will get help at once.”
“See that you do.” Ravenna settled into a chair next to Berengar as the innkeeper scurried away.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Berengar said. “We can’t risk anyone learning who you are. The Danes may have spies in town, and we’re still too far from Cashel.”
“Gorr Stormsson is dead. The Danes are broken. And if you think I will allow you to bleed to death after what you’ve done for me, you’re gravely mistaken.”
“Most people would have left me there to die.”
They gazed at each other for a long time, with only the crackling of the burning logs for noise.
“I was wrong before,” Ravenna said. “When I told you I didn’t believe in heroes. I do now.” When Berengar looked away, she laid her hand on the ruined half of his face and turned it back toward her. “I don’t care about the scars. I have them too.”
She showed him her back, lowering her dress to reveal dozens of lash marks marring her otherwise perfect skin. Berengar traced the edge of one such scar with his fingers, causing her to shiver before she returned her dress to its proper place.
“My brother was hardly cold in the ground before my father announced my engagement.” Her eyes were distant at the memory. “I was little more than a girl. When I tried to flee, Laird O’Reilly’s spies discovered me and dragged me back to the castle. I pleaded with my mother to change my father’s mind, but in the end she stood behind his decision, as she always did. Munster was the only home I had ever known, and they sent me away, overseas.”
The tension in the air was thick. Though Berengar had heard this part of the story before, it was clear the princess was on the cusp of a new revelation.
“For my husband, inflicting pain was an art. An old injury had left him half a man, and he took joy only from causing misery. His cruelty wasn’t limited to beatings. He killed the handmaidens I brought with me from Cashel and made me watch. He wanted to break me.” Her voice grew cold. “But I refused to break.”
“I’m sorry.” The words felt hollow, but they were the best he could offer.
“Since then I’ve let myself care for no one and nothing. Until you.”
Berengar shook his head. “You don’t know the things I’ve done.”
“Then tell me. Tell me your story.”
The warden averted his gaze and stared into the fire. He rarely spoke of his past to anyone. “The songs remember it as the Doom of Dún de Fulaingt.” The story he was about to tell was one no living soul had heard, at least as it actually happened.
“The Fortress of Suffering.”
He nodded. “In the time of the Shadow Wars, darkness reigned across the land. Each of the five kingdoms teetered on the brink, divided against themselves in civil war. Rebellious lords raised armies to seize large swaths of territory for themselves. Bandits and cutthroats ambushed those travelers on the road fortunate enough to avoid the monsters. Famine and disease spread like wildfire.
“For my part, I wanted nothing to do with the war. My wife died in childbirth some years earlier, and I sought only to be left alone. The war came to my door anyway. There was a village within a half-day’s walk from my farm. The people there were kind. In my youth they gave me a home and nursed me back to health when the bear nearly killed me. One day soldiers came to the village. The people offered no resistance, and still they tore the village apart, burning
and looting and killing.” He expected the old anger to stir at the words, but he just felt empty and tired.
“What did you do?”
“The soldiers had taken refuge in a fortress said to be unassailable. Forces loyal to the Ice Queen tried and failed to recapture it. I let myself be captured. That day the soldiers tortured me, having killed their other prisoners already. When night came, I broke free of my restraints and…” He trailed off, lost in a fog of memory. “It was a slaughter. I killed them all, down to the last man. But I didn’t just kill them. Something broke inside me. I took them apart, like a mad beast gripped by rage. Some attempted to surrender. Others fled. None were spared from my wrath. They showed no mercy, and they received none.
“When the gates were opened to them the next morning, the Ice Queen’s forces were terrified. They’d heard the sound of screams all night. Some thought a monster had been unleashed inside the fortress, and in a way, they were right. The scene they encountered was a nightmare. Body parts were strewn across the camp. Corpses were impaled, strung up, or nailed to walls. And there I was, covered in blood from head to toe. Their captain fainted on the spot.
“When I spotted the battleaxe among the remains, it was as if it called to me. I took command of the forces, and together we patrolled the countryside, defending the forgotten people. We served no ruler and carried no banners. I lived only for vengeance, until…”
“Until what?” Ravenna asked.
He turned back to her at last. “Until I met her. Nora. Without her, I would be lost. She saved me from myself—showed me a better way. When the war ended, she made me a warden and gave me something to fight for. Since that day, I’ve tried my best to be the man she would want me to be, but always the rage is there, just beneath the surface. There’s a reason I didn’t want you to see what I did to those men tonight. Now do you understand, Princess?”
A lone tear ran down her face. “I don’t care about the past. Run away with me. We can make a fresh start, together. The throne, your oaths—let’s leave it all behind.”
She leaned closer to him, searching for something with her eyes, and the warden found himself inescapably drawn to her. Their lips brushed, and Berengar held her close. They kissed again, a long, deep kiss. Ravenna closed her eyes tightly and pressed her forehead into him, as if afraid of being pulled away from his embrace.
“I didn’t know it would be like this.”
Berengar looked back at her, at a loss for words. Before he could give her an answer, he heard the movement of horsemen beyond the walls. Had the innkeeper betrayed them?
The axe was already in his hands. “Get behind me.”
He stared at the door, ready for anything.
A bark sounded outside the inn, the door flew open, and Faolán rushed inside, accompanied by Morwen. Soldiers of Munster lingered behind them in the doorway, along with the befuddled innkeeper, who still hadn’t quite pieced their identities together yet.
Faolán nearly knocked him over as she leapt on him, licking his hands.
“It’s all right, girl. I’m fine,” Berengar said.
Morwen threw her arms around him, wrapping him in a hug. “I’m so happy you’re alive. And you also, Your Grace.”
“How did you find us?” Ravenna asked.
Morwen released her hold on him and turned to the princess, offering a slight bow. “We set out from Cashel after you were taken, but the trail ran cold until Faolán appeared and led us to you.”
Berengar glanced at Ravenna. “We must get you back to Cashel at once. Morwen can tend to my injuries on the road.” He left the rest unsaid. They would have to leave their conversation unfinished, at least for now.
The princess agreed, and they followed Morwen outside the inn, where a great host waited for them. Berengar helped the princess onto a horse and squeezed her hand before mounting the steed beside her. They rode into the night, safe for the moment, but not yet out of danger.
Chapter Seventeen
In all his years, he had never seen a city of such size so quiet. Deafening silence from inside Cashel’s walls greeted their approach. A cry went out to open the gate at the sight of their banners. As they drew nearer, a sentry recognized the princess among the company. A trumpet sounded, and a triumphant roar carried through the streets as Ravenna entered the city. She waved at all those gathered near the gate. Even disheveled and missing a crown, she was the very image of a monarch, offering her subjects a weary smile.
More came running at the news of the princess’ return, cheering and openly weeping. A few muttered disparaging remarks about the prospect of life under rule of the Tainted Princess, but most appeared relieved that the heir to the throne had survived unharmed. Word quickly spread that the Viking stronghold had fallen, and Berengar heard more than a few rumors of his hand in Gorr Stormsson’s death as he passed by. He never thought he would be so glad to glimpse the castle again. He was fortunate the guards sent to retrieve them had an ample supply of food and drink, and the extent of the injuries he suffered were well within Morwen’s capabilities to heal. Despite his protests, the magician all but forced him to take a potion to eliminate any lingering effects of Agatha’s poison. A little rest, and he would be back to his old self again.
Ravenna noticed him watching her, and the two exchanged a fleeting glance, one of many such looks they’d shared over the previous days. Given the close proximity of their companions, it proved impossible for them to share more than two words in private, something Berengar was secretly grateful for. He still didn’t know how he would answer her. No matter his feelings for her, things were more complicated than that. With both her parents dead, Ravenna was the sole heir to the throne. Her people needed her now more than ever. Then there were Berengar’s obligations to Nora. He could not easily forsake his oaths and responsibilities to run away with the princess. At the same time, he’d been offered a chance to make a new start with someone he cared for, a possibility he’d never dared hope for.
Morwen caught him staring at the princess and an expression of annoyance flashed over her face. Berengar wondered if it was out of any lingering resentment toward the princess, considering their history, or if Morwen simply felt protective of him. Though he couldn’t deny that he’d come to feel an unexpected fondness for the girl, he hoped she hadn’t grown too attached to him. Soon he would be gone from Munster, and their temporary partnership would come to its inevitable end.
Upon entering the city, the company made for the castle with haste. Order had been restored to Cashel in their absence. There were relatively few visible reminders of the Danes’ attack. The castle was unmarred by the flames, a sign the guards managed to extinguish the fires before they spread. The bodies of the fallen were gone, removed for burial, and all the damaged property had been cleared away. The Rock of Cashel endured, as it had for centuries, but the victory was bittersweet. Queen Alannah was dead. Even with Gorr Stormsson dealt with, his co-conspirator remained at large. Berengar wasn’t sure if they were returning Princess Ravenna closer to danger or delivering her to safety.
Corrin waited for them outside the entrance to the castle. His face betrayed relief when he noticed the princess, and he ordered his men to help her from her horse. Ravenna, more than capable of dismounting on her own, waved them away. At Berengar’s approach, the captain of the guard bowed so low it seemed as though he might tip over.
Corrin looked ashamed. “I beseech your forgiveness, Warden Berengar. I nearly led you to your death.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Berengar replied. “You were not yourself.”
“You saved me from the witch’s curse. From this day forward, I am in your debt.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Berengar noticed Seamus standing in the background. He and his companions had returned in the warden’s absence. “Escort the princess inside, will you?” Berengar said to Corrin. “I have business to deal with first.” He waited until the procession left him behind before making his way to Seamus and his fr
iends, who stood beside a wagon. “Well? Did you discover anything of note?”
Careful to keep his distance from Faolán, Seamus nodded to one of his companions, and the guard lifted the sheet covering the wagon’s rear. “See for yourself.”
Berengar inspected the wagon’s contents. “Just as I thought. You’ve done well.” He marched to the castle and gestured for them to follow.
Despite the throne room’s occupants, the chamber felt emptier without Alannah’s presence. He arrived in time to see Princess Ravenna reunited with Ronan, who embraced her as a father might greet a long-lost daughter. Berengar lingered in the background as Ronan walked the princess to the dais, where her father’s crown rested upon the throne.
“This belongs to you now,” he said, handing it to her.
Ravenna took the crown and held it in her hands for a long moment before placing it on her head.
Ronan retreated and knelt at the dais. “Forgive me, Your Grace. I failed to protect your mother, as I failed your father before her.” He stared at the ground, clearly pained by his words. “When the king died, I was released from my oath. I remained in my position at Queen Alannah’s request, but now I am no longer fit to serve as thane of Munster.”
“It is with a heavy heart I accept your resignation.” Ravenna stepped from the dais and put her hand on his shoulder. “Rise without shame. You have done honorably by our kingdom, and you have been my true friend since I was a girl. I took my first steps at your side. When my brother died, it was you who comforted me. For that reason, I appoint you my personal adviser.”
One by one, the Rí Tuaithe knelt before the princess and laid their iron crowns at Ravenna’s feet to offer oaths of loyalty, followed in turn by the other lords of Munster. Berengar noticed that Desmond was again missing, as he had been during Queen Alannah’s coronation. He spotted Morwen standing nearby and asked her what she knew of the matter.
The Blood of Kings Page 29
