Winter's Fury (The Furyck Saga: Book One)

by A. E. Rayne

  Jael fixed her mouth into a stern line and stared straight ahead as the bubbling conversations trickled over and around her like a cold river.

  Eadmund looked to his left, blinking himself awake; had he just fallen asleep? His face flushed with embarrassment. He felt foolish here, in front of all of Oss, in front of these strangers; exposed and ashamed. He wanted to be alone, desperately, to hide his fat, hideous mass away. How had he become this... fool? His eyes searched the thickly-packed hall in front of him, looking for Evaine. He saw Morac and his wife, Runa, but Evaine was nowhere to be seen; no doubt his father had locked her out of sight. Perhaps he could slip away to find her soon?

  Eydis gripped his arm, gently this time and smiled, reaching up to whisper into his ear. ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be alright, Eadmund, I promise.’ She kissed his cheek and sat back down again, folding her tiny hands into her lap, smiling confidently to herself.

  Eadmund could have cried then; he felt lower than he could remember in many years. He reached out his drinking cup as the mead girl passed by and with a desperate urgency put the wet, cold liquid to his parched lips, feeling its soothing touch as it flowed down his throat. It was comfort, and he needed that. He supped deeply and contentedly, eyes closed. Oblivious. Alone.

  Eirik frowned, watching from the other side of Jael, as Eadmund drank. He pursed his lips so tightly that they almost disappeared into his beard. He would have loved to reach over and slap Eadmund about the face with that cup of his. How had it ended up there? Who had placed it in front of him?! No doubt the same fool who had let him go wandering off alone all day: Torstan! He had to let it go. He had to focus on his guests, on Jael, who was sitting there stone-like, tense and uncomfortable. She was everything now; the answer to all that he sought for Oss and Eadmund.

  ‘I’m sure your hall in Andala is much more impressive than this,’ Eirik smiled at Jael, waving his hand almost dismissively about the room, trying to engage her, relax her.

  Jael sighed, obviously, then turned her body slightly towards him. ‘Well, I suppose our hall is larger. But size doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? It’s more about how you use what you have.’ She paused. ‘I think your hall feels comfortable enough. You have made it look very... festive.’ She stared at him, properly then. He seemed nervous, anxious, almost as uncomfortable as she was. He was trying to impress them all, she realised. And he was worried about how that impression was being received.

  ‘You are kind to say so,’ Eirik nodded, forgetting Eadmund momentarily. ‘I cannot lie, we’ve been working solidly since this was all decided. And I think, given the short time frame, we have not done so bad a job. Perhaps?’

  ‘So far, at least.’

  ‘Wait until you try the food,’ he laughed, almost freely. ‘Then perhaps you will reverse your opinion? Or not. I am told we have some fair cooks on our island.’

  Despite an achingly empty stomach, the thought of food tugged the corners of Jael’s mouth down. ‘Well, I’m sure that after another few rounds of the mead buckets, nobody will be judging you too harshly, whatever the outcome.’ She smiled, as politely as she could manage, hoping he would turn his attention towards Lothar on his other side.

  Eirik laughed. ‘Yes, that is certainly my wish. To have everyone as drunk as possible, so that the only memories they retain, if any, are good ones. Well, perhaps not everyone,’ he said, almost sadly then. ‘Some people could certainly do with more food than drink.’

  Eirik was needed by one of his servants then, and Jael was relieved. Glancing to her left, she accidentally caught Lothar’s eye. He nodded his head towards Eadmund. Jael frowned and clenched her hands tightly under the table, wishing she could do anything but what she knew he was suggesting. Lothar kept staring at her, though, as Gisila chatted away beside him, knowing she couldn’t deny him.

  She bit down hard on her urge to protest, then turned, with great effort towards Eadmund. He was talking to his little sister. She didn’t want to interrupt and if she did, what did she say? But still, Lothar glared at her, his eyes flaring now. For all gods, what did she say?! ‘Do you expect a harsh winter?’ That was it. The limpest, most feeble conversation she had ever attempted, and she winced under its calamitous weight, hoping it would fade away without acknowledgement.

  Gratefully, Eadmund didn’t respond and at least Lothar had now turned away to speak more intimately with her mother. She sighed, relieved.

  ‘What did you say?’ Eadmund mumbled, slowly turning towards Jael. ‘Did you ask about the, the... weather?’

  ‘I did. Yes,’ she admitted, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes in embarrassment. ‘My uncle insisted I speak to you. It was all I could think of.’

  He laughed at her honesty, quickly draining his second cup of sweet, honeyed mead. ‘Well, yes, I would say winter is always harsh here, much like summer, and spring, and autumn too. I hope you brought a warm cloak!’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jael muttered, unable to think of anything else to say. The silence that filled the tiny space between them was toe-curlingly awkward, and when she looked around, there was Lothar, peering at her again. In fact, as she quickly scanned the hall, she saw more than a few faces turned in their direction, curious about this first interaction between bride and groom-to-be. Anger rose up in her then. She hated to be observed, and on a scale such as this, it was even harder to bear. She had no choice, it seemed but to keep the conversation going. ‘And... how does your food supply last?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.

  ‘Food?’ Eadmund gulped down another large mouthful of pale, golden liquid. It slopped lazily over his lips, dribbling down into his sparse, coppery beard; he didn’t appear to notice. ‘I suppose we eat well, if you like dried fish. It is more the ale supply that concerns me, though. More Osslanders die every winter from lack of ale than lack of food.’

  Jael couldn’t tell if he was serious. Was he foolish, drunk, or just attempting to sound amusing? She frowned. Her body lurched about as though she were still sailing, the smell of him turning her stomach. His breath stunk less obviously now as it flowed into the general odour of the ale-soaked hall, but still, she wished he would turn away and talk to someone else.

  Eadmund caught her intense, green eyes patrolling his face and leaned in closely in an attempt to cut her off, lest she found him as flawed as he suspected he was. ‘How old are you?’ He wanted her back, away from him, so he threw this at her harshly.

  ‘How old am I?’ She hid any shock well, her pale face not moving from its study of his, her body completely still. ‘Not as old as you, I’m certain. But older than your sister there.’ She smiled coolly, nodding towards Eydis, who was talking to Amma.

  ‘And there were no men in Brekka willing to take you on? Only an Osslander would do?’ His words rang like hollow bells in his ears, his bravado slowly sinking into the swirling pit of nausea that was building in his stomach.

  Jael narrowed her gaze. She watched his bloodshot eyes try to focus on hers and fail; he looked ready to fall asleep. ‘Take me on? Is that what you’re planning to do? Take me on?’

  Eadmund felt no match for her and her sharp eyes now. He was struggling to piece together his thoughts, afraid they were all about to come tumbling out of his mouth backwards. The mead bucket passed by again and the girl, smiling at Eadmund, lifted up the ladle, just as he reached out his cup. He drank quickly. ‘No, I’m not.’ His eyes met hers, and they were defeated and sad.

  Jael’s anger stumbled in confusion; she didn’t know how to respond.

  Eirik banged his fist on the table. He rose, cup in hand, as the hall stilled around him, the revellers reaching to grab their own cups in anticipation of the toast he was about to make.

  He cleared his throat and surveyed the quiet hall with a satisfied grin. ‘This night, which is bitter with wind and cold, and all that winter on Oss promises. This night, we gather here in our hall, to welcome our guests from Brekka, to feast with us as we prepare to unite our
two kingdoms and families, in a partnership of marriage and an alliance of armies, which will bring us success, wealth, and a future of prosperity unrivalled in any of our lifetimes. So tonight, my friends and neighbours, I thank you,’ he nodded towards Lothar, ‘for the honour you have shown my family and me. For the gift you have given us, of Jael, daughter of Ranuf. I hope to make her feel welcome here, as part of our family, as the future Queen of Oss!’ He raised his ornate, silver cup and watched as Osslanders and Brekkans alike mirrored him. ‘To the Furycks and Skallesons! To Brekka and Oss! And to the riches of Hest that will belong to us all!’

  The roar around the room was enthusiastic and thunderous, cups clanking on tables in a hearty show of approval. Jael felt numb as she stared at all the cheering strangers before her. The threads of her life were being fingered apart by so many forces now; she wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

  ‘I cannot imagine how tomorrow will go,’ Gisila hissed from her cot in the corner of the bedchamber the women had all been squeezed into. ‘They will have to carry Eadmund out of the hall tonight. He is lucky he has such strong friends!’

  Lothar’s youngest daughter, Amma, sniggered at that. She was barely 16 and had been sent to sleep with Gisila, Jael, and Edela. She lay tucked up happily in the cot next to Gisila, with Jael and Edela sharing the only full-sized bed in the small chamber.

  Jael could have done without Amma’s company. She was not an overly annoying sort of girl – she was far too dull for that – but it would have been easier if her last night of freedom had felt truly free. The three women had to watch their words around the wide-awake and open-eared girl; therefore little was said, of any real value, by any of them.

  The night in the hall had been long. The speeches had rambled on, and after a long day of sailing, raked with bitter cold, they were weary and ready for sleep. Well, all but Amma, it seemed, who started whispering away to Gisila in conspiratorial tones.

  A faint glow from under the door lit the room slightly and the drone of mumbling voices filtered in through none-too-thick walls. Jael wondered if Eadmund was still in the hall, or whether his friends had managed to drag him out. Last she saw, he was protesting sleepily, eyes closed, cup still in hand, as his friends and father tried to get him to his feet. He was a mess, and he was about to be her problem. She sighed wearily at the thought and rolled over to face Edela. ‘He is worse than I imagined,’ she whispered, hoping that Amma was too busy gossiping with Gisila to hear.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Edela agreed. ‘Much worse. But now he has you, and you can help him.’

  Jael snorted quietly. ‘And why would I want to do that?’

  ‘Because he will be yours, come tomorrow. Your futures will be entwined,’ Edela murmured. ‘You will need him to be much stronger than this. You will need to save him from himself so that he can become king.’

  Jael screwed up her face. There was so much she wanted to say, but with Amma’s ears lurking nearby, she knew it was unwise, so she bit her tongue and changed the subject. ‘Why do you hate sailing so much?’

  ‘It’s not the sailing I hate, it’s the water. I hate the water,’ Edela shuddered. ‘I know that water. The cold embrace of it as it squeezes all life from your bones. I felt it once before, as a child, and I cannot bear the thought of being in it again.’ She shivered, the grip of old memories tight around her shoulders.

  Jael was surprised. ‘Is that how you see yourself dying? In the sea?’

  ‘No, I don’t see myself dying in it,’ Edela said, shaking her head. ‘It is not a fear of the future that frightens me, but a terror from the past.’

  ‘Why? What happened?’

  Edela hesitated, inhaling deeply. She did not usually speak of these things; she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to, not after all these years. ‘I was a child... perhaps seven... my brother was sent off with my father’s morning meal. He was working in the forest, chopping trees. They were preparing logs to build new houses, I remember. I made my brother take me with him, even though he didn’t want to. He thought I was too annoying. He thought he was nearly a man at 13 and didn’t want to have to look after a child like me. We fought as we walked, as brothers and sisters do, and he ordered me home.’ Edela stopped, feeling the ache of regret, even now. ‘He made us go around the ice lake, you see, whereas I wanted to go across it. I was reckless, excitable, looking for adventure. He told me that our father had heard cracking, that it wasn’t safe.’ She sucked in a deep breath, the memories still vivid after all these years. ‘So, when he sent me home, I ran across the ice, just to spite him. And of course, it shattered, and I fell in... I could only scream once before the freezing water dragged me down. My heart slowed, and my limbs hung and my eyes closed and I sank... I have never experienced cold like that water.’

  ‘And did you think you would die, or had you seen that you would survive?’

  ‘No, I had not come into my dreams then. They started soon after. My mother thought that because I was so close to death – I had even stopped breathing – she thought that I must have met with the gods, seen Dala, and that she had given me my gift. I had shown no signs of it before, you see. Perhaps she was right, but I had no memory of it.’

  ‘And how did you get out?’ Jael wondered.

  ‘My brother dived in and pulled me from the water. He called out for help and men came running, my father came, but it was too late. My brother had dragged me out and thrown me onto the ice, but the cold took his limbs, and he drowned before they could reach him.’

  Jael was shocked; she hadn’t known any of this.

  ‘I never speak of it,’ Edela sighed, reading her thoughts. ‘Not even to your mother. We never spoke of it as a family. It was too painful. And no one wanted to blame me, even though it was my fault. It was all my fault,’ Edela whispered haltingly. ‘So yes, it is a watery grave that tortures me, but it is my brother’s, not my own.’

  Jael reached out, searching for Edela’s hand. It was trembling and cold, and she enclosed it gently inside both of hers. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Edela sniffed and resettled herself in the bed; the wool-stuffed mattress was almost comfortable enough to soothe her clicking bones. ‘It was a long time ago now, but regrets leave scars that never truly heal, that I know. When I was young, I was wilful. I didn’t listen. I always thought I knew the right of it, and one day, for me, it was too late. And I couldn’t go back and change anything.’ Edela gripped Jael’s hand now, in earnest. ‘You are at the start here. There is a chance to make good choices with Eadmund. I know it doesn’t seem it, but he can be more than you imagine right now. Don’t give up on him before you’ve even begun.’

  There was a loud crash from the hall, followed by voices raised in argument. As Jael rolled onto her back, she tried to make out if any of them belonged to Eadmund. Unlikely, she decided; he was probably lying somewhere, face down in a pile of vomit. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of him, nor of Aleksander, especially not Aleksander.

  Eadmund reached down and kissed Evaine’s throat, so slowly that she might have wondered if he was, in fact, falling asleep. But no, he was awake, just desperate to take his time, to taste every place on her, one lingering, last time before he was married. To her. That angular, peery-eyed, stony-faced woman. His nightmare coming true. Tomorrow.

  Evaine moaned, low and eagerly, writhing beneath him but Eadmund’s drink-saturated mind was now chewing over just what he had thought of Jael Furyck. And why he felt so annoyed by her. Or was it his performance in front of her that was the more annoying? He stopped kissing and sat back on a pillow, scratching his beard, his face troubled, his head pounding.

  ‘What is it?’ Evaine frowned, coming to sit beside him. ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘What?’ he asked distractedly. ‘No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just the wedding. I want it to leave my mind, so we can... so I can... but it’s just... there, whenever I close my eyes. I can’t escape it, no matter how much I drink, or how naked you get. It never leaves
!’

  Eadmund smiled at Evaine and the tension that had been furrowing her brow, relaxed; he was still here, with her. Hers. ‘It’s just a wedding,’ Evaine soothed, wrapping one arm around his neck, trying to bring his face back down towards hers. ‘And when it’s done, the only thing that will be different is that you will have a wife you don’t want. But nothing needs to change, for you or us. Not really. Just as you said.’ She kissed his jaw delicately, her hands fingering the coarse bristles of his beard. ‘You and I will still be together, and you barely have to notice her. As long as your father thinks you are doing what you must to be a good husband, then your life can run as you wish. As it does now.’ She kissed his lips, easing her body against his.

  Eadmund wanted to be lulled into the world as Evaine saw it but he knew it was different than the picture his father had in mind. But she was so very persuasive and her tongue, as it expertly wrapped itself around his, teased away all contrary thoughts. He let himself believe, for a moment, that it could all be that simple. And then there was nothing to think about, except the warm sensation of Evaine’s delicate hands as they ran up and down his chest, exploring lower and lower, enclosing themselves around his cock, which hardened achingly in her hand. He smiled sadly, closing his eyes, desire masking everything else. But in the darkness of his thoughts, he saw two, unforgiving green eyes staring sharply back at him. His stomach lurched, and he blinked himself awake from them, trying to catch his breath.

  Evaine, sliding down his body, tempting him with her tongue, was far too busy to notice that she had completely lost his attention.

  9

  ‘I have to go.’