by A. E. Rayne
Thorgils pointed suddenly, turning around with a toothy grin. ‘Over there!’
Aleksander squinted, following the line of Thorgils’ arm to a couple of dark shapes moving slowly towards them beneath the moody sky. He sighed in relief, but his body did little to unwind. It was permanently tightened by thick knots of pain and worry; much of it about Edela, but Jael was always on his mind too. He had not felt like himself since she had left Andala, and he wondered if he ever would again. The memory of his visit to the Widow and the visions he’d had at God’s Point taunted him. The idea that they would be together again one day seemed like a joke that the Widow had played on him now.
Yet, there was still a part of him that wondered if they had been real dreams of a future where Jael was his; dreams of a time when she wouldn’t love Eadmund anymore.
‘Come on!’ Thorgils called as he nudged Leada forward.
Aleksander sighed, blinking the rain out of his eyes as he urged Tig down the hill after him.
‘And what should I do about my son?’ Haaron frowned at Morana. ‘My youngest?’ He nodded to two of his shipbuilders as they passed on the road away from the castle. Haaron glanced around, but there was no sign of Jaeger.
It was a warm day, and he had not wanted to stay inside the castle, imprisoned by his embarrassment any longer. He was ready to get out and remind himself of all that he still had. His fleet was being rebuilt to an even greater size. His new piers would be longer to welcome more merchants to his harbour. Men were already at the Tower, putting it to right, and he had paid a Kalmeran lord for the use of two ships to ferry his men to Skorro to begin repairs there too.
He would rebuild all that had been burned down, and then he would reclaim his reputation. At least he had managed to escape with his head and the opportunity to do so, unlike Lothar Furyck and Eirik Skalleson.
‘Jaeger?’ Morana appeared bored, barely listening as she shuffled along beside him. ‘His mind is occupied elsewhere.’
They reached the arched entrance to the winding gardens, and Haaron ushered Morana ahead of him.
‘Elsewhere?’
‘He has lost his wife,’ Morana said, her eyes on the steep path ahead. ‘And his reputation. He has lost the respect that anyone may have had for him. His brothers. His men. He has even lost his strength. All that smoke? His festering ankles?’ She shook her wiry hair. ‘He is weak and is no longer thinking of destroying you, so much as he is thinking of rebuilding himself.’
Haaron was surprised by that. It made sense, though, and he was quickly comforted by Morana’s words. ‘But eventually, he will turn his attention back to me, surely?’
‘Well, if one of your other sons hasn’t by then,’ Morana panted as they climbed the path, desperate to find some shade; determined never to come this way again. ‘I would think that you have far more to worry about from his brothers. The one-eyed man? Your eldest son? They will rise against you soon. Even the hunchback. I see their eyes in my dreams, and they all burn with the fire of ambition. After how Hest was humiliated? They are all coming for you now, especially the one-eyed man. I see him most of all.’
‘But Karsten is barely out of bed! He was badly injured,’ Haaron scoffed. ‘Weaker than any of them now.’
‘A man may be weak in body but strong of mind,’ Morana muttered. ‘In the end, they will all come. You are old, and they are not. Your time is done. They all dream of being king here. Have since they were boys. They are your sons and enemies both. And you must decide what to do about each one of them.’
Haaron sighed. Morana reminded him of Varna, but she did not care for him in the way Varna had. She had no loyalty to Hest or him at all. She spat words from her mouth with distaste and disinterest. There appeared to be no thought or consideration behind anything she said. But, she was a dreamer, Varna’s daughter, and he saw no reason to doubt her.
And if that were so, then his sons were coming for his throne. And if he were not careful, then just like Eirik Skalleson and Lothar Furyck, he would soon be nothing but ash on the wind.
‘Eydis!’ Jael pulled Eydis into her arms, happy to see her; relieved to have made it out of the rain at last.
‘You’re so wet!’ Eydis cringed, backing away from her dripping sister-in-law.
‘Yes, you both are,’ Biddy grumbled, glaring at Aleksander as he shut the door behind him. ‘And no doubt you’ll be sniffing soon, which will do none of us any good. Get those clothes off right away, then you can have a hot bowl of soup by the fire to warm you through.’
‘I will,’ Jael shivered, ‘but not until I’ve seen Edela.’ She took Eydis’ hand and led her to the bed where Entorp sat, his hand on his patient’s chest. ‘How is she?’
‘Steady,’ he said softly. ‘Very steady.’
‘Steady enough for a sea journey?’ Jael wondered, looking at the anxious faces as they crowded around her. Biddy was hovering nearby, trying to unpin Jael’s wet cloak. Jael relented, eager to get out of her wet clothes. ‘Do you think she will survive the Nebbar Straights?’
‘I think she may not survive here,’ Entorp said carefully. ‘She is stable now, but for how long, I don’t know. You must decide whether to take the risk.’
‘Eydis dreamed about taking Edela to Tuura,’ Gisila said quietly. ‘She saw a book in her dreams. The book Edela was given by the elderman.’ She swallowed, worn down by the constant worry. Axl gripped his mother’s hand, sharing her fears, her memories. ‘I think everything is pointing us towards Tuura, isn’t it? As much as we don’t want to go.’
Jael took a deep breath. She glanced at Aleksander and saw the anxiety in his eyes. They were evasive, hurrying away every time hers approached. ‘We go,’ she said. ‘As soon as possible. Tomorrow morning.’
‘I want to come,’ Eydis said immediately. ‘I want to come with you, Jael!’
‘We’ll need to think about who can go, Eydis. Who needs to stay behind. There is much to talk about, but for now, I think, Aleksander and I had better get changed before we freeze to death!’ Jael smiled wearily at Aleksander who looked away, his eyes refusing to meet hers again. She frowned, walking to the bedchamber, the puppies following eagerly in her wake.
It was time that Aleksander told her what really happened in Tuura.
‘You must do something!’ Evaine urged into Eadmund’s chest. ‘You can’t allow what she did to me to stand!’
Morac cringed at the sound of Evaine’s screeching as he sat in front of the fire, glancing at Runa, who looked just as uncomfortable.
‘It’s not as simple as that, Evaine,’ Eadmund soothed patiently, smoothing his hand over her damp, blonde hair. ‘Jael is the queen. She believes that you tried to murder her grandmother. There is nothing I can do to change that. You must stay here, in the house, while we wait to see what happens with Edela.’
Eadmund was wet through, eager to remove his clothes and sit by a fire, but as uncomfortable as he felt, he didn’t want to let go of Evaine. It was as though no other thought could enter his head while she was there, pressed against him. He could feel every part of her, and every part of him responded in turn.
He wanted to be alone with her, desperately.
‘Evaine!’ Runa called. ‘You must let Eadmund go so he can change out of his wet clothes. I’m sure you don’t want him to fall ill.’
Evaine stepped back, at last, and Eadmund felt the loss of her, his body suddenly cold.
‘Yes, you must go and change,’ Evaine smiled tightly. ‘I will come to you in the hall as soon as Sigmund wakes. He’ll be hungry before long, I’m sure. I will bring him to see you.’
Eadmund’s face brightened. ‘I’d like that,’ he shivered, looking up to the mezzanine where Sigmund slept; excited by the prospect of being with his son again.
‘I won’t be long, I promise,’ Evaine purred as she walked Eadmund to the door. ‘And then we can talk. Perhaps we can discuss Sigmund and me moving into the hall? It would be much better if we were close to you, don’t you think?’
Runa ga
ped at them, horrified that Evaine was being so bold; mortified that Eadmund was so lost in her spell that he didn’t say a word to dissuade her.
After all that they had tried... and failed.
Eadmund kissed the top of Evaine’s head, fighting the urge to do more than that, but he noticed Runa staring at him and ducked his head away from the horror on her face. He could feel discomfort stirring amidst his desire now. He felt so muddled that he could barely see straight. ‘I’ll be waiting,’ he mumbled awkwardly.
Evaine sighed with pleasure as Eadmund opened the door and left, raising a hand in farewell. She held up her own hand, watching him hurry away into the rain. Turning around, her smile vanished. ‘What?’ she growled at Runa, her eyes quickly sharp with displeasure. ‘What are you looking at?’
Morac frowned. ‘Evaine, that is no way to speak to Runa. After all that she has done for you? Raised you? Cared for you as though you were her own all these years? She is my wife. She deserves your respect.’
Runa was surprised but relieved to hear Morac hurry to her defense.
Evaine was far less pleased. ‘Respect? For working with those old women to try and break my spell? For trying to come between Eadmund and me? Respect?’ she snarled. ‘There are many things I would be happy to give you, Runa, but respect is not one of them!’ And storming past them both, she headed upstairs, deciding to wake Sigmund, certain that he had slept enough already.
‘Tell me,’ Jael said bluntly. ‘What happened in Tuura?’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, I know what happened all those years ago. We both know that. But what happened on your visit with Edela over the winter?’ She walked towards Aleksander as he stood, feeding Leada an apple. The strong smell of damp horses was in her nostrils, but the stables themselves were dry, and Jael smiled sadly, remembering how quickly Eirik had had them built to please her.
How strange it felt not being able to talk to him about Eadmund.
There was nothing Jael could say about it to Aleksander.
She wouldn’t.
But she did need to know what had happened in Tuura before they went back there. And Jael could tell that he was hiding something.
Aleksander shuffled his feet in the freshly changed hay. He hoped that Sky was being well cared for in Andala. She would enjoy the warmer weather: being outside, at last, free of the snow, free to roam. But missing him, no doubt.
Thinking of Sky reminded Aleksander of Tuura and his trek with Edela. ‘It’s not easy to talk about,’ he said haltingly. ‘It’s about my mother.’
Jael frowned. ‘Fianna? What about her?’ She felt odd. The pained look on Aleksander’s face unsettled her. Jael had loved Fianna like a mother. Gisila had been distant after the loss of her two eldest sons, but Fianna had always been there, she remembered.
A smiling face, an encouraging voice.
Aleksander leaned his back against the wall. ‘Edela uncovered some things in her dreams,’ he began, his eyes on his boots. ‘And... eventually, so did I.’
Jael looked on encouragingly, and Aleksander took a deep breath and slowly told her about Edela’s dreams. About the note Fianna had written, telling someone that they were going to Tuura. That Jael would be there. He told her about the Widow; how his family’s connection to her had seen his grandmother banished from the temple as a young dreamer.
How the elderman had sent his soldiers after him.
How he had run for his life, chased down, forced to kill to escape.
‘So, I don’t expect they’ll welcome you back then?’ Jael tried to smile, but her face was tense. She didn’t want to believe that Fianna could have been responsible for what happened to them.
They had all lost something that night.
Something that none of them could get back.
‘No,’ Aleksander agreed. ‘I can’t go back to Tuura.’ It was hard to say because he didn’t want to abandon Jael and Edela. Not now. But his presence would only make it worse for everyone. He blinked, thinking of Hanna for the first time in weeks; hoping that he hadn’t caused trouble for her, leaving the way he had.
‘No, you can’t. Which is a good thing, perhaps? This elderman might have sent Edela here to die, and if that’s the case, we might need rescuing.’ Jael had a sudden vision of the man, a sense of his darkness, as though there was a cloud cloaking him.
Hiding him from her.
Was it safe to go to Tuura? To walk towards the possible danger that lurked there? Or, where Oss was concerned, away from it? To just leave everyone vulnerable and in Eadmund’s spellbound hands?
Jael remembered how Eadmund had saved them in Hest. Yes, Oss would be safe in his hands, she was sure. Evaine may have twisted herself around his heart, but his leadership did not appear in doubt.
Not yet, anyway.
Fyn and Thorgils had barely worked their way through one cup of ale. Torstan, hunched over opposite them, was halfway through his fourth.
‘Well, things are about to go from bad to even worse, I think,’ Torstan sighed morosely as Evaine strode into the hall, a grizzling baby in her arms.
Eadmund’s baby.
The hall hushed immediately, a whisper of shock creeping around the tables.
Thorgils swallowed, glancing towards the green curtain that Eadmund had just disappeared behind. ‘I think you’re right,’ he whispered.
Fyn gulped. ‘At least Jael’s not here.’
‘No, and I doubt she will be, not with Edela in such a bad way,’ Thorgils agreed, his voice low, his eyes never leaving Evaine, who, after spending a torrid night wailing in the mud as an accused criminal, looked a picture of serene elegance. ‘Not until they know what is happening with her.’
‘You think she’ll die?’ Torstan wondered.
Thorgils shrugged. He didn’t want to imagine such a thing. He thought of Eirik, remembering his dead body as it slumped in that chair, wine all over him like blood.
Someone had murdered him.
Someone had tried to murder Edela too.
‘She’s strong,’ Thorgils said at last. ‘Just like her granddaughter. And if anyone is going to save her, it’s Jael.’
Fyn nodded in agreement, his eyes rounding in horror as Evaine slipped behind the curtain. He could imagine the smug smile on her face; the glow of satisfaction as she dug her claws deeper into Eadmund’s heart.
But who could stop her now? From all accounts, Edela had tried and look at what had happened to her.
7
Jael’s voice rang inside her head like chimes blowing about in a furious wind. She thought of her tiny cottage in Andala and felt an ache; a deep longing to feel safe again.
To feel free.
The cave was a prison, and there was nothing she could do except relive that moment when Evaine had stabbed her. Over and over again she watched helplessly as the darkness crept towards her, claiming her piece by piece.
And all she could hear was that voice, laughing as she lay there, bound and helpless.
So old.
But Jael had come for her. A dreamer, at last! Jael had come for her. And she had managed to give her a clue.
Not enough.
But a clue. And Jael was clever enough to know what to do.
Jael was hers. Her favourite. Her heart. Jael would know.
The answers were in Tuura.
She closed her eyes, desperate to find Jael; wanting to hear her voice, to feel her touch again.
She felt so alone. So cold.
So scared.
‘Eadmund will not want you to come,’ Jael said carefully as she hurried Eydis back to the hall. It was still raining, and she was quickly wet through again; her long, dark hair sticking to her neck as she pulled on the door. ‘But I will ask him. Although,’ she murmured, ‘perhaps he needs you here now? Perhaps this is where you can do the most good?’ Jael frowned. Evaine was out to hurt anyone who stood in her way, and therefore, Eydis was in danger. She felt that. Especially after what had happened to Edela. They both had tattoos to ward off any spells th
at Evaine or Morana attempted to cast, but Evaine obviously did not need spells to hurt anyone.
Not when she had a knife.
Eydis squeezed Jael’s hand. ‘Eadmund will have Thorgils, though, won’t he? Torstan and Sevrin too,’ she suggested, caught between the overwhelming pull of Tuura and worry for her brother.
Tuura was all Eydis had dreamed about since her mother had died. There were answers there, she knew, to both her past and future. And now, without her father, she felt an urgency to grow stronger.
To become more in control of her gifts. To become a real dreamer.
‘He will, yes,’ Jael agreed, ushering Eydis into the hall. She stopped as soon as they were inside, listening to the soft thud as the door swung closed. It was oddly quiet. Jael shivered, her eyes immediately seeking out a fire. ‘Here, Eydis, let’s take off your cloak,’ she said, spying Thorgils, Fyn, and Torstan who sat watching her from the table closest to the fire. She unpinned Eydis’ wet cloak and led her towards them. ‘Why don’t you sit here by Thorgils for a moment to warm up. I’ll go and find Eadmund.’
Thorgils was up, stumbling off his bench, hurrying to stop Jael as she headed towards the green curtain that separated the hall from the bedchambers. ‘Jael!’ he cried loudly. ‘My queen!’
Everyone in the hall, already hushed and panicked in their conversations, suddenly stopped talking, all eyes fixed on Jael as she turned towards Thorgils.
Jael frowned, her body shaking with something other than cold now as she watched Thorgils’ face contort itself into strange shapes. Fyn had joined them, his face matching Thorgils’.
The crack of the fire was suddenly loud.
Everyone was staring at her.
‘Hello, Eydis,’ Fyn said quickly, before turning to Jael, trying to get her attention. ‘How is Edela?’ He licked his lips. His mouth had gone so dry that he couldn’t speak properly.
Jael looked from Fyn to Thorgils. She felt the pressure of Eydis’ hand as she came to stand beside her; the sense of unease that dried her own throat. Then she saw Evaine emerge from behind the curtain, pinning her cloak to her shoulder.
