Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  “Pretend to care?” He shook his head. “I didn’t know I was supposed to hate you, and I’m not sorry you want me.”

  “Oh!” she exclaimed and moved toward the door, but Rune leapt from the wall. His arms flew up and, slamming his palms onto the stone, he caged her in between the wall and his body, leaning in too close as he spoke.

  “You have traitors who sleep among you, hidden behind these walls, but you hate too much to see your usurpers.”

  Kallan narrowed her eyes into snake-like slits.

  “You know nothing of my people you…coward…Outlaw…Nidingr!”

  Rune’s hand gripped her neck, slamming her head into the wall. His nostrils flared with rage and Kallan met his eyes, seeing them for the first time steeped in a cold, crazed hate.

  “There are laws for such backless accusations made,” he said, the affection gone from his voice.

  “You had my father killed, stabbed in the back while you rode away. You left him to bleed without a sword in his hand or the decency to take his life and finish the job. What greater dishonor is there?”

  Rune eased his grip on her neck as he changed back to indifference and released her, leaving behind a cold that had not been there before. With a sigh, he lowered his arm, giving Kallan the space to push off the wall as the cold settled between the small space left between them.

  Her foot pounded the stone as she returned to the door, leaving Rune at the wall.

  “Tomorrow, you will die,” she said as she climbed the steps.

  “You’ll rescind that order.”

  With a rebounding amount of arrogance, Kallan stopped at the top stair.

  “You claim your death will summon your berserker to the very gates of this city?”

  “It will,” he said.

  Mustering the strength, he looked to the queen gazing down at him. Her eyes glistened in the light like jewels.

  “He will come,” Rune promised.

  Her eyes dropped to the signet ring upon his finger and the boar’s head there. She returned her eyes to his before answering.

  “Then you shall die.” Kallan gripped the handle.

  “Kallan.”

  The queen stopped and turned back as a flushed red coated her neck.

  “Send word to Gunir,” he said. “Request your peace. I guarantee it will be welcomed.”

  “For centuries my father offered you that peace, and you answered with arms,” she said. Her body shook. “If you desire peace so badly, you should have sent your own request.”

  Before Rune could answer, Kallan threw open the door, flicked her wrist to extinguish the Seidr light, and slammed the door closed between them.

  Enclosed in darkness, alone, Rune stood as he said aloud in his cell, “We did.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Gasping, Kallan fell back against the door. With her fist clenched, she pressed her fingers against her mouth, willing herself calm as she battled back the urge to break beneath her anger. Upstairs, the festivities had begun and she cringed at the concept of joining them.

  Collecting her strength, Kallan huffed and pulled herself up, not bothering to straighten her skirts. She trudged back through the prison, all the while resisting the impulse to run to the stable and Astrid. She dropped the keys to the gimping guard who she found in the armory and then shuffled into the hallway before turning down the corridor, toward the Great Hall, away from Astrid and the prisons.

  The scent of pine, sweet mead, and roasted pork wafted from the hall. Song and merriment accompanied endless bouts of laughter that failed to move her. From the corridor, Kallan stood in the shadows and watched the festivities. Her war-men had gathered around the tables. There, they exchanged food and drink with endless stories of their courageous deeds while they picked clean the three roast pigs extended over the fire pits.

  A year ago, she would have led them on in this merriment, being the first to boast their victory in battle. This day, it was all she could do not to run away without a glance back.

  Across the hall, in the sea of heads, Gudrun’s golden eyes found her. The old woman smiled warmly, and Kallan knew her grandmother had already advised the guests of the queen’s absence, permitting Kallan the isolation she craved.

  Flooded with gratitude, Kallan attempted a weak smile back, trudging away from the feast and down the hall. In silence, she made her way through the labyrinth of corridors, up several sets of stairs, and as far around the Great Hall and festival as possible.

  At last, she reached the floor of her chambers. Even there she could smell the food and drink. As Kallan made her final turn, she stopped abruptly at the sight of Daggon, calm and patient, at the end of the hall where he waited in front of her chamber door.

  Kallan glided down the corridor. Her gown swept the floor. In masquerade, she glistened, steeped in a chill that clung to her frigid complexion.

  The subtle glint of Kira’s pendant caught Daggon’s eye and a twinge of remorse tugged at his chest.

  “Kallan,” he said, taking her hand as she arrived at her chamber door. He studied her empty face. The only warmth was of the lantern light glowing back at him from the wall. Beyond that, her eyes, iced from the void and weighted with the flood of grief, consumed her. Too plainly, he saw the broken queen Gudrun had spoken of: an empty vessel, chilled by a death that was taking her.

  Daggon turned over her tiny palms.

  “Your hands are warm,” he said, half-expecting them to be as cold as the guise she wore.

  She pulled her hand free, as if afraid he could sense the shadows haunting her through the touch.

  “It is nothing,” she said, forcing her fake grin wider.

  With a sentinel’s eye, Daggon followed her as she pushed her way to her chamber door.

  “All is in order,” she said. “Tonight, my people feast, for tomorrow the king dies.”

  Her words fell like snow, sending a chill that churned Daggon’s stomach. He caught her hand as Kallan reached for the door handle. His armband flashed in the light as he moved.

  Daggon pulled her face to his and looked at Kallan as she stared through her mask of mock joy.

  “Why so cold, Kallan?” he whispered.

  Tears flooded Kallan’s eyes at the word. Through depleted strength, Daggon looked into the darkness holding her, binding her to its fate, just out of reach. In silence, she pleaded, begging him to reach in, to pull her from the void. And all at once, he understood and wrapped his arms around the girl. He held her, desperate to keep her there with him the more she slipped away.

  “Will you never grieve?” he whispered and Kallan tightened her arms around his wide ribs.

  Sighing, Daggon planted a kiss on the top of her head and released her after giving a gentle squeeze to her shoulder. Without a word, he turned to walk the length of the corridor and round the corner out of sight.

  Several moments passed where Kallan stood numb in the hall. She waited until she was certain her legs would give out from exhaustion. Sighing deeply, Kallan pushed open the door of her chambers and swept inside her sitting room.

  The door had barely latched closed when the hurried footsteps of a child thumped along the floor, pulling a grin across Kallan’s face like a beam of starlight touching down on moonflowers.

  “Kawin,” Rind cried and did her best to leap the whole three inches into the air and land in Kallan’s arms.

  “Rind,” Kallan exclaimed, scooping up the toddler in a long and tight hug. “Oh, Rind. Dearest Rind.” Kallan squeezed the child, releasing her doubts, her worries, her trifles as she rocked the child in her arms. “Oh, I missed you so.”

  After a moment, Kallan tightened her hug. “Where is Eilif, hm?” But the child had wasted no time shoving her little thumb into her mouth and nestling her head onto Kallan’s shoulder.

  “Eilif?” Kallan called, glancing around her chambers once she saw that Rind wouldn’t answer.

  A platter of meats and cheese with a bowl of cloudberries caught her eye and Kallan grinned wider
as Eilif shuffled into view on the balcony.

  “I am here,” Eilif said, poking his head around the corner.

  With Rind still slumped against her shoulder, Kallan stepped out onto the balcony and, at once, began swaying in place beside Eilif.

  “She would not go to sleep tonight after hearing you were back.” Eilif grinned, looking back to the sea. “She just wouldn’t have it.”

  “And how did she know I was back?” Kallan asked, grinning widely with an arched brow to Eilif.

  “Latha,” Rind said through the thumb in her mouth.

  “Latha, hm,” Kallan mused, and gazed again to Eilif. “How is Latha?”

  “Never better.”

  “And Herdis and Kri?” Kallan asked, so excited she debated on heading down to the warrens almost at once.

  “They all wanted to come, but I held off the rabble with promises that you would be down to see them tomorrow,” Eilif said.

  He gazed from the sea and shifted his brown-eyed plea to Kallan, who could only grin wider.

  “Well, then, I suppose I’ll have to be down first thing in the morning. Won’t I? How’s that sound, Rind?”

  Rind was already nodding.

  “Promise?” Rind asked around her thumb.

  Smiling, Kallan removed the white elding bracelet from her wrist and slipped it onto Rind’s.

  “I promise,” Kallan whispered as Rind settled back down, turning the bracelet over to study its intricate designs.

  “How well did the supplies last?” Kallan asked, gazing up at the dwindling crescent moon.

  “We made them last,” Eilif assured her and pulled his eyes from the sky. “You’ve already done more than your share, Kallan.”

  “I can always do more,” she said as the crescent vanished behind a wall of thick cloud.

  Returning to the sitting room, Kallan sat herself in the chair stationed in front of her desk, ensuring she could still see the sea in the distance. Eilif followed right behind as Kallan shifted Rind into a better position on her lap.

  “Kawin?” The child pulled her thumb from her mouth long enough to plop her head onto Kallan’s chest. “Can you tell me a story?” Her large eyes looked up at Kallan and waited.

  “A story.” Kallan shifted a glance to Eilif, who could only grin in response as he made himself comfortable against the wall. “Well, only if you promise to go to sleep.”

  Rind nodded and stared off into nothing and listened, waiting for Kallan to begin. The fire crackled and popped against the breeze of sea air and Kallan exhaled, finding her temporary peace within.

  She thought for a moment and looked to the sky looming over her balcony. The clouds shifted again, revealing the moon’s crescent, and then, with a soft grin on her lips, Kallan began the children’s riddle.

  “Hjuki and Bil chased the moon,

  With waters from Byrgir’s well,

  Upon their shoulders they did share,

  Simul the pole and Saegr.

  ‘Mani,’ they cried and chased the sky,

  ‘From Byrgir whence we came,

  To water the earth and water your drink,

  And water the seas with rain’.”

  Rind nestled closer into Kallan and closed her eyes, filled with dreams as Kallan continued.

  “Hati looked back and Skol ahead,

  But Mani gave no reply,

  For Hjuki he took, and bent his crook,

  And Bil was taken thereafter.

  Hjuki and Bil still chase the moon,

  From Byrgir whence they came,

  To water the earth and water the drink,

  And water the seas with rain.”

  The hearth fire crackled, and Kallan risked a glance down to the sleeping Rind. Her thumb hung lazily in her mouth. Without a word, they sat there, the two of them as Rind slept, listening only to the winds and waves of the sea and the crackling hearth fire as they took in the warm scent of the feast downstairs. And for that moment, for that breathless moment, everything seemed right with the world.

  CHAPTER 26

  Aaric rolled the small vial of golden liquid between his fingers. Unease settled into his nerves. Grand cheers, music, and acclaimed praise echoed in the Hall above his chambers. The celebrations would proceed all night. The end of a war and an era was much to drink to.

  He threw back his head and took in the warm mead he had swiped from the Hall before descending to his bower. He had his own demons haunting him this night.

  “You’ve had enough time,” Fand had said while Aaric waited in her chambers for the ink to dry. “Bring her in. Now!”

  “There are complications,” Aaric coolly answered. He hadn’t told her of Gudrun who had done well to hide herself from Under Earth, and he had no intentions to start.

  “Then take care of it,” Fand said. “You have three days, then I will interfere and if I interfere, I won’t be honoring our deal.”

  Aaric had long suspected that. The moment he passed Kallan into Fand’s possession, her first act would be to kill Kallan. But her patience was wearing thin and his excuses were dwindling.

  “And what of Danann?” Aaric asked with hope to dissuade her. “Should they detect your presence in Lorlenalin—?”

  “It’s a risk I am willing to take should I be forced to take it.” Fand had opened a small drawer from within her bureau and withdrew a small vial filled with a golden liquid. She held it out to Aaric, who eyed the small vial in question.

  “It’s a tincture,” Fand explained. “Undetectable, strong, and will leave Kallan incapacitated. It will also block her memory. She’ll awake remembering very little.”

  “I think you underestimate Kallan’s strength.”

  “And if I am, then Danann is closer to finding her than I thought and Kallan should have been brought in years ago.”

  Aaric took the vial and turned to leave, his own thoughts reeling.

  “Aaric.” He glanced over his shoulder and Fand recovered that smile of hers as she eyed him hungrily. “Don’t make me an enemy.”

  A sudden bellow of laughter from above broke his thoughts and Aaric studied the golden elixir contained in the small vial.

  Gudrun.

  He hated the idea and hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but he had no choice. Fand had him backed into the wall. But Gudrun was stubborn and oblivious to Fand’s existence.

  Tell her, he had scolded himself too many times. But if Gudrun knew, she would put Kallan in more danger. Like her granddaughter, the old Seidkona wouldn’t sit idle while greater powers moved in. She would launch a war against Fand. He wouldn’t agree. Gudrun would conflict with his plans. No. It was best if Gudrun didn’t know.

  Aaric continued to roll the vial between his fingers and ran his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

  No matter. In the end, he would transfer Kallan to Fand, and he was no fool. The moment his back was turned, Fand would kill her. But Kallan couldn’t stay in Lorlenalin either, oblivious to Fand’s pursuit…

  “High Marshal?”

  Aaric’s thoughts were too deep to notice the knock on the door. His scout stood, worn and ragged with worry.

  “What is it?”

  “The Dark One has crossed our borders.”

  Just as expected. Aaric nodded. “When?”

  “Only just.”

  “How many?”

  “Nearly a dozen.”

  “Twelve?” Aaric furrowed his brow. Twelve wasn’t an attack. It was an infiltration. An idea cleared his worries like a streak of sunlight parting the clouds after a storm. “Does anyone else know of this?” he asked.

  The scout shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Very good.”

  Aaric eyed the vial knowing the scout had seen. His markings were enough to keep Danann from finding him and Gudrun had her own spells in place. But the moment Fand showed up, the chances of Danann finding them…Lorlenalin was simply too dangerous for Kallan to stay any longer. He had to get her out. And she wouldn’t go willingly.

  �
��Report to Daggon,” Aaric said. “Have him ready the troops.”

  “Yes, Marshal.” The scout turned to leave.

  Raising his arm, Aaric fired a bolt of Seidr through the air and into the back of the scout’s head. He slumped down, dead before he touched the floor. Aaric stared at the corpse. If Kallan was to get out alive, then his plan must work. And for that to be the case, then no one else could know the Dark One had no army with him.

  The Dark One would come. He must have been guaranteed help to have brought so few to his enemy’s gates.

  Aaric narrowed his eyes.

  They won’t come in through the gate, which leaves…

  Aaric stepped over the body then closed the door of his chambers behind him. After taking care to lock the door, he made his way to the stables.

  Kallan can’t take on the Dark One alone, but as long as Gudrun and I are here, Fand can use our Seidr to mask her presence from Danann. Aaric had no doubt. Fand would come to Lorlenalin. She will kill us, and two dead Drui offered to Danann is enough to sate her curiosity and still keep Danann ignorant of Kallan. But Gunir has no Seidr users. A presence in Gunir can not be hidden. Fand wouldn’t be able to go near Gunir without Danann suspecting too much. As ironic as it all sounds, Kallan is safer in Gunir than anywhere else. But if the Dark One finds Kallan, he will kill her. Unless…

  Aaric’s thoughts turned to King Rune. After studying the king’s tactics and war strategies, he could almost predict Rune’s next move. He was reportedly wiser, calmer, and if anyone was more likely to take Kallan alive, it would be Rune.

  He just might not kill her. With the king, Kallan stands a chance. And if anyone can command the Dark One, his king can. That leaves two complications: Gudrun and the entire Dokkalfar army. The army is easy enough to take care of as I command them, but no one commands Gudrun.

  Aaric rolled the vial over in his hands and redirected his path to Gudrun’s chambers.

  * * *