Sapphire and Steel

by Violet Froste

  Adrienna threw Byram an apologetic glance; he accepted it with a graceful nod.

  “But he explained to me the truth of my father’s war, and he told me you, too, wanted to stop it. And you are as dear to me as my own flesh and blood, Aster. I would do anything for you. I told Sergevni everything, I begged him to let me take the fleet to come find you. He let me and promised he would use every power he had as the prince of Karscha to stop my father if I so wished. And I wish so, Aster because… well, because…” Adrienna hesitated. “Because you want to protect Arkavik, and I want to protect you.”

  A lump in her throat strangled Aster, and she swallowed hard before she could speak.

  “But how? You’re already married. If you do not marry Svagnar, your father will never stop coveting Arkavik for himself.”

  “He will,” Adrienna blurted nervously. “If he legitimises you.”

  Aster was shocked into silence. She knew Adrienna had always wanted her for a sister. She knew that Owayn had offered her a place in the Princessguard as a response to the rumours of her parentage. But she had never believed it, and in her heart, she had a feeling that the king did not believe it either.

  “He will never agree to it,” Aster said, her shoulders dropping. “I’m not his daughter, Adrienna, no matter how much you wish I was your sister. He will never legitimise a bastard child, a nobody.”

  “He might if he stands to gain from it,” Byram pointed out quietly. Aster looked up at him, incredulous, and he added: “I don’t believe King Owayn is as indifferent towards you as you think, Aster. He did not pick you for Adrienna’s guard out of pity or sympathy.”

  “It would hurt his pride and his reputation if he legitimises me,” Aster said, shaking her head. “I know you are both only trying to help. But it will never work.”

  “If my father ever wants to have some hold over Arkavik, he will legitimise you and recognise your marriage,” Adrienna said, her voice hard with steely resolve. “Because if he ever moves to strike this land, Karscha will defend it. And my father will never risk war with Karscha.”

  “The Empire will not wage war against Veritier,” Aster frowned. “Surely not over a land as small and remote from it as Arkavik.”

  “I am the future queen of Karscha, Aster,” Adrienna said. “And if my sister is the queen of Arkavik, then my country will defend it no matter what.”

  “I’m not the queen of Arkavik,” Aster said. “I’m not the queen of anything. I’m the captain of your guard, Adrienna. Nothing more.”

  “You are married to the jarl of Arkavik, are you not?” Adrienna said, raising an eyebrow. “Then you are the queen of Arkavik. It is the only way I can think of protecting it against my father, Aster. Though it will mean staying married to Jarl Svagnar.” She hesitated, her eyes searching Aster’s face. “It is a sacrifice you must be willing to make if you wish to save this country.”

  Being married to Jarl Svagnar. Aster had tasted that life and had left it firmly behind. The idea that she might get everything she wanted - protect Arkavik and keep Svagnar - was so fragile, so ephemeral, that she barely dared reach for it.

  “I don’t think it would be such a great sacrifice,” Byram said thoughtfully, his dark eyes moving between Aster and Adrienna. “I think marriage is not the worst fate for Svagnar and Aster.”

  “Is it, Aster?” Adrienna prompted her.

  Both looked at her questioningly and Aster bowed her head, the shape of words forming on her lips. She wanted to tell them she wanted nothing more than to be Svagnar’s wife, to stay at his side, to serve and honour and protect him. She wanted to tell them she loved him and could not think of a worse fate than being separated from him.

  Instead, she burst out: “I cannot be his wife! I lied to him. I deceived him. I knocked him on the head with the pommel of an axe and ran away from his castle. How can I be his wife?”

  Adrienna grabbed her face between her hands, forcing Aster to face her. Aster could not count all the times when their roles had been reversed, and she had comforted the princess when she was in the throes of despair. It was perfectly lovely being the one being comforted.

  “Listen to me,” Adrienna said, firm yet calm. “I told you it was my turn to help and protect you - and I will. You must return to your jarl. Tell him everything. I think he will understand more than you think. Tell him the truth, Aster, and tell him I have come to aid his country. In the meantime, Byram and I will go to meet my father, and I will tell him everything I told you. My father will only have two choices: to relent, or to face war with Karscha.”

  Aster nodded. She could not imagine what returning to Fjersfell would be like after what she had done, and yet a part of her demanded to go back. Even if Svagnar should never forgive her, she owed him the truth. She had longed for so long to tell him everything. Now she was given the chance to do it and still save Arkavik. She needed only to speak to him. She needed only to be brave enough to go back to him.

  “We must hurry,” said Byram. “Owayn will be here soon.”

  Outside the tent, a Karschan soldier was already waiting with Aster’s horse and helped her on to it. Adrienna grabbed her hand and said: “Aster, I wish you luck. I wish… is this what your heart desires?”

  Aster felt a knot in her throat. Looking into Adrienna’s eyes, as blue as her own, she said, so quietly the wind almost stole the words from her lips: “I love him, Adrienna. I love him even though he is not mine to have.”

  Adrienna squeezed her hand and said: “Aster, all the sapphires and silver and land in all of Arkavik would still not match your worth. If your jarl cannot see that, then he is blind.”

  The ghost of a smile drifted on Aster’s mouth and she nodded.

  “If I cannot be his wife, then can I still be your guard, Queen Adrienna?”

  “No, Aster. You are done living for me. You must live for yourself now. A challenge for you - but you’re the most dauntless person I know, and I believe you will rise to meet it.”

  And with that, Adrienna tapped the mare, ushering her on.

  “Farewell for now, Queen Aster!” she called.

  Aster waved her farewell and broke into a trot through the camp. As she did, another rider caught up to her. She glanced to her side to find Byram catching up to her on a black stallion. As they reached the end of the camp, he said to her quietly: “Listen, Aster, I must warn you. I have heard rumours that Owayn has sent mercenaries from Sefena ahead of him to aid him in his attack.”

  Aster nodded, remembering the story of Svagnar’s scar. Sefenan mercenaries were notorious across Westmere. They were brutal, well-trained killers. They fought only for gold and executed their attacks with deadly efficiency.

  “Yes, he’s done this before. Svagnar told me.”

  Byram continued gravely: “Adrienna will get to her father soon, but she might be too late to stop the mercenaries. You must warn Svagnar as soon as you can.”

  “I will,” Aster said. She hesitated and added: “Thank you, Byram. I owe you a great debt.”

  He gave her a small smile: “You owe me nothing. Thank me when all of this is but a distant nightmare, Aster.”

  She bowed her head in agreement and rode on, leaving him behind.

  As she prompted her mare onwards towards the hills she had come from, she felt a strange tightness in her gut, a mingling of excitement and fear. She had waited so long to tell Svagnar the truth - the anticipation of it elated her. And yet she could not help but fear his response - he had much to be angry about. He might never forgive her. She must prepare herself for his wrath, his resentment, his hatred. Baring her heart to him would make it all too easy for him to crush it.

  Ignoring her fears, she crossed the expanse of tundra. She followed her own tracks through the grass-spiked snow and stopped when she reached the trees, frowning. The Fjersfell search party had not followed her to the beach, and she wondered if they had lost her tracks or retreated. If they had glimpsed the Karschan camp, they might have drawn back to send news of it
to Svagnar. She needed to hurry.

  Her heart in her mouth, she kicked into her mount, prompting it forward, and galloped through the trees. She could not afford to let her fears paralyse her - she had been selfish enough. Now, she must do her best to return to Svagnar, to tell him the truth before too much harm was done. And if Owayn’s mercenaries were on the way, then she needed to get to Svagnar before they did.

  The thought had just crossed her mind that the mercenaries might have already arrived in Arkavik when she saw something from the corner of her eye.

  She turned her head, pulling hard on the reins, but it was too late. From her other side, another shape surged forward, and Aster was slammed to the ground. She cried out in pain as her shoulder collided hard into the frosty forest ground, and as she scrambled to her feet, a hand grab her mantle, yanking it back.

  She fell back with a strangled yell, rolling over on all fours to better pull herself up. She looked up. Gunnar. His face was dark as the clouds of a gathering storm.

  Raising her hand, she opened her mouth to call his name - to stop him. But something cold and hard smashed into the back of her skull with a dull thud. Pain exploded through her head.

  And then darkness engulfed her.

  Chapter XVI

  Svagnar the Fool

  Svagnar was pacing inside the largest tent of his mountain camp. He’d had the camp built following the unexpected news of the Karschan fleet arriving at the northern shore of Arkavik. Karscha had never been in conflict with Arkavik; its armies relied heavily on Arkaviki mines and forges for its metals and weapons.

  But Prince Sergevni had been promised a Veritian bride, and Svagnar had stolen that bride for himself. It might be enough reason to encourage the Karschan Empire to attack. If that was the case, then the gods had abandoned Arkavik, for Karscha was the greatest military power Westmere had ever known.

  Yet the Karschan encampment and fleet were too small to begin a war. Svagnar knew not what to expect of it. But then he had not expected his own wife to knock him unconscious the day after their wedding. Now, as he awaited the search party he had sent through the woods, conflicting emotions raged within him: anger, resentment, loss. Above all, he blamed himself: he had been unbelievably stupid, to think his stolen bride might love him, to believe her honeyed lies and treacherous kisses.

  Had everything between them been a lie? She had seemed so sincere when she had twitched and writhed and cried in pleasure in his arms. Had Svagnar blinded himself to her true emotions in his desperation for her? She had been so often sad, so often melancholy, so often secretive. How could he not have sensed the betrayal that lurked in her heart?

  But in truth, it was not only his bride who had lied to him. He had lied to himself.

  The sudden sound of horses and voices interrupted his wretched thoughts. He strode out, dipping beneath the flap of the tent's entrance. His camp was nestled in the mountains, the grey tents blending in with the snowy slopes and pale rocks. A line of warriors on horseback crossed the camp towards its middle, where a large fire burned.

  At their head was Gunnar, his lined face grim and weary. Svagnar had gone straight to him once he had regained consciousness on the floor of his bedchamber, his head pounding. Gunnar had wasted no time in arranging a search party and flying into the night in pursuit of the runaway princess.

  Now the aged warrior slid from his horse and grabbed the body slung in front of his saddle, dropping it to the floor. The princess was still in the ash-grey gown she had worn when Svagnar had made love to her. The memory of it stung him like poison. Her long, dark braid hung by her head as she teetered to her feet. Gunnar pulled her up by her arm and grabbed the axe she had strapped to the narrow belt around her waist, making sure she was weaponless.

  “Gunnar, please! Listen to me,” the princess was saying, her eyes huge and beseeching.

  Terror and despair twisted her features.

  “Your wife, jarl,” Gunnar announced dully.

  Svagnar clenched his jaw and took the princess by the arm, all but dragging her into his tent. She stumbled after him, light-headed from her rough journey on Gunnar’s horse. Svagnar steeled his heart against the sudden sympathy he felt for her. Once they were in the tent, he could no longer hold the flood of words that burst forth from the dam of his lips:

  “I should have known you were lying to me!” he spat out bitterly, grabbing her by the arms.

  He had promised he wouldn’t touch her - and yet he could not help but long to hold her, to wrench the truth from her.

  “I should have known you would care only for yourself and your country. You must have thought me the greatest of fools. The buffoon jarl of Arkavik, so easily deceived.”

  “Svagnar, listen to me,” she said, reaching for him with both hands. He jerked back from her. He knew her tricks: the way she distracted him with embraces and kisses, the way she made him want to believe her lies for the sweetness of them. “I lied only because I had to, but-”

  “It is the greatest skill of your people, Adrienna, is it not? To lie and deceive and damage!”

  She pulled back, a pained expression crossing her face. She said coldly: “I did only what I believed was my duty. Just like you, jarl.”

  “Aye, just like me. Though I sought only peace for my people. You thought only of yourself, selfishly, just like your father.”

  She stood, straight and prideful, and said: “You know nothing of my father. You know nothing of me.”

  “You’re right! I thought I did - I thought I had your measure. I believed your words to be truthful, your kisses to be sincere. But I knew nothing of you.” His anger consumed him now, and his words spilt like flames from his mouth: “Were you going back to your true husband? Back into the arms of Karscha to help your father destroy all that’s left of my people? Tell me the truth, Adrienna!”

  “If I was going back to Karscha, why would I come back to you?” she yelled back, her voice rising above his, lightning in her sapphire eyes. “How would Gunnar have captured me in the woods? Stop asking for the truth if you’re not willing to listen to it!”

  “Then tell me! Make me understand!”

  “I’ve come back only to bring you the truth, Svagnar, but I-”

  A hoarse shout interrupted them, a sudden eruption of noises in the camp, and the princess looked up, her eyes wide with fear.

  “Svagnar, Owayn sent mercenaries ahead of him, I came to warn you, to-”

  Svagnar had already released her and rushed to the tent’s entrance. Glancing outside, he saw the familiar cloaked and hooded figures of Sefenan mercenaries. He had not fought such mercenaries since the day he had received the scar upon his face - but he remembered them well.

  “Stay here!” he shouted over his shoulder, grabbing his axe and shield and dashing out of the tent.

  Utter chaos devastated the camp. The Arkaviki warriors, taken by surprise, fought back ferociously, but the mercenaries were manifold. They must have been in Arkavik before Owayn’s ships had even appeared on the horizon. Or else they must have come from the uninhabited north and crossed the country by horse and foot. They were exactly as Svagnar remembered them: swift, ruthless and deadly.

  Swooping flights of arrows pierced the air in rhythmic intervals, stabbing through shields, tents and snow. Glancing up, Svagnar spotted the archers further up the slope and called out: “Gunnar! Archers!”

  Two mercenaries were upon Gunnar, and he fell them swiftly with blunt, bloody strikes. Their bodies crumpled around him. Gunnar threw a curt nod at Svagnar and broke into a run, heading for the slopes with several warriors.

  “Vikingr! Shield wall!” Svagnar yelled.

  Suddenly, his men were gathering around him. They slammed their shields against his, making Svagnar’s arm tremble underneath the impact. They turned the shield wall towards the arrows and held beneath the assault of the mercenaries.

  “Hold!” Svagnar roared.

  They needed only hold until Gunnar reached the archers. The Sefenan merce
naries fought with slim sabres, ineffective against shields. Svagnar and his men could afford to wait, but not for long; the Sefenan were in greater numbers and beginning to surround them.

  The arrows finally stopped, and Svagnar glanced through the shields. On the slopes, a grisly massacre was taking place: Gunnar, like a bear, hacked through the line of archers, sundering bodies with terrifying ease. The archers would no longer be a problem.

  “Attack!” shouted Svagnar.

  The shields dropped and then his vikingr were doing what they did best. Holding the name of the war god in their mouths, they threw themselves into battle as though it was their only fate. Blood splattered the snow and bodies fell, but there was no time for Svagnar to register who fell. He cut through the mercenaries like wading through water, his axe and his shield moving as though they had a will of their own.

  And as he fought, he realised that he did not fight alone. Standing at his flank, facing away from him, the princess stood. Her stance was squat and solid, and she wielded a Sefenan sabre she must have grabbed from a fallen mercenary. She was moving swiftly and with precision, blocking blows and cutting down mercenaries. Svagnar realised that she was protecting his weakest side, where his flank was most exposed.

  Svagnar moved and fought wildly, trying to match the Sefenan mercenaries’ incredible speed. And yet the princess matched every movement, her position infallible. And as she fought beside him it was as though a vikingr fought at Svagnar’s side. She was braced and balanced, and each movement of her sword was calculated and purposeful. She fought not with the savage aggression of a vikingr - she fought with the iron discipline of a Veritian soldier.

  As the mercenaries began falling in greater numbers, their attacks began to slow. Still, the princess kept her place steadfastly at Svagnar’s side, always protecting his flank. He struck a mercenary down and turned. He wanted to thank her, to question her, to ask her how a princess might know how to fight thus. But an arrow suddenly pierced the air. Svagnar heard the whistling of it before he saw it, and he jerked his head in its direction, trying to find its source.