Seduction of the Bear (Bear Kamp Book 1)

by Rachel Robins

  “I don't need anyone else dying on my behalf,” Frida said, nodding sagely. She pulled up her hood, hoping that the weight she'd lost in Groenthjal and her matted hair and half-feral appearance would keep anyone from recognizing her, despite the fact that she'd grown up there.

  Daegal looked almost amused—or he would have, if he'd been able to spare the energy. “It's going to take more than minor changes in your appearance,” he told her. He reached into his pocket and held out an amulet towards her.

  Frida took the cold metal in her palm and ran her finger over the strange fisherman's hook that hung from the worn leather. “What is this?” she asked, although she already knew from the context what he was offering her.

  Daegal gave her a look and then slumped forwards again. “Just put it around your neck, Frida,” he said wearily, and Frida realized he didn't have any more energy to spare in explaining it to her.

  Still, it was strange to ride into town in what she knew wasn't her appearance. Nothing changed from her end, though: her arms and every part of herself that she could see remained the same. Her clothing remained the same. Her horse remained the same. But when the guards at the gate asked who she was and she responded that she was Fridrik Astirssson, her voice didn't sound like her own, and she was glad that she had gone with a male name because her voice was decidedly deep.

  The man at the gate stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowed, and Frida fidgeted nervously. This was no doubt standard procedure now; the fortress would be on high alert since the attack, and the guards wouldn't be kidding around anymore. But it was still strange to be subjected to such suspicion. She almost wanted to take the amulet off, to tell them who she was, to joke with young Dermuid about how his uniform was still clearly too large for him and ask him how everything was around the fortress.

  But she couldn't do that.

  She glanced over at Daegal, who was more or less sitting upright during this inspection, even though he looked like the effort might cause him to faint. Finally, they were allowed through the gates.

  “I hope you have coin,” Frida muttered under her breath to her companion. She certainly didn't have anything, but they weren't going to find lodgings for free.

  “It's in one of your saddlebags,” Daegal said wearily, slumping forwards again. “I just need a bed, anywhere. I'd take a pile of straw in a loft.”

  Frida snorted. “We can at least do better than that for you,” she said out the corner of her mouth. She dipped forwards and caught the reins of Daegal's horse in her own hands, leading both horses towards the inn at the far end of the town. Once there, she dismounted gracefully and went around to Daegal's side, holding out her arms to catch him in case he collapsed.

  “Thanks,” Daegal said, his voice weak.

  “You need to rest,” Frida said disapprovingly. “Come on, let's get you inside.”

  Inside the inn, things were just as strange as they'd been at the gate, but within a quarter hour, they had secured a small room in the upstairs corner of the building. Once in the room, Daegal collapsed fully-clothed into the center of the only bed.

  Frida stared at him for a long moment, her lips pursed, but then she moved to remove his boots. After a moment's thought, she stripped him down entirely and maneuvered him so that he was under the covers. “Sleep,” she said gently. “You need it.”

  Daegal reached out and caught her wrist. “So do you,” he said, his eyes still closed.

  “I'll sleep on the floor or somewhere,” Frida said, shaking off his hand.

  But his hand returned, even more insistently. “Oh no,” Daegal said. “There's plenty of space here for both of us. And...” He broke off, and Frida wondered for a moment if he'd fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he'd been about to say. But after a moment, he shook himself a little, cracking open one eye. “Come on,” he urged her.

  Frida stared at him for a long moment and then went to check the lock on the door. She placed a chair beneath the handle just for good measure—no one would be getting into there without them knowing. When she returned to the bedside, Daegal's eyes were closed again, but his breathing hadn't quite evened out into sleep just yet. She sighed and slowly began stripping down as well, starting with the amulet, which she lay carefully on the bedside table, and ending with her muddy boots. Then, she climbed into bed with Daegal, holding her breath as she tried to settle beside him.

  “Relax,” he mumbled, turning his back on her. “I'm not going to do anything to you. Couldn't if I wanted to.”

  Frida sighed and turned to face his back, reaching out after a moment to trace the pattern that his freckles made along his shoulder blades. Even that small touch had magic singing just beneath her skin—not enough that she could ever use it, no, but enough that she definitely knew that it was there. She smiled softly to herself and then cuddled up against him, falling quickly asleep.

  Chapter 12

  When she woke up, Frida carefully disentangled herself from Daegal's sleep-heavy arms—but unlike the last time she'd had to sort herself out from him, this time, she wasn't running away from him. She wasn't sure what had changed while they'd slept, what had settled inside of herself, but she felt as though they'd made it through whatever uncertainty had faced them since that night in the cave.

  She smiled a little at his sleeping form and then dressed quickly, realizing that she was ravenous. She couldn't remember when the last time she'd eaten was. It must have been lunch the day that Agnarr and his band had attacked them, come to think of it—the next day, she'd been so intent on getting Daegal to someplace where he could lie down without fear that the war-king would catch them napping, that she had hardly stopped before they'd stumbled upon Daelfjord.

  She went down to the bottom floor of the inn and found Magnhild, the owner of the inn.

  Magnhild looked at her with eyes comically wide. For a moment, Frida thought she might have forgotten the amulet, but she could feel it hanging heavily just between her breasts. She looked quizzically at the other woman. “I thought you might have died!” Magnhild exclaimed. “Why, it's been three days since I've seen hide or hair of either of you.” She frowned. “To be fair, the both of you did look half dead when you came in here. I'm not sure what you've been up to lately, but it clearly hasn't been healthy for either of you...”

  Frida tried to hide a grin, but it was probably entirely obvious to the other woman. Bless Magnhild and her unwaveringly motherly ways. The woman had lost both her sons and her husband in earlier years, but now she channeled her caring ways into taking care of any visitor that came through her inn.

  “I was wondering if you might have some food that we could buy off you,” Frida said deferentially. “I know the harvest hasn't been kind to anyone of the north this year, but–“

  “Oh, nonsense,” Magnhild interrupted, before Frida could even finish her thought. “The years have been rough, sure,” the woman continued, “but that's all the more reason to pull together and help one another out.” She smiled at Frida. “Is there anything specific that you'd like me to make? I have a pot of stew on from yesterday, and I can rustle up a bit of bread if you can wait a moment.”

  “That would be lovely,” Frida said honestly. A good thick stew would be just what she needed to warm her bones after the trek through the snow and their time in the cave.

  “Wonderful,” Magnhild said. “Why don't you have a seat at the bar. Can I get you a drink, sir?”

  For a moment, the 'sir' threw Frida, before she remembered the amulet again. She smiled a little, hoping it didn't look half as sheepish as it felt. “A pint would be very welcome,” she told the other woman.

  When Daegal stumbled down the stairs not too long after, Frida was most of the way through her pint and chatting easily with Magnhild about the news in the north. In fact, the innkeeper had just spooned out a bowl of stew when he appeared, and she quickly spooned out another for the Iskandian, nodding at him.

  “It's good to see you on your feet,” she told Daega
l. “You didn't look so good when you arrived.”

  Daegal grimaced. “The perils of spending too much time on the road,” he said.

  Magnhild gave him a doubtful look. “I know what it looks like, when a magician has used too much magic,” she said in a hushed voice. She looked around the room as though there were someone who might overhear them. “Have you heard the news from the Borderlands?” she asked.

  Daegal and Frida exchanged a glance. “What news?” Daegal asked cautiously.

  The innkeeper looked around again. “They say a war is brewing,” she said, her voice almost reverent. “They say that the magicians have come from over the seas and… Well, no one has ever known too much about the Borderlands to begin with, have they?”

  “True,” Daegal said carefully, glancing at Frida again. She sensed that there was something there that she was supposed to be understanding, as far as he was concerned, but his hidden meanings were lost on her. She frowned and shook her head slightly, not sure whether she was responding to his glance or to Magnhild's words.

  “But surely a war in the Borderlands won't reach us all the way up here, will it?” Frida asked.

  Magnhild shrugged widely, but Daegal snorted outright. “Of course it will,” the priest said, folding his hands around his stew as though he needed the heat radiating from the bowl to warm him down to the core. “Between the near famine that the north has had for the past three harvests to–“

  “I wouldn't call it near famine,” Frida interrupted.

  Daegal stared at her for a long moment, and it was as though the two of them were engaged in a battle between their gazes. She didn't entirely understand what it was that he was playing at, but she didn't appreciate his maligning of her homeland. They were doing the best that they could do, couldn't he see that? And as Magnhild had shown already, it wasn't as though any of them would starve; the community feeling was stronger than that.

  Daegal finally rolled his eyes and looked away from her, and Frida wanted to be offended, but before she could make any sort of response to the way he had rolled his eyes, his hand was on her leg, gently squeezing the muscle there in a warning sort of way. She realized that he was only trying to draw more information out of Magnhild, maybe see how dire the situation was there in Daelfjord.

  “I wouldn't call it near famine,” Magnhild agreed, echoing Frida's words. She tossed her hair back and began cleaning the counter with a rough cloth. She pursed her lips. “I wouldn't call it near famine, although things have been a bit...tough lately.” She frowned and shook her head. “We were raided almost two months ago now, by Kjotan. There's enough fighting in the world without them raiding on their own.”

  Frida made a sympathetic noise, encouraging her to go on, but it seemed Daegal had more that he wanted to say.

  “Near famine or not, things haven't been easy up here for the past few years,” he said. “And I imagine things will only get worse. A war in the Borderlands could make things even more uncomfortable, and beyond that, it could drive more Kjotan northwards, into lands where they need to raid for food or land to live on. I imagine...” He trailed off, looking meaningfully at both the other people, and Frida could only surmise he was saying that raids like the one by Agnarr's people would become increasingly popular.

  She shook her head, wanting to negate it, but she didn't know enough yet to really make up her mind about anything. “What do we know about the Borderlands?” she mused, looking away from Magnhild but hoping that the woman would respond before Daegal did.

  The innkeeper laughed a little, shaking her head. “Well, that's the question, isn't it?” she asked. She shrugged. “We know that there was a great famine there once, long ago—before our parents' parents were alive. We know that most of the Ktharii died then, and we thought the rest of them were integrated into the rest of the lands. But other than that...”

  “They're cousins of the Iskandian,” Daegal said, looking grim. Frida tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at her. “They have magic, and they can be...” He trailed off shaking his head. “We don't have a clear idea of them either, where I come from, but they're not the sort of people I would like to come up against in battle.”

  Frida snorted. “You wouldn't want to come up against any sort of person in battle,” she said.

  She meant it almost as a joke, a reference to the day when Agnarr's people had attacked, when he'd been so reluctant to draw a sword against his brethren. But Daegal turned blazing eyes on her. “War isn't a joke,” he said admonishingly to her. “And more than that, there's a difference between fighting because you have to and fighting because you think you have to. If someone is forcing your hand, you are always fighting for the wrong cause.”

  Frida frowned, tossing that statement around in her mind. “But what about when the raiders came to attack Daelfjord?” she asked. “Ag—the raiders were forcing the townspeople, were they not? And yet–“

  “The people of Daelfjord were fighting for their lives, for their families, for their livelihoods,” Daegal interrupted. “That's very different than fighting solely because you have to fight.”

  Frida frowned, mulling that over. “I'm not sure it makes much of a difference in most cases,” she said.

  Daegal shrugged and turned back to Magnhild, who was watching the two of them with interest. “We can hope that the magicians of the Borderlands never make it this far north,” he said, “but I don't think for a second that they'll be so lucky. These are men that have survived plague and wars and desolation and everything that the fates could throw at them, and–“

  “That's enough,” Frida interrupted, her voice imperious. Daegal fell silent, looking consideringly at her. Frida took a deep breath. “If the men from the Borderlands make it this far north, the people will do as they always have, and they will protect themselves. There will be deaths, there will be pain, but there will not be defeat,” she said confidently. “We are better than that.” She backtracked a little, realizing that she had included herself in that statement. “Kjota is better than that.”

  Daegal looked momentarily interested, as though there were something else that he wanted to ask her, but he didn't say it in front of Magnhild. He turned back to the innkeeper. “I don't do much warding, but here,” he said, handing her an amulet that was similar in style, if not in shape, to the one that he had given Frida to alter her appearance. “This should keep you safe against all but the strongest of magical attacks,” he said. “It's the least I can do after you've let us stay here peacefully even though you knew what I...” He trailed off and shook his head, suddenly developing Magnhild's habit of looking around as though the walls might be listening.

  He winked at the innkeeper and slid off his stool. Frida realized that at some point, he had managed to finish his meal, while she had barely touched hers once they'd begun speaking of wars. “I'll be upstairs,” Daegal told her, touching her shoulder lightly. “You should make sure and rest; we'll be on our way tomorrow.”

  “Where are you headed?” Magnhild asked.

  Daegal turned a grimace on her. “North, unfortunately,” he said. “I know it isn't the time to be heading north, but we have business there.”

  Magnhild frowned at him for a long moment and then looked down at the amulet that the magician had given her. “I had a feeling you might be here one day,” she said quietly, glancing over at Frida. “Come back later tonight and we'll talk over dinner.”

  Before either Frida or Daegal could question her, she turned to serve someone else.

  Chapter 13

  That evening, the two of them made their way downstairs for dinner. They sat down across from Magnhild as she ladled out bowls of pottage and mugs of ale. “Do you foretell the future?” Frida blurted out, unable to help herself.

  The innkeeper laughed and handed Frida a bowl of soup. “Of course not,” she said. “I only piece together the things that I know.” She frowned and shook her head. “I'm from the north originally, so I know the lore. And I know t
he prophecies.”

  “What prophecy?” Frida asked.

  Magnhild shrugged. “That's not for you to know—yet. See, prophecies hold immense power, and if they were to fall into the wrong hands, all hope could be lost. For example, you could be part of this marauding band of magicians from the Borderlands, come to find out about this prophecy and kill the one who is meant to be the savior of Kjota. I wouldn't know any different.”

  Frida shook her head, wanting desperately to reveal her true identity to Magnhild. She was sure the woman would tell her the prophecy if she could only see that it was Frida that she was talking to. But there was Daegal's hand on her knee, warning her to be cautious, as though the man knew exactly what she was thinking.

  She glanced over at him, but he still had his eyes trained on Magnhild. “We certainly aren't marauders,” he said, a small smile on his lips. “But I understand your caution—and I appreciate it.”

  “You're not from Kjota originally,” Magnhild said, peering at the man. “Your complexion is too fair, and your hair is too fiery. Iskandian, if I had to take a guess. But with a healthy mix of Kjotan blood somewhere in there.”

  Daegal looked surprised and shook his head. “That's the first accurate diagnosis of my heritage that I've heard in quite some time,” he said. He grinned sharply. “Most people just realize that I'm a fierce barbarian and want nothing more to do with me.”

  Magnhild snorted. “As I said, I was raised in the north. There were many of your people who fled there after the wars.”

  “Which wars?” Frida asked.

  Magnhild blinked at her, looking surprised. But it was Daegal who responded to her question. “It wasn't a plague that destroyed most of the magicians in the Borderlands,” he said grimly. “There was a long battle, with armies from each of the free lands. Kjota's army was, of course, one of the finest that these lands have ever seen, but that's neither here nor there.”