by Sandra Lake
“I do beg your pardon, Mother. I must go find Hök and . . . thank him.”
Chapter 19
Rushing blindly down the stairs, Sovia bashed straight into the back of her sister-in-law. Sard. A fresh blunder for the shield maiden to dislike her over. “I beg your pardon, baroness.”
Her sister-in-law looked her up and down. “That gown is . . . agreeable on you.” The final word must have cost Katia her charity allotment for an annum.
Sovia nodded her head, acknowledging the compliment. It would surely be the last she would receive for a while. “Your mother gifted me this veil.”
“Aye. My mother is overly skilled. A woman should never learn to sew,” Katia said, fiddling with the edge of a finely embroidered veil. “Far too much becomes expected of her. Is it Hök you are seeking on such a rampage?”
“Aye. Your mother has just told me the exciting news. Your brother is taking me home. I go at once to thank him.”
“From the sounds coming from your bedchamber this morning, he should be the one thanking you.”
Sovia was all too familiar with dealing with angry mothers, sisters, mistresses, and wives. All she needed to do was breathe, not show fear, and never retreat.
“Ugh. Forgive me.” Katia looked up at the ceiling, annoyed. “I swore to myself that I would not say that and look what sprang out at the first chance.” Seemingly in a gesture of apology, Katia linked her arm through Sovia’s and began guiding them down the steps. “Last night at the table was—a revelation of sorts. You have no clue as to the firestorm of lively conversation your few well-timed barbs granted dull, peaceful Tronscar. I promised Lothair I would start fresh with you. He is of the opinion that you and I have more in common than not.”
“I find that the largest overstatement since spoiled Princess Aaria told me we were both exactly the same because we both like the color blue.”
Her sister-in-law laughed and patted her hand. “Not today, Sovia. You will not drag me into another argument. Perhaps tomorrow or for all of next winter, but for today, I am determined to like you. Mind you, if you cross my brother, or hurt him again in any way, I will be forced to introduce you to my favorite sword. I call her Hermann.”
Sovia stifled a laugh, pulled the reins on both the pace and the conversation. “Have you had too much wine at the midday meal, sister? You sound as if you wish us to be friends.”
Katia dragged her down the final few steps to the great hall. “Aye, sister, I am attempting to befriend you. Mother and Lothair have reminded me repeatedly that I was not always the pillar of tempered wisdom that I hold myself to be today. Perhaps with time I may even overlook the scarring blow you landed my babe brother’s heart upon your first encounter. Perhaps a heartless knave carved your heart out before you met my brother and you were wounded yourself and couldn’t see the harm you were about to commit. I have decided to think the better of you. And besides”—she grinned—“I like your politics and I have few female companions who will indulge my conversation over ‘the affairs of men.’” Katia rolled her eyes and giggled.
“’Tis beautiful,” Sovia said, watching the massive candelabra being lit with what looked like a hundred candles. The ironwork was laden with lush vines and freshly picked blooms.
“’Tis nothing. Wait until you see the fattened calf. All the stops are being pulled out for Hök. The lad’s a bloody wonder with a sword and ship. How many campaigns can one man win before you add him to your list of greedy generals?”
“Hök fights for his family. As long as they come first, he’ll stay off my list.”
“Well said. Speaking of which—say his name and the devil appears. Here come our roguish men now.”
And there he was indeed. The sight of Hök, fierce, angry, determined, striding toward her, completely decked out in armor, made Sovia’s heart leap into her throat. What an unreal good fortune had turned her tides. So many miserable, painful years, and now, finally it was her turn to set sail for calmer seas and days of joy with her son. Soon she would be safe with Leif, and with luck, blessed further with a new sweet babe.
She still wasn’t sure if she should tell him about her son, but if they left tomorrow, there was no way to send word before they arrived. Her dear servants were bound to give Leif’s identity away . . . she best tell him. He’d been raised in a warm, loving home that openly adored and fussed over children, so she doubted he would ever do harm to her child. But the question remained of when to tell him—before or after their ship made port in Nidaros? Perhaps telling him after he first met Leif and saw how beautiful and smart he was would be the best time?
Sovia could no longer contain her excitement. She was going home to her son. She wanted to fling herself into her husband’s arms, kiss him, and spin about the hall in joy. Behind Hök, men continued to pour in through the open great hall archways. She couldn’t contain her excitement and ran to him.
“My lord husband.” She halted before him, bowed her head and bit her lip trying to refrain from smiling too obnoxiously. “I have just come from your dear mother and she has informed me of the glorious news.” She then did something she avoided doing at all costs—she curtsied. “I thank you a thousand times. I promise you, Toraslotte will not disappoint. Her shores are rich with fruits from the sea and her fields full of hearty crops. Her game is said to be stimulating as it is tasty and her mountains—oh, Hök, the vista from the short hike above—”
“Sovia,” Hök said in a cold voice. “I am fully aware of Toraslotte’s bounty. ’Tis why I petitioned for it as Tronscar’s reward.” He walked past her. She walked quickly at his side to keep up. “You are familiar with Kaj.” He pointed over his shoulder, not looking at her as he spoke.
“Aye,” she said. Sovia suddenly realized she had made a mistake rushing to greet Hök. She should have waited with Katia for the men to approach. She had embarrassed him in sight of his men.
“Kaj and Zander will be your guards,” he said. “Do not make their assignments difficult. And you are forbidden from entering the lower training yards, do you understand me?” He handed horns of ale out to his brothers and the surrounding men.
“That is most kind of them,” she said, confusion quickly setting in, “yet once we reach Nidaros, I assure you I will have no need of personal protection. Toraslotte’s walls have never been penetrated and everyone is loyal to Hunt, who is loyal to the memory of my mother and—”
Hök gave her a hard, cold stare. His male companions began speaking in small groups around them. “The guards are for the protection of the other men of Tronscar. The guards will be assigned to keep a close watch on you.”
“I—you would guard me from—tempting the other men?” She closed her eyes and sighed. Of course that is what he would think. “Forgive my ignorance, husband. I mistook your meaning that you cared for my safety while we were at sea on voyage through hostile waters.”
“When you travel to Norway, wife, it will be I who will guard you,” he said. “Until then, Zander and Kaj will be your overseers. Obey them as you do me and all will transpire peaceably between us.” He grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it. “Taunt them or test them and I will have you confined to our chamber for the remainder of my absence.”
The blood drained from her head. “You are not taking me.” The words left her in a breathy rush.
“Take you? I’m a brave man, Sovia, but not a suicidal one.”
Her mouth was bone dry. “You agreed you would take me home. You said—”
He leaned closer and spoke in her ear. “Last night, you attempted to bargain, but you failed to remember that as your husband, I needn’t pay for such service from you.”
She clutched her chest as if he had struck her. “You said you would take me home. You promised.” Her thoughts fogged over and echoing sounds of distant laughter filled her head, her grip on what was real and what was imagined stripped away.
“You said you wanted to return to Toraslotte. I commented that it is nice there this time of year.”
She shook her head so violently that her golden head ring flopped to the side. “Nay. You promised. Hök, I must go home. I am needed at home.” Desperate to hold on to her mind, she grabbed his tunic with both hands. He captured her wrists and held them out in front of her chest.
“You are home. Tronscar is your home now. In four or five winters you may visit—”
“Four or five years! That is too long.” Her son would be grown by then—if he lived long enough to grow into a man. His royal blood was as dangerous to him as it had been for her as a child, maybe more if the Lendmann party ever got ahold of him. Without her child, there was no reason to live.
The dark melancholy that at times imprisoned her heart returned to her in a sweeping wave, nearly sending her to her knees. Her fingers tingled and her heart misfired, the hall blurring out of focus. The pain from every beating she had ever suffered, every encounter she had survived, every torment lobbed at her revisited her in an instant. Her last clear thought she held was, This is what it feels like when a person goes mad. It was an oddly clear thought.
“Behave, make no trouble for my family, and perhaps I will take you in three or four years. Disobey my instructions and I will add years on for each offense.” He let her go and continued on to a chair by the hearth and took a seat.
Frozen in place in shock, Sovia worked to compose herself in front of the crowded hall. Servants filled tables with bread and cheese. Ale was being served to all—just in time to enjoy watching Sovia be tortured for the entertainment of her spectators.
Her husband was very right about one specific point. She had no shame. No scrap of pride remained within her. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. She would do whatever it took to get on that ship to Norway. The hope of home was all that had kept her going, all that kept her from madness—take that away from her and what was left?
A lute began to play a merry tone from across the hall, and laughter and lively conversations were taking place in small groups, but Sovia heard none of it. Her mind cleared and centered. Her husband would not let her return to Toraslotte before producing an heir—his heir, but what of Leif, her heir? What would Hök do when he found out she had a son—a son by an enemy of Tronscar? Intense panic tore through her heart. She was sick to death of surviving for surviving’s sake.
Emotion was the devil of the thing. It made a person falter. If she was going to get what she needed to get done, she needed to be focused. This was not a time to weep, nor was it a time to show herself as a woman of power, with royal relation to a long-ago dead king.
She raised her hem and marched in a straight line toward her husband.
Hök sat with his head bent forward, speaking in hushed tones with Stål.
“May I speak with you alone, Hök?”
“Do not make a spectacle of yourself, Sovia. It will only go against you,” her husband said.
Sovia dropped to her knees at his feet and bowed her head, something she had never done for a man, nor a priest, nor would she have for the executioner. She summoned all her courage and spoke as a queen, a queen surrendering to her conqueror. “I will do or say anything, for as long as you command it. I implore you, husband. I must return home. It is not a want but a need as vital as air and water are to sustain life. I have been kept from home since last harvest. It is the longest I have been away—those that I love—” Her throat closed, her body betrayed by her own weak heart, and she started to tremble.
“Love?” Hök said. “You forget, wife. You don’t believe in love.” He rubbed his temple. “Get up, Sovia.” He suddenly sounded drained, as if she were some street peddler harassing him for a few coins.
She held in her angry retort. He had the power here, and she must keep focused on who held the power to get what she wanted. “My nursemaid Aina is as dear to me as any mother. Before I was forced to depart last winter, she had grown weak. My safe return would bring her peace before she leaves this world.”
“And is she proud of the woman her charge has grown into? Was teaching you to lie and seduce men part of her training?” he asked, speaking only loud enough for her and his brother to hear. “Get up off the floor, wife. You make a spectacle of yourself.” He pulled her up to her feet, releasing her quickly.
She stumbled before finding her footing. Her words had dried up. Her mind would not engage to battle as it usually did. She had overplayed her hand, submitted too quickly. Hök had all the power and she had none. He wanted nothing from her because he had already taken everything from her. She felt broken and empty, desperation flooding her.
Her hands were shaking, fingers pricking with pins and needles, and there was a loud buzzing of bees in her head. The return of the bees was a bad sign. After Voinovich had raped her, the bees would come to her at times of stress and drag her off into a pit of hopeless despair that usually took weeks to climb out of.
As calmly as she could, she said, “I would be of use to you there. I know the people. I can help you with the king’s appointed treasurer. He reports all of Toraslotte’s dealings directly to the king. He will listen to me.”
“How exactly will you bargain with him, wife? I was curious about one thing, is the guardsman Hunt one of your paramours? Is that why he fights with such blind passion for you?”
She struck him across the face with an open hand. The loud crack shocked her, the vibration of the blow traveling up her arm. Her tears would not listen to her commands and they fell fast and hot, blurring her vision.
“Six years it shall be, Sovia.” Hök said.
“Why not make it a hundred years? It is all the same to me,” she shouted.
“King Sverre is right. Your reckless tongue will land Norway right back into civil war. Striking your husband in public is your idea of being an obedient wife, causing me further embarrassment and disrupting my family’s peace?” He spoke as if his words were a chore for him to form. His lack of passion for the argument provoked her into all-out raving madness.
“To hell with you and your family, Hök. Tronscar can burn to the ground for all I care! If you do not take me to Toraslotte, within this coming moon, I will slit my own throat after writing a letter to every Lendmann supporter telling them you are responsible for my death.”
He stood up out of his chair, and towered over her. “It will be hard to write those letters without ink and paper.”
“I am highly resourceful.”
He pointed to a chair next to him. “Sit. Shut your mouth and perhaps I will show kindness and carry a letter to your nurse for you.”
She stood her ground before him. He would have to strike her down before she relented. “I have done many sinful things in my life, Hök. I have hurt people. I have hurt you. I have seduced men and laid traps for them. But what I have never done once was swear an oath to God and broken it and unlike you, I have never made an idle threat. If I swear to slit my throat, by God I will do it.”
Her brother-in-law clapped slowly. “Your performance is as entertaining as ever, sister,” Stål said.
Sovia glared at him with all the scorn she felt in her heart, for the injustice of being born a woman and subjugated by men, for having a bastard for a father, for feeling powerless and worthless. None of these things were her husband or her brother-in-law’s fault, but she was pushed beyond the point of logic. She could feel herself descending into true madness and had no way to stop it.
She tore the head covering off and snapped the thin gold head ring in half. “I swear to God. I will not live in Tronscar longer than a month. You will take me home to Toraslotte or I shall end my wretched existence and met my maker for him to pass judgment on my wretched harlot’s soul. That torment is no worse than the torment I suffer here. You are taking me home!”
“I have warned you. You hold no power over the men in this h
all, Sovia,” Hök said flatly.
In her mind’s eye, the image of Leif’s sweet face flickered one last time before disappearing—she would never see him again, leaving him unprotected—Aina would not live forever—her son would be discovered and then shipped away to his father—that was the law—children were property of the father—Leif’s father—Voinovich’s hand was around her throat as he laughed in her face.
Sovia was taken over with crippling dread. She was past the point of desperation, and too tired to live another day in distress. “I can’t—I’m sick—sick to death.” She fisted the broken crown in her hand, the gold wire sharp and shiny, giving her her only way out. She stabbed it into her wrist, tearing upward, opening a vein to allow hot, bright blood to spurt out of her arm and down the front of her yellow silk gown. She would force Hök to take her back to Norway, or she would die.
Chapter 20
Hök grabbed her arm, squeezing her wound closed and raising it up over her head, while her brother-in-law tore the bottom hem of her gown.
“Fak! She’s mad!” Hök wrapped her arm with the fabric.
The onlookers frowned and gawked with unhappy faces.
Sovia smiled and waved at them with her free hand. “Enjoy Hök’s farewell feast! One and all, eat, drink, be merry, for who knows what tomorrow might bring.” She laughed like a crazed woman, because that, in fact, was what she was. “Don’t forget to try Hök’s special farewell tart! I am told it is his favorite, his mother’s special recipe. I am certain it will be delicious.” Her face was wet from cold sweat and tears.
A lifetime of pain, humiliation had finally broken her—she had no desire to live another day, no more energy to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart.
She felt Hök sweep her up in his arms, and in seconds they were at the bottom of the tower staircase. She turned her head over Hök’s shoulder and said to the onlookers, “Fare thee well, Tronscar. I had a pleasant stay. The next time you see me will be at either my farewell feast or my gravesite. Whichever comes first.”
