Vory grumbled beneath his breath as he followed Fioni into the longhouse, leaving Danika and the others alone with Sif. Rolf and his men began to wander off as well, apparently no longer interested in Fioni and her guests. Well, it’s not like I’m going to attack anyone, Danika mused.
Sif moved in front of Danika, standing before her, hands on wide hips, her head cocked as she considered Danika. “And who might you be?”
“Guests of Fioni’s,” answered Kora as she extended a hand toward the open doorway.
Danika smiled at Sif and then followed Kora’s direction inside the longhouse, leaving Sif standing by herself.
The interior of the longhouse was dark and smoky, and it took a few moments for Danika’s eyes to become accustomed to the dim. When they did, she saw a large, spacious hall. Elaborately carved dark wooden beams etched with exotic faces and odd markings held up the roof, high above her. A long, black cast-iron fire pit dominated the center of the hall, and embers cracked and burned within it, providing welcome heat. A raised wooden platform containing a single high chair—elaborately worked by master craftsmen and covered in thick furs—sat before the fire pit. Benches and tables filled most of the hall, containing enough seating for dozens. Metal braziers containing half-melted candles hung from support beams by chains. Although the stench of stale ale was strong, fresh rushes covered the floor. Along the walls hung battered wooden round-shields and old weapons, tools, and fishing nets. In a far corner, a loom sat unattended. Several men and women bustled about, performing chores. This late in the day, the servants would still be preparing dinner, Danika knew.
“Fioni!” a loud, brash voice boomed out.
A large, middle-aged man, over six feet tall and likely weighing hundreds of pounds, stomped down the wooden stairs from a second-story balcony surrounding the inner portion of the hall. His face was ruddy and deeply lined, his once-red beard and long hair now streaked with gray, but Danika saw the family resemblance in a moment—this was Yarl Taios Oak-Heart, Fioni’s father.
Two large, shaggy dogs, looking more like wolves, sprinted ahead of the big man, rushing to Fioni, their tongues hanging out. Fioni dropped onto a knee and hugged both animals, which took turns licking her face and jumping up against her, almost knocking her over. Yarl Taios wore breeches and a bright-yellow linen tunic with buttons of carved bone. Around his thick biceps he wore several gold armbands, as well as a corded black stone sigil carved in the shape of a black fish around his neck. He stood now before Fioni, his large head cocked, his arms outstretched. Fioni rose, beaming, and they embraced. Yarl Taios’s forearms, Danika noted, were corded with muscle despite his age and girth.
He released his daughter and turned toward Owen and Danika. A heavy, exasperated sigh leaked from his lips. “What have you done now, girl?”
“This, father,” said Fioni, “is the Lady Danika Dain of the northern duchy of Wolfrey, in the Kingdom of Conarck.”
“I know where the Dains come from, girl.” His expression narrowed as he considered Danika. “You’re Oskaley’s daughter?”
“He was my father,” Danika answered.
“Was?” Taios asked.
“I heard the news in Port Ollechta,” Fioni said. “Oskaley passed away earlier in the summer. Her brother is the new duke of Wolfrey and Greywynne Island.”
“My brother was murdered,” said Danika, “by a traitor who also seeks my death. I beg your protection, Yarl Taios Oak-Heart. I ask for ale and salt.”
Taios’s head snapped back in surprise, and a hushed silence settled over the hall. He glared accusingly at Fioni, who snorted and shook her head. “You’ll want to watch yourself around this one, father. She listens.”
Taios crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Danika. “You know our ways?” he finally said. “But I think perhaps you don’t understand them as well as you pretend. You can ask for ale and salt, but I don’t have to offer them. Now, what’s this about murder?”
“It seems, father,” said Fioni, “the Greywynne Islanders are rebelling again. They were desperate to put their slimy toad hands on Lady Danika.”
“Again? Gods help us, what’s wrong with them? Do they all want to hang? So, if Oskaley and your younger brother are dead, who’s duke now?” asked Taios.
The silence of the hall was broken only by the crackling of embers in the fire pit. She hadn’t thought about that until this moment. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “There are no more male Dains.”
Taios snorted. “It’ll be whoever your king marries you to now.”
“Why not you?” Fioni asked Danika.
“They’re not like us,” said Taios. “Only those with eels between their legs can inherit.” When Danika glanced down at her feet, Taios grimaced. “My apologies, my lady. We’re not accustomed to fancy talk in the islands, but you’ll find we do have manners.” He turned away, yelling for the servants. “Hurry, damn your lazy asses. Bring food and drink for the Lady Danika and—” He paused, his gaze resting on Owen. “Who are you, then?”
Owen stepped forward. “I’m a—”
“Knight,” said Danika. “This is Sir Owen of Toscovar. My protector.”
Fioni snorted, and Owen’s face turned red.
“All right, then,” said Yarl Taios, frowning at his daughter. “You’re welcome among us, Sir Owen. Looks like you got the shoulders of a fighter, at any rate. Bring chairs for both of our guests.”
“Are they guests, then, father?” Fioni asked.
Taios’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t push me, girl. I’ll wait until I hear the entire story.”
Servants carried chairs out, setting them before the raised platform. Taios plopped himself down on the high chair, rearranged the furs he sat upon, and then waited while Danika and Owen took their seats before him. Fioni sat nearby, sharing a bench at a table with Vory and Kora. Rolf and several of the other warriors joined them as well. It seemed they were all curious about what had befallen her and her family.
She took the cup of mulled wine that was offered to her and smiled gracefully at the servant before taking a small sip, finding it of far higher quality than she would have expected. Taios turned down his own drink, muttering something about his bowels, and instead waited on Danika.
“So,” Taios said, his eyes locked on her. “Please tell me what’s happened on Greywynne Island.”
“I took them at sea, father,” said Fioni, “fleeing in a fishing boat.”
“A fishing boat? Not something I’d expect to see from the niece of the famous Stron,” said Taios. “Strange days.”
“I’d have swum from that cursed island if I’d had no other choice,” said Danika.
“Yes, well, the Greywynners tend to have that sort of reaction on everyone,” muttered Taios with the barest hint of a smile. “But why?”
Danika inhaled deeply and set her shoulders, meeting his gaze. “It’s exactly as your daughter said. The Islanders are in rebellion. They’ve attacked our fort and killed our soldiers and servants. Sir Owen and I only just escaped. Had it not been for your daughter’s help…”
Taios glanced at his daughter and shrugged. “My daughter has always been a… bold ship’s master. Although, truth be heard above the wind, I suspect she was more interested in profit than saving your skin.”
“That’s harsh, father,” said Fioni in a tone that suggested it was complete truth.
“Still,” Taios continued, “what did you and your brother do to provoke the Greywynners so badly? Haven’t you and your relatives hanged enough of them already? There’ll be a slaughter once your king hears of this. What could drive the toads to such stupidity?”
Danika stiffened. “We didn’t do—”
At that moment, a commotion erupted in the entranceway as a group of four men stormed inside. Each man wore ring-mail armor with a sword belted to his waist.
One of the gate-guards rushed ahead of them, anger on his features. He knelt before Taios. “My yarl, I told them to wait, but—”
&
nbsp; “It’s all right, Hendrick,” Yarl Taios said, his gaze focused on one of the four men—a tall, muscular man in his thirties with beautiful, long flowing blond hair. “My nephew Galas Gilt-Mane is always welcome in my hall.”
Danika considered the man. With his dark eyes and brown, neatly trimmed beard offset by his golden hair, Galas Gilt-Mane was easily one of the most handsome men she had ever seen—and despite her family’s failing fortunes, there had been many handsome suitors who had presented themselves to her father at Castle Dain in the hopes of winning her hand. Galas Gilt-Mane set them all to shame. He wore a brightly burnished ring-mail coat and dark-brown bearskin cape clasped at the throat with a silver trident pin. An ebony-handled sword hung from his wide belt. Galas Gilt-Mane placed his hand across his breast and inclined his head. “Your servant, Uncle.”
Fioni jumped up from her bench and spun on Galas. Vory, moving far faster than Danika would have thought for such a bear of a man, went after her, placing himself between her and Galas. Kora grabbed her arm, whispering in her ear.
“I’ll have none of that!” roared Taios, rising from his chair and glaring at his daughter. “This is your cousin.”
Galas smiled, his white teeth flashing. “Greetings, Fioni, my beautiful cousin. I had hoped we could let the past stay in the past.”
Fioni glared at him for several long moments before spitting on the rush-covered floor and seating herself again upon the bench. Galas, as if pretending the outburst had never taken place, swept past Fioni and moved to sit down behind a table on the opposite side of the fire pit. His men, none of whom looked particularly happy to be there, joined him.
“Well now,” said Galas as his gaze lingered appraisingly on Danika, “I see you are entertaining guests.” Danika ignored his bold look, and Galas snapped his fingers at a serving woman. “Ale.”
The servant paused, glancing at Taios, who inclined his head.
“Who is this lovely guest, then, Uncle?” Galas extended his long legs before him, leaning back.
“This, nephew, is the Lady Danika Dain of the duchy of Wolfrey and, I should add, Greywynne Island—although I’m not entirely sure how accurate that last part is anymore.”
Galas’s eyes gleamed with interest. “Why not?”
“Seems the Greywynners are revolting—again.”
Galas’s face reflected his puzzlement. “It’s no secret they bristle under the mainlanders’ rule, but to revolt—why take such a chance?”
Taios scratched his beard. “That’s what the good lady was about to tell us before you… joined us.”
“Serina Greywynne,” Danika said simply, loudly, with finality.
The hall went deathly silent again. Taios leaned forward, his mouth slightly open. “What about Serina Greywynne?”
“She’s alive,” Danika said. “She’s behind the rebellion. She sent her ghouls against our fort, gave courage to the Islanders. They don’t fear the king’s reprisal because she intends to invade the kingdom again.”
Galas laughed and slapped his knee. “Oh, this is rich, Uncle. Ghosts and witches? Why did I stay away so long from your hall?”
“Because you were hiding from me,” Fioni said, her voice dripping with false honey. “Just like the spineless jellyfish you are.”
Galas jumped to his feet, knocking over the bench upon which he sat. “You dare?”
Fioni, still seated, smiled sweetly at him.
“Enough, I’ve said already!” yelled Taios, his voice echoing across the hall.
Galas, still glaring at Fioni, sat back down again. Yarl Taios turned back to Danika. “Explain yourself, my lady. Serina Greywynne has been dead for almost half a century.”
“No,” said Danika. “Serina Greywynne has been dead since the night she ritually slaughtered the monks on Echo Isle, sacrificing their souls to her heathen gods, the same night she became a blood fiend. She’s undead now, but she’s also free of her underground prison beneath her fortress, awoken by the blood of my murdered brother, Palin.”
“What nonsense,” said Galas, looking about the hall with an incredulous glare. “Lies, Uncle. That, or she’s lost her mind.”
“I saw her myself,” said Danika. “Serina has returned.”
“It’s true,” said Owen, leaning forward on his chair. “I was there in the Great Crypt. I saw the traitor, Modwyn, awaken Serina. He cut Lord Palin’s throat and spilled his blood over her—and she drank it and came to life again.”
“Boy,” snarled Galas, “we’re not like those inbred fools on Greywynne Island, living in the past, ready to believe any fishwife’s tale about the infamous Blood Queen. We’re Waveborn, the strongest of all the Fenyir clans, and we don’t tolerate liars. Serina Greywynne was killed by Stron with Sight-Bringer.”
Owen’s face burned crimson. “I’m no—”
Taios leaned forward, his hand held out. “My lady, I saw your uncle, Stron, when he sailed with his army from Port Ollechta to confront the queen. I was just a boy, but I’ll never forget him, or the legendary Illthori longsword he carried. You dishonor his memory with these tales.”
“Father,” said Fioni. When he met her eyes, she motioned to Vory. “Give it to him.”
Vory got up and removed a cloth-wrapped item he had been carrying. Unraveling the object, which glittered in the firelight, he approached Taios. An expectant hush fell over those in the hall as Vory handed the item to the older man.
Sight-Bringer.
The moment Taios touched its elaborately carved hilt, wonder filled his face. He ran his thumb along the broken blade and then jerked it back, blood welling on his skin. “Wodor save me,” he whispered.
Galas shook his head. “That’s not—”
“Yes, Nephew,” muttered Taios, still staring at the blade. “It is Sight-Bringer. I’d know it anywhere.” His gaze snapped to Danika. “What happened to it?”
“Serina.”
“What do you mean?”
“We stabbed her with it, while she slept. Then she woke and smashed the sword with a single blow of her fist.”
Taios closed his eyes and then rubbed his nose with his free hand; the other still held the blade in his lap. “Gods help us all.”
Galas stood up, an incredulous grin on his handsome features. “This is nonsense, Uncle. You’re being tricked. The Blood Queen is dead.”
“Yes,” said Taios softly. “Yes, she is. But it appears she still walks among us.”
“I’ll listen to no more of this stupidity,” said Galas. He glared one last time at Danika and Owen before turning and storming off, his men hurrying to catch up.
Angry mutters followed him out. Clearly, Galas Gilt-Mane was not well loved here. Danika bit her lower lip, assessed the frightened mood within the hall. Now is my chance. Maybe the only one I’ll get. “Yarl Taios, if you believe me about Serina, then you must know how dangerous she is.”
Taios sighed. “All too well, child.”
“Then you know that she’ll bring war to the kingdom again, to your people as well.”
“My people are not part of your kingdom, despite what your king says.”
“My lord…” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Arguments of sovereignty won’t matter to Serina. If you don’t swear allegiance to her, she will consider you an enemy and act accordingly. She needs an army, and it makes no difference to her if that army is alive or dead. If you don’t help me warn the kingdom, then you will damn your own people to slavery—or worse.” Now, the sullen, angry glares were directed at her. So be it. Serina is a monster. Believing otherwise is fatal. “Please, Yarl Taios,” Danika pleaded. “You must believe me.”
Taios sighed, a profound sadness in his gaze. “That’s my problem, my lady of Wolfrey. I think I do believe you.”
“Father,” said Fioni, getting to her feet. “Are you all—”
Taios raised his hand to cut her off. “My lady of Wolfrey, I offer you and your knight ale and salt. You are a guest within my home.”
A smile d
anced on Fioni’s lips as she beamed at her guests.
Chapter 5
Galas
Galas Gilt-Mane stormed through Welmen Town, contemptuous of the townsfolk and their sullen stares. The villagers were unhappy about the presence of the Kur’teshi mercenaries, the Storm Monkey Company that Galas had brought to their town, but the spineless worms could all go drink in Nifalgen, the sea god’s lair. Soon enough, they’d scrape and bow and beg his forgiveness for having been disrespectful to him. Most he’d forgive. Some he’d hang.
Galas was going to be yarl of the Waveborn; it was his destiny. He had only been waiting for Fioni to return, worried that she wouldn’t come back in time and that he’d have to put his plan into motion without her. If that had happened, he would have had to roll the dice and hope for the best with the other clans, but his famous luck had held out, and the haughty bitch had slunk home just in time.
What he didn’t understand, though, was the game she was playing with the Dain woman. Serina Greywynne? What rubbish. But…if the Greywynne Islanders were rebelling again, then what? His men hurried to keep up as he stalked through Welmen Town, his mind racing. It’s a trick, he told himself. I don’t understand it yet, but I know it’s a trick. The Greywynne Islanders were ignorant, smelly toads with a vastly overinflated opinion of themselves, but they weren’t suicidal. They had to know the mainlanders would never allow them to secede from their kingdom. Greywynne Island was simply too valuable to them as a deep-water port.
But that broken sword…
Taios had been certain it truly was Sight-Bringer. What did that mean? According to legend, the sword shattered after Duke Stron had used it to kill Serina; its presence here could only mean that those northern idiots must have returned to the ruins of her fortress and dug it out of the catacombs. Galas snorted, shaking his head when he thought how angry the Islanders must have been. They believed that the ghost of Serina, still angry with the Islanders for failing her, haunted the ruins of the fortress. If so—
A child, a boy no older than eight, ran in front of Galas, not watching where he was going. Galas cuffed him in the back of his stupid head and sent him sprawling to the dirt, ignoring the brat’s cries as he carried on. Think, Galas. There’s an opportunity here. I’m sure of it.
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 31
