Beyond a Darkened Shore

by Jessica Leake

  The king shifted in his saddle. “Yes, another king dead. King Killian of Mide, your own father. You are here to seize his lands, I suppose?”

  My eyes narrowed dangerously. “It was King Sigtrygg who killed my father, and no fewer than two hundred of my clansmen, and I was right to seek vengeance against him. As eldest daughter, I am my father’s heir. The kingdom of Mide is mine, and I’ve returned to claim it.”

  “It was your mother who said you’d been banished,” the king said, and I saw his hand tighten on the grip of his sword. “You no longer have a claim here.”

  I stood before the High King of Éirinn, a man who outranked me, but I would not cower before him. I had faced foes much greater than him, and I would take what was mine.

  “The blood of my father, the king of Mide, flows through me, and I will assume my role as protector of this land. Retreat, sire, or I will be forced to slaughter your men.”

  Angry voices rose at my insolence, but I held my ground.

  The king leaned forward and locked eyes with me. “I’d like to see you try.”

  His men cheered as I retreated back down the path, my jaw set. Leif waited for me near the shore with what was left of my army of undead standing at attention.

  I marched to the forefront of them. “There is an army at the top of this cliff. Kill them. Spare the king.”

  I pulled myself astride Sleipnir as Leif mounted Abrax. The few Northmen who had returned with us waited, unabashedly eager for battle.

  “This is my fight, Leif.”

  He grinned. “I appreciate your efforts to emasculate me so early in our relationship, but you know I cannot resist a battle.”

  A laugh escaped me in spite of myself. “We aren’t married yet.” I tossed another smile over my shoulder at him as I urged Sleipnir up the rocky path.

  Leif and the other Northmen followed, but my undead army surged past me, their feet never seeming to touch the ground. Strangled screams greeted them at the top of the cliff, and by the time Sleipnir delivered me to the top, nearly every man was dead.

  “Stop! Enough,” I said when the High King dropped his sword at my feet.

  “I yield,” he said, his face ashy pale in the bright sunlight. Seven of his remaining men circled around him bravely, though they, too, were deathly pale.

  “Do you recognize me as queen of Dubhlinn and Mide?” I asked, the Sword of the Fallen held ready in my hand.

  He dipped his head once. “You are hereby granted both kingdoms to rule and protect.”

  I smiled slow as death. “It would be my honor, your grace.”

  The castle bailey was quiet with an almost palpable unease. Leif and I rode our horses right to the doors of the keep, where I knew my mother waited inside.

  “Máthair,” I called, because I knew her by no other name.

  It wasn’t long before she came, followed by my sisters, whose golden hair brought tears to my eyes.

  Her hands were in fists at her sides, and her face was as welcoming as a hailstorm. Worse still were my sisters’ reactions: they kept their eyes firmly on the floor, never meeting mine. “Where is the High King?” my mother asked.

  “Defeated,” I said, and she sucked in a breath.

  “You killed him, too?”

  I flinched. “Defeated but not dead.”

  She crossed her arms defensively. “Why are you here, Ciara? You aren’t welcome.”

  Leif shifted in his saddle threateningly, but I raised my hand. “I may not be your daughter, but I am the eldest daughter of the king of Mide. I have come to claim my birthright, to keep Mide safe and to rule as its queen. This is my kingdom, these are my sisters, my clansmen. No harm will come to them while I rule. My alliance with Leif Olafsson will usher in a time of peace between our kingdoms and the Northmen.”

  Máthair stood in stunned silence, and my gaze shifted to Branna and Deirdre behind her. Both were thin and pale, but Branna now looked at me with cautious hope in her eyes. What had happened while I’d been away?

  I dismounted and approached them. Máthair shifted so she was standing in front of my sisters, and I glared at her through the hurt. Surely she couldn’t believe I’d harm them?

  “I came back, Bran,” I said, addressing the one more likely to rebel against Máthair. “Just as I promised you.”

  “It’s too late now,” Branna said, her tone quiet and sullen.

  “What do you mean?”

  Branna crossed her arms defensively, and Deirdre shifted uncomfortably. “I’m betrothed now—we both are. It doesn’t matter if you’re here now, because we’ll never live as a family again.”

  It shouldn’t have surprised me, and yet, all I could see before me were two little girls. They’d been raised all their lives knowing that they’d be betrothed when they came of age. Their marriages would have formed necessary alliances, and perhaps if they’d been lucky, Áthair would have taken pity on them and married them off to men no older than thirty years. But though it wasn’t unheard of, betrothals at their ages were far too early. I could understand why rebellious Branna chafed beneath this edict and soft-spoken Deirdre was apprehensive and fearful of what was to come. But lucky for them, I was queen now, and I would forge my own alliances.

  I glanced at my mother, and a slow smile bloomed across my face. “Then we’ll break the betrothals.”

  Máthair stiffened in shock, and I almost pitied her. “What? No. You cannot—”

  From a relaxed position on his horse, Leif grinned as though watching a highly entertaining sword fight.

  The matching smiles on Branna’s and Deirdre’s faces were well worth any anger from Máthair.

  “I can, actually. I’m the queen.” To my sisters, I said, “Consider your betrothals broken.”

  “Branna was betrothed to the High King’s son,” Máthair said, her voice desperately sharp. “We cannot just tell him no.”

  “I’m sure the High King will agree to whatever Ciara tells him,” Leif said. “He was soundly defeated just now, but Ciara spared his life.”

  Branna threw her arms around me, and I rested my head on hers. “Thank you, Ciara,” she said. “You don’t know how much I’ve fretted over this.”

  After a moment, Deirdre joined in the embrace, and I let my breath out in a rush. Home. Family. I would never let any harm come to them now that I was queen. “My sisters should be able to marry whomever they please.”

  “Such promises,” Máthair said with a sneer. “You know nothing of being queen, of making essential alliances. Part of growing up is in sacrificing one’s happiness for one’s clan.”

  I shook my head. “I may not be an experienced ruler yet, but I do know I have power enough to keep Mide and this clan safe. What good is my power if my sisters must be bartered off to ensure we will have allies to come to our aid?”

  The sound of many boots hitting the earth drew our attention, and I turned to find Arin and the other Northmen entering the bailey. My undead army followed, stony and gray-faced.

  I caught Arin’s eye and waved him over. “There is someone I’d like you to meet,” I told Branna, while Deirdre ducked behind her shyly. Arin joined us, a wary expression on his face. “Arin, these are my sisters, Branna and Deirdre.”

  Branna curtsied before him, and a wide grin split across Arin’s face. Máthair looked as though she had eaten something rather sour.

  “I’ve formed an unbreakable alliance with Arin’s brother,” I said with a shared smile with Leif, “so you’ll be seeing much more of both of them in the future.”

  Before my sisters could even react, Máthair let out a noise of utter frustration. “I’ve heard enough of this madness. Branna, Deirdre, come with me. Your father would be devastated by such a betrayal—to ally herself to a pagan barbarian. Ciara will destroy this family.” She turned on her heel and stalked off, but I called out to her before she could disappear within the keep. Reluctantly, she turned her head.

  “You may have your opinions on my choice of alliances,” I said
, “but I must know: Will you contest my claim for the throne?”

  Her back stiffened. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?” At my look, she sighed. “No,” she said, the word sounding as though it was wrenched from her forcefully. “Girls?”

  Deirdre wrapped her slim arms around me once more, and I kissed the top of her fair head. “Go, now. I’ll come find you later.”

  “I’m glad you’re home, Ciara,” Deirdre said before hurrying after her mother.

  Branna hung back, her eyes still on Arin. “Will I see you at dinner?”

  He glanced at Leif once before nodding. “I hope so.”

  Perhaps it was in our blood to find the Olafsson men irresistible. Smiling, I gave Branna a little nudge. “Better go before Máthair comes looking for you.”

  Branna threw her arms around me again. “I prayed every night you’d come home, Ciara.”

  “And I prayed I’d come home to you,” I said with a kiss on her head. “Now, go.”

  When she was out of sight, I shifted my attention to my undead army. “There is something I must do,” I said to Leif.

  “This is a mistake,” Leif said later, when I had assembled my undead clansmen in the remains of our chapel. They stood emotionlessly, though they stood upon the ashes of their violent deaths.

  I shook my head as I pulled the Sword of the Fallen free. “This is what must be done.”

  “And if your kingdoms are challenged and you need them again?”

  I turned to him with a hint of an ironic smile. “I’m surprised, Leif. I would think you of all people should realize that if I cannot hold these lands with my own power, then I don’t deserve to have them at all.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest obstinately. “They are part of your power.”

  In answer, I sliced the palm of my hand across the blade of my sword. It thrummed loudly as my blood was absorbed. This time, the words came to me without having to be told.

  “So the Phantom Queen’s blood flows in my veins, so do I release you from your oath to me. No longer will you be forced to walk upon the earth. Instead, I leave you free to rest in peace.”

  An explosive boom rent the air, and the men before us shattered into a cloud of ash. Sadness and regret fell upon me like a veil, but over it all was a feeling of peace—the peace I had granted my clansmen, and the peace I felt for doing what was right. My atonement for the death of so many had only just begun—

  The soft step of a leather shoe on ash alerted me to someone’s presence, and I turned to find the graying form of Father Briain. As his gaze drifted over the remains of the chapel, I realized just how terribly lost he must feel.

  “It will be rebuilt,” I said, my voice quiet but strong.

  His rheumy eyes met mine, the relief on his face profound. “As queen, you will be welcome in the new chapel.”

  It would be many years before I would feel welcome in church—if ever—but I said nothing of this to Father Briain, only smiled and touched his shoulder as I passed by.

  But as I walked outside, another pile of ashes halted me as suddenly as though I’d been shot with an arrow.

  “Sleipnir,” I whispered, echoes of the first time I found him broken and bloodied on the battlefield reverberating through me. How could I have forgotten he was as bound to my blood sacrifice as the others?

  Though as I touched what was left of my courageous warhorse, there was a part of me that knew this was how it was meant to be. For how long could I have kept an undead skeletal horse with a gruesome appetite for flesh? I mourned him for what he once was. Losing him again ripped open old wounds, old losses: my father, Fergus and Conall, my clansmen, even my mother, who was never really mine to lose.

  But as Leif wrapped an arm around me in silent comfort, I swore I would forge a new life, one of peace.

  30

  That night after a strained dinner with Máthair that tensed every muscle in my body, and then a subsequent two hours practicing sword fighting with Leif that finally siphoned my energy, I stumbled into my room with Leif, weary to the bone—until his gaze met mine.

  “It becomes difficult not to touch you when you look at me like that,” Leif said.

  Another two weeks at sea with him had stolen any notion for propriety I might have had. When the red haze of desire flared, I fanned the flames. “Who says you can’t touch me?”

  He let out a cross between a laugh and a groan before reaching for me. The kiss was hurried, desperate, but as we pulled back for a breath, his touches became gentle. He traced the line of my jaw, pressing kisses along the side of my neck. I helped him out of his tunic and chain mail, and he reached for the fastenings of my armor.

  “You’ll have little need for armor now,” he said, putting it to the side as he removed each piece.

  I lay down on the bed with a sigh. “Oh? And what would you have me wear instead?”

  “Nothing.” He pressed a kiss to my bare shoulder. “But I don’t think you’d agree.”

  My lips curled into a smile. “You’re right.”

  “Then let me dress you as I would my wife,” he said, pressing another kiss to the hollow of my throat, “with gold and furs and silk.”

  I pushed him back until I was on top, my hands braced against his wide chest. “You are forgetting that I am a queen in my own right. I can clothe myself in gold and furs and silk.”

  He laughed, the motion shaking through me. “I could never forget that you are a woman who can take care of herself.” His smile melted away as he pulled me down to his mouth. “But that won’t stop me from wanting to shower you with gifts.”

  Any response I might have had disappeared as his mouth and tongue rendered me speechless.

  Though I didn’t recall falling asleep, I woke to the sound of rustling wings. I sat bolt upright in bed, my heart racing in my chest. Beside me, Leif slumbered on, unaware, but I knew the Morrigan had come for me.

  From out of the fireplace, tendrils of black smoke flowed. They outlined the form of a woman just before solidifying into the Morrigan. She was dressed in a gown of black, a mantle of crows’ feathers on her shoulders. Though I had seen her many times since that first vision, my skin still erupted in goose bumps at the sight of her. There was no ignoring the undercurrent of darkness and violence that lay just beneath her surface.

  And I am just as dangerous, I thought.

  “So you are a queen now,” the Morrigan said with an expression I would almost call pride on anyone else. “Power becomes you.” She tilted her head. “Soon all of Éirinn will come to know what you have done for them, and though many will be grateful, there will be others who will want to test their might against yours just to see who will come out the victor.” Her gaze shifted to Leif’s sleeping form. “And the two of you together will only draw powerful beings to you like flies.”

  There was a compelling truth to her words, and for a moment, despair descended upon me like the heavy weight of chains. “Then we will draw together for strength and thwart any who would threaten us.”

  A wide, approving smile curved her lips. “You truly have grown into your power, Ciara of Mide.” She turned to go, but I held out my hand to stop her.

  “Why didn’t you tell me I could call upon your power in battle?” I asked.

  Her expression remained unapologetic. “I had intervened as much as I dared. I could not fight your war for you; destroying the jötnar was your quest. You needed to believe you only had yourself and your Northman lover to rely upon, but I have always done everything I could to see that you succeed.”

  Her eyes met mine, and something inside me seemed to shift. “Have you ever loved me as a mother?” The words were torn from me without conscious thought.

  She let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m not sure I’m capable of such an emotion,” she said, but just as a dagger of pain stabbed through me at the thought that no parent was able to love me, she added, “But if I were, you are the only one for whom I’ve felt anything remotely close to it.”
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  Before I could respond, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my hair. Then in a flurry of feathers, she was gone.

  31

  I sat upon Mide’s throne of white, my gown the glittering silver and black of the night sky. To my right sat Leif Olafsson, the Giant Slayer, my former prisoner and soon-to-be husband and king.

  A crow let out a caw-caw-caw just outside, and my lips curved in a slow smile.

  Acknowledgments

  Deo gratias.

  Beyond has always been special to me because I nearly put it aside, but Ciara and Leif just wouldn’t let me. Their voices, as it turns out, are pretty hard to ignore. And I’m so glad I didn’t, because with the help of many, many people, their story has been brought to life.

  Thank you to my husband for everything he does (the list is long and exhaustive), but especially for keeping the kids entertained while I literally locked myself in a room to work on edits. I love you forever and always.

  For my mom and dad, who always believed in me, no matter what. And for my mom’s willingness to read every version of this story . . . times a million. I’m sorry for the animal peril! I’m also sorry for refusing to change the ending. . . .

  For my in-laws, Mike and Carol Leake, who have always been so proud and supportive—and they were always happy to take the kids any time I needed time to write!

  For Karina Sumner-Smith, who never doubted Ciara and Leif’s story could—and should!—be told. Our Skype conversations on plot ideas (and everything else) were pure genius—it’s like we should write books. . . .

  For my editor, Alice Jerman, for loving this book just as much as I do and working tirelessly to make sure it was the absolute best version it could be. Your edits were brilliant. I’m sorry I kept you on the phone for insane lengths of time talking about writing and chickens and everything in between. Thank you for falling in love with this book!