by Lee Savino
“I know all I need to know.” Hands on my hips, he turned me to him. When I didn’t meet his eye, he cupped my chin. For all his friendly, open manner, the blond warrior was as big as the rest of them, with strong fingers rough from holding weapons. his face was smooth, young, unscarred. But his eyes bore a wisdom beyond his years.
“Were you sent here to seduce us?”
I bit my lip and shook my head as much as I could with him holding me fast. “I cannot seduce you. I don’t have the art.”
Lars’ mouth tilted up. “No?”
“Please, I’m telling the truth.”
“I know you are, little maid. I can sense whether or not you are lying.” He tipped my face up. Up close, he had full lips and eyelashes lush as a girl’s. “But you’re wrong.”
“I-I am?”
“Mmm.” He dropped his fingers. I sagged forward a little, my heart pounding. In that moment, I didn’t care if he drew his sword and ran me through. I just wanted to be near him.
“I think you know how to please a man.”
Heat bloomed through me, burning my cheeks. I stared at him as his blue eyes blazed suddenly gold.
“You already have seduced half the warriors here.” He tugged a lock of my hair with a wry smile.
“Only half?”
He rested his hand on my collarbone. My heart jumped under his palm. “You wish to seduce more?”
“No… I don’t want to seduce anyone.”
“Too late,” he bent his head, his breath mingling with mine. “Too late.”
When our lips touched, heat flared through me, a fire burning in my breast. It consumed me, spreading with abandon through my chest and limbs, pooling in the cradle of my hips. Lars’ lips were soft and confident. As we kissed, his hand slid around to my back, pressing me closer. His shoulders hunched as if he concentrated on gentleness, his body angled to shield me from the room. I was caught between his large form and the mantel, a cocoon of warmth, the perfect sanctuary for a secret kiss.
Only, it was not so secret.
Nearby, someone cleared their throat. I snapped back in shock and would’ve hit my head on the mantel if Lars hadn’t protected my head with his palm.
I’ll be your protector.
Tristan stood in the doorway, holding his helm. His gaze swept over us, taking in the empty cups of wine.
“I need you on the north gate.” I couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was angry or amused.
Lars nodded. “My lady,” He bowed, taking time to kiss my hand. At the touch of his lips, heat jolted through me again, this time rushing to a bright point between my legs. “‘til we meet again.”
I stayed by the mantel, heart beating fast, one part of me dizzy from all that had happened, the other part of me soaring.
“So,” Tristan strode into the room, his cloak flaring behind him like a banner. “I see you’ve been making merry.”
“Wine, my lord?” I asked, crossing the room to the pitcher. My hand shook a little, but I poured well enough, I thought. Until Tristan’s hand closed over my wrist and steadied it.
“You’re flushed,” he noted. “Perhaps you should not drink anymore.”
I hadn’t had any wine. I stepped back, pressing on my cheeks. My lips still buzzed with the memory of Lars’ kiss.
How long had it been since I flirted with a man? I had no artifice. Had I always been this awkward, clumsy girl? I don’t remember who I was before the magic remade me into Yseult, powerful witch who bent the world to her purpose. The spell stripped all that from me. I must make my way anew, awkward or no.
Now Tristan loomed over me, his close presence making me feel giddy all over again. I couldn’t deny my pull towards this conquering warrior.
“He kissed you.”
“Yes,” I couldn’t keep a small smile away.
Tristan’s face hardened.
“Are you in the habit of kissing strange men?”
“He is not a stranger. He is my protector.”
“You’ve known him but a day.”
“Not even that long. But love knows no time.”
His breath left so quickly his shoulders sank. His bereft expression hit me like a blow.
“No,” I rushed, “I spoke wrong. This is just passing attraction. Your brother likes to have fun.”
“You need to take care lady. Your time is not your own.”
I knew that. I had to break the spell. But I did not take orders from any man, commander or no. “I will kiss whomever I please.” I snapped.
He gripped my arm and pulled me to his chest before I could squawk protest. “Will you?”
He was so close his breath caressed my face. “Will you lady?”
I blinked at him and his perfect lips. Dangerous, dangerous lips.
“I kiss whomever’s worthy.”
“Worthy?”
“There are few men to tempt me. I have not been tempted,” I shook my head, “in a long long time.”
“We’re honored that you find temptation in our ranks.”
“Too much temptation, commander.”
For the umpteenth time that day, I was flushed and shaking in the presence of a man. What was wrong with me? Even without magic, I should have better control.
I realized with horror. I was a spaewife. A creature with earthly desires. Goddess made, passion. The fever would overtake me. I had left it behind when I underwent my initiation into the sacred arts. The power I handled burned my natural power out.
Tristan must have sensed my withdrawal, for he released me.
“How do you find your quarters?”
“Well, my lord.”
“Are you hungry? I wouldn’t want our guest to find our hospitality lacking.”
I shook my head, knotting my hands together. The bowl of figs still sat on the table, but I could not eat them now. They were Lars’ gift. The juice, the sweetness would all remind me of him, and his kiss.
Why had the spell stripped me of so much, to leave me at the mercy of the mating heat? Why had the Goddess allowed it? Did she not hear our prayers to defeat the corpse king? Or was I unworthy?
“Come. I will show you something.”
He led me from the rooms, and I was too preoccupied to protest. A labyrinth of halls, and then we emerged outdoors, just within the castle walls. Warriors milled about the keep. They turned as one as Tristan led me past. I kept the veil over my hair, but it was no matter. I was the only woman, and to them, my scent must seem the sweetest treat. I knew from my time that the berserkers could scent a spaewife. My body sang a siren song to them.
We came to an empty yard, and a set of stone stairs leading to the top of the wall. Tristan’s cloak blew in the wind as he ascended.
“What is it you wish to show me?” I hesitated on the final step. He could take me up here to throw me off.
He stood at the edge and beckoned. “Nervous? I will not let you fall.”
His challenge decided for me. I boldly stepped up to the edge of the wall. Shouts wafted up to us, along with cries and clanks of axe and sword meeting shield. In the field below, warrior faced warrior.
“They spar.” Tristan nodded to his men, and I edged closer.
One giant stood in the center of a circle of men, roaring and challenging all who came near. Challengers advanced and he repelled them all, his booming laugh echoing off the stones. He seemed familiar, but it could not be...
“Is that—?”
“The warrior you saved.”
“He’s already well?”
Tristan nodded slowly.
“You doubt your own powers?”
“I have no powers,” I said, watching the great warrior charge two men, meeting their axes and blades with his own.
“You believe this.” Tristan’s brow furrowed.
I shrugged. “I used to be very powerful. I am no longer.”
The commander turned back to the fine fighting below. “You’re powerful enough.”
On the practice field, the battle mad warrior twiste
d, disarming one of his opponents with a shout. He kicked the fallen axe away, and turned his assault the remaining challenger, who fell within seconds.
Victory cries rose from the field and warriors beat their shields. The great warrior, prisoner no more, looked up where his commander and I stood, his red cloak and my white garb fluttering in the fierce wind.
“Lady,” the battlements rang with his cry. “A token.”
My heart fluttered as all the warriors turned to behold me, but my eyes were only for the greatest fighter of them all. I had nothing of my own to give. Tugging free my hair cloth, I let the wind take it from my hands to his, where he brought it to his lips and pressed it to his heart.
I waited a moment, my hair crackling in the wind like a bright flag. Then I turned and followed Tristan as he led me away.
On the last step I tripped and almost fell. Tristan caught me and cursed. “You need food.”
“No.” I had fasted for this journey, eaten only honey. My body was stronger than this.
“You will obey me,” he told me gruffly.
I pulled myself from his arms and gave a mock curtsey. It had been many a year since I’d been so weak I must yield to a man.
“Stubborn woman,” he muttered as he drew me along. He didn’t take me to my rooms, but to a low structure near the wall, outfitted with a long table and benches and filled with the smell of roasting meat.
A familiar swarthy warrior stood as we came in.
“Ivar,” Tristan greeted him, “Where is Lars?”
“About to face the challenger on the field.” To my surprise, the bearded warrior bowed to me. “Well done, lady.”
I bit my lip against protesting that I had done little. The truth was, I didn’t know what I’d done. I had a little power, subtle, latent. I did not know how to use it or what it was worth.
“Weak, frail things often have more power that we know,” Ivar said as if reading my thoughts.
I stared at him, and he cocked his head, a small smile on his lips. The worry had left his face, making him look younger, almost as young as Lars, and handsome. Heat swirled through me, a giddy warmth that rose and fell, and rose again when Tristan touched my arm and had me sit on the bench.
Tristan rapped on a small wooden door above a counter. “Food for one.”
“You’re feeding her the warrior’s mess?” Ivar raised a brow.
Tristan growled in response, something along the lines of, “Better this than what might be provided,” and Ivar nodded a response.
The door scraped open and the smell of food hit me hard. I stared at the table’s wood grain, wondering if my stomach would settle. I would blame my unease on the spell, the Corpse King’s magic, and the events of the day, but in truth I was unsettled by the proximity of so many handsome warriors. It had been many years since I had feelings like these—so long I didn’t remember. I was but a girl when I joined the acolytes and began my training, and not worldly. Initiates were expected to be pure. Men did not turn our heads, and though I had dallied with warriors—Berserkers in my own time—I had never felt this way.
I risked a glance at Ivar. The warrior offered me a kind look, as if he knew my struggle. I wished I had my magic. I could gather it around me like a shield. I’d feel myself again, if I could hide.
Tristan plunked down a plate. “Eat.”
I stared at the food—dried figs, meat stew, and a few rounds of bread.
“It’s good,” Ivar said, using his own bread to mop up the gravy. He leaned back in his chair as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “How goes our guest’s visit, commander?”
When Tristan didn’t answer, I raised my eyes to Ivar’s dark ones. “I am to meet the king.”
Tristan growled, sounding more beast than man. Ivar looked at him sharply.
The commander sat down beside me, picking up a piece of bread and tearing it. “After this we will bring you to bathe and prepare for your audience. Tonight, you will dine with him.”
I twisted my hands in my gown. I didn’t know it would be so soon. I thought I’d have time to prepare, not that I had much I could to do.
After a minute, Tristan sighed. “Lady,” he scooted closer, offering the bread.
I shook my head.
“Let me,” Ivar said.
“Very well,” Tristan rose. “I must go make sure half my warriors haven’t fallen to our champion on the practice field. Deliver her to the baths.”
The air grew heavy as Tristan left us alone. I watched Ivar warily as he sat down next to me. He’d disapproved of Lars flirting with me, but the smile between the close-cropped beard told me he wasn’t feeling so stern anymore.
“Start with a fig.” He held it up until I opened my mouth. Then he fed it to me.
“It is good, is it not? We receive wagons of tribute. I’m told they dry on the way here.” He picked up another tidbit.
“Next is a honey cake. Come, it is Lars favorite. His mother favored them, and he remembers her.”
Between bites, I asked, “Do you remember your mother?”
“Sometimes. I dream of her.” He kept his lips pressed tight as he fed me more.
“I never met her. She died in childbirth. Lars’ mother nursed me, and she is who I remember.”
He started to offer a cake to me, and when I darted my head forward to take it, he whipped it away and took a bite instead, winking at me. “Because of her, I am also fond of honeycakes.”
I smiled at his playfulness. He brushed some crumbs from my gown.
“Do you eat meat?”
I shook my head.
“Pity. I am a fine hunter.”
“So humble,” I teased.
He laughed, and it warmed my heart. When we first met, Ivar seemed so serious. I wondered what had changed.
“I caught you easily enough” he reminded me.
“I was not running. If I had, you would’ve found victory much harder to win.”
“I hope, then, you never run from me.”
Our eyes met, and heat flashed through my body again, as if he’d touched me. He had his own set of Gifts, though I did not know what they were. And would never know, if I completed my task and left at dawn.
The thought made me sad.
As if he sensed my change of feelings, he turned sober. For a while we were silent, he toyed with his cup.
“You’re very brave to come here.”
“I had no choice.” I didn’t admit why I was here. To do so would mean my death. If any of the Berserkers suspected treason, I’d be imprisoned and tortured. Who would wield the final executioners axe—Tristan? Ivar? Or the giant warrior I had saved?
“The man on the field…” I hesitated until Ivar nodded for me to continue. “What’s his name?”
“Did he tell you?” Ivar’s dark eyes bored into me.
“When I met him, he couldn’t not remember.”
“I wager he remembers now. Or will, after a few hours of sparring clears his head. If he did not tell you, then it’s not for me to say.” Ivar offered me another bite, and when I shook my head, he dusted off his hands and rose. “Come. It’s time to visit the baths.”
15
Lars
The warrior across from me wore no helm or armour but rushed in as if his skin would deflect a blade. I charged to meet him. Sword met sword with a clang that set my ears ringing. I grunted under the weight of my larger comrade, feet scrabbling in the dust. He was bigger, but I was faster. Letting my knees bend, I dropped out from under his crushing girth, and darted away, my sword nicking his leg as I passed. A rage-filled bellow filled the air.
Warily, I whiled to face my opponent. With relief, I noted he was smiling.
“First blood, Lars,” the watching warriors shouted with respect. My opponent nodded his agreement, signaling the end of the sparring match.
“Well fought,” he called. I grinned back and cleaned my sword as he leaned on his to catch his breath. One hand rubbed his wrist, which still bore a mark of a shac
kle.
“It was a good match,” I agreed, approaching him. He stood, looming over even me, who was counted tall among the Berserkers. “Although I admit, it could’ve gone either way. Tomorrow you may yet beat me.”
He grunted, and I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “It is good to have you back.”
“It is good to be back. I admit I am surprised. The beast rose up,” he shook his head. “I thought it was the end.”
“It was... until she came.” I did not need to mention the lady Yseult by name.
“She touched me,” his voice held awe. “One touch and my mind cleared.”
“Lars,” someone called, and I turned to the commander crossing the field. We saluted him, my opponent included, and Tristan gave him a special salute before singling me out to follow him.
“Commander,” I asked, wiping my sweaty face on my shirt as he stopped in the cool shade of the wall. “What brings you here? Where is the lady?”
“The king wishes to see her tonight.”
“Tonight?” I repeated. I’d thought we’d have more time.
The frustration on Tristan’s face told me the same. In the past, we’d worked together to protect maids from our king’s scrutiny. Never defying him outright, just protecting the women he might prey upon. Women like our mother.
But this time it was not to be. Yseult was too special to escape notice.
“Gaul,” I said, and Tristan nodded. The king’s own spy within the guard’s ranks. It would do well for him to meet an accident while we’re on patrol—or on the practice field.
“Gaul must’ve passed news on to our liege. Yseult’s audience is tonight. The king will take her to bride and then…” he shook his head. He knew as well as I what happened to the king’s wives.
On the practice field, the greatest warrior among us laughed as he sparred with six men at a time. Hours before he’d been a raving mad man.
Whoever this lady was, she held the key to our sanity. Our salvation. After decades of waiting, growing weary under the Berserker curse, we finally had hope.
“We must save her,” I whispered.
“We must,” Tristan agreed fiercely. “But how?”
16
