Fossegrim

by Mary E. Twomey

  “Olaf won’t be happy.”

  My expression of accomplishment fell into disrepair. “Olaf put his hands on me, so I don’t much care what makes him happy. If tearing down the portal ruins his life, so much the better.”

  The chief raised his eyebrow at my accusation. “He had his way with a wife of one of the four powers? And yet he breathes. How has Foss not retaliated?”

  “Foss doesn’t know. I’ve seen enough violence. I don’t want Foss to fight anymore. Plus, it happened a day or two before we got married, so I’m not sure it would matter to him.”

  The chief grumbled under his breath. “Well, as you wish it, it shall be done. Let me know when Alrik comes with your rake, and I’ll escort Foss personally to the portal. He has my full support. Pesta’s seen her last soul from us.”

  I tossed him the orange. “You’re cooler than I expected. Some of the other rulers? Not so much. Thanks.” I stood and offered my hand to the chief. “Let’s get back before you miss out on the good Gar.” He stood and tucked my hand in the crook of his elbow. We walked almost like old friends back to Foss, who was vacillating between angry and afraid.

  I kissed Foss’s forehead, reminding him to calm down. “The chief’s going to help you tear down the portal,” I told him in a quiet voice. “No big deal, so you can relax now.”

  Foss’s hackles rose. “What?”

  The chief explained our conversation quietly to Foss and Tomas of the Hills, and after the litany of questions from both of them, a grave but hopeful understanding was reached. The men drank like friends and chatted about territories and animal predators sneaking food off the land, all the while thinking about the change of fate their land would undergo in the near future.

  Thirteen.

  Foss’s Fruit and Fiddle

  Foss’s hold on me started out for show, but over the course of the night mutated into something more tender and less possessive. I was inexperienced with men, and wasn’t used to them stroking my cheek or kissing my palm at every turn. I blamed the butterflies on my youth and lack of proper socialization. It was the only way to explain the jelly-like feeling my spine had when Foss paused his conversation to lightly kiss my lips again.

  When it dawned on me that Jamie was drinking us both into a stupor, I poked Foss’s ribs, interrupting his conversation.

  “Whatcha got for me, Guldy?” he asked. The Gar and the narrow escape from death lifted his spirits considerably.

  I tapped Jamie’s shot glass with a clumsy hand.

  “More Gar? Of course. Drink up, wife.”

  I shook my head, trying to make him understand before the haze took me under. I pointed to Jamie, and then to my head. I mimed drinking the Gar, and finally Foss got it.

  “Oh, shite. Poor idiot’s too miserable to think clearly. I’ll take care of it.” Foss made to get up and talk to Jamie, who was dancing over by the bonfire, but I turned and clung to him. He looked into my unfocused eyes. “Oh, yeah. You’re halfway to sloshed. I’ll be right back for you.”

  I gripped Foss’s shirt and shook my head like a crazy person, silently begging him not to leave me alone in this world where I didn’t know all the rules.

  “Okay, okay.” Foss smoothed the hair back from my face and took in my fear. “To bed?”

  I nodded gratefully.

  Sizing up my inadvertent buzz, Foss grabbed me a soft roll as he escorted me off the platform and through the partiers, giving a cool smile to the men who made lewd remarks about our honeymoon time as we passed by. He walked with me through the vineyard, occasionally pointing out an odd fruit. One that he showed me looked sort of like a big grape, but was too brightly colored to be so. He was chattier than I’d ever seen him.

  “Eat, eat,” he insisted, picking a circular blue fruit off one of his trees. It was smaller than an orange, but had the shininess of an apple. “Soak up some of Jamie’s Gar. Most of the food in Fossegrim comes from my land, you know. The other three focus on lavender powder exports, but I keep us in fruit like this.” He fingered the blue fruit with pride. “Keeps my men from wasting the day high, and keeps them loyal, because I feed them well.”

  I’d already finished the roll and was starting to think a little more clearly. I took a bite of the small blue apple-orange and nearly lost my lunch. Face contorted to a grimace, I spat the mouthful on the grass. My mouth was filled with lemon rind and something that tasted like organic dish detergent. I was allergic to lemon balm, and desperately hoped there wasn’t any of that in this fruit’s genetics.

  Foss laughed like a younger man with no worries whatsoever. Head tilted back with levity at my plight, he barked his amusement at the giant red moon. “You’re not supposed to eat it like that! You have to peel it. Don’t you know anything?”

  He pulled another off the tree and ripped through the thin outer membrane like he was peeling a clementine. I was still spitting out the remnants of the nastiness when he offered me a bite the way I was meant to take it.

  I’d never been much of a foodie. I mean, really I ate whatever my mom cooked. When I was on my own, I cooked whatever was on sale. All the pasta and chicken in the world couldn’t compare to the taste explosion that flooded my mouth when I bit into the meaty fruit. It was the freshest orange I’d ever tasted mixed with the flavor of something so tropical and sunshiny, I couldn’t group it with any similar flavor. It was unique unto itself, and I couldn’t get enough.

  Foss broke me off another segment, grinning as I rolled my eyes in delight at the succulent juices that swirled around in my mouth.

  When I finished off half the blue fruit, he looked over his shoulder to confirm we were alone. Then instead of handing me another piece, he reached out and fed it to me, his thumb dragging on my lower lip.

  My blush couldn’t be helped. I mean, it was so weird that he was being sweet to me when he didn’t have to. There weren’t any witnesses around. In fact, there was no one at all to see Foss lean down and kiss my lower lip, sucking the juices off it as if I were the fruit.

  My stomach lurched with roller coaster surprise. I’m pretty sure I gasped. If in ten years I looked back on that moment, I might erase that part of it from the retelling. We were eating fruit in the orchard. End of story. There was no kiss. There were no butterflies in my belly. I certainly did not kiss him back, nor did I lean into the affection.

  Foss’s eyes flew open as he realized what he was doing. He pulled back and shook his head like a dog. “Cursed fiddles. That wasn’t me,” he said by way of apology. “It’s the fiddles. All the music’s messing with my mind.” He rattled his head from side to side again as if he was trying to dump pennies out of his ear. “It’s our magic. Fossegrimens can suggest behavior through fiddle music.” He jerked his thumb toward the merriment we’d just left. “That song’s to make us think we were…” He stood straight, puffing out his chest as if he needed to intimidate me. “But we’re not.”

  My lips tasted like fruit and Foss. I could feel the pink in my cheeks and wished for Jens. I decided not talking was the only thing I had going for me at the moment, so I stuck with it. Jamie was still drinking, and try as it might, the bread and fruit were only fending off the inevitable. I really didn’t want to be drunk in a vineyard with Foss. He looked like I was one wrong move away from him leaving me to make my way back on my own.

  There was a rustle in the trees not too far from where we were. My alert went up; I was so used to danger at this point in our journey.

  Foss focused his intimidation on the movement just out of view, shifting me to stand behind him. “Show yourself,” he commanded.

  “Apologies, Master Foss,” a man said, stumbling forward as he fastened his pants. I heard a woman giggling behind a tree and saw Foss’s shoulders loosen. The servant eyed me with a grin as he bowed to Foss. “Enjoy the night with your Guldy, Master.”

  The two ran back to the bonfire, laughing the whole way at being caught. Foss grumbled under his breath and stomped forward, expecting me to keep up with his long s
trides in my slightly buzzed state.

  I made it into his house, passed the red tapestries and into his bedroom.

  Foss built a fire for me, though there was no danger of a real chill. Undraland was pretty warm. The temperature vacillated only as much as a Midwestern state in the spring. He brought me another roll from the kitchen, taking a giant bite from it before handing it to me. The fiddle music wafted gently in through the window, reminding me of the merriment, but also giving me just enough space from the volume to allow my body to feel restful.

  “In the bed with you. I’ll not have you sleeping on the floor when there are so many about.”

  Though his words were unfeeling, he was careful with me for once. I said nothing as he laid me on the bed as if it mattered to him how gently I hit the sheets. Some part of me knew it was a trick of the fiddle music, but I took what comfort I could get, however coerced into being.

  I rolled over onto my stomach and tried to kick down the blanket to crawl under it, but Foss surprised me by taking off my sandals. His large hands didn’t stop at that kindness, but began rubbing my feet to relax me, stroking my ankles with a slow seduction that made an unladylike groan escape my lips. It had been so long since I’d been good to my feet. The look of questioning I shot him was met with avoidance, as if he was not willing to admit with words that he was being nice to me.

  He swallowed as the logs popped in the fireplace, casting an orange glow on the walls in the night. “You were helpful tonight. The men like looking at you.”

  I grimaced and slowly pulled my feet from his grip. If that “compliment” was supposed to make me feel awesome, it far missed the mark. I rolled onto my side and hugged myself, wishing it brought warmth to my unfeeling body as images of Gerda flashed through my mind.

  Foss drew my long hair out from under me and spread it out on his pillow, staring not with hatred at the strands. His fingers combed through the tangles, watching with wonder the sight of my hair on his pillow. He hovered over me, lending his body heat to mine, and kissed my temple. Fiddles, indeed.

  “You saved my life,” he said again, a look of earnest confusion clouding the usual hatred in his eyes. “Why?”

  I still wasn’t sure on the answer to that myself.

  Without calling on the millions of reasons why I hated him, I turned, reached up from my reclined position and wrapped my arms around his neck. It was meant to be a simple hug, but before I knew it he was lying on top of me. I froze for a moment, and then gave in to the tenderness.

  He slid his hands beneath me, indulging in the hug neither of us anticipated, nor would admit we needed that night. Halfway between my shoulder and my neck, Foss pressed his lips to my skin, savoring the intimate contact that was on the furthest reach of what I was comfortable with. There was no one to pretend for here. We were alone, and he was exchanging valuable time he could have been yelling at me to send sweetness into my body.

  It made no sense. He never did.

  I ran my fingers over his short hair, and we shared the same strange, relaxed air for a few breaths, indulging in… well, just indulging.

  Foss tilted my head to the side, pulled my hair back and nuzzled me behind my ear, planting a kiss there as he inhaled the scent of my curls. It made me feel strange. It made me feel excited in a way I felt guilty for. It made me feel… It made me feel, and that was enough to give me the shivers.

  When Foss finally pulled away to sit up on the edge of the bed next to where I lay, I couldn’t believe how hard my heart was pounding, or that I was oddly sad to lose that connection.

  He pointed out the window to indicate the music. “Many children’ll be conceived tonight. These are tunes for desire.” He shook his head to rid himself of the hypnosis. “I went into town today,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “I had to search out a few vendors, but I found it. Now, this better not be some stupid trinket from your world. I went to a lot of trouble to find it. Spent more money than you deserve.” Then pulled out the most beautiful thing my eyes could understand.

  It was Linus. It was my braided rope necklace with the glass heart that was filled with my brother’s ashes. I gasped and let out a horrible sob, not realizing I had that many tears on standby as Foss hooked the necklace into place.

  Suddenly, I was a little more me again. I felt one fifth more right in my sea of wrong, which was a significant bump. My hand trembled as it touched the heart to make sure it was really there. It hung just above Foss’s ring.

  The look of gratitude was the most I could muster through my relief that felt like helium to my system. I tapped the heart and sobbed in a mournful whisper, “My brother!”

  “Your brother? He gave that to you?” Foss tried to understand. That he went to great lengths to find my necklace when he didn’t even know what it meant spoke volumes of the loyalty we were beginning to share.

  I swiped at my cheek and sniffed as the words came tumbling out of me. “No. This necklace is my brother. My Linus. My twin brother died last year, and these are his ashes. It’s all I have left of him. Some days it’s all I have left of me.” I wept into my hands, not caring that he was seeing me fall to pieces. The dam I’d built up for survival cracked and broke all over the bed as I balled with relief over something I thought I’d lost forever. “I know you can’t understand this because you don’t need anyone or anything, but I need my brother! I need him, and that slave trader guy took him from me!” I tapped my Linus heart, and then I tapped my heart. My voice quieted through the gulps and emotional hiccups. “What you did? Finding this? I won’t forget it. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you, Foss.”

  Foss tried to wave off my sincerity, but he could not look away from the completely different person he was watching implode on his bed. He cleared his throat, steeling himself to speak what was on his mind. “My mother. She was killed and thrown by the side of the road while our master was out. I don’t know what she did to anger him so. Not that he needed a reason. But when the caravan returned, she wasn’t with him.” He turned his gaze to his hands that were resting on his knees. “I searched all night and the next day for her body. I finally found her,” Foss paused, and I could tell he was staving off unbidden emotion. “I found pieces of her with carrion birds all over her, picking away at what was left. My mother.” He tapped his heart in the same way I had. “My mother.”

  I took my chance and gently tugged on his arm. He was so distraught that he permitted me to lay him down on the bed, resting his head on his pillow. I sat halfway up leaning on my elbow, my arm looping under his neck to cradle his burdens. His body was heavy with grief, so I rubbed his chest to soothe the ache there. “Tell me about her.”

  Foss shrugged. “What’s there to tell?” As if asking himself the question, he began answering it after a moment’s pause. “She played the fiddle better than anyone I’ve ever heard. Could bewitch the strongest will with a few notes. Taught me well, but since she died I haven’t been able to pick up a fiddle.”

  I could understand that. Since my mother died, I hadn’t felt music in the same way, either. “Was your mother tall, like you?” I asked, not wanting him to turn mean after his bout of emotional nudity.

  He let out a toneless snort. “No one’s tall like me. I’m tall like my master who raped her. I look like him. I got none of the good things from my mother.” His expression was hard to keep the hurt from defining him, as it had me.

  “Was she a hard worker?” I asked in a soothing voice, my tears falling to the wayside in light of his pain. I tried to keep my words from slurring, but the Gar was powerful.

  Foss nodded, his gaze hollow. “Never let me see how tired she was.”

  I brushed my fingernails through his short hair, running my knuckles down his cheek. “Did she keep you safe?”

  Foss scoffed. “Even her best couldn’t do that, but yes. She did all she could.”

  I drew a small cross on his chest. “Then she’s with you. I see how hard you work. I see you watching your servants.” I
spoke just above a whisper. “I think she’d be proud to know which of her qualities you inherited.”

  Foss rubbed a hand down his face, refusing to look at me. “You are not a bad wife, Lucy.”

  “And you’re not a bad man. Stop trying to convince me you are.” I dragged my fingers down his arm and held his hand, marveling at the size of his fingers. “I don’t like when you shove me.”

  Foss kept his eyes on the ceiling and nodded, not willing to speak and risk showing emotion he could not deny in the morning. There was music outside and hundreds of guests, but we were quiet as we sat together. My vision began to blur until I blinked it back into focus. I could feel the drunkenness taking me down another layer.

  “I should like to have a piece of my mother to carry with me, as you do your brother. I thought revenge would make me feel better, but it didn’t.”

  He pulled me down next to him, which was a good thing, because I was feeling too tipsy for a graceful migration to the pillow. I collapsed in his arms, loving the feel of the burly man molding himself around me. “Thank you,” I muttered, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “You did a good thing, finding Linus for me. Thank you.”

  Foss inhaled the top of my head and played with a few strands of my hair. “I need to go back out there. I’ll cut Jamie off and send him to bed.”

  “Okay.” I closed my eyes and felt him shift next to me, rolling on his side so our stomachs were pressed together. My mouth opened in surprise when I felt his lips pucker on my closed eyelids. It was the softest kind of gentle, and I felt goose bumps break out on my arms. “Foss?”

  “Mm-hmm?” he breathed, his mouth just an inch from mine.

  “I think your fiddlers are scrambling your brains again,” I warned. I was warning him, of course, but I was also taking that moment to caution myself. The things I was feeling weren’t logical, or even fully formed emotions. There was want, and I knew that was a dangerous thing when I felt Foss’s thumb stroke my hip.