The Complete Fenris Series

by Samantha MacLeod

  “Let’s go,” Svensen said.

  He set the plate down on the floor and pulled me toward the far doors. I followed. It felt like Svensen and I walked the entire length of my town, then back again, and still there seemed to be no end to the cold corridors and foreboding black doorways. The size of Nøkkyn’s fortress defied my wildest imaginings. Finally, Svensen pulled me through a black-tiled hallway bigger than my family’s house. I tilted my head up slightly, just to see if the ceiling was even visible above the thick columns lining the hall like the trunks of massive oaks deep in the Ironwood, and I almost walked into Svensen’s back.

  He’d come to a stop in front of two armed guards who looked young and bored. Their spears were crossed in front of a massive, dark door, easily as big as the one leading into the castle. And, just like the great door at the castle’s gates, a smaller door stood ajar beneath the crossed points of their spears.

  “I’ve brought her,” he said.

  One of the guards snorted. He had a fat, shiny face and dark eyes. “It’s about damn time, old man. What’d you do, stop to have a taste?”

  Svensen didn’t respond. The guard turned to me, his small, beady eyes traveling my body in a way that raised the flesh on my exposed skin. Týr’s shirt had frayed around the edges during my time in the sea cell. Now the fabric rode high on my thighs, barely covering the dark triangle of hair that sheltered my sex. I was painfully aware of my nipples, hardened by the cold air, pressing through the thin, stained cloth.

  The guard licked his lips and shifted, moving his body closer to mine. A hot core of anger tightened in my gut. I’d had enough of being pawed like a bushel of apples for sale at the fair. I glared back at him, thinking of the many ways Fenris could separate his fat head from his shoulders. His shiny face paled, and he stepped back. A heartbeat later, soundlessly, both of the guards raised their spears. Svensen walked through the small, open door without comment, and I followed. I did not turn back.

  Together we entered the largest, grandest room I’d ever seen. An entire barge from the Körmt river could have fit on the polished stones of its floor. Thin beams of sunlight filtered through dozens of impossibly tall windows, catching dust motes as they swam between the thick pillars. The ceiling was dark and terribly far away. I almost felt like I was back in the Ironwood, between the shade of the great pines.

  Svensen’s feet rang off the stones as he walked straight ahead, pulling me along. Figures moved in the shadows between the great pillars, but they turned away before I could make out their faces. Armed guards bearing Nøkkyn’s snarling bear sigil across their broad chests stood beside every pillar, their hands on their swords, almost as if they expected they would have to subdue me.

  At the far end of the room was what looked, at first, like a pile of jumbled rock. As Svensen and I drew closer, I recognized an odd pattern to the blue-gray stones. They had been deliberately arranged to give the impression of a mountain, I realized. And, at the very top of the mountain, there loomed a dark and jagged throne.

  Of course, I thought, as fear turned my bones to ice. They do call him the mountain king.

  Svensen stopped ten paces from the base of the massive throne. He sank to one knee and brought his fist to his forehead, then tugged on my chain until I was forced to press my knees against the cold ground.

  “My Lord,” Svensen said. His voice sounded oddly resonant in the vast, empty room. “I’ve brought her.”

  “Indeed. Please rise.”

  My skin prickled all over. Fear clenched the muscles in my arms and legs. Slowly, I came to my feet and forced myself to raise my eyes to the throne.

  King Nøkkyn sat on the top of the mountain. He was reclining on his throne, his legs wide open and a greasy grin spread across his thin lips. His sharp, black eyes rested on Svensen. The entire room fell so silent that I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. Nøkkyn picked his way carefully down to the jagged base of his throne. His long, black robes spread out behind him, like the inky darkness of midnight spilled across the blue gray stones.

  When he reached the base of his throne, two guards moved to flank the king. Their fists were wrapped so tightly around the pommels of their swords that their knuckles looked white.

  “Svensen, is it?” Nøkkyn said, his dark eyes flashing. “Your partner claimed you abandoned him.”

  “I killed his horse, my Lord,” Svensen answered. His voice sounded pinched and tight.

  Nøkkyn nodded, as if he were a sympathetic tutor listening to a particularly unruly student. “And why would you do that?”

  “To cover our scent, Lord. I drenched the girl in blood.”

  For the first time, Nøkkyn’s eyes settled on me. His lips pulled back to reveal the white flash of his teeth. “Revolting.”

  White-hot anger surged inside my heart, drowning my fear. “You killed my family,” I cried. “You’re a monster!”

  Nøkkyn’s hand moved so quickly my mind didn’t even register his intent. His slap rocked me back on my heels, and the sharp retort echoed through the room. I staggered back; only the hard collar around my neck kept me from falling onto the stone floor.

  “Speak again, and I’ll have you gagged,” Nøkkyn said as calmly as if he were discussing the weather.

  My cheek burned with the impact of his slap, and my ears rang. I bit my tongue to keep the anger throbbing in my chest from spilling through my lips, but I glared at Nøkkyn with all the rage in my heart. He turned back to Svensen, ignoring me.

  “The Fenris-wolf caught him,” Nøkkyn said.

  Svensen’s back stiffened slightly. “A shame.”

  “Yes, it was. Especially because the beast didn’t kill him. That unpleasant task was left to me,” Nøkkyn drawled casually.

  I flinched, but no one seemed to notice.

  “So much for covering your trail,” Nøkkyn said, almost to himself. “Now the Fenris monster knows I’m the one who took his whore.”

  Nøkkyn’s gaze returned to me, this time traveling the length of my body at a slow, deliberate crawl. “Still, Svensen, I suppose you did your job. Would you like a little something in return? I can have my guards hold her legs down while you fuck her.”

  My stomach rolled over as Nøkkyn’s casually-spoken words sank in. I pulled my hands together in front of my stomach and yanked the threadbare remains of Týr’s shirt down over my sex as if it could protect me.

  “You are too generous, my Lord,” Svensen said.

  My gut tightened so painfully I thought I might vomit everything I’d just eaten across the polished stone floor. I dropped my gaze to my pale, shaking knees, and my teeth banged together.

  “But, I’m afraid, at my age, that’s a thing easier said than done,” Svensen finished.

  I glanced at Svensen. The lines around his mouth and eyes were tight. He brought his fist to his forehead, bowing again to Nøkkyn.

  Nøkkyn’s thin lips curled into a smile. It was not in any way a friendly expression. “Really, Svensen? The sight of those tits doesn’t stiffen even your cock?”

  Svensen nodded, sinking even lower toward the floor. His fist pressed against his forehead so hard the skin below his hairline began turning white.

  “My Lord, she’s a fine thing. You’ll find no argument from me on that point,” Svensen said. “But, she’s not to my liking.”

  Nøkkyn barked a harsh, sharp laugh. “Well, Svensen, I can hardly blame you. Who’d want a thing that’s been ruined already? I’ll bet that drunk monster’s cock tore her cunt in half. Fucking her would be like thrusting your prick into an empty hallway.”

  Several of the guards laughed at this. Svensen did not.

  “Chain her to the throne before you go,” Nøkkyn said. “Dismissed.”

  THE MONSTER AND THE PRISONER: CHAPTER FOUR

  My feet stumbled over the smoothly polished floor as Svensen led me to the base of Nøkkyn’s great throne. Once there, Svensen yanked me to my knees. He clipped his end of the chain to a hook on the underside
of one of the strange blue-gray stones, then left the room without looking back.

  I raised one hand toward the metal collar, until I noticed the guard with the fat face watching me intently. My hands fell back in my lap, and I tried to tug what was left of Týr’s shirt over my thighs. Nøkkyn cleared his throat. The guards shifted position, coming to attention.

  “Bring in our guest!” he called.

  For a moment I thought they meant me, and my back stiffened. But the line of guards turned the opposite direction, facing down the length of the throne room, to the doors Svensen and I had just walked through. A great straining creak echoed through the room as the mighty doors groaned open, filling the room with the glow of orange torchlight.

  An entire procession awaited on the far side of those doors. There were so many people that I could scarcely believe they’d assembled so quickly, and Svensen and I hadn’t had to fight our way through them. An assembly of white-clad women entered the room, surging silently forward like foam curling before a wave. The first two women bore huge torches, and the rest carried enormous bouquets of riotously colorful flowers. Behind them was a row of a dozen burly soldiers, wearing a dark crest with an eagle’s head. And in the center of the crowd - I strained forward to look - there was a woman.

  No, not just a woman.

  I’d never set eyes on her before, but I knew she must be a queen. Yes, there was a glittering circlet atop her head, nestled in a mountain of curls shot through with bright red ribbons. She wore a dark, shiny dress, whose enormous skirts rustled around her waist like waves on the ocean. Her front bodice was laced with ribbons as red as blood, and cut low enough to show off the ample curve of her breasts. The bodice cinched tight around her waist, and her skirts hiked up in the front, revealing long, slender legs. Her elegant black boots were tied with the same blood-red ribbons.

  She was not smiling, exactly, but neither did she look upset or annoyed. Instead, her painted lips were curled in the faintest suggestion of amusement, as if this entire procession were just slightly beneath her, and she was waiting patiently for something more interesting to show itself.

  One of the white-clad woman stepped forward, held her torch at arm’s length, and called, “Presenting our beloved Queen Angrboða, Duchess of the Black Isles, most-loved wife of the King Agnrr, our dear Ruler of the South and Preserver of Life on Jötunheimr.”

  My breath froze in my lungs. Angrboða. This woman was Fenris’s mother. I leaned forward, pulling the chain laced through Nøkkyn’s throne until the collar dug into my skin. It was hard to believe this formidably attractive woman was anyone’s mother; nothing about her presence seemed in any way maternal.

  “My dear Angrboða,” Nøkkyn said. “You honor us with your presence.”

  Angrboða stepped forward. Yes, perhaps there was a hint of Fenris in her face. He had her high cheekbones, and her soft, full lips. But Fenris never looked so controlled, as if every move were being performed on a stage in front of hundreds.

  “Your invitation was most impossible to ignore,” Angrboða said. From her voice, there was no way to tell if that was an insult or a compliment.

  “I’m afraid we do have a serious matter to discuss,” Nøkkyn said. “Yet, before we begin that tedium, may I interest your loveliness in a glass of wine?”

  Her lips twitched upward. “Flattery? How unlike you, Nøkkyn.”

  Nøkkyn, I noticed, was smiling widely. But his black eyes remained hard above the curve of his thin lips.

  Despite Angrboða’s words, servants rushed forward, filling the space between Angrboða and Nøkkyn with a flurry of activity. When they cleared, a small table had been set in the middle of the floor, complete with a fluttering white tablecloth and a tall, elegant blue bottle. Two goblets gleamed in the torchlight. Something about their dull shine made me think they were made of gold.

  “Still unable to take no for an answer, I see,” Angrboða said. She swept her great skirts back behind her, revealing the full length of her pale legs, and sank into a chair. One of the white-clad women hastened to pour wine for her. Then the woman took a sip from the goblet, paused, and handed it to Angrboða.

  “I hope you’re not offended, dear Nøkkyn,” Angrboða said. “I always have my ladies try everything first. One can’t be too careful, especially this far from home.”

  She raised the glass to her lips, watching Nøkkyn carefully from above the rim.

  “Of course not,” Nøkkyn said. He pulled his own chair to the table and poured himself a glass from the same bottle.

  “To your health,” Nøkkyn said, raising his golden goblet. “And to the health of your dear husband. May he live forever.”

  Angrboða’s lips curled in what may have been either a smile or a sneer. “Indeed,” she said, raising her goblet. The two golden glasses met each other in midair, sending a gentle clink echoing through the throne room. Both drank deeply without letting their eyes leave one another’s faces.

  Angrboða raised her goblet a second time. “And I would like to offer another toast to your health, good king Nøkkyn. It’s unfortunate your wife’s head is no longer attached to her neck, or I would include her in our little salutations.”

  The lines around Nøkkyn’s smile tightened.

  “You found her with, what? A kitchen boy?”

  “A guard,” Nøkkyn growled.

  Angrboða took a long sip of her wine. The room was eerily silent for the number of people it contained; it was as if the soldiers, guards, and attendants were all holding their breath. Angrboða sighed and put down her glass. It gave a hollow thud as it hit the table.

  “You must have been simply heartbroken,” she said.

  Nøkkyn did not respond. I saw the muscles in his jaw tense.

  “And they say we women are the prisoners of sentiment,” Angrboða murmured. “Still, I suppose it’s good you’re moving on. Are we here to discuss prospective brides for Your Highness?”

  Her long eyelashes fluttered at Nøkkyn and she leaned forward. The fading evening light streaming through the high windows of the throne room danced across her chest. Angrboða’s bodice was so tight and low I imagined it must be just hiding her nipples. I wondered if Nøkkyn could see a hint of her dark areola through the black lace of her dress. It would explain why his eyes had dropped from Angrboða’s face.

  “No,” Nøkkyn said, curtly. “I didn’t call you here to discuss my prospects.”

  Angrboða leaned back in her chair, re-crossing her long, slender legs.

  “It’s about your son,” Nøkkyn growled.

  Angrboða’s kohl- lined eyes widened slightly. “My son? You mean Fenris?”

  At the sound of his name, my heart slammed against my breast. I bit my tongue to keep from crying out; the last thing I wanted was another gag in my mouth.

  Nøkkyn’s lips peeled back from his teeth. “Yes, of course I mean Fenris. Unless you’ve had more sons in the interim?”

  “I understand you’re a bit out of the loop up here, my dear Nøkkyn, but surely you’ve heard Fenris and I are no longer on speaking terms?” Angrboða said, raising a delicately penciled eyebrow.

  “Your son ruined my property,” Nøkkyn said. For the first time, he turned his full gaze on me. The rage in his pale visage turned my skin cold.

  Angrboða’s eyes fell on me as well. Something flashed in their inscrutable depths, but her expression did not change. “Ah. A pretty little thing. She might look a bit better if you cleaned her up, of course.”

  “Your son took her from me,” Nøkkyn growled.

  “And yet, here she is.” Angrboða’s gaze flickered away from me. “Perhaps you should have kept her in a pen.”

  Nøkkyn’s fist slammed into the table with a dull, meaty thud that reverberated throughout the entire room. The blue bottle wobbled alarmingly. Angrboða didn’t even blink.

  “Damn you, woman!” Nøkkyn yelled. “I didn’t summon you here to put up with your insults!”

  Angrboða sighed, looking very much l
ike Nøkkyn’s rage bored her. “Very well then. What would you like, money or a replacement? If it’s money, we can haggle over her worth.”

  Her sharp eyes traveled over me again, moving across my body in a way that made me feel as though I were nothing more than a side of meat in a market stall. She raised a hand and brushed her long, dark fingernails toward her attendants.

  “If it’s a replacement you want, you can have your pick from mine. The women, or the men, depending on your taste.”

  There was a small ripple of movement behind Angrboða’s chair. Several of the white-clad women shifted uncomfortably. More than a few averted their eyes, avoiding Nøkkyn’s gaze. They were all, I realized for the first time, quite lovely. Even the soldiers were uniformly handsome, although their expressions seemed perhaps a touch harder than a moment ago, before Angrboða had offered one of them in trade.

  Nøkkyn’s eyes lingered over the white-clad women, then returned to Angrboða. His smile reminded me of a snarling dog.

  “Neither,” he growled.

  Angrboða’s kohl-smudged eyes widened. “Then whatever did you have in mind, my dear?”

  The room grew silent. I shifted uncomfortably on my knees. The chain around my neck was too short to allow me to stand, and the metal collar pressed heavily against my shoulders. My legs were growing cold and stiff against the stone of Nøkkyn’s mountain throne.

  “I want Fenris,” Nøkkyn said. It sounded like a whisper, but it carried throughout the entire throne room.

  My breath caught in my throat.

  “Why?” Angrboða asked.

  “Because we need to talk,” Nøkkyn said. His voice was thick and rich, as if he were being hopelessly indulgent. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.”

  Ashes. I could almost smell the ashes where my family’s farm had once stood. What had Nøkkyn said when he released me to Fenris in the Ironwood?