by A. E. Rayne
‘Unpack my bag onto the table, and then you can go,’ he whispered, lowering his voice. ‘But return often, just to show your face. Since they killed poor Lord Sirrus, this place isn’t safe. Not as it once was. Your grandfather promised me more coins if I returned you safely, so I want you in one piece!’ And lifting the satchel over Magnus’ head, he handed it to him. ‘Put it out nicely, mind. We want to encourage the right sort of customer.’
Magnus nodded, eyes peeled open.
Wondering where his sister could be.
Lotta had lost another tooth that morning, and it made her so sad that she didn’t speak at all. Ulrick watched her as they rode, side by side, along a flat path that cut through a wooded area. Snow had fallen in the night, though it was melting as the sun rose high above the tree canopy, and he could almost feel its warmth as he lifted his head. ‘You can’t keep your baby teeth forever,’ he joked, knowing that she was still holding the tooth in her hand.
Lotta didn’t look around. Holding the tooth reminded her of Ullaberg, and of the moment her mother had been wrenched away from her. It made her think of Magnus too, remembering how they had hidden in the barn; how they’d been kidnapped themselves. And she sighed, wanting to be a proper dreamer.
A proper dreamer would have useful dreams.
Lotta didn’t think she saw anything useful.
She had seen Stina. Stina had been crying and scared, riding through a forest all by herself. It worried Lotta because she loved Stina with all her heart. She didn’t want to think that she was scared, but had it even been a real dream?
She turned back to Ulrick, seeing the smile in his eyes, though it didn’t cheer her. ‘I don’t want to grow up.’
‘No?’ Ulrick looked amused. ‘Why is that, then?’
‘Because grown-ups are always sad. They are mad and mean and scared. And they have no fun!’
Ulrick burst out laughing. ‘What grown-ups are these, then? These miserable grown-ups you know?’
Lotta didn’t want to say.
Ulrick nudged his horse closer to her pony. ‘Your parents, maybe?’
Now Lotta hunched over, hiding beneath her hair.
‘Well, it’s not easy growing up, I suppose. Though, you’ve not much choice in the matter.’ He remembered little of his childhood, though images of his brothers flashed before his eyes, and he felt the loss of them. ‘Best thing about growing up is freedom. Freedom to be whoever you want!’
Lotta looked up at him, sun in her eyes, and she frowned. ‘I’m your prisoner, Ulrick, so that’s not the best thing to say!’ She looked back down at Clover, who appeared to be enjoying the slow pace of their morning ride.
Ulrick laughed, ignoring the nagging sensation that told him he was doing the wrong thing. It was the right thing, he insisted, shoving the dark thoughts away again. Lotta’s mother was gone, captured by slavers. She needed a new home. A new life. ‘Well, you won’t be for long, not once you see how happy you can be.’
‘But what about Hakon Vettel’s dreamer? What about Mother? She won’t be so happy, knowing you took me from her, will she?’
That had Ulrick swallowing. He’d known old crone dreamers and temptress dreamers and every ugly duckling witch in between, but never had he encountered one who scared him as much as Mother Arnesson. ‘Well, we’ll deal with her when the time comes. If it does. And if we can get back to Slussfall quickly enough, pack our things and get Bergit, we’ll be on our way in no time.’
Lotta panicked. ‘To where?’ She squeezed her tooth tightly, wanting to hear her mother’s voice, wanting her mother to hear what Ulrick said. ‘Where will you take me?’
But Ulrick just grinned, eyes on the path. ‘Move ahead of me now, little princess,’ he urged. ‘That’s not wide enough for us both.’
Agnette fussed around Reinar, who leaned over Elin. He had laid her on their bed, and with Agnette’s help, they had taken off her wet clothes, found her some dry ones and wrapped her in furs. The bedchamber had been cold, though Bjarni had quickly set a new fire. Now, he returned with an armload of logs, freshly chopped.
‘Maybe you should come out, Agnette?’ he hissed, sensing that Reinar was getting frustrated with his cousin.
‘But...’
‘Rienne can’t watch Liara forever. She needs you. Can’t you hear her crying out there?’
Agnette looked annoyed, torn, but she could hear her daughter, and she sighed. ‘Alright. Reinar, you will come and tell me if she wakes, won’t you?’
Elin hadn’t opened her eyes yet. She was frozen solid. Unconscious.
Reinar nodded, returning to his chair by the bed.
Gerda stood in the doorway with Ludo and Sigurd. ‘What’s happening?’ she muttered as Agnette and Bjarni came out, closing the door after them.
‘She hasn’t woken up,’ Agnette said. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to her, but she hasn’t woken up.’ She felt worried, confused by Elin’s return, desperate to know what had happened. Gerda made to open the door, but Agnette stuck out an arm. ‘Reinar wants to keep her resting. And she is. Come away, Aunty. We should go and tidy things up, have them ready for the Lady of Ottby’s return!’ She said it with a forced smile, barely thinking, seeing the sadness in her aunt’s eyes as she turned away with a nod.
Reinar could hear them outside the door, whispering as loud as children who didn’t know how to whisper at all. He frowned, increasing his pressure on Elin’s cold hand, willing her to wake up.
And then she did.
Blinking, Reinar leaned forward, watching her eyes flutter open. Hazel. Like Torvig’s. Exactly like Torvig’s.
Reinar blinked some more. ‘Hello.’
Elin gasped, turning her head in surprise. ‘What? What happened? Where am I?’ She tried to sit up, but her arms were weak and wouldn’t lift her body, and she slumped back with a groan. ‘I... my horse! What happened?’
Reinar held up a hand. ‘Ssshhh, it’s alright. You fell off your horse. She’s in the stables getting warm. She was as frozen as you. Well, maybe not quite as frozen as you.’
‘Torvig!’ Now Elin did manage to push herself up. ‘I came for Torvig!’
Reinar sat back slightly, mouth ajar.
‘I saw a dreamer. There was one where I’ve been...staying.’ Elin felt more aware of where she was now, of who she was with. It made her uncomfortable, and she backed away, feeling weak. Shivering, she grabbed a fur, pulling it around her shoulders, noticing for the first time that she was wearing one of her old nightdresses.
‘A dreamer?’ Reinar didn’t know what to say about that. He saw a green dress; golden hair blowing in the wind.
‘She warned me that Torvig was in danger. That he was going to die!’ Elin shuffled to the edge of the bed, ears buzzing. ‘I had to come back. I bought a horse. I left as soon as she told me. I...’ She saw the odd look in Reinar’s eyes. She knew him better than anyone. Except Torvig. ‘I...’
Reinar took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Elin.’
‘No!’ Elin jumped out of bed, fur dropping to the floor, nightdress swirling. ‘No! No! No!’ Hands to her head, she screamed, auburn hair tangled around her. ‘Why? What happened? What happened to him?’
She was quickly hysterical but also weak, and Reinar leaped up from his chair just in time to catch her as she collapsed. ‘Here, you must sit down. Stay on the bed. Rest.’
Sobs wracked Elin’s exhausted body, her chest aching as she reached for her husband. ‘What happened? Please, tell me! Please!’
The pain in her eyes was familiar, Reinar thought. Her words too. He squeezed Elin’s hand, bringing himself back into the chamber. ‘There was a battle. Hakon Vettel brought an army to Ottby. They breached the gates.’ He considered lying, but it wasn’t a lie he could protect. Everyone knew what Torvig had done, so it wouldn’t be long before Elin heard a whisper.
She needed to know the truth.
Her head was in her hands, sobbing, her nose blocking, quickly unable to breathe. Reinar looked around for
a napkin. ‘I’ll get you something to blow your nose.’
‘No!’ Elin wiped her nose on her sleeve, eyes full of madness. ‘No, Reinar! I don’t care about my nose. Tell me what happened to my brother, please!’ She was shouting, though he stood an arm’s length from her, and gripping his hand, she demanded an answer.
‘Alright, alright. I...’ He didn’t know how to say it. ‘He tried to kill Tulia. She did die. She fell. They had a fight, with swords. Tulia was injured from the battle, and weak. They were fighting in a shed. Tulia slipped in the straw, fell on a ship nail.’ Reinar saw Sigurd’s face when he’d told him. Sigurd weeping over his dead woman. And here he was, breaking another heart.
‘Why?’ Elin stopped crying, stunned. ‘Why were they fighting?’
‘We... took some women to sell as slaves, but we couldn’t get to Goslund, we were ambushed, so they stayed here, with us. Tulia trained them to fight.’ He stopped, trying to focus. ‘Torvig had been taking one of them at night... raping her. Tulia saved her.’ Reinar didn’t mention Alys.
Elin didn’t understand. ‘No, not my brother. No! Who said that? Who? The woman? Why would you believe her? Some slave? Someone you don’t know? You know Torvig! You know he’s not like that!’
She had a round face, with full cheeks. They were blotchy, pink and tear-stained. Her hazel eyes were swollen, full of confusion and anger; her chin pointed, jaw clenched. She listened, but she wanted to scream some more.
Reinar knew her. He knew everything about that face.
He wanted to touch it, to comfort her, but Elin looked ready to spit at him.
‘Why did you believe this woman?’
‘Tulia found him raping her, Elin! I wasn’t there. It was nothing to do with me. Tulia died to save the women!’
Elin froze. ‘Women? There was more than one?’
Reinar stared at her, unblinking, his heartbeat like a drum, pounding in his chest. ‘There was another woman in the shed, yes. She’s the one who killed Torvig after Tulia died. He... threatened to kill them all. She had no choice.’
Elin stared into his eyes, narrowing hers. ‘And this woman, she was a warrior, like Tulia?’
‘No. No.’ Reinar shook his head. ‘She was a dreamer.’
Elin’s eyes flared with anger, furious now. ‘A dreamer killed my brother? A dreamer?’ None of it made sense. Arms flapping by her sides, she glanced around in panic. ‘I have to go! I have to leave!’ She needed clothes. A cloak. Some boots. ‘I can’t stay here! I won’t!’ Her eyes rested on the chests at the end of the bed, and she hurried to them, brushing away Reinar’s hands as he tried to grab hold of her.
‘Elin! Please. You’re not well. You were unconscious. Please!’
The door burst open, and in came Agnette, Liara in her arms, Gerda behind her with a tray. ‘We’ve brought you something warm to drink, dear Elin!’ Agnette said, smiling. She’d been listening outside the door – they all had – and it was obvious that Reinar was going to need some help, though he didn’t look happy to receive it.
‘Now, why don’t you hop back into bed and drink this warm milk? Just what you need to calm you down.’ Gerda bustled past Reinar, hand quickly around Elin’s back, steering her towards the bed.
Reinar stumbled, moving out of the way, catching the firm look in Agnette’s eyes that told him to leave it to them. And needing to take a breath, he nodded, turning around, heading through the door.
Eddeth became so self-conscious around Falla that she almost stopped breathing. And sensing everything going dark, she gripped the table, stumbling.
Falla peered at her in the dull light of the tent. ‘What is wrong with you?’
‘Food!’ Eddeth announced loudly, almost tipping over as she turned around. ‘I’ve barely eaten since we were kidnapped. I am faint with hunger!’ And she gripped the table again, eyes on the two cups steaming before her. She had made Falla a tea of peppermint and chamomile, with some dandelion root too. She’d eagerly made a second cup for herself, fleeting thoughts of her cottage and her cat making her homesick.
‘I have nothing in here,’ Falla said, almost apologetically as Eddeth brought the cup to her. She felt terrible. The journey and the smoke and the shock over Mother’s death, not to mention the terror of the vatyr, had drained her. She took the cup, enjoying the warmth of it in her cold hands.
Eddeth took a seat opposite her, blinking rapidly.
‘You’re not a dreamer, are you?’ Falla wondered, eyeing the woman.
Eddeth’s eyes bulged, and she looked away, not wanting to even touch the edges of that topic. She snorted dismissively. ‘You think I look like a dreamer? Ha!’
‘You do, yes,’ Falla insisted. ‘And you know herbs, as many dreamers do. As Hakon’s last dreamer did.’ She felt odd speaking about Mother, who had been cruel, and manipulative, and a general nuisance, but more skilled than any woman she’d ever met.
‘What happened to her, then?’ Eddeth asked, knowing the answer, but wondering if Falla did. She dropped her head forward, inhaling the tea, not wanting to show her face.
‘She died.’
Falla didn’t elaborate, and Eddeth couldn’t keep inhaling the tea forever, so she took a quick sip, lifting her eyes. ‘That’s a shame. Useful, was she?’
‘Of course, aren’t all dreamers useful?’ Falla didn’t trust the odd woman, though she was enjoying the tea, which had warmed her frozen lips. ‘What lord doesn’t need a dreamer’s guidance? The loss of Mother’s sight is sorely missed already. We’re stuck here in this forest with no idea what’s coming.’
‘Mmmm,’ Eddeth murmured. ‘And will your lord find a new dreamer, then? I imagine he’d want to, wouldn’t he? Though where does one go to get a dreamer? There’s hardly a dreamer market!’ Eddeth took an enormous gulp of tea, sensing that her mouth was running away with her.
‘Well, if he lives.’ Falla leaned forward, aware of the sound of Lief’s voice in the distance. ‘Do you think he’ll live?’
‘He is improving,’ Eddeth decided after considering the question for some time. ‘Yes, he is, but I’m no dreamer. I can’t see the future! Though I can make a delicious cup of tea, don’t you think?’ She finished off hers with a slurp, standing in a hurry. ‘I must get back to the lord and check his wounds. Oh yes, indeed! Enjoy your tea. I shall make you more tomorrow if you like!’ And swinging around, Eddeth almost tripped over her boots as she hurried outside.
Falla watched her go, head cocked to one side, thinking.
‘She didn’t take it well, then?’ The distraction of Elin’s dramatic return had stopped Sigurd from dwelling on his own heartbreak for a moment. He lifted a cup of ale to his lips, waiting for Reinar’s reply.
‘No.’ Reinar stared at his own cup, then turned his head, looking towards the back of the hall, wondering if he should return to the bedchamber. ‘Hard to tell someone their brother died. Harder still to tell them he was a rapist.’
Sigurd bit his teeth together, hand clenching around his cup.
The thought of what Torvig had done to Tulia, what he did to Stina, and would’ve likely tried to do to Alys if she hadn’t killed him, made him wild. He left the cup on the table, pushing it away, dropping his head to his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ Reinar said with a sigh. ‘Sorry I ever brought the bastard back.’
‘It’s not your fault, Reinar.’ Sigurd didn’t know what to say, but he knew that only Torvig could be blamed for what Torvig had done. ‘You’re no dreamer. You couldn’t see into his twisted heart. Not even Alys saw what he was doing.’
Reinar blinked, face changing. He felt trapped between two worlds and two women, more confused than ever. ‘No, she didn’t, did she? Though I imagine she had a lot on her mind, what with worrying about her children and trying to protect the fort.’
Sigurd lifted his head, still horrified to think that Alys had children. ‘Do you think she’s found them?’
‘I hope so. She deserves to after what she did for us.’
‘Though is anything ever that easy?’ Sigurd wondered sadly, reaching for his cup again. ‘Life has a way of complicating everything.’ He saw Reinar’s eyes shift to the back of the hall again. ‘You should go. She’s your wife. If you want to see her, Agnette and Gerda can’t stop you.’
Reinar nodded. ‘I know.’ But he stayed where he was, returning his eyes to his cup, trying not to think at all.
Stina stared at the sheet flapping over the entrance to the tent, which looked as though it was trying to fly away. She felt much the same, and sighing, she turned around to Alys.
Alys had embraced the silence of the tent, sitting in the corner on a tree stump, shutting out the noise of the camp. She wanted to see images of her children, but when she closed her eyes, she saw the vatyr sweeping through the forest. She heard the deep voice of the god rolling over her like thunder.
‘You.’
Alys jumped off the tree stump with a yelp, eyes on the ground where Hakon Vettel had started stirring on his pile of furs. One eye was open, blinking at her.
‘Who... are... you?’
Stina rushed to Alys, clutching her arm, both of them peering down at the pale-faced lord.
‘I... we are healers,’ Alys croaked.
‘I don’t know you.’ Hakon’s eyes were fully open now, curious about these two women, both attractive, one of them mesmerisingly beautiful. He swallowed, his throat so parched that he struggled to form a word. ‘Water.’
Stina hurried away to the table.
‘Where have you come from?’ Hakon grimaced, suddenly aware of the searing pain rippling across his belly. ‘Where are we?’ He couldn’t remember anything for a moment, then bright images flashed before his eyes: Ottby, Reinar Vilander’s sword, the horn, Mother’s dead body. The pain. ‘What happened to me?’ He tried to sit up, but Alys leaned forward, gently pushing him back down.
‘Your wound became infected. Your men stopped so you could recover. I don’t know where we are. Your cousin’s scouts, they... captured us.’
