The Viking's Consort

by Quinn Loftis

  “Thank the gods,” Rush breathed as the afternoon sun warmed our faces from the November chill. “I honestly didn’t know if Blaine was going to be on board.”

  “Me either,” I admitted. “I’m surprised he didn’t chase after Cathal when the king fled.”

  “There was probably too much destruction to even begin worrying about going after him. Blaine’s general, Latham, mentioned they’d considered going on a raid in the spring to Tara. So, it sounded like they were planning to deal with Cathal one way or another,” Siv added.

  “I just hope we can direct his rage while sating it as well,” I said. “The last thing we need is another power-hungry jarl about—regardless of whose clan or kingdom he belongs to.”

  As we sailed home, I considered my thoughts on Brant and what possible decision it was that he made when he approached Albric in regard to his daughter. I would bet my life Brant would not be at Ravenscar with Albric when I arrived.

  “If ever you feel like you’re being an obtuse moron, then you probably are. It might be pertinent to evaluate your behavior instead of ignoring it. I should take my own advice. After all, I give great advice.”

  * * *

  ~Dayna Auvray.

  “Why won’t this rat talk to me?” I whined, much to my own chagrin. “You told me to stare at her until she began talking and that she would eventually. So, what’s the deal?”

  Do you hear yourself? the annoying voice asked me, the one I was about ready to dig out of my head.

  “Maybe it speaks a different language,” Gisele suggested as she flipped through one of her many dusty old books. She always seemed to be searching through some ancient book. I wondered what she could possibly be reading that was so interesting.

  “What do you seek in all of those books?” I finally asked, taking my attention away from the obstinate rat that refused to talk to me. Dumb rat.

  Gisele briefly glanced up before returning to her task.

  “Is it something I could help with? I could flip through books, too. I mean, four eyes are better than two, right?”

  “It’s private,” the witch snapped.

  “Ooh, is it some horrible secret from your past. A spell gone bad? And now you’re trying to figure out how to undo it? Oh! Maybe it’s a man. It’s a man, isn’t it?” I asked, clapping my hands as I sat on the stool across from her.

  If her eyes could have killed me with a glare, they would have. She slammed the book, then tossed it to the side. Then she snatched up another and yanked it open. “It has nothing to do with a man,” she said, sounding like that was the most preposterous thing ever. “I don’t have time for something as trivial as a relationship with a male.”

  “You’ve never been in love?” I asked, surreptitiously beginning to slide a book toward me.

  Gisele took the book she was reading, stood it up on the table, then hunched over to read it, presumably to try to pretend I didn’t exist. Shrugging, I sneakily slid the book into my lap. I figured if I got quiet now, she would get suspicious, so I kept up my dialogue as I opened the book.

  “Is there a rule somewhere that says evil witches that play with dark magic can’t fall in love? I mean, it seems like a ridiculous rule. Why can’t someone evil fall in love? Perhaps if they did love, then they wouldn’t be evil. Maybe it is the lack of love that made them that way in the first place.” I was trying to turn the old pages without making a sound, but the crinkly age of them made that difficult.

  As my eyes ran over the pages, I realized it was a diary. I quickly turned back to the inside of the front cover to see if there was a name. In small, scrolling script up at the left-hand corner, Gisele Eliza Kent was scrawled. My eyes widened, and I glanced up to see if the witch was still preoccupied. She was still hunched over her own tome. When she shifted, I immediately started speaking again. “I’ve never been in love. I think I could be very soon. If I get to see him again, that is.”

  “You’re too young and too naive to know what love is,” Gisele muttered.

  “How would you know that?” I asked, flipping yet another page and coming to an entry that grabbed my attention.

  “Because you’ve lived in your parents’ home, safe behind those castle walls, your whole life. Never have you faced true adversity. Facing challenges are what make you wise. What have you faced, Princess?”

  “Maybe a couple of months ago that was true,” I admitted. “But since then, I’ve been kidnapped by a madman, held captive by said madman’s deranged brother, violated by barbarians, punished those barbarians by removing their hands, and now been held captive by a dark witch…I’d say I’ve got facing adversity down to an art.”

  “And what have you learned?” the witch challenged. “Have you learned you can trust no one but yourself? Have you learned people always look out for themselves first? Have you learned you are powerless in a world where there are those who wield magic and have all the power?”

  My mouth dropped open as I stared at the back of the book behind which she was crouched. “Wow. Someone really did a number on you. Are you sure it wasn’t a man?”

  Apparently, that was all she could handle. To be fair, I was a lot to handle. She slammed the book, grabbed a cloak, and stalked to the door. “I’m going out. You don’t want to leave. You love it here. It’s your favorite place ever.” The door closed hard enough to shake the cottage.

  “This is my favorite place,” I sang. “My best friend Assy is here. Where else could I possibly want to be?”

  Maybe with your sister or that guy you think you could fall in love with, the voice pointed out.

  I was sure it had a point, but it made me feel wrong. I didn’t like to be wrong. “Moving on,” I said, returning my attention to the diary. With Gisele gone, I was free to read without the worry of her catching me.

  October 30, 995

  Tomorrow is Samhain. It is the only time of the year the spirits will share their power with the living as the veil between the dead and living will be lifted. I have made all the necessary preparations for the incantations, and I have the offerings for the ones who would bless me with magic. My twin sister will no longer be the only one who wields power in our legacy.

  Frowning, I flipped back to the very beginning of the diary, to the pages I’d simply skipped. I wanted to see if there was anything about Gisele not being a witch. According to the entry I’d just read, there’d been a time in her life when she’d had no magical ability.

  I was in luck. The first page seemed to contain her first ever diary entry. “What happened to you, you evil little witch?” Okay, so she really wasn’t so little, but saying ‘you evil big witch’ didn’t sound as good.

  December 3, 994

  Why does she not understand? She is my twin sister. We have been together since our mother carried us in her womb, yet she looks at me as if I am a stranger.

  I only want to be like her. Myra has no idea what it is that flows in her veins. She has the power to control, not only herself and her destiny, but also others as well. She is never beholden to the whims of another person because she has magic. I have nothing. I am nothing.

  Today, she held my hand and let me feel what she does all the time. The power was incredible. I felt invincible. Yet, she does nothing with it. Why? I asked how she could essentially hide this part of her, and she said she didn’t want it to own her. What does that mean? The magic is her.

  She told me she knew certain spells, but she did not know how she knew them. They were just there, in her mind. I asked her to show me a spell, and she made a flower grow in seconds from a seed. I suppose that is helpful when we need our garden to grow food more quickly, but I wanted to see something that revealed her superiority to everyone else. I asked her to mix a spell that would allow her to control a person.

  Myra had gasped, then practically yelled at me. She went on and on about how taking someone’s free will was cruel and evil. I suggested making her crush, William, want to be with her. Would that really be cruel? I mean, it wasn�
��t like she was going to hurt him. How would it be evil? Myra claimed she did not want him unless he chose her of his own desire, not because of a spell she had cast.

  Ridiculous, that is what she is being. She is wasting this amazing power. Why was she the twin born with it? I would have used it correctly. I would have proven I was worthy of the magic.

  I am not going to give up. I will figure out a way to get magic of my own. With or without my sister’s help.

  “Holy baby gods,” I whispered. Gisele hadn’t been born a witch. Instead, her twin, Myra, of all people, had been. Myra was the woman who had helped Allete and Torben. She wasn’t evil, twisted, or creepy. How on earth had she and Gisele come from the same woman, let alone the same womb at the same time? Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe the midwife swapped Myra’s real twin with another child because she was drunk on mead from celebrating the blessing of new children. Seemed reasonable. Okay, it didn’t. Not reasonable at all.

  Now you attempt to be reasonable?

  “Quiet, you damn menace,” I all but growled at the voice.

  I turned to the next page, anxious to see what Gisele did next. This was better than any book I had ever read back in the palace library. I did wish I had some cucumber sandwiches and lemonade. It would make this time reading with my friend Assy absolutely perfect. Because this was my favorite place to be—in Gisele’s hut. Why did that not sound right? I knew it was. I shook my head, then began reading again.

  January 3, 995

  It has been a month since I began this documentation of my path to power.

  “Wow, someone thinks they are awfully high and mighty,” I said under my breath.

  I’ve managed to convince Myra that I simply like seeing the fun little tricks she can do. It took a few days to convince her I was no longer power hungry. But she finally believes me. It would be so much more fun if she could just see things my way.

  “I think that’s how we all feel, witch, but we don’t all become evil simply because people don’t see things our way,” I said. Yes, I was talking to a book. It was no weirder than talking to a rat. I thought. Maybe.

  So far, she has shown me her ability to heal maladies with various potions. She has treated several people in our village, though they only think her concoctions consist of simple herbs. If they knew that magic was involved, they would lynch Myra in an instant.

  She has held my hands and shared her thoughts with me! I will admit that was pretty amazing—to hear my twin in my head as if we were really one. It made me ache for the closeness we once had. Now, things are strained between us.

  Last night, she formed a ball of light in her hand from a crystal. I asked her where she got the crystal, and she said a butterfly led her to it. I asked if it had spoken to her, and she said it hadn’t spoken with words but emotions. She could feel the desire of the butterfly. I asked if she felt she could control the butterfly, to tell it to go find a flower for instance. Myra had said she believed so.

  I imagined all the ways I could use animals to my own benefit. I could have a cat that eavesdropped on the conversations of others, then report them back to me. I could have wolves at my beck and call. Owls and ravens telling me of the things happening in other villages. And yet, my sister was consorting with butterflies.

  By the gods, the girl has no clue. I asked if she knew anyone else with her powers, and she hesitated. She always hesitates when she is about to lie. Poor Myra has never been a good liar. She finally admitted she did know someone. The witch, Evelyn, had apparently felt Myra’s magic and sought her out. When I asked more about her, Myra snapped to drop it and forget the woman. Of course, that only makes me want to meet her more.

  I had a name and persistence on my side. I plan to find Evelyn to discover exactly why my dear sister wants nothing to do with a woman who could no doubt help her with her magic.

  “Well that can’t be good,” I said to Assy. “What do you think? If I were a betting woman, and I am, I would bet this Evelyn woman played a very big part in why Gisele is cutting up crows in a creepy cottage instead of growing pretty flowers and frolicking with butterflies.”

  Assy made a chirping noise I interpreted as agreement, though I admitted it really was more likely her telling me to let her go and forget the whole friendship thing. “Fat chance, Assy.” I chuckled. “You and I are in it for the long haul.”

  “Did you ever consider that I am Assy?” the voice suddenly spoke up.

  I slowly turned my head back to the rat that stared at me from the cage. “Nah-uh,” I said slowly. “Seriously? Gisele was right? You can talk?”

  “If I’m so inclined. Now that we’re buddies, let’s you and I figure out a way to escape this wretched place,” Assy said.

  I frowned. “Why? This is my favorite place to be.”

  “Do you hear yourself? Look around at this cottage. How could this be your favorite place to be? Surely your taste isn’t that bad. You just said this house is creepy,” Assy pointed out.

  “I think I liked it better when you just chirped,” I said.

  I turned the page in the diary just as the door to the cottage opened. Closing the book fast, I then slipped it down my legs until it slid to the floor with a soft thud. “Did you have a good outing?” I asked as I smiled at Gisele.

  She stared at me with cold eyes and tight lips. “You’re too damn chipper. Be less chipper.”

  Frowning, I tried to deepen my voice. “I hope your outing was horrible, and you broke an ankle.”

  “Better,” she huffed, then dropped several dead rabbits on the table.

  “Couldn’t you do better than that?” I asked. “Only pathetic witches kill less than five bunnies in a day.”

  Gisele stabbed a knife into the table next to the rabbits. “Careful. Don’t be chipper, but don’t be insulting, either. Find a happy medium.”

  “There’s always someone who takes it too far,” I said, nodding and pointing at myself “Hello, I’m that girl.”

  Gisele grumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like ‘should just kill that girl and save myself the headache,’ as she began to skin the rabbits.

  “I know how to make a decent rabbit stew,” I said. “Cook taught me how one day because I kept coming into her kitchen. She said if I was going to drive her mad, then I was going to at least make myself useful while doing it.”

  “Why are you talking?” Gisele asked, flicking her eyes up to me and then back to the bloody rabbits.

  “I like to talk.”

  “No, you don’t. You hate talking. It’s the worst,” she huffed.

  Tilting my head, I tapped my chin. Then I blanched. “Nope. I really do like talking. Allete says I just like the sound of my own voice. She’s probably right.”

  Gisele tossed down the knife, then dipped up some of the liquid in the cauldron. She handed the ladle to me. “Drink this. You like it.”

  I took the ladle, then tipped it back. When I swallowed, I immediately gagged. “It’s great,” I practically gurgled.

  Gisele stared at me for so long I was beginning to wonder if what I drank had made me grow a third eye.

  “You hate talking. It’s the worst,” she said.

  “Very much so,” I agreed. “I loathe talking. I’ll shut up now.”

  “Really? Doesn’t that seem strange to you? Who loathes talking?” Assy asked.

  “Apparently me, so leave me alone. I don’t want to talk,” I replied in my mind. Since Assy had been hearing me in my thoughts before, I figured she could probably still hear me. I was right.

  “And you’re not disturbed that a rat can hear your thoughts…or vice versa?”

  I shrugged. “I’m in the cottage of a witch who is beyond evil, yet it’s my favorite place to be and I loathe talking. Is talking to a rat, even in my thoughts, really that strange?” I supposed she must have figured I had a point because she didn’t respond.

  “If you meet an oracle, make sure you don’t let her die until she reveals all of her secrets. This pr
ocess may take some time. By the time her secrets are revealed, you will probably want to kill her yourself. Try and refrain until you have all the information you need. I realize it will be tough, but I believe in you.”

  * * *

  ~Diary of Allete Auvray

  * * *

  “If you tell me to pee on this book, I might have to hit you with it,” I said to Myra as I glared at her from where I stood in the small kitchen.

  She quirked an eyebrow. “It’s an idea.”

  “A bad idea,” I pointed out.

  “Do you have any alternative suggestions?” she asked.

  I began pacing, which I seemed to be doing an inordinate amount lately…unless I was sitting and tapping my fingers on the table. The finger tapping seemed to annoy Myra, which, in my opinion, was a positive thing, but she didn’t quite feel that way.

  “What about salt?” I said. “Isn’t salt used in spells and stuff?” I thought I remembered reading that somewhere. Or maybe Dayna had told me.

  “Sometimes, but Hilda wasn’t a witch,” Myra said.

  I pursed my lips and asked, “Are you sure about that? Everything surrounding this book seems pretty magical to me.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Myra said. “I’ll admit Hilda could be quite cantankerous, but she was no witch. Her magic is different from mine.”

  “How?” I asked. “I really don’t understand how it’s different. Isn’t magic just magic?”

  “That’s like saying trees are trees,” Myra said. “Trees may have the same properties, trunks, limbs, and leaves, but they are not the same. They are shaped differently, they grow at different speeds, they smell differently, and they serve different purposes.”

  “Okay, I get that, so how is your magic different from Hilda’s?”

  Leaning back in her chair, she folded her hands in her lap. Myra’s hair was spun up into a bun on her head, and her eyes were intense for one of her age. “A witch’s magic is tied to nature,” she began. “The energy that feeds my power is drawn from the very elements around me. The wind, the earth, the water, and the fire. Each element gives my magic a different magical property. For instance, water can be used for a cleansing or healing spell. Fire can make a purification spell…or a cloaking spell because fire produces smoke. Are you with me?”