by A. E. Rayne
Jael was desperate to talk to someone; to think of what to do and make a plan. But perhaps the dreamers would hear her? See what she was doing? She had her stone, but no one else did.
And Marcus had made it very clear that they were not safe.
He was in danger, she knew. And if he was in danger, then no one in Tuura was safe.
‘Dark magic? Ravens?’ Jael shrugged, trying to smile. ‘No, I think all the storms must have worried them, and for some reason, they hunted in a pack. Perhaps they felt threatened?’ She stared at Beorn, then gripped his arm. ‘We just need to secure everything. Make sure that nothing can get inside tonight.’ Jael tried to do something with her face that gave him a sense of reassurance, but he just frowned at her, confused.
She thought about going back to the room, wondering if Marcus was there, waiting for her. But there had been no signal from him, and by the look on his face when she had last seen him, he was not able to go anywhere now.
Jael sighed, realising that she would have to find answers on her own. She dropped her head and left the stables, eager to get back to the house and check on Edela.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’
Jael’s head jerked up as a woman rushed around the corner, not looking where she was going, banging straight into her. She was about Jael’s age, perhaps younger; smaller, rounder, softer looking. Not like Jael at all really. But her eyes were sharp. And Jael blinked at them. ‘Watch where you’re going next time!’ she grumbled moodily and turned away, leaving the woman to look embarrassed as she stood there, watching her go.
Haaron’s appetite had finally returned after days of self-indulgent moping over the loss of his ships, his men, his pier.
His reputation.
And Varna.
Having Morana in the castle had given him the confidence to see a way forward. He had spoken to the strange dreamer many times now, and her tetchy, reluctant advice had actually helped him craft a way to ease the very real threat his sons now posed to him.
A solution, he thought, which would benefit them all.
Bayla, it seemed, had other ideas as she sat beside him, considering his suggestion with scorn. ‘You have food in your beard,’ she muttered, pursing her lips in disgust.
Haaron, still chewing, wiped one hand through his grey beard and shovelled in another yam, happy that at least his cooks were turning out excellent food without fail. Although, with his harbour in disarray, and being overly reliant on imported fruit, vegetables, and game, he wondered how long that would continue? ‘And what of you, my eldest son?’ he mumbled between mouthfuls, turning to Haegen who had frozen, his knife in mid-air.
‘Lordships?’ Haegen shook his head. ‘What do you... I, I don’t understand.’ He glanced at Irenna who had stilled beside him.
Karsten, who had little appetite at all, took a sip of wine and sighed. ‘Father means for us to leave the castle. To leave the city.’
‘But what for?’ Bayla asked. ‘And whose idea was that? Your new dreamer’s?’
Haaron smiled. ‘My wife, still so perceptive, even at such an advanced age.’
Bayla blanched, glaring at her sons, demanding they say something. Their father had obviously gone mad.
‘It is the best way forward. We will strengthen every corner of our kingdom. There shall be no lords of Hest that I do not trust,’ he insisted. ‘It is my sons, and only my sons, who I will put my faith in now. Sending one of you to each corner of the kingdom will help us improve any weaknesses in our defenses. It is the best way to stabilise what we have and build for the future.’
Berard nodded at a slave as she removed his plate. ‘Do you plan to send all of us away, Father?’ he wondered.
Haaron considered his least impressive son. He was small, stooping, limp. More like a boy than a man. ‘Well, perhaps not you. I don’t imagine that you want to be a lord do you, Berard?’
Berard was too interested in the idea to look offended. ‘I think that I would not mind such a thing.’
Haegen was surprised: by Berard’s interest, by Karsten’s lack of interest and by his father’s sudden desire to get rid of them all. ‘But why now, Father?’
‘Because it is time!’ Haaron growled. ‘Time for us to consider the future of this mighty kingdom, which is in danger of falling into ruin. And if I do not look forward and plan for what will come after me, then I may as well hand Hest to the Furycks now!’ He was irritated. Ready for some wine. Fed up with all of them. ‘And where is Jaeger?’ he grumbled. ‘It would be useful to have all of you here to discuss matters pertaining to our kingdom’s future. Does he even live in this castle anymore?’
Jaeger’s head had been so muddled by the strangely scented smoke that he’d stumbled into bed as soon as he returned from the Crown of Stones, unable to keep his eyes open, pulling Meena under the furs with him.
He had started snoring quickly as he curled up next to her.
And she had lain next to him, her eyes wide, desperate for him to stay asleep. She knew that smoke and her head was not affected by it in the same way as his. It was Varna’s smoke, Varna’s herbs, that had helped bring on her trances. And Meena knew how it felt to become lost in it.
But Varna had never cast such a powerful spell.
To control all those birds at once? Turn them into weapons?
Force them to kill? Be them...
Meena shuddered, pulling the furs up to her eyes, wanting to disappear, to hide away from what she feared was coming next. But she knew that it was useless.
Once, she had been Varna’s. Now, she was Jaeger’s, and Morana had them both where she wanted them.
‘Are you sure it’s alright for us to stay here?’ Isaura asked nervously, looking around in awe at the finest house she had ever seen.
Eadmund and Jael’s house.
Thorgils felt sad as he closed the door behind them. He remembered the night he had dumped Eadmund, drunk and unconscious, on the bedchamber floor. How relieved Jael had been that he couldn’t even open his eyes.
How eager she had been to leave.
And now she had.
‘Eadmund seems quite happy to stay in the hall,’ he said mutely, easing Mads down onto the floor.
He had sent Isaura’s servants over earlier to warm the place up, and it did indeed feel cosy, with a high fire crackling under a large cauldron that steamed invitingly with fishy smells. He could imagine the look on Biddy’s face at the sight of Isaura’s servants fussing about in her kitchen.
‘Are you alright?’ Isaura wondered gently, watching as the girls raced around the house, checking inside the bedchamber, in the storage room at the back of the kitchen, running out to the stables.
Thorgils nodded. ‘It’s a good house, plenty of room in here for all of you.’
‘There’s a big tub, Mother!’ Annet smiled as she hurried back with wide, blue eyes, grabbing her three-year-old sister, Leya, by the hand and tugging her back to the tub, Mads toddling eagerly after them.
Selene, the eldest, at six-years-old, was quiet as she stood by her mother. It had been a terrifying few days, and she had barely spoken since they’d arrived.
Isaura squeezed her daughter’s hand. ‘Why don’t you choose which bed you’d like to sleep in, sweetheart?’
Selene nodded without smiling and walked over to the beds that ran around the walls of the large main room, her shoulders rounded, her head down.
‘There’s a big bed in here, just for you,’ Thorgils said shyly, pointing to the bedchamber. He ducked his head, his eyes on the floor.
‘For me?’ Isaura asked, walking up to him with a grin. ‘Just for me?’
Thorgils turned to her, then glanced back at the children who were suddenly all standing nearby, frowning up at them both. ‘For now, I think, don’t you?’ he whispered, red-faced and uncomfortable.
Isaura didn’t think so at all. ‘Well, perhaps. We could all do with some sleep, I think. Tomorrow we might feel better.’ She looked at her children, who, she could tell, were v
ery out of sorts, then at Thorgils who appeared ready to run for the door.
‘I should get back to Odda,’ he said quietly. ‘It looks as though your supper is ready.’
Isaura smiled. ‘Yes, although, after being out in that storm, I don’t know if I’ll ever have an appetite again!’
The children appeared hungry, though, as they gathered around Selda and Ida, who were standing by the cauldron, bowls in hand.
Isaura followed Thorgils outside, inhaling the smoky air which was much cooler now as dusk settled. She reached for his arm. ‘Do you think that Ivaar will be here soon?’ she asked hoarsely.
Thorgils bent down and kissed her so urgently that they both forgot about Ivaar for a moment. ‘Ivaar will not take you away from me,’ he growled, pulling her close. ‘He will never touch you again.’
The food tasted like shit.
Bara was a tiny rock full of inbreds, Ivaar decided, and not one of them knew how to cook. And as for the ale...
Frits couldn’t stop apologising, staring at Ivaar’s increasingly sullen face; gaunter now after weeks of crawling around the hills of Alekka, and now Bara. He had slowly become wistful for his own hall, although the Arnesson’s hag mother had happily informed him that it was no longer his. Which was not such a bad thing, Ivaar supposed, imagining how many men Eadmund had given to that cause.
She’d also seen that the queen had left the island, taking men with her as well.
Oss, it seemed, was light on warriors.
Ivaar smiled, pushing away his plate.
‘More ale, my lords?’ Frits wondered, rolling out of his fur-lined chair to check on his guests. His hall was so small that there was not enough room for all of Ivaar’s and Borg’s men, so most were outside in the cold drizzle, drinking around hastily built fires. He could hear them laughing and boasting about how they’d survived the storm. He looked at Ivaar’s miserable face, and the surly grimace of Borg Arnesson and felt ready to bolt for the doors.
Borg grunted and held out his empty cup. Frits flapped his hand at a servant girl and twitched his moustache. He felt uncomfortable with these men here, on his island; constantly doubting his decision to align himself with Ivaar. Although, in truth, his wife had made him do it; almost chewing off his ear at the mere suggestion that he would abandon Ivaar and choose loyalty to Eadmund and Jael instead. Falla was Frits’ third wife, and young and ambitious enough to want more than he could ever offer her. And he was old enough to realise that the only way he could keep her in his bed was to tempt her with wealth and status.
And that’s where Ivaar had come in.
Frits swallowed and edged towards him. ‘The weather appears to be turning again.’
Ivaar barely heard him. He was too busy trying to ignore the sharp-eyed stare that Borg Arnesson was attempting to unsettle him with. ‘Another storm?’ he muttered distractedly. ‘Strange for this time of year.’
That wasn’t going to make things any easier.
Frits glanced around as his wife wandered in from the back of the hall. She had changed her dress again. He frowned, sensing her obvious interest in pleasing the men around his table. Men who were younger and slimmer than he had ever been. Men with more hair on their heads and less in their ears. He sat up a little taller, sucking in his sagging belly. ‘My dear,’ he called. ‘Will you join us? I think Agda is about to bring out another course.’
Falla Hallstein wrinkled her snub nose at his suggestion. She was almost 30-years-old and had spent all of those years trapped on Bara, desperate to leave. And now, here was her chance, and if her old husband was not going to make it happen for her, then she was going to make sure that one of these lords would take her with them when they conquered Oss.
There was no way that she was being left behind.
‘Your old cook needs to throw herself onto the fire and save us all from her food!’ she said tartly and turned to Borg, who winked at her. She took a seat next to him, ignoring her husband’s fretful looks and the scarred mess that was Borg Arnesson’s face. He might have been handsome once, but now it was too hard to tell. But he was young and strong and full of life; Falla could feel that as she smiled at him.
Ivaar rolled his eyes and turned towards the doors. Even a storm would be preferable to this company.
‘She does not have long,’ Runa said solemnly as she moved aside to let Thorgils come and take her place by Odda. She glanced up at Bram who waited by the door. ‘I’ll go and have something to eat.’
‘Perhaps you need to sleep in your own bed tonight?’ Bram wondered gently. ‘You need some rest. It’s not easy caring for the sick.’
Runa nodded, reaching for her cloak. ‘There’s enough food and wood for the night. But I will return in the morning to see how she’s faring.’ She smiled sympathetically at Thorgils as she headed to the door.
Thorgils stifled a sob. His head was rolling with his body, and he didn’t know how he should feel at all. Grief-stricken or elated? Terrified or happy?
Isaura was here, finally. But Ivaar was coming.
And amidst it all, Odda was dying.
He held her hand in his. It felt so cold, as though there was no life in it at all. Her chest was barely moving, and her mouth was stuck open. He wanted to reach over and close it, but perhaps it was the only way she could find a breath now? It seemed to be a struggle for her.
Thorgils looked at his uncle, and his shoulders drooped. ‘It’s been a long few days.’
Bram murmured his agreement as he pulled over a stool and slipped off his cloak. ‘It has. Another one coming tomorrow, I’d chance.’
‘How many men do these Arnesson brothers have?’
Bram shrugged. ‘Well, about 30 less than they were planning to I’d say after losing that ship. But enough to cause us some sleepless nights.’ He pulled his sword from its scabbard and lay it across his knee. ‘They’re hard men in Tingor. Their father was a real piece of shit. Set fire to his first wife because he saw her look at another man. Then married her sister... after he’d cut off her husband’s head.’
Thorgils cringed. ‘Well, they sound like perfect company for Ivaar.’
Bram ferreted about in his pouch and pulled out his whetstone. ‘I have a feeling that Ivaar will live to regret the day he ever tied himself to their ships,’ Bram said wryly. ‘No one I know ever made a deal with the Arnessons and walked away with his life.’
They ate a late supper at Jaeger’s table.
Jaeger didn’t want to face his father or his brothers. He couldn’t even be bothered having to endure his mother. He just wanted to be alone with the book.
Meena sat opposite him, Egil shuffled about in his little corner, but the book was all that Jaeger noticed. As soon as their plates were removed, he lifted it onto the table, sighing in relief at the touch of that cool cover; those crackling pages.
He immediately felt right again.
And hungry for more. The power he had experienced being inside the Crown of Stones was exhilarating. He was no dreamer. How could he have seen what the Followers did? What they saw? How was it possible?
But more importantly, how was it possible that they hadn’t killed Jael Furyck? That she had somehow managed to stop them? His body shook with a rage that rushed towards his temples. He looked up. ‘I need Morana,’ he growled. ‘Why hasn’t she come to me?’
Meena jumped. ‘Should I go and get her?’ she mumbled, tapping her foot quietly beneath the table, hoping he wouldn’t notice.
Jaeger glowered at her. ‘Why, when I have Egil? You are not my servant, Meena. Egil is. You are my... assistant, remember?’ He attempted to smile at her but his lips curled unnaturally, and his eyes remained cold.
Meena shivered and remained in her seat as Egil hurried past them and headed for the door.
‘And tell her to hurry!’ Jaeger grumbled after him.
It was dark now, and Jael couldn’t wait any longer. She grabbed her cloak.
‘You’re going out?’ Gisila looked surprised as she tuck
ed Eydis into her bed. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’
Fyn, who had been thinking that it was time he left for Aedan’s, wrapped his own cloak around his shoulders, ready to tag along.
Jael glared impatiently at him, not wanting the company. ‘I need to make sure that the men are secure for the night. I’m not going to be able to sleep if I don’t.’
‘I wonder if any of us will be able to sleep,’ Branwyn sighed as she handed Biddy a cup of passionflower tea. ‘Perhaps we need to set a watch to give us some peace of mind?’
‘Good idea,’ Jael said distractedly. ‘I won’t be long. I’ll take the watch when I get back. Come on, Fyn, I’ll walk you to Aedan’s.’
Fyn glanced back at Eydis who was yawning, at Edela who had barely said a word since the morning, at Branwyn and Kormac who sat anxiously around the fire with Biddy. ‘Should I stay?’
Jael put her arm around his shoulders. ‘There’s no room for you in here my long-legged friend,’ she said quickly. ‘Let’s go. Entorp’s probably already taken the best bed at Aedan’s!’
They left the house quickly, hoping to escape any more protests.
It was dark. Densely so. No stars that they could see. The stink of smoke was in the air, stronger than usual. It was a heady, thick fug of burned bodies: ash and flesh, blood and bone. It curdled Jael’s stomach as she walked, trying to piece together what might have happened.
Why the ravens had come.
There weren’t many pieces. It didn’t take long.
‘You take care of yourself tonight,’ Jael said quietly. ‘Make sure that one of you keeps watch. And let’s do some training tomorrow. I’ll drag the men out there too. We need to be ready for whatever comes next.’
Fyn gulped. ‘What do you think will come next?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jael admitted. ‘But after what happened this morning, anything’s possible.’
Morana looked inconvenienced as she dragged herself into Jaeger’s chamber. She had been on her way to visit Yorik, but Egil had stopped her, insisting that his master had great need of her.