Kings of Fate A Prequel Novella

by A. E. Rayne

  Osbert leaned forward, his eyes sharp in the darkening hall. He looked to his father to defend him, but Lothar only nodded in agreement, distracted by the sudden absence of wine.

  ‘Gudrum’s right. Foolish kings with flapping tongues don’t last long. Just ask every king who’s sat on Iskavall’s miserable throne. All those years I was in Ollsvik, Hugo was safe, protected. And the moment I leave?’ Lothar tried to snap his fingers, but they were sweaty, and there were too many rings squeezed onto them, so they made no sound. Ignoring that he peered at Osbert, trying to focus, though his son kept blurring before him. ‘Jael may see herself as free, but she’s our prisoner. Our prisoner who we torture every day just by keeping her alive. Here. Where the memories of her precious father torment her every time she steps into this hall. Every time she fights in the training ring. Gudrum’s right,’ Lothar decided suddenly. ‘He’s doing the right thing.’

  And just like that, Lothar convinced himself once again that leaving Jael alive was the best path to take. The one that would see him emerge as an even more powerful king in the long run.

  A king who knew how to crush his enemies with their own pathetic weaknesses.

  Eadmund wanted to resist.

  He’d tried.

  But Evaine kept coming back, slipping into his cottage, and she was so persuasive with those pouting lips and eager hands of hers.

  Tonight, though, Eadmund felt odd. He tried to push her away as she crept into his bed, naked. He tried to insist that he was tired. That his father would be furious. That he had to get up early.

  His excuses fell away, though, as Evaine’s hands slipped under the fur and her warm body writhed against his, heating his frozen limbs. The fire Torstan and Thorgils had made hours earlier had not been able to withstand the assault of wind and rain, and it had gone out quickly, so Eadmund had woken with teeth chattering when the door creaked open.

  It was hard to resist a warm body on a cold night.

  ‘I won’t stay long,’ Evaine breathed, kissing Eadmund’s cheek, trailing her lips down to his mouth, inhaling the delicious earthy scent of him. ‘I just felt so lonely. I missed you.’

  Eadmund was weak, with tiredness, with ale. With unhappiness most of all. He’d tried desperately to dream of the past, though nothing would come except thoughts of orange-haired Orla and the future. Thoughts he didn’t welcome, not believing he could ever be happy again.

  But Evaine...

  Evaine was like a cup of ale. A temporary feeling of pleasure that took away the darkness, just for a while. Just long enough for him to see a flash of hope.

  Turning to her, Eadmund pushed her hair away from her face, bringing her close, feeling her legs wrap around him, trying to ignore the familiar voice in his head warning him away.

  6

  Eirik felt younger than he had in years as he walked down the beach, across the slick black stones, holding Eydis’ mittened hand. The storm had gone and the morning was almost bright, with a hint of sun glowing behind a bank of light-grey clouds. Waves pounded the stone spires guarding the harbour in the distance, and the cries of sea birds were loud as they called down from their nests in the jagged cliffs surrounding Oss’ harbour.

  He turned around to look at his guests who were further back, walking together, not as certain on the challenging surface. He’d wanted to give them a chance to talk alone before they sat down to discuss the possibilities of more than just an alliance.

  Nerves jangling suddenly, Eirik wondered if he was doing the right thing, feeling Eydis’ hand in his, knowing that she was convinced that he was certainly not doing the right thing. He glanced back at Ake, who smiled, lifting a hand as if to reassure his host that all was well.

  Ake Bluefinn liked Oss.

  It surprised him.

  Surprised him how much he liked Eirik Skalleson too. It was odd to discover that he had more in common with his enemy than some of the men who’d been by his side for years. That they shared a common purpose, and a deep devotion to their families. Not all men felt the same, he knew. Some saw wealth and power as their motivating force. Perhaps he had too, when he was young and starving, much like Eirik, who he knew had been raised a slave by his brutish father, Grim, once the master slave trader of the entire northern realm.

  And now, there was Grim’s son, gently guiding his blind daughter across the black stones as though she was more precious than all the gold in the world. Which she was, Ake knew, thinking about his own girls, eager to get home to them. To see how his wife, Estrella, was feeling. She had been ill when he left, though she’d assured him that it was perfectly normal.

  Still, he wanted to get home. He always felt better when he was in his hall, sitting on his throne.

  Turning to Hector, Ake caught sight of Orla and Eadmund walking further back, both of them slightly more awkward around each other in the very cold light of day. Ake smiled, shivering. ‘What do you think, then? Would Orla like to live on such a block of ice?’ His eyes were back over his shoulder again, making a pretence of fussing with his hooded cloak, but really he wanted to see how comfortable Orla looked. She was like a daughter to him, and despite his confidence in her, he didn’t want to push her towards an unhappy fate. ‘Would she welcome a husband like Eadmund Skalleson? He is perhaps not quite what you might have wished for...’ Ake’s voice was low, checking how far Eirik was ahead of them, though the noise of the sea roaring in the distance, and the screech of the hungry birds, was enough to drown out even a shouting man, he was sure.

  Hector looked hesitant. ‘He has some... problems,’ he muttered with a frown. ‘More than I realised. Cotilde isn’t happy. She’s fretting. Though we both know that Orla is strong enough to cope with whatever life throws at her.’

  ‘Of course she is,’ Ake assured him. ‘And she does like the cold from memory.’

  ‘Ha! She does,’ Hector agreed, remembering their trips up north to The Murk when she was just a girl. That wild place remained blanketed in snow all year round. A dark, ominous world of warring tribes, and certainly not the safest place to take a child, but the best hunting ground he’d ever visited. Brimming with elk, deer, bears; polar bears too. If it had been easily accessible by ship, he would have trekked up there every summer. ‘Though there’s more than snow to contend with here, isn’t there? And if Eadmund doesn’t get... better?’ Hector sighed, his face falling, the sun finally emerging from behind its prison of clouds, shining down on his bald head. ‘I’m responsible for her choices. For helping her to make the right ones.’

  ‘You’re a better father than most, my friend,’ Ake said. ‘Few would look past what they would get in return. A daughter who will one day be a queen? The benefits that will come from our alliance? The gold? Few would care past that.’ Ake felt a chill on his head, wishing he’d brought his fur hat with him. He glanced at Hector, who didn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. ‘You should look at Orla. She seems happy.’

  Hector turned around as Orla slipped. He made a move to hurry to her, but Eadmund grabbed her first, and although his daughter appeared far steadier on her feet than her companion, Hector started to relax. ‘Yes, she does,’ he conceded, watching Orla’s eyes twinkle in the sunshine. She was an unfailingly honest woman, he knew. He would have noticed if it was all forced politeness. He had tried to marry her off once before, and that man had barely elicited a smile from her.

  No, Ake was right, Orla did seem happy. But for how long?

  ‘These stones take a bit of getting used to,’ Orla smiled at Eadmund, worried that her nose was running down her face. Everything felt so numb and cold that she couldn’t tell. She dug beneath her furry cloak, searching for her purse.

  Eadmund tried to smile. Guilt had hung over him like a snow cloud as he dressed and headed to the hall for breakfast, knowing that his father would send Thorgils to collect him if he didn’t show his face. Evaine had come and gone so quickly in the night that he was starting to believe he’d dreamed it. Whatever the case, he had to fix the loc
k on his cottage door. She was just a girl. She needed to find someone her own age.

  He blinked, realising that Orla was talking to him. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Your sister. Eydis. I was just wondering if she had always been blind?’ Her eyes were full of sympathy as she kept a firm hold of Eadmund’s arm.

  Eadmund nodded, worried that he was about to topple over and take Orla with him. He felt as though he was at sea, rising and falling with the waves. He needed to sit down quickly. ‘Yes... she was born blind, though it’s never stopped her. She’s just as determined as anyone. Sometimes I wonder how she gets around so easily, but I suppose she knows every part of the fort by now. Eirik worries about her constantly. I imagine that’s what fathers do.’ His eyes were on Hector Berras before him. The man couldn’t stop turning around, and Eadmund found himself sweating uncomfortably, wanting to unpin his cloak.

  He was suddenly so thirsty.

  ‘They do, especially mine.’ Orla peered at her father, hoping he would stop worrying. Eadmund seemed like a good man. A man who needed help. He had such sad eyes and a gentleness about him that she felt drawn to. He was almost shy, embarrassed as he walked with her. It made her relax, and she found her mind wandering to what it might be like to live on Oss.

  Eadmund didn’t say anything else, and eventually, Orla turned to him, noticing how flushed his cheeks were. Despite the frigid morning, he appeared to be sweating. ‘Shall we sit down?’ she suggested, spying a bench in the distance. ‘I think I need a break.’

  Eadmund knew she felt sorry for him, but he didn’t care. He was starting to shake. He needed to sit down before he fell down. He had to pull himself together.

  Watching from the top of the muddy hill that led down to the beach, Evaine felt her body tense, rage boiling just beneath the surface. ‘What are we going to do?’ she hissed, turning to glare at her father. ‘What?! It’s different, isn’t it? This. I can feel it, Father! There is something about that woman! What are we going to do?’

  Morac didn’t feel as concerned as Evaine. If Eadmund were to marry Orla Berras, it would not be the worst thing that could happen. But one look at his daughter’s face, and he realised that it would potentially be the worst thing that could happen to him.

  He would never hear the end of it.

  Sighing, Morac put an arm around Evaine’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t we go back to the house? It won’t help you to stand here watching. Eirik won’t like it.’

  But Evaine wasn’t even listening as she wriggled away from her father’s arm, charging back through the gates before he’d even turned around.

  Tig was still in the stables.

  Gudrum and Lothar had been awake for most of the night drinking, and Jael was pleased to have some time to spend with her horse before Gudrum took him away.

  She blew out a breath, not feeling confident in their plan.

  And if Aleksander did get Tig back, how where they going to explain it to Lothar, who would undoubtedly recognise the horse after all the fuss that had been made in the square. Or would he?

  He would, Jael knew, shaking her head. Lothar was foolish but not stupid, or blind. Though it didn’t matter. They would figure something out. Aleksander just had to bring him back first.

  Tig whinnied loudly, knocking his head against hers. He thought she’d come to take him for a ride, yet all she had done was stand there feeding him treats and sniffing.

  Jael could tell that he was getting impatient and she smiled. It was never good to form an attachment to an animal, she knew, but she had. Tig had been by her side for fourteen years. He was a fighter, trained to kill. They’d been going into battle together since she was eighteen-years-old.

  He was strong. Fiery. Bad-tempered.

  Just like her.

  She couldn’t lose him to a vengeful bastard like Gudrum Killi.

  ‘You seem to be feeding my horse treats he doesn’t deserve,’ came the rasp of a voice that made Jael cringe. ‘It’s not a good habit to encourage in a beast. Softness. Thinking rewards come for no work. I prefer a well-trained horse. One who works hard and expects nothing.’ Gudrum hung over the door to Tig’s stall, an arrogant smirk puffing up his round cheeks.

  It reminded Jael of his son, Ronal, and she shivered.

  ‘I didn’t see the harm in saying goodbye,’ Jael muttered, trying to avoid those eyes that were so eagerly seeking out the pain in hers. Though perhaps it would encourage Gudrum to think that nothing was amiss if he saw how broken-hearted she was? ‘You want to deprive me of that too?’

  ‘And did you give me a chance to say goodbye to my boy? Did you stop before the final blow? Stop and think, wait, I should find Gudrum, let him come, say goodbye before I stab Ronal through the heart?’ He bit his yellow teeth together, still trying to keep that smile going, but the snarl in his voice was thick with intent now.

  Jael stepped towards him. ‘You want me to say I’m sorry, but why would I do that when I’m not sorry at all.’

  ‘Still?’ Gudrum was surprised. ‘When I’m taking your precious horse? You’re not sorry enough to beg me to stop? Plead with me to leave him behind?’ He licked his lips, running his eyes over Jael’s breasts, though there was nothing much to see there, he knew. ‘My son made a mistake. It was a boy’s mistake, and it deserved a boy’s punishment, yet you killed him for it. And now, all these years later, you’re too arrogant to admit it? You can’t admit that you were wrong? That given another chance, you’d do it differently?’

  Jael could smell fresh manure. Steaming, warm, fresh manure. She could hear men in the stables saddling their horses; someone complaining as they mucked out a stall. And she tried to think clearly, not wanting to make it all worse.

  Aleksander was right, though, she was terrible at lying.

  But not only terrible at lying, she found it impossible not to say what she really thought, even in the most precarious of situations.

  ‘I’m not sure I would,’ Jael admitted, staring Gudrum down. ‘Your son was sixteen. That’s no boy. He knew what he was doing. And he knew who he was doing it to. He fought me enough times to know what I was capable of. You know it too, which is why you’re choosing a horse over a fight. You know I’d kill you.’ She saw Gudrum flinch, bunched-up cheeks puffing up further, broken veins bright red across his crooked nose.

  Gudrum lunged forward, eyes afire. ‘You think you can make me fight you, bitch? Prove myself to you? You think I need to do that? Against you? Ha!’ He stood back, quickly getting himself under control, straightening his tunic, adjusting his swordbelt, needing to use his hands to do something other than squeeze the life out of her. ‘Your father didn’t think much of you. For all his talk, he left you with nothing but a sword. Your uncle thinks nothing of you. And no one came to support you when Ranuf died, when the throne was up for grabs, did they? No one. Not one of Ranuf’s men came to support you, so why do you think you’re so unstoppable, Jael Furyck? So powerful? So masterful? That you could defeat me? You?’

  The reminder of what had happened after her father’s death was still a fresh wound, and Jael could feel her right hand twitching, her chest a building storm, sharp pains darting in from every side. ‘How will we ever know if you’re too cowardly to find out, Gudrum? Not even to avenge your son? Not even for that?’

  Gudrum stepped back again. He could see the anger in those green eyes everyone found so mesmerising. Green eyes with just a hint of gold, he thought, as he turned and walked away.

  Eyes full of anger.

  And fear.

  He smiled, looking over his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and see your king, then I shall come for my horse. Say all the goodbyes you like, little girl, it won’t be long now.’

  Jael watched him go, gripping the hilt of her father’s sword, her heart racing. Swallowing, she turned around to Tig, hoping she hadn’t just made everything even worse.

  Orla sensed that Eadmund wanted to leave.

  He couldn’t stand still. His legs kept shaking. He blinked at her, tr
ying to keep his smile going but it wobbled, just as he was wobbling before her.

  The weather had brightened even further, and after their walk along the beach, Eirik had suggested that Eadmund show her around the fort.

  Eadmund had felt almost relaxed, at first, but though the old stone fort was not large, it was taking some time to wind their way down the small back alleys, around the rows of tiny cottages cramped so tightly together that Orla was certain the Osslanders would be able to hear their neighbour’s whispers. Nearly one thousand people were squeezed into those homes, leaving the rest of the fort to house the big hall and the even bigger square, with room for two guard towers and several stables; outbuildings, sheds and stalls, barns too.

  There was a lot to see, and Orla wasn’t unhappy with what she saw, despite the mud and her increasingly twitchy companion. ‘Would you like to go back to the hall?’ she wondered gently. ‘I could do with something to eat. I keep thinking about the whitefish your father served last night. I’ve never had it raw before. It was so tender.’ It wasn’t really true, and she would have been happy to continue on for some time. She’d never had much of an appetite, but she wanted Eadmund to relax.

  Eadmund nodded, leading the way, feeling as though he was being jabbed by hundreds of tiny icicles. He couldn’t even speak. He needed ale.

  More than anything, he needed ale.

  And then Evaine was there, eyes aflame at the sight of Eadmund with that woman. But she forced a smile, working hard to ignore him. ‘Your father was looking for you,’ she mumbled to Orla, struggling to make eye contact. ‘He sent his servants to find you.’