“Why wouldn't he be able to?” Daegal asked.
“Because if she is his soulmate, he has protective instincts for her,” Calder said from his position on the floor—but he was sitting up now, at least, and looking less like death. “Those instincts would stop him from taking too much of her energy.”
“Then wouldn't they stop him from shredding her soul?” Daegal asked.
“He won't realize he's condemning me to the void by doing so,” Eir said, shaking her head. “He must believe he no longer has a soul—he hasn't cared about anyone or anything for ages now, I don't think.” Her face twisted. “He certainly doesn't care about me anymore, not in the way that he used to. As far as he's concerned, it's entirely possible for my body to continue living even after he has broken our soul-bond and sent my soul to the abyss.”
“It seems like too much of a gamble,” Calder said, shaking his head. “There must be some other way.”
“There isn't,” Eir said, standing and waving off Daegal's hand. “I will return to Brynarr this afternoon. Next time you see me, I hope it'll mean that Brynarr is no more.” When Daegal looked as though he might protest, she held up a hand to stop him. And she was no longer the unassuming Frida; Eir had always had the charisma and charm necessary to really command a room. It was part of what had brought her together—and part of it, of course, had been learnt from watching Brynarr through all those years.
“I won't let you any of you stop me,” she said, looking around the room and making eye contact with each person there. “As you said before, Daegal—it was always for me to destroy Brynarr in the end. And this is how I am going to do it.”
Without another word, she turned and walked from the room, her head held high.
Chapter 21
For all her bravado, though, walking back into Brynarr's camp was nerve-wracking, to say the least. She swallowed hard, trying her best to ignore the looks the soldiers were giving her. None of them recognized her, of course: they had known Frida, not Eir. And although they were essentially the same person—with two different appearances and souls that had somehow become twin to one another—they could not recognize her as Frida.
But Brynarr had never seen her as Frida; to him, she had always been Eir.
She stopped in front of him, where he stood just outside his tent waiting for her. And she dropped to her knees, tears cascading down her cheeks. “Brynarr,” she sobbed, hugging her arms around herself. “Please, Brynarr, I need–”
“Get up,” he hissed, seeing the audience around them. He grabbed her arm and dragged her into his tent, yanking the flap closed behind him. “How did you manage this transformation?” he asked, shaking her a little.
The tears—fake tears, but he wouldn't know the difference—kept falling down her face. “I don't know,” she said. “I thought you had something to do with it.”
Brynarr's eyes became guarded at that. “Why have you come back?” he asked. “You must know–”
“Please, Brynarr. You can have all my magic. You can have everything. I just want to go back to how we used to be—I want to go back to the days when I was lucky enough to stand by your side. When this was our tent and our army. When you were mine and I was yours.”
Brynarr stared at her for a long moment, seeming as though he were contemplating whether she was telling the truth. “I don't believe you,” he finally said—but that didn't surprise her. “You were nearly dead when you left here before; you would have to have a better reason than that to come back here.” He sneered at her. “What is it, do you think that you can kill me?” he asked. He caught her arm in a bruising grip, leaning in close. “There's no way for you to prevent me from coming back and finishing what I started.”
“I've missed you,” Eir insisted. “And despite–”
“Don't lie to me!” Brynarr snarled, throwing her across the tent.
Eir stumbled but managed to keep her feet, holding out her hands in a calming gesture. “I know how you can harness more of my power,” she said. “And I know that no matter where I go, you're always going to find me. So instead of making things worse for myself—because I would like to live, believe it or not—I want you to try this. Please. At least hear me out.”
Brynarr was silent for a long moment. “What is it?” he asked.
“You no longer have a soul,” Eir pointed out, hoping he wouldn't catch her in that lie. “And if you shredded mine as well, we would lose our soul-bond. Neither of us could be bonded to the other, because there would be nothing to form that bond.”
Brynarr sneered at her. “And if I lost our soul-bond, you could disappear forever, without me knowing.”
“I wouldn't,” Eir said. “I don't think that I'd be able to. You'd still manage to find me. You always do.” She shook her head. “But without the soul-bond, you would be able to take as much of my energy as you wanted—there would be nothing there to check you. Of course, you wouldn't want to kill me, but–”
“Even if I was willing to go along with this, how am I meant to shred your soul?” Brynarr asked. “That can't be possible.”
“It is,” Eir said. “The... people who rescued me showed me how. It's very similar to when you were teaching me magic and you used me as a vessel. You just have to find the essence of that vessel and... yank at it, I suppose.”
“Why don't you shred your own soul?” Brynarr asked her.
“Because my magic belongs to you, sir,” she said, simpering a little. As though that might help her out…
To her surprise, Brynarr was nodding. “That may work,” he agreed. He grinned at her, his teeth menacing in the flickering orbs of magic scattered around the tent. “Imagine how we will look beside one another, darling, when we match. Two soulless monsters, with our army of ktherii. No one would ever dare to fight us.”
“Your father will be so happy to see us united again,” Eir said, playing on one last bit of his reason.
Sure enough, Brynarr looked thoughtful at that. “Yes, he will be happy,” he agreed. He smiled wider. “Perhaps when the first kingdom is won over to Kjota, we can visit him again.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Eir agreed, even though she hoped things never went even nearly that far.
“How should we do this?” Brynarr asked, tilting his head to the side as he considered her. “I assume that you will probably want to be comfortable.”
“Yes,” Eir agreed, moving to sit cross-legged on what had once been her bedroll. But the only way she was ever going to get through this was by reminding herself over and over again, inside of her head, that this was no longer her home, that he was no longer her husband, that this was no longer her life. To be honest, this hadn't been her life in decades now. She was over this.
Brynarr sat cross-legged in front of her, also on her bedroll, and she had a momentary flashback to when he had first taught her to use her magic.
Her first attempt to summon flames to her hand had been nearly disastrous. She had tried feeling for her energy and trying to channel it into fire, just as Brynarr had said. Instead of lighting a flame in the palm of her hand, however, all the torches in the room had exploded in a sparkle of flashing energy.
“No, no, no,” Brynarr said, laughing and catching her hands again. “Like this, watch.” And suddenly, she could feel him using her, guiding her magic, and she could see the careful steps he took in creating that fire and keeping it tame there in the palms of her hands. “Just like that,” he said.
Eir bit her lip to hide a smile at the contact—at the way her thin hands felt against his warm, soft, strong hands. She made a little face at the loss of contact as Brynarr pulled his hands away—but she assumed he would think that she was just concentrating on creating a fire of her own.
Moments later, that purple flame sprang to life in her palms, and she was treated to Brynarr's boyishly delighted face and his applause. “That's perfect,” he enthused. “I'm so proud of you—you're going to pick this up so fast. Now, let's try...”
She
shook her head, trying her best to forget that memory. That wasn't what this was, not by a long stretch. Brynarr caught her hands, though, and closed his eyes—and suddenly she could feel him there, touching her soul.
She felt the moment when he tried to tear it, and she watched his eyes fly open with shock, as though he couldn't quite believe it. But she could practically see his energy unwinding from around him, snapping back into the framework of the universe. And she could see, for a moment, a flicker of humanity in his eyes just before they went utterly blank.
A mournful keen burbled in her throat as it felt as though her own soul was split in two—no doubt the feeling of the soul-bond breaking. The pain was excruciating, but it was almost the same pain that she felt each time Brynarr stole more of her magic. That was a pain that she was used to by now.
She leaned forwards and touched Brynarr's cheek one last time, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead—because she had loved him, once. Then, she lay him out on her bedroll, making it look as though he were merely asleep. She wished she had some sort of memento to leave with him. She wished he had some sort of memento that she could take with her—some piece of him that she could always keep close to her heart.
Whatever had happened between them, she had loved him, once.
She straightened and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, she squared her shoulders and walked out of the tent and out through the encampment.
She knew she should stick around and help the soldiers remember why they were there and what they were doing. Now that Brynarr was gone, any magic that he had done would be sucked into the void as well. This meant that all those soldiers who had been coerced into coming here would suddenly wake up and wonder why they were there, why they weren't back home with their families.
But Eir didn't have it in her to help them.
She was stopped on the very edge of the encampment by Perig, who nodded at her, seeming to understand who she was, unlike everyone else. “Good job,” he told her.
Eir stared at him for a long moment and then nodded at him as well. “Take care of the men,” she told him. “There are many who will be confused.”
Perig nodded and gave her a mock sort of salute. “Safe journey,” he told her. “Wherever that journey might take you.”
“We'll meet again, I'm sure,” Eir said, something in her gut telling her that it was true.
Perig smiled but didn't respond to that. Eir gave him one more long look and turned her feet back towards where she was meant to meet Daegal again.
Chapter 22
Eir groaned as yet another petitioner strode up the runner towards the dais. She had agreed to be part of the council until they were able to find someone more suited to the seat, but unsurprisingly, no one from the north of Kjota really wanted to relocate down to Trandinga to live in the new capital. People from the far north of the country were typically farmers and craftsmen; they weren't politicians, and they had little interest in the court.
She should never have agreed to this. Finally—finally—it seemed that they had heard all the complaints that they were going to hear for the day. She breathed a sigh of relief and was one of the first ones to stand up to leave the room.
But just as they were about to leave, another person came in the large doors at the end of the hall and began walking up the runner.
Eir nearly groaned again, until she realized that she recognized the man. “Calder!” she cried, running around the table and down the runner so she could fling herself at the man. Ever since she had saved his life, they had become almost like brother and sister—and she imagined it likely had something to do with the fact that she had saved his life by infusing his body with a large amount of her personal magic. Their lives were intertwined in a way that rarely happened.
“I didn't know you were coming,” she said to the man, pushing playfully at his shoulder.
He cleared his throat, though, his face looking grim, and gave a pointed look towards the council. “I came with business to petition the council about,” he said, not looking directly at her.
Eir wilted a little and returned silently to her seat. She couldn't imagine what reason Calder would have to show up unannounced to petition the council—she only hoped that nothing bad had happened.
“Ladies and Lords,” Calder said formally, folding his arms behind his back. “I have a matter of great importance that I would like to bring before you today. As you know, my people—the people of the north, and the people of the caves—are sorcerers.” A few of the councillors shifted uneasily, and he grinned, as though he had expected as much. “Now, I know that makes many of you uncomfortable. But I would just like to remind you all of the good things that sorcerers have done for this kingdom in the aftermath of...”
For the first time, his eyes strayed towards Eir's, and he looked guilty, as though he thought saying Brynarr's name might be too much for her to hear. She smiled and stood up. “I'm sure that what Calder is trying to say is that you, Eindride Eiriksson, should remember your neighborhood healer who miraculously saved your son when he had that awful plague last winter. And you, Kjeld Lantrysdottir, should remember the sorcerer who helped you raise your barn again despite the fact that all the men in your village were away at war. And you, Tarben Asgersson, should remember the sorcerer who–”
“We understand your point,” Asmund interrupted her, smiling a little. “Though many of us are still leery of sorcerers in the aftermath of Brynarr Vargsson, there's no denying that there is some magic that can be useful.”
“And that is why I would like to petition the council, on behalf of all the sorcerers in this land,” Calder said, “to open a school of magic here in the capital city of Trandinga.”
There was silence for a long moment. Even Eir was stunned. Not that she didn't think it was a good idea, but she wasn't sure that now was the right time to be asking such a thing, not when the wounds from Brynarr Vargsson were still fresh in everyone's minds.
But then again, those wounds were probably deepest in her own mind. She still carried around a cold, aching feeling in her chest that never seemed to go away—and she assumed she would carry this reminder of her lost soulmate for the rest of her time in this world.
“Why should the school be here in the capital city?” one of the councillors asked, frowning at Calder. “It seems as though it would be safer for all of us if you had your school up in your caves, amongst your people.”
“Our people won't be living in caves forever,” Calder argued. “Already, many sorcerers are beginning to move back into civilization—as has been approved by this very council. And think about it: if we kept the school here in Trandinga, you would be able to keep an eye on it—and make sure that you approved of the curriculum. Plus, it would allow for more familiarity with magic for many of Kjota's citizens, something which I believe is sorely needed so that we can put the fears of Brynarr and the wars behind us.”
There was another long silence in the hall. “Who would teach at this school?” Eir asked. “And how would the teachers be paid?”
“We haven't fleshed out all the details yet,” Calder cautioned, a response that Eir approved of—it made it look as though they were giving the council the first possible veto before they even finished their own discussions of it. “However, in terms of teachers—whoever was willing to teach. They might not make much money at first—they might not make any money at all; that's to be determined. But if they were willing to teach, that would be...” Calder trailed off with a shrug.
“I personally like the idea,” Asmund said. He shrugged at the rest of the councillors. “Or at any rate, I don't see any reason to object. In fact, it could make sorcery safer around our cities because students would learn from a young age how to properly use their powers, rather than... experimenting.”
“That's an excellent point, and another one that we considered,” Calder said. He paused, looking around and making eye contact with each councillor individually. “I don't need your ans
wer today—I'll be in town all week. And I understand that many of you would like time to think this over and to discuss it. If you have any more questions about it, don't hesitate to ask me. Otherwise, I will return later in the week for your decision.”
“Very well,” Tarben said, standing up. “I vote to adjourn for the day”–he grinned–“regardless of who walks in the door next!”
There was a collective laugh around the table and councillors began filing out.
Eir chased after Calder and caught him just outside the door. “That was brilliant,” she said to him. “I didn't even know something like that was in the planning stages. Do you think they're likely to approve the plan?”
Calder grinned at her. “You weren't told about this because no one trusted you to keep your mouth shut about it,” he said. “Although given the little speech that you gave, I wonder whether it wouldn't have been better for you to be the one presenting the idea to them!”
Eir blushed a little. “It's exciting,” she said defensively.
“I'm sure you'll be one of the first people tapped for a teaching position,” Calder said. “Gods know that you've been coming up with some very interesting practical uses for magic lately.”
Eir smiled. “Well, someone has to do it. If we're going to get magic reintroduced to society–”
“I know, I know,” Calder said, waving away the rest of what she was saying—he had heard it a thousand times. “Tell me, how is Daegal?”
Eir ducked her head a little, shrugging and staring down towards the ground. “I don't know,” she mumbled.
Calder raised an eyebrow at her. “You don't know?” he asked, sounding surprised. “Is he not in Trandinga at the moment? Last I heard he had moved into an apartment here in the castle.”
“He did,” Eir said, shrugging a little. “But I haven't really talked to him lately.”
“Why not?” Calder asked. “Did the two of you have a fight?”
Seduction of the Bear (Bear Kamp Book 1) Page 24