“We've met,” Alaric replied, clipping his words in irritation.
“But that's a tale for another time,” Mikael finished for him, then turned back to me, “What is it that you plan, mennskurð?”
Unsure of whether we were divulging our actual plans or not, I turned to Alaric.
His jaw was clenched in irritation. It reminded me of how he'd looked when he allowed James to torture me. I was beginning to realize that look was reserved for situations where he was forced to follow decorum when he really, really didn't want to.
When it became apparent that I wasn't going to get any advice, I turned back to Mikael. “We're going to start a war, and I need you to instigate the first battle.”
Mikael chuckled. “And for this task, you've chosen one of the smallest clans available?”
My mouth opened into an oh of surprise. “It was kind of a choice of convenience,” I said weakly. I glanced at Alaric again, then back to Mikael.
“Who were you hoping to start a war with?” he pressed.
I eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you being so cooperative. Just a short while ago, you were threatening to take the charm away from me.”
His slight cringe was the only sign that he had minded the exchange. “You quickly proved that it was not an option,” he explained. “The key has chosen you as its wielder, and will protect your right to it.”
“You speak like it has a mind of its own,” I accused, feeling uncomfortable in the hard, wooden chair.
He laughed so suddenly that I jumped in my seat. “Would you argue with such a claim?”
I thought back to the energy flowing through the charm, and the foreign thoughts and emotions that had raced through my head. “I guess not,” I muttered.
“We will start a war among the two largest clans of the Vaettir,” Alaric cut in, saving me from Mikael's calculating gaze.
Mikael's smile was wicked as he turned back to me with a look of excitement in his eyes. “Well then,” he replied. “This shall be very interesting indeed.”
Interesting wasn't how I'd describe it. I'd go with terrifying, sad, or maybe guilt-inducing. I'd have no qualms if Estus died in the process, but many others would die too. Innocent people with no choice but to follow orders would be sacrificed unwillingly for our cause. Now to add to everything, we were going to do it with one of the smallest clans around. If we made one wrong move, Estus or Aislin would wipe us out.
I looked around the table, doubting everything. It was obvious that Mikael didn't share my sentimentality, and I doubted Alaric or Sophie would either. Maybe James and I could cry together about it over a shared bottle of wine. Now that would be interesting.
Chapter Three
We were given rooms and food. Everyone was extremely courteous, and I didn't trust it one bit. My empath abilities allowed me to sense the confusion and fear wafting off any Vaettir who neared us. They had no idea what was going on, or why their leader was catering to the people they'd taken prisoner.
Alaric, Sophie, and James all stood in the room I'd been given, though they'd each been allotted rooms just as grand. They looked out of place in their black clothing as they stood on the royal blue and gold rug. The rest of the room was just as regal, with artfully carved, oversized furniture, colorful tapestries, and thick, cozy bedding.
I sat on said bedding, waiting for someone to tell me what we were supposed to do next, but all they could do was argue.
“Why would you have not told me that you'd met Mikael previously?” Sophie snapped as she began to stalk back and forth across the carpet. “We would have planned this whole thing differently.”
“Sophie,” Alaric replied calmly. “We didn't plan any of this. It's not like we were taken prisoner on purpose, and I had no idea that Mikael was Doyen here.”
“Well tell me how you met him, at least,” Sophie said, somewhat deflated.
Alaric glanced back at James. I could tell he was still uncomfortable with divulging information in front of him, even though James likely wouldn't think twice about any of it.
I raised my hand to speak like a kid in school. Sophie glared at me, but Alaric gestured for me to proceed.
“While I'd like to know more about Mikael, and what it means for us that his clan is so small,” I began, “what I'd most like to know, is what the hell happened to me when I used the charm? How did I know Mikael's surname?”
Sophie's glare softened into worried confusion. “I'm not sure,” she replied.
“But Mikael likely knows,” Alaric finished for her. “Not that he'll tell us.”
“Yes,” Sophie growled as her gaze turned once again to her brother, “back to Mikael.”
“Because it felt like I was possessed,” I went on, not willing to let the subject drop.
The charm began to pulse gently against the skin of my throat, like a cat purring. Feeling uneasy, I pulled the little key out from my collar to rest on top of the fabric of my shirt. It continued to pulse, but at least now the feeling was slightly dampened.
James looked at the charm like it might jump off my neck and bite him. “Maybe you should take it off,” he suggested.
“She can't take it off,” Sophie chided before I could respond. “Mikael would have taken it if he could, and I've no doubt he's still after it.”
“Now you're talking like you know him too,” I observed.
“I'm just not an idiot,” Sophie grumbled. “I saw the look on his face when you went all creepy and pulled the charm out. He wants it.”
“I'm going to bed,” James announced solemnly, obviously hurt by Sophie's reaction to his suggestion.
I started to say “good-night” but only got out a “goo-” as he stood and let himself out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
I gave Sophie a tired look. “Do you have to be so mean to him?”
“He's still James,” she argued.
“And you're still the one who made us keep him,” Alaric argued back, taking my side.
Sophie crossed her arms and looked back and forth between the two of us in irritation. With a final huff, she left the room as well without another word.
I looked to Alaric with an eyebrow raised. “Are you off to bed now too?”
His lips curled into a smile. “If you think I'm about to leave you alone with Mikael lurking around, you are sorely mistaken.”
“So how do you know him?” I asked as Alaric took a step toward me.
He stopped short and his shoulders hunched in defeat. “You just had to ask, didn't you?”
I nodded excitedly as he took a seat next to me on the bed.
“He knew my mother,” he admitted, “and he inadvertently got her killed.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “That's why you didn't want to tell Sophie?”
He nodded without looking at me. “She would have marched right out of this room to kill him.”
“But you said inadvertently,” I replied softly. “She'd kill him for an accident?”
At that, he turned his dark eyes up to regard me. “Wouldn't you want someone to pay for your mother's death, even if it had been an accident?”
I cringed, then waited for him to remember the little detail he had forgotten.
Almost immediately he cringed in return. “I'm sorry, Maddy. I forgot you never knew your mother.”
I shrugged like it didn't matter, and in many ways, it didn't. It was a pain I had dealt with long ago. “I guess I'd still probably want to avenge her . . . ”
Alaric sighed and looked back down at his lap. “I tried to avenge her, but I was rather young and stupid at the time.”
“What happened?” I prompted when he didn't continue.
He glanced at me with a rueful smile. “You're not going to let this drop, are you?”
I gave him my most innocent look. “If you don't want to talk about it . . . ” I trailed off.
He gave me a playful look that said, I know you're manipulating me, but I'm just going to go with it, then he put an arm
around my shoulders and pulled me backward. Our backs hit the bed, then I turned to nestle into the curve of his shoulder, pulling my feet up to curl against him while his legs remained dangling off the edge of the bed.
“It was during the Thirty Years War,” he began.
“So in Central Europe?” I questioned.
He patted my shoulder. “Yes, now no more interruptions.”
“I was just a child of roughly one-hundred years,” he went on.
“That's not exactly a child,” I cut in incredulously.
He playfully put a hand over my mouth, then continued, “It was a time before the Vaettir had fully withdrawn from the world, though many had started living full time within the various Salr. We would often become involved in politics to better our financial standing. As a descendant of Dolos, Mikael was an expert at such politics.”
“Dolos?” I questioned against the hand that still gently covered my mouth. The name sounded somehow familiar to me, but I couldn't remember where I'd heard it before.
“The god of deceit and treachery,” Alaric explained, finally removing his hand.
The wheels began to turn in my head, but I kept my thoughts to myself.
“It is due to Mikael's nature that he was able to remain among the humans much longer than the rest of us. He's an extremely difficult man to pin down,” he continued.
“Or so you found when you tried to avenge your mother?” I guessed, attempting to lead him back to the point of the story.
Alaric pulled me a little closer, then took a deep breath before continuing, “When Christian IV invaded Germany, Mikael was by his side. Christian IV had been a successful ruler, and had amassed a great deal of wealth for Denmark. Even so, the incursion into Germany was funded by the French Regent Cardinal Richeleau. Mikael betrayed Christian to the Germans, and the Danes were defeated.”
“And Mikael got rich?” I questioned, finding the story fascinating, but not seeing what it had to do with Alaric's mother.
“And the money was supposed to go to Mikael's Doyen,” Alaric added, “but Mikael was not fond of the idea of serving someone else. He fled, and my mother helped to cover his tracks.”
I scrunched my face in confusion as I craned my neck to look up at him. “Why would she help him?”
Alaric shrugged. “He and my father had been old friends. I think she did it because my father would have wanted her to, had he been around. My mother was blamed for her treachery, and she was beheaded.”
I gasped. I knew where the story was leading, but I hadn't expected the telling to be so . . . blunt.
“I could not stop my mother's death,” Alaric stated, voice void of emotion, “but I thought I could avenge her. I went after Mikael, and found him even. I never told Sophie, and neither did the few who knew the truth. She believes our mother died in battle. I knew Sophie would have gone after Mikael as well, but if he had bested me, he would best her as well.”
“He bested you?” I asked, slightly shocked. I'd seen Alaric fight, and I didn't think anyone stood much of a chance against him. He was an embodiment of war, fighting was an innate part of him.
Alaric sighed. “I told you, I was but a child at the time, and Mikael was many centuries old at that point, now he's positively ancient.”
My pulse raced at the very thought of someone even older than Estus, or Sivi, the frightening water elemental who wanted to kill, well . . . everyone. “Just how old?” I asked weakly.
“He was a Viking led by Ivar the Boneless in the 800s,” Alaric explained, “though I do not know when he was born.”
With that information, my heart nearly stopped. He was a 1,300 year old Viking . . . and I had forced him to kneel. How stupid could I be? Or really, how stupid could the charm be? Why on earth would it choose me when it could have an ancient Viking as its host?
“So is there a reason why he hasn't killed us all yet?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“In Greek Mythology, Dolos was an apprentice to the Titan Prometheus,” Alaric began in a lecturing tone. “He was not particularly powerful, but he was clever. While Prometheus was sculpting Veritus, a being who would influence humans to tell the truth, Dolos secretely replicated the sculpture, only he ran out of clay for the feet. Prometheus happened upon Dolos' replica, but thought it so perfect that he wanted to take credit for both statues. He fired them both in his kiln, and Dolos' statue became Mendacium, or lies, while Prometheus' became truth. In effect, Dolos created lies, and became the god of trickery and deceit.”
The explanation made my head hurt. “That doesn't tell me why Mikael hasn't killed us yet,” I groaned.
“Because you don't kill your pawns,” Alaric said coldly, “you use them to your advantage, then let your enemies kill them.”
Suddenly I felt cold. I pressed my body more firmly against Alaric's, but his warmth didn't help. It wasn't that kind of cold. “Do you think what happened with the charm was a trick? Did he willingly kneel?”
“No,” Alaric replied, “but if anyone can find a way around something as powerful as the charm, Mikael can.”
“Then why are we still here?” I whispered as I lifted my head up to look at him. “Why aren't we trying to find a way out?”
Alaric smiled wickedly, surprising me. “Because this is my chance to finally best him, and I am no longer any man's pawn.”
My eyes widened as I stared at him. Alaric might not be a pawn, but I sure was, and I'd never been very good at chess.
Chapter Four
After Alaric's little revelation, I had definitely wanted to discuss things further, yet we were interrupted by a knock on the door. We both rose to answer it, but Alaric beat me to it.
The tall blonde whose name we still hadn't learned stood framed in the doorway. She wore the same outfit she had earlier, only minus a few layers. The muscles of her bare arms flexed imposingly as she regarded us.
“The Doyen would like to invite the Executioner for a nightcap,” she announced.
Alaric feigned a hurt expression, then said, “And no invite for little old me?”
The blonde smirked. “Not quite.”
“But I imagine you'll be standing guard at the door?” Alaric asked, not seeming the least bit worried.
The blonde answered with a curt nod.
Alaric smiled. “Then so will I.”
The blonde glared, then turned on her heel and walked away, obviously expecting us to follow.
Alaric followed her, and after standing shocked for a moment longer, I hustled to catch up to his side.
“I don't want to be alone with him,” I whispered. “What happened to not being a pawn?”
Alaric smiled wide enough to flash fangs, but kept his eyes on the blonde's back. “It is a game, Madeline,” he replied. “He will not openly confront you yet. He's simply testing the waters.”
“I'm not good at games,” I whispered as I quickened my pace to keep up.
“The mouse doesn't need to be good at games,” he replied, “because she has a cat to protect her.”
“I'm not a mouse!” I protested.
“It's good to be a mouse,” he said almost cheerfully. “You can scurry out of harm's way.” He stopped suddenly and looked at me squarely. “And that's exactly what I expect you to do.”
He waited for me to nod, then continued walking to catch up to the blonde. She'd led us to the door of the comfortable sitting room that was attached to the throne room, then held the door open for me. I walked through, feeling vulnerable and nervous. Alaric gave me a nod of reassurance, then the blonde shut the door behind me.
I hesitated near the entrance, but the room appeared empty, so I took a step further in. There was a fire crackling happily within the stone fireplace that was the centerpiece for the seating arrangement. I walked toward the fire and reached out a tentative hand to touch the velvety fabric of the cushy, burgundy couch.
A hand suddenly alighted on my shoulder and I froze. Pulse thudding in my throat, I slowly turned my head
to see Mikael, standing slightly off to the left behind me.
He'd exchanged his regal attire for silken pants and a smoking jacket. The outfit looked just as strange to me as the robe he'd worn earlier, but at least he looked more comfortable. I envied his comfort, because I was anything but.
He let his hand drop and walked past me toward the fire, taking the cushy chair closest to the heat and crossing his legs casually. One bare foot bobbed in the air as he turned his deep honey brown gaze to me.
I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat. “I wasn't aware that this was such a . . . casual meeting.”
“Having a night cap is usually a more intimate event,” he replied as he gestured for me to sit. His face remained impassive, so I couldn't tell if he was hitting on me, or if he'd used the word intimate in a more casual way.
Erring on the side of caution, I walked around the arm of the large couch and sat on the side farthest from Mikael. Doing my best to avoid his too-intense eyes, I looked around the room. Everything was done in burgundy and other dark tones, and reminded me of something out of the late twenties.
I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and whipped my head toward Mikael, suspicious of anything he might be doing while I was distracted. Instead of lifting some previously hidden weapon to kill me, he lifted a bottle of bourbon from a drink table beside his chair. In his other hand he balanced two glasses, each of which he filled effortlessly while his eyes remained on me.
He placed the bottle back on the table, took one glass in his now free hand, then held out the other glass toward me.
“No thanks,” I mumbled, looking at the amber liquid like it might jump across the room to burn my skin off.
Mikael rolled his eyes at me. “This is kind of the whole point of a nightcap, and I poured both drinks from the same bottle, so I'm not trying to poison you.”
I let my eyes linger on the glass, unsure of what I should do, then looked back at him. Alaric had said Mikael was just testing the waters, but still . . . “You could have poisoned the glass itself,” I offered.
He rolled his eyes again, then retracted the offered glass only to then hold out his own. Out of a desire to get the strange situation over with, I stood and moved toward him to take the glass. He rose as I reached him, then pulled the glass close to his chest.
Rock, Paper, Shivers: Act Six and Seven (Bitter Ashes Book 4) Page 3