by A. E. Rayne
Gisila rinsed her mouth with wine and dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin, resisting the urge to vomit all over her plate. ‘Well, yes, you are right, of course. It would have been nice to have my mother here, and even my sister, if she were well enough, but as you say, we can make up for it in the spring.’ She glanced quickly at Lothar, avoiding Axl’s eyes, which she could tell, were desperately seeking her own.
‘Exactly!’ Lothar belched triumphantly. ‘Which is why you and I will be such a perfect match. Our two heads already think as one, don’t they?’ And he leaned forward and touched his lank, black curls to the side of her head.
Gisila froze, blinking tears away as she caught Gant’s eye. He gave her the smallest of reassuring smiles, but Gisila was too filled with panic and despair to notice. Five more days and it would be her wedding night.
She wanted to die.
Thorgils could barely keep his eyes open; the silence was sleep inducing.
Biddy had gone back to the house to make something for their evening meal, and Eadmund was quieter than falling snow behind him. He sat, hunched over the fire, wishing the flames were warmer and that his roughly-hewn stool was a large, soft bed, complete with Isaura and a stack of thick furs. He sighed forlornly, closing his eyes, remembering her eyes, and breathing in the thick wood smoke that was being blown back down the hole by the angry wind.
The door creaked open, and he jerked himself awake. Jael stood there, looking even worse than when she’d left.
Thorgils blinked. ‘Couldn’t sleep much?’
Jael grumbled and rushed towards the fire, her face as weary as his. ‘I didn’t sleep. I went riding.’ She ripped off her wet gloves and stuck her numb fingers near the flames.
‘Well, I’m not sure that was the best idea.’
‘Blame Ivaar,’ Jael yawned as she sat down, tugging on her wet boots, which were difficult to budge, much like her foul, Ivaar-tainted mood. ‘He came along again, just as I was about to go into the house, as he always seems to do.’
‘Oh, really?’ Thorgils looked unimpressed as he stood up. ‘Did he try for another kiss?’
Jael shook her head and beckoned him closer.
Thorgils frowned as he crept over. ‘What?’ he whispered, glancing around curiously.
‘Tiras has been creeping about outside apparently, telling tales to Ivaar.’
‘Oh, has he now?’ Thorgils murmured, his red mop of hair shaking about irritably. ‘Well, he does keep good company, that one. First Tarak, now Tiras. A trio of turds.’
‘So, we have to be very quiet in here,’ Jael warned him. ‘Ivaar thinks I have turned against him since I am holed up in here with Eadmund.’
‘Well, bad luck for him. I hope he cries himself to sleep tonight,’ Thorgils snorted unsympathetically, scratching his chin. ‘Perhaps I should lay a trap behind the cottage, just underneath the snow? We’ll know if someone’s crawling about then.’
Jael smiled for the first time in a while. ‘More likely one of us will stumble upon it, half asleep, and end up with one less foot!’ She rubbed her eyes, nodding towards the bed. ‘How is he?’
Thorgils sighed sadly as he wrapped his cloak around his large frame; its thick, brown fur made him look like a red-headed bear. ‘He’s the same. Not a move, nor a sound. Nothing at all.’
‘Well, we have no choice but to wait.’
‘Mmmm, we can’t do anything else, I suppose. Although,’ he mumbled, ‘I was wondering if we should tell Eirik? What if this is it? What if he doesn’t wake up?’
‘Of course he’ll wake up!’ Jael insisted. ‘He will. The tincture is going to help him. I’m sure it is helping him... healing him.’
‘By putting him to sleep?’ Thorgils asked doubtfully. ‘How can that possibly help him? Eadmund needs to be awake. He needs to live again, not lie about like a corpse. This is not helping him, Jael.’
Jael nibbled her lip anxiously. She didn’t want to think he was right. She didn’t want to believe that Edela could have been wrong about the tincture. They had all seen that she was supposed to save him. But how could she do that when he was just lying there asleep? What could she possibly do?
He watched them, again.
They wandered away towards a place he had never been. It was their secret place, just over the hill, into the small, dark grove of trees. He heard Ivaar whisper that to her as he bent his face close to her ear, his lips brushing against that place on her neck that always made her purr like a cat. Ivaar smiled then; he must have heard her soft, sweet sound. He turned around and stared straight at Eadmund, and the smile on his face was so satisfied that Eadmund wanted to run at him, as much as he wanted to run in the opposite direction.
He was trapped here, in these dreams, but they were more like nightmares; seven-year-old nightmares. So many of them new, and every one of them torture. He was desperate not to see anymore, to be forced to watch the illusions he had spent seven years holding onto, crumble into dust before his eyes.
Melaena loved Ivaar. Not him. Was that real? Was this dream Ivaar’s evilest plan so far? He didn’t think so, as desperate as he was to believe that it was all his brother’s well-crafted lie. It felt too real. Melaena felt too real. He had watched them together, as they kissed and rushed at each other’s bodies with urgency; heard the way they laughed at him with such scorn and pity. Her father had forced her to choose Eadmund because he was to be King of Oss, she told Ivaar. Eadmund shook his head; if only her father had been able to see into the future.
He wanted to scream as he watched them disappear over the hill, holding hands, Melaena’s head on Ivaar’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, and at last, there was darkness; cold, soothing darkness. He would stay here, he decided, in this place where nothing existed, where nothing was real or false, just this blissful, perfect emptiness. There was nothing to see here, and for a moment, he was at peace.
‘Eadmund!’
His eyes flew open; his head jerked back. She was standing there before him, in her wedding dress. Eadmund blinked; his chest felt so tight. That dress. Her dark brown curls fell over slender shoulders, over the bright green of that dress. It was perfect, and so was she, in the warm glow of the fire. He couldn’t help but smile, as sad as he was, as angry as he wanted to feel. Then he saw the tightness in her eyes; he’d never noticed that before. Her lips were turned upwards as though she was smiling at him, but was she really? He blinked again and saw that her eyes were not soft, nor happy, not really.
‘Eadmund, what is it? You’re looking straight through me,’ Melaena laughed, turning around to pick up her goblet. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’
What did he say? She was about to die. What did he say? The poison was moments from her lips, and he stood frozen before her, doubting every single thing she had ever said to him; every look, every kiss, every moment they had shared when she was wishing she was with Ivaar instead. But still, he should stop her, shouldn’t he? Warn her? Something! ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, his voice a nothing echo inside his head.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now go and get your goblet because this is my father’s most special wine, which he saved for our wedding night. I want you to have the first taste.’
He frowned and slowly turned around. His glass was waiting on a small table next to his side of the bed. Was that going to be his side of the bed, he wondered? If he stopped her, maybe; stopped her drinking that wine, but he didn’t, not yet. He knew she was waiting for him. He remembered how it went.
Thunder boomed above their heads, and Melaena jumped, giggling nervously, nearly spilling the wine, but she didn’t, not yet. Not until she was falling to the ground would she spill it; all over her perfect wedding dress, all over the snow-white furs that lay beneath their feet. They would be burned, along with her stiff little body, wrapped in that perfect dress. But not yet, not until she drank that wine.
Eadmund came back to her, stood in front of her, raised his goblet up to hers and watched as she smiled again. She lifted her goble
t to her mouth.
Eadmund gulped, his heart beating so loudly inside his ears that it was all he could hear. The goblet was on her lips, and his mouth hung open, waiting, his breath shallow, so slow...
‘Wait!’
She stopped and stared at him.
‘I don’t want you to die,’ he rasped, his breath so ragged, tears burning his eyes. ‘I don’t want you to die,’ he sobbed. ‘Please, please don’t drink that wine, Melaena. Please...’
When Eadmund looked up she was gone, and he was all alone in the dark, outside, ice under his boots. He felt unsteady, his breath smoking out in front of him in quick, urgent puffs. And then he saw Jael walk out of the hall. He remembered this. He started walking quickly towards her, desperate to stop her before she bumped into Tarak; before Tarak pushed her over. He’d get there in time, he was certain of it. But just before he was upon her, he watched her walk straight into... Ivaar.
Eadmund stopped. Jael smiled at Ivaar, placing her hand on his arm, on his shoulder, on his neck, curling his face down towards hers, kissing him passionately. Ivaar reached around with his arm and pulled Jael into him, kissing her back, not stopping. Eadmund turned around to leave, desperate to escape, but the ice was slippery, and he fell and hit his head, so hard that it started ringing. And in the background, he could hear Ivaar’s laughter echoing with the pain as it spun and danced, around and around, inside his head.
44
Eirik was ready to stop being nice.
He’d listened, for three interminable days, to Isaura prattling on about Vesta. She had ideas, more than he could have anticipated, but at every turn, she came to seek his approval. He’d quickly grown sick of the sight of her and dreaded watching as she tiptoed nervously towards him, grizzling toddler permanently attached to her hip. He’d done his best not to let his eyes roll and his throat growl, but now he’d simply run out of patience. ‘Isaura!’ he bellowed, standing up and stalking towards her as she mumbled at him. ‘That’s enough!’
Isaura looked mortified, quickly backing away. Mads burst into tears of terror, and the entire hall, which had fallen silent, echoed with his distressing wail. She didn’t know what to say; her mouth gaped open, but no words would come out.
Eirik took a deep breath as he approached the shrinking woman. ‘I know you are trying to help and you have so many ideas,’ he said as calmly as he could manage, trying to make himself heard over his grandson’s noise. ‘But I simply don’t care about any of them! You organised your own Vesta for many years so please, please stop asking me to decide everything! To pick every song, every dish! I simply do not care enough to waste my breath on it! I leave it all up to you. All of it!’ And he harrumphed past her, past all the wide-eyed, shocked faces, and headed out of the hall, desperate to escape them all.
Isaura didn’t move. She knew she needed to try and soothe the horrible noise coming out of Mads, but she was simply too stunned to even to turn her head in his direction. She felt as though she had just been slapped in the face, in front of everyone, and her cheeks burned with the shame of it.
‘Isaura,’ Eydis said beside her. ‘Give him this.’ She held out a filthy looking cloth that Mads loved to suck on.
Isaura blinked and took the cloth, which Mads quickly snatched out of her hand and stuck in his mouth. The sound of quiet sucking was welcome, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move.
‘Come,’ Eydis said gently. ‘Come and sit down, and you can tell me all about your ideas and I can help. We can make plans together.’
Isaura attempted a smile and followed Eydis to the closest table by the fire, where Ayla was sitting. She looked crossly at the dark-haired woman, not wanting her company, but Eydis had already sat down, and she didn’t see she had much choice.
‘Hello, Eydis, Isaura,’ Ayla breathed softly.
Eydis jumped. She hadn’t heard or felt Ayla come into the hall; she wouldn’t have sat down if she had known she was there. Eydis had managed to avoid the dreamer since their first meeting, but she didn’t appear to have any choice now. At least Isaura was here, and they were in the very public hall.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ayla smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’
Isaura had started to wake up from her shock now and noticed how uncomfortable Eydis looked around Ayla; she didn’t blame her. She could see what Ivaar found so useful and interesting about the woman, but didn’t believe it had anything to do with her dreams. ‘If you don’t wish to scare people, it would be best not to sneak about so quietly, especially when you’re approaching a blind girl,’ Isaura grumbled.
Ayla looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I simply didn’t know what to say in the middle of all that noise.’
Now it was Isaura’s turn to look embarrassed. She turned her reddening face away and ran a hand through her son’s fine, blonde hair. ‘Well, I imagine the king has much on his mind, but perhaps you would know more about that than me?’
‘He does,’ Eydis interrupted, hoping to cool Isaura’s ire. ‘He doesn’t have Morac around to help him, and he’s worried about so many things,’ she sighed sadly. ‘But I’m sorry he was so rude to you.’
‘What’s happened to Morac?’ Isaura wondered, not wishing to dwell on her humiliation any longer.
‘I’m not sure, but they must have had a very bad disagreement, for I have not seen him in weeks. I can tell Father misses him, but I think he’s just too proud to say.’
Ayla frowned. That was a name she had heard in her dreams lately. Morac. She closed her eyes, trying to find him lurking in the depths of her memories, but he was hiding out of sight. She held onto the name, though, and tucked it away, reminding herself that she must think on him later. That name gave her an intense feeling, and it was not a good one.
‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Eirik!’ Runa looked mortified as she ushered him inside. ‘I forgot that I’d sent Respa on an errand and that there was nobody here but me.’
Eirik frowned as he peered around the elaborately decorated room. It was a very warm, comfortable house, he noted; Morac had certainly done well for himself out of his position in his hall. ‘Morac is not here?’ he asked shortly, ignoring Runa’s attempts to offer him a seat.
‘Ahhh, no.’ She looked down at the floor and then away to the door, anywhere but at his face. ‘He has gone to visit Evaine.’
Eirik’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh. Has he now?’ He was instantly irritated. ‘Just a visit is it?’
‘Yes.’ Runa had known she would have to face Eirik’s wrath eventually, and as awkward as it was, it was worth it to have been left behind. ‘He was worried about her, leaving her with Morana like that. You know what she can be like.’
Eirik jerked at the mention of that name. ‘I do, indeed,’ he murmured, trying to keep his temper under control. ‘And when do you expect him back then?’
Runa’s face froze. ‘I.... I am not sure. He wasn’t happy when he left. He was upset. I don’t imagine he will be away too long, but truthfully, I don’t know.’
‘I see.’
‘Can I offer you something to drink? Some wine or ale?’ Runa said lightly; she could barely meet his eye.
‘No, it was only Morac I came to see.’ Eirik shook his head briskly, annoyance flaring in his eyes. ‘I really must go and attend to matters in the hall. Vesta is only a few days away, and there is much to do. I had thought perhaps Morac would be here to help, but no, it appears he has more important matters to attend to than those of his king.’ And with one quick look at Runa’s nervous face, he turned and made his way out through the door, closing it sharply behind himself.
Runa couldn’t move. She was relieved that it was over but worried to think what it all would mean in the end. Eirik was not going to welcome Morac back with open arms, if, or when, he did decide to return.
Isaura had left to deal with a bleeding knee, and Ayla was pleased to have Eydis to herself. She knew Isaura disliked her, and that her presence would only enhance Eydis’ distrust. As
much as she wanted to leave the girl alone, she knew that Ivaar would demand to know if she had spoken to her.
‘I am sorry about the other day, Eydis,’ Ayla said softly, sliding closer. There weren’t many left in the hall now, and most were far away but still...
‘Did Jael speak to you?’ Eydis wondered. She hadn’t seen Jael for days but was hoping she’d done as she’d promised.
‘Jael?’
Eydis’ face fell. She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘You needn’t worry about me, you know,’ Ayla tried to reassure her. ‘I don’t mean you any harm. I went about our first meeting all wrong. I shouldn’t have led you away like that. I frightened you when I was only trying to befriend you.’
‘Why?’ Eydis turned towards her crossly. ‘Because Ivaar wants you to?’
Ayla couldn’t blame her for that. She looked around quickly but saw no sign of Ivaar. ‘He wants me to get to know as many people as I can, yes. He needs to know who will be loyal to him when he is king.’
Eydis’ milky eyes were troubled. She hated to think about what was coming; hated the thought that Ivaar was at the centre of it all. ‘I’m not sure he really cares about whether I’m loyal, does he? I’m just a child. Why should I matter to him? Besides, you don’t need to talk to me to find out. Surely you can see everything in your dreams?’
Ayla smiled gently at the fierce face before her. ‘Yes, I suppose I could, but I’m sure you know that dreams don’t always answer the questions you have. Sometimes they can just be a confusing mess of even more questions.’
Eydis picked at the well-worn grooves in the table. There was so much she wanted to know and learn, and here was someone who could finally help her; the closest she was going to get to any lessons in mastering her dreams. But still, Ayla was loyal to Ivaar, and there was no way Eydis could trust her.