by Kim Wilkins
‘Are you mad? Why would you want to do that? We could go home tomorrow.’
‘Don’t try to convince me otherwise, Ivy. I’ve made up my mind and I’m going to ask her. No, I’m going to tell her. I have to go with Father. Maava wants me to.’
Ivy stopped and pulled Willow to a halt with a firm hand around her wrist. ‘No. No, no, no. You cannot, you cannot mention your trimartyr nonsense to Bluebell.’
Willow set her chin. How she despised it when Ivy called her faith ‘nonsense’, as though she were as flighty and inconstant as Ivy herself. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not? Because trimartyrs don’t believe in queens. And Bluebell rather fancies she’ll be one.’
‘I can hardly choose to believe some of Maava’s truths and not others.’
‘Your head is made of wood. The moment you mention it she’ll stop listening to you.’
A few feet away, the door to the infirmary swung outwards. Bluebell’s shadow proceeded her, indistinct against the flickering lamplight. Willow caught her breath, then hated herself for being afraid of her older sister. Whoever stood in Maava’s righteous truth had no need to fear.
Willow hurried forwards as Bluebell shut the infirmary door behind her and slid across a bolt. ‘Sister, I would speak with you.’
Bluebell looked up. ‘What is it? I’m busy.’
‘Tomorrow. You’ve said you leave at dawn. I want to come with you.’
‘No.’
‘You can’t say no. Æthlric is my father too. I want to be with him.’
‘Why?’
Willow’s heart stammered, but she forced her voice to be smooth and strong. ‘Because he may die. Why should three of his daughters travel with him while the other two wait and hope? Would you be content to wait and hope?’
Bluebell tilted her head to one side, her eyes narrowed. Willow could tell she was struggling with saying no. Bluebell was nothing if not loyal to the idea of family.
‘I could be of use to you. You, Rose and Ash will need help on the journey.’
‘We won’t need help. Sighere and Heath are coming,’ Bluebell said.
‘Heath is going?’ Ivy squeaked.
Willow ignored her. ‘Heath is not even a member of this family!’
‘He is your sister’s nephew, and he can wield a sword a mite better than either of you.’
Ivy piped up loudly. ‘We should be allowed to come. If you say no, we will simply follow you.’
Willow turned and looked at Ivy curiously.
Bluebell pressed the heel of her hand into her forehead. ‘Find your own horses, pack everything you need, don’t ask me to stop and rest along the way and keep your eyes open for danger. I can probably use you somehow. And it goes without saying you don’t tell anyone what’s going on.’
A muffled voice from within the infirmary. ‘Bluebell!’
‘Coming, Dunstan,’ she called through the door. She sized up her youngest sisters. ‘Don’t fuck up or I’ll send you home.’
‘We won’t fuck up,’ Ivy said, clearly relishing the curse.
‘We will do the right thing,’ Willow said, as Bluebell wrenched open the door and went back inside.
Willow turned to Ivy. ‘Why did you change your mind?’
‘Heath.’
‘I thought you wanted to marry William Dartwood?’
Ivy snorted. ‘I don’t want to marry anyone. Although ...’ Ivy pushed her lip out, thinking. ‘Heath would be rather a good match.’
Willow fished the neck chain out of her dress and pressed the triangle against her lips. Never mind her heathen sisters, she was doing Maava’s work. She was sure she felt his favour turn to her and, despite the cool misty evening, it was like sunlight on her bones.
Bluebell watched Dunstan as he hammered the last of the nails into the shutter.
‘No way out?’ she said.
‘She’d have to pull these out with her teeth.’
‘The door?’
‘You saw the bolt.’
‘But you’ll need a lock. So no do-gooder comes along and —’
‘The smithy has made you a box padlock. He’ll bring it up tonight.’
Bluebell pushed her long hair off her neck and tied it in a knot, glancing around the room. She and Dunstan had spent today making it into a prison. A comfortable one, but a prison nonetheless. The comfort was a concession to her sisters’ opinions, even though she hadn’t mentioned to them her plans for Gudrun. She’d intended to lock her stepmother up in here with Osred, but Osred had disappeared earlier that day. Bluebell couldn’t help but see it as confirmation of guilt and had sent six men off to try to catch him.
‘Tomorrow morning at dawn, I’ll come for you,’ Bluebell said. ‘My sisters will be down at the stables, waiting with the cart. Sighere and Heath will be with me. We’ll take Æthlric, you take Gudrun. Don’t let her scream. Do what you have to, but be careful with her. We can’t harm her, in case ... in case I am wrong.’
Dunstan hid a smile.
Bluebell kicked his shin. ‘Fuck you, old man.’
‘I’ll be sweet to her.’
‘Pick up her son, too. He’s staying at the alehouse. Get Gudrun locked up first then go and bring Wylm down. He’s not to be underestimated. He’s inexperienced but wily.’ She dusted her hands against her tunic. ‘They can keep each other company until I get back.’ She tried not to think about how much ill will her actions would arouse. If she was right, then it was of no matter. But if she was wrong ...
‘I’m not wrong,’ she muttered. ‘I know it, Dunstan. I’ve always had a sense she’s bad for our family.’
He looked back at her. ‘Well, either you are wrong, or your father is.’
She lifted her chin. Dunstan had been her first teacher. He’d dragged her out of bed on her tenth birthday and beat her over the head with a wooden sword until she developed the muscles to lift her shield swiftly and precisely to block him. Six years later, she’d beaten him in practise combat for the first time. ‘Who do you think is wrong?’ she asked.
‘I wouldn’t dare to say, Bluebell. Either answer would upset you.’
Bluebell shrugged. ‘Dawn, then,’ she said. ‘Lock her up. And don’t tell my sisters.’
Rose woke late in the night, Rowan’s elbow firmly jammed under ribs. She gently dislodged it and rolled Rowan on her side. Ash, sleeping on the other side of the bed, stirred softly. Rose closed her eyes. She didn’t mind waking up; it meant she had another chance to fall asleep thinking of Heath. She conjured him in her mind. Somehow they would slip away from Bluebell’s notice, find a soft glade to shed their clothes ...
‘Rose? Are you awake?’ Ash’s whisper was soft in the dark.
‘Yes.’
Ash sat up. ‘I can’t sleep.’
‘Are you thinking about tomorrow?’
Rowan stirred and Ash dropped her voice. ‘I’m thinking about all my tomorrows.’
Rose reached out and rubbed the back of Ash’s pale hand. Her sister looked very young tonight. But then, Ash always looked young: a softness around her cheeks and mouth, the slightness of her shoulders and hips. ‘Is there anything wrong, Ash?’
Ash fell silent a while. A light rain started on the roof.
‘Ash?’
‘How much do you imagine the Great Sea weighs?’ Ash said. ‘Lately, it has lain upon my chest.’
‘Why? What has happened?’
‘This ... ability of mine. It grows so strong and ... I am afraid of who I might become.’
‘Have you taken advice from Byrta?’
‘Yes. She isn’t much use.’
Rose shivered. ‘How strong is it?’
‘It’s bigger than I am. Rosie, do you think it’s possible to control your destiny?’
Rose thought about Heath. ‘My heart hopes so.’
Rose couldn’t be sure in the dark, but thought Ash was smiling at her. ‘My heart hopes so, too. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t keep you awake.’
‘Will you sleep?’
/> ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’ll be tired tomorrow. And Bluebell won’t let you rest.’
Ash chuckled softly. ‘Night will come again. Even Bluebell can’t hold it back. You sleep, sister. No doubt the little one will make your life impossible on the journey tomorrow.’
Rose lay down, put a protective arm around Rowan.
‘I love you, Rosie.’
‘I love you, too.’ She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Heath again, but darker thoughts intruded. Do you think it’s possible to control your destiny? Her heart hoped so, as she had told Ash. But her head knew better.
Bluebell dressed by the light of a candle. She had woken nearly a dozen times through the night, each time with startlement in her heart. Had she missed the dawn? Was it late in the day already? She felt ragged and gritty-eyed as she pulled her byrnie over her shoulders. Its familiar weight settled on her. She didn’t anticipate anyone trying to stop her taking Æthlric from his bower, but she had to be prepared for anything. She sheathed her sword and slung her pack over her left shoulder. She cracked open the door to her bower, letting in a swirl of cool morning air. Thrymm and Thræc roused, climbed to their feet with tails wagging. The sky was still dark, but softening to pale blue on the horizon. On the western horizon, clouds gathered. The morning smelled of woodsmoke and dew.
Bluebell crept down to the stables and left her pack outside, urging the dogs to stay. She could hear her sisters and Sighere, talking to each other in quiet voices. Birdsong clattered all around. She turned and made her way light-footed back to the bowerhouse.
Dunstan and Heath were waiting in the pre-dawn gloom.
‘Dunstan, you take care of Gudrun. Gently. She slept with Æthlric in his bower last night, so we’ll be fetching her from there.’
Dunstan grunted his assent.
‘Heath, you help me with Father, and you don’t tell anyone what we’ve done. Not even Rose.’
Heath nodded.
Bluebell opened the door, took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Two sleeping shapes. She nodded towards Dunstan. He stalked into the room without flinching, and lurched towards Gudrun.
She shrieked as he pulled her out of the covers, but then his big hand went over her mouth.
‘Get her out, quick,’ Bluebell hissed. ‘You know what to do.’
She had a brief impression of Gudrun’s face, white with fear in the dim light. Then it flashed past her and was gone.
Bluebell gestured towards her father’s body. ‘You take his legs.’ Then, quieter, ‘Don’t hurt him.’
She approached the bed and peeled back the blanket. Her hair fell over his face as she leaned forwards.
‘Father, it’s me. It’s Bluebell. I’m taking you somewhere so you can get better. I’m going to look after you.’
His eyes flickered, but didn’t open. Was she imagining it, or did his lips move soundlessly, as though he were trying to answer her? She pulled his upper body against her chest and Heath caught his legs. Together they carried him out of the bower and down to the stables.
Sighere and the cart were waiting. They’d set it up the night before, lined it with a mattress and blankets. Bluebell laid Æthlric in the cart, then laid beside him his byrnie and sword, and a deep red cloak folded neatly. A warrior king should not be without his weapons and armour, even one who slept as though dead. She folded the canopy over the top so nobody would see the precious cargo within.
Rose sat on the cart, Rowan curled against her, sleepily sucking her lip. ‘Nobody saw you?’ Rose asked. ‘Gudrun?’
‘All is well. All has gone to plan,’ Bluebell said, slinging her pack over Isern’s rump and pulling the rope tight. ‘Let’s ride.’
Wylm detached himself from the shadows behind the stables and watched as the band of figures disappeared down the hill that led to the back gates of Blicstowe. They stopped a few moments there, voices hushed, but bridles clattering, as Bluebell unlatched the gates. Then they were through, the cart rattling and bumping behind them. The gates closed. They were gone.
The cart. What did they have in the cart? Where were they going? He hadn’t made out all the voices, but was certain he’d heard Rose with her child, and Ash’s quiet, measured tone. The other two quieter voices might have been the other two sisters. And two male voices he couldn’t place: soldiers, perhaps.
Uneasiness stretched in his guts. He turned, fear making his feet clumsy, and began to run towards his mother.
Already he could see the door to her bower standing wide open on the empty black. Already he could see the rushlights blazing around the infirmary, hear her calling out, ‘Don’t hurt me! Don’t hurt me!’
And another, harsher voice telling her to be quiet and she wouldn’t be hurt.
He hesitated, slunk back into shadows. His heart hammered. What kind of man was he not to rush in there with his sword in front of him, demanding they let her go?
But he had no sword. It was back at the alehouse, along with his spare clothes, his knife, everything he travelled with. And, no doubt, that’s where they would be looking for him. He was as helpless as a boy who still pissed his pants, and that made him angry.
It was still dark. He could creep away now.
But his mother ...
He couldn’t help her if he was incarcerated with her, and nor could he help her if he was dead.
‘I’ll be back when I can, Mother,’ he whispered into the empty dawn. Then he ran.
Eleven
The sun rose, but was soon swallowed by clouds moving in fast from the west. A strong, stiff wind that shouldn’t have belonged to spring rattled the new buds and leaves, bringing the smell of damp earth to Bluebell’s nostrils. Rain was coming.
Bluebell rode at the head of the group with Sighere. Heath rode at the rear. Rose drove the cart with Rowan sitting next to her and Father asleep behind them. The cart was slow and would add at least a day to their journey up past Stonemantel to Sabert’s flower farm. Within four miles, too, they would have to leave the road and travel over fields and forest tracks. Bluebell didn’t want to be visible.
But even though the horses had to walk, the fact that she was on Isern, with Sighere nearby and her dogs loping beside her, made Bluebell feel positive for the first time in the week since she’d heard the news. They were doing something. They weren’t sitting around in that stuffy, sunless room waiting for her father to die.
Then the rain started. Spitting, at first, and cold. Rain from a long way up. Bluebell wouldn’t have noticed it but for the chorus of bleating behind her. Ivy was the loudest, followed by Rowan who could be forgiven as she was only three. Even Willow, who seemed such a quiet, stoic creature, muttered about the damp.
Bluebell turned to Sighere and said quietly, ‘It will get worse.’
Sighere glanced over his shoulder at the dark cloud eating the sky, his long black hair lifted by the wind. ‘Yes, my lord. Are we going to stay on the road?’
‘We can’t.’
‘There will be mud.’
‘I’m not afraid of a little mud,’ she said, smiling.
Then the rain deepened, fat cold drops thundering to the ground. Bluebell was wet through in moments, her hair sticking to her face, her mail byrnie weighing cold against her. She gave the signal they were splitting off the road and they followed, down onto rain-slippery grass. Before them lay muddy fields.
‘Bluebell? Must we leave the road?’
This was Ivy, of course. Bluebell didn’t know what her mother’s brother had been teaching Ivy, but it wasn’t how to endure ordinary hardship. Bluebell had long disagreed with Father on how to raise the twins. She wanted them brought back to Blicstowe to shape them for public life. Willow looked as though she might have the steel and valour for war, and some arms training would put hard thighs on those skinny legs of hers. As for Ivy, she was an insufferable soft-arse and needed to be married off as soon as possible in a peace deal. Bluebell had already made an offer to one of Wengest’s cousins, a du
ke in north Netelchester who controlled an important port town. She’d always suspected he might get too powerful and try his luck against her. She was just waiting for Wengest to say yes. Until both girls were put in service to their family, they would blow around like leaves on the wind.
‘Yes, Ivy,’ Bluebell replied, ‘we must leave the road.’
‘But —’
Bluebell raised her hand to signal no further discussion, but Ivy paid no heed. She rode up next to Bluebell and said, ‘Only, it’s terribly muddy.’
Bluebell didn’t say anything. She made a habit of leaving stupid requests unanswered.
‘Bluebell?’
‘Please go back and ride with your sisters,’ Sighere said to Ivy.
Ivy’s eyes blazed. ‘And who are you to tell me what to do?’
Bluebell shook her head at Sighere, and Ivy’s question was met with more silence. Ivy harrumphed and turned her horse around. Bluebell heard harsh whispering behind her as Ivy complained to Willow. She shrugged it off.
It took an hour for the complaining to ease — even Ash was cursing the mud — but then the wind picked up and drove icy against their wet bodies. Rowan’s whinging grew louder and louder, until finally Bluebell couldn’t stand it any more. She hadn’t wanted the child here, any more than she’d wanted the twins here. But Rose had insisted, as Ivy and Willow had insisted. And if there was one weakness Bluebell had, it was her family.
She pulled her horse to a halt, and the rest of the party clattered and stopped behind her. She turned her horse around and rode up to Rose and Rowan sitting at the front of the cart.
Rowan looked at her with huge, round eyes. She had seen the grim set of her aunt’s mouth.
‘Princess Rowan of Netelchester,’ Bluebell said. ‘Are you crying?’
Rowan nodded.
Rose intervened. ‘Bluebell, be kind. The child is cold, the cart is rattling our bones, and she’s too frightened of Father’s muttering to go in there with him and sleep.’
Bluebell waved Rose’s words away. She reached over and plucked Rowan from her seat, dumping her on Isern’s back.
‘Mama!’ Rowan cried.
‘Bluebell, please ...’