The silence lasted only moments before the Fenyir warriors rushed forward again, hacking down the last of the kraken’s crew, who even now chose death over surrender. A single warrior, likely the kraken’s master, rushed to the side of his ship, an object in his hands.
“Stop him,” his father yelled.
Taios darted forward, but it was his grandfather Serl, a tall, thin warrior with a long black beard and a huge beak of a nose, who intercepted the man, hurling a hand-axe into his spine. The warrior staggered forward, dropping the object he had been carrying onto the deck—a small dark wooden chest.
Serl stood over the dying man and yanked his hand-axe free before hacking down at the back of his head, shattering his skull. Serl then stood staring at the chest the man had dropped. It had opened upon falling, and its contents now lay exposed.
“What is it?” his father asked before suddenly cursing at what he saw.
Taios pushed forward to see better. His grandfather was now down on one knee, his face ashen. When Taios saw what lay on the deck of the burning kraken, all the blood drained from his face as well.
“What was it?” Owen asked, pulling Taios back from the past.
Taios stared at the back of his hands. “Her blood gems,” he finally said. “Hundreds of them—uncut, as large as your thumb, and covered in glistening wet blood.”
“They were covered in blood?” Danika asked. “Why?”
Taios inhaled deeply, once again seeing the foul thing in his memory, seeing it beating by itself, slowly, like an obscene drum. “The blood came from what lay atop the gems.”
“Father, what are you talking about?” Fioni asked him, her voice trembling for perhaps the only time since she had been a little girl.
“Do you know how I knew that your friend didn’t stab Serina in the heart?” he asked Owen.
“But he did,” Owen insisted. “I saw it.”
Taios shook his head. “No, you didn’t.”
A moment later, Taios saw the flash of realization in Lady Danika’s eyes, heard the sudden inhalation of her breath. “She removed her own—”
“Her own heart,” Taios finished. “That’s why your uncle couldn’t kill her with Sight-Bringer forty-eight years ago. That’s why your friend couldn’t do it now—her heart isn’t in her body.”
“Father Craftsman, help us all,” Danika whispered. “That isn’t possible.”
“To my clan’s eternal shame, it is possible,” said Taios. “But your being here now, my daughter pulling you from the sea, it must be the will of the gods…because I know where Serina’s heart is hidden.”
Lady Danika stared at him, her mouth open. “You have Serina’s heart?” she finally said.
Taios met her eye and inclined his head.
The noblewoman half rose from her seat. “That means we can still use Sight-Bringer on her heart. We can really kill her.”
Taios nodded. “And I will—right after your king grants the Fenyir Island chain the freedom he promised Tarlock Greywynne forty-eight years ago.”
The color drained from her face. “What?”
“Did I stutter, my lady of Wolfrey? Allow me to be clear.” As he spoke, he lifted Sight-Bringer’s hilt up and held it before him. “In return for granting the Fenyir Islands their sovereignty—and acknowledging me as their first king—I will drive this weapon through Serina’s heart, ending her threat for all time.”
All three of them stared at him in disbelief, even his daughter. He met their stares in defiance, certain the gods were behind him, guiding him. After all this time, this is why the heart came to my grandfather Serl. I understand now.
“But…please,” pleaded Lady Danika, her voice breaking. “You don’t understand. Serina must be destroyed.”
“And she will be,” Taios said, placing Sight-Bringer back down atop his desk, “just as soon as your king grants my demands.” His chair creaked as he sat back, folded his arms, and watched her. “For now, I recommend you and Sir Owen get some sleep. I’m sure it’s been an ordeal for you. You can sail in the morning. My daughter will take you both to King’s Hold.”
Lady Danika leaned forward. “But…even if the king wanted to give you your sovereignty, the Empire of Hishtar claims ownership over some of the islands. It would mean war with the Hishtari.”
“I don’t care about what the Hishtari lay claim to,” Taios replied. “I don’t care if they bleat like sheep and make threats. The Hishtari are honorless dogs and fight like guppies. But understand me well, my lady of Wolfrey—we Fenyir will finally have our freedom, or Serina will drown your kingdom in blood.”
Part 2:
The Blue Man
Chapter 9
Fioni
After servants had escorted Lady Danika and Owen to their guest rooms, Fioni watched her father at his desk. He had unfolded the map of Daenipor once again and was staring intently at it.
“So,” she finally said, “how long have you wished to be a king?”
He snorted, glancing up at her. “I’ve never wanted to be a king, at least not until I told that woman about Tarlock Greywynne and how all this began. Now, it seems a shame to not make that old bastard finally keep his word.” His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Seems only fair to me.”
“We’ve never had a king. What makes you think the clans will accept one now?”
“Because they’ll have no choice, not after I raid Daenipor and sack the Rose Palace. With the kingdom to the west and the Hishtari to the east, the clans will have no choice but to back me.”
“You still want to raid Daenipor?”
“I have no choice. We can’t stop Serina unless we raid Daenipor first.”
Her eyes tightened. “Why? Why this obsession with the Rose Palace? This has to be about more than revenge for Serl.”
He stared at her for a long moment before finally answering, as if he was still unsure if he could trust her, his own daughter. “Because Serl hid both Serina’s heart and the chest of blood gems on Torin Island.”
“The Gateway to the Gods? He really sailed there? I always thought it just a story, a wild boast.”
Taios approached one of his bookshelves. Without even having to search, he withdrew an ancient leather-bound journal, bringing it back to the desk, where he laid it open, exposing yellowed, brittle pages. He kicked one of the chairs, so that it skidded across the wooden floor toward Fioni, before sitting back down, the open journal between them.
“What is that?” she asked as she sat down.
“Serl’s journal. He kept a log of his voyage into the Feral Sea, documenting where he started from, the sea conditions, what he saw along the way. Most importantly, though, he notes how he hid the secret to finding Torin Island and the gems behind his shield.”
Understanding suddenly gripped Fioni. “The same shield that—”
“Hangs as a trophy over the throne room of the Moon Lord of Daenipor, within the Rose Palace. I think your great-grandfather made a map showing how to find Torin Island and where on the island he hid the gems—and Serina’s heart. And I think he hid that map on his shield, perhaps beneath the croaker chitin that covers it.”
Fioni took the journal from his hands, leafed through it, seeing barely legible notes and hand-drawn nautical maps, including one she recognized—a holy place along the Hishtari coastline far to the north. “I always assumed your need to raid the city was about honor, revenge against the Hishtari for murdering Serl.”
“Oh, it’s about that, too,” he said, his deep voice rumbling. “But this goes beyond Kalishni’coor’s betrayal. Serl’s shield holds the secret to Torin Island. Even if I could find the island in the fog of the Feral Sea, I might never find the gems—or your uncle Denyr.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion. “My uncle died before I was born.”
He shook his head, taking the journal back. He opened it to one of the final log entries. “No. Serl left Denyr on that island. He guards Serina’s heart.”
#
An hour
later, Fioni leaned her head out the window of her father’s study, getting some fresh air. It all seemed too astonishing, a legend given life. When the moon broke free of the clouds and bathed the city and the shoreline in silver light, she realized something was different. She squinted, her curiosity quickly turning to concern. “Thunder Killer is gone.” She looked over her shoulder, meeting her father’s eye. “Where has Galas gone?”
Taios joined her, peering out into the night. “Not your cousin. Blood Raven is his pride and joy, and it’s still beached, as is the Kur’teshi ship. From all the campfires, it looks like his men are all still there as well.”
“So where did Thunder Killer go?”
He shook his head. “I’ll find out in the morning. I need all of Galas’s men—and his mercenaries—for Daenipor.”
She placed her palm on his arm. “Father, you can’t trust him. You must know that.”
He pulled away, his eyes tightening in anger. “For the sake of all the gods, Fioni—enough! He’s my brother’s boy. He sat on my knee and pulled on my beard when he was a toddler. Either of you could be yarl someday. No! I’ve accepted his blood debt—more than generous enough for a dead carpenter. The feud between the two of you is over.”
“Over?” She advanced on him. A part of her recognized that she was letting her anger control her, but she was helpless to stop it, knowing that they were about to fight—again. “Nothing is over. He murdered Talin, and he has to pay for that.”
“They danced the blanket—a fair duel. You know that. You’re just too stubborn to accept it. The witnesses testified that Talin picked—”
“Galas’s own men aren’t witnesses. They’re liars. For Wodor’s sake, Talin was no warrior. There’s no way he would have challenged a killer like Galas. He wasn’t that stupid.”
“But you were, weren’t you?” His eyes flashed angrily as he jammed his thick finger before her face. “I warned you! I told you to stay away from that boy. I told you it would end badly, that others would resent him, but when have you ever listened to me?”
“Who I bed is none of your business.”
“Your great-grandfather was our clan’s greatest leader—a legend among the Fenyir. You’re my only living child. I’ll be king of these isles yet, which will make you a princess. That boy was beneath you.”
“Many times, father, many times.”
He loomed over her now, his face livid. It had been like this between them for years now. Since the day her mother and brother had perished at sea, leaving the two of them with only the other—a grizzled chieftain and his thirteen-year-old daughter. Their fighting had only gotten worse over the years. Neither seemed capable of backing down, no matter what.
“You listen to me carefully, daughter. The blood feud between you and your cousin is over. You’ve been a mule-headed, obstinate child all your life, but you’ve also always been ruthlessly practical. Be practical now! If you challenge me on this, you’ll be banished, daughter of mine or not.”
“You can’t—”
“I can!” he roared, spittle flying in her face. “You didn’t obey me before, but you’ll obey me now. I need Galas, and I need his mercenaries. I can’t take the Rose Palace without them.”
“Father, I have to kill him. Talin’s spirit demands vengeance.”
“Have to?” he repeated. “You still don’t get it. It’s not Galas’s fault that boy is dead—it’s yours.”
She took a step back. “What?”
“If not for you, he’d have married some girl and raised fat children who would all grow up to become carpenters like their father. But now he’s dead, food for worms—all because you happen to like big strapping lads with blond hair.”
Her knees trembled, and she looked away first. Is he right?
“I know your type, Fioni. I know you better than you know yourself. Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were eyeing that kingdom boy pretending to be a knight. You’ve caused enough misery because you couldn’t keep your legs together. You’ll stay away from this one.”
“You can’t tell me—”
Her head snapped back as he slapped her. Her cheek burned, and she raised her hand to it, touching it in disbelief. He had never struck her before.
“Leave me, now,” he ordered, his face stone.
She stood in place, trembling, certain she was a heartbeat away from violence, but then she brushed past him, closing the study door behind her. In the hallway, she leaned back against the door, breathing heavily, her anger threatening to set her on fire. Her father—that stupid pigheaded fool—was wrong about Galas. In that moment, she made her decision. She knew what she’d do this night.
First she’d disobey her father.
And then she’d really disobey him.
Chapter 10
Fioni
Well past midnight, Fioni sat within her own chambers in her father’s longhouse, her chair facing the open window, her bare feet propped up on the windowsill as she stared out into the night. Her thoughts were a tempest, roaring and screaming in her head. In her lap, she cradled a half-full cup of wine, but in truth, she had barely touched it in the last hour or so. She never cared for the lack of self-control that came with too much drink, and she’d need all her senses this night.
On a small table beside her, a single tallow candle sputtered and burned, leaving an acrid stench despite the open window. Next to the candle sat a wooden plate with the remains of a chicken that Sif had brought earlier, insisting Fioni eat. The chicken had been a ruse, of course. Sif had been concerned, knowing Fioni and her father had quarreled. Since her mother’s death, Sif had become a surrogate mother to Fioni. Sif had been worried that Fioni would disobey her father and do something foolish—like challenge Galas to a duel. Fioni did not intend to do anything so foolish… although she was reasonably certain she could gut the blond pig. No, if Fioni challenged Galas, word would spread quickly through Welmen Town, and her father would stop her. And she had had enough fighting with her father for one night. Instead, she had sent for Vory and Kora, giving both of them clear instructions. Vory had balked, as she had known he would. However, he would still do as she had demanded, even if he pouted about it for a month afterwards. Kora, on the other hand, possessed a remarkable moral flexibility that Fioni had always admired. Besides, the two of them had been getting into trouble together since they were toddlers—what was a little bit more blood? And while she had her own doubts about what she planned this night, she had made her decision—she’d sail into the storm and hope for the best.
Her father was wrong about Galas. He couldn’t see it, but she could. Galas had picked a fight with Talin because he had been jealous of the other man. Galas, her dear handsome cousin, wanted to bed her.
That will never happen!
But her father couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that. Nor could he see that Galas didn’t want to be yarl someday—he wanted to be yarl now! And he could do it, too. Many warriors within the clan would support Galas. He was tall, handsome, a proven warrior, and a seasoned ship’s master with two longships. For many of the Waveborn, Galas Gilt-Mane was the perfect Fenyir raider—but he was also a treacherous, self-obsessed sack of whale shit who thought spring water flowed from his cock. He’d bring ruin to the Waveborn clan, she was certain of it.
And he murdered Talin.
Her father was also wrong about Talin. Big and strong though he may have been, Talin was too naïve and gentle to have challenged Galas to a duel. In truth, as fond as she had been of him, Talin had been only a passing interest. She knew herself well enough to know that in a few months, she would have moved on—perhaps breaking his sweet heart, but Talin would have found some other girl to marry, and Fioni would have the sea, the wind and spray in her face, the sun on her skin. Her father had been right about two things, though: Talin’s death had been her fault, and she liked her men big and blond.
She inhaled deeply, her decision made. Placing the wine cup down, she stood and undid her breeches, letting th
em fall to the floor so that she now wore only a short cotton shift. Her physique was lean and hard—like knotted rope. Some men liked their women that way, she knew.
Would he?
Pulling up the hem of her shift, she traced her fingers over the large scar on her hip the length of her hand. That cut had almost killed her, but she had survived. She was ever a survivor. She let her fingers trace over her hard stomach muscles and then downward, between her parted thighs, just barely touching the tip of her womanhood. She pushed two of her fingertips past the lips of her vagina, feeling the instant surge of pleasure. She bit her lower lip, her heartbeat pounding as her fingertips found the pleasure spot within. Gasping, she closed her eyes and saw a large northern warrior with blond hair and sea-blue eyes.
#
All was silent within her father’s longhouse as Fioni stood, barefoot and wrapped within a bearskin, before the guest chamber. Her heart hammered beneath her chest, her breathing rushed. She held the bearskin closed with one hand while the other held a flickering candle. A sudden thought gave her pause—what if the northern woman shares his bed? Am I about to make a mistake?
No, she decided. I’ve seen nothing between them.
She placed her ear softly against the door but heard nothing. She closed her eyes, willed herself to be calmer, to slow down the pounding of her heart. Mistake or not, I’m going to do this.
Her mind made up, she pushed the door open and then slipped inside the chamber, quickly closing the door behind her. The chamber was small, with only a single narrow bed and a stool. The window shutters were open, and cool air brushed Fioni’s skin, doing nothing to cool the fire that blazed within her. On the bed, a large form rustled, and Owen sat up, his pretty blue eyes registering his confusion. His short blond hair stuck out like wheat.
She stepped closer to him, the candle throwing moving shadows. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
He slept naked, his chest thick and powerful. Like her, his stomach muscles were tight and well defined. “Fioni,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. “Why—”
The Vampire Queen Saga: Books 1-3: (The Vampire Queen Saga Boxset) Page 35