by A. E. Rayne
Wondering what they were going to do now.
‘Your brother needs a fire,’ Alys said shyly, glancing at Reinar. ‘He needs to stay warm... until we leave.’ She didn’t want to say that. She didn’t want to imagine what might be coming next.
‘Ludo and Bjarni can see to that,’ Reinar yawned, slipping as he stood, body aching. ‘You and I need to talk, don’t we?’ And holding out his hand to Alys, he helped her to her feet.
He had such a firm grip, Alys thought, grimacing, trying not to meet Reinar’s eyes, though they were desperately seeking hers. He wanted answers, though she was afraid of what the questions were going to be.
They walked along the foreshore, listening to the waves chasing each other up and down the beach in a steady rhythm; squawking gulls searching for breakfast, loud above their heads. The air was frigid, and the freshening breeze made it even more so.
Alys began to feel more anxious just listening to the sound of those waves as they walked, remembering Ullaberg; seeing Magnus waving to her as he dawdled behind her with Lotta, who was always bending down to pick up shells, hiding them in her little purse with all her baby teeth.
And then he spoke.
‘What did you dream of last night?’ Reinar asked, looking down at her. She was a nervous woman, he thought, seeming to shrink away from him as they walked. He noticed the bruises on her face. ‘What’s your last name?’
Alys was surprised, hesitant, not liking the sound of her last name at all. It reminded her of her dead husband. ‘De Sant.’
Reinar raised an eyebrow. ‘Not an Alekkan sort of name.’
‘My husband’s family came from Silura.’
Reinar was silent for a time, suddenly wanting to avoid asking her the questions that had been waiting near the tip of his tongue for weeks. ‘Did you dream what we would do next? Where we would go? To Goslund? Ottby? Did you see us getting attacked again?’
Reinar’s eyes never stayed still. They jumped from her face to the waves, down to the stones, back to his men. Alys could tell that though he appeared to be a strong leader, with a powerful body and a big voice, he was plagued by doubts. She could read his thoughts. She could hear how being a lord weighed on him. Though it appeared to motivate him too. He was proud of it. But worried.
She swallowed. ‘Not Goslund. I didn’t see us going there.’
Reinar laughed, his handsome face relaxing. ‘No? I am surprised. You don’t want to be sold as a slave, then?’ He reached for Alys as she stumbled into a hole. ‘Though, I don’t blame you. Although, perhaps your new owner would be kinder to you than your old husband?’ He smiled, meeting her eyes, seeing the sudden flash of terror in them. They were a dark blue-green, dull with pain.
Mesmerising.
‘Your brother killed him.’
‘And?’ Reinar stopped, tightening his grip on Alys’ arm, making her look up at him.
‘I’m glad,’ Alys breathed, trying not to cry. ‘He was cruel beyond words.’ She blinked furiously, never wanting to cry for that man.
Reinar turned, walking again, slowly so that she would catch up. ‘He was a lucky man to have a dreamer wife. And a beautiful one at that.’ He didn’t look at Alys, but it was true. Impossible to ignore.
‘He didn’t know I was a dreamer, nor did he think me beautiful. He used to yell at me that I was the ugliest woman in Ullaberg. That I embarrassed him.’
Reinar was surprised on both counts. ‘Cruel and blind, then. But why didn’t you tell him you were a dreamer? Perhaps Sigurd was right? Perhaps you’re not a dreamer at all?’ He turned back to her, wanting to see those sad eyes. ‘Your friends certainly looked surprised. Suspicious even.’
Alys felt hot all over, growing even more uncomfortable. She wanted to change the subject, but the Lord of Ottby only had one subject in mind, she knew. He would not be dissuaded from this path. There was no point in keeping secrets anymore. Not now that her life had been ripped apart. ‘No one knew. I kept it secret. My mother, she was... killed for being a dreamer. Murdered by those who didn’t like to hear the truth. My grandfather forbade me from ever acknowledging my gifts. He called it a curse. No one knew until yesterday.’
Reinar was intrigued. Heartened too. It made sense, though his face revealed little. ‘And what did you dream of last night, then? Besides not going to Goslund?’
Alys wasn’t really sure.
Mainly her children, she knew. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
She wasn’t going to tell him about her children at all.
‘I saw a man who wants to be a king.’
Reinar froze, intrigued.
‘A man with strange eyes. Blue, but so pale, like a clear pool of water. Evil. Without feeling. As though he has no soul.’ Alys no longer felt either hot or cold. She no longer noticed Reinar was there. ‘And this man wants to crush everyone in his path, one by one, until he claims the Alekkan throne. He is ambitious. Powerful. And he will grow even more so, until he overwhelms us all.’
‘Ahhh, so you dreamed of Hakon Vettel, then?’ Reinar wasn’t pleased to hear it, but who else could it be? ‘A man I would happily destroy. Though we are not evenly matched, he and I. Not any longer. Between him and his dead father, they conquered everyone between Orbo and Slussfall. Everyone but my father, and now me. I stand in his way. Sigurd and I do.’ Reinar ran a hand over his short blonde hair, shivering.
‘He plans to overthrow you,’ Alys warned.
‘You see that?’
‘I feel it. He is fixed on it. He sees you as a rival for what he wants.’
Reinar stared at her, his thoughts quickly coalescing into a single purpose. ‘We won’t go to Goslund, then, Alys de Sant. We’ll go home, to Ottby. Goslund can wait.’
Tulia Saari was growing tired of Bjarni’s wife.
Since becoming pregnant, Agnette had turned into even more of a busy-body, always following her around, making suggestions. Fussing, fretting, worrying about whether the fort was secure. Whether there were enough men on the ramparts. Whether more should have been left behind to man the walls and the bridge. Agnette wasn’t convinced that they could even trust the ones who had been.
Tulia wished she’d gone with Sigurd, and she would have if they hadn’t been planning on kidnapping women to sell as slaves. She had barely spoken to Reinar since he’d become desperate enough to embark on that endeavour, nor Sigurd, who had unsurprisingly gone along with it.
Though, now she was stuck in the old stone fort, in charge of a garrison of miserable old men and young boys, most of whom disliked her, plagued by a stream of questions from Agnette, who sat opposite her, stroking a black chicken which sat on her knee as she talked to Sigurd’s mother.
Tulia glanced at the hall doors, shut to keep out the frigid morning, wondering when she could leave. Though warmer than most places in Ottby, the hall was still cold, with its dark stone walls and its big holes in the roof to let out the smoke. Two long firepits ran through its centre, across the floorboards, stools and benches around which the men and women of Ottby would gather to share a cup of ale with their lord and his family. Though there were fewer and fewer people left in the fort now, and the hall was becoming an empty sort of place.
‘Did you hear those odd noises in the night?’ Gerda asked in her typically sharp voice. ‘Sounded like wolves. Do you think it was wolves?’
Tulia was a deep sleeper. ‘I heard no wolves, Gerda.’
‘Though where you come from, perhaps they don’t have any? Perhaps you don’t recognise the sound as well as we Alekkans do? Kalmera is not known for its forests.’ Gerda Vilander was a snarling sort of woman, with lined lips that always appeared dry, as though they were shrivelling up, much like Gerda herself. She was becoming meaner in both spirit and appearance every year, her tall figure starting to curl forward, her long hair, which she mainly wore tucked into a tight bun, turning different shades of grey.
Tulia tried not to sigh. Gerda had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like that her son�
��s woman was Kalmeran. But Tulia didn’t care. Sigurd hated Gerda, most people in Ottby barely tolerated her, and Tulia hoped that soon, she would convince Sigurd to leave with her and return to Kalmera.
They had lived in the city of Varis for three years after finding each other, and Tulia knew that Sigurd had enjoyed being away from Ottby. Alekka was a cold, bleak land and Ottby was like an anchor around his neck. He had sought to break out on his own, hoping to weave himself a new destiny, but instead, he’d turned around and hurried home as soon as his father had taken ill. And Tulia had gone with him, bringing along her younger brother, Amir.
Against her better judgement.
That was a year ago now, and she was determined not to stay in this sinking ship of a fort much longer. Its fate was sealed long ago. It was only Reinar who refused to see it.
‘Could have been bears,’ Agnette murmured, dropping the chicken. She leaned over, checking her uncle, Stellan, who sat slumped in his wooden wheelchair beside her, hands in his lap, snoring lightly. ‘Reinar killed that bear before they left, remember? Perhaps it wasn’t the only one?’
Gerda’s grey-blue eyes widened. ‘Well, I’m not sure what’s worse? Though, it must be an omen, wouldn’t you say?’
Tulia didn’t believe in the gods, Alekkan or Kalmeran.
She rolled her eyes.
‘We should sacrifice something,’ Agnette muttered, feeling her rounded belly. She was heavily pregnant and growing increasingly anxious.
Now was not the time for dark omens.
Gerda nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Eddeth, though who knows what use she’ll be today. Last I saw her, she was dancing around the tree, half-naked, howling at the moon!’ And already on her feet, Gerda hurried out of the hall with barely a glance at her ailing husband.
Agnette stared after her, blinking. She was a short woman and pregnancy had made her as rounded as one of the carvings of the fertility goddess, Valera, they had placed at the tiny temple to the rear of the hall. Her cheeks were pink and full, with dimples that made her husband smile, and blonde hair in a permanent tangle, much to her aunt’s annoyance. She sighed, turning back to Stellan, who had dribbled some of his porridge into his grey beard. And grabbing a napkin from the table, she started cleaning him up. ‘I suppose we must try to focus on something else. Keep ourselves busy.’ She glanced at Tulia whose eyes remained fixed on the blackened hall doors, as though she wanted to escape. And not just from the hall, but from Ottby entirely.
Agnette didn’t blame her. Tulia didn’t really fit in.
She was a tall woman – almost as tall as her cousins – with a lean, strong body. Raised as a warrior, like her mother before her, she had a stern, angular face, rarely showing any hint of a smile. Agnette wondered what Sigurd saw in her. Though Tulia was attractive to look at, with her dark-brown skin and silky black hair, she was terrifying. Cold. Hard. The complete opposite of any woman in Ottby. Though, perhaps, Agnette realised, perhaps that was the point?
Tulia stood. ‘I’ll grab a few men, and take a look around the forest.’ And adjusting her swordbelt, she headed for the doors.
Agnette straightened up, feeling the ache in her lower back, panic flaring. ‘Is that safe? Safe to leave us?’ Stellan groaned, but she didn’t take her eyes off Tulia, who was pulling open a door, letting in a shaft of welcome light. After a stormy night, the day had started gloomy, and the permanently soggy weather was not helping to lift the dour mood of the fort.
Tulia spun around. ‘There’s no safe anymore, Agnette. Hakon Vettel sits on his throne like a hungry bird. And one day, his wings will be strong enough to carry him over these walls and devour everyone who remains. As I’ve told Reinar and Sigurd many times, you need to leave. We all need to leave. This is no place to be anymore.’ She glanced at Stellan, who was awake now, watching her, but in the next breath, he started making strange shapes with his mouth, and she turned away, disappearing outside.
Agnette watched her go, shoulders sinking.
Hoping that Bjarni would hurry home.
Karolina fussed over her baby son as if he were sickly, though he was not. Anders Vettel was seven months old now, with chubby arms and legs, and a tiny mop of dark hair already sprouting on his head. He was always wriggling, gurgling, sucking his hand. A happy, healthy boy.
But fussing over Anders gave her an excuse not to look at her husband, who had a temper like a storm that exploded often, only to completely vanish as quickly as it had come, as though it had never been there at all. Karolina never knew which version of Hakon she would see, and it left her with a sick taste in her mouth. So, she fussed over her baby, avoiding her husband’s eyes, not wanting to provoke his rage.
‘Come and sit down, my love,’ Hakon cooed as he prodded the fire, enjoying the spark of flame and ember that felt so welcome on such a cold day. ‘Leave the boy in his crib. Surely he can amuse himself for a moment?’
Karolina swallowed, a sense of reluctance making her slow to react.
‘Or, if he is becoming so demanding, perhaps it’s time you found a nursemaid? Now that your mother is dead, there’s no one to help you.’
Karolina froze. She had been carefree once, always smiling, her dark-brown eyes full of mischief and fun. Then Hakon had taken an interest in her, and Jesper Vettel had made an alliance with her father, making her Hakon’s wife. And nothing had ever felt good again.
She laid her son in his wooden crib and came to join her husband by the fire, trying to lift her eyes, to give him her attention. He never touched her when he was angry. Never beat her. But there were other ways to terrorise someone, Karolina had discovered.
She tried not to tremble, squeezing her hands as she took a seat.
‘We continue to have problems with the Vilanders,’ Hakon began, taking the chair opposite her, pouring wine into a silver goblet and handing it to his wife. ‘Though, be assured that we won’t for long. The noose is tightening by the day. They may celebrate one small victory over me, but their end is coming quickly. And soon I will help hurry it along.’
Karolina wasn’t sure why Hakon was telling her this. She had no interest in battles or rivalries. She knew her husband had great ambitions, and a strong desire to avenge his father’s murder, but it was not something she paid much attention to.
‘I want you to do more than hold that baby to your chest, Karolina,’ Hakon murmured, watching her eyes, eager to see something other than fear. She was attractive and desirable, but her timidity irritated him. There were women with fire in their eyes, and he had bedded many of them, but not his wife, who cowered and blinked and tried only to keep him happy.
Karolina cowered and blinked, attempting a smile.
‘Soon you will be the Queen of Alekka. My queen. And you must prepare to rule beside me. To have interests. To take an interest in things other than our son. Talk to Igne about dresses. Hairstyles. Perhaps she can help you find new jewels? I must have a queen worthy of the throne, my love. Slussfall is... not Stornas. And Stornas will be the beginning for us. You, me, and our sons.’ His eyes were on her stomach, which had flattened back to its natural state, though not for long, Hakon knew, for Karolina was already carrying his second child.
‘But...’ Her confusion made her more confident. ‘How do you know all of this?’
Hakon poured himself a goblet of wine, eyes glinting in the flames. ‘I’ve always known my destiny, my love. My father knew it too. It’s what he wanted more than anything, to see me as the King of Alekka. To have the Vettels back on the throne.’ Hakon sat back, listening to his son whimpering, missing his mother. ‘My family was run out of Stornas by Ake Bluefinn all those years ago. But he made a mistake thinking we would be happy to shrink away, content to leave our kingdom to him. No, I believe that I will be the one to return the Vettels to their rightful place. And you, Karolina, will be by my side, with all our healthy, strong sons around us.’
Karolina smiled, her teeth showing, her dimples revealing themselves.
Her eyes bright
with terror.
They sailed slowly back to Ottby, hugging the shore, heads swivelling, searching through the gloom for more of Hakon Vettel’s ships. Though likely they had returned to their master, licking their wounds.
Reinar hoped so.
He turned to Torvig, who once again had his eyes on the women. ‘You need a wife!’ he grinned, clapping Torvig on the back. ‘How is it that you’ve never found yourself a wife? Don’t you want sons? Someone to warm your bed every night?’
Torvig laughed. ‘You don’t think I’ve someone warming my bed every night, Reinar Vilander? Ha! I’m happy to avoid the distraction of a wife, for what are women but a constant distraction? And as for sons? Well, that will come one day. But for now, I think we have other things on our minds, don’t you? Like trying to hold back the Vettels, and finding men for the walls. They’ll not hold themselves.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Reinar agreed, turning around to check on Sigurd, who lay on his stomach in the stern, just behind Bolli, the dreamer sitting beside him.
Alys, he remembered. Her name was Alys.
Her hair was darker beneath the cloudy sky; a deeper blonde, he thought distractedly. ‘I just hope Tulia hasn’t had any problems. Perhaps Hakon’s men headed there? Perhaps the ships were just a decoy?’ Reinar felt the wind suddenly, whipping his new fur cloak away from him.
‘With barely one ship between them and all those injuries?’ Torvig snorted. He was a cocky man, not given to any show of weakness. It was something he tried to impart upon his friend. ‘No, Hakon will need to gather himself before he mounts another attack, but I imagine he won’t wait long. He wants you. Sigurd too. He wants to kill Stellan’s sons.’
Reinar turned away, hoping he was right.
‘And what are you going to do with all those women?’ Torvig wondered, stumbling away from Reinar as the ship tilted abruptly. ‘If we’re not going to Goslund?’
Reinar turned to him, a warning in his eyes. ‘You’ll leave those women alone. I know what you’re thinking, what you want, but I didn’t take any of them for you. They’re silver for my coffers. Silver I need to pay the new men. To get more.’ He glanced around Dagger, not liking the look of many of its crew, but tough times called for desperate measures.