by A. E. Rayne
‘You taste like blood,’ Tulia whispered, bending forward to kiss Sigurd again.
‘Mmmm, goat blood,’ Sigurd murmured.
‘Yuck!’ Tulia pulled away, glaring down at him.
Sigurd laughed. ‘You don’t like goats?’
‘You’re the one who killed the goat! I don’t want to drink its blood.’
Sigurd pulled her towards him, grimacing. He was lying on his back, feeling the stitches moving about beneath him. He would have to take things slowly so as not to tear them out. Quickly distracted, his mind drifted to Alys, remembering the feel of her cold hands, the look of terror in her eyes as she’d torn strips off her dress, helping to keep him alive.
And she had. And now here he was, back with Tulia.
Who he loved, didn’t he?
‘What?’ Tulia sensed that Sigurd had gone.
‘Sorry.’ He smiled at her as she leaned over him again, her hair silky against his chest. She had taken out her braid, and her black hair hung down to her waist, covering her breasts. He brushed it away, wanting to look at her. ‘There’s a lot to think about. I... my mind is full.’
‘Or it could be the ale,’ she grinned, licking a finger, wiping it over his mouth. ‘You and your brother nearly fell out of the hall.’
Sigurd bit her finger, keeping it in his mouth, sucking it slowly, before rubbing it around his lips. ‘Now I am clean.’
‘It would appear so, but are you here?’ Tulia wondered. ‘With me?’
‘I am. Of course I am.’
Sigurd’s eyes never left hers, and dropping her face to his, Tulia kissed him slowly, knowing he was lying.
Alys walked Agnette back to the hall.
They had barely spoken to each other, and now, as they stumbled across the near-frozen ground, heads swimming with smoke, they remained quiet, keeping to their own thoughts. But when they reached the giant doors of the hall, Alys squeezed Agnette’s arm. ‘Thank you. I hope what I saw was real. That it worked.’
‘So do I.’ Agnette’s voice sounded so far away and odd. ‘And don’t worry,’ she added, whispering, ‘I won’t tell anyone.’
‘Tell anyone what?’ Reinar wondered, stopping behind them, Bjarni beside him. He looked from one woman to the other, inhaling the fragrant smoke, noticing how unsteady they were on their feet. ‘What have you been doing?’
Bjarni lunged forward, grabbing his wobbling wife. ‘Agnette?’
‘I’m fine, just a long day,’ she grinned, still light-headed, seeing more than one head on her bulking husband. He looked twice his usual size; like a small bear. He sounded like one too, which made her giggle. ‘But I’ll be asleep when I next blink, so you’d better hurry me to bed, Bjarni Sansgard!’
Reinar pulled open one of the doors, and Bjarni hurried his yawning wife inside.
The door closed after them, leaving Reinar and Alys.
‘What were you doing?’ Reinar asked again.
‘Looking for answers,’ Alys murmured, shivering, ready for her own bed. She felt as though she was at sea, rocking from side to side, remembering her beloved grandfather standing before her, arms outstretched. It was painful to know that he was so far away. That she was so far away from him.
‘Alys?’ Reinar touched her arm, worried. ‘You seem strange.’
Alys swayed towards him, banging into his chest. ‘Sorry! No. I’m just tired. Sleepy.’ And quickly flustered, she pushed herself away from Reinar, hands on his fur cloak. It felt so soft. Distracted now, she stared up at him, just at the moment he was dropping his head towards hers, and they collided, her head crashing into his chin. ‘Sorry!’
Reinar laughed. ‘Are you alright?’ The cold air had sobered him quickly, and he felt momentarily awkward. ‘How are the bruises?’ He frowned, peering at her. ‘Doubt you’ll be able to open that eye come tomorrow.’ And gently touching around Alys’ eye, he felt how puffy it was. ‘Eddeth makes salves. I’ll take you to her in the morning, before our ride.’
Alys wanted to move away, but she didn’t. Reinar’s fingers were cold, but she liked the feel of them on her aching face.
There was so much she needed to do. She had to focus.
She had more problems than she’d realised.
But her boots remained in place, her body rocking as Reinar ran his fingers over her cheek, smoothing away her hair. She felt self-conscious then, knowing that she hadn’t combed it in days. Arnon had always complained about the state of her hair. It didn’t shine, he’d sneered, not like Ilene’s. And thinking about Ilene, Alys’ eye started to throb, and she grimaced.
‘I’ll take you back to your cottage,’ Reinar offered.
The pain in her eye had woken Alys up, and she backed away. ‘No, I... I know the way now, thank you.’ And straightening up, feeling purpose and determination move her in the right direction, Alys spun, with some difficulty, and hurried away from Reinar Vilander.
Who stared after her, holding his breath.
Mother laid the mirror back on the table, intrigued, ready for bed, drained of all energy.
The dreamer was beautiful. And young. Alluring in a rather predictable way.
Searching for answers to something.
Sad. Desperate.
And very much admired by the Lord of Ottby.
Smiling, she pushed herself away from the table, stumbling towards the bed, not even stopping to take off her boots as she collapsed onto the furs, eager to welcome her dreams.
Jonas woke in a panic.
Something was in his mouth, and moving quickly, he bent over, coughing, spitting out a bug. Gagging, he crawled to his saddlebags, trying to find something to drink.
He was wet and cold, every part of him aching from his bed of grass which barely covered the stones and pebbles that had dug into him all night. And finding a skin, he drank deeply, happy he’d filled it with ale rather than water. Though after a few sips the ale was gone, and he knew he’d have to head off to the stream just behind the remains of his beloved cottage and fill it up.
But not yet.
Rubbing his watering eyes, Jonas slumped back against a sloping tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. He coughed a few times more, wondering how many bugs he’d swallowed in the night, convinced that one of them was still lodged in his throat.
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his dream.
The mornings were a time of loneliness. Of needing to rise above the despair.
It was hard to wake up to the reality that he was alone. Without his wife.
His daughter.
And then, sitting bolt upright, Jonas’ heart started pounding.
Alys.
The cat pawed her chest, his weight a heavy lump on top of her. Alys opened her eyes, or tried to. One of them refused to open at all, and she was filled with the desire to throw Ilene to the ground and wrap her hands around her throat.
Almost.
She blinked, feeling the pain in her eye, trying to ignore it, and pushing the purring cat away, she sat up, eager to get moving. There was a fire to set and books to read. If the dream walking had worked, if she had truly been able to reach her grandfather, then what else could she discover? What else was possible?
There had to be a way to help Reinar.
Reinar.
Reinar was coming!
And panicking, Alys hurried to the tinderbox, numb fingers shaking, breath streaming coldly before her.
Reinar was coming to take her for a ride.
She had slept in her clothes, and looking down at his wife’s elegant dress, she saw how crumpled it was. How dirty. Which was the last thing to concern herself with, she knew. But still, she wanted to try and tidy herself up before he arrived.
She would have to hurry.
Torvig shook the snow from his hair, grinning as he sat down beside Reinar, who was not enjoying his bowl of porridge, despite the cloudberries his mother had sprinkled into it. Gerda’s good mood quickly disappeared as she left to feed his father. Agnette was not out of bed yet,
and Bjarni had insisted that Gerda look after Stellan herself while she rested.
Reinar pushed away his bowl of porridge, helping himself to the last berry. ‘Snowing? How seriously?’
‘Seriously enough that I’m not sure I’ve got any balls left!’ Torvig laughed, feeling good. He’d slept soundly for the first time in weeks, and he winked at Matti as she passed, clearing Reinar’s bowl away.
Reinar looked optimistic. ‘Well, that’s good news. Though if there’s any hope of getting in a ride before training, I’d better get moving.’ And pushing himself away from the table, he nodded at Tulia and Sigurd, who emerged from the corridor, both of them still half asleep.
Tulia rushed to the fire, shivering. ‘Has someone left the doors open?’ She glanced at the hall doors, but both were closed. ‘We may as well be outside!’
‘Ahhh, well, soon you will be,’ Torvig sniggered. ‘You and your tribe of useless women!’
‘Why don’t you do something to help her?’ Reinar said, nudging his friend as he passed, grabbing the cloak Martyn handed him. He smiled at the stooping old steward, pinning it across his chest. ‘What else are you going to do today?’
‘I’ve got ditches to dig, my friend,’ Torvig reminded him, grabbing his own bowl of porridge, adding a splash of buttermilk. ‘Ditches and stakes. You know that.’
‘Well, true, and I suppose you’re better out of it anyway. Can’t imagine those women want you breathing all over them, hands everywhere.’
Tulia eyed Torvig, watching him stiffen.
‘Ha, they could do worse.’
‘Not sure that’s true,’ Sigurd muttered, resting a hand on his father’s shoulder, kissing the top of his head.
Stellan didn’t move, he didn’t look up, but he opened his mouth as Gerda stuck the spoon near it, trying not to spill any more porridge into his beard. It was years since she’d fed her own children, and barely then. Agnette had a much steadier hand and was far more patient.
Reinar reached the door, pulling it open, quickly tasting snow in the air. He smiled, glancing back at his brother. ‘It might have worked, you know!’
‘I hope it did,’ Sigurd laughed, taking his seat, though he doubted Hakon Vettel would be put off by a bit of snow.
An idiot boy like that?
Sigurd shook his head, taking the bowl of berries from a sour-looking Torvig, determined to shut the Vettels out of his mind, wanting to enjoy the day.
Hakon sat on his heavily-armoured horse, cursing the weather.
Snow fell like rain before him, thick flakes clumping together on the hard ground. It looked as though it might settle, and that thought disturbed him.
Mother would be riding in a covered wagon with Falla, just behind him, on hand to convey any urgent vision that might come to her. The door was shut, and he couldn’t see inside it to scowl at her. And though she did not control the weather gods, he wondered why she had not sought their favour with a sacrifice before they began their journey.
Perhaps she had?
And if so, why hadn’t they listened?
It was a bad omen. Surely it was a bad omen?
‘What are you waiting for, Cousin?’ Ivan grinned beside him. He liked the snow, and though their men did not look enamoured by its sudden arrival, he didn’t feel worried. They had chosen to launch their attack as winter approached, so it was hardly a surprise to see snow. ‘It will blow away as we move. Remember, the further south we go, the warmer the air. It’s always the way. We’ll be leaving the snow behind us!’
Hakon saw the enthusiasm in his cousin’s bloodshot eyes, and it lifted his spirits somewhat. Then, seeing his wife standing on the hall steps swathed in her white fur cloak, his spirits sank again. He would miss her, though she was better staying at Slussfall, taking care of his heir; preparing her garments, her jewels, her staff. For once he reached Stornas and stuck Ake Bluefinn’s head on a pike, he would send Ivan back for her. And Karolina would need to be ready for her new role.
He had kissed her goodbye, worried by how quiet she was.
She looked upset, he thought, staring at her, slightly irritated that she did not try to set a better example.
Rows of women lined the hall steps with anxious eyes, some filled with pride and anticipation, but most were blinking with fear and worry that they were sending their sons and husbands away to their deaths.
Many would be, Hakon knew, though their sacrifice would not be in vain. The blood they spilled would help return the Vettels to the Alekkan throne, and from that blood would grow a mighty empire once more.
‘We will return!’ he bellowed, gloved fist in the air. ‘We will return for you all once we conquer Stornas!’ And nudging his horse forward with leather-clad knees, Hakon smiled at Karolina as he headed for the gates.
Karolina felt as though her legs would give way, watching her husband lead his immense army out of the fort. She had dreamed of this moment for weeks. Heard nothing but talk about it for months. And now, finally, here it was.
She felt elated, relieved to be left alone.
Hoping her husband would never return to Slussfall.
Jonas was scrambling, wishing he had a quill, ink, something to scratch his memories down onto. They didn’t stick as they once had, and he knew he wouldn’t remember everything as it rushed around his head.
He had nothing more than a knife, though, so he quickly cleared a surface of dirt, wiping away the crispy cover of frost, his gloved-hand numb, his breath smoking. And scratching with the tip of the blade, he wrote in the frozen earth:
Lotta - Slussfall
Magnus sold as slave but where?
Taken halfway between Ullaberg and Torborg
Alys gone
He tried to think. Was there anything else? Anything that had slipped away?
His stomach rumbled loudly, but Jonas ignored it, not caring for food. He tried to stop thinking about Alys too. She’d said that she was safe, and he had to believe her for now. She could take care of herself, he knew.
But those children?
Jonas scratched his beard, listening to the crackle of frost crumbling. Where were Magnus and Lotta?
There would be plenty of time to think when he was on the road. It was some way to Slussfall, and by the grim look of the sky, he was going to be slowed down by snow before long.
He would need to make a start, and quickly.
26
Reinar brought Alys one of Eddeth’s salves, which smelled of lavender and arnica. Alys closed her eye as he dabbed it around the bruise, smoothing it gently over her eyelid as she flinched, trying not to move.
She had read more in Salma’s books, though much of what she’d learned did not apply to anything Alys was concerned with. Some spells talked of how to encourage a good harvest. Others to bring fortune and wealth. Some dealt with love. Many offered advice for childbirth and fertility.
None of those were particularly helpful now.
Reinar stepped away, placing the jar of salve on a stool. ‘We should ride before the snow gets heavier. The horses need a run.’
Alys had brushed her hair and smoothed down her dress, but now, with the sticky salve all over her eye, she felt self-conscious, unsure where to look.
Reinar tried not to laugh. ‘If you think you can see?’
‘I can. I think.’ And striding almost confidently towards the door, Alys grabbed the handle, pulling it open, feeling Winter slip past her legs. ‘I need to find him some food,’ she said, turning back to Reinar, blinking. It was not unfamiliar to have just the one working eye, and she was gradually getting used to it. ‘I imagine there are kitchen scraps I could have?’
Reinar nodded, following her to the door. ‘I’m sure there are, but he’s probably happy to take care of himself, though Salma always had a bowl of milk waiting for him.’
‘Did she?’ Alys felt wistful for the dead dreamer, wishing she was there, sitting on the bed, ready and able to share her knowledge. The books, though useful in theory, were not the sam
e as talking to a dreamer. And though the dream walking appeared to have worked – or, at least, for Alys it had – she wasn’t sure how to interpret everything she’d read. And she needed to. Desperately. She had to help her grandfather get to the children. And she had to help Reinar defend the fort.
Danger was coming.
Despite all that was swirling around her head, demanding her attention, the one thought that stuck out like a full moon in a night sky was that danger was coming for them all.
Magnus jerked away from the broom attempting to break his ribs.
‘You’ll not earn yourself any supper if you lay about all day!’ the farmer’s wife grumbled, red nose dripping. She didn’t appear to notice, though, as she kept prodding.
Magnus was quickly on his feet, panting, dreams of his mother and Ullaberg gone in a heartbeat.
‘Must be your bed’s too comfortable if you think you can sleep all day! I’ll have to find somewhere else to keep you.’ She sniffed, threatening Magnus with the end of her broom again. ‘Get yourself over there and milk those goats. Can’t you hear the bleating? They’d wake Vasa herself with all that noise!’
Magnus slipped in the sodden straw, trying to avoid another poke, heading for the two old goats banging around their tiny stall. They looked ratty, half-starved, and Magnus wondered how they had any milk in them. But, if he could get rid of the farmer’s wife, perhaps he could take a sip of the milk himself? The morning was ice-tipped, and he shook as he opened the stall door, stomach growling impatiently, trying to ignore the smell. It had been a day since he’d last eaten, and according to the grumbling woman, he would have to wait until supper to eat again.
Magnus thought of his sister, who would surely be having a worse time with those horrible men, and he straightened his aching shoulders, deciding that he just needed to keep going; close his mouth, put his head down, and survive.