The Queen and Her Brook Horse

by Amalia Dillin

  Because the truth was, he did not have to ask her to stay. He could make her desire him so strongly that she would choose herself not to leave. There would be a cost perhaps, for he had promised she would be free, and to manipulate her in such a way might violate the terms of their agreement—but his magic was wild and wild magic did not always respond in predictable ways. It might just as easily be a purposeful device, a means by which he could control her without bringing any consequence upon himself.

  She could not know until he tried.

  And she would never know, either, if her desires, her wants, her wishes for more time in his bed, in his arms, in his company, came from inside her—or from him.

  A very foolish bargain. One her father would not have wished her to make, she was certain. But at the time, when she had looked into his eyes, seen the echo of her loneliness reflected inside him, she had thought it the right one.

  Regardless, it was far too late now for regrets of any kind. So she pulled the cloak around her more securely, let the hood shadow her face, and forced herself to continue forward. Back to the husband she had betrayed and the dubious safety of thick stone walls and violent, power-hungry men.

  Her hand drifted to her stomach, flat still, and she wondered. By the time she met with Isolfur again, she supposed she would know one way or the other.

  She still slept with the king, of course. She must, to ensure that he did not question the children she would bear. And even if it had been otherwise, there was no refusing Gunnar. Not if she wished to keep her skin. The back of his hand, or his fist in her gut, that was one thing. She might suck the blood from her own split lip, and it was unlikely he would bloody her with his fists. Bruise, certainly, but not bleed. So when he came to her, or called her to his bed, she took care to show only the hesitation of a modest woman, the virgin bride who had not yet found pleasure in her marriage bed.

  Thankfully, it meant he sought her out most often only for the purpose of getting an heir, and took his more offensive pleasures elsewhere. He kept women for the purpose that she pretended not to see, not to notice, not to realize must be warming his bed when they did not wait upon her. And for his part, Gunnar did not flaunt his affairs. That much courtesy he had granted her, at least.

  Perhaps he felt he must, because of who her father was. It could not be out of respect for her, alone. Not even as his queen. For when she acted as such, exercising the power and authority of her position, such as it was, Gunnar made certain that she suffered for it, somehow. Either by abusing her in bed or outside of it, and if the perceived slight was terribly great from his accounting, he might use her badly and beat her, as well. And she accepted all of it, using the small bits of magic that she could only to spare herself the absolute worst of his rage and violence, and never when he might suspect manipulation—never when Ragnar might notice, either, for he was by far the more dangerous man.

  “Ragnar’s guards said they lost you today,” Gunnar told her, when she joined him at the great table for their evening meal. “And not for the first time.”

  “As I told you, my king, I went foraging in the wood for herbs and berries—it is the season for it, now, before the weather turns and autumn invites winter’s chill.”

  He grunted. “You should not wander without a guard. Or a companion at the least. One of your women, perhaps.”

  She raised her eyes to his, her expression carefully composed and all innocence. “You cannot fear any of your subjects would dare to touch me, surely? Knowing the punishment that would await them if they so much as tried…”

  His smile was thin, and while she could see she had flattered him, she knew already it wasn’t enough. “What will they say if they learn you slip away? That even the guards cannot find you when you do? They will think you go to meet some lover. That I have no power over my own wife.”

  She lowered her gaze, hoping he saw her flush as shock at such a suggestion and not guilt. “Forgive me, my king. I did not consider that they might slander you so foolishly. You are right, of course. For your sake, I will ask my lady to join me. Frida is skilled in herblore and will know as well as I what is needed—the work will go faster too, that way.”

  “And you will not wander alone again,” he commanded. “If she cannot accompany you, one of Ragnar’s men will.”

  “Yes, my lord,” she agreed. “Of course.”

  Inwardly, she cursed his pride. It would be twice as hard to slip away now, and while she trusted Frida, she had seen for herself how little protection trust might become when Gunnar applied his whip, and she hated to endanger her only friend so cruelly.

  But she had known from the start it was only a matter of time before he noticed and limited her movements. She had only hoped to have a month or two before then, to be sure she had a child in her womb. All of it borrowed. All of it, every day, a risk, to be sure.

  A shame that Ragnar’s eyes were so keen, his men so loyal and eager to serve, to prove themselves to their paranoid king.

  “Will you come to me tonight, my king?” she forced herself to ask, all sweetness. As if she feared having offended him, some disgrace in his eyes that would keep him from favoring her. “If you wish for an heir…”

  His jaw tightened, and she bit her lip—it was the wrong thing to say. She knew it immediately, even before his gaze settled on her, cool and dismissive. “Perhaps you would be better off spending your days mixing herbs to quicken your womb than wandering about collecting berries. I promise you, if there is no child soon, you will regret it.”

  She closed her eyes, feeling the words like a blow. “I already do, my king.”

  “Then you will regret it more,” he said, sneering. “Beginning tonight.”

  Ancestors, protect me. Isolfur—Isolfur, may your spells guard me as truly as you promised. For from the look in his eyes, she would be fortunate if she could rise from her bed tomorrow at all, by the time he was through. Gunnar would make her pay for her infertility, for the suggestion she had not meant to make that it was his lack of interest, his failure, not hers.

  Perhaps it was just as well that she would not be free to summon Isolfur for some time, after all. Signy suspected the brook horse would not like what he found when he answered.

  Signy was pregnant. He could smell it the moment her fingers splashed in the water of the stream. But she did not call to him, and he knew, too, that she wasn’t alone. Another woman splashed beside her—just a woman and no guards that he could see, when he slipped his head above the water and risked a glance at the bank. Signy startled at the sight of him, nose and ears frothing up and then dissolving just as quickly again.

  “Are you well?” her companion asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Signy agreed, frowning at the place where she had glimpsed him, even while he lifted his head again, slightly upstream. “Just a—a fish, I suppose.”

  He snorted, and her head turned, her eyes narrowed and her mouth thin when she caught sight of him again. She withdrew her hand from the water, shaking her head once in firm denial. But Isolfur had waited already three weeks, and he did not mean to be refused this day. Not when he had found her outside the castle with nothing but a maid to guard her.

  He traveled down the stream out of sight of her maid and surged from the water onto the bank, shaking foam and droplets from his hide and surveying the walls and grounds. They were out of sight of the walls, if only just, so he trotted back toward the bend where he had left them, staying near enough to the stream that it would take him less than a blink to slip away again.

  Signy saw him first of course, and chewed her lip, her thoughtful gaze shifting to her maid again. He could take them both, if need be, and once he had the other woman in his cottage, work whatever magic he must to keep her from speaking of it. But he did not think Signy would like it, and he had no way to communicate such a plan to her besides.

  “I must go,” she told her maid.
“Do not ask me where, I beg of you, for both our sakes. Only if the king or Ragnar should ask, you must tell them I was with you all day.”

  The woman shot her an incredulous look. “Ancestors help me! You cannot mean it?”

  Signy offered a twist of a smile, all regret and remorse. “This wasn’t my intent, I promise you. But I fear I have little choice in the matter, now. You must stay near the stream. But out of sight of the walls. Will you do so for me?”

  “And how long will you be gone?”

  “Not more than an hour,” she said firmly, keeping her gaze upon her maid. But he knew the emphasis was for him, all the same. “Please, Frida. I would not ask it of you if I did not have to. Would not risk you, ever, if it were not—you know what he will do to me if he learns I’ve slipped away again.”

  Frida’s gaze dropped to Signy’s stomach, her lips pressing thin. “Go then. But be quick, Signy. If Ragnar sends one of his men to check on us, it will not matter what lies I tell.”

  Signy let out a breath and rucked up her skirts, breaking into a run before her maid had even finished, and Isolfur slipped into the shadows, that Frida might not see where she ran to.

  No more than an hour. He checked the sun against the trees and blew out a breath of his own. He’d have to make every moment of it count, then. Stretch every heartbeat into three once they reached his cottage.

  “You’ll get me killed,” Signy murmured when she reached him, wasting no time at all in clamoring upon his back.

  He bared his teeth in response, but the moment she was settled, he was galloping for the stream—around the bend where he’d come out of it, beyond the sight of the maid. And then they were in the water and not even Fossegrim would find her until he reached the lake and his home and they were solid forms again.

  He swam, and she clung to him, fingers woven into his mane, legs wrapped tightly around his barrel. For all that she had objected, he could sense her eagerness, her pleasure, now that they were beyond Gunnar’s reach. And when he brought her at last to the cottage, leading her by the hand across the threshold, human again, it was not refusal he tasted upon the lips that met his, only relief.

  “I did not know how I would get away,” she said between kisses. “Or if I could bring myself to do it. He’s forbidden me from leaving the castle without an escort, either Frida or one of Ragnar’s men, and Frida—I’ve put her at risk, Isolfur. Grave risk. She does not deserve to be so ill-used. Not when by all rights I should be protecting her as her princess.”

  “Hush,” he said, pressing his lips to her cheek, her temple, her jawline. “The moment anyone else comes within spitting distance of the streambed, I’ll know it. You’ll come tripping ‘round the bend and back into sight before they can begin to wonder where you’ve gotten yourself, I swear it. Neither you nor Frida will be put in any danger this day.”

  “My bleeding has not come,” she said. “But I was not certain—I am not certain yet, if it is a child or—or simply distress. The strain of living inside that castle, within Gunnar’s control.”

  “When you return, you will go to him,” Isolfur said. “And you will tell him that you carry his child, that for its health and yours, you must abstain from the pleasures of the marriage bed. And for its health and yours, you will also need his permission to ride and walk outside the walls, to breathe fresh air and keep yourself strong.” She opened her mouth to argue but he pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her. “Everyone knows those castle walls retain ill-humors, and you have no wish to risk your child. Tell him all of that, all sorrow and regret and sadness, while your hand rests upon your stomach, and every day that you and Frida cross the stream, I will come find you and steal you away, and give you every pleasure in my bed while our child grows strong and fat and safe inside you. I will not have the strain of living as Gunnar’s bride cause you any trouble in this pregnancy, and any hurts he might do you, I would heal at once, to keep you safe, and your body strong.”

  “But if my bleeding should come—”

  “It is a child,” he assured her. “I smelled it the moment your hand touched the water. You carry my child, and I will protect you both as well as I am able. Giving you rest and refuge here is a means to that end.”

  Her lips curved. “I do not think rest is what you have in mind, truly.”

  “How will you rest if you do not tire yourself, first?” he breathed against her ear, tracing the shell of it with his tongue until she shivered. “Come to bed, Signy. If we have only an hour, let us make it worth the risk you’ve taken.”

  “If I truly carry your child—”

  “You do,” he promised again, grinning at her caution. “There is no doubt of it, my lady.”

  “—Then would it not be better if we did not…”

  He laughed at that and swept her up into his arms, carrying her to the bedroom. “No child of mine would be harmed by a little pleasure, do not worry yourself on that account. Whether your men breed weaker stock, I cannot say, but I will lend you the power of my own voice when you speak to Gunnar, and he will believe anything you say about the babe in your womb. At least until the sun sets. Another reason you should return to me, that I might renew the magic you will use to protect yourself and the child.”

  She lifted both eyebrows. “Anything that I say?”

  “About the child’s needs,” he cautioned. “And yours, for its sake. I cannot grant you more than that, I’m afraid, without extracting some greater vow in exchange.”

  “I’ve nothing left to give you,” she grumbled. “Nothing left that I might bargain away.”

  “Good,” he said, and dropped her upon his bed. “Then you are mine and will remain so. Imagine what else you might have risked if you had not given up all you had already to me? Would you have gone in search of dragonkin, next, to extract some promise from them as well?”

  “Hardly!”

  He crawled up her body. “If you’d known where to find one, how to summon them and what they desired, I think you might have.”

  She flushed, whether because he spoke true, or because he had begun to draw her skirts up her legs, his fingers caressing the warm, soft flesh beneath, he did not particularly care. She was his, with his child in her belly, and he meant to take full advantage before he was forced to return her home again. Before any fool guard might disturb them by blundering too near to the stream and Frida. He would be most put out if they were interrupted before they’d both found the sweetness of release, and regardless of what he’d told her, he had no intention of returning her glaze-eyed and frustrated with unmet need.

  “Hand or mouth?” he asked her, his voice rough with desire.

  Signy shook her head, her teeth catching on her lower lip. “You,” she gasped, when he stroked her center. “Just you.”

  He was more than happy to oblige.

  It was not until after that he saw the marks on her back. She knew it the moment the breath hissed out between his teeth and his fingertips dug into her hip, holding her firm. “What is this?”

  “Nothing now,” she told him, rolling to her back again before he could study the healed marks any more closely. “And he will not dare to harm me now that I carry his heir. Nor risk my death for that matter, after the child is born. Not before its tenth year, or he will have to give it up to my father in Hunaland, to be raised by my family instead.”

  “He will not,” Isolfur agreed, the words ground between his teeth. “Or I will lure him out from the safety of his stone walls and drown him beneath the earth. Why did you not tell me at once that he had whipped you?”

  “Isolfur…” She stroked his face, his hair. “What could you have done? I could not leave the castle to come to you, and a horse stampeding through the halls would have hardly helped. Frida cared for me and I am all but healed now.”

  His eyes were still hard, his body stiff. “Was it because of me? Because of this?”

/>   “No,” she assured him quickly. “No. It was my own doing. I spoke foolishly and he—he took exception.”

  “Your own doing,” he seethed. “As if it was not his hand that held the whip.”

  She dropped her gaze, pressing her hand to his chest, over his heart. “It was not your doing, either. Even if he had found us together, it would still not be any fault of yours.”

  “I cannot protect you if you do not tell me what has happened,” he said. “If I do not know what he’s done—”

  “And what would you have done, Isolfur?” she asked. “Tell me. Tell me your power reaches beyond those walls, into the castle, and I will keep nothing from you. Tell you everything you wish to know, everything you will hate to hear. But you have said already that galloping through the castle as a horse intent on murder will serve no one, and if I had tried to leave, I’d have suffered for it. I am not so great a fool as to compound my own misery, and I know my husband. I know when not to risk his anger, when not to push him too far.”

  “If that were true, this would not have happened,” Isolfur growled.

  Signy offered a crooked smile. “My mouth gets away from me, at times. And Gunnar has never been wholly predictable. But I promise you, I know him well enough. And this—this is nothing. It could have been much worse. Would have been, if I had insisted on leaving to come to you too soon.”

  “And today?” he asked.

  “It was a test,” she admitted, smoothing the hair back from his face. “To see how strictly he meant to watch me. To see if it was safe to slip away again.”

  “And I took you before you knew the answer,” he said, the words bitter. “Before you could know if you would be safe.”