“It’s true the Islanders practice magic, but even among them, real witches are rare, and there are fewer of them left after the war. Once, almost every Agiennan longship would have a witch on board to ensure safe sailing and give them an edge over their adversaries. But after the peace treaty, with the new restrictions on their sailing routes, their witches rarely leave the islands. Even the rogue clans wouldn’t risk bringing one on a raid to the mainland these days.”
“I’d be nervous to be locked with a witch on a ship, days on end,” Mathis piped in. “You never know when they’re gonna snap and go berserk on you.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” Jord said, taking the wine jug Derek passed over to him.
“Well, they would. Everybody knows magic eventually drives them mad. That’s why the law says—”
“Enough,” Callan said, cutting through Mathis’s explanation.
His voice was level, but it effectively silenced them. An uncomfortable hush fell over their little circle, and Derek recalled yet again that strange encounter in the woods their first night on the road. What was Callan afraid of?
“I don’t know about witches,” he said in an attempt to change the subject. “But we’ve had a similar problem with marauders plaguing the northern regions of Camria in the recent years, though not quite to the same scale. My father and I led several forays to drive them out of our forests.”
That earned him a few approving murmurs. There was no question Mulberny had had a lot to deal with, but it all served the misguided notion that whoever hadn’t grown up within sight of the sea was a pampered malingerer. Perhaps now they’d understand that peace and quiet were just as fragile inland as they were along the coast.
This sparked a slew of questions about his homeland, and he was all too happy to answer, telling them about the castle that overlooked a serene lake, surrounded by a thick forest; of the granaries his grandmother had established farther to the south; of the new breed of horses they were beginning to export to much interest from the High Court.
Somewhere along the way he realized, with a start, that he was homesick. Surely, not enough time had passed for him to long to see the forests, the fields, and the lakes he was so fond of, or to miss his mother and sister. And yet, there he was, contemplating whether he should take Callan’s advice and return to Camria once the campaign was over. It wasn’t as if anything—or anyone—was keeping him in Mulberny.
By some intuitive understanding, the conversation steered clear of the more sensitive topics of Count Johan’s death and the imposed peace treaty. Callan stayed out of it, eating his evening meal in silence, but Derek could tell he was listening.
Darkness descended around them, bringing with it a sharp bite of chill. This far north, the nights were already distinctly cold, despite it being only the very beginning of autumn. The other soldiers gradually wandered off, either to take the watch or to settle into their sleeping pallets. Eventually, Leandre, too, bid them good night, leaving Derek and Callan alone beside the fire.
He should go to sleep, Derek thought, watching the flames dance against the backdrop of tall pines and the vast sky, utterly black now when juxtaposed with the bright oranges and reds of the fire. But he didn’t rise, letting himself enjoy the relative tranquility of the evening.
“Do you wish you could have stayed in Camria?” Callan asked, making him start.
Immersed as he was in his own thoughts, Derek had almost forgotten Callan was still there.
“I’d rather be there for my family,” Derek said truthfully. “When I left home, it was…in turmoil. But I don’t regret coming here. I’ve learned a great many things that I wouldn’t have known otherwise. I’ve changed my mind about a lot of things.”
Callan nodded thoughtfully.
“I suppose that’s true for me as well.”
Derek wanted to ask what it was that Callan had had a change of heart about. His husband was still a mystery to him. Being in each other’s company for only a few days hadn’t been enough to get to know one another—and Callan was, by nature, reticent. But they were alone now, sharing a rare companionable moment, so Derek let the rein slip on his curiosity.
“Did your wife ever join you on patrols?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
Even though the question was innocuous enough, Callan’s expression instantly went blank.
“There weren’t as many reasons to keep a close watch on the coast while she was alive,” he said. “She did love outings, though. Hunting, sailing, riding.”
Derek recalled Ivo telling him that Callan’s wife had died in some sort of accident—which hadn’t been entirely random, if rumors were to be believed.
He didn’t buy into the rumors. Perhaps it was naive of him, since Callan was little more than a stranger, and looks could be deceiving. But Derek didn’t sense in him a violent or abusive streak such as he’d come to recognize a little too well living with his father, trying to navigate his moods and uncontrollable rages with various degrees of success. He couldn’t fathom Callan flying into a murderous fury because he was forced to marry a former enemy. Though he’d made it all too clear he didn’t want to marry Derek, not once did Derek feel threatened in his presence, even on an instinctual level. A man who took time to read books on the customs of his enemies and who respected their rituals wouldn’t be blinded with hatred. And whatever other secrets Callan was hiding, iniquity wasn’t one of them.
There was something else at the bottom of the murky story, and Derek knew he had to find out what it was.
“What happened to her?”
There was a pause as Callan stared at the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes, turning their color from icy blue to almost golden. Derek held his breath, but then Callan rose to his feet abruptly.
“Didn’t you hear? I killed her,” he said and strode off in the direction of the pines that grew down to the shoreline, his fur-lined black cloak blending instantly into the deep shadows.
Derek sighed and rubbed his forehead. It seemed his intelligence-gathering skills (as well as his tact) were sorely lacking, but he’d asked the man some difficult questions before, and his answers had always been direct. This time, he’d managed to hit a sore spot, however; perhaps even a wound that was yet unhealed. He was contemplating going after Callan to apologize when a hand touched his right shoulder.
He jumped, embarrassed to have been so preoccupied to be caught unawares. There were people keeping watch, but it was no excuse for carelessness.
“I couldn’t help but overhear,” Leandre said, apparently unfazed by admitting to eavesdropping, and came to sit next to him, though the fire was already burning out. “Don’t take it hard. He doesn’t like talking about Idona.”
“Did you know her?” Derek asked.
Leandre nodded, the sharpness of her gaze softening at the memory. Her features were a bit too strong to be considered classically beautiful, but she was one of those people whose appeal had nothing to do with prettiness.
“It’s strange to think about an arranged union in these terms, but they were a perfect match. Callan was too reserved to be widely liked by his subjects, or by anyone who didn’t interact with him day by day, really. Respected, admired, even, but not genuinely loved. Idona changed that. People resisted her at first, unwilling to accept an enemy princess as their future duchess, but she was kind and outgoing. She’d taken to rebuilding everything her kin had fought to destroy. Her death was a great loss to everyone in Irthorg.”
“I’ve heard the stories about him murdering her,” Derek admitted. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, but he owed it to Leandre to be honest in return for her openness. “But that’s not what really happened, is it?”
He thought back on the lock of hair placed inside a dainty silver box, on the way Callan’s lips had flattened into a hard line and his eyes had gone cold when Derek had touched it. Such sentimentality couldn’t be feigned—not that Derek suspected Callan would feign any sort of emotion for his sake.
&n
bsp; Leandre shook her head.
“They were out for a swim at night. Being romantic, I suppose. It was late spring, still not the best time for swimming around these parts, but they’d both grown up on the water.”
“So she drowned?”
“The current was too strong. It drew her under. Callan nearly drowned himself trying to save her, but she was gone too quickly. Her body washed ashore the next morning, so battered against the rocks she was barely recognizable. He never forgave himself for her death.”
A heavy silence settled between them. Derek tried to imagine Callan giddy with infatuation, sneaking away from the castle with his ladylove for a dip, as if they were common youths out for a bit of forbidden fun instead of a married couple bound by titles, propriety, and obligations. He couldn’t quite picture it. It was as if Leandre were talking about a different man altogether.
But love—real love—changed people, didn’t it? At least, that was what Derek had heard from others, having never experienced it himself. Perhaps all it did was make them act the fools. It made them blame themselves for things that weren’t their fault.
“Thank you for telling me this,” he said quietly, watching the flames lick the velvety darkness of the sky. “I may have a better understanding of him now.”
“He deserves far more consideration than people are willing to give him,” Leandre said, giving him a sidelong glance. “And from what I’ve seen, I think you do too.”
Derek sat there watching the fire slowly die long after Leandre had left to take her watch.
WHEN DEREK ENTERED the tent, Callan was already in his shirtsleeves, getting ready to sleep. He looked up from where he sat on his pallet, caught in the middle of taking off his boots.
The lit brazier cast a pleasant warmth that spread through Derek’s chilled limbs. Inside this little cocoon of comfort, it would be easy to forget for a while the horrors they’d witnessed and the danger still lurking out there.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, lowering himself onto the soft furs. “I shouldn’t have pried.”
Callan shook his head. His shoulders slumped, as if in defeat, and he tugged off his other boot angrily. “And I shouldn’t have snapped. You’re my husband. You have a right to know these things.”
“You loved Idona very much, didn’t you?” Derek asked quietly.
For a moment, only the crackling of the embers in the brazier filled the silence.
“Idona was the daughter of the Danulf chieftain,” Callan said finally. He wasn’t looking at Derek, his fingers tugging at the straps of his leather boots.
“Danulf is the largest, most powerful clan in the Outer Isles. The Agiennans lack a centralized leadership, but they have a Council of the Chieftains to sort things out when needed, and Danulf has a lot of influence. When the war ended, most of Agienna was devastated. Mulberny suffered great losses, without question, but Agienna lost most of its fleet and was depleted of its resources. They had no choice but to capitulate, but it wasn’t easy. The Agiennans are a proud people, and many would rather fight to the very last man than to admit defeat, especially on the sort of terms Ivicia required. Aegir, the Danulf chieftain, was the one to rally the council and broker a peace treaty with Mulberny. To secure it, I was wedded to his daughter, and she removed to Irthorg, a sort of a hostage of good will in the eyes of her people. By all accounts, neither of us should have fallen in love with the other, but we did. We thought we’d be together forever. We talked about what we were going to name our children.”
He paused, his expression becoming wistful. Watching him, Derek felt stirrings of sympathy for Callan and this woman he’d never met, whose situation had been so similar to his own. But it wasn’t entirely the same because she’d obviously found love with the man she’d been forced to marry, while Derek could never hope for more than them tolerating each other’s company for the duration of their forced proximity.
“She sounds like an exceptional sort of person,” he said, remembering what Leandre had said about her.
“She was,” Callan agreed, still avoiding his gaze.
“I know it must be meaningless to you,” Derek said hesitantly. “But if I believed I could do something to make the gods return her to you, I would.”
Callan raised his head, looking at Derek for the first time during their conversation with a sort of mild surprise.
“It’s not meaningless,” he said. “Thank you.”
There was a long pause while they regarded each other with a new sort of understanding. Derek would be hard-pressed to say what it was, exactly, but something had shifted in the gap between them, making it seem less of a chasm.
“The Agiennans must have been upset over her passing,” Derek said, changing the subject to a slightly safer topic, though perhaps “safer” wasn’t the right word to describe the aftermath of a tragedy.
Callan grimaced, but his posture relaxed infinitesimally.
“That’s an understatement. Upon hearing of his daughter’s death, Aegir pulled out of the treaty, swearing vengeance upon me and my house. For a while, we thought war was going to break all over again, but it seemed the rest of the clans were tired of fighting. The peace held, and even the Danulf didn’t resume their attacks against us.”
“But you think they might be behind this new wave of raids on your coast?” Derek asked, recalling Callan’s debate with Lord Morgan.
Something like approval flickered in Callan’s eyes, as if he was surprised that Derek had made the connection.
“It’s too soon to tell,” he said. “Not all the clans have signed the treaty with Mulberny. Those raiders we encountered yesterday were Vanir. They’re a small rogue clan, living almost entirely off piracy and theft. But yes, both my father and I fear the Danulf might be spurring them on. Agiennans don’t let go of blood feuds so easily.”
Derek sighed and rubbed his shoulder absently, trying to ease the ache.
“All this seems so…senseless. So much death and destruction simply because some men refuse to see reason.”
“That’s how wars are usually started,” Callan said, but his tone was gentle rather than mocking. He leaned sideways on his elbow, as if he and Derek were having a friendly chat. Maybe they were, in a sense, if one disregarded the gruesome subject matter.
Derek laughed bitterly. “Tell me about it. If it weren’t for my father’s pigheadedness, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now, and he’d still be alive.”
“I take it you weren’t in support of his feud with Mulberny?”
“To put it mildly. To be fair, I don’t think the duke, your father, had been in the right in the matter of the Sevia River dam. It stemmed the flow needed to irrigate the fields of our northern regions, and the crops were suffering from the shortage during the summer months. But it could all have been resolved with an amended agreement. There was no need to declare war, for gods’ sake.”
“And you couldn’t persuade your father to take a different course of action?” Callan asked.
“My father didn’t take well to people challenging his decisions.” Derek tried to keep the pain out of his voice, but apparently, he wasn’t doing a good enough job, because Callan was now looking at him with something closer to concern. “Least of all me. I could never do enough to please him.”
“Then he was a fool,” Callan said firmly. “Forgive my lack of respect. But you’re the only member of your family I’ve seen exhibit any sort of common sense.”
Derek snorted in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think I was posturing by insisting on accompanying you on this foray.”
“I was wrong. You know what you’re about. I’m sorry I doubted your motives and abilities, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Derek stared at him. He’d suspect Callan was having him on, but there was no hint of mockery in the way he steadily regarded him. Did he really just admit he was wrong about Derek? Did he apologize for underestimating him?
Callan stretched out on the pallet, his eyes half
-lidded. Derek’s gaze traveled the languid lines of his limbs, lingering where the fall of his shirt exposed lightly tanned skin over hard muscles. In repose, as his considerable strength lay dormant and his expression wasn’t as tightly guarded, glimpses of vulnerability shone through. He was beautiful—not with the cold kind of beauty befitting a statue or a god, but with that of a man made of flesh and blood. Derek couldn’t help but wonder how Callan would look exposed further, having shed a few more layers of his mental armor. Suddenly, he wanted to meet the man who could be madly in love with his spouse, who could smile and say kind things and be generous with his affection, because, somehow, he knew beyond a doubt Callan was capable of all these things.
If he wasn’t careful, Derek would be in danger of finding himself developing the exact sort of feelings he’d so readily scorned before. And that, he knew with even more certainty, could lead to nothing but heartbreak.
Chapter Eight
THE NEXT TIME they faced the raiders, they weren’t so lucky.
It was Mathis who spotted the approaching longship as they hid in the tall grasses surrounding an isolated hamlet. The forest encroached on the tiny settlement from all sides save the sea, so there were plenty of places to safely hide the horses.
There was no music this time. The hamlet was half-abandoned as it was, with some of the houses boarded up, their yards empty of fowl and livestock. The remaining villagers kept their doors tightly shut and their windows darkened, but it was a poor disguise against reconnaissance from the sea.
The narrow beach afforded no room to maneuver between the thickets of trees, so their troop went on the offensive as soon as the ship touched shore and the first raider jumped into shallow water. Screams and battle cries erupted into the crisp night air, mixed with the clashing of steel against steel.
Callan kept Derek in his sights—not because he didn’t trust him to hold his own, but because his gaze kept slipping, drawn to him as if by some sort of homing spell, like the ones the Agiennan witches used to find their way back to a familiar place when sailing uncharted waters.
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