by Marian Gray
“Yes,” Svotheim answered, without giving me a reprehensible glance. Why was I allowed to speak around Solvild but not the others? “We used to raid together.”
“Back when I still used a sword,” Solvild added. “I’ve chosen a more diplomatic occupation now.” He held out his arms, showing off silk sleeves that bore an impeccable stitch.
Svotheim cocked an eyebrow. “As the king’s steward or the king’s lover?”
“That’s the trick. Tempt and tease him but never give in. Once you give in to Erlend, you’re no longer shiny and new.” Solvild grinned. “It’s a lonely and difficult game to balance. If I want someone to share my bed, I have to leave the city or face the king’s jealous wrath. It’s a shame his brother isn’t interested in men, too. I love a brooding man with an attitude.”
“I appreciate the advice,” Svotheim said. “I’ll remember it for when Erlend comes after my hind end.”
“Pray he doesn’t,” Solvild said, guiding us through the palace’s many halls and chambers. Every inch was shrouded in art: paintings, mosaics, stained glass, tapestries, and sculptures—an expression of the Rekkesov’s endless wealth. “I would say you don’t seem to be doing so bad yourself, Svotheim, considering Ark Ulfur chose you as his ambassador. But you look like shit.”
“Yeah, there was a bad storm that caught us on our way in. Clothes, food, and boat are all ruined.”
“I’ll see that those issues are resolved while you’re here with us. You may be better off repairing your own boat, though. There’s not a builder here that surpasses your talent.” Solvild glanced at me from the corner of his eye, sizing me up with a quick head to toe search. “Who’s the new woman?”
“Derethe. She’s a slave from Sairasee.”
“Ark Ulfur had you bring a slave along? Interesting,” Solvild said as we rounded a corner. “I suspect you aren’t permitted to share the details of your mission. But I’ll trade you secret for secret. You tell me what Ulfur wants, and I’ll tell you what Erlend’s answer will be.” There was a marked hunger in his voice. He was someone who feasted on whispers and rumors.
“How about you tell me how to get what I want instead?” Svotheim countered.
His friend shrugged. “If I can, I will—but I will not bend him to your will. This court is merciless, and as soon as King Erlend believes me to be trying to sway him for your gain, I’ll be put out. I can’t risk it.”
“Fair enough. Every ruler demands absolute loyalty nowadays.” Svotheim shrugged. “Ark Ulfur wants men, boats, and Torram.”
“Men, boats, and Torram?” Solvild’s brow knit as he worked to piece it together. Seconds later, his eyes grew wide. “He’s planning a war? But how does Torram fit into all of this? Our troops don’t need the commander; they’ll follow any of our captains.”
“Not to lead just Rekke men but ours as well.”
“What happened to that gorgeous fox, Iver?”
“He’s Ark of Arus,” Svotheim answered. “Now, hold up your end of the deal.”
Solvild sighed as his look grew somber. “Erlend won’t do it. He’ll certainly want to. That man loves spoils, but we don’t have men or boats or the prince to spare. The king’s done everything he can to suppress the news from getting out, but Rekkesov is in quite an aggressive skirmish with our southern neighbor, Essony. There’s a new king on the throne, and he’s bent on conquest. Things aren’t looking so good for the kingdom right now. We’re expecting an all-out war that we may not be able to win and are repositioning our soldiers.”
“Up my ass with a wooden spoon,” Svotheim spat. “You’re getting ready to go to war?”
Solvild patted his friend’s shoulder, not giving any more. “You can still proposition the king. I just don’t think he’ll bite.”
X
Lungdal
The village of Lungdal was underwhelming to say the least. It was the largest of the seven that lingered in Arus’s shadow, but was made up of only ten buildings—including those that were in the marketplace. I wasn’t expecting much, considering Lungdal mainly served as a vendor and outpost for the fifty or so surrounding farmers, yet it still felt nearly nonexistent.
“Why did you bring me here?” Brungen grumbled as we drew.
“You never told me you didn’t want to come.”
“Well, you didn’t say I had a choice in the matter.”
I shrugged. “Because you didn’t. Besides, I thought you had a thing for farmers.”
“I do,” Brungen said. “But they’re all out in the fields, not here. I promise you the hall is going to be full of entitled thanes and wanna-be warriors. Not my crowd. But that is a rather impressive hall for such a small place.”
I nodded my agreement. Lungdal had constructed a rather nice seat for the thane. It was roughly the same size as the ark’s hall in Arus, but the wood was different—better quality and sturdier. Their inland location wasn’t ideal for trading, but they certainly didn’t lack in resources the way coastal settlements did.
As we entered the hall, a wave of warmth and laughter blew past us. A central hearth roared with flames. They flicked at least six feet in the air, struggling to reach the ring of candles that dangled overhead. Surrounding the warm blaze were three long tables lined with oak benches and filled with bodies who grew quiet upon noticing us.
The hall was plain and bare but not unpleasant. I didn’t need to be enveloped in finery to feel comfortable, and rooms stuffed with wares and furniture suffocated me.
The guard who led us along stopped and bowed. “Ark Iver of Arus has arrived.”
Despite the stark silence, a man rose from his seat. His hair was long and thick and the color of graying flax. Deep lines carved their way through his face, not ending until they met his extensive mustache and trimmed beard. He opened his arms wide to us. The hem of his tunic was browned from old mud stains.
“Of Arus? There is no mistaking where the three of you are from. Tattoos, kohl-lined eyes, long braids, and dark clothing—the Varundians have arrived. Welcome to my home, Ark Iver!” He had a rather distinct accent that was punctuated by a slow drum to his words and even pace in tone. “I am Thane Ristof of Lungdal. Please, bring your men over and sit and eat and drink with us. You all must be weary from your journey.”
Those sitting upon the bench across from Ristof scooted to the side, creating three opens seats.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” I said as I walked to the table with Irska and Brungen. Cirithe and the three Arusians were shepherded off to the side and placed at the end of the table.
“Who are your companions?” Thane Ristof asked, sitting down once more.
“Brungen son of Brun of Varund and Irska the Second of Varund,” I answered as the servants rushed to set our places on the table. New goblets were brought and filled, and clean plates with unused utensils were laid out for us to use.
I couldn’t tell which individuals at the table were thanes and which were wealthy landowners or advisors. There was no distinguishing article of clothing or piece of jewelry. To me, they all looked like farmers. Their shirts were stained, hair unkept, body odor rancid, and style outdated. But I assumed all the thanes had come as requested. There was a city of tents set up behind the hall.
“And who are the men I sit amongst?” I asked.
One by one they went down the line, rattling off names. Many of them were the same or similar with only a few variations here or there. I only memorized those which had ‘Thane’ at the front of them. These were the men I would be dealing with, the ones I would need to study.
“Lastly, this is my wife, Tabita, and son, Lars,” Ristof said, placing a hand on the two people that sat on either side of him.
Tabita wasn’t hard on the eyes. Her features were common but soft. I doubted she had been regarded as a beauty in her youth. Regardless, she had aged very well.
Lars on the other hand, looked to be the town’s prized warrior. He was tall with some muscle and bone on him. He had a ruddy color to h
is lips that was made even brighter by his pasty skin and curly blond hair. He sat with his back straight and chin held high, booming with confidence—too much, in fact. He had probably spent the last decade being praised and fawned over to have garnered that level of pride.
“It is an honor to meet you all.” I grabbed my cup and lifted. “To life, prosperity, and glory.”
The entire hall joined in, raising their goblets high in the air before bringing them to their lips and drinking fully.
“Oh, that is some of the best miode I’ve had in a long time,” Brungen said as he stared into his glass, examining the liquid.
“I’m delighted to hear that,” Ristof said. “We have several keepers in the area with some of the best beehives. We take a lot of pride in our honey-making and miode-brewing.”
“I must say,” Tabita began. Her voice was rough and scratchy, as though she had been sucking on the pipe for decades. It was an expensive habit as the plant came from a faraway land that we had yet to even find. “I love your look. Out of the four big cities, Varund has always been my favorite with her cold, dark colors and intricate care with details.”
It was difficult to know whether she was being sincere or just using flattery to gain favor.
“Thank you.” Irska smiled. “That is kind of you.”
“Do you plan to shed the severe appearance and start dressing more like us?” Lars asked with a break in his voice. He looked seventeen or eighteen, but the squeak and pitch told me he was younger.
Ristof jumped in before either of the three of us had a chance to reply. “That is not an appropriate thing to ask.”
“Of course it is,” Thane Athulf bellowed from Lars’s side. “He’s the Ark of Arus. He should be Arusian, not Varundian.”
The request was ridiculous. With nearly thirty years to me, I wasn’t about to just abandon my regional culture because they saw me as Varundian. It wouldn’t change anything. No matter how I dressed or wove my hair or sang my words, I would always be Varundian.
“Athulf, was it?” I hadn’t forgotten his name, but I wanted him to feel small.
He nodded his large head of thick, curly dark brown hair. He was oddly hairy. The scraggly threads were practically pouring out of the neck of his tunic.
“What’s your village?”
“I preside over Hrafna,” he answered with booming pride. “It’s a respectable settlement to the east.”
“That’s interesting,” I mused between sips. “Your name is not Norrender. You certainly don’t look Norrender either. How is it you come to be thane of one of our villages as an outsider?”
The area around me went silent. The only chatter heard came from the men who sat at the ends of the table.
Athulf gritted his teeth as he spoke. “I was born and raised in Hrafna. I am of Hrafna.”
I glanced around, more interested in the reaction of the other thanes than Athulf’s own words. Judging by the downcast stares and wandering gazes, there was a lot more to his history than he was letting on. And it was something unsavory—perhaps he was born in Hrafna but stole the seat? I didn’t know, and to be honest, I didn’t care. I simply didn’t want to be badgered by a hypocrite.
“But you’re not Norrender.” I shook my head.
Brungen burst into laughter. “This is already way more entertaining than I had expected it to be, and I’m only a cup in. Can’t wait to see where this evening takes us.”
Nobody else laughed with him.
“I do not want a quarrel with you, Thane Athulf. A truce?” I asked, lifting my goblet.
Athulf didn’t lift a finger. His dark gaze was fixed on me, seething with anger below the surface.
“You’ll have to forgive him, Ark Iver,” Ristof said. “He is quick to temper and easy to insult. But please, think nothing of it. You are an honored guest in my home.”
“Out of respect for your hospitality, all is forgiven.” But I wouldn’t forget it.
The rest of the evening carried out in a more merry and relaxed mood. Once everyone had been adequately dined, the tension dissipated. However, it wasn’t lost on me that Thane Athulf ignored me as much as possible and Lars rolled his eyes whenever Irska, Brungen, or I said something he disagreed with. I knew I would have to deal with the two of them eventually, but this evening was not that time.
As the servants went around refilling goblets one after another, Irska placed a kiss on my cheek and whispered in my ear. “Did you count the thanes?”
“No,” I answered.
Her lips met my skin again. “Do it.”
“Does this mean you’re done being mad at me?” I asked. She hadn’t spoken to me or touched me since I had rejected her the night before.
She leaned back in her chair, shaking her head before she mouthed the word ‘count’.
I did as she requested. My eyes swept across the table: one, two, three, four, five, six... only six. How had I not noticed before?
“Oh, I hadn’t realized until just now that you and Irska are…” Tabita’s words drifted off. “I feel so foolish for insisting that you meet my niece, Ark Iver.”
I ignored Tabita. “Thane Ristof, where’s the seventh thane? Who’s missing?”
Athulf jumped in. “He didn’t come because the former seventh thane now lives outside of Arus’s influence.”
“It’s best just to ignore it altogether,” Ristof added.
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, I disagree.” It sounded like he just needed to be reined in, and Godromar had given the villages a little too much autonomy. “Is he another of Godromar’s pets?”
Ristof shook his head. “No, two years ago leadership changed in the village, and a spade now holds the title.”
“What?” Irska spat. “A spade? You don’t actually believe she’s a spade, do you? All three spades have been found and recognized by the Temple of Askaden already.”
“Not she but he,” Ristof said. “And yes, I do believe he is a spade.”
I couldn’t help it. The miode weakened my lips, and I roared with laughter. Between the Arusians and the villagers, I was constantly rendered speechless by their ignorance and gullibility.
“You can’t be serious,” I said once my breath returned to me. “Men are never chosen to be spades, nor are spades allowed to hold titles or thrones.”
“How dare you laugh at my father,” Lars snapped. “He’s right. The man can do magic. How else do you explain it, since you’re so wise?”
I shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to see for ourselves.”
XI
Ours
The water was hot, just off the fire. It circled my toes, climbed up my legs, and heated the knots out of my back and shoulders. A long mirror rested at the end of my bathtub. Its edges glittered with gold filigree. I stared at my polished reflection. Dark curls sparkled in the firelight from the droplets that clung to my hair. A flush had filled my face from the heat, bringing out the red behind my deep umber skin. Each of my features were smooth and tender, elegant even. I didn’t look like a slave, and lying in that copper bathtub, I didn’t feel like one either.
For five days, they had kept us waiting. For five days I had lived in this opulence. I was saddened when I heard the king had finally made room for us in his schedule. My days of being treated like a royal visitor were coming to an end. And I wanted to feel like this every day.
My mind replayed the scene at Askaden—being hailed Athiss’s daughter. That was the only other time I remembered feeling even close to this.
Was the situation really as trivial as I made it out to be or was it a gift in disguise? Kona had said that I needed to surrender myself to the Temple to receive training and salvation. What would it be like to live as Athiss’s blessed spade? How different would people perceive me? How different would my daily life be? Would it make me a desirable match for marriage? Would it turn Iver’s attention to me?
I sighed. Marriage was so far from my grasp. I needed to let it go. It simply wasn’t something I was ev
er going to have in this life, and neither was Iver. I thought it was hard to turn his head when he was a commander. Now that he was an ark, I really didn’t have a chance.
“I feel like a new man,” Svotheim said as he entered my room. He was naked, save the red towel around his waist. His skin was scrubbed clean, and his pale yellow hair combed back. Slender lines from the comb’s teeth parted the thin strands in a row pattern.
Normally, I would have used my arms and hands to hide my nakedness, but Svotheim never looked at my body like that. Even now, with my figure laid bare, his eyes never wandered down my breasts or lower. They met my face with ease, not struggling to restrain himself.
I had spent one night with him and Hetla, and looking back on it, it wasn’t he that had called me over. Nor had he engaged with me in any way, shape, or form. My participation was demanded from Hetla. And once she had had her taste, she was finished with me. I was thankful to be left alone, but I couldn’t lie. That experience had changed me.
“What a life these highborns must have in this court.” He sat on the servant’s stool near my tub.
“Absolutely luxurious,” I added.
He lifted my slave ring from a nearby table and examined it. “Are you still comfortable attending the feast tonight?”
I sank a bit lower in the tub. “Yes.” I cocked an eyebrow. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be?”
My bracelet sparkled in the light as he set it back down. “It’s just…” His eyes looked upward in thought. “They’re a bit different from the feasts we have in Varund.”
“In what way?”
“Well, they’re rowdy, boisterous, and rather lively. Fights are common and aren’t stopped.”
“It sounds like the stories my people pass around about Varund.” I could sit through the barbaric shows of strength, but I didn’t want to participate. “I’m surprised it’s something Erlend and Torram would allow in a palace as fine as theirs.”