by Marian Gray
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He had blindsided me. I had kept my affection for Iver hidden, not only to preserve my life, but to protect my heart as well. It was a scathing vulnerability and having Svotheim dig into it left me feeling like a butchered pig—exposed, raw, and dismembered.
“You’ll ride to Essony whether you think it wise or not.” His tone was final. It was obvious this was where he wanted the conversation to end.
My arms folded across my chest. “And if I run?”
“I’ll find you and kill you myself,” he said before he turned and strutted away.
“I’m not going,” I called after him, but he kept walking. “I’m not going!”
Never once did he glance over his shoulder at me as he sauntered back to the feast. The action spoke louder than any word could.
My lungs beat with a rapid pace. Everything inside of me screamed to run away, but I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried. I was stuck in this body, a collapsing shell of disappointment and shame as my small previous victory crumbled to nothing. My eyes fluttered closed. The sting of tears knocked from behind my eyelids. I couldn’t let them out. Not here. Not in front of these people. My fingertips jammed into my eyes, trying to shove the tears back into their ducts. The salty water ran down my skin, making each digit glisten in the dim light.
It was the drink, I told myself. The miode was making me cry—not Svotheim’s words. Not his demeaning lecture about why I wasn’t good enough for the only man I had ever been drawn to or kissed.
He constantly swam at the forefront of my mind, but I desperately wanted to push him away, to make Iver cease to exist in my world. What was the point of Svotheim ripping away my thin blanket of resolve?
Stress bubbled in my lungs. I pressed a hand to my chest. The air burned against my throat.
“Derethe?” A voice called out to me.
I jumped, startled. A black silhouette walked toward me. His arms rested at his side, hanging from rounded shoulders and covered in a modestly decorated tunic.
“Are you okay?” His hair dangled along his shoulders, and the tendrils burst into blond rays when the torchlight hit it just right.
“Prince Torram.” My sleeves wiped at my eyes. “I didn’t recognize you at first with the light to your back.”
“What are you doing out here?”
I shrugged. “Just needed some air.”
He chuckled, resting against the wall next to me. “I do too when my mind is fogged.”
I took a deep breath, needing to still my heart and head. I couldn’t be a blubbering mess in front of Prince Torram. This assassination scheme and my failure with Iver needed to be shoved down inside me and hidden from sight.
“What do you think of your first Rekke feast so far?” His eyebrows lifted in question.
“It’s interesting. Very different from Varundian feasts.” My mind flashed back to Iver standing beside me, extending a cup of miode out to my empty hand. He claimed he was there to warn me about what was going to happen later that night, but that was just an excuse. He really only wanted to speak to me, to hear my voice. The hard strum of his tongue in my native language filled my ears. He never did tell me how he learned to speak it. “Varundian feasts are a lot more charismatic and seductive.”
“Oh?” A playful smile extended across Torram’s face as he laughed. “I see where your loyalties lie.” He wet his lips. “You are probably the only person who has ever described the Varundians as such. Did somebody try to entice you?” His eyes met mine, watching for a reaction. “Did someone get you wrapped around their finger?”
I stared back at him and did as many of their kind had shown me many times before—I kept my face expressionless. “What makes you think that?”
He sent me a knowing look. “You. And your description. You’re talking about somebody in particular.” His arms folded across his chest. “That and the fact that I’ve been to Varund many times. In all those times, I was never tempted.”
“Are you sure they were even trying? You are the second son after all.” It was bold of me to say, but the miode made me feel invincible. And Torram had a way of making me see myself as equal.
He whistled a descending note. “You’re brave.” A twinkle played in his eyes. “It looks good on you. And to answer your question, yes. They were trying. My brother is spoiled and stubborn. He refuses to bed a woman. Who do you think is going to father the heir of Rekkesov?”
I felt silly not having considered that as a possibility. Svotheim had painted Torram’s fame out as a series of victories, but his power and position ran quite a bit deeper than that. “The real question is who’s going to birth that heir.”
He smirked at me. “Are you offering?”
I rolled my eyes. “My birthing years have come and gone.” Sixteen to twenty were when a woman was most fertile.
“What?” Laughter poured from him in such a rush. “What are you talking about? Is that what they tell you in your homeland?”
“I’m twenty-five. I’m too old.”
His laughter didn’t stop. “Women don’t lose their ability to bear children until their forties or fifties.”
I shrugged. “I’ve already past my prime is my point.”
Torram swallowed his playful mood and his back straightened, carrying him to his full height that towered over me. “No, you’re not. You haven’t even begun to bloom.”
My chest tightened as his gaze held mine. Was this moment really happening or was the miode just sending me honey-flavored dreams?
“Is that something you want, though? A family?”
Heat filled my body. “What does it matter? I’m a slave.”
Torram grabbed one of my braids and rolled the tip between his thumb and forefinger. “I meant what I said in that hall: I want to help you. I want to be in your good graces. If giving you a family will do that then…”
He couldn’t possibly be offering… No. It was ludicrous. “I’m a slave,” I repeated.
“And one day you won’t be.” He sounded so certain of the fact. “You are a Daughter of Athiss. The gods have plans for you—big plans. They don’t tend to let their children sit around idly.” He released my braid, and the black strands came to rest by my face once more.
“No, they certainly don’t.” The last eight months of my life had been a whirlwind. To be honest, it felt like it was never going to stop spinning. Just when I thought I had found my footing and was steady, life would whip me around again. This assassination mission Svotheim was determined I complete was just the latest in a string of trials.
“Why do you say that? What’s on your mind?”
I had to be careful with my response. I couldn’t tell him what Svotheim was conspiring to do. “I’ve been asked to do something that is very difficult. And I want to say no, but I don’t think I have a choice.”
“Then do it.” His voice was low, drawing me in. “Stop thinking about it. Stop analyzing it. Stop worrying and just do it.”
My weight shifted from one foot to another. He was right. I needed to stop letting it marinate in my mind and simply leap. I needed to chase my destiny and alter my fate.
XVI
Bending Thanes
My fingers raveled a herringbone pattern through the ends of my hair as I walked down the dirt path. The short bath at the river had rejuvenated my mind. All the apprehension I had harbored about today diminished. I was at peace and felt invincible.
“I know you fucked her,” Irska barked as she strode onto the dirt road from a small side trail. Her hair was still wet and combed back.
“What?” I spat. “What are you talking about?”
“The slave girl that came into your room last night.” Her eyes narrowed on me. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny it.”
I released an exasperated breath and rolled my eyes. “Nothing happened, Irska. You know I don’t do that.”
“Well, I used to believe you didn’t, but she was in your room for over an hour
.”
“We were talking. That’s it. I asked her about Athulf and the missing thane.” I was sick of constantly fighting with her, but I knew I would have to see this out. There was murder in her eyes. She was out for blood.
“I don’t believe you, Iver. It’s been months since you’ve had sex with me. And then some scantily-dressed girl struts into your room when your light from drink―you fucked her.”
“I swear to you, I didn’t.”
Why was I even entertaining this? We weren’t promised. And even if we were, we had agreed from the beginning there would be no jealousy. We were both free to have sex with anyone we wanted as long as it was just that―sex.
Had she already forgotten how I turned a blind eye to her escapades during the Festival of Nine? Aska, Besk, Rekke, Varundian―she took them all between her legs. I kept my mouth shut until she came to my bed with the stink of another man on her body.
“You’re a liar. Just tell me the truth so we can move on from this,” she pleaded.
I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side, trudging through the high grasses, bushes, and branches without a single care for silence.
I didn’t want anybody to see us arguing. We had to maintain a united front while in this village.
“You need to get control of yourself,” I snapped.
She ripped her arm out of my grasp. “I’m trying to, but you won’t quit playing with my mind.” There was fire in her eyes. “If I’m to believe you, then that means you’re not having sex with anyone and haven’t for months. Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?”
“Yes, I do, and it feels even more ridiculous to go through.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I so dearly wanted to take them back. My lack of interest was a growing shame, and I wasn’t ready to share that with Irska. She was my best friend. I loved and trusted her, but I knew this would negatively alter how she viewed me.
“What? Why? You’ve never been the celibate type. Quite the opposite in fact.” Her tone softened, but there was still an air of distrust in her voice.
I shook my head. “I can’t cloud my mind with this right now. There are six men sitting in the hall waiting for me right now, and I have to walk in there and demand tribute from them. I need to remain focused on this, so I can get through these negotiations without anybody losing their head. I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”
The whites of her eyes reddened as tears welled along her bottom lid. “I thought we always came first. You once said that our relationship was more important than anything the world had to throw at us. “
“Things have changed, Irska. Can’t you see that?” It was harsh, but I didn’t have time to nurse her through this. “We’ll talk about this another time.”
“I want to talk about it now.”
“No. This conversation is over. We’re going to walk back onto that path, enter that hall, sit down, and carry on as though nothing has happened between us. We are still a team, inseparable and loyal. They cannot see that we are...” I struggled to get the word out.
“That we are what?” She crossed her arms.
“Fracturing.”
I couldn’t end things with her now. Our tight-knit alliance intimidated these people. It was an advantageous asset that I couldn’t afford to lose. Not to mention, I didn’t want to be forced into a rash decision.
She wiped her hand across her eyes, smearing the tears before they had a chance to tumble over. “Fine. Let’s go.”
With her hands balled into fists at her side and her back rigid, Irska strutted out of the woods. She burned a warpath along the dirt road heading back to the village. I had to quicken my pace to keep up with her.
Brungen whistled as we drew near. “There you two lovebirds are. All the leaders are in the hall and seated, waiting for you.”
Irska glared at me as she stormed off to the hall.
“Someone’s in a mood,” Brungen commented as he drew to my side.
“May the gods take pity on me today,” I said.
“Nothing worse than a woman’s scorn,” Brungen added. “I’m telling you, things are easier on the other side.”
I rolled my eyes. “You also need to enjoy sucking cock to be on the other side.”
“That’s true, but it’s kind of like learning how to swim. It’s difficult in the beginning but fun once you get the hang of it.”
I chuckled. When I had chosen Brungen to follow me to Arus, I hadn’t realized just how useful he would be during this transition. Brungen’s humor had saved my sanity multiple times. Probably more so than his sword had.
Brungen clapped me on the shoulder. “Are you ready?”
We stood before the hall’s great wooden doors, small tree trunks woven together with rope and hemmed with planks. My hand grabbed the ring handle. “Always. Don’t forget, we are a team in there.” My gaze came to rest on Irska.
“Duty and glory before all else,” Irska hissed out a Varundian mantra. “No?”
I nodded, not wanting to heat her anymore with my words. My arm tensed, and I reeled back, forcing the heavy door open.
The three of us entered the great wooden structure and were met with silence. Only small whispers and the crackle of the fire filled the open air. Smoke gathered around the ceiling, fighting to escape through the several holes in the roof.
“Iver,” Ristof rose from the bench. “I trust you slept well and enjoyed your swim this morning.”
A swim? Did these people not bathe regularly? “Yes, I did. Thank you once again for your hospitality. It has been most generous.”
“I’m not exactly sure what you have in mind to discuss; would a goblet of wine be appropriate for such a conversation?”
“When isn’t it appropriate?” I didn’t want to have alcohol on the table—drink had a way of flaring tempers more easily—but if I denied them, I would’ve been seen as even more of an outsider—that’s not what I wanted going into this.
Ristof called over his servants, and they brought over ten filled goblets. Three for me, Irska, and Brungen. Six for the thanes. And one for Lars, who must’ve been older than I had originally believed if his father had allowed him a spot at the table.
“So, Iver,” Ristof began once everybody had a drink in their hands. “Why have you called us all here today?”
I leaned back in my seat, attempting to put on a relaxed air. But in reality, my heart was beating against my rib cage. My stomach wound itself in knots in preparation for whatever was about to fly off my tongue.
“It has come to my attention that a long-standing tradition was neglected under Godromar’s rule,” I said. “For centuries, the villages paid tribute to Arus for many things, amongst them being protection, foreign trade routes, and crop purchasing. I intend to return to this and have come to discuss terms.”
Their faces grew pallid, and several sets of eyes drifted down to their laps. There were only two people who didn’t shrivel upon hearing my words—Athulf and Lars. They had quite the opposite reaction in fact. Their faces begin to burn red in indignation.
“What are the terms that you are requesting?” Ristof asked, maintaining a stoic appearance.
Lars reeled to the side, away from his father. Disgust wrinkled his face. “How can you even entertain such a thing?”
Ristof held up his hand, silencing his son. “Please, go on.”
Lars knocked his father’s hand out of his face. “No, Father. This is weakness. We will not hear anymore.”
“Surviving is not weakness, my boy,” one of the older thanes, Kanute, said. His long hair and beard were fully white, and large bags hung beneath his crystal eyes. “In fact, it’s the exact opposite. We are handed difficult situations every day, and sometimes there is no good option. When those times arise, you choose the path that keeps your head on your shoulders.”
Athulf slammed his fist on the table, making half of the men jump in their seats. “Those words are poison. That’s what we were told decades ago in order to ke
ep us in line. That was the advice the Ark of Arus passed down so that we never tried to rise and be anything more than a couple of fledgling villages.”
“Athulf is right, Father. Thane Kanute’s thinking is outdated and weak. We cannot bow down to this silly-looking tattooed animal.”
“You hold your tongue,” Irska snapped. “Do have any idea who you are talking to?”
Lars smirked at her. “He’s a nobody.”
“Lars, stop,” Ristof said, but he was drowned out by Brungen’s booming voice.
“He is Iver the Eighth of Varund. Former commander of the Varundian forces and son of more noble men than most families can claim. If he wanted —”
Lars rose from his seat. “I spit on Varund.” He hacked a big glob on the floor. “And her people to.”
Brungen hopped onto his feet. “Do it again and I’ll knife the tongue right out of your mouth.” He withdrew the blade at his side and held it out, pointed at Lars. It glinted in the sunlight.
“Sit down, Brungen,” I told him.
Brungen’s eyes narrowed on the boy, like a wolf about to strike, but he lowered himself back into his seat as commanded.
“Lars, leave the hall,” his father ordered, but Lars wasn’t listening.
“How can you all sit here and take this?” Lars asked the six thanes. “He comes in here, drinks at our table, fucks our servants, and then demands tribute? No. We should have said no from the beginning. No outsider is going to demand a thing from us.”
“Lars,” Athulf said, trying to rein him in. The boy was going too far, and they all knew it.