by Marian Gray
“And who sleeps in these other beds?” There must have been at least twenty to thirty of them.
“Your sisters. But the girls won’t arrive for a few more days.”
So I would be sleeping in this large room all by myself. The idea made my skin crawl. I had become so accustomed to sleeping in a small cell. This arrangement made me feel vulnerable. “So I’ll be in here by myself until then?”
“Yes,” she continued, “believe me. It’s probably for the best.”
“Why do you say that?”
“There are things that happen within these walls that are…” She shook her head.
“That are what?”
“Just keep your head down, smile when addressed, and don’t stray from what’s expected of you.” Astra led us out of the room and back into the hall, continuing the tour.
There were two buildings atop the great tiered city—the Mont and the King’s Keep. The Mont reached for the heavens, while the King’s Keep spread out to claim as much land as possible. The Keep was the larger of the two, but the Mont was a never-ending climb to the top. Staircases lined every corner, taking us closer to the sun. The patriarch lived at the top of the towering structure, with the quarters for the fathers and the brothers beneath him. The next level held the mothers, and upon the very first floor was where the sisters resided, along with all the chambers for daily chores and work.
Astra’s hand gripped the knob of a squat door and twisted. “This is the kitchen. As you can see, they’re already busy preparing lunch.” At least twenty women dashed between counters, cupboards, and several fires. They moved throughout the room in a smooth flow, but between the chickens fighting to escape and a woman belting out some unintelligible song—it was chaos. “This is where you’ll be assigned.”
My chest tightened just from the anticipated stress. “The kitchen?”
“Yes.” Astra shut the door. “It tends to be the best placement for the stubborn and strong-willed.”
My brow knitted together. Did they believe I was either of those things?
Perhaps it was for the best though. It would serve as an avenue to the king’s belly—an easy way to slip a poison along. “Which section will I be assigned to? Surely you don’t intend to make me the king’s taster.” I tried to spin the last part as a joke, but it fell flat as soon as the idea left my mouth.
She eyed me with a bit of concern, as though she were trying to decipher if I were missing some of my mental faculties. “This kitchen serves the Mont, not the Keep. And the patriarch doesn’t require a taster. It would be a grave sin to murder the patriarch. The Lord our Sun would not let such a crime go unpunished.” She turned on her heel. “Moving on.”
Well, there went that idea. “Do you believe this Sun god is really that strong? Could he reach down from the sky and strike someone?” I had to skip a few steps just to keep up with her.
“Absolutely.” She said it as though it were obvious. “He led you out of northern captivity and into Essony, where He then softened the patriarch’s heart to bring you into his home. If he can bring you from Sairasee to Essony, surely he can punish a killer.”
How could a god reach someone who didn’t even know of his existence? The decisions I made were my own. Nobody led me out of captivity but myself. There was never some outside mystical force that persuaded me or pulled the veil over my eyes to push me in another direction. I chose to ride south and kill a king.
“Do you believe me?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to speak, but she cut me off. “It doesn’t matter to be honest. The sooner you learn to bow your head before the Lord our Sun the safer you’ll be. Smile, act grateful, and be nothing but obedient. You’re a servant of the Mont now.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had found myself in another form of slavery, masked as religious servitude. “What exactly does that entail?”
“Food, clothes, warmth, room and board, and an education in exchange for your labor, loyalty, and faith.”
“And I am free to come and go as I please?”
“Yes, as long as you have the Mont’s blessing.”
“Blessing? You mean permission?”
She shrugged. “Call it whatever you want.”
“And what if I decide this path isn’t for me? Can I exit this servitude?”
“Yes, but you’ll leave as you entered. You aren’t allowed to keep anything acquired within these walls.”
“My clothes were cut from my body. They’re no longer wearable.”
“I guess you’ll leave naked then.”
Her matter-of-fact view grated on my nerves. “What about the pole arm and horse I had when I was kidnapped? Were they brought here as well?”
“You weren’t kidnapped. Those men that took you were the king’s scouts stationed at a nearby outpost. The royal army has taken your horse—repayment for the trouble you put those scouts through.”
“Trouble? I didn’t even lay a—”
Astra shook her head and raised her open palm to my face, silencing me. “It does not matter. It is done.”
“They stole my horse.”
She ignored me. “Your pole arm on the other hand… it’s here. In the armory. But you are not allowed a weapon. It is strictly forbidden that sisters and mothers carry any sort of instrument that may harm another being. So, it will stay in the king’s possession until further notice.”
“But if I leave, you’ll give it me?”
“Possibly. Foreigners are forbidden from carrying a weapon within the city. However, I’m sure you could come to some sort of arrangement. Perhaps a citizen could walk down the pole arm for you and hand it over once you exit the city’s main gate.” She sighed. “But that’s nothing you should concern yourself with. You’re not leaving, and therefore, the logistics of your departure are irrelevant. Now, these doors—” She pointed to a pair of double doors that were encrusted with opals and diamonds. They stood open, allowing individuals to come and go as they pleased.
“What is in there?” I asked as we approached.
“The sanctorium. The home of the Lord our Sun.”
Hushed voices poured out of the room, but they were in the Esson tongue. I couldn’t understand a word.
When we came to the threshold, Astra placed a hand on my shoulder, halting me. “The king has come for his weekly prayers and blessings.”
A young man with dark brown curly locks stood before Patriarch Menaries with his head bowed. He was of average height with a healthy build that was clothed in a silk blue tunic. Diamonds poured down his neck, refracting the light that spilled through the tall crystal windows.
Above the pair hung a huge sun pendant. It was the same symbol I had seen when I exited the dungeons—a golden center disc with lines striking out from its center in five different directions. It shone bright above our heads, spreading its gold hue around the room.
“He is handsome, no?” Astra said.
“Yes.” I nodded, but it was weird to view him as such. Attractive or not—it didn’t matter. This was my mark. This was the man I was supposed to kill. I didn’t want to familiarize or humanize him in my mind. “He is.”
“Well, forget about it. You’ll never meet him, and regardless, he is a virtuous man. He doesn’t bed women. He’s saving himself for marriage.”
Was she assuming I had a desire to seduce the Esson King? “That thought never even crossed my mind.” I only had murder on my brain.
XXIII
Beatha
3 Months Later
I tightened the straps on my horse, securing all the buckles. It was the third time this morning that I had checked to see she was properly saddled. We had a long and arduous journey ahead of us; I couldn’t risk her getting injured from careless mistakes.
Tabita wrapped her arms around Irska. “I’m going to miss you. It was so nice having another woman around.”
“Likewise.” When they pulled away, Irska glanced to Brungen and me. Dismay and disappointment played in h
er eyes.
I ignored the look. “Are you three almost ready?”
“We’ve been ready for three months,” Dagur replied.
The Arusians had been against us remaining in Lungdal over winter but were obedient nonetheless. They grinned and beared their nights sleeping on straw in tight quarters, only complaining in jest, but I understood their sentiment. They abhorred the arrangement.
“I hate these small villages,” Ansel added, speaking loud enough for only the five of us to hear. “How long do you expect us to be in Torvik?”
“For however long it takes to break this new thane.”
“So, you’re not just going to let them go like the other thanes suggested?” Dagur asked.
“No,” I answered.
“Think of it as a test of strength,” Brungen said as he strapped his saddle bags onto his horse. Food peeked out from beneath the leather flaps. “With every challenge we overcome, the others see us as a formidable force. Building that reputation is crucial to stability and prosperity.”
“Then why did you take us?” Sigmun asked. “No offense to the other two, but we are not the strongest nor the most seasoned in Arus. We don’t exactly look formidable.”
“Why did you volunteer?” I countered.
“I wanted to go. I didn’t think I would get chosen but if there was the slimmest chance I would, it was worth it to put up my name.” He shrugged his shoulders. “It was all luck and hope.”
“Exactly. Becoming seasoned makes you cynical. Between Irska and Brungen, I already have enough of that. I wanted people with hope, and the young tend to carry enough for everybody around them,” I said. “Not to mention, you are Arus’s budding warriors. In five years’ time, you will be her best. I’d rather have your loyalty and friendship than someone who’s looking to retire their blade in five years.”
“Not a bad plan I guess.”
“Are you always so calculated?” Ansel turned to me with one eyebrow cocked.
“He’s Varundian. Of course he is,” Dagur said, as though it were the most blatantly obvious thing.
“I think I would like to go to Varund someday,” Sigmun commented.
“It is a dreary place,” Cirithe told him as he walked over with his horse’s lead in hand. “Constant thunderstorms and black stone everywhere. If it’s not raining, then the sky is usually clouded and the bay misty.”
I jumped in. “And the sun only shows for a few hours’ time during the winter. Where mountain doesn’t grow, evergreens dot the land with varying shades of blueish-green needles. Varund is a cold and dark place that makes cold and dark people. Let me know when you want to go. I will take you.”
“Don’t go,” Cirithe stated flatly.
A burst of laughter rolled from Brungen.
“Good to see some of us are in high spirits.” Irska joined us, already seated atop her horse. The warm mood deflated and crystallized.
“What’s wrong with you?” Cirithe asked as he pulled himself onto his horse.
“Don’t address me in such a way, slave.” It was directed at Cirithe, but her icy stare found its way to me.
For three months, I had endured her. Each day pushed me closer and closer to the edge of snapping, but I held it all within. After all, that was exactly what she wanted.
A week into our stay, I had apologized, insisting the last thing I intended was to hurt her feelings. It was true, too. I wasn’t lying, and it had given me some respite from her sour attitude and bitter tongue. But then she came to my bed one night, and I rejected her. This set her off into a screaming tirade that wasn’t silenced until Tabita arrived to inquire upon the noise. She hadn’t spoken to me since, and whenever she joined my conversations, her words were biting.
I was done fighting with her.
“That was unnecessary.” Brungen turned to his horse.
Irska ignored him. “Can we go now? I’d like to make some good headway before the sun sinks.”
Brungen shot me a displeased look. He had been pressuring me all winter to end things with her and send her off to Arus.
She was only acting like this because of me. But I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. I was holding out hope that she’d find herself without me standing so near, or rather that I’d find whatever had been lost between us. “Thane Ristof, where’s the boy?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll go and check on him.”
“You’re really going to take him?” Irska hissed.
“Yes. He’s my ward now.”
Irska’s lips flattened into a thin line, and her gaze drifted away from me.
It wasn’t long before Ristof returned with Lars. He had one hand placed firmly on his shoulder and seemed to give him a little push when he sent him over to us. His eyes were reddening and appeared glossy in the sunlight.
Tabita followed after him, wrapping her long, thin arms around him. Her bushy graying brown hair fluttered around them in the breeze as they stood there, embracing each other.
“This is the first challenge life has come to offer you,” she whispered to Lars. “Stay strong, keep your eyes open, and remember your place. Obedience will keep you alive.”
Lars swallowed hard and nodded his head.
She gave him one last hug before parting from his side.
“Do you have a horse, boy?” Brungen asked.
“No,” he answered. His voice was low.
“Irska,” Brungen began, “why don’t you hop off and ride with Iver, and Lars can ride on your horse.”
Irska rolled her eyes. “Go fuck yourself, Brungen.”
“The boy doesn’t have a horse?” I asked his parents.
They shared an uneasy glance before Tabita said, “No, but he can have mine.”
It was another thirty minutes before we were all mounted and moving. Lars was unusually quiet, but I should have known that wouldn’t last long. As soon as we came to the main road that ran through the region and turned northward, Lars protested.
“You know Arus is the other way, right?”
“Yes, we know,” Brungen answered.
“Then why are we heading northward?”
“Unfinished business,” I told him.
“What? What is that supposed to mean?”
I sighed, irritated by the constant questioning from my party. “We’re going to pay the missing thane a visit.”
“That’s utterly absurd,” Lars sneered. “My father told you to forget it.”
“Well, I’m not.”
“You’re a foreigner here. It would be wise to listen to the locals.”
“If we wanted to end up as thanes in an ill-structured, poor village out in the middle of nowhere, then we would,” Irska spat. “The reason we’ve earned and accomplished what we have is because we think like us. But if you’d like to continue questioning and insulting our ark, I’ll lob your head off and you can join your lover.”
It was harsh, but it shut the boy up.
The fire burned before me without any reserve. With eight of us trained and fitted, bandits would be deterred and any other drifters would pass around us. I reveled in the heat and open air. After three months locked inside the smoky hall of Lungdal and her unwashed bodies, my entire being was begging to be let out to roam free.
I closed my eyes and took a deep drag on the crisp spring air. It chilled my throat and lungs.
“Iver,” Brungen hissed as his heavy boots clopped over to me.
“Yes?” I asked with my eyes still closed.
“I’m going to murder that boy,” he said through gritted teeth. Tiny drops of spittle flew from his lips and hit the embers, sizzling.
I sighed, pulling myself away from nature’s cool grasp. “What happened?”
His face was red with anger and glistened. “Lars is a proud pretentious twat.”
I thought this had already been well-established the first evening we met him. “I know but try to be patient. He’s young and has never left his village. He’ll come around in time.”
Brungen crossed his arms against his bulky chest. His forearms rested on his stomach as his lips pursed together. “You can take your patience and shove it up your ass.” His fists dropped to his sides with the force of a pair of hammers. “Have you forgotten the last three months?”
“No, I haven’t,” I said, maintaining an even tone to counteract his anger.
“All those nights of him slewing insults masked as banter and the passive-aggressive comments—” He shook his head. His hair glittered in the firelight, a mix of silver and gold. “I can’t sit there with locked lips any longer. You’re asking me to give up my pride and integrity.”
“Then don’t. I do not want you to give up such things.”
His weight shifted from one boot to the other. “Well, are you going to do something then?”
“No, Brungen, I want you to stay away from him if he angers you so much. Don’t speak to him or engage with him in anyway outside of a need-to-know basis.” It was a simple solution. One I knew he wouldn’t like, but I wasn’t about to toss Lars out. Even though he was an annoying little prick, he was still a thane’s son and a good bridge between me and the people.
“Fine,” Brungen growled.
“Anything else?”
“No,” he mumbled as he wheeled around to leave. I heard him mutter something about “a load of horse shit” as he stomped off.
I wasn’t surprised. He was used to getting his way with me, but now that I was an ark, I couldn’t constantly be playing favorites. Not like I did in Varund, where different factions of friends were pitted against each other. Here, in Arus and her outlying villages, I had to be as level as possible. It wasn’t something traditionally expected of Arks, but I wanted to be known as fair when it came to friends and allies.
“What’s he upset about?” Cirithe asked in Sairan as he sat across from me, nodding toward Brungen. His dark face was a myriad of colors in the firelight, reflecting both the bright red embers and cold blue moonlight.