The Two Kings

by Marian Gray

  “And how do I make sure she doesn’t turn on me?”

  One side of the patriarch’s lips upturned into a smirk. “Well, I think that’s between the two of you to work out. I’m sure it shouldn’t be difficult for two young, attractive individuals to muster some sort of bond.”

  The king ran a hand through his hair, pulling his thick locks from his face. “Will you do it? Will you be loyal and serve me? And in return, I will give you whatever you desire. Translate that, Astra. I want to make sure she understands completely.”

  “Yes, King Audrios,” she said before switching to Rekke and repeating the king’s question.

  I didn’t care what he wanted me to do, because it would never come to that. This was my opportunity. This was how I was going to get close and kill him. I might even be able to escape with my head still on my shoulders, depending on how I played it.

  I turned to King Audrios. “I understand, and I accept. You have my loyalty.”

  XXIX

  A Traitor’s Trade

  Brungen hooked his hands on his hips with a huff and stared down at the furs that covered the dirt floor. “This is horse shit.” He shook his head.

  “I agree,” Irska said. “Maybe if Iver would’ve applauded at the end of the thane’s show, we wouldn’t be out here.” She sent me a glare that was sharp enough to slit my throat.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “You both know I’ve never been one to fluff another’s ego. Oskar is not a real spade, and I refuse to acknowledge him as one.”

  Brungen threw up his hands in frustration. “Well, you don’t have to believe that he is one, but you should have enough sense to keep it to yourself.”

  “But Iver acknowledging Oskar’s powers would’ve lent credibility. He was right to refuse him.” Cirithe glanced around before lowering his voice. “And during the little time we spent in the hall, I sensed something was off. We don’t want to align ourselves with him.”

  I clapped Cirithe’s shoulder, relieved to have someone on my side. “That was what I believed as well. On top of that, I intend to ask him for tribute. If I recognize him as a spade, then that places him above me in pecking order. I can’t demand tribute after that, and I stand the possibility of losing the region’s respect.”

  “Once again, you didn’t have to say that he was the best spade in the world or even use that word—spade. But just a smidge of appreciation for his abilities would’ve gone a long way.” Brungen crossed his arms against his chest.

  I was dumbstruck by Brungen’s indignation over having to spend a few more nights beneath the stars. “No, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give him an inch. From what I had seen with the way that the others spoke and acted around him, he already had too much authority and power. I need to clamp down on him as soon as possible.”

  “So, is this war then?” Ansel asked. “Is that what you intend?”

  I chuckled—what a melodramatic assumption. “Far from it. Yes, I’m insulted, but the battle is not over yet. And I don’t mean one with swords but words.”

  “I don’t know if you can win with him, Ark Iver.” Sigmun shrugged. “It seems that the only thing Oskar wants is flattery, and anything else runs the risk of ruining relations.”

  “You make a good point, but luckily for us, relations are not that black and white,” I said.

  “Oh? They’re not?” Brungen’s brow lifted. “Do you know something they are not sharing with us? Have a secret weapon?”

  I rubbed my jaw, feeling the short strands ripple across my fingers. “No, but I have a hunch.” How could they not see that Oskar was a false magic-wielder? The way he struggled and fidgeted with his magic… it didn’t come from within.

  “Great,” Irska said flatly. “We’re saved.”

  “Excuse me.” An unfamiliar voice called out to us from a far patch of bushes.

  My hand lowered to my side and unsheathed my sword. The metal glinted in the fading sunlight, and its sharp edge was held at the ready.

  “Who’s there?” Irska barked. She sank in her stance, preparing for an attack.

  Two open hands appeared out from the thicket. “Please, I mean no harm. I come to speak with Ark Iver. I am peaceful and have brought no weapons.”

  “Step out into the open so we can see you,” I ordered.

  The stranger did as I requested. He shuffled into the clearing, one beat-up boot leading the other. His palms were streaked with mud. The ends of his sleeves were tattered, and his trousers looked as though they had seen better days. Upon his shoulders laid a tuft of fur. It was caked with mud and hadn’t been combed out in ages.

  “Once again, I mean you no harm. I simply come to talk,” he said. His voice was rough.

  “We don’t want any beggars,” Irska said. “It’s best that you move along.”

  He snickered, and his meek display crumbled. “I’m not a beggar.”

  “Then what? A bandit?” She took a step toward him with the tip of her blade pointed at his chest. “I said leave.”

  “No, I’m not a bandit either. And with all due respect, I will leave once Ark Iver commands it of me, but not before then.” He brought his open hands back up into the air, showing everyone his muddy grip was empty.

  “Ansel, Sigmun, Dagur—go search him and make sure he’s unarmed,” I said while keeping my eyes on the man at all times. “What’s your name?”

  “Albin,” he answered. “Albin the Third of Jorvik. I’m a trader here—well—was a trader here for many years.” He had an unusual inflection in his speech, giving him an accent that was exasperated by his old age.

  “Then why do you look like that?” I asked as my men tore into his pockets and checked all possible hiding spots. He had nothing on him, not even a single coin to his name.

  “Well, he’s obviously not good at his job,” Brungen answered.

  “That’s a fair assessment.” Albin nodded, slaughtering his pride for our own amusement.

  “He’s unarmed,” Ansel said.

  I lowered my sword. “Why are you here, Albin?”

  “As I said, I’m a trader. I’ve come to make a deal with you—a trade of sorts.” His forefinger twirled the ends of his white beard. The action was playful and relaxed.

  “How is that going to happen? You have no wares on you to trade.”

  “It’s very simple.” He tapped his head three times in a slow rhythm. “I’ll tell you from where Oskar derives his power if you’ll take me back to Arus with you.”

  The idea took the wind from my lungs. I licked my lips. This was exactly what I wanted, but how could I be sure that what he would tell me would be the truth? “Why? Why do you want to come to Arus with me? And why would you risk your life for such a bargain?” It was well within reason to assume Oskar would snuff any life that might shed some light on the truth of his magical abilities.

  “Because.” He shrugged. “I hate the bastard and I want to rebuild my life, but I can’t make the journey down south on my own. I’m poor, hungry, and don’t know how to fight. I need help.”

  “Why do you hate him? Blood feud? Vendetta?” Brungen asked.

  “Yes, something like that.” Albin nodded his head. “What do you say, Ark Iver? Is it a deal?”

  “How do I know that what you tell me will be the truth?”

  “I guess, for now, you can’t really know. But if it turns out I’m lying, don’t bring me back home with you. You have nothing to lose either way.”

  Sounded reasonable enough. I sheathed my sword. “Cirithe, get him some miode and bread please.” My attention turned back to the old man. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Now, tell me.”

  Albin waited until Cirithe brought him the food and drink before he spoke again. “Well, it’s simple really.” He chugged the miode and finished the gulp by biting off a huge mouthful of bread. The man must’ve been starving. “Oskar has struck a deal with the troll.”

  The air thinned and chilled within a second. I stood frozen in my boots as what he said swirled around m
y head.

  “A troll?” Sigmun muttered. He was in just as much shock as I was.

  Albin nodded his head. “Yes, a troll.”

  “This is preposterous.” Brungen rolled his eyes. “Trolls don’t exist.”

  “How do you know this?” I asked Albin.

  His jaw worked vigorously, chewing as much as possible. “Because I was there when it happened. I was the one that brokered the deal.” He said it all without a second thought, as though it were an everyday occurrence. But to us, trolls were the monsters in our horror stories. Things that our inner child still believed were true, but we told ourselves were fake for comfort.

  “You what?” My voice was so light, I could barely hear it.

  Brungen rolled his eyes. “You don’t really believe him, do you?”

  I ignored him. “How did this happen? And how did you even meet a troll?” Trolls weren’t known for their conversations and rational thought. They tended to kill and eat before anything else.

  “As I was running my routes,” Albin said as he drained more miode down his throat. “I stumbled upon him. Heimer is his name. He was thin and famished, at the end of his life cycle. I managed to talk him into partnering with me. In exchange for his help, I brought him animals to eat—animals from Oskar’s farm.”

  “Oh, Gods be good.” Irska fanned herself. “Please, tell me this isn’t true. Tell me we’re not getting ourselves entangled with a troll.”

  Albin nodded. “It’s true.”

  “So, you were using Oskar’s animals, but how did he get tied up in all of this?” I asked.

  “He caught me one night as I was leading a donkey from his barn. He threatened to turn me into the thane, which I wasn’t willing to wager. Our old thane was a hard-ass. He would’ve stripped me of everything the troll had given me—wealth, a beautiful wife, and a homestead. So, I offered to bring Oskar to the troll in exchange for his silence.”

  “And what did Oskar offer Heimer in exchange for his magic?” My chest tightened. This was it—the answer to the puzzle I had been trying to figure out for the last three and a half months.

  “Children. He eats them. Heimer that is, says he prefers the softer bones. That’s why Oskar has brought in the Sama tribes from the northeast. He pays them for their children by giving them homes and land and gold.”

  I swallowed hard. If what he was saying was true, then I had bitten off more than I could chew.

  “That was a wonderful fairytale,” Brungen said. “You’ve successfully scared the lot of them. You’ll make a fine bard one day.”

  “If you’re the one that brought Oskar to the troll, why did he take everything from you?” I asked Alvin.

  “The man’s a coward. Oskar fears everything—the seen and the unseen, the heard and the unheard, the spoken and the unspoken. I was the only one that knew his secret. So, he gave my wife and children to another man. He sold my land and livestock. He destroyed my boats. And then he exiled me to roam around like a beast.”

  I didn’t like this. I didn’t like any of it.

  “I told you we shouldn’t have come,” Lars said. His jaw quivered.

  XXX

  The Lord our Sun

  I peeled the plain, form-fitting dress from my body. The thin layers slipped down my legs, leaving only a sheer linen shift to cover my form. My skin showed through beneath the bright light.

  There was one other person in the vestry with me: Sister Mara. But the girls called her ‘Auntie Mara’. She was old enough and certainly educated enough to be a mother within the Mont, but she didn’t want the responsibility. Thus, she remained a sister on technicality. We called her Auntie to give her the respect she was due.

  Auntie Mara was a quiet and unassuming woman. She kept to herself, did her daily chores without question, and provided guidance to her younger sisters when requested.

  This was the first time I had ever been alone with her. The silence heated my nerves. I needed conversation to cool my head and unwind the many knots my stomach had managed to ravel itself into.

  Mara unlaced the ties in the back and pulled the shift over my head. I stood naked in the room, fully exposed, but she acted as though she didn’t even notice. Just as she had done my first day at the Mont, cutting the soiled shift from my ragged body.

  She dragged a bucket full of warm water to me. Her hands wrung out the sponge before she pressed it to my dry skin. In slow, calming movements, Auntie Mara dabbed my flesh clean. After she finished, she toweled me dry and dusted my body with a light, floral-scented powder.

  Mara pulled a new, sheer linen undergarment from the wardrobe. She slipped it over my head and rounded to the back, where she laced the shift closed. It looked just like my old one, but it felt different—stronger and softer on the skin. The stitching was reinforced, while the weaving was loose to allow the garment to breath. It didn’t feel as though it were ready to unravel at any moment.

  Without warning, the vestry door slid open, and Patriarch Menaries strode in. Atop his head sparkled a five-pointed opal crown. Tiny diamonds dotted the base, creating mosaic sunbursts. A pristine white robe hung upon his aged frame, and gold filigree ran down the center hem. Around his waist, a sky-blue silk cincture band was tied loosely. The two ends fell to his knees’ length. He was in full ceremonial garb.

  “Would you leave us, please, Sister Mara?” His voice was measured and polite. “I want to congratulate Sister Derethe in private and offer her my best one last time before she leaves us here at the Mont.”

  “Yes, Your Blessedness.” Auntie Mara bowed her head and turned for the door. The urge to reach out and snatch her wrist struck me. I didn’t know what Patriarch Menaries wanted, but I didn’t want to find out alone. Auntie Mara couldn’t save me from him, but her presence would be a comfort.

  “I’ll send Brother Roneos to fetch you when we’re finished,” the patriarch said as the door shut behind her. His attention then turned to me, and his lips swirled into an intimidating grin. “I’ve come to you because I’ve heard from our brothers that you’ve appeared a bit sad lately. I wasn’t certain if you’re upset due to you moving to the castle or because we still have yet to drain all the sorrow from you.”

  His words were like a blow to my stomach. If fear hadn’t frozen me stiff, I would have doubled over from anticipated pain. “They’re lying. I’m not sad,” I whispered. My lips slid apart in a forced, awkward smile,

  “The brothers never lie.” He took a step toward me. “Perhaps it’s a mix of both. During our meeting with the king, you never smiled once.”

  “Because I feared for my life.”

  “You never have to fear anything here in Essony. I care for all of the Sun Lord’s children and ensure they never meet the king’s executioner.” He reached out a hand with his fingers poised to pluck one of my nipples.

  But I slapped him away. “You can’t touch me anymore. I’m one of the king’s men now.”

  His brow narrowed, and his eyes burst with fire. “Is that what you think?” His voice dropped to an aggressive hiss. “You’re one of the king’s ‘men’ now?”

  He rushed me. In three quick steps, he closed the distance between our bodies. One hand clamped around my neck, and the other dug into my shoulder. He pushed me back, slamming me into the wall. My head knocked against the solid stone, making my vision blur for a few seconds.

  His mouth lingered inches from my ear. His full weight leaned against my frame, trapping me. “I was the one who took you out of that dungeon. I brought you into the Mont. I persuaded the king to let you live. I made you what you are.” His nails dug into my throat. “You belong to me. Do you understand? You are nothing without me.”

  All my muscles stiffened, and my body went rigid. Shock held my tongue. I didn’t know what to do. Something about his enraged stare and the venom on his tongue told me that my life was dangling carelessly before me.

  “You belong to me, and even after you leave the Mont, you will continue serving me. I didn’t put you at his si
de out of the kindness of my heart, stupid girl.” He leaned in and nibbled my lobe in an almost sexual manner. “You will be my ear. You will tell me what he says, what he thinks, and everything he does. I want to know what comes across his desk and any news that is brought to him. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” The word struggled to squeeze out between his fingers.

  He took a step back, and his hands fell from me. Air rushed to my lungs, and a wheezing cry poured from me as I drew in a desperate breath.

  “Not so big and powerful anymore, are you?” he mocked. “Now get on the table so we can begin our session. You’re filled with more darkness than I originally assumed.”

  “No.” I shook my head as tears threatened to emerge. I was terrified of him, but I couldn’t submit myself to that again.

  “Get on the table,” he growled.

  Again, I refused. “I’ll strike you down where you stand,” I lied. I didn’t feel the power surging through me—it never came when I was in the city.

  “You can’t use your powers in Essony. I haven’t forgotten.”

  My throat still ached and burned from his choke hold. I met his eyes, standing my ground.

  “Now, get on the table,” he barked.

  I didn’t move.

  “I am the Lord’s blessing to Essony. I am the one touched by light. Not you. You’re cattle. You’re nothing but an object for me to use however I see fit.” His face grew a deep, angry shade of red. “Just as I would put a dog down for biting me, I will put you down too.”

  An inky blackness seeped across my mind. It chilled me. I believed him. I could see it in his cruel eyes. He wasn’t above taking my life. And that belief walked my legs over to the table.

  Right before I slid myself on top, he stopped me. “Are you forgetting something? Gown off.”

  I pulled the linen shift over my head, and laid my naked body against the wood’s cold, hard surface. The patriarch disrobed as he had done last time, but he kept the opal crown atop his head.