Winter's Fury
Author: A. E. Rayne
Date: 2017-07-21 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Historical; Adult; Fantasy; Fiction; Romance; historical-fiction
Description: IN A WORLD RULED BY MEN, ONE WOMAN WILL RISE She was their greatest warrior; the daughter of the king. But her uncle stole the throne and sent her away to marry Eadmund, the drunken son of their worst enemy. Now she must pick up her sword again to restore her family’s honour and return to the home she loves. Despite her skill with a sword, her prowess in battle, and her reputation as the greatest warrior in Brekka, without her father to protect her, Jael was merely a pawn, a woman to be married off so her uncle could forge an alliance to fulfil his own desperate ambitions. Eadmund is broken he
Rights: Copyright 2017 A.E. Rayne. All rights reserved.

WINTER’S FURY

The Furyck Saga: Book One

A.E. Rayne

Contents

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Untitled

Prologue

I. Destiny

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

II. Adrift

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

III. Into the Storm

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

IV. Fury

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Epilogue

The Kingdoms of Osterland

Coming soon

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Details at the end of the book

.

Prologue

You tried to take my head, as my sisters went before,
but in the dark you slept and let the wolf slip out your door.

You tried to take the book, the one that Tagus stole for me,
but I have it with me still, and its magic set me free.

You tried to take my home, but I will begin again;

I will make myself an army of one hundred thousand men.

And when my name has faded from your memories and your lips,

I will crawl out of my grave, and I will ready all my ships.

And when you’re at your strongest, when your happiness is full,

I will bring to you the Darkness and destroy the Furyck’s rule.

And when the night is blackest, and your lands are burnt by war...

Your eyes will blind.

Your blood will flow.

Your hearts will beat no more.

Edela woke with a gasp, her heart hammering loudly in her ears. She tried to hold on to the fading dream, to cling to the warning before it slipped away again, before she fell asleep, before she forgot everything. But it was too late. She couldn’t stop her eyes closing, closing, closing... and once again, the warning fell back, into the abyss of her forgotten memories.

I

Destiny

1

Jael Furyck’s feet were slowly freezing, in wet socks, that clung unpleasantly to numb toes, sitting in damp boots, which, although new, were already leaking. She tried to focus on the uncomfortable sensation of her cold feet, pressing them harder into the wet wool, into the soft, damp leather of her boots, into the reeds that lined the hard mud floor. She tried to imagine them twisting and strong, like the roots of the oldest tree in Brekka, buried deep in the earth, solid and unwavering. If she could do that, if she could focus on her feet, then maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe there was a chance she could control the urgent, angry fire coursing up through her body and into her mouth. No! Not her mouth, her feet, her feet! She must stay there, thinking of her feet, so far away from her mouth. She had to ignore the screaming violence throbbing at the base of her throat, demanding to be released. She couldn’t let him, them, all of them, watch as she lost control.

Lothar Furyck sat impatiently on the edge of his finely carved throne and waited, glowering furiously at his niece’s continued silence. His announcement, moments earlier, had guaranteed a hasty reaction from her but where was it? Jael had a fierce temper, and this was to be the ultimate humiliation of her, and, by extension, her whole family, but so far she would not play his carefully constructed game. Her face remained impassive, and although he was certain she was raging internally, she said nothing, which caused an uncomfortable silence to creep around them both. But Lothar had to say something, though, or the moment would be lost to him. The people in the hushed hall, sitting on their cold benches, looking up at him and her – soon those people would start to wonder what power he truly had over any of them.

Lothar bit down on his annoyance, cleared his throat sharply, and spoke as if there had been no awkward silence at all. ‘And so, the wedding feast will take place on Oss, in 15 days. Enough time for you to find a dress, I hope.’ He waved one hand dismissively in the direction of Jael’s well-worn trousers and cloak. ‘And enough time for the rest of us to be back in Andala before the Freeze.’

Lothar glared down at her, his bulging eyes demanding a reply, and this time Jael knew she had to trust herself with a word or two; what choice did she have? Her whole body trembled with rage, but she had to try. ‘Will I be able to take my horse?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.

Lothar thought for a moment, not really caring, just relieved that she was finally speaking. ‘Yes, you may. But you will give up your sword. You won’t need it where you are going.’

There was an audible murmur around the hall at that, which surprised Lothar and sent another bolt of fury shuddering down Jael’s rigid spine; her sword! ‘That was my father’s sword,’ she muttered through gritted teeth, her devastation revealing itself at last.

‘That was my father’s sword,’ Lothar growled, leaning forward to impress upon her his position atop the high seat, the ancient throne of the Kingdom of Brekka. ‘And, as king, as the Furyck heir, it is I who own that sword, not you. It is centuries old, handed down from king to king. How or why you received it when my brother died, I do not know.’

She wanted to launch herself at him then. To rip out his vile throat, lying hidden behind the rolls of gelatinous fat gathering around his sagging chin; to watch his life-blood course down his bloated belly until he was white with death. Take her sword?! She was seething now and stood on the edge, ready to abandon all reason, but then, remembering her feet, she dug her toes deep into her boots, clamping her jaw shut and fixing her face with an unnatural smile. He wasn’t going to humiliate her any further; she wouldn’t give him that. ‘As you wish, my lord.’

Lothar frowned, disappointed. He had watched her desperately trying to gain hold of her temper, and it looked as though she had succeeded. Oh well, he conceded, he had hit his mark at least; she was badly, if not fatally, wounded. He could feel the growl of his dead brother at his back then. Here he was, sitting on his brother’s throne, selling his beloved daughter off to his enemy; this was a good day. Just the thought of Ranuf’s indignant face imbued him with confidence, and the smile that curled from his wet mouth was wide and brimming with satisfaction.

‘Good,’ Lothar said coolly, glancing at his son, Osbert, who was struggling to contain his annoyance at Jael’s calm reaction; he too had hoped for more than this damp fire. ‘We will speak more of this tomorrow, but for now, we must begin the meal before it’s cold and tastes like shit. Alp!’ he barked at his servant, who was hovering anxiously behind him. ‘Have the food brought to the tables!’ Alp bowed his head silently and left. ‘And drink!’ Lothar yelled after him. ‘More drink!’

Jael was rooted to the spot as the hall suddenly burst into life around her. The servants started moving again, bringing dishes to tables, filling cups with ale and mead, conversations sparking quickly around them. It felt as though every pair of eyes had turned on her and Jael was desperate to escape. Glancing quickly around the hall, she spotted her mother, Gisila, lurking uncomfortably near one of the large fire pits, the shock of Lothar’s words furrowing her brow. Jael made straight for her.

Gisila, who had once been queen in this, Brekka’s King’s Hall, had now seen her family brought to a new low. She glanced wistfully towards the high table, where Lothar and his vulgar son sat. She could still see her husband, Ranuf, up there and she on his right, dressed in fine garments, so far away from the plain homespun she had been reduced to since her demotion to nothingness. Gisila felt hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes, then the sudden pull from behind, as Jael grabbed her roughly by the arm and hurried her outside.

Dark rain clouds rushed across the face of the moon; a storm was brewing, but Jael barely noticed as she stalked down Andala’s main street, her head bent and hood up to avoid the latecomers heading for the hall. Gisila walked quickly beside her, struggling to keep up with both her daughter and the panic that was growing in her chest.

When they reached Gisila’s small cottage in the centre of town, Jael pushed her mother inside and slammed the door behind them. Gisila’s servant jumped in surprise, then, with one look at Jael’s furious face, she made herself scarce, merging into the shadows at the back of the sparsely furnished room.

Jael dropped her hood and turned towards her mother, narrowing her hard, green eyes accusingly.

‘I, I didn’t know,’ Gisila spluttered quickly, sensing the angry fire that was coming. ‘I didn’t know.’

Jael was too wild to speak. Her eyes roamed over the poverty of the cottage, at the erosion of their old life. When her father had ruled, their freedom had been assured; now everything had changed. Lothar could and did play with them as he wished. He was a capricious man and delighted in subtle torment.

‘You cannot marry that man,’ Gisila muttered crossly behind her. ‘He is nothing. His family is nothing! His father was a slave, Ranuf’s enemy and a slave! It’s an insult. The worst that Lothar has done to us!’

That was like her mother, Jael thought, always seeing a slight from her own perspective.

‘Where’s Axl?’ Gisila turned and directed this towards her servant, Gunni, who was silently preparing the beds for the evening.

‘I don’t know, my lady,’ came the nervous reply.

Gisila glanced at her daughter. ‘He will have something to say about this, I’m sure.’

Jael said nothing; her head was a mess of hot fury and building sorrow. She couldn’t keep up with her thoughts as they tumbled over one another, desperately seeking a way out of the hole that Lothar had so happily trapped her in. Running her hands distractedly through her long, dark hair, Jael frowned. She was far too old for marriage, or so she had believed until a few moments ago. Why would Eirik Skalleson want her for his son? How could this be happening? Now? After all this time?

Pulling the hood up on her black, woollen cloak, she ducked through the door. ‘I will go to Edela. She’ll know what to do.’ She turned and left before her mother had even looked up.

The wind whipped the door shut with such a bang that Gisila shuddered. Folding her arms across her chest to ward off the chill that had entered the cottage, she returned her gaze to the fire. There was nothing her mother could say that would stop this, she was certain. Lothar had found a way to remove Jael as a threat to his presence upon the throne. And with her gone, they would all be exposed, for she was their protector and Lothar knew it. Without her, they were weak and vulnerable, just as he wished. Gisila shivered and stared into the amber flames, tears running freely down her dispirited face.

* * *

Jael strode up the steps to her grandmother’s cottage, which sat on a small rise, hidden inside a windswept grove of trees. A line of bones and stones strung about the porch chimed chaotically to announce her arrival.

Axl opened the small door, smiling in surprise to see his sister, although the look on her face quickly soured his. ‘Jael? Are you alright?’ he frowned. She didn’t reply, staring past his tall, gangly frame into the dull glow of Edela’s cottage. Axl knew well enough not to prod any further. ‘I was just leaving,’ he mumbled hastily, squeezing past Jael and out into the night. Wrapping his cloak around his broad shoulders, he hurried down the steps, wondering if his mother knew what had happened.

Edela Saeveld sat in her fur-thick chair, just to the right of a low-burning fire. She studied her furious granddaughter with one raised eyebrow, patting the wooden stool in front of her. ‘Well, come on then, you may as well tell me what your storm is all about today,’ she smiled, her weathered face creasing with an easy humour, which, she noticed, did little to change the fierceness of the face that was considering her.

Jael didn’t sit down.

Edela frowned, her smile disappearing. ‘What has happened then, Jael? Tell me.’

‘Well, you’re the dreamer, Grandmother,’ Jael spat crossly. ‘Why don’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me?! You see everything that is going to happen. Why didn’t you see this?’ She was almost screaming and quickly clenched her jaw, trying to calm herself down. She loved Edela above all people and didn’t want to release her fury now, not when it was Lothar who truly deserved the lash of her tongue.

Edela blinked her tiny blue eyes and her face suddenly cleared. ‘Ahhh, so he is marrying you off then?’

‘You knew?’ Jael’s eyes bulged. ‘Of course you knew!’

Edela stood, grimacing at the familiar ache in her right hip as she hobbled towards her granddaughter. ‘I will make you some tea, and you will sit down, and we will talk. If you wish to yell, go and yell at the moon. It is full enough out there to hear you, I’m sure, even over that wild wind.’ And, with that, she bustled away to her kitchen, rummaging around the overfilled shelves, heaving with pots and cups, fresh and dried herbs, and all sorts of strange items that no one dared ask about. Edela was more than a dreamer, gifted with visions of the future; she was Andala’s healer, called upon to cure all manner of ailments. After 27 years of looking after Jael, she had grown used to easing red, hot tempers.

Jael sighed heavily; there was no shifting her grandmother, experience told her that. She moved the stool closer to the fire and sat down, her entire body vibrating with the urge to run out into the night and stab her sword through one of Lothar’s bulbous eyes; if he wanted it so much, she would happily give it to him! Marry her to an Islander? Banish her from Brekka? She shook her head. And what about Aleksander?

Edela came back with a cup and lifted her iron cauldron from its hook, carefully pouring hot water over her medicinal sprinklings. ‘Here, let this sit a while, then drink it. It will help with all that fire in there.’ She waved at Jael’s creased forehead as she replaced the cauldron and came to sit in her chair.

‘Thank you,’ Jael mumbled shortly. ‘Now, tell me everything.’

Edela leaned back, feeling the comforting warmth of fur beneath her bones. ‘Ha! Everything?’ she smiled, rubbing her cold hands together. ‘Well, I knew you would be married one day. Yes, I did see that.’

‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Jael was incredulous, almost spilling the hot tea. ‘Grandmother! Why wouldn’t you have told me that? I could have done something! Aleksander and I could have made plans to leave before this happened. Anything but this!’

Edela inhaled the sweet scents of skullcap and chamomile as they steeped in Jael’s cup. ‘Yes, I could have told you, I know that,’ she said calmly. ‘Being a dreamer is not about revealing everything you see, though. It’s not as simple as that,’ she sighed, suddenly weary. ‘And yes, of course, you could have run away. But I saw you in my dreams with this man. I saw, so strongly, that it was meant to be. There is something about you and him together that is important. I know this is not what you wanted, but it was so clear to me that this marriage must be. I had no choice but to stay quiet.’

‘What?’ Jael shook her head. ‘No, no! You should have told me! You should have given me a choice. If you knew, you should have left it up to me to decide!’

Edela sat, untroubled. ‘Perhaps. Perhaps you would have found your way to him somehow. But who am I to take that risk? To interfere with the plans the gods have made for you? And not your gods either, Jael, but mine, the Tuuran gods, for they are the ones who show me my dreams, and I am bound to do their work. They told me that you must be with this man, so who am I to argue?’

Jael scowled. She didn’t want to hear this. Her grandmother had guided and advised her throughout her life. Her visions of the future had always come true – well, those that she had told her about, at least. There was no reason to doubt her now, as desperate as she was to. ‘But Eadmund Skalleson? Eadmund the Drunkard?’ she snorted. ‘That’s the husband your gods see me with? Are you sure you have the right man?’

‘Well...’ Edela admitted, with a twinkle in her eye, ‘that part of my dream is a little confusing, but yes, he is the one I have always seen.’

‘The one?’ Jael felt ready to vomit. She absentmindedly sipped the hot tea, grimacing as it scalded the tip her tongue.

‘You must remember that he hasn’t always been known by that name, has he? He was Eadmund the Bold when you fought him all those years ago.’

Jael thought on that, trying to recall the fleeting moment she had trapped him beneath her sword, so long ago now; she didn’t remember him at all. She gritted her teeth, overcome by another burst of seething rage. ‘No! I’m not going to do it! I’m not going to leave Andala! What about Axl? Who will look after him? Or you, or Mother? And what about Aleksander...’ her angry eyes softened suddenly, and she sighed.

Edela reached out and took Jael’s hand, her eyes full of sympathy.

Jael snatched it back. ‘You never thought Aleksander and I were meant to be together. I knew that,’ she said harshly.

‘No,’ Edela admitted. ‘That is true, as much as I love you both. But you and Eadmund, I believe, are meant to be. I have dreamed about this since you were born, in many different ways, over and over.’ She stared earnestly at her granddaughter. ‘I know it for certain. He is the father of the child you will have.’

Edela’s words were delivered so easily, that Jael almost didn’t hear what she’d said, but the shock suddenly flooded her entire face. ‘Child?’ she breathed, as realisation dawned, belatedly. ‘Of course, that’s what they want me for. They don’t want my sword. They want my belly full of heirs!’ She looked defeated, deflated. ‘And you see that as my future? A mother? A wife?’

‘Yes, there is that, but you will have your sword, of that I have no doubt.’

‘Well, not according to Lothar, who has claimed it as his own.’

Edela raised her eyebrows, then smiled. ‘Things are not always as they seem, I promise you that. Our lives shift and change like the clouds. Nothing stands still, not while we are living,’ she sighed. ‘I see you with your sword. What sword that is, I do not know, but there is one in your hand, always.’

Jael felt confused, if not slightly heartened by that news. But a child? With Eadmund the Drunkard? How was she going to tell Aleksander?

* * *

Osbert was drunk; drunk and pissing against the side of the blacksmith’s shed when he saw Jael heading in his direction. Blinking a few times to clear his cloudy vision, he shook off his dripping cock, resettling his fur cloak about himself. Standing just a little bit taller than normal – he was not a large man, much to his own irritation – he stepped out into the street, seizing hold of his cousin’s arm as she flew by.

Jael jerked her head around in surprise, wrenching her arm out of his grip. Seeing it was Osbert, stinking of drink, she was eager to be gone, but again he reached out and grabbed her roughly, his sharp fingernails pinching into her now. She glared down at him, her face betraying no signs of the discomfort he was causing. ‘What do you want, Osbert?’ she fumed, as the wind screamed between them.

He almost stumbled then, his footing uncertain in the thick mud, but he righted himself quickly, narrowing his mean eyes. ‘This could all have been so different, Jael,’ he slurred through freezing lips. ‘You need not have become a pawn in my father’s game. You could have stayed here, in Andala, as you have always wanted to, as Queen of Brekka, as my wife.’ He was leaning closer to her now, his spittle flying towards her in the wind.

Jael curled away from him in disgust, yanking her arm free and standing her ground firmly. ‘You?’ she mocked. ‘You think you would make a better husband than the Drunkard? You think I’d rather have Osbert the Coward in my bed?’ she seethed at him. ‘No, Cousin, your father has made me a much better match than you would ever have been. I’m touched by the honour he has shown me.’

Her words slapped Osbert harshly across the face. Colour rose in his cheeks as he pursed his small, thin lips, trying to contain his fury. ‘If you say so, Jael’, he bit down, eyeing her threateningly. ‘But, just remember... while you’re on Oss, with your new husband, your fat belly, and your runt litter of slave princes, it is I who will be here watching over your family.’ His satisfaction bloomed as he watched the twist in Jael’s face. ‘You never know what accident may befall them if you’re not careful. I’d hate for you to lose another member of your dwindling family.’ His threat expertly delivered, Osbert smiled and turned, stumbling away to the King’s Hall, where he planned to warm his bones and drown the miserable bitch out of his head.

Numbed by his words, Jael watched as Osbert’s hunched figure was sucked back into the night. If anyone was capable of true evil, it was her cousin. He had a strange obsession with her. He had wanted her as his wife, but thankfully Lothar had seen no benefit in such a marriage for his only son. She had rebuffed his constant advances and made a fool of him on many occasions; now that would come around to haunt her. He was right; she would have to leave everyone behind, with Lothar and Osbert to watch over them. She may as well be leaving a litter of kittens to the mercy of two starving dogs.

* * *

Aleksander was waiting when Jael arrived back at Gisila’s cottage, his dark eyes troubled. He wasn’t easy to anger and even now, when faced with losing the woman he loved, he still managed to retain a level of unnatural calm. They had been inseparable for 17 years, lovers for the past 12. He wouldn’t accept that this was the end; he couldn’t lose her.

‘Jael.’ Aleksander came towards her as she entered the cottage, but Jael’s arms remained firmly at her sides, her face expressionless as she stood there silently in front of him, Axl, and her mother.

She could barely look at Aleksander’s face; that very handsome, sad face. His thick eyebrows hooded deep, brown eyes, almost black, but so kind and understanding. How he had endured her furious ways, she would never know. Dropping her head, Jael ignored the desperate looks and went to warm her hands by the fire. She shivered as some feeling returned to her body, reluctantly turning around to face them.

‘What did Edela have to say?’ Gisila wondered anxiously. She had been talking about nothing else since Axl and Aleksander had arrived.

Jael ignored her.

‘Where were you?’ she asked, staring accusingly at Aleksander.

He was surprised by that.

‘I was hunting. I told you before I left,’ he answered defensively, coming to join Jael by the fire. ‘I went to the hall to find you. Gant told me what had happened, so I came straight here.’

‘You’re back late.’

‘It was treacherous out there. I could barely see, and I wasn’t going to risk Ren.’ He shook his head, confused. Worried. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Lothar made his... announcement.’

Jael swallowed hard at the unwelcome reminder, dismissing his words. She was angry at him, unfairly. What could he have done to make anything different? In fact, it would have made it worse to have him there; worse for him to be humiliated in front of everyone as his lover was taken from him and given to another, less worthy man.

‘Jael.’ Gisila was insistent now. ‘What did your grandmother say?’

Jael sighed, walking a treacherous path in her mind as she considered what to reveal. ‘She... she thought it was... the right thing to happen. She had seen that it would happen.’ Jael couldn’t say anymore. She looked away into the corner of the room, her heart and head clouded with confusion.

Aleksander’s face fell. He could tell that she had made up her mind to go along with Lothar, not to fight or run; Edela must have said something to convince her. Jael had always been impossibly stubborn. If she believed in a cause, she would never give in; he had witnessed that enough times. But now, as she hung her head and hid her face from them all, he knew. He turned and left the cottage, without another word.

Jael turned to see the door hanging open in his wake. Her shoulders drooped; this was not going to be easy, whichever path she decided to take.

‘The right thing?’ Axl looked doubtful as he strode over to face his sister, who was almost as tall as he was. ‘How is this the right thing for you, or us? They will make you a breeder, and you will be lost to Brekka forever. There will be no hope of me taking the throne from Lothar without you, which of course, he knows.’ He was disgusted and frustrated. He had imagined Jael would do anything to stay in Andala, that she would never give up the chance to reclaim their father’s throne. He didn’t understand her lack of reaction at all.

Jael turned on Axl. ‘How will my staying here change anything?’ Heated now by the warmth of the room and her own discomfort, she removed her cloak and threw it over a stool, leaving the fire to stand further away, uncertain how or where to be. ‘What have we been able to do to weaken Lothar’s position since he arrived?’ she whispered hoarsely. Lothar’s spies were everywhere, and she didn’t want the wind carrying her words out into the night. ‘He has the army behind him. He has turned all of Father’s men to his favour. There is nothing here for us. No future, no hope. It’s gone, Axl!’ She gestured around the tiny room, to the dried mud and reeds on the floor, the rough-hewn furniture, the absence of any real light. ‘Does this look like the home of Brekka’s royal family anymore?’

‘Well, we won’t know now, will we?’ Axl spat defiantly, his temper rising to match hers.

Jael stepped closer to her brother, glaring into his simmering, hazel eyes. ‘You think I can do something to change this?’ she demanded, frowning. ‘Kill Lothar? And then, what? Kill Osbert? And how would his men respond to that? Happily? I don’t imagine so. Or, we could run, but where would we go? Lothar has allies in nearly every kingdom, and those he isn’t allied with would still turn us in. No one wants him for their enemy. We would never be safe! Is that what you want? For our family to run until we are hunted down and slaughtered? Can you see Edela living like that?’

‘Stop!’ Gisila implored, coming between her two children, pushing them apart. ‘Come and sit down, both of you. It is no night to be on different sides. We must stay united if we are to stay alive.’ She sighed deeply. The sudden change in their circumstances had left her feeling so much older than her 52 years. Her long, dark hair was now thick with silver strands, her much-admired figure, frail and thin. She had been Queen of Brekka for nearly 30 years, married to Ranuf, a man she had fought and argued with, loved and despised, in equal measure. The shame of being reduced to this lesser existence had damaged her pride, the loss of her husband had broken her spirit, but she had hope still, and that hope was living within Axl and Jael. She knew the way back to her rightful place in Brekka was through them; if only she could keep them believing that.

‘And what of you, Mother?’ Jael wondered sharply. ‘Why didn’t you know that any of this was coming?’

Gisila looked surprised. ‘Why would I?’

‘You and Lothar are very friendly, Mother,’ Axl said, joining his sister. ‘Especially since Rinda died.’

Gisila felt offended to be under attack. ‘Not like that, we’re not! Nor have we ever been, if you’re to know the truth of it. Lothar may wish for things, but I am no slave as things stand, and therefore he will not get anything from me that I do not wish to give. And I do not wish to give that!’

‘Still, you have always been unusually close to him, Mother.’ Jael was not prepared to accept her words so readily and was looking for a fight.

‘And if I am?’ Gisila whispered crossly. ‘I need to keep us all safe. It is not just the two of you who are thinking of our future.’ She shook her head, tears leaking into the heavy creases around her swollen eyes. ‘I’m trying to keep us all alive! Do you think I want to do that? Charm and placate the man who stole the throne from you, Axl? No, I do what I must to protect us all. It is not easy, but what choice do I have?’

Tears slid down Gisila’s drawn face and Axl, who hated to see his mother cry, put one arm around her shoulder.

Jael stared blankly at the door, wondering where Aleksander had gone, wanting to be with him but at the same time desperate to grab her horse and ride until she couldn’t be found. Inside her head, she was screaming for a way out, but Edela’s words echoed, imploring her to keep to the path before her, the path that only Edela and her gods could see.

And beside her, Gisila sobbed, and Axl simmered. And Aleksander had gone.

2

The King’s Hall was humming with urgent voices, interrupted now and then by the bang and clatter of plates being removed, as Lothar’s guests finished their evening meal. There was only one topic of conversation that passed from open mouth to eager ear, and that was the king’s surprising plan for Jael.

Most of the men in the hall had been born in Brekka, had served loyally under Ranuf, and fought alongside Jael. They had reluctantly supported Lothar’s claim to the throne; none of them had any confidence in Axl as a worthy successor to his father. He was a wet-about-the-ears sort of boy with no battle experience and none of the fire of his sister. If Ranuf had made Jael his heir, their loyalty wouldn’t have wavered, but she had surprisingly been put aside before her father’s death and had made no move to change her position. Therefore, sensibly, or so they believed, Ranuf’s men had chosen to put their swords behind Lothar; he was Ranuf’s brother after all. But, in two short years, he had proven himself to be the complete opposite of the leader they had imagined he would become.

Lothar could feel the tension simmering before him. The two fires in the centre of the hall burned high, but the flames were not enough to lift the murkiness that hung about the room. The tables that lined the walls were filled with outlines and shadows; faces masked in a dark, orange glow.

As he sat quietly at the high table, Lothar noticed the closely inclined heads and furtive glances towards him; his plan for Jael had not been well received, that was obvious. It was hardly unrest, but still, his sharp eyes raked over the unsettled mood of his people, wondering what his next move should be. He needed them compliant, at least until Jael had gone.

Osbert sat next to his father, hunched over, hungrily pawing food into his mouth, chewing with an angry impatience, still disturbed by his conversation with Jael.

‘They are not happy,’ Lothar murmured.

Osbert looked up, wiping grease and goat juice from his short, dark beard with the back of his hand. He took a sip of ale from his cup, frowning at the men before him and their hushed tones. ‘Fuck them,’ he spat, loud enough for a few heads to spin in his direction. ‘You’re the king. You can make any alliance you wish. And besides,’ he took a longer drink, ‘she’s no use to us, or them anymore. Best she’s gone.’

Osbert returned to his plate but Lothar had no appetite; he continued to survey the hall, thoughtfully. Noticing his father’s somber mood, Osbert stopped eating again, this time pushing his not-quite-finished meal away. He leaned in closer. ‘Do you trust her, Father?’

Lothar looked surprised by that. ‘Jael? Of course I don’t trust her. Do you?’

‘Well, no, but if we can’t trust her, why send her to Oss where she could plot with Eirik to destroy us?’

Lothar scoffed. ‘You think she would plot with Eirik Skalleson? Ha! I think it more likely for her to kill him than work with him against us. Ranuf hated the man, hated him and his stinking Slave Islands. Jael is not going to betray her beloved father’s memory, that I do know.’

‘Even if it means she can destroy us by doing so?’ Osbert frowned, doubting his father’s confidence.

Lothar scanned the hall quickly for any open ears, then moved his head nearer to Osbert’s. ‘Eirik came to me, wanting Jael for his son. He’s not looking for a warrior but a breed mare. He’s getting old, and he wants heirs. For some reason he thinks Jael will make the perfect mother,’ he laughed. ‘I had assumed at her age, there was no hope for her dried up old cunt, but it seems Eirik is convinced. And the good news for us is that we remove one problem here, and, by doing so, create an alliance with Oss, meaning that between Brekka and the Islands, we will have the force to conquer Hest. Finally.’

His father could be a bold and decisive man, but he was often given to arrogance. Osbert worried that the plan was too simple, too reliant upon trust, and Osbert did not trust Jael. Lothar’s obsession with claiming Hest was clouding his every move these days. Eirik had been an enemy to Brekka ever since he had made himself King of the Slave Islands over 40 years ago. Why was he suddenly to be trusted now? Why wouldn’t he use Jael’s skill with a sword against them?

The tables were almost clean now, the ale cups refilled, and Lothar sensed an opportunity. He stood, holding his silver cup aloft in a signal to quell the room. The men and women of the hall were intrigued once more and ceased their conversations quickly. What news did Lothar have to deliver now? Even Osbert was curious as he reached for his cup with one hand, picking at his teeth with the other.

‘Jael is no longer with us this evening,’ Lothar began solemnly in his quest to reclaim the hearts of his people. ‘But if she were, I know she would agree with me that this is a good marriage for Brekka.’ He saw a few eyebrows rise at that, but he continued, unperturbed. ‘It is not what she would choose. Of course not. It is certainly not what I would choose for her, as her uncle, but she was the daughter of a great king and understands the importance of keeping Brekka safe and strong, and, to achieve that aim, sacrifices must be made. And this sacrifice, on Jael’s part, and on ours, will reap bounteous rewards for us all. We do not want to lose her, but in making this alliance with King Eirik, we now have the opportunity to take Hest together.’ His words piqued everyone’s interest; heads lifted higher now, and Lothar smiled as he continued, his confidence surging. ‘Eirik will bring his ships and his men to join us in the spring, and together we will destroy Haaron and his sons, and their land will, at last, be ours. But not just their land, for in conquering Hest, we will claim the greatest prize of all...’ He let that hang in the silence, watching as some started to salivate expectantly. ‘We will have the key to the South! We will own the port of Hest! Their harbour will be our harbour, their ships, our ships, and our opportunity for raiding and trading with the Fire Lands across the sea will be unlimited. We will be wealthy beyond all our dreams! The gods will applaud our adventures and bravery, and our names will be sung in the farthest reaches of the Northern Realm and beyond! We will make Brekka the largest, most powerful kingdom in all of Osterland!’ Lothar raised his cup to the smoke-dense roof of the hall, infused and enthused by his poetry. ‘To Brekka! And to Jael, for making this great alliance possible!’

His last dampened his earlier words somewhat, leaving a tarnished edge on the glittering prize he had offered up. But still, the men and women around the hall stood in slightly awkward unison, and, raising their cups, echoed Lothar’s words with a small show of enthusiasm. It was not wholly convincing, and he could see that, but when they sat down and started to discuss it amongst themselves, Lothar watched their eyes widen, and their lips moisten with the thought of such riches and fame. Now he just had to deliver on his promise. He needed to ensure Jael would go through with the marriage ceremony, to solidify the alliance, to bring Eirik into his fight.

Leaning forward, he sought out the sullen, sunken eyes of the hooded man in the shadows and smiled.

* * *

The rain was beating down in icy, violent bursts now as Jael eased open the door to the small cottage she shared with Aleksander. Peering into the darkness, she was relieved to see a large, fur-covered lump in their bed. She sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she shook the rain from her hair and dropped her wet cloak over a stool to dry.

Sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, Jael yanked off her sodden boots, half smiling at her servant, Biddy, whose eyes were just visible from her own fur-covered bed. Embers from the banked fire burned low, a tiny, red glow in the middle of the room. Jael tore off her tunic and trousers and quickly shivered her way into bed. Aleksander hadn’t stirred, but she knew him; he never slept deeply, he was always alert. She smiled, remembering her father, who had raised them to sleep with a knife under their pillow and one eye open. They weren’t the sort of comforting words that most girls were sent off to sleep with, but 10-year-old Jael had not been like most girls. Once she had finally convinced her father to train her as a warrior, everything in her life had been a lesson in how to survive. And now, all that she had learned from him was about to be tested fully.

Jael wriggled her way towards Aleksander as the wind raced through holes in the cottage’s crumbling wattle-and-daub walls. His back was to her, and he remained motionless and silent as she desperately sought the warmth of his body. Her feet were numb as she pressed her legs up against the backs of his, pushing her pelvis into the curve of his buttocks, resting the weight of her chest on his scarred back. He didn’t stir. He didn’t speak. And so they lay there like that for some time, Jael burying her head into his back, welcoming the heat of his body as it fused with hers. They had slept like this since they were children; she couldn’t imagine sleeping any other way.

Aleksander rolled over then, a dull ache in his chest at the thought of never feeling those frozen legs on his again. Grabbing her face between his large, calloused hands, he kissed her roughly. Jael could feel his wet cheeks and the damp bristles of his beard on her lips as she kissed him back. She wanted to lose herself, disappear into him then, but he pulled back and stared at her, tracing the dark shadows on her face with his finger. She was a beautiful woman, not girlish or pretty, though; she was far too fierce for that. She was tall and strong, and sharp-tongued, with a determined nose, and a small scar under her right eye, which lent her face a threatening edge. But those deep green eyes of hers told a different story; there was warmth lurking in them if you knew how to find it.

‘You can’t do this,’ Aleksander whispered, his face almost touching hers.

‘I... I think I have to,’ she sighed, feeling the soft crunching of hay as she wriggled uncomfortably on the mattress.

‘Why? Why have to? I don’t understand. What did Edela really say to you?’

Despite the thick darkness, Jael could sense his eyes searching hers for answers. She had answers, of course, but did she share them? She took a deep breath, choosing her words as carefully as possible, which was not something that came easily to her. ‘She saw me... with him... that my future was with him, away from Brekka.’

‘Away from me,’ Aleksander sighed despondently, his head drooping.

She raised his chin with her hand. ‘I don’t want this, you know that, but what choice is there? Lothar has arranged it. Edela has seen that it’s meant to be. The only way we can stop it happening is to run, and we can’t do that. We can’t live like that. Even if we managed to escape, which I doubt we could, he would stop at nothing until we were all dead. Can you imagine him just letting us go?’

‘But that’s not something you even want to try. You’ve made your mind up already,’ Aleksander insisted. ‘I can tell.’

‘I suppose I have. I don’t see another way.’ Jael paused. ‘If I don’t go through with it, Lothar will kill us all. I don’t have a choice. Not really.’

‘And you think we’ll be safe from him when you go?’ Aleksander wondered doubtfully.

‘Yes, you will. As long as I do what he asks, as long as his alliance with Eirik holds, as long as Axl doesn’t cause any trouble.’

‘Ha,’ Aleksander scoffed. ‘Axl not causing any trouble will be difficult. He wants that throne.’

‘Well, I can’t blame him for that. He was Father’s heir,’ she muttered. ‘You will need to look after him for me. Please.’

‘Of course I will, of course,’ he said, smiling as she rubbed her cold feet against his. ‘If we had married then he wouldn’t be able to send you away like this.’

‘Well, that was my fault,’ Jael admitted. ‘I wouldn’t even let you ask me.’

‘I could’ve tried,’ Aleksander said sadly. ‘But you were happy, so was I, the way it was.’

There was silence, a quiet acceptance of the end that was coming.

Jael leaned in closer, until their lips were almost touching. ‘It doesn’t mean forever,’ she insisted hoarsely. ‘It doesn’t mean that we will never be together again. Imagine me as Queen of Oss, with that drunk for a husband?’ She shuddered. ‘Things can change, alliances can break, people can die. Who knows, me on Oss might mean a way back to Brekka... for all of us.’

That was something she hadn’t thought of before, and nor had he, so they considered that for a moment, but just for a moment, as Jael’s hand started to slowly stroke away the tears on Aleksander’s slender face, and their minds and bodies turned to other needs. She pressed her pelvis firmly into his, could feel him wanting her, wanting to be loved and soothed on this bleak, stormy night, away from the reality they would both have to face tomorrow. And so he melted into her and she him, desperately and willingly, kissing and touching each other with an unhappy, urgent passion, for they both knew that soon, it would be over.

* * *

The next morning hung low about Andala like a foul mood. It was calmer, though; the storm had abated before dawn, leaving behind a twisted mess of debris, loose animals, and houses that needed urgent patching.

As the townspeople roused themselves out into the chill and started clearing up, Jael headed quickly to the stables. She knew she couldn’t escape the looks and gossip, or her uncle, forever, but she was desperate to find a place to think, at least for a while. There had been no sign of Aleksander when she woke; she could only assume he was searching for the same thing.

Her horse, Tig, snorted crossly as she slipped a bridle over his twisting head. Jael couldn’t help but smile at his moodiness; in truth, it matched her own. Ranuf had given him to her when she was 13-years-old, and they’d been inseparable ever since; much like her and Aleksander. He hated being stabled and was keen to remind her that she hadn’t ridden him for two days. He skittered about wildly, his nostrils flaring, as Jael tightened the saddle under his smooth, black belly. She stroked his cheek, and he stilled briefly, just long enough for her to get one foot into a stirrup and throw herself up into the saddle.

Jael nudged Tig out of the stables, navigating him around a squawking flock of ducks waddling down Andala’s main street.

Andala was the largest town in Brekka, with a well-protected harbour, and a market that was generally busy, even during the coldest months. It was fortified to its rear and sides by a ringed ditch, with a high wall of dirt and stone, and wooden ramparts circling its top. There were three guard towers, overlooking pasture and hills, manned day and night by sentries, and one pair of tall, wooden gates that were already open this morning, as local farmers made their way into town to set up their stalls for another day’s trading.

Once free of the gates and cumbersome foot traffic, Jael took a sharp breath of cool air deep into her lungs and tapped her boots lightly into Tig’s flanks. He had been anticipating her signal and didn’t need further encouragement. Quickly finding some purchase on the thick mud, he took off with speed. Jael wrapped the reins tightly around her hands and leaned over his neck, hanging on as the wind swept her hair and her worries far behind her... for a while at least.

They rode up over the gentle hills that surrounded Andala to the rear, and down, deep into a thick forest. Here was the silence she’d been craving, as the heavy canopy of entwining trees created a private, hushed world. Tig knew this path so well that he barely broke stride. Jael guided him smoothly through the tree maze, over a slippery bed of needles and out into the dim light.

She turned his head gently, and they headed left, more slowly now, towards a cluster of trees shrouding a small clearing at the bottom of a hill; this was her favourite place to hide. There was a small stream running through it, and in the summer months, Tig would stand in the water and cool off, while Jael lay on the grass, soaking up the welcome silence.

Entering the clearing, Tig’s ears flattened backwards, and Jael, too, could sense someone nearby. She rested her hand firmly on the familiar hilt of her father’s sword, waiting; her body tense and ready.

She was surprised to see a familiar face emerge from the trees to her right. It was Gant. He had once been her father’s man but now belonged to Lothar. Jael didn’t smile at him as she once would have done. They had fought together many times, working to protect Ranuf and keep him safe during battle, but now there was an awkward distance between them; Jael wasn’t sure if they had even spoken since Lothar’s uprising.

Gant cautiously nudged his white horse towards her. He was a gaunt man, with a serious, scarred face. The weight of his years and choices rested heavily on his broad shoulders. He might be Lothar’s man now, but his loyalty to Ranuf had not ended. He had come to find Jael at great risk to his own life.

‘What do you want?’ Jael asked coldly, her mouth set in an unforgiving line.

Gant was saddened by her tone but accepted the way of it now. ‘I came to warn you about Lothar.’ He spoke quietly, not wanting his voice to carry to unbidden ears.

‘What? That he is marrying me to the Drunkard?’ Jael scoffed, trying to keep control of a skittish Tig, who seemed just as cross at Gant as she was. ‘Your warning comes too late, old friend.’

Gant dropped his eyes at that but was undeterred. ‘He wants you dead, all of you,’ he warned.

‘Ha! Of course he wants us dead. We are a constant reminder of how he betrayed his brother.’

Gant edged his snorting horse closer to Jael, his greying hair falling lightly over weary eyes. ‘He saw his chance, and he took it. If your father had named you instead of Axl...’ He let that hang in the freezing air but Jael refused to take it up, so he continued. ‘Lothar is sending Tiras with you.’

‘What?’ Jael was shocked. ‘Tiras? That shit worm! Why?’

‘Tiras is to watch you for any sign of disloyalty, for any sign that you are betraying Lothar and creating your own alliance with the Skallesons.’

‘Me?’ Jael sputtered in disgust. ‘Make an alliance with them? Why would I do that?’

‘I don’t imagine you would,’ Gant smiled, remembering the years he had spent teaching her to fight when she was just a girl; he knew her, better than she thought. ‘But Lothar knows there is a chance of betrayal, and he wants to ensure it doesn’t happen. As he should, if he is to protect his position. He won’t hesitate to have you all killed.’

His last words lay a heavy responsibility on Jael, and she felt the weight of it tighten her chest. ‘You should go,’ she warned. ‘Tiras is probably hiding amongst the trees, watching me already.’

‘He might well be, but I hardly think he wants to make an enemy of me,’ Gant remarked coolly. ‘He wouldn’t like what that would mean for him.’

Jael smiled, the tension on her face relaxing slightly. She had felt so isolated from her father’s men, his friends and warriors, since they had gone to Lothar, especially Gant; he had been like an uncle to her. It was surprisingly pleasurable to have a conversation with him again. It made her feel closer to her father, and, for a moment, less alone.

Gant turned his horse’s head away and made to leave. The sky was darkening around them, flooding the clearing with the cold, grey warning that snow was on its way.

‘It would have been different,’ he said softly over his shoulder, ‘if Ranuf had named you. But we just had no choice. Axl wasn’t ready. I doubt he ever will be. Brekka needed a leader.’ He looked sadly at Jael, then spun back around and kicked his horse off into the trees.

3

Eirik Skalleson stood, tapping his foot impatiently as he watched his son snoring.

Eadmund had a serene smile on his face as he lay on his back in a pile of mud and other liquids, which may have included vomit, which definitely included ale, perhaps some urine, and Eirik didn’t want to imagine the rest. The stink made him retch, and he kicked Eadmund sharply in annoyance. His son didn’t budge, but his smile disappeared, replaced with a perturbed, sleepy frown, so Eirik kicked harder, and this time Eadmund sat bolt upright, shocked, surprised, and gasping for air.

‘What? What is it?’ he panted, wide-eyed, glancing urgently around himself. He grasped his head as everything started to ring and spin, sharp pains darting in from all sides.

‘What is it?’ Eirik rasped crossly. ‘What is it?! It’s midday, boy, is what it is, and you’re sitting in a pile of your own shit!’ Eirik sighed loudly, despairingly, and stalked away from the stench of his son and the fishy stink of the drying shed that Eadmund had made his second home. Obviously, it was far easier to sleep in a place where you didn’t need to go outside to piss, shit, and vomit.

His last chance, Eirik told himself, this was most definitely his last chance.

Eadmund struggled to his feet and stumbled after his father. The stabbing pains in his head meant that he could barely keep his eyes open, but he could see that Eirik was thoroughly furious. ‘You wanted to speak to me, Father?’ he croaked as he stepped outside, blinking into the grim light, the sound of his voice clanging in his ears.

‘I did. About an important matter but I’m not sure you’re even able to hear me right now.’

Eadmund felt himself swaying; he reached out a hand to steady himself against the side of the shed. ‘Perhaps we could find somewhere to sit?’ he grimaced.

Eirik nodded curtly, and they walked until they came to a row of moss-covered benches set up just before the grass merged into a stony beach. Snow was coming, and light flurries drifted down from smoke-coloured clouds.

Eadmund glanced at his father as they sat down. Eirik Skalleson’s leathery face looked cold in the gloom; there was nothing good-humoured about him today. Eadmund could feel a chill settle over his pallid skin; he wondered where he’d left his cloak.

‘I’ve made an alliance with Lothar,’ Eirik delivered bluntly.

Eadmund shook his head in surprise, wondering if he had heard correctly. ‘I’m sorry? Lothar Furyck?’

‘Yes, I’m running out of time to change our fortunes, and Lothar has what I need to do so.’ Eirik stared confidently at his son, feeling a swelling of pride at this, his master stroke.

Eadmund just looked confused, partly because his senses were so dulled, but also because an alliance with Brekka seemed a strange move. ‘What does he have that you need?’ he wondered slowly, feeling himself walking into a trap.

‘His niece. Jael.’

That hit Eadmund like a cold bucket of water. ‘No!’

‘Yes! It is what I need. It is what you need,’ Eirik insisted firmly.

‘No, Father! No, I can’t!’ Eadmund stood up, panic rising in his chest as he stumbled down to the water’s edge. He stared out into the distance, his eyes trying to focus on the giant shards of stone rising out of the dark sea, his stomach swirling with last night’s ale.

Eirik came to join his son, his footsteps cautious on the slick, black stones. ‘You will marry her, Eadmund. If you want to be my heir, heir to all of this...’ he motioned back up the hill, to the thick, stone walls of the fort at its very peak, ‘...then you will marry Jael and get her with child, quickly. And many times over.’ He frowned, fingering his long, white-tipped beard. ‘This family, our family, must not disappear into the Nothing. I didn’t conquer these islands to watch them turn back into a slaver’s paradise. And when I’m gone, and you drink yourself to death, or die without an heir, then what will happen to our people? Who will protect them? I chose you, Eadmund. You, over your brother. And so far you have done nothing but make me regret that decision!’

Eirik’s words landed a hefty blow to the tiny remnants of Eadmund’s pride and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t look at his father. This was something Eirik had been threatening for the last few years, but he hadn’t been prepared for the way it would make him feel. Eadmund was a reasonable man; he could see the merits of his father’s argument and hear the passion in his words, but still, it was he who would have to marry. Her.

‘I’m not ready.’

Eirik scoffed unsympathetically at that. ‘Of course you are! It’s been seven years! That’s more than enough time for anyone to grieve. You are ready, my son. You have no choice but to be ready. I am giving you no choice!’

Eadmund tried to think, but his head was a jumble of half-formed words, none of which made sense. He had not seen his father this angry for a long time; his jaw was set firmly, his eyes burned with a furious passion. ‘But Jael Furyck? She must be as old as me. Couldn’t you have found someone younger, someone... womanly...’ he paused. ‘Someone less likely to kill me?’

Eirik laughed at that, and the tension between them eased slightly. ‘She may be old and more of a man than a woman, but she has exactly what we need,’ Eirik said confidently.

‘And what is that? An extra cock?’

Eirik rolled his eyes. ‘The Furycks have the oldest line of all the kingdoms. They are the royal family of Osterland. Bringing her into our family will give our name the respect it needs. Uniting our line with Brekka’s will ensure that my legacy has a future, that you will rule as a legitimate king... besides, it was your sister’s idea.’

‘Eydis? Eydis told you I should marry her?’ Eadmund was stunned. His sister was only 12-years-old and blind, but she had been having visions of the future for the past few years. Her mother had been a Tuuran dreamer, and Eirik already relied heavily on her guidance.

‘Yes. She insisted that Jael would save you, save our people,’ Eirik said thoughtfully. ‘It surprised me too, but I believe her. So, if she is meant to save you, then I doubt she will end up killing you. I could be wrong, of course. She won’t be happy being forced into a marriage, especially one with you. You are not the prize you once were, my son,’ he smiled wryly, his eyes wandering over Eadmund’s ever-expanding girth, so far removed from the lean warrior he had once been. ‘I imagine you will have a hard time keeping her sword out of your marriage bed!’

Eadmund looked morosely at his grinning father. The weight of Eirik’s words, the ruthless look in his eye, and the swirling clouds overhead, all conspired to spin his head with thoughts of marriage and wives, both old and new. Turning urgently away from his father, he bent towards the stones and vomited.

* * *

Evaine Gallas swung around in a fit of madness and raced at her father. ‘No! No! No!’ she screamed, pounding her small hands into his hollow chest. ‘This cannot happen! You cannot let this happen, Father! Eadmund is mine! He is supposed to marry me! You are supposed to have been arranging our marriage, not helping Eirik marry him to... to... that Brekkan bitch. How could you let this happen?’

‘Keep your voice down, child,’ Morac hissed, but Evaine was just getting started. Looking frantically around their lavish house, she grabbed a nearby storage pot and threw it violently onto the wooden floorboards, smashing it to pieces. Her mother, Runa, who had been sitting on a bed in the corner of the room, jumped in fright. She was desperate to leave; Evaine in this sort of mood was to be avoided at all costs.

‘Evaine!’ Morac growled, grabbing her arm with his long, thin fingers, demanding her attention. ‘Evaine, this will not help things. If Eirik hears –’

‘If Eirik hears?!’ she screeched. ‘Then what? He will send me away? What difference will that make, since he is marrying Eadmund to someone else? Someone who isn’t me!’

Her small, lithe body shook with a fury that was at odds with her ethereal appearance. She was usually a vision of breathtaking loveliness but not today. Her long, golden hair whipped fiercely around her face, and her light-blue eyes darted about maniacally. Even the smattering of freckles across her tiny nose glowed red with anger.

Evaine inhaled sharply, trying to still her trembling body. Despite the heat of her temper, she could hear the sense in her father’s words. Eadmund wasn’t married yet; there would still be time to change the outcome, as long as she didn’t cause Eirik a problem. Her fury cooled slightly, simmering now at a steady heat, her mind flitting desperately from thought to thought. What could she do to stop this happening?

‘A marriage between you and Eadmund made no sense to Eirik. I told you that,’ her father said delicately, dropping his daughter’s arm but watching her cautiously. She seemed to have calmed down, but still, with Evaine, it was best to stay alert. ‘To marry a slave’s son to a slave’s daughter does little to legitimise his rule. He doesn’t want you to mother his heirs. He was never going to agree to a marriage between you and Eadmund.’

‘But what does Eadmund want?’ she scowled. ‘He won’t want to marry her, not when he loves me!’

Morac frowned. His daughter had certainly obsessed over Eadmund since she was a child, but as to Eadmund’s feelings for her? Morac had always doubted they ran that deep.

‘He loves me, Father. He loves me!’ she insisted. ‘You’ll see. He will fight Eirik. He will not allow this to happen.’ She frantically smoothed down the front of her blue, woollen dress, blinking at her father. ‘You’ll see, Eadmund will not leave me. He will fight for me, Father, I am sure of it. We will find a way, together, to change Eirik’s mind.’

‘Alright, alright,’ Morac whispered soothingly as he took Evaine’s shaking hands, leading her towards her bed.

Evaine sat down, her mind humming with panic. She would not lose Eadmund; she would do anything to stop that from happening.

* * *

By mid-morning Eadmund was almost feeling only terrible as he trudged slowly through the fort on his way to the hall. He had been left in a confused daze by his father’s news and the dense fog creeping around his head wasn’t helping that sensation clear. He didn’t know what was more shocking: a prospective new wife, or Jael Furyck as his wife? Could there not have been another option?

It was a bitter day, but he had started to perspire heavily; his round cheeks were bright pink, his armpits, a cold, damp cave of anxiety. He screwed up his usually cheerful face in annoyance, pawing at his unkempt, sandy hair, which kept sticking to his forehead. ‘Ahhh, there you are, Little Thing!’ he smiled triumphantly, as Eydis crossed his path. ‘A word with you, I think.’ He grabbed her hand and pulled her gently along with him, slipping down a narrow alleyway, searching for a private place to speak.

Eydis smiled happily as she hurried after him. She was small for her age, with long raven hair and eyes that, if not for their milky blindness, would have sparkled clear, icy blue. Eadmund was her favourite person in all of Oss and she relished any time she got to spend with him. He was usually not awake until much later in the day, though, so Eydis knew very well what he wanted her for.

After much winding and creeping about, Eadmund found his friend Thorgils’ cottage, and, checking that no one was inside, he guided his sister through the door. Thorgils shared the house with his mother, Odda, a frightening shrew, whom Eadmund was eager to avoid. He took the risk that they would be in and out before she returned.

The room was dark, its smoke hole providing only a hint of morning gloom to see by. Eadmund resisted the urge to light a candle, though; it would mean nothing to Eydis, and he welcomed the cool darkness.

‘I know what this is about,’ Eydis giggled nervously, making herself comfortable on the creaking stool Eadmund had led her to. ‘Jael.’

‘Yes... her,’ Eadmund muttered, twitching with irritation. ‘Why her? If you’re going to tell Father that I need a wife, couldn’t you have come up with a better choice? Evaine, for one.’

Eydis stilled at that, her sweet, round face, suddenly serious. ‘Not Evaine. You don’t love her.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t love Jael Furyck, and at least Evaine is a woman!’ Eadmund huffed, peering around the room, wondering if Odda had any ale he could help himself to.

Eydis could sense Eadmund’s anxiety as he wobbled about on his stool. Her blindness intensified her other senses, and every part of her could feel the emotions twisting and turning in her brother. ‘She will save you, Eadmund,’ she insisted quietly, leaning forward, wishing she could see his face. Eydis had been blind since birth; the only pictures she saw were in her vivid dreams.

‘Ahhh yes, so I hear,’ he frowned. ‘But what does your 12-year-old-self think I need saving from?’

‘You, of course. You are unhappy, and lost, and lonely –’

‘I am not unhappy!’ Eadmund interrupted. ‘I have Evaine. I’m not unhappy, Eydis. I have good friends. I have fun...’

‘Drinking.’ She glared sternly, disapprovingly, towards him now. ‘That is not what you would be doing if you were happy. None of that makes you happy, Eadmund. You are sad. Sad because of losing Melaena but she would want you to live. She wouldn’t want you to be like this.’

Eadmund’s face dropped, and his shoulders sagged, heavy with the weight of his memories. He felt sick, and tired, and old. He had only just reached 30 years, but he had given up on himself entirely when Melaena died. He had been happy with her, excited for the future, but it was so long ago; he couldn’t even remember the shadow of that life now. His body had turned to unused fat and plenty of it. His once handsome face had rounded so much with drink and nothingness that it was just a bloated, shapeless mass. He felt ill most of the time, had not carried a sword for years, and could only look on, in embarrassment, when his friends left the island in their battle gear, prepared to fight.

He had loved Melaena so deeply. The scars left by her death might have healed over, but the wounds they marked still felt raw and painful to him. They had been married for only one day and then she had been taken from him. The pain had carried him into complete darkness, and he was still lost there, seven years later. He knew Eirik and Eydis were right; he was an embarrassment of a man, his was a waste of a life, and he was most certainly a disappointment, but that was his choice, surely? He didn’t have to marry Jael; he could choose another way.

‘You could run away, of course,’ Eydis whispered, jolting him out of his mournful memories. ‘But you would only be running away from a chance at happiness. If you don’t want to live, Eadmund, you may as well just give up and die.’

Those were harsh words coming from a child, and they cut Eadmund deeply. And... could she read minds now?

The room was silent as they sat, keeping company with their own thoughts. The sounds of the fort came stealing in from outside; arguing in the street, low, murmuring clucks from Odda’s coop, hammering from the smithy. The rich smell of meat, cooking in the Main Square, wafted down the smoke hole, stirring Eadmund’s empty stomach. He sighed. ‘You are 12, Eydis. You cannot know what it feels like, felt like, to lose her.’

Eydis looked cross. ‘I am 13, Eadmund!’

‘You are? Really?’ He was genuinely shocked. ‘I’m sure you’re only 12. I don’t remember your birthday at all. Did I give you a gift?’

‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘You didn’t remember.’

Enough light had seeped into the room now for Eadmund to see the genuine disappointment etched onto her small face. ‘Oh, well then, I am a shit, a useless turd of a brother, aren’t I?’

‘No!’ Her eyes were bright again. ‘You are everything to me, Eadmund. You are so good and such a kind man, but you just need to start living again. Then you would feel things, and maybe even remember my birthday sometimes.’

‘Well, I think you’re asking a lot there,’ he grinned, all the weariness vanishing beneath an easy smile, his soft, hazel eyes mischievous for a moment. ‘Happiness won’t necessarily cure my troublesome memory.’

‘No, but it will stop you drinking yourself to sleep every day,’ she insisted. ‘You must give Jael a chance. There is hope in her. I see it in my dreams so clearly.’

Eadmund didn’t know what to make of that but heavy footsteps outside had him stumbling hastily off his stool. ‘We should go! I don’t want to bump into Odda. That would really make me want a drink!’ He grabbed Eydis’ hand, and they hurried outside, just in time to thump straight into Thorgils, who was standing outside his front door, wondering who was lurking inside.

‘What?!’ Thorgils exclaimed as Eadmund crashed into his chest; then, seeing it was his friend and not a random thief, he smiled. ‘Are you lost?’

Thorgils Svanter was a red-headed giant of a man who towered over most people on Oss. Big-hearted and fiercely loyal, he had been Eadmund’s best friend since they were wrapped in swaddling cloths. His mother, Odda, had been Eadmund’s first nursemaid, which was why he was so terrified of her. She had frightened Eadmund since birth, and he’d been relieved when his mother had put her aside for a woman with a gentler hand and a softer tongue.

‘Ahhh, no,’ Eadmund murmured awkwardly. ‘No, we were just looking for somewhere private to speak.’

‘We?’ Thorgils raised a suggestive eyebrow, then smiled as he saw Eydis pop her head around Eadmund’s waist. ‘Ahhh, now I understand. I just heard the news from Morac. I’m not surprised you tackled that one there.’ He bowed playfully in her direction. ‘Miss Eydis.’

Eydis slipped back behind Eadmund, who kept a firm grip on her hand. She was painfully shy and barely spoke to anyone, apart from Eadmund and their father. Even though Thorgils was like a brother to her, she still felt awkward around him.

Thorgils joined them as they walked back to the hall, where Eadmund planned to deposit his sister. She could get about ably enough by herself, despite her blindness, but he was overprotective and wanted to ensure she was safely returned to their father. He needed to go somewhere to think, alone. He was already visualising his first drink of the day, desperate to take the edge off all this talk of marriage and his many failings as a man.

‘So, have you heard Evaine sobbing, then?’ Thorgils mocked as they ambled down the narrow, wooden sidewalk that wound its way around the tightly packed houses inside the fort. ‘I imagine she’s crying and raging somewhere nearby.’

‘You think she knows?’ Eadmund wondered, his eyes darting about anxiously. The thought of having to face Evaine did not improve his mood at all.

‘Morac would have told her, for sure,’ Thorgils said. ‘I imagine he helped bring about the alliance with Lothar. You know how Morac is, always putting himself in a position to be gilded by Eirik... the arse-licking ballsack that he is.’

Having escaped the maze of streets, they emerged into the large Main Square. Oss’ weather had been gloomy and wet for weeks. The Freeze loomed and the ground alternated between hazardously frozen and unpleasantly boggy; today was a combination of both. There had been a slight frost in the night, following a week of near constant rain, so avoiding the various muddy sinkholes and icy patches kept the people of Oss on their toes.

The hall stood astride the square. It had been Eirik’s ongoing project for over 40 years now, and despite various improvements and additions, it was nowhere near as impressive as Brekka’s King’s Hall, and that rankled. More square than long, it was a tall, wooden structure, topped with a high, curved roof, made to look like an upturned boat, with two ornately worked dragons fighting at its peak. Its towering doors were carved with interlacing motifs of the sea: waves, whales, and monsters, all flowing together in an endless cycle of life and gruesome death.

Eadmund’s attention was diverted instantly by the smoky smells from Ketil’s outdoor fire pit. It was the most popular spot in the square, especially on the coldest of days, when frozen hands and aching bellies sought salvation in the hot and spicy food that Ketil and his sister offered daily.

‘Would you like something to eat, Eydis?’ he asked, smiling at Ketil’s cheerful sister, Una, as he rummaged hopefully inside the empty pouch attached to his belt.

‘Yes, please,’ she answered eagerly, producing three silver coins from her small, embroidered purse. ‘Here. One for each of us.’

Thorgils’ stomach growled gratefully and Eadmund grinned, ordering three servings of pork, wrapped in warm flatbreads. The charred meat was hot and juicy, soft and moist, and the hungry trio sat down at an empty table to devour it immediately.

‘So, what will you do with Evaine?’ Thorgils wondered, pausing between mouthfuls to blow on his steaming meat.

‘Do?’ Eadmund mumbled, his mouth full. ‘Nothing that I can think of,’ he smiled cheekily, then quickly looked around. ‘She’s not the problem. It’s Jael Furyck I need to be worried about.’ He frowned. ‘Can you imagine having her as a wife?’

‘She will slice up your balls and serve them to you for breakfast, for sure,’ Thorgils laughed, then, looking at Eydis, he paused, reminding himself that although she couldn’t see, her hearing worked perfectly well. ‘Although you never know, perhaps she will surprise you and be as gentle as sweet Eydis here?’

Eydis rolled her milky eyes at that and Eadmund scoffed loudly. ‘Ha! Not likely. Have you ever seen the she-beast?’

‘Of course, you fool!’ Thorgils snorted, gulping down the remains of his meat and wiping one hand through his long, red beard. ‘I was with you at the Battle of Ligga, when she almost killed you. I saved your life, don’t you remember? What was that, eight years ago? One of the countless times I saved your life back then.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘Saved my life? I may be a drunkard, but I do remember very clearly that you were the one who needed saving from her that day, my friend. You were one stroke away from being a one-armed man, as I recall, until I arrived and cut her down.’

Thorgils shook that away. ‘My deluded friend! I like your story very much. You cut her down? Ha! Perhaps we should ask Jael what she remembers when she arrives? Your father said this wedding would happen quickly, before the Freeze. Maybe next week?’

Eadmund, having just swallowed the last of his meal, dropped his head onto the table. ‘Nooo! Perhaps I should do what Eydis suggested and kill myself before then...’

‘What?’ Thorgils frowned, staring at Eydis in horror. ‘You said he should do that?’

Eydis, who was barely halfway through her own meal, looked up crossly, her mouth full. She shook her head fiercely.

‘No, but she may as well have,’ Eadmund mumbled, his head still on the table. ‘It’s either Jael or death apparently.’

‘Hmmm, hard choice, my friend, very hard,’ Thorgils said in mock seriousness. ‘But then, as heir to the king, you will have to get used to making such hard decisions one day.’

Eadmund put his hands over his ears, closed his eyes and focused on that first cup of ale tumbling coolly down his eager throat, dulling his senses, giving him reason to smile.

‘Evaine,’ he heard Thorgils murmur. ‘How pleasant to see you. We were just leaving, weren’t we, Eydis?’

If he could have, Eadmund would have banged his head repeatedly on the table then; he couldn’t face her now. Sighing in defeat, he looked up, just in time to see Thorgils dragging his annoyed sister away, her mouth still full.

Thorgils smiled sarcastically over his shoulder at Eadmund, well out of Evaine’s sight, or so he thought until she turned and gave him a look to stop his heart. Turning around hastily, he hurried Eydis across the square and up the steps of the hall.

Having seen off Thorgils, Evaine turned her gaze onto Eadmund. She smiled sweetly down at him, as innocently as she could manage but it was not a smile that reached much past her small, pink lips. She fingered her long hair behind her ears and pulled the collar of her white, fur cloak closer to her neck. Her unhappiness and anger mingled together in a nervous fashion as she waited for Eadmund to speak, but when he finally looked up at her, he didn’t say a thing.

Evaine rushed to fill the empty silence. ‘I heard about your father’s plans, to marry you to that woman, well, if you can call her a woman...’ She did her very best to look suitably upset, masking her barely contained anger beneath lowered eyelashes.

Eadmund sighed, wondering how to navigate the sensitive waters ahead and not sure that he possessed enough clarity to do so. ‘Ahhh yes, Eirik and his grand plan. He has finally grown tired of waiting for grandsons, it seems. I suppose I can’t blame him. It has been seven years.’

Reluctantly getting up from the table, he took Evaine’s hand and started to walk off; where to, he didn’t know, nor care.

‘But why her? Surely he would rather marry you to someone more suitable? Someone you loved? Could love?’ Evaine said almost shyly, glancing up at Eadmund, who was looking anywhere but at her. Despite her confident display, she was still not certain how Eadmund honestly felt about her. He had never revealed his feelings, not once since they had become lovers a year ago.

‘Well, no,’ Eadmund smiled awkwardly. ‘No, it’s not that simple to a king. Kings make alliances to gain land and riches, trade agreements, support in war. I don’t think many kings make marriages for love.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose that marriage to me offers any of those things,’ Evaine said simply. ‘I can’t blame your father for preferring a princess to the daughter of a slave. But what about you? Do you want to marry her?’ She stopped, turning her rapidly blinking eyes up towards Eadmund, hopefully, her small, mittened hand firm on his arm.

Eadmund sighed, overcome with the need to be alone; he was still reeling from his father’s news himself. Old, long-buried emotions were stirring, and he felt aggravated and uncomfortable. He cared for Evaine, he supposed, and he wanted to sympathise with her distress, but at the same time, he wished she would go away so that he could find some ale.

‘No, no, of course I don’t want to marry her,’ he muttered distractedly. ‘But there are just some things you have to do as the son of a king. And I understand that. Eirik’s mind will not be changed. He has chosen this, made his alliance with Lothar, so I have to make the best of it. We will make the best of it.’ The words tumbled out of his mouth freely, but he wasn’t sure if he was saying them solely for her benefit, or whether he actually believed them himself. He gave Evaine a small smile of reassurance. It was all he could manage, and he hoped it was enough to settle her, for now.

Evaine stared up at him quietly for a moment, the frosty clouds of her breath drifting around her face, then she smiled, sweetly and generously. ‘We will make the best of it, then.’

Relief coursed through Eadmund’s tense limbs. ‘Yes, we will,’ he sighed. ‘And marriage to her does not mean an end to us. I doubt she will want to cuddle with me every night!’ he laughed, cringing at the thought.

‘No,’ Evaine joined in. ‘I hope not!’

‘So, there will be plenty of opportunities for us to be together,’ Eadmund insisted. ‘I promise.’ He regretted that instantly, of course, but Evaine was being so understanding. Besides, he thought pragmatically, why should he put her shapely, eager body to one side? She made a good bed-companion, and when he felt lonely, it was comforting to feel the warmth of her wrapped around him. He didn’t imagine his new wife would be so eager to please, so why not keep Evaine happy? For now, at least.

Evaine’s face shone with pleasure. She had wanted more, of course; to be a wife, rather than just a lover, but knowing that Eadmund still wanted her gave her hope and somewhere to begin. Now she would just need to find a solution for dealing with that bitch, but that shouldn’t be too difficult, and certainly nothing harder than what she had dealt with before.

She reached up and threw her arms around Eadmund’s neck, pressing her body into his. He was hers. He would always be hers; no one would take him from her. Standing on her toes, she reached up to kiss him, softly at first and then deeply, her tongue curling around his, temptingly, teasing him.

Eadmund, who told himself that he was far too tired and weary to be seduced by Evaine, quickly found himself forgetting all but those beautifully demanding lips of hers. His desperate need for solitude and ale dissipated as she wound him slowly and passionately around her little finger. Before he knew it, he found himself being led off to his cottage for whatever she had in mind.

4

Aleksander hadn’t come back.

Jael knew he must be trying to find a way to cope with the situation and she couldn’t blame him for that – she would have done the same if she could have – but his absence had left a hole inside her that kept growing. She desperately hoped he would return before she left for Oss. It was only a matter of days until their departure now. How could it be happening so quickly?

It was mid-morning, and Jael had just returned Tig back to the stables after another long ride. They had been riding for hours each day, hoping to stumble across Aleksander at one of his favourite hunting grounds, but without any luck; he was not looking to be found, that much was obvious. She sighed as she wandered slowly back towards their cottage, miserable at the thought of spending another night without him.

‘Jael! Come, come!’ Gisila gestured impatiently from the doorway of the tailor’s house.

Jael rolled her eyes. She knew what this would be about – the damn wedding dress. She had allowed herself to be measured a few days ago and now it was no doubt time to be pinned and squeezed into the stupid thing. Her head and shoulders sagged in resignation as she trudged through the mud towards her mother; her boots sodden, and her mood much the same.

Jael blinked in shock as she entered the modest little house. Arnna, the tailor, was renowned for her rare skill with a needle but the years and the intricate nature of her work had almost robbed her of her eyesight, so she required more light than most to see by. Lamps and candles dripped fishy smelling wax over every surface, creating an intense glow brighter than anything Jael was used to.

Arnna had sewn many outfits for Jael since she was a girl. Most had been beautifully crafted tunics and cloaks, for ceremony and battle, but it had been 17 years since Jael had worn an actual dress. She remembered the day, as a 10-year-old, when, to her mother’s horror, she had built a pyre with Aleksander and thrown every one of her dresses onto it. They had danced around the high flames, banishing ‘Princess Jael’ into the past, invoking Furia, Goddess of War, to bless the birth of ‘Jael the Warrior’. Dressed in her dead brother’s tunic and trousers, Jael had walked away, hand in hand with Aleksander as the flames died down, leaving behind all that had gone before in a pile of dying ash. And now, here she was, about to be reluctantly reunited with her long-abandoned femininity and all of its restrictions.

‘Hello, Arnna,’ she called half-heartedly to the stooped claw of a woman shuffling towards her, carrying what would have to be the cursed dress. Surprisingly, it was black, and that brought a wry smile to Jael’s sullen face. She was pleased to see that Arnna still possessed a sense of humour.

‘I thought that would make you happy,’ Arnna cackled slyly, handing the dress to Gisila, who didn’t share in the joke.

‘Black?’ Gisila looked horrified as she held up the long, silken garment, her nostrils flaring with distaste. There had not been time for much needlework, but Arnna had managed to embroider a series of gold, knotted patterns around the neck and sleeves, with a pair of fighting wolves on either side of the neckline. It looked elegant, but Gisila was not impressed. ‘Black for a wedding? Lothar will be furious!’

‘Why furious?’ Jael snorted. ‘What does he care?’

Gisila gave the dress to Jael with a look of disdain; she was not impressed by Arnna’s sense of humour, nor Jael’s delight in it. ‘Try it on to see if it fits you at least. I don’t believe there is time to come up with something else, is there?’ She directed this hopefully towards Arnna, who shook her almost hairless head. ‘No, so this will have to do, black or not.’

Jael grinned for the first time in days as she unpinned her long, damp cloak. She couldn’t think of anything she would rather do less than this, but at least there was pleasure to be found in irritating her mother, and hopefully, Lothar too. Gisila prided herself on her highborn ways, and despite Jael being far more highborn, she looked down on her daughter’s choice to be a warrior, to dress as men did, to fight like a man.

Jael undid her belt, carefully wrapping it around her weapons and placed it on the table, then squeezed out of her blue, woollen tunic. The chill of the room raised the hairs on her arms immediately. Shivering in just her linen undertunic and trousers, she reached out to grab the dress.

‘You’ll need to take it all off to fit into this,’ Gisila grumbled.

Jael bent down, sighing, and removed her filthy boots and trousers.

‘I am not taking my undertunic off, Mother,’ she insisted firmly. ‘I’ll freeze on that fucking island if I can’t wear something underneath that dress!’

Gisila allowed herself a small smirk, amused that her otherwise impenetrable daughter had such a weakness when it came to the cold. ‘I’m sure Arnna can make you a shift to wear under it, but for now, that baggy old thing will not fit, so take it off!’

For once, Jael did as she was told; what was the point in arguing? She stood there, naked in the harsh brightness of the room, glowing white, apart from her dark hair which fell damply over her broad shoulders, and a tiny pair of bronze axes, which hung between her small breasts. Her exposed flesh was a mass of bruises, cuts and scars, scattered across lean, white muscle. Gisila gasped. She had not seen her daughter naked since she was a girl, but this was no longer the body of a girl, nor was it the body of a woman; this was the body of a warrior.

Arnna wasn’t bothered; she had watched Jael collect her scars and battle wounds over the years. She took the dress from the stunned Gisila and helped Jael navigate its perfectly measured seams. It was surprisingly similar to her tunic, though slightly more snug-fitting. It flared out from her waist to sit near the ground in a feminine way. Jael supposed that it was an attractive enough dress, and it appeared to fit her well, but she felt imprisoned by its clinging fabric. Arnna creaked and fussed around her, smoothing, adjusting, and turning her reluctant model with a deep, rasping hum as Jael wriggled about, unable to stand still, desperate to return to the warmth and comfort of her crumpled pile of clothes.

‘It is good, I think,’ Arnna declared, at last, straightening her bony frame with a loud crack. ‘I shall make a matching cloak of course, and with a few brooches and arm rings... perfect.’ She smiled at Jael, showing off an almost-toothless set of gums.

‘It may fit,’ Gisila muttered, ‘but it is no dress for a wedding. It would be better worn to a funeral.’

‘Well, it sounds perfect then!’ Jael laughed as she hurried to yank the dress up and over her head.

Gisila looked unimpressed and made to leave, wrapping her thick, grey cloak around her shoulders. ‘I suggest you hide that dress away, so Lothar doesn’t catch a glimpse of it before we leave. He’s likely to rip it up and make you wear a sheet!’ Grumbling away to herself, she left quickly, without looking back.

‘Your mother is scared,’ Arnna whispered, laying the dress across the large table that took up most of her main room.

‘Scared of what?’ Jael wondered, wrapping her leather belt around her waist.

‘Of what will happen when you are gone. Of Lothar. Of what he will do.’

‘Well, if everyone behaves themselves he won’t do anything, will he? Besides, Axl will be here to take care of her.’ That didn’t sound convincing, though, even to her own ears.

Arnna murmured to herself. ‘Axl... hmmm... no, I don’t think he will be able to save your mother from what Lothar has in mind, do you?’

Jael was thrown by that. She had not realised Lothar’s interest in Gisila was widely known, nor that serious.

‘It is no easy thing to refuse a king, as you have found out yourself,’ Arnna said as she took Jael’s hands between her old, gnarled ones. ‘Your mother can only do what is possible, and the rest...’ she waved one hand away into the bright glow of the room. ‘Well, that is for the gods to decide.’

Picking up Jael’s cloak, she pushed it towards her. ‘Now begone, so that I may think on your new cloak. There is not much left in these old eyes today, especially when I must be working with black wool. I shall be blind by the time you leave for Oss, that is certain!’ She shooed Jael out through the door, shutting it quickly behind her.

Jael couldn’t help but smile as she stood on the porch, pinning her cloak onto her shoulder. She felt almost at ease again, in spite of the dress and her mother’s mood, but then frowned, wondering if her husband would insist upon her wearing dresses, or, more to the point, her father-in-law. That would be a fight, but she was determined to cling to her trousers with every bit of strength she possessed.

‘Jael!’ Axl ambled towards her, looking cheerful. He was a tall, boy-man, with a thick brush of dark brown hair on his head, none on his youthful face, and the look of an unstable foal about him. He skittered towards her with a rush, his cheeks pink with morning chill. ‘Where have you been?’

Jael, who thought the question typically stupid of him, motioned exaggeratedly with her hand towards Arnna’s door.

‘Oh.’

‘What do you want?’ she asked, suddenly irritable as she headed off towards her cottage again. She didn’t know why she was cross with Axl, but it always seemed to be the way, he being her annoying little brother who was always doing and saying the wrong thing.

‘Edela’s looking for you,’ he replied evenly, ignoring her sullen face.

‘Is she?’ Edela lived in the southern corner of town, so Jael changed course, Axl trotting alongside her. ‘Did she want to see you too?’ she wondered, looking at him sideways.

‘No.’

‘So, why are you following me then?’

‘I’m not following you. I’m keeping you company.’

‘Company? Why do I need your company?’ she wondered, sidestepping a large goose, who honked angrily after her.

‘Well, I thought with Aleksander missing...’

‘He is not missing!’ Jael snapped. ‘He’s gone off hunting, that’s all. That’s not missing. He’s coming back.’ She stopped and glared at her brother, whose face was suddenly serious. ‘He will come back in time. I know him.’

‘Alright, alright.’ Axl bravely reached out and put a hand on her arm.

Jael stilled uncomfortably beneath it but took a deep breath and released some tension. ‘He’ll come back,’ she sighed, staring intensely at her brother, and Axl had no choice but to believe her; nobody knew Aleksander like Jael.

She noticed a few people gawking in their direction. It broke her out of her trance, and, grabbing Axl’s arm, they started walking again. ‘So, what does Edela want with me?’ she asked, slightly calmer now.

‘I don’t know, she wouldn’t say, but she didn’t look herself,’ he said with concern. ‘She seemed strange, as though she had just woken up. Messy and ill, with her hair all...’ he waved his hands wildly about his head. ‘She told me to bring you urgently.’

* * *

Edela creaked open her door before Jael had even walked through the gate. Axl was right, she thought, their grandmother looked awful and out of sorts.

Edela hurried Jael inside and closed the door quickly behind her. The cottage felt even dimmer than normal. There were only scant light beams straining down the smoke hole today, and although a lamp was burning, Jael found herself squinting around the room.

‘Sit down. Please.’ Edela wasn’t wasting any time.

‘What’s happened?’ Jael wondered, finding her familiar stool waiting by the fire.

‘I’ve had a dream, many dreams these last few nights,’ Edela murmured distractedly, coming to sit in front of her granddaughter. ‘Long, dark, endlessly confusing dreams.’ She stopped and stared blankly into the flames of her small fire, desperately seeking the clarity which had so far eluded her. ‘When I talked to you about Eadmund, when I saw you together, it always gave me a feeling of light and happiness.’ She stopped, considering things. ‘I still see that, but there is... something new now.’

Edela looked so puzzled and lost in her thoughts that Jael felt unsettled. Her grandmother was always so calm and absolute but now... she just looked lost. ‘What sort of something?’

Edela hesitated. ‘It’s very hard to explain. It is... a darkness. A thick cloud of suffocating darkness. And I see it on Oss, around you and Eadmund. On more than Oss really, on the other islands too. It is an evil thing, this darkness, an old, evil thing that has not been seen or felt for so long... I think we may have all forgotten that it ever existed.’

Jael was both intrigued and puzzled. ‘A bad omen, you mean?’

Edela shook her head. ‘No, no, that is not it. I think it is magic, dark magic of the blackest sort. The type of magic that was banished to the farthest reaches of the land, locked and hidden away...’ She stopped herself then, a fearful realisation gripping her face as a long-forgotten memory flickered. She wrapped her mind quickly around it, willing herself to hold on, lest it slip away.

Jael could barely breathe; the heat from the fire was oppressive. Rain had started to fall, dripping down the smoke hole, sizzling the flames into an angry protest. ‘I don’t understand,’ was all she could say. ‘Magic? Who is using this magic? And why?’

Edela was beginning to regain her composure now. She felt a growing understanding of what her dreams may mean, pulsing through her veins. ‘The Tuuran gods are not spoken about here, not anymore. I used to tell you their stories when you were small, but you grew bored listening because I didn’t speak of swords and battles, and bloody deaths.’

Jael smiled, remembering.

‘But if you’d listened more closely, you would have heard tales that were just as bloodthirsty and death-riddled as you wanted. You would have heard about Raemus, who was the God of Darkness, the Father of Time. He grew so lonely, that he made for himself, a wife, Dala. She hated the Darkness, though, and her heart was heavy to be with him in such an empty, desolate place. And so, they had a child together, and that child was named Aurea, and she was the Goddess of Light. And now it was Raemus’ turn to be unhappy, for he did not wish to exist in such a world, but he loved Dala, so he remained loyally by her side, suffering, while she created a world of sun and water, and living creatures, and all things that grew in the light. Life flourished all around her in the Realm of the Gods and here, on Earth.’ Edela paused to catch her breath. ‘And Raemus grew jealous of all the love and attention his wife gave to the humans, and the animals, and the other gods. In his eyes, it was as though he no longer existed to her, so he hid away in the darkest corners he could find, plotting to return to that time when she belonged only to him, when they had existed alone, in the Darkness, together.’ Edela reached out for her iron poker and prodded the dying embers.

‘And so, what happened?’

‘You don’t remember?’ Edela chided with half a smile. ‘Well, Raemus created the Book of Darkness, and in it, he wrote down all the ways in which he could bring about the end of light. He wanted to destroy life on Earth, to destroy everything that had come between him and Dala. He couldn’t ask any of the other gods to join him, so he shared the secrets of the book with humans, those with like-minded, black hearts, and he turned them from the light. He found many broken souls willing to return to the Darkness with him, to become part of the secret army he forged.’ She shook her head. ‘What those people imagined a world of pure darkness would bring to them, I will never understand. But his followers used his spells and his teachings, and created a path of destruction, killing and burning, destroying the people and the land around them. Of course, it eventually came to Dala’s attention that this dark magic was being used, and she knew that she must act to protect her people. So, as much as it broke her heart to do so, she killed Raemus. But she could not recover the book. He had hidden its presence under carefully woven spells, so that Dala and all those who wished it destroyed, would never find it. Whether it was ever found, I do not know.’

Jael frowned. ‘Do you think that is what you are dreaming about? That someone has found the book? But surely it’s just a story?’

‘Not in Tuura, it’s not,’ Edela snapped. ‘Our gods were the ones who made Tuura, the land your father’s people took from us and turned into their Osterland. In Tuura, the stories of the gods are taught to our children. Not as tales or fantasy but as lessons in our history, of how our people came to be, how our land was formed.’

Jael chewed on that for a moment. ‘If this book did exist, and if someone has found it... what could they do with it?’

‘I don’t know. The book is not something that is spoken of, not anymore, except as a warning to those wishing to pursue a dark path.’ She paused, considering. ‘Raemus was also the first God of Magic, so that book would have been filled with every spell he imagined, and he imagined his magic in a dark, dark way.’

‘But still, if he hid the book that carefully, then surely no one could ever find it? And if they did, he must have protected it as well. It seems like an impossible theory, Grandmother.’

Edela looked towards the flames, her mind wandering. It was one line of thought; a direct line towards the darkness that her dreams were warning her about. But perhaps Jael was right, perhaps it was a step too far? She certainly didn’t want to envision the destruction the book could cause if it were found.

‘Grandmother?’ Jael was talking to herself, though; Edela had slipped quietly away, trying to piece the remnants of her long-forgotten memories together into an answer, an explanation... afraid of what she would find.

5

‘There is hope!’ Eirik mocked.

Eadmund staggered across the frost-powdered stones towards his father, shielding his eyes against the only moderately bright sun. Dawn had barely broken, and Eadmund wasn’t sure he’d been awake this early in years; awake perhaps, but not upright and certainly not outside, walking about with the other day-dwellers. It was not an experience he hoped to repeat in a hurry, but his father had asked, well no, demanded he meet with him to discuss the wedding feast. ‘You may call it hope, Father, but for me, it is certain punishment from the gods.’ Eadmund rolled his eyes dramatically, unsure which felt worse: the idea that he was about to be married, or the burning bile that was swimming around his mouth. He swallowed repeatedly.

‘Yes, well they should be angry with a waste like you, for how many battles have you avoided these past few years? Enough to know that your place in Vidar’s Hall is unlikely, to be sure.’

‘True. I shall no doubt die miserably in a pile of vomit, cursed to spend the Afterlife with the saddest, most useless pieces of shit the world has known. Perhaps Grandfather will be there to keep me company?’ He spat onto the stones and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth; he needed a drink.

That broke Eirik’s hard-worn face into a crooked smile. He clapped Eadmund on the back. ‘You may have lost your appetite for battle but never your sense of humour, my son!’

Eirik felt genuinely happy on this unusually fine day. He stood on the beach, next to Eadmund, inhaling the sharp morning air, enjoying the clear view of pale sky and dark sea, admiring all that he was king of. It felt good; he felt good today. He was so close to achieving all that he had hoped for. One step away from formalising his alliance with Brekka; one step away from getting a wife into Eadmund’s bed at long last.

The Furycks would arrive tomorrow, and to his great surprise, everything was ready; almost ready, he reminded himself. He still had to check on the progress of the bridal bed, his gift to the couple. It had been under construction for some years now, in the hope that he would eventually find Eadmund a new wife. Eirik wanted it to be the most luxurious bed his daughter-in-law had ever slept in; a gift worthy of a queen. So far nobody had managed to achieve the high standard he demanded, but he was determined not to settle for anything less.

Eirik may have been a king, but he was a roughly cut, self-made one. His royal line extended back as far as himself, and beyond that lay the blood-smeared stain his turd of a father had left behind when he’d beheaded him. So, he never fooled himself into thinking that he knew how to act like a real king, like Lothar, a king whose ancestors stretched far, far back, all the way to Furia. Her son had been the first Furyck king and now, here, two thousand years on, her only female descendant was marrying his son, the first of his line. For Eirik, it was perfect; it was a beginning.

For Eadmund, however, it felt like an ending, and as he stood there watching his father vibrating with excitement, he could feel the weight of what was to come pushing him slowly into the thick bed of stones they stood on. He dug his well-bitten fingernails into his sweaty palms and swallowed again. ‘What did you want me for, Father?’

‘Tomorrow. The Furycks will arrive tomorrow,’ Eirik blinked anxiously, his smile fading. ‘I need you to understand what is going to happen. What I expect of you.’

‘I hardly think that needs a conversation,’ Eadmund sighed. ‘You want me to be standing, awake at all times and to say all the right things when it is time to do so.’ He grinned quickly at his father, eager to be gone.

‘Well yes, that is all true,’ Eirik agreed, ignoring his smile. ‘But you need to do it. Actually, do it. I don’t want Lothar to change his mind. That would ruin everything.’

‘He’s not going to change his mind if he sees me flat out on the ground, pissing my trousers. He’s going to be even happier that he’s giving his problem niece away to Eadmund the Drunkard. I shall be living up to the name!’ Eadmund smiled, raising an imaginary cup to the sea.

‘That may be true, of course, but I don’t care. You will be Eadmund the Very Sober and Not Going to Humiliate His Father while they are here. Or I shall kill you. Or worse, I shall bring your brother back,’ Eirik said without humour.

That brought an end to Eadmund’s light-hearted mood. He turned on his father with serious eyes. ‘Not that, Father. Promise me you won’t do that.’

Eirik took a deep breath and stared out across the sea, to the stone spires in the distance. He felt the weight of all that had been said between them on the subject. He knew what Eadmund thought, what Eadmund believed to be true, but he had to put Oss and all of the islands before any personal grievance, no matter how serious.

‘I won’t promise you that!’ Eirik growled. ‘Oss needs a king when I die. I want to leave a legacy behind. I don’t want to be the only king these islands ever had, that all I achieved meant nothing... just a murmur on the wind... forgotten. I want to leave something behind of me, and if it can’t be you, then it will have to be Ivaar.’

‘But –’

‘But nothing! You have your chance. I’ve arranged this marriage for you. Show me you can be the next king, Eadmund,’ he implored, turning to his son. ‘Whatever your brother has done in the past, I won’t hesitate to call on him if you let me down again.’

Eirik was in no mood to tiptoe about his youngest son’s ego; he wouldn’t let Eadmund ruin this. He had been endlessly patient, but there would be an end to it and that end was coming quickly. He knew he didn’t have time to wait.

* * *

They were leaving in the morning, and he still wasn’t here.

Jael chewed anxiously on her lip as she sat in front of the fire, watching the flames shrink, bit by bit. Biddy was fussing about in a corner of the cottage, preparing for tomorrow’s sailing, preparing for bed. They would leave early, to arrive in time for an evening feast on Oss. The following day would be the marriage ceremony and then more feasting. Too much feasting, Jael thought miserably. And no Aleksander.

She kept alternating between being unreasonably furious and desperately worried that something had happened to him, but which one was it and where was he? She had been so confident that he would be back in time, but that had evaporated now, leaving behind an empty hole of disappointment and doubt.

‘Goodnight, Jael,’ Biddy whispered as she climbed into her small bed. There really wasn’t room for three people inside the tiny cottage, but Biddy had taken care of Jael since she was a baby and Jael was hopeless without her, so she had insisted on squeezing Biddy into a corner.

‘Sleep well,’ she replied, grateful that at least Biddy would be allowed to stay with her on Oss.

It was late. Jael sighed and blew out the lamp that was burning on the shelf by her bed. She had resigned herself to the new day coming, to there being no Aleksander to say goodbye to, but she just couldn’t bring herself to get into their bed alone. Snatching up her cloak and belt, she slipped out of the cottage as quietly as she could.

Jael saw no one as she walked into town, just a few scavenging cats hunting for scraps and rats. It was bitterly cold, and most people were warming themselves by a fire or wrapped under furs, sharing their body heat with eager companions. Jael wandered slowly through the shadowed maze of houses as the night hushed about her, snow falling silently to the ground. She thought of going to Tig, just to stroke him and feel his warm, comforting breath as he nuzzled her face but she didn’t want to wake him. He hated sailing and would need as much good humour as possible for his journey across the Nebbar Straights in the morning.

Jael sensed movement behind her and turned to see that the guards in the main watchtower had roused themselves out of their shelter. They were calling down to someone outside the gates. Their voices were muffled, but Jael was immediately on edge. She slipped her hand inside her cloak, adjusting her belt, assuring herself that her sword was within reach. She started towards the gates, her boots crunching softly across the quickly settling snow.

The gates were being eased open now; someone they knew, then? Jael quickened her pace, her heartbeat loud in her ears as she watched a tall, hooded figure step tentatively inside. She stilled, her breathing shallow. The figure raised one arm towards the guards in thanks; his left arm. And then she knew, and she rushed towards the man, who, looking up, saw her and dropped his hood.

Aleksander.

Jael threw her body into his, nearly knocking him backwards. He was so weak and tired, but he stood long enough to wrap his arms around her in relief. She was still here, he wasn’t too late! Breaking the embrace to look at her face, he inhaled her skin, kissed her cold nose, her eyes, her lips, and then held her tightly to him again. She was still here!

‘What happened to you? Where have you been?’ Jael implored, peering at his weary face, then frowned, noticing that he’d arrived alone, on foot. She looked behind him, confused. ‘Where’s Ren?’

Aleksander’s face crumbled. His horse, Ren, had been given to him by Ranuf. He was the brother of Jael’s horse, his most beloved friend, and he was gone. ‘Wolves,’ was all he could get out. Snow was falling thickly between them now; his eyes were heavy with misery, as he brushed the dense snowflakes out of hers. ‘Fucking wolves. It’s all my fault. I should have sensed them, heard them, something. Ren was acting strangely. But I was so... preoccupied... I thought he was just spooked by the storm. I didn’t see them until it was too late... it’s all my fault.’

‘Wolves?’ Jael reached out and touched his face, shocked. ‘I’m so sorry, so sorry.’ She loved that horse, that beautiful, gentle horse, almost as much as Aleksander did. She knew how much pain he must be in, how much she would be in if it had been Tig. She wrapped her arms around him tightly. Snow was in her mouth, her hair, and her eyes; she could barely see now. Taking Aleksander’s frozen hand in hers, she led him home, back to their cottage, for the last time.

* * *

In the Great Hall on Oss, bodies were falling about in a happy state of ale-induced slumber. Much had been made about toasting Eadmund, on his last night of freedom, before the she-witch from Brekka arrived.

Well, if they wanted to call her that, Eirik supposed, they could. He couldn’t say she wasn’t, but he trusted Eydis and Eydis believed that Jael would save her brother; he couldn’t imagine a she-witch capable of such a gentle thing. So, they made fun of Eadmund’s future wife with Eirik’s blessing, drunk more than most could handle, engaged in a few half-hearted fights, poked fun at couples humping in darkened corners, badly sang a lot of songs, and now, finally, a rumbling, snoring peace was descending upon the hall and Eirik was ready for bed.

He smiled wistfully, manoeuvring his way through the maze of bodies littered about the floor; the lucky ones curled up on rows of fur-covered beds lining the sides of the hall. His youth had been filled with nights such as these. Nights that deepened the bonds of friendship forged on battlefields. Nights where problems and fears were shut outside, behind heavy wooden doors, so that all that existed was this happy, drunken brotherhood.

In his sentimental state, Eirik stumbled, tripping over a discarded plate, slipping on a greasy trail of congealed meat juice. He shook himself awake, cross at his carelessness, not wanting to appear as old and clumsy as he feared he was becoming.

The fires were burning down now, but he could still make out the bloated form of Eadmund, lying prone on a bench, as though he had been felled by a hefty axe, his mouth open wide enough to swallow an apple. Eirik was surprised the bench didn’t collapse under the weight. He frowned, wondering what state his son would be in tomorrow. But then, they had a whole day to sober him up, which would surely be enough time?

‘Thorgils,’ Eirik whispered hoarsely to the tall man who was helping to clear up around some of the men, lest they wake up in the morning, face-deep in a pig’s mouth or worse.

Thorgils looked up, half drunk, half asleep. ‘I thought you would have been tucked up in your bed long ago,’ he smiled. ‘I didn’t think this night would keep you here so long.’

‘Ahhh, but I’m not that old and dull yet,’ Eirik laughed quietly. ‘I have a few more nights to come, I think. Just a few. Unlike Eadmund here, who probably has hundreds, if not thousands of nights like this to snore through. Although, if he ruins tomorrow, well, this will surely be his last.’

Thorgils grinned sleepily at that. ‘You needn’t worry, Torstan and I have already spoken of it. We’ll keep him in our sights all day. He won’t get near any ale until the guests arrive. We won’t let him!’

‘I would believe that Thorgils, if only I didn’t know my son so well,’ Eirik sighed as he headed towards his bedchamber. ‘But I wish you luck with your prisoner. As long as he’s standing by the time they arrive, I shall be a happy man indeed. There may even be a new arm ring in it for you both.’

Thorgils had more arm rings than most on Oss and Eirik didn’t think he’d care for another, but even in his slightly drunken state, Thorgils stood a little taller, keen to take on the responsibility. He looked around at the bodies near him, hoping to locate Torstan, who he’d last seen humping a comely serving girl against the wall; he was going to need all the help he could get.

* * *

They were both silent with thoughts of Ren and what would come tomorrow as they lay there, pressed into one another’s naked flesh.

Sadness lay heavily on Aleksander’s face; he looked even thinner and more drawn than usual. Jael could tell that he had barely eaten or slept since he’d been gone. His eyes were red-rimmed and sunken, his lips scabbed, and his fingernails bloody; whatever he had been doing, it hadn’t been enjoyable.

‘Tell me,’ Jael breathed into his mouth, wanting to keep their conversation just between them. ‘Where have you been?’

He was wary at first, his eyes searching hers for some sign as to her mood. It was impossible to tell, of course; the snow had blanketed the moon, so no light filtered down the smoke hole. There was only the faded glow of the banked fire to see by.

He hesitated, then barely spoke. ‘I went to find the Widow.’

Jael stilled. ‘The Widow?’ She was confused. ‘What for? How did you find her? Surely she’s dead?’

Aleksander shook his head. ‘Not quite. In fact, she looks barely older than Gisila.’

‘But she must be a hundred years old, or more,’ Jael frowned. ‘And you found where she’s been hiding all these years? How?’

‘It took a while, but yes, I found her. She wouldn’t see me, though,’ he murmured, choosing his words with care. ‘Not at first. She refused. I waited for days in the snow, trying to get her to speak to me, to listen to me. I think she had enough of me bothering her in the end because she finally let me in.’

‘But how did you know where to find her?’ Jael asked again.

Aleksander sighed. ‘When I was a child, my mother would tell stories about her. She told me where to find her... I don’t know why. I suppose she thought it was nothing, certainly not something I would remember. But after she died, I didn’t want to let go of her, so I memorised them, just the way she would tell them, imagining her voice, remembering her words,’ he whispered sadly. ‘I just didn’t want to think that you would leave and I would do nothing but let you go. I couldn’t ask Edela to help me, and you wouldn’t tell me what she saw for us, not all of it. I had to know what would happen myself.’

‘And what did she tell you?’ Jael wondered breathlessly.

Aleksander looked away, shuddering with the memory of it. ‘She wouldn’t say anything. Nothing. After all I went through to get there, after finding her cottage and convincing her to let me in, she made it plain that she wasn’t about to help me. She gave me a meal, then threw me out. But I stayed there, waiting, and eventually, she came out to me again. She handed me a tincture and told me to go up into the mountains, to the very tip of God’s Point, to Vidar’s Tree. I had to drink the tincture and stay there for three nights, and on the last night I would be shown the visions the gods wanted me to see.’

Jael’s eyes were wide. ‘And what happened?’

‘Well, I did as she said. I was barely able to stand in the wind up there. The tip of God’s Point is no safe place to be, hanging there above the cliffs. I tied myself to the tree as best I could. I’m not sure if it was her tincture, or that I went mad from hunger and thirst, but the visions came so powerfully, as though I was in them. They were like dreams, nightmares, but I was awake the whole time. I didn’t sleep at all.’ He paused, the memory of it unsettling him. ‘I saw Edela tell you about him, heard what she said, that you were meant to be together. I saw all of that between you and her, and then, I saw more... all the things Edela didn’t say.’

Jael gripped his hand tightly. ‘What things?’

‘That you would come back to me, with your child, your daughter. That we would be together again.’ Aleksander knew he should feel happy because of that, but he didn’t. His wild, painful dreams had been scarred by dark images, warnings of horrors to come. He didn’t understand most of them, but he knew that he had to keep them from Jael.

‘A daughter?’ was all Jael could say. ‘With him?’ She closed her eyes. The thought of that made her want to scream, but then there was better news; they would be together again. That was something to hold onto but why hadn’t Edela mentioned it?

‘Yes, a little girl,’ he said sadly. ‘Just like you. She looked very much like you in my dream. I thought she might even have been you, but then I saw you holding her hand, introducing her to me.’

Aleksander’s story was so strange, almost more than Jael could take in. She had been preparing herself to say goodbye to him, forever. And now there was this unexpected twist; their paths would turn back towards one another again it seemed. So, it was only goodbye for a short while, or at least until she came back again with this child. Jael felt more and more removed from herself, from all that was coming, from all that she wanted no part of. She closed her eyes and imagined herself on a battlefield, swinging her sword in a wild, blood-making fury. Alone. Free.

In the silence, Aleksander could sense Jael’s discomfort. He knew his story had been riddled with so many holes, which she would soon be desperate to fill. He kissed her quickly, hoping to distract her so that there would be no time for questions, only time for goodbyes. He tried not to see his dreams again; he didn’t want them to ruin this beautiful illusion, that she was his and would always be so. Whatever he had told her, he knew that when she met Eadmund, it would never be the same between them again.

Still kissing her, Aleksander ran his hand firmly down Jael’s troubled face, over her sharp jaw, down between her frozen breasts and nestled it firmly between her thighs.

In whatever was left of this night, she would still be his.

6

If only the snow had settled. If only the Freeze had come.

Jael stood on the pier, wrapped in her cloak, shivering in the bitter grip of the morning. There were small, ever-decreasing puddles of snow lingering about but the still, dark water was clear of ice, the ships were almost finished being loaded, and they would be leaving soon.

They were taking two ships, partly because they were taking two horses and neither horse would make good company, especially for the other, so it was best to separate them. Tig had sailed a few times but hated the rocking sensation and could never settle. They were also carrying a large, white mare named Leada; younger and much more agreeable than Tig. She was to be Jael’s gift to her new husband. It had been Lothar’s idea, and although she could have cared less, she was pleased to know that Tig would have company on the island. The thought of horses made her think of Ren, and the sadness of his sudden loss pulled at her heart. It would be so hard on Aleksander to lose both him and her within days of each other.

‘Warm enough?’ Lothar chortled as he crept up behind his niece. ‘You’re not going to enjoy our journey if you think this is cold!’

Jael didn’t reply; she was in no mood to even attempt conversation today.

Lothar didn’t care. As soon as winter had done its worst, they would be at the piers again, knee-deep in ships and weapons, preparing to invade Hest; he couldn’t have been happier. ‘I have organised for Tiras to stay with you on Oss,’ he murmured into Jael’s ear, far too close for her liking; his breath stunk of ripe cheese and onions. ‘To ensure you stay loyal, that you represent this family well, that my part of the alliance holds true. He will be watching you.’

He expected Jael to flinch at that, but she didn’t even blink. ‘As you wish, my lord,’ was all she could be bothered with. She knew she still had to please him, to keep everyone safe, as she had done these past few years, but there was just so little left inside her to care today. She wanted to be gone, to be on their way, to have said her goodbyes. Jael’s stomach was churning, and she felt nauseated, nervous about what was to come; if only Lothar would shut his stinking mouth and just fuck off.

Lothar grinned, unbothered. ‘There is one last thing, Niece. And that is my sword.’

That stilled Jael’s breathing, and she instinctively grabbed the hilt of the Furyck sword, for the last time it would seem.

‘You may keep that old scabbard,’ he said dismissively. ‘I have my father’s. It’s just my sword I require.’ He came around in front of her, and she was forced to look into his pudgy, pasty face. He was nothing like her father, although, admittedly they both had dark hair and dark eyes; but Ranuf had appeared as if carved out of stone and Lothar looked ready to melt, like a sheep-fat candle. He was a man filled with so little substance that Jael was convinced he would slither away to nothing at the merest hint of flame.

She stared blankly at her uncle as she handed over the sword. Her father may have chosen to pass his crown to Axl, but for some reason, he had left his sword to her. And now here she was, placing it into the sweaty, pink hands of the Usurper, a man so foolishly ambitious that he was likely to destroy 2000 years of Furyck rule before long. Whatever was about to happen, whatever path the gods had laid out for her, she promised herself that she would return to Brekka and remove Lothar’s head, wiping his name from their history.

Lothar took the sword, making a great pretence of inspecting it. He glanced at her as he slipped the sword into the ancient scabbard he had only just managed to tie around his rotund frame. ‘We shall be away within the hour, so best say your goodbyes quickly.’ His smile was smug as he waddled down the pier, his new boots squeaking through the melting slush.

Jael couldn’t move. She kept staring straight ahead, watching as the sun struggled higher into the bleak, grey sky, her hand absently fingering the empty scabbard. Everything was changing. Every part of her was being stripped away, piece by piece.

* * *

‘You’ve lost him? Already?’ Thorgils was dumbfounded. He towered over the guilty looking Torstan, who had been charged with keeping Eadmund on a leash while Thorgils helped move benches and tables about in the hall. ‘How is that possible? He was unconscious! Snoring! Dribbling, even!’

‘Well, he’s gone now,’ Torstan mumbled into his blonde beard, rubbing his head in a typically bemused fashion.

Thorgils sighed. Perhaps his slightly confused friend hadn’t been the best choice to help him watch Eadmund. ‘Well, go and find him then!’ Thorgils urged crossly, bending down to Torstan’s ear, not wanting to be overheard. He looked about the hall, but nobody seemed bothered with their conversation; they were far too panicked getting everything ready in time for their guests. ‘I will come shortly. Try the drying sheds, try Evaine’s, try anywhere he might be likely to find a drink. And do it without Eirik noticing. If he sees you looking about, calling out, he’s going to kill Eadmund and then us!’

There was a crash then, from the back of the hall. ‘Thorgils!’

‘I have to go,’ he muttered, looking around impatiently. ‘Just go, and I will find you.’

Torstan nodded and made to leave, at a typically slow pace.

‘And quickly!’ Thorgils grumbled after him.

* * *

They were in their cottage. It felt like the right place to do it; hidden away from all those who would wish to stare. The silence was awkward, though, and neither wanted to make the first move because a beginning would require an ending, and that was the thing they were dreading the most.

‘Don’t come down to the pier. Stay here,’ Jael insisted agitatedly. She couldn’t look at Aleksander. She didn’t want to do the actual goodbye part yet but it was here, and now she couldn’t run away from it any longer.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Tears were threatening to come from both of them; he could sense that. ‘I won’t. I don’t want to.’

She reached up and touched his face. ‘You’ll be all alone here, not even Ren for company, not till Axl gets back.’

‘Ahhh, because Axl is such great company,’ he mocked, trying to lighten the mood.

Jael smiled sadly and let him hold her, hiding inside that warm, safe place he kept just for her. She clung onto him, remembering the night before; how glad she had been to see him, to be with him that one last time. She didn’t want to let go. They’d been inseparable through arguments, through battles, through everything that had mattered. He had never let her go, no matter how many times she had given him reason to. Jael felt so cross with herself then; she should have fought harder to stay, she should have fought at all, but she’d just given in, accepted the destiny of it, as though everyone else had the right to decide their future, even the gods. Perhaps they did. For now. She had been so passive since her father had died, creeping into the background, hiding from things she should have faced, accepting things she shouldn’t have. And now this.

Jael held on tighter, feeling Aleksander’s tears as they ran down his face onto hers. Her fault, she told herself, it was all her fault. If only she had...

‘You’re coming back to me, remember that,’ Aleksander mouthed into Jael’s hair, then pulled her head back to kiss her, for the last time, gently, remembering her and then letting her go.

Jael cried, painful tears, which fell helplessly down her cheeks. She cried for the first time since her father had died and was unable to stop. ‘I’m coming back,’ she whispered, more to herself than Aleksander. ‘I’m coming back. If I have to kill the lot of them, I’m coming back to you.’

Aleksander grabbed her head and held it against his, wanting to believe her but seeing his visions again, laughing at him and her as they stood there, wrapped around each, not knowing how to let go.

* * *

They were on board and waiting, impatiently. Gisila, Lothar, and his daughter, Amma, on Lightning, the largest and newest of two cargo ships charged with taking the wedding party across the treacherous Nebbar Straights. Gant was there too, and Lothar’s most loyal men. Osbert was pacing about on Storm Chaser, with Axl and Edela hovering nearby, all eyes on the entrance to the town, watching for any sign of Jael. The horses were jittery, especially Tig, who knew Jael wasn’t there and was unsettled because of it.

The wind was getting up now, the sky grimmer than ever and more snow was threatening. They had to leave now; if only Jael would hurry up.

Gisila felt ill; surely she wouldn’t just escape, leave them all like this? No, she wouldn’t, she wouldn’t. She smiled confidently up at Lothar. ‘Jael will be here any moment, I’m certain of it. She needed to say goodbye to Aleksander. That would have been hard.’

Lothar grunted unsympathetically. ‘A king does not like to be kept waiting, as I’m sure you know, Gisila. Not the King of Brekka, nor the King of Oss, so she had better hurry up.’ He said this through gritted, grinding teeth but his rank breath still managed to escape, wafting over Gisila, who glanced quickly away.

Jael emerged from amongst the houses then, walking steadily down the main street towards the pier. She was not hurrying, but nor was she dawdling, so there was little for Lothar to grumble about.

‘Finally!’ he barked. ‘Let us be away!’ Lothar yelled at both helmsmen, who nodded at boys standing nearby to loosen the ropes binding the ships to the pier.

Jael stepped down into Storm Chaser as the rope fell away, ignoring the wishes from the townspeople who had formed a line down each side of the pier. It was not a moment to celebrate, and they understood that, but still, some, those who had known Jael throughout her life, wanted her to know that she would not be forgotten. Jael didn’t care what they thought, though, not now. She was slowly shutting herself away into a place that would make things bearable. Her tears had dried, her goodbyes were done, and she was ready to sail away from all that she had been.

She raised her hood, which as well as protecting her from the icy sea winds, had the benefit of shielding her swollen eyes from Osbert. She tried not to look at his gloating little face as she made her way down the deck, past the busy oarsmen. The roll was instant, as the men locked their oars in and started to pull the ship slowly away from the pier.

Tig whinnied anxiously as Jael stumbled to the mast where he was tethered, grabbing hold of his bridle. She put her face to his, blowing gently on his dark cheek, murmuring in his ear, as much for her own comfort as his. He stilled, his muscles relaxing slightly, his head touching hers. Jael closed her eyes and held on, not wanting to look back, knowing that Aleksander wouldn’t be there; hoping he wouldn’t be there. She cleared her mind of everything but the sea and sky ahead.

Aleksander stood solemnly near the edge of the houses, those that bordered the entrance to the pier. He stood there, concealed in the shadows of the morning cloud, watching the ships as they shrank from view. He would see her again, he knew, but what happened between now and then would change them both irrevocably.

II

Adrift

7

‘I don’t want her anywhere near him, do you understand me, Morac?’ Eirik threatened irritably. ‘Nowhere! Not a sound, nor a smell of her. Put her away somewhere. Lock her up! Just keep her out of my sight!’

Eirik stood, surveying the hall, on edge, anxious. Nothing was happening fast enough for his liking. Dusk was already falling. Their guests would be here soon, and flower garlands were still being strung about the walls; lamps and candles were still being carried in. Not enough, not nearly enough to convey the illusion of luxury and wealth. For, although Eirik had dreamed of turning the Slave Islands into a prosperous, free kingdom, the truth is that fishing and whaling were nowhere near as profitable as slaving had been for his tyrannical father. They needed more markets and opportunities for trade if they were to thrive. A few extra candles and lamps would do little to mask the stark reality that theirs was a kingdom in decline.

‘Of course, of course, I’ll make sure she stays away,’ Morac said, biting down on his irritation. ‘She has no wish to cause trouble, I promise you.’

‘No? Well, good,’ Eirik muttered.

‘The hall looks impressive, my friend,’ Morac smiled tightly, clapping Eirik on the shoulder. ‘You have no need to fear. It looks perfect. Royal.’

‘Ha! If only that were true. But hopefully, it looks enough. That’s all I ask. I don’t wish to embarrass my son, nor myself.’

‘I hardly think you will embarrass yourself, but as for Eadmund...’

‘Eadmund,’ Eirik snapped, ‘is being looked after by Thorgils and Torstan. He is going to surprise us all tonight.’

Morac looked unconvinced, pointing to the back of the hall. ‘You mean Torstan and Thorgils over there, who appear to be looking for someone?’

Eirik’s head spun around, his jaw clenched, his eyes full of fire. He stomped down towards the back of the hall. ‘What have you done with him?!’ he demanded, surprising the two men who had been sneaking around, checking the bedchambers. ‘When did you last see him?’

Thorgils swallowed and Torstan, who had always been terrified of Eirik, flushed bright red, staring at anything but his king’s apoplectic face.

‘Ahhh, it was, ummm,’ Thorgils stalled. ‘It was this morning, early this morning sometime.’

‘What?’ Eirik barked, so loudly that the gentle, murmuring hubbub of the hall ceased immediately, all heads turning in his direction, but he was too wild to notice or care. ‘What? Where is he? Where did you lose him? How did you lose him?’ He looked directly at the squirming Torstan then, whose face burned an even darker red.

‘We only turned our backs for a moment, and he slipped away,’ Thorgils said quickly, coming to his friend’s defence. ‘He was gone before we could do anything and we haven’t been able to pick up his scent since. There’s no sign of him anywhere.’

Eirik felt ill. His eyes darted about in a panic. They were surely out of time.

‘Father, I can take you to him!’ It was Eydis. She had emerged from her bedchamber and was reaching out, trying to grip hold of her distracted father’s hand. ‘I know where he will be.’

Eirik looked down at his daughter in confusion. She was dressed in her grey, fur cloak, hood up, gloves on. She tugged impatiently on his hand, turning to lead him out of the hall. ‘Come on, Father! We must hurry if we are to get to him in time!’

* * *

It had been a truly awful day, and now they had reached what was certain to be the worst part yet. Storm Chaser had bounced nauseously about, buffeted by extreme winds, moody seas, and frequent snowfalls. Under sail since leaving the harbour, she had raced across the black depths of the Nebbar Straights, the treacherous stretch of water between Andala and Oss, the largest of the islands in Eirik Skalleson’s kingdom.

Tig had joined Jael in hating every moment of it. Osbert had complained loudly, yelling at her to keep her damn horse quiet. She was sure that most on board would have happily tipped him over the side and left him to be picked over by Ran, Goddess of the Sea, so she had ignored his spiteful barbs for the most part. But he was a perverse little bastard, and Jael didn’t want him doing something reckless, so she had spent the entire journey by Tig’s side, keeping him as calm as possible, safe from Osbert, his unstable temper, and the threatening glint of his sword.

Edela hated to sail even more than Tig, and she had clung on to Axl in the stern of the ship, her face as leaden as the sky that hung over them, her mouth closed tight against the wind. Jael wondered what Edela saw in her dreams that made her so fearful of the sea. She thought about revealing Aleksander’s visit to the Widow but changed her mind. She would keep that information to herself, tucked close to her heart, hoping that his visions proved truer than her grandmother’s.

The ships had cautiously navigated two of the smaller islands and were now weaving and rolling their way through the deadly stones that climbed out of the white-capped sea around them.

Jael forced herself to look up at the island that would be her new home. Her first impression was that of a bleak, sharp-edged rock, discarded by the gods and dropped into the sea. No wonder it had never been settled by Tuurans, she thought, squinting at its high, jagged cliffs; it looked a wild and unforgiving sort of place.

The sky was darkening quickly as the oars dug in, and, under orders, they started to negotiate the narrow margin that existed between safe passage and torn hull. Four giant shards of stone towered threateningly over them at the entry to Oss’ harbour, providing a warning to those who would pass. It was not an easy place to enter and certainly not an easy place to take. No wonder Eirik had reigned untroubled for so long; who would want to come here?

Jael turned around to see that Lightning was still following dutifully in their wake. She had hoped they might strike something and sink to the bottom of the sea, but felt a slight pang of remorse; her mother was on board. It was only slight, though; she was in a bitter mood and feeling ungenerous to all but Tig.

* * *

They hurried out of the fort, into the storm, the wind screaming towards them horizontally, bringing increasingly heavy snow with it.

Eydis was certain she knew where Eadmund was, but as to what state he would be in when they found him, she wasn’t sure. It was a hidden place, a secret place, but she knew of it. Eadmund had taken her there once when she was much younger, and he was feeling wistful and lonely. He’d told her about it; how it had been his place with Melaena, how they used to hide there and watch the ships come in, as the sun sunk into the sea, sleeping there under the stars.

‘Ships!’

They heard the urgent call from the fort’s main tower.

‘Already?’ Eirik grimaced and grabbed Eydis’ hand, almost dragging her off her small feet. ‘Quickly, child! Show me where he is!’

Eydis tried to get her bearings, to imagine where she was standing. She took a deep breath and pointed to the edge of the cliff that overlooked the harbour and Eirik ran, Thorgils and Torstan following close behind. ‘Stay there!’ he called back to her. ‘Do not move, Eydis!’

The cliff fell away to reveal a gentle, sloping path, leading down to an almost-hidden, grassy ledge, wide enough to fit a tiny cottage, but for now, it just contained one prone figure, lying in the almost-dark. Eirik hesitated for a moment before running down to his son.

He wasn’t moving.

Eirik bent down, holding his breath, laying his head on Eadmund’s chest. He was snoring; that was something at least. Snoring and stinking of ale. Of course, Eirik thought to himself, how could he have expected anything else? He stood up, disgusted.

Thorgils and Torstan were there quickly, pulling Eadmund upright, which wasn’t easy as he was thoroughly unconscious; a snow-covered, dead weight, hanging limply between his two friends. Eirik cursed himself for not bringing a water bag; he needed something to sober Eadmund up quickly.

Thorgils and Torstan manoeuvred Eadmund up the rise, back to the top of the cliff, both men breathing heavily from the effort.

Eydis stood there waiting for them, rooted to the spot despite the wind’s best efforts to blow her over. She could sense that Eadmund was in a poor way and that her father was in a panic. ‘Bring him to me! Quickly!’ she called, removing her gloves.

She buried one arm inside her brother’s wet cloak, digging about urgently, burrowing under his tunic. Feeling around his hairy armpit, she reached up and with her sharp little fingernails, pinched the delicate skin under Eadmund’s arm as hard as she could. He yelped, jerking himself upright and awake, curling away from his sister, crossly shaking her off. His eyes didn’t stay open, though, and he slumped back into a limp state. Thorgils and Torstan readjusted their hold on their heavy cargo as Eydis reached up inside his tunic and did it again, this time even harder. Eadmund’s eyes popped open in protest, his mouth flapping like a fish desperate for water. Eirik stepped in and gave him a sharp slap across the face, and he was awake, almost alert, and momentarily able to stand on his own.

* * *

The two ships, finally free of obstacles, eased into the calmer shallows of the harbour. There was no pier here, just a wide, flat expanse of stones, where a handful of large ships were being protected from the storm in large, wooden sheds. Not many, though; hardly a fleet. Eirik must have another harbour where he kept the rest of his ships, Jael thought to herself.

The helmsman barked at the oarsmen, who lifted their oars up, out of the water, leaving the ships to surge rhythmically towards the shore. Jael held firmly onto Tig’s reins, soothing him through this last part. She wondered what she had been thinking, bringing him to this inhospitable looking place but she couldn’t have imagined leaving him behind.

As the ship grated onto the foreshore, at last, a handful of men in the bow jumped out into the cold, dark water, dragging Storm Chaser onto the snow-covered beach. With Axl’s help, Jael coaxed Tig up and over the side of the ship. He was unconvinced by the idea of jumping out of one unpleasant situation into another at first, but one look at the carrots in her hand swayed him quickly enough.

As the night settled over them, the sea-worn travellers made their way towards the spluttering torches that marked their path up to the fort. Lothar helped both Gisila and Amma over the wet stones, leaving Osbert and Axl to bring up the rear with Jael and Edela. Gant stayed by the ships with Biddy and their men to organise the unloading of sea chests and gifts for their hosts.

Jael dragged a whinnying Tig behind her, feeling her stomach tighten with every step. He hated the wind and was making her do most of the work. They swayed and slipped together, both desperate to turn and run back to the ships, back to Aleksander. She blinked, forcing that thought away for the hundredth time. Gritting her teeth, she yanked harder on Tig’s reins and tugged him forwards.

The beach merged gradually into thick, grassy plains, littered with a handful of ramshackle buildings that stunk of fish. From there was a steep climb up a hill to Eirik Skalleson’s fortress of stone, which was quickly disappearing into the stormy night. The wind was coming towards them at such a pace and angle that walking was almost impossible.

Jael glanced up to where their welcoming party stood, just in time to witness one man stumble, almost falling to the ground. It was hard to see much, but it was evident that he couldn’t stand on his own; the men on either side of him appeared to have one arm under each of his.

Osbert let out a roaring laugh. ‘Did you see that? That has to be your Eadmund, doesn’t it Jael? What a lucky prize you have won there!’

‘Shut up, Osbert!’ Lothar hissed, slapping his son on the back of the head. ‘We are not here to insult our hosts, nor make enemies of them before this marriage is settled. Keep your mouth closed if you want to leave this island with a tongue!’

* * *

Evaine watched as the travellers struggled up the long hill. It was too dark to see much from this distance, but as she peered over the edge of the tower she had secreted herself away in, she was sure she knew which one was Jael Furyck.

Evaine frowned intensely, furious that she had to hide away, when all she wanted to do was make herself known to her rival; to stake her claim, to show the bitch that Eadmund would never be hers. That woman would be warming his bed every night, would carry his child, and the nightmare of that distorted Evaine’s heart-shaped face into a violent scowl. Her ears hummed loudly as she fought the urge to run down the stairs and out of the fort. But this was not a contest to win in public view, she knew that. She would have to sink into the shadows if she was going to keep Eadmund to herself.

* * *

Eadmund swallowed, desperately searching for some saliva inside his barren mouth. His arms ached where Torstan and Thorgils were gripping him, where Eydis had pinched him so painfully, just moments ago. He didn’t complain about their attentions, though; he realised that standing on his own was impossible. He couldn’t remember what had happened or how he had ended up here, swaying in the darkness. The glow of torches flickered off the serious faces of those around him. His father would not even look at him; his eyes were hard, his face bitter with disappointment.

‘Will you keep him upright!’ Eirik growled through gritted teeth. ‘And try to make it look as though you aren’t. Move in closer together.’ He stared straight ahead as the Brekkan party struggled towards them. Even in this wind-battered chill, he felt himself sweating anxiously.

‘We are trying,’ Thorgils grunted, regripping the arm he was holding, causing Eadmund to moan woefully. Thorgils moved his body as close to Eadmund’s as possible, without it looking too unnatural. It was almost completely dark now, and he hoped it would be good enough until they could take Eadmund away to sober him up.

‘My Lord King!’ Lothar reached Eirik first and bowed his head in greeting. ‘It is good to see you again!’ he smiled, clapping Eirik on the shoulders in an enthusiastic show of friendship, his cloak flapping wildly around him.

‘Lothar,’ Eirik smiled. ‘It is good to see you too, my friend. Welcome to Oss!’

‘My niece, Jael Furyck,’ Lothar announced, pushing Jael forwards. ‘As you will see, she is not dressed for ceremony yet, but I do assure you that she has brought a dress with her!’

Lothar thought himself amusing, but Jael cringed beneath his words, not knowing where to look. Obviously, she should look at Eirik, but she doubted she could do so without scowling, so instead she stared awkwardly about herself, glancing at his face only in passing. He was smiling keenly at her, she noticed, the torch flames were bright enough for her to see that. He took one of her hands in his, raising it to his mouth to kiss. Jael looked horrified and only just managed to stop herself yanking her hand out of his icy grip. She glared at him then, defiantly.

He was older than Lothar, older than her father would have been. His long, gold and white hair whipped across his wrinkled face; his beard, though, braided and weighted with silver nuggets, stayed almost in place. He had small, wary blue eyes and a tight mouth, but there was humour lurking around it; humour which travelled up to his eyes when he looked at her. It was not a bad face, she surmised... for an enemy.

‘Jael,’ Eirik said with an eager smile. ‘Welcome to your new home. We are so pleased that you have come.’ He nodded at Thorgils and Torstan, who somehow managed to shunt Eadmund forwards without tipping him over. ‘May I present my son, Eadmund Skalleson, future King of Oss.’

Jael took a deep breath and forced her head to turn in Eadmund’s direction. Her eyes lingered briefly on his bloated face before the overwhelming stench of him hit her. He smelled as though he had vomited and pissed into a barrel of ale, then bathed in it. The stink was truly awful, and every gust of wind blew a fresh tide of him towards her. She screwed up her face in total disgust. He was, it seemed, unsurprisingly, drunk.

He looked twice as wide as she remembered from when she’d fought him all those years ago. She hadn’t seen his face then, and perhaps he had been handsome once, but from what she could make out now, he resembled a dead, swollen cow; all bulging, putrefying, and luminescent, in a ghostly, near-death sort of way. His limbs lay lifelessly about him as he hung there, suspended on the bridge the two men on either side of him were making.

‘Hello,’ Jael said shortly. Then, as a small flicker of hope ignited somewhere deep inside her, she smiled; a smile that was more for herself than him. There was hope, she realised, in this disgusting mess of a man; he looked like a man about to die.

Eadmund could barely see straight, let alone focus on this woman standing in front of him, twisting her face with such apparent distaste. She thought she was better than him, that’s what he saw in her pinched and pointy expressions. She was tall but not taller than him. She dressed like a man but looked enough like a woman so that humping her wouldn’t be physically impossible, at least. He noticed the scar under her eye and was both intrigued and slightly intimidated. She was confident, he thought, and as he stood there, he felt anything but. He tried to feel the strength in his own feet, tried to stand a little taller, a little more proudly but his body sagged heavily with the effort, and he remained limply defeated. Eadmund closed his eyes, saw his father’s disappointed face again and opened them, smiling as widely as he could manage. ‘I am pleased to meet you, Jael,’ he said in a voice which didn’t sound like his at all. He couldn’t reach out a hand to hold hers and perhaps she could sense that as she didn’t offer one either.

‘Let’s get out of this weather!’ Eirik called loudly over the keening wind as the two groups stood shivering, silently and awkwardly in front of each other. ‘I have hot fires, good food, and plenty of drink to warm your cold souls!’ He exhaled heavily, relieved that they were underway and as Lothar fell in beside him, he looked over to see Thorgils and Torstan doing an impressive job of navigating Eadmund through the gates. He raised an eyebrow towards Thorgils, who nodded back in acknowledgement, and motioning to Torstan, they let everyone get ahead of them and slipped Eadmund away into the guard tower.

8

They sat next to each other, all nine of them, squeezed along the high table, elbows and knees almost touching. It was not a long table, nor was it a large hall, Jael noted as she looked around with only mild curiosity.

Eirik had certainly spared no expense in his efforts to beautify its dingy corners. Fresh flower garlands hung from beams, crossing over their heads. Finely worked tapestries rippled warmly in the mellow glow of candles and lamps. Musicians played softly in one corner of the hall while girls with buckets rushed around topping up empty cups with mead. It was good enough she thought, but it was not Brekka, and the man on her right was not Aleksander Lehr, and the man on her left was not her father, and she had no sword in her scabbard.

Jael fixed her mouth into a stern line and stared straight ahead as the bubbling conversations trickled over and around her like a cold river.

Eadmund looked to his left, blinking himself awake; had he just fallen asleep? His face flushed with embarrassment. He felt foolish here, in front of all of Oss, in front of these strangers; exposed and ashamed. He wanted to be alone, desperately, to hide his fat, hideous mass away. How had he become this... fool? His eyes searched the thickly-packed hall in front of him, looking for Evaine. He saw Morac and his wife, Runa, but Evaine was nowhere to be seen; no doubt his father had locked her out of sight. Perhaps he could slip away to find her soon?

Eydis gripped his arm, gently this time and smiled, reaching up to whisper into his ear. ‘Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be alright, Eadmund, I promise.’ She kissed his cheek and sat back down again, folding her tiny hands into her lap, smiling confidently to herself.

Eadmund could have cried then; he felt lower than he could remember in many years. He reached out his drinking cup as the mead girl passed by and with a desperate urgency put the wet, cold liquid to his parched lips, feeling its soothing touch as it flowed down his throat. It was comfort, and he needed that. He supped deeply and contentedly, eyes closed. Oblivious. Alone.

Eirik frowned, watching from the other side of Jael, as Eadmund drank. He pursed his lips so tightly that they almost disappeared into his beard. He would have loved to reach over and slap Eadmund about the face with that cup of his. How had it ended up there? Who had placed it in front of him?! No doubt the same fool who had let him go wandering off alone all day: Torstan! He had to let it go. He had to focus on his guests, on Jael, who was sitting there stone-like, tense and uncomfortable. She was everything now; the answer to all that he sought for Oss and Eadmund.

‘I’m sure your hall in Andala is much more impressive than this,’ Eirik smiled at Jael, waving his hand almost dismissively about the room, trying to engage her, relax her.

Jael sighed, obviously, then turned her body slightly towards him. ‘Well, I suppose our hall is larger. But size doesn’t really matter in the end, does it? It’s more about how you use what you have.’ She paused. ‘I think your hall feels comfortable enough. You have made it look very... festive.’ She stared at him, properly then. He seemed nervous, anxious, almost as uncomfortable as she was. He was trying to impress them all, she realised. And he was worried about how that impression was being received.

‘You are kind to say so,’ Eirik nodded, forgetting Eadmund momentarily. ‘I cannot lie, we’ve been working solidly since this was all decided. And I think, given the short time frame, we have not done so bad a job. Perhaps?’

‘So far, at least.’

‘Wait until you try the food,’ he laughed, almost freely. ‘Then perhaps you will reverse your opinion? Or not. I am told we have some fair cooks on our island.’

Despite an achingly empty stomach, the thought of food tugged the corners of Jael’s mouth down. ‘Well, I’m sure that after another few rounds of the mead buckets, nobody will be judging you too harshly, whatever the outcome.’ She smiled, as politely as she could manage, hoping he would turn his attention towards Lothar on his other side.

Eirik laughed. ‘Yes, that is certainly my wish. To have everyone as drunk as possible, so that the only memories they retain, if any, are good ones. Well, perhaps not everyone,’ he said, almost sadly then. ‘Some people could certainly do with more food than drink.’

Eirik was needed by one of his servants then, and Jael was relieved. Glancing to her left, she accidentally caught Lothar’s eye. He nodded his head towards Eadmund. Jael frowned and clenched her hands tightly under the table, wishing she could do anything but what she knew he was suggesting. Lothar kept staring at her, though, as Gisila chatted away beside him, knowing she couldn’t deny him.

She bit down hard on her urge to protest, then turned, with great effort towards Eadmund. He was talking to his little sister. She didn’t want to interrupt and if she did, what did she say? But still, Lothar glared at her, his eyes flaring now. For all gods, what did she say?! ‘Do you expect a harsh winter?’ That was it. The limpest, most feeble conversation she had ever attempted, and she winced under its calamitous weight, hoping it would fade away without acknowledgement.

Gratefully, Eadmund didn’t respond and at least Lothar had now turned away to speak more intimately with her mother. She sighed, relieved.

‘What did you say?’ Eadmund mumbled, slowly turning towards Jael. ‘Did you ask about the, the... weather?’

‘I did. Yes,’ she admitted, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes in embarrassment. ‘My uncle insisted I speak to you. It was all I could think of.’

He laughed at her honesty, quickly draining his second cup of sweet, honeyed mead. ‘Well, yes, I would say winter is always harsh here, much like summer, and spring, and autumn too. I hope you brought a warm cloak!’

‘Yes, of course,’ Jael muttered, unable to think of anything else to say. The silence that filled the tiny space between them was toe-curlingly awkward, and when she looked around, there was Lothar, peering at her again. In fact, as she quickly scanned the hall, she saw more than a few faces turned in their direction, curious about this first interaction between bride and groom-to-be. Anger rose up in her then. She hated to be observed, and on a scale such as this, it was even harder to bear. She had no choice, it seemed but to keep the conversation going. ‘And... how does your food supply last?’ she asked dully, her lips barely moving.

‘Food?’ Eadmund gulped down another large mouthful of pale, golden liquid. It slopped lazily over his lips, dribbling down into his sparse, coppery beard; he didn’t appear to notice. ‘I suppose we eat well, if you like dried fish. It is more the ale supply that concerns me, though. More Osslanders die every winter from lack of ale than lack of food.’

Jael couldn’t tell if he was serious. Was he foolish, drunk, or just attempting to sound amusing? She frowned. Her body lurched about as though she were still sailing, the smell of him turning her stomach. His breath stunk less obviously now as it flowed into the general odour of the ale-soaked hall, but still, she wished he would turn away and talk to someone else.

Eadmund caught her intense, green eyes patrolling his face and leaned in closely in an attempt to cut her off, lest she found him as flawed as he suspected he was. ‘How old are you?’ He wanted her back, away from him, so he threw this at her harshly.

‘How old am I?’ She hid any shock well, her pale face not moving from its study of his, her body completely still. ‘Not as old as you, I’m certain. But older than your sister there.’ She smiled coolly, nodding towards Eydis, who was talking to Amma.

‘And there were no men in Brekka willing to take you on? Only an Osslander would do?’ His words rang like hollow bells in his ears, his bravado slowly sinking into the swirling pit of nausea that was building in his stomach.

Jael narrowed her gaze. She watched his bloodshot eyes try to focus on hers and fail; he looked ready to fall asleep. ‘Take me on? Is that what you’re planning to do? Take me on?’

Eadmund felt no match for her and her sharp eyes now. He was struggling to piece together his thoughts, afraid they were all about to come tumbling out of his mouth backwards. The mead bucket passed by again and the girl, smiling at Eadmund, lifted up the ladle, just as he reached out his cup. He drank quickly. ‘No, I’m not.’ His eyes met hers, and they were defeated and sad.

Jael’s anger stumbled in confusion; she didn’t know how to respond.

Eirik banged his fist on the table. He rose, cup in hand, as the hall stilled around him, the revellers reaching to grab their own cups in anticipation of the toast he was about to make.

He cleared his throat and surveyed the quiet hall with a satisfied grin. ‘This night, which is bitter with wind and cold, and all that winter on Oss promises. This night, we gather here in our hall, to welcome our guests from Brekka, to feast with us as we prepare to unite our two kingdoms and families, in a partnership of marriage and an alliance of armies, which will bring us success, wealth, and a future of prosperity unrivalled in any of our lifetimes. So tonight, my friends and neighbours, I thank you,’ he nodded towards Lothar, ‘for the honour you have shown my family and me. For the gift you have given us, of Jael, daughter of Ranuf. I hope to make her feel welcome here, as part of our family, as the future Queen of Oss!’ He raised his ornate, silver cup and watched as Osslanders and Brekkans alike mirrored him. ‘To the Furycks and Skallesons! To Brekka and Oss! And to the riches of Hest that will belong to us all!’

The roar around the room was enthusiastic and thunderous, cups clanking on tables in a hearty show of approval. Jael felt numb as she stared at all the cheering strangers before her. The threads of her life were being fingered apart by so many forces now; she wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

* * *

‘I cannot imagine how tomorrow will go,’ Gisila hissed from her cot in the corner of the bedchamber the women had all been squeezed into. ‘They will have to carry Eadmund out of the hall tonight. He is lucky he has such strong friends!’

Lothar’s youngest daughter, Amma, sniggered at that. She was barely 16 and had been sent to sleep with Gisila, Jael, and Edela. She lay tucked up happily in the cot next to Gisila, with Jael and Edela sharing the only full-sized bed in the small chamber.

Jael could have done without Amma’s company. She was not an overly annoying sort of girl – she was far too dull for that – but it would have been easier if her last night of freedom had felt truly free. The three women had to watch their words around the wide-awake and open-eared girl; therefore little was said, of any real value, by any of them.

The night in the hall had been long. The speeches had rambled on, and after a long day of sailing, raked with bitter cold, they were weary and ready for sleep. Well, all but Amma, it seemed, who started whispering away to Gisila in conspiratorial tones.

A faint glow from under the door lit the room slightly and the drone of mumbling voices filtered in through none-too-thick walls. Jael wondered if Eadmund was still in the hall, or whether his friends had managed to drag him out. Last she saw, he was protesting sleepily, eyes closed, cup still in hand, as his friends and father tried to get him to his feet. He was a mess, and he was about to be her problem. She sighed wearily at the thought and rolled over to face Edela. ‘He is worse than I imagined,’ she whispered, hoping that Amma was too busy gossiping with Gisila to hear.

‘Yes, he is,’ Edela agreed. ‘Much worse. But now he has you, and you can help him.’

Jael snorted quietly. ‘And why would I want to do that?’

‘Because he will be yours, come tomorrow. Your futures will be entwined,’ Edela murmured. ‘You will need him to be much stronger than this. You will need to save him from himself so that he can become king.’

Jael screwed up her face. There was so much she wanted to say, but with Amma’s ears lurking nearby, she knew it was unwise, so she bit her tongue and changed the subject. ‘Why do you hate sailing so much?’

‘It’s not the sailing I hate, it’s the water. I hate the water,’ Edela shuddered. ‘I know that water. The cold embrace of it as it squeezes all life from your bones. I felt it once before, as a child, and I cannot bear the thought of being in it again.’ She shivered, the grip of old memories tight around her shoulders.

Jael was surprised. ‘Is that how you see yourself dying? In the sea?’

‘No, I don’t see myself dying in it,’ Edela said, shaking her head. ‘It is not a fear of the future that frightens me, but a terror from the past.’

‘Why? What happened?’

Edela hesitated, inhaling deeply. She did not usually speak of these things; she wasn’t sure if she even wanted to, not after all these years. ‘I was a child... perhaps seven... my brother was sent off with my father’s morning meal. He was working in the forest, chopping trees. They were preparing logs to build new houses, I remember. I made my brother take me with him, even though he didn’t want to. He thought I was too annoying. He thought he was nearly a man at 13 and didn’t want to have to look after a child like me. We fought as we walked, as brothers and sisters do, and he ordered me home.’ Edela stopped, feeling the ache of regret, even now. ‘He made us go around the ice lake, you see, whereas I wanted to go across it. I was reckless, excitable, looking for adventure. He told me that our father had heard cracking, that it wasn’t safe.’ She sucked in a deep breath, the memories still vivid after all these years. ‘So, when he sent me home, I ran across the ice, just to spite him. And of course, it shattered, and I fell in... I could only scream once before the freezing water dragged me down. My heart slowed, and my limbs hung and my eyes closed and I sank... I have never experienced cold like that water.’

‘And did you think you would die, or had you seen that you would survive?’

‘No, I had not come into my dreams then. They started soon after. My mother thought that because I was so close to death – I had even stopped breathing – she thought that I must have met with the gods, seen Dala, and that she had given me my gift. I had shown no signs of it before, you see. Perhaps she was right, but I had no memory of it.’

‘And how did you get out?’ Jael wondered.

‘My brother dived in and pulled me from the water. He called out for help and men came running, my father came, but it was too late. My brother had dragged me out and thrown me onto the ice, but the cold took his limbs, and he drowned before they could reach him.’

Jael was shocked; she hadn’t known any of this.

‘I never speak of it,’ Edela sighed, reading her thoughts. ‘Not even to your mother. We never spoke of it as a family. It was too painful. And no one wanted to blame me, even though it was my fault. It was all my fault,’ Edela whispered haltingly. ‘So yes, it is a watery grave that tortures me, but it is my brother’s, not my own.’

Jael reached out, searching for Edela’s hand. It was trembling and cold, and she enclosed it gently inside both of hers. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Edela sniffed and resettled herself in the bed; the wool-stuffed mattress was almost comfortable enough to soothe her clicking bones. ‘It was a long time ago now, but regrets leave scars that never truly heal, that I know. When I was young, I was wilful. I didn’t listen. I always thought I knew the right of it, and one day, for me, it was too late. And I couldn’t go back and change anything.’ Edela gripped Jael’s hand now, in earnest. ‘You are at the start here. There is a chance to make good choices with Eadmund. I know it doesn’t seem it, but he can be more than you imagine right now. Don’t give up on him before you’ve even begun.’

There was a loud crash from the hall, followed by voices raised in argument. As Jael rolled onto her back, she tried to make out if any of them belonged to Eadmund. Unlikely, she decided; he was probably lying somewhere, face down in a pile of vomit. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of him, nor of Aleksander, especially not Aleksander.

* * *

Eadmund reached down and kissed Evaine’s throat, so slowly that she might have wondered if he was, in fact, falling asleep. But no, he was awake, just desperate to take his time, to taste every place on her, one lingering, last time before he was married. To her. That angular, peery-eyed, stony-faced woman. His nightmare coming true. Tomorrow.

Evaine moaned, low and eagerly, writhing beneath him but Eadmund’s drink-saturated mind was now chewing over just what he had thought of Jael Furyck. And why he felt so annoyed by her. Or was it his performance in front of her that was the more annoying? He stopped kissing and sat back on a pillow, scratching his beard, his face troubled, his head pounding.

‘What is it?’ Evaine frowned, coming to sit beside him. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘What?’ he asked distractedly. ‘No, no, I’m sorry. It’s just the wedding. I want it to leave my mind, so we can... so I can... but it’s just... there, whenever I close my eyes. I can’t escape it, no matter how much I drink, or how naked you get. It never leaves!’

Eadmund smiled at Evaine and the tension that had been furrowing her brow, relaxed; he was still here, with her. Hers. ‘It’s just a wedding,’ Evaine soothed, wrapping one arm around his neck, trying to bring his face back down towards hers. ‘And when it’s done, the only thing that will be different is that you will have a wife you don’t want. But nothing needs to change, for you or us. Not really. Just as you said.’ She kissed his jaw delicately, her hands fingering the coarse bristles of his beard. ‘You and I will still be together, and you barely have to notice her. As long as your father thinks you are doing what you must to be a good husband, then your life can run as you wish. As it does now.’ She kissed his lips, easing her body against his.

Eadmund wanted to be lulled into the world as Evaine saw it but he knew it was different than the picture his father had in mind. But she was so very persuasive and her tongue, as it expertly wrapped itself around his, teased away all contrary thoughts. He let himself believe, for a moment, that it could all be that simple. And then there was nothing to think about, except the warm sensation of Evaine’s delicate hands as they ran up and down his chest, exploring lower and lower, enclosing themselves around his cock, which hardened achingly in her hand. He smiled sadly, closing his eyes, desire masking everything else. But in the darkness of his thoughts, he saw two, unforgiving green eyes staring sharply back at him. His stomach lurched, and he blinked himself awake from them, trying to catch his breath.

Evaine, sliding down his body, tempting him with her tongue, was far too busy to notice that she had completely lost his attention.

9

‘I have to go.’

‘I know you do, but this won’t take long,’ Edela promised, carefully unwrapping the large package she had brought in her sea chest.

Jael had grown increasingly irritable during the morning’s drawn-out preparations. She had been steamed, bathed, brushed, scented, and spent far too long having her dark hair braided. She had been stuffed into the dreaded dress, which was now all but hidden beneath a new, black cloak, a thin, silver wedding crown circling her braided head, her face a thunderous storm. She was not at all ready for this, but as much as she was keen to delay the ceremony, she was just as desperate for it to be over.

Jael wrinkled her nose as Edela pulled away the layers of old linen enclosing her surprise; whatever was hiding in there stunk of ancient things. Edela unwrapped the final layer, a thick roll of sheepskin, and, sighing happily, lifted out a sword. It was exquisite; a piece of craftsmanship so fine that Jael gasped. It shone as if new, its long, sleek, double-edged blade swimming with liquid patterns. It was inlaid with a name that Jael couldn’t read. ‘What does it say?’ she frowned.

Edela turned the sword slightly to catch more light, squinting at it. ‘EROTH,’ she smiled to herself. ‘He was one of the finest sword makers in Tuura.’

Jael was confused. ‘Where did you get it?’

Edela was still holding the sword in her arms. ‘Don’t ask me another question until you take it. Take it. It’s yours!’

Jael didn’t argue; she grabbed the weapon with both hands. Its grip was made of ridged, white bone, cold to the touch. The crossguard and pommel were silver, inscribed with scenes of angry wolves devouring snakes, with symbols she didn’t recognise, possibly Tuuran, and with symbols she did: Furia’s axes. A large, opaque moonstone glowed out of the rounded tip of the pommel. It was perfect. It was a sword of the night, a sword for a leader. So why was it hers?

‘Where did you get it?’ Jael asked again, holding the sword out in front of her, feeling its well-balanced weight, admiring its perfect length, turning it, running her fingers over the inscriptions. It was thoroughly unique; she couldn’t stop smiling.

‘From my grandfather.’

‘Your grandfather? Really?’ Jael was even more confused. ‘It looks unused. There’s not even a scratch on it that I can see.’

‘It was not his sword,’ Edela said, trying to remember the last time Jael had looked this happy. ‘He made it for you.’

‘What?’ Jael’s mouth hung open in shock. ‘Your grandfather? Made it for me? But why? How? It looks brand new. How is that possible?’

‘In truth, I don’t know.’ Edela sat down on a bed, folding her hands in her lap. ‘He came to me on my wedding day, with the sword, wrapped up, just as it was. I had never seen it until today. He told me he had made it for the granddaughter I would have. He made me promise to keep it safe and give it to you, on your wedding day.’

Jael was stunned. The how and why of it all was too much to take in. The Tuurans were well known as dreamers, but it was mostly a female trait. How had Eroth known he would have a great-great-granddaughter in need of a sword on her wedding day? It was wonderfully unsettling, and Jael embraced the wildness of it. She had a sword again, and joy bloomed throughout her body. ‘It is beautiful. And really mine alone?’ She couldn’t believe it.

‘Yours alone. He made it for you. I don’t believe anyone else saw it until today but him. He was very secretive about it.’

‘That is so strange. Was he like you?’

‘No,’ Edela said with certainty. ‘No, he wasn’t, but my grandmother was, so perhaps she told him about you. Maybe she saw you, who you would become? I’m not sure.’

‘Jael! Mother! Everyone is waiting!’ Gisila stepped into the bedchamber, her face strained with tension. ‘I’m not sure how long Eadmund will be able to stand, so you had better hurry up.’ She took one look at the sword and shook her head. ‘You cannot wear that. Not to your wedding!’

Jael grinned and looked sideways at Edela, who smiled back. Gisila closed her eyes and sighed dramatically. ‘Whatever you do, just hurry up about it!’

* * *

Eirik had planned to hold the ceremony outside so that his guests might take in the breathtaking views of Oss’ harbour, with its stone spires, and the wild Nebbar Straits foaming beyond. In truth, it evoked better luck for the gods to see the ceremony, to witness the joining of husband and wife from their lofty realm above. Eirik knew that he would need all the luck he could gather if this marriage were to succeed.

It had snowed heavily throughout the night, though, and the morning faced them all with an uncooperatively thick gloom. Nothing could be seen but a few misty shapes, straining to escape the clouds, and snow was sweeping in again, so it was into the hall they all squeezed for the festivities.

The decorations had been plumped up and repaired throughout the morning. More candles and lamps had been brought in, and the mead-soaked tables had been moved against the walls to make way for the wedding archway; an intricately woven, wattle structure, threaded with cascading white flowers and green ribbons.

As he stood there, waiting for Jael to arrive, Eirik felt satisfied with the look of the hall; the look of his son was far more disconcerting. He glanced at Eadmund, who was swaying dangerously close to the archway. Even though he had spent the morning being splashed and scrubbed with cold water to keep him alert, he looked worse than ever. Eirik raised a sharp eyebrow at Thorgils, who grabbed Eadmund’s arm just in time to stop him toppling over. Eirik sighed with relief. Despite his tension and the state of his son, there was a little charge inside him; a growing excitement, a sense that change was coming towards them all, like a white-capped wave building out at sea.

Jael strode into the hall then, on Edela’s arm, trying to ignore how uncomfortable she felt in the evil dress, or how ridiculous she was certain she looked. She scowled as she walked, her long braids glowing like dark, fiery coals as she made her way towards them.

Eirik almost laughed out loud; she was wearing black! That told him more about Jael than he had learned from their awkward conversation last night. And with a sword at her waist too! He stole a glance at Lothar’s face, pinched with displeasure as it was. She was a proud woman, it seemed, and a warrior. As much as he wanted her to mother his grandsons, he could see so much more in her now. He smiled as she approached, but her eyes coldly dismissed him as she stopped, with a sigh, next to his unsteady son. Eirik wasn’t deterred. She had the strength to save Eadmund; he could feel it in her.

Jael turned reluctantly towards Eadmund, but his morose face didn’t register her presence at all. She looked around the hall, barely noticing anything or anyone, trying desperately to stop herself from screaming. She held her body stiffly, reaching down to touch the unfamiliar hilt of her new sword, which fit perfectly inside her old scabbard; that was a good feeling. This ceremony was something she simply had to endure, and if she could shut out the words, the faces, and the implications of what was occurring, there was a chance of surviving this. And getting home to Aleksander. Eadmund would not last long. She peered into his half-closed eyes; he would surely not last long.

Eadmund gulped; this was worse than he imagined when he had imagined how bad it would actually be. He was almost entirely sober. His father had not let a drop of anything pass his lips during the morning’s preparations; not even water. He was thirsty and tired. His feet itched in wet boots, and as dry as his throat felt, he wanted to spit. He couldn’t bring himself to look in her direction; he couldn’t bear another glimpse of himself through those harsh eyes. Maybe he should have given in and let his father bring Ivaar back. No! There was still some fight there, he noticed; some small flicker of hope that he could become someone again, return to claim part of who he once was. That person must still be inside, somewhere.

* * *

Thankfully it was a short ceremony, and when she thought about it later, there was nothing Jael remembered at all, apart from the stench of her husband and the sniffling of her mother, who was no doubt crying more for herself than her daughter.

Mumbled words of no meaning had been spoken over them by an ancient, tattooed man, with an odd-looking mane of orange hair, strewn with bones, branches, and other things Jael did not wish to wonder about. She had no idea who he was, but he sounded Tuuran, which would explain why she could barely understand anything he said. Contrary to his ragged, unwashed appearance, his lips were clean, pink, and wet with saliva, causing him to spit constantly as he spoke. As it was a choice between facing him or Eadmund, she chose to be spat upon.

Simple gold, coiled rings were exchanged; neither one fit. Their hands were joined and wrapped together in cold, white ribbon to unite them as bride and groom, though neither even looked at the other as they spoke their vows. Both Lothar and Eirik took the opportunity to speak, to reinforce how grand and important they felt themselves to be, and Jael watched it all as though she were watching someone else experience it. Her mind was far away, imagining her father’s face and what he would do to his grinning brother if he were still alive.

She tried not to think of Aleksander at all.

Jael was so distracted, so lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t hear the old man’s rasping announcement that it was done, that they were now husband and wife, to a round of hearty applause from the standing guests. She blinked. It appeared that she now belonged to Eadmund Skalleson. His wife.

Everyone suffocated them then, offering empty words and meaningless wishes. Jael listened, detached, as they surrounded her like a swarm of angry bees. She nodded a lot, smiling as little as possible, desperate to remove her dress, constantly squirming to loosen its hold on her.

‘That’s a fine sword you have there... Daughter,’ Eirik grinned as he came to stand beside her. He saw the look of horror on her face then; it would not be easy to win her over, that much was obvious.

‘Yes, it is.’

‘A gift?’

‘Yes, it was.’

Eirik inclined his head towards hers. ‘Lothar did mention he had reclaimed your father’s sword. I am happy to see you found a replacement.’

Jael glanced at her father-in-law, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.

‘I won’t be taking it off you if that is your fear,’ he said plainly. ‘I am glad to have a warrior of your reputation on Oss.’

Jael scoffed loudly.

A few heads turned in their direction, so Eirik laughed to cover any hint of discomfort between them. ‘It’s true,’ he insisted. ‘I am no fool, and nor are you, I can see that, Jael. I didn’t bring you here to win me wars or defend my island, but nor do I wish to make you into something you are not. Be a kind wife to my son, give me grandsons, and you may do whatever you wish otherwise. And I expect you beside me when we attack Hest in the spring. If... if you are not carrying a child, then you shall be there.’ He saw the mistrust that lingered in her eyes. ‘You have every reason but no need to doubt me, for we are now family, and I am no longer your enemy.’

Eirik smiled at her, then walked off to be congratulated by a small group of similarly aged men; his friends, Jael assumed. One, a tall, awkward-looking man, turned his silvery head, staring boldly at her. His face and that stare sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. He turned away to embrace Eirik, but the memory of his look lingered.

The servants rushed about, removing the archway and reinstating the tables, and as soon as they were in place, Eadmund escaped the well-wishers and headed for his seat. He felt weak, nauseated, and thirsty, all at the same time, watching desperately as the servants walked past, ignoring him. There was no cup waiting for him this time. He noticed that there were drinking cups in front of every place at the high table, on the tables in front of him, and around the sides of the hall, but nothing had been left for him. His father was not funny, he decided, annoyed, as he picked up Eirik’s silver cup, holding it out to a mead girl as she busied past. She glanced nervously at his hopeful face and his empty cup, her eyes darting around the hall in search of the king. Eadmund winked cheerfully at her, and she sighed, hurrying to fill him up, before rushing away, blushing as she went.

Eadmund drank quickly, enjoying the welcome sense of peace that flooded his body as soon as his parched throat was moist again. His shoulders sagged contentedly before clenching suddenly at the sight of his wife talking to Thorgils. His wife. The words scratched the inside of his head. He drained the cup, putting it back in his father’s place, wiping the mead out of his beard. His new wife; nothing like his first wife. Melaena had been small, delicate, lovely; the complete opposite of the tall, lean, sharp-eyed killer he was bound to now.

Eadmund smiled wistfully, trying to reclaim the memory of Melaena’s long-seen face. It was almost impossible now. She had faded in his mind, or maybe it was his mind that had faded from too much drink. His smile slipped then. She was gone and in her place was this... thing. Not really a woman, even in that black dress of hers, and not really a man, but something awkward that fell in between. His wife. He rolled his eyes, puffed out a long breath and sat there, weighed down by the thought of what was to come tonight. He would need more mead; much more.

Jael envied Eadmund sitting up there alone; no one seemed to have spotted his escape. She was stuck amongst the crowd, trapped in a tedious conversation with his large, red-headed friend, who was earnestly listing all the reasons why Eadmund would prove to be a good husband... in the end. She was desperate for a drink; a wedding night awaited, and she would not be able to face it sober.

‘...it may not seem like it right now, of course,’ Thorgils sighed, finishing his long-winded speech.

Jael looked at him blankly, realising she hadn’t listened to most of it. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘You have enough to think about today.’ Thorgils shook his head, apologetically. ‘I shouldn’t be boring you with my thoughts. I’m sure you will see for yourself who he is, over time. I was just worried that your first impression would be your last. He is my oldest friend. He deserves to find some... happiness.’

Jael wasn’t sure what to say. It appeared that this man genuinely cared for Eadmund and she didn’t want to be cruel, but at the same time, she wished he would go away. Whether Eadmund was a lost soul who desperately needed her help, or two drinks away from his funeral pyre, it meant little to her right now; she needed to escape.

‘I’m sorry, Thorgils, is it?’ Jael muttered irritably. ‘I’m sure all that is true, but whether your friend feels sad or happy is not something I care about. If you were so concerned about his happiness, perhaps you should have asked his father to find him a different wife, one who was interested in love and babies and the empty nothingness that is being a woman. If he is looking for happiness, he won’t find it in me. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to join my husband in his drinking, and hopefully, before long he’ll do us all a favour and fall asleep.’

Thorgils stared after her, open-mouthed. True to her word, she strode up to the high table, and, adjusting her sword, plonked herself down beside her slumped husband. Thorgils started to smile. She was like a spitting fire, and perhaps that’s exactly what Eadmund needed to wake himself up.

‘You had better try to look awake, or your father will be up here to watch your every move,’ Jael warned, poking Eadmund in the side, her eyes fixed firmly ahead.

He blinked, tried to focus. There was so much noise in the hall; how could he have slept? She smelled of lavender, he thought, which was not unpleasant. He noticed how dark her eyebrows were as they narrowed in on him; how they drew his attention to her eyes.

The mead girl passed again, and he watched as Jael nodded for her to pour, not one but two cups. She turned, raising hers to Eadmund. ‘Drink up,’ she smiled. ‘You look like a man who needs to drink a lot more tonight.’ And with that she threw back her cup, reaching out, before he could blink, for another.

* * *

Osbert was drunk, or at least the hall was moving around him in an unnatural way. He peered into the tangle of topsy-turvy bodies, wondering who in fact wasn’t drunk? Grease-soaked plates were being cleared away by manhandled serving girls. Cups held unsteadily in drunken hands were dribbling precious liquids onto the floor. Music flowed rhythmically, pulsing through his body; where was it coming from, he wondered dreamily?

The wedding guests had been treated to surprisingly good food, and so much mead and ale that his head was spinning with excess. He was reluctant to admit that the feast had surpassed his expectations, but the evidence appeared irrefutable based on the happy, overstuffed bodies falling around him.

Eirik and Lothar were inseparable, revelling in their own brilliance and dreamed of successes to come, though both were too stupid to realise that they were after the same prize, and he doubted that either of them truly had a mind to share. Fools, Osbert thought to himself. Old fools. Their time was nearly done, and with their deaths, a new era would be ushered in. By him. And then everything would change. He had plans for that.

* * *

‘Eadmund. Eadmund!’ Thorgils shoved his friend again, but his eyes didn’t open.

‘You’ll have no luck with your little princess there, she is surely gone tonight,’ came the growling tone of an unwelcome observer.

Tarak.

Jael looked on curiously. She was almost drunk. It was the most relaxed she had felt in a long time, and although she was in total agreement with this mountainous beast, she didn’t like the look of him.

Thorgils sighed. ‘Tarak,’ he stated grimly. ‘Have you had the pleasure of meeting Eadmund’s new wife?’ Thorgils gestured to Jael, hoping to send Tarak on his way but he didn’t budge.

Tarak Soren was immense in both height and width, and Jael had to look up quite a long way to catch a glimpse of his face. It wasn’t worth the effort. He was no stranger to battle, that much was obvious. Scars chased each other across thick, lumpy skin, which stretched itself across his massive facade. He smiled condescendingly at her, with menacing eyes; eyes without humour. The bitter scowl curling from one side of his mouth to the other prickled the hairs on her arms.

Unwisely or not, Jael stood up. She was more unsteady on her feet than she had anticipated but she was consumed by the sudden urge to make herself known to this man. Eadmund snored, blissfully unaware, in his chair beside her.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Jael smiled.

Thorgils watched on anxiously. He knew what Tarak was capable of. Tarak hated Eadmund. Tarak hated women. Tarak would despise Jael.

Tarak caught a glimpse of Jael’s sword, as she resettled it in front of her waist. He glanced down at it, pointedly. ‘I don’t think you’ll have much use for that toothpick here, my lady,’ he snorted dismissively. ‘Not with little Eadmunds to be caring for. Best you leave the fighting to your sleeping princess there. He’ll protect you when we all go off to war.’

Oh, there it is, she thought; you are as nasty as you look. Jael cooled her face then, packing away her pretend smile. She was looking for a fight and had been since Lothar had stolen her freedom, and now, here was the best invitation she could have imagined. She fingered the pommel of her sword deliberately, feeling the icy glow of the moonstone chill her itching fingers.

‘Toothpick,’ she mused, almost to herself. ‘I’ve spent all night thinking of a name for my sword, as it happens. Toothpick... hmmm, it could work. But then again, perhaps something more descriptive would be better as this sword is so... fine... so... sharp... you wouldn’t really want your teeth picked with it, would you? Not unless you’d like them removed from your mouth first?’ It sounded like a threat. Jael meant it as a threat, and Tarak was not as stupid as he looked, for he took it as a threat and stepped forward.

Thorgils had enough wits about himself to lurch out of his seat, but he was slower than Gant, who stepped in from the shadows at that very moment and grabbed Jael’s hand. ‘A word with you please, my lady,’ he said, loud enough for Tarak to hear.

Jael didn’t move her head; her eyes were fixed on Tarak’s and his on hers. She knew Gant was there, felt Thorgils ready to pounce from her other side, but she remained trapped in the needy grip of her own bloodlust. It would be so endlessly pleasurable to hurt this bastard. Gant squeezed her hand more tightly now, demanding her attention, and his increasing pressure started to calm her own. She sighed, turning her eyes away, at last, glaring at Gant. ‘Yes, of course,’ she muttered through clamped teeth, allowing herself to be led away.

Tarak, as he stood there smiling after her, looked like a man who had just found a new toy. Thorgils didn’t notice; he was too busy being relieved that Jael had left when she did. There was no doubt in his mind that Jael had been about to take Tarak on, but Thorgils had been bested by him on more than one occasion and knew what the outcome would have been. It was unfortunate that the smug turd was so useful to Oss, but that was the simple truth of it. He had never been beaten in a fight, and for that very reason, he was always the first man thrown forward in battle. He fought bare-chested, like a fearless hammer, defeating every enemy placed in front of him. He was Eirik’s and Oss’ champion, but as a man, he was overly confrontational, easily angered, and just plain strange. Most who called themselves his friend were simply too scared to do otherwise, and any man foolish enough to make an enemy of him didn’t live long enough to regret it.

Gant hurried Jael over to a busy corner of the hall, away from the fires and flickering lamps. There was a thick gathering of people here, and he wanted to ensure their conversation remained as private as possible. ‘That was a fight you were never going to win.’ He turned on Jael sternly, his face emotionless in the shadows.

‘I’ve faced bigger men than that and won,’ Jael countered boldly, unsteadily. ‘I’m sure of it.’

Gant looked so doubtful at this statement, that she shrunk backwards somewhat, sobering herself up with every slow blink of his grey eyes.

‘What did your father always tell you?’ Gant whispered hoarsely, quickly; he didn’t know how long they had. He had not seen Tiras for some time and was worried, as that worm was likely to appear just where you wanted him least.

‘Tell me?’ Jael’s head was foggy, as she struggled to grasp his meaning.

‘About drinking?’

Realisation came like a wave, crashing over her dulled senses.

‘If you had taken that man on, what use would you have been in a fight? Against him? When you needed every bit of this,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘to overcome him. And when you’re full of drink, what use are you? You must think, Jael. You must survive here. You must stay in control.’

They were near the small group of musicians, still plucking away earnestly on their lyres, here in this darkened corner, and Jael was struggling to hear Gant. He leaned in closer. ‘Jael, you’re no fool. Your father didn’t think so and nor do I. You can reclaim Brekka but only if you’re smart enough to play the game and that means watching, with a clear head, all of those around you.’ Gant looked quickly behind himself. ‘There are men who want thrones, glory and riches, men who want you dead to achieve it. Some who just want revenge. But whoever it is, know that you must protect and defend yourself. Your father is gone, Aleksander cannot help you, and nor can I. You must get out of here by yourself.’

Jael sighed heavily, closing her eyes to gather her thoughts, but when she opened them, Gant had gone.

Her head was thick, her legs unsteady but she had received the message, and as Jael made her way back through the swaying bodies, pressed together in this far-too-small hall, she started to wake herself up. Gant was right. She had come here on her grandmother’s word, and that alone, but destiny, Jael decided, was going to be hers to choose. The Drunkard was not her future, whatever Edela thought she saw; there was no hope to be found in him, that much was obvious. She needed to get herself back to Brekka and Aleksander, and somehow defeat both Eirik and Lothar in the process.

She felt the smile of her father’s approval in that.

* * *

‘We should leave. Now.’ Thorgils had finally managed to wake Eadmund up. He glanced urgently at Jael, lowering his voice. ‘If we can get through the whole ceremony of seeing you to your house while Eadmund looks awake, then no one need wonder about what might not happen tonight. But if all we’re depositing is an unconscious lump on your floor, while everyone cheers and jeers, it will be more than bad luck, it will be a total embarrassment for Eirik.’ He lowered his voice so much that Jael could barely hear him. ‘A marriage not consummated on the wedding night has no chance of success. That is what the people of Oss believe. It would be an ill thing for them to think that that is what happened.’ Beside him, Eadmund’s head started to droop worryingly, and Thorgils jabbed him quickly in the ribs.

Jael nodded. It was hard not to like this Thorgils. There was something uncomplicatedly decent about him, and despite her urgent desire to swim straight back to Brekka, through the freezing Nebbar Straights, she found herself agreeing with his logic. He was right; get the damn thing over with and let them all assume that everything happened as it was expected to.

So they did.

* * *

Just the four of them remained in what was a sizable, comfortable looking house. Jael’s eyes roamed keenly over its thick walls; this was no gap-riddled, wattle-and-daub house. It had been solidly built with wooden logs, the walls stuffed and plastered over and hung with thick, woven tapestries. Even the wind, which had tormented them since their arrival on this freezing rock, was barely discernible from inside. The floor was made of wooden planks, covered in skins and furs, so the main room felt dry and cosy. After two years of being squeezed into that leaking, breezy box with Aleksander and Biddy, Jael allowed herself a small smile of pleasure. It quickly turned bittersweet, though; she would have to share the house with Eadmund.

‘I’ve put him on the floor.’

Jael turned around to see that Thorgils had appeared in the doorway leading to the bedchamber. ‘Are you sure you shouldn’t put him on the bed?’

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘He’s used to the ground, and I’m sure you won’t want to wake up swimming in piss or worse!’

‘Yes, you have a point there,’ Jael conceded as she followed him to the front door.

The raucous crowd who had followed them from the hall to witness the bride and groom’s journey to their marital home had quickly dispersed, drunken voices fading into the night as they returned to their cups and benches. Jael felt an overwhelming sense of relief sink into her bones. An unconscious groom, a warm house, and just Biddy for company; this night was turning out better than she could have hoped for.

‘Thank you,’ she sighed. ‘I’m not sure why you’re such a good friend to that drunken lump, but I’m grateful for your help tonight.’

Thorgils grinned. ‘Ahhh, well, you will find out why that lump is worth the effort, I have no doubt!’ And turning into the stormy darkness, he trudged off.

Jael closed the door quickly and firmly, turning the key that sat invitingly in the lock. She was alone! Well, apart from Biddy, who was very experienced at pretending to be invisible. She was almost alone! The rattling drone of Eadmund’s snores echoed from the bedchamber. There was a bedchamber. She was in a house with rooms! It was silly to think that such small things could give pleasure, but amongst all of this that was new and uncomfortable, they did.

Biddy was fussing about over the large, square fire pit that sat in the middle of the living area. A row of fur covered beds lined both sides of the room, more than enough space for Biddy and five others, and towards the back was a generous kitchen area, filled with well-stocked shelves. To her left was the bedchamber, and straight ahead a door, which Jael assumed led to the storage rooms. She wasn’t bothered for now; there was already far too much straining her mead-addled mind.

It was almost warm in the house, so Jael removed her cloak and came to sit by the fire, which was comfortably surrounded by six, small, wooden stools. She reached her hands towards the flames, frowning as she thought about Tig and Leada. She hadn’t liked the smell of the stables she’d left them in, but there had been little time to do much about it. She made a promise to check on them in the morning.

‘Honeyed milk?’ Biddy smiled, handing her a large bowl. ‘There are no cups that I can see anywhere. I shall try to find some in the morning.’

‘Honeyed milk?’ Jael could barely contain herself at the thought of one of her favourite childhood treats. She greedily wrapped her numb fingers around the bowl. This was a surprisingly good end to a shit day.

Biddy poured herself a bowl of milk from the small cauldron that she’d hung over the fire, and came to sit by Jael, sighing as she stared into the flames that crackled pleasantly in front of them. ‘Not the wedding night I was expecting you to have,’ Biddy murmured, inclining her head towards the thunderous snoring. ‘I’d organised myself a nice bunch of rags to stuff in my ears. Looks like I’ll still be needing them, though!’

‘Ha!’ Jael laughed, screwing up her face at the thought of what might have been. ‘Much better than I could have hoped for. If we can keep him that drunk, then every night could be like this.’

Biddy laughed, then looked at Jael with a more serious face. ‘It’s a very nice house, but it’s not Brekka, is it?’

‘No,’ Jael admitted sadly. ‘No. But I can’t change that. Not quickly at least.’ She lowered her voice. Even now, in this private setting, she feared the eager ears of Lothar’s worm. ‘All we can do is find a way to survive here until I can get us back home.’ She took another warming gulp of milk.

‘Even if Edela thinks this is your destiny?’

Jael sighed. ‘Edela sees many things, but I don’t believe she sees all that is possible. Not this time.’ Jael felt tempted to share Aleksander’s visit to the Widow but held herself back again. The Widow was not someone to discuss lightly, especially with Tiras on the island. ‘Anything can happen, Biddy, if you want it enough. Anything is possible.’

Jael was suddenly unable to stop yawning. Happily freed from the demands of the evening, she left Biddy to bank the fire and headed towards the bedchamber.

One lamp burned low in here, on a table by an immense, wooden-framed bed. Each of its four posts curled like the dragon prow of a ship. Jael almost laughed; the fierce-faced creatures were hardly the last image you wanted to have before you closed your eyes. The bed was piled invitingly high with thick furs and pillows, though, so Jael took no further interest in anything but freeing herself, at last, from her oppressive dress. Throwing it as far away from herself as possible, she crawled eagerly under the furs, gasping in shock as her body shook and shivered into the mattress. It was so soft! There was no rustle beneath her as she turned and sought a comfortable spot, no bits of hay sticking angrily into her skin. The mattress was wool-stuffed and covered in a linen sheet, and as she sunk down, it almost hugged her body, gently, quietly, supportively. Jael couldn’t quite believe that it was possible for something so perfect to exist. It felt as though she were lying on soft, fluffy clouds. Rubbing her numb feet together, she thought about the warm body that would have made this bed perfect; if only he were here.

She lay her head on the pillows, which felt just as agreeable. The dense warmth of the furs started to penetrate her cold limbs, and her tension eased. It had been the worst day she could remember in years, but at last, it was finally at an end.

Outside the wind screamed around the walls and inside, on the cold, hard floor, Eadmund snored noisily. Jael closed her eyes, trying to ignore him. She tried to think instead of Aleksander, and Brekka, and the life that had once belonged to her.

10

The banging was incessant.

Jael grimaced, willing it to stop, desperate to return to her dream of Aleksander. It had been so real; she could almost taste the winter air in Andala, feel his skin touching hers. But the banging continued. Where was Biddy? Why wasn’t she making it stop!?

‘Jael?’ There was a slight creak as the door was cautiously pushed open.

Jael sat upright, squinting against the light and the confusion that was swirling around her head, wondering where she was, when this was.

‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ Thorgils said sheepishly, pulling on his beard with one hand. ‘But it’s late, and they’re expecting you and Eadmund in the hall.’

Jael tried to open her eyes wider, but they wouldn’t work. She tried to find her voice, but her mouth felt as though it were filled with sand. ‘What for?’ she croaked. ‘Who is expecting me?’ She glanced around, looking for a cup of water but everything was so unfamiliar; she had no idea where one might be. She swallowed, repeatedly, a burning sensation surging into her mouth.

‘Eirik, Lothar, everyone. There is a morning feast to celebrate the wedding, to celebrate the wedding night. They are wondering where you and Eadmund are.’ He glanced at the floor.

Jael shook herself awake, blinking rapidly, trying to clear her thick head. The bed had kept her prisoner all night, and she didn’t want to leave its warm embrace, but she could tell that Thorgils wasn’t going anywhere without her. ‘I have no idea where my clothes are,’ she frowned, peering around the bedchamber. It was comfortable looking and spacious, but no windows meant that the only light source was the doorway that Thorgils was blocking with his imposing frame. She couldn’t see anything she could wear apart from that cursed dress, lying on the floor. She sighed. ‘Could you hand me that thing?’

Thorgils looked slightly uncomfortable but did as she asked, ducking out of the room quickly so that she could have some privacy. ‘Have you any idea where Eadmund is?’ he called from the main room.

For the first time, Jael became aware of the total absence of snoring. She looked over the side of the bed, but there was only a rumpled pile of furs.

‘No, I don’t. I didn’t hear a thing all night.’ She hopped out of bed, shuddering as the cold attacked her limbs, and hastily squeezed herself back into her wedding dress. It was freezing.

‘He left in the early hours,’ Biddy grumbled as she popped her round-cheeked face in through the doorway, a basket of berries in her arms. ‘Loudly! I’m surprised you didn’t hear him. Sounded as though a wild boar was trying to escape. He didn’t even close the door behind himself!’ She looked tired and annoyed, her soft brown curls frizzing wildly around her face.

Jael was amazed she had slept through that. Amazed and cross with herself; she was normally a light sleeper. Perhaps the ridiculous bed was a ploy by Eirik to soften her up, to prepare her for the mind-numbing mundaneness of motherhood to come. She rolled her eyes, which made her head ache.

Jael stumbled into the main room, looking for her cloak and boots. Thankfully, Biddy had them warming by the fire, and Jael sat down to put them on.

Thorgils looked troubled. ‘I’ll see if I can find him.’ He went to leave, then turned back. ‘Will you wait here for me? It would not look good for you to arrive separately.’

Jael nodded, rubbing her hands together over the flames. ‘I’m in no hurry to see anyone in that hall again,’ she shivered. ‘I’ll wait.’

Thorgils nodded and left, ushering in an icy blast as he closed the door.

Biddy handed Jael a cup of water. ‘You’ll be needing this, I expect,’ she grumbled. ‘Not sure who snored louder last night, you or Eadmund.’

‘What?’ Jael scoffed. ‘I do not snore!’

Biddy looked unimpressed as Jael quickly drained the cup. ‘You certainly do when you’ve got drink in you, that’s one thing I do know. It was like sleeping with a herd of goats. I would rather have put up with some humping!’

‘You do realise that you’re my servant, Biddy?’ Jael glared at her. ‘That means I can get rid of you at any time.’

‘And what would you do then?’ Biddy countered grumpily. ‘Think for yourself? Find your own clothes?’ She turned and pointed to where Jael’s chest sat, just outside the bedchamber, filled with every possession she had brought with her, including her clothes. ‘You may try, but you would be lost without me, Jael Skalleson, and that you know very well indeed!’ Biddy bustled off to the kitchen, muttering loudly to herself as she prepared her morning meal.

Jael felt terrible. Her head throbbed heavily, keeping time with her churning stomach. She was weighed down by a deep reluctance to begin the day. Last night had been an unexpected relief in the end, but now the cold reality of her new life was waiting just outside the door, and she was not at all ready to open it.

* * *

‘You sodding turd!’ Thorgils blustered as he came upon Eadmund, sitting casually outside his old cottage, taking in the lightly falling snow, drink in hand.

‘What?’ Eadmund asked, bemused at the fierce expression on his usually cheerful friend’s face.

‘What?!’ Thorgils spat angrily. ‘What?! What, is that I’ve been roaming about this fucking island looking for you and here you are, sitting at home as though nothing was amiss. All I seem to do these days is run around after you! How or why I became your servant, I don’t know!’

Eadmund’s head was foggier than his face betrayed and he had no idea why Thorgils was so livid. ‘Why have you been looking for me? What’s happened?’

Thorgils rolled his eyes, grabbed Eadmund’s cup, sniffed it, then threw it on the ground. Seizing his friend roughly by the arm, he lifted him up. ‘You’re supposed to be in the hall, with your wife, breakfasting with your families. Not sitting out here alone, giving people cause to wonder what might not have happened last night.’

Eadmund could see what his friend was about now, but he was in no mood to be accommodating. ‘What do you care whether I’m here or there, or what happened or didn’t happen last night?’

Thorgils sighed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Moving closer to Eadmund and wishing he could hit him, rather than reason with him, he dropped his voice. ‘Do you think your father’s patience is unending? That his threats about Ivaar are empty?’

Eadmund just shrugged, looking as unbothered as anyone possibly could, at least to Thorgils, and that only served to annoy him further.

‘You are on your last chance with him, Eadmund! He warned you, and now, if he finds out that nothing happened last night, he will be wild and have Ivaar here before the Freeze. And that will be the end of Oss and the end of you.’

‘He won’t bring Ivaar back. Do you know how many times he has threatened that? He hasn’t done it yet and why would he?’ Eadmund looked more confident than he felt. ‘He doesn’t want Ivaar here any more than you or I. No one does.’ He shook his sandy head dismissively.

‘Have you seen yourself lately?’ Thorgils said crossly. ‘What choice does he have?’

Eadmund was in no mood for this. He was married. He had a wife. Surely that was enough weight to place on his shoulders for now. With one hard look in Thorgils’ direction, he stalked off towards the hall, hoping he could get it all over with quickly and return to his own peace and quiet again.

* * *

Edela sat next to Gisila at the high table, her meal steadily congealing before her eyes. She was sure the poached fish would have been entirely edible, but Lothar had passed word early that they would be sailing back to Andala after their morning meal, and that had put a firm hold on her appetite.

Edela’s face was a picture of pale disquiet, troubled by the prospect of another journey across those treacherous straights; this time with a sea that was, according to recent accounts, freezing fast. She shivered at the thought of that black, watery embrace. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she’d had another dream about the Darkness. Her lack of understanding of these dreams was deeply unsettling. She felt the warning in them, woke up cold-sweating from them, but was left clinging to invisible strands that connected to nothing, and ultimately led to nowhere. And it was all to do with Jael, somehow; she sensed that strongly. The dreams gnawed away at her constantly, and she cursed herself for getting so old. Perhaps it was her fading memory, her inability to retain the dreams long enough to interpret them fully? She sighed, feeling a new tightness in her back.

Glancing around, Edela was surprised to see the young girl, Eydis, standing shyly next to her, one hand reaching out to rest on her arm. Eydis smiled then, and it was so innocent that Edela’s frazzled nerves smoothed themselves somewhat. She smiled in return.

‘You needn’t worry about Jael,’ Eydis murmured. ‘She will like it here. I have seen that in my dreams.’

Edela stilled and looked into those small, milky eyes that could not focus on her own. ‘You have?’ she asked gently.

‘Yes. I have dreamed of Jael many times, of her and Eadmund together. I knew she was the one who could change Eadmund’s life. I saw it. He needs her, I think, to save him.’ She bowed her head sadly.

Edela reached out and took the girl’s warm, little hand in her own; there was an innocence in her words that calmed her. ‘I think you’re right. I have seen the same thing in my own dreams. We are similar, you and I, so I am glad to think that Jael will have your wisdom here, just as she is losing mine. Not that she ever took that much notice of me, of course!’ Edela laughed at herself, remembering how many times Jael had told her off, scoffed at her dreams, ignored every piece of advice she had given her, and then turned around, albeit reluctantly, and done everything Edela had suggested in the end. Even this. Especially this.

‘And you will return, of course, when the baby comes?’

Edela’s eyes lit up momentarily, before the vision of the Nebbar Straights appeared, lurching before her, eliminating any joy she may have felt. ‘Perhaps. If I can be carried over by the birds!’

* * *

They walked together in an awkward silence that only Thorgils appeared aware of. Neither Jael nor Eadmund seemed to notice his presence in between them as they made their way to the hall. They had nothing to say to each other, or him; in fact, nobody would look at anybody.

Thorgils had just finished telling himself that he was done running around after Eadmund, done being his unpaid servant, when they stumbled upon Evaine. Or perhaps it was Evaine who stumbled upon them, he reflected later.

She was coming out of her father’s house, her thick, white cloak almost swamping her small frame; its fur-lined hood framing her pretty face. She had a basket over one arm and looked purposeful, although, given the rapidly disintegrating weather, that seemed ill-advised. ‘Eadmund! Thorgils!’ she smiled, with well-constructed surprise.

Both men stopped suddenly as though struck; mouths open, heads empty.

‘I thought everyone was in the hall?’ Evaine wondered. Then, staring pointedly at Jael, she dropped her eyes, looking almost shyly away, her cheeks flushing warm pink against her white hood.

Jael’s forehead creased as she watched the girl and the men’s dumbfoundedness around her; both seemed unable to speak, neither knew where to look. Much more was communicated by their silence than either realised. ‘Are you on your way there?’ Jael asked, sensing Thorgils and Eadmund squirm uncomfortably beside her. ‘You can walk with us.’

‘Oh no, no, no, Evaine is not going to the hall, are you?’ Thorgils hastily intervened, finding his voice at last as he hurried to extract them all from this quickening mire.

‘I...’ Evaine looked momentarily confused, biting her lip, wondering just which move she should make; enjoying the power she felt throbbing inside her chest at that moment.

Eadmund tried to catch Evaine’s eye, wondering what she was about, hoping to stop her saying anything they would both regret.

‘No, Thorgils is right,’ Evaine murmured, feeling Eadmund’s eyes on her. ‘I was just on my way to pick some herbs to settle my mother’s stomach. She is unwell today, so I am tending to her, but I do hope you enjoy your celebrations... my lady. I wish you much luck in your marriage.’ The last words tasted bitter on her tongue, but Evaine smiled sweetly enough, lowering her head to cover the depth of hatred lurking near her eyes.

Jael’s instincts were sharply honed, like the well-worked blade of her knife, so she sensed that there was something false about this girl; all except her intentions, of course, which, from her not-so-subtle glances towards Eadmund, appeared very real indeed. ‘Thank you,’ Jael breathed coldly. ‘I hope your mother feels well soon.’ She strode off, leaving Eadmund and Thorgils with frozen expressions of barely concealed discomfort, trailing behind. Interesting, she thought to herself, very interesting. This would be something to amuse herself with during the long winter ahead.

* * *

Eirik watched on as Eydis chatted confidently to Jael’s grandmother. He had never seen her so forthcoming around strangers, but then again, he chided himself, she was talking to a fellow Tuuran.

Eirik had quickly tired of Lothar’s self-important, incessant babble and his inability to listen to anything but the sound of his own voice. He sat on the edge of Lothar’s conversation with Osbert and their man, whose name he couldn’t remember, barely listening to their plans for attacking Hest. He had been thrilled by the sharp decline in the weather overnight. The plunging temperature and foreboding skies had convinced the Brekkans to take their boats to sea immediately, or risk being stranded till spring; what a thought! If only Lothar hadn’t insisted upon leaving behind his little spy to keep them all watching their step. Still, winter would bring endless snow and rain and the slippery cliffs of Oss could be dangerous for strangers.

Lothar laughed loudly. It resounded around the hall like the repeated slapping of a jellied fish and Eirik bit down on the urge to grimace at the unpleasant sound. No wonder Jael had come so willingly into this marriage; anything would have been preferable to staying in Andala and being forced to listen to that man’s irritating laugh.

‘Ahhh, there they are!’ Eirik was on his feet instantly, relieved to see Thorgils usher the married couple into the hall, both bride and groom frowning miserably beneath a thick dusting of snow.

Much cheering and bellows of innuendo greeted Jael and Eadmund, who each managed to supply an unconvincing smile or two in acknowledgement. It was a start, Eirik thought to himself. Eadmund hadn’t drunk himself to death and Jael hadn’t killed him in the night, so he would take that for now.

To be polite, Jael probably should have steered straight for her father-in-law, or her uncle but instead, she quickly sought out her brother. Thorgils had informed her that the Furycks were leaving imminently and she realised that she hadn’t managed a moment alone with him. Leaving Eadmund to deal with the tedious well-wishers, she escaped to the corner where Axl and Gisila were deep in conversation.

‘You look well rested,’ Gisila murmured, eyeing her daughter suspiciously.

‘It was a very comfortable bed.’

Gisila never knew how to take Jael’s humour, straight and aimed at her as it usually was. ‘Was it now?’

‘Yes,’ Jael replied curtly. She had no intention of either lying or telling the truth, but she did like to keep her mother guessing. Gisila was so self-involved that it was easy fun. ‘When are you leaving?’

‘Now,’ Axl grumbled. ‘We should be leaving now! The clouds are down in the bay, almost touching the water, and the snow is only getting heavier. We must say our goodbyes now. Mother, you need to hurry Lothar along. We don’t have time for eating.’

One look at Lothar told Gisila that he was in no mood to be hurried; he was enjoying his own company far too much. But Axl was right; she dreaded to think what would happen if they were frozen in. She couldn’t face spending an entire winter on this windblown rock. ‘I think you’re right. I will see what I can do.’

She left, and Jael grabbed Axl’s elbow, guiding him further away from prying eyes and ears. Tiras was in her sights across the hall, near Lothar. He glanced up at her, his hood hanging low, his dark, cold eyes boring into hers, but she didn’t have time to care.

‘I thought we would have a chance to talk before you left but this will have to be it,’ she said, keeping her voice even. ‘I know you want to get that throne back from Lothar, but this is where you must practice the most important part of being a ruler. You must look after your people, keep them safe. You’re responsible for our family now, Axl. Mother, Grandmother, Aleksander. You have to take care of them all and keep them alive.’ Jael kept her face free of the anxiety that was tainting her voice. She looked calmly around, smiling as if she were having an easy conversation with her little brother. ‘You must listen to Aleksander, only Aleksander. Mother will try to tell you what to do, Edela will share her dreams, of course, but Aleksander is the only one to go to for advice. He is the wise head. He knows war, battles, kings. He knows how to be patient, to play the game. Osbert and Lothar will be watching you now, more than before, looking for any reason to end you, to end all of us... don’t give them one.’

Axl gnawed irritably on his lower lip. Jael had always shown little regard for his worth. He believed he knew the reason behind her lack of respect, and he couldn’t blame her for that, but he was no longer a boy; he was the rightful heir to the Brekkan throne, and he wouldn’t be dismissed so easily, either by his uncle, or his sister. Talk of patience, of hiding in shadows, did nothing to quell his desire for vengeance and victory against the Usurper. He admired, even loved his sister, but she was no longer part of Brekka’s future so he would not be dictated to by her or her ex-lover.

‘Jael!’ Eirik had found her, and their brief conversation was over. Jael reluctantly allowed herself to be led off to where Lothar was lecturing Eadmund. Axl was relieved. He would show her that he was not the disappointment she believed him to be. She always thought it was her job to protect him, but she was wrong. He would return, as King of Brekka, to save her.

Edela snuck up beside him, slipping her arm through his. ‘Come along, my Axl,’ she smiled up at her grandson’s determined face, looking more serene than she felt. ‘Let’s help your mother drag that big oaf out of here before the sea is frozen solid.’

* * *

Blustery snow menaced the guests as they left the warm shelter of the hall and headed down to their ships. Axl was right; the snow clouds were indeed sinking into the sea. It did not bode well for a safe journey.

Lothar, though, was endlessly optimistic about their chances. ‘I’ve sailed in worse!’ he called out bullishly to Eirik. ‘You shall see how mighty the ships of Brekka are! And come spring, so will Haaron and all his inbred sons down in Hest!’

Jael couldn’t wait to be rid of him, but at the same time, she was not prepared for her connection to Brekka to be severed so abruptly; she had imagined a more gentle easing apart than this. Teeth gritted against the snow, Jael watched on as the ships were readied, an empty feeling dropping into the pit of her stomach. She hated everything her life was becoming.

The snow was settling over her boots at a quickening pace. She wondered at the logic of sailing now but understood that wiser heads than hers knew that there was still a chance to get through. The weather blew out of Oss, onto Andala so they would be able to get ahead of it if they left now, or so they all said. The one thing the Osslanders did know about was the Freeze, which every anxious face told her, was coming fast.

Gisila held on tightly as she hugged Jael goodbye. She looked genuinely upset, but Jael wondered whether it was the sadness of losing her daughter or the shame of her having married into such a low family.

‘I hope it’s not too terrible,’ she whispered into Jael’s ear. ‘If you just let him drink and have other women, you will be able to do as you wish. And you will have Biddy to take care of you, so you won’t be completely alone.’ She squeezed Jael’s shoulder, and with an uncertain smile, turned her head quickly away, going to join Amma, who had already said her goodbyes.

Lothar was next, and Jael hoped he would hurry; she was so cold now that she could feel her legs trembling.

Lothar did his very best to look regal as he placed his hands firmly on Jael’s shoulders. ‘I wish you both a profitable marriage,’ he smiled, nodding towards Eadmund, who looked just as sullen as his wife. ‘Rich with grandchildren for your father! And of course, I will see you both in the spring, unless you are too big and fat to join us in our war on Hest!’ He leaned in and murmured into her ear. ‘Keep him happy. Keep Eirik happy, and I will keep your family alive. But cross me....’ And narrowing his eyes, he pulled away to wink at her, shaking Eadmund quickly by the hand. Nodding to Osbert to join him, they walked down to the ships with Eirik.

Finally, it was Edela and Axl’s turn. Jael didn’t want this part. It had been hard enough to leave Aleksander, and the memory of that goodbye was still an open wound. She didn’t want to expose her true heart here on this stormy beach, to weaken herself in front of all these strangers. ‘Goodbye, Grandmother,’ Jael said with a brief smile as she bent down to hug Edela tightly.

‘Is that it?’ Edela wondered, surprised. ‘I would have hoped for a better goodbye than that, after 27 years of putting up with you!’ Her face was a pale mask of fear, but she still managed to flash a mischievous smile. ‘You will miss me more than that measly show of affection, I am certain of it.’

‘I think I might. Just a bit.’ Jael hugged her again, grasping her tiny, bony frame beneath numb fingers. She held on more firmly this time, only letting go when she saw Osbert beckoning for them to hurry up; everyone else had boarded now. ‘Be safe, take care of yourself!’ There was so much more she wanted to say, but there was no privacy and no time.

Jael rushed to hug Axl goodbye. She hoped he wouldn’t let her down, that he would listen to her advice and try to keep everyone safe. He looked like such a boy, though, as he stood there awkwardly in front of her, in a cloak that he had outgrown, his floppy, snow-covered hair blowing into his eyes. She brushed it out. ‘Be safe.’ It was delivered firmly, eye to eye; more of a warning and a threat, than a gentle wish.

Axl met her eyes boldly. ‘You too.’ He looked towards the limp figure of Eadmund, not sure whether to feel sorrier for her or him. ‘Good luck,’ he wished them both.

Axl helped his grandmother carefully navigate the slick stones down to the ships. As she reached Storm Chaser, which was rocking gently in the undulating water, Edela turned around to wave a final goodbye and was surprised to see a girl appear on the rise behind Jael and Eadmund. She was wrapped in a white cloak, which flapped angrily about her like the wings of a gull. Her face broke into a knowing smile as she locked eyes with Edela, a smile that froze Edela’s heart to the core. She shivered, swallowing hard, closing her eyes to remove the disturbing vision. When she opened them, though, the girl was still there, still smiling, still staring, but this time her face looked scorched, like the toasted remains of a pyre. Eyes that had moments earlier appeared so innocent, suddenly glared menacingly out of that dark face. Edela made to change direction and rush back towards Jael, to warn her, but it was too late. Osbert reached down, and, with Axl’s help, they pulled her onto the ship, fighting against her protesting arms and feet, ignoring her calls to stop, so that she could go back to Jael. There simply was, they insisted, no time.

From up on the beach, Jael watched the struggle to get her grandmother into the ship. She looked ill and frightened, desperately turning back to shore in the hope that she could remain. Jael closed her eyes and called on Eseld, Goddess of Travellers, to keep them all safe. She knew how much Edela feared the sea now, and could only hope the journey would not be too traumatic for her.

The oars dropped into the snow-laced water, and the helmsmen were immediately alert; the heavier the snow blew, the more their visibility reduced. Navigating their way safely out of the harbour and into the straights in this weather would require every piece of skill they possessed.

‘Rather them than me,’ Eirik murmured to Morac, who stood next to him, shivering. ‘Those straights can be an evil bitch on the fairest of days, let alone an all out shitter like this.’

‘Mmmm, I’m sure there will be more than a few regretting their breakfasts soon.’

Eirik laughed, turning around to locate Eadmund, hoping he hadn’t disappeared again. But no, there he was, swaying next to his miserable-looking bride. ‘What is she doing here?’ he hissed crossly, spying Evaine standing on the rise behind Eadmund and Jael. ‘I told you to keep her away.’

Morac turned around, furious to see his daughter staring down at the ships, a dreamy smile on her face. ‘I’m not sure. I will go and take her home right away. I did tell her, Eirik, but she’s young. She probably got bored being stuck inside with Runa these past few days.’ He tried to laugh it off as nothing but an innocent, childish mistake, but deep down inside, Morac was fuming. They needed to keep Eirik happy, and Evaine did not seem to understand the importance of her role in that. The older she got, the harder she was getting to control, he realised in frustration.

‘Make sure you tell her again,’ Eirik warned, all humour leaving his face. ‘Our alliance depends upon this marriage, so ensure that your daughter is not a part of it or she is gone. Understood?’

Morac didn’t enjoy Eirik asserting his authority so overtly, but there it was, his friend was king, and he was not. ‘Understood. I will make sure it doesn’t happen again.’ Morac bit down on his words, leaving immediately to grab his escapee daughter. He could feel Eirik’s annoyance following him up the hill.

Jael didn’t want to watch anymore. It was done. Her family had left, and their fate lay in the hands of the gods now. She closed her eyes, trying to find some resolve inside herself to start her new life, but all she managed to see was Edela’s petrified face calling out to her. Not wanting the reminder, she opened her eyes and turned to follow Eadmund, who was stumbling up the hill, following the masses hurrying back to the dry warmth of the hall. Just ahead of them, she spied that girl again, the one who was supposedly tending to her sick mother. She noticed the way her eyes followed Eadmund and her sharp annoyance as the pointy-faced man grabbed her and pulled her away. Jael smiled sadly to herself, not thinking on it for too long; her heart and mind were filling fast with the cold realisation that she was suddenly, very alone.

11

The stables were damp and stunk of rotting things. Jael’s nose wrinkled; there was a difference between the smell of animals and the stench of neglect. Leaving Tig and Leada in this place didn’t sit well with her, nor them, it seemed, as both horse’s heads and tails hung low.

Tig was it for her now, and Biddy, of course; her only links to Brekka and her family, if you didn’t count Tiras, and she chose not to. She couldn’t have anything happen to Tig, whether it was foot rot, or freezing to death in the coming cold. She reached out and scratched his muzzle, tugging on his forelock in an attempt to cheer him up, but he shook his head away from her hand, walking to the back of the stall in protest.

‘I wondered where you had escaped to.’

It was Eirik.

Jael’s shoulders dropped in resignation. She had hoped to escape anyone’s notice, for a while at least. Turning around, she offered a small nod in greeting. ‘My lord.’

‘You don’t have to be that formal with me,’ he smiled, glancing around quickly. ‘Now that your uncle has left, we can be ourselves, I think. Eirik is fine. I don’t imagine you’ll want to call me Father?’

Jael considered him with a frown. Her father had lost a lot of men beating back Eirik’s ambitious invasions of Brekka over the years; she didn’t trust him one bit.

Eirik laughed at her expression. ‘Or, we could just get to know one another first?’ He noted that she had been fussing about her horse. ‘Is something wrong with him?’ He nodded to where Tig stood, hiding in the shadows.

‘He’s not happy. Neither of them are. These stables are...’ Jael looked around, at the dank, rotting floor, at the hole-riddled walls, the roof that was leaking snow. ‘...poorly attended. He needs to be dry, warm, they all do. This hay stinks, and everything in here is damp.’

‘He is a horse...’

Jael’s frown deepened; she felt no warmth towards people who didn’t care for their animals. ‘Yes, he is a horse. My horse. And I’m responsible for his wellbeing. Just as I’m responsible for the horse I brought Eadmund.’ She glanced over at the neighbouring stall where Leada stood, neglected; she looked just as miserable as Tig. ‘Valuable Brekkan war horses. Trained to fight. My horse is trained to fight with me. He needs to be dry and healthy. I need that for him, for both of them.’

‘Fine. I will have new stables built, next to your house. There is plenty of room there. Dry, weather-tight, with sweet-smelling hay,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Perhaps I cannot guarantee the smell, but I can ensure a roof, walls, a door, and a stable hand to keep the hay fresh. Anything else?’

Jael was surprised by his eagerness to please, especially with Lothar gone. There was nothing false about Eirik’s expression that she could see; he gave her no reason to doubt his words. It was unsettling, and she couldn’t stop the irritation that dug its way under her skin.

Tig returned to her then, and she ran her hand down his cold cheek. ‘Thank you. That would be good for my horses, but the rest here will suffer if these stables aren’t repaired. The roof has more holes than thatch! Someone needs to fix it. Someone needs to make sure they’re all looked after, not left to rot in this pile of shit over winter. If you’re not going to care for them properly, you may as well just eat them!’

‘Well, we are more about fish here than horses, I admit,’ Eirik said ruefully. ‘But I agree, it stinks of bad things in here, and no one does well in rot... I should know all about that.’ He paused to look around the dingy, rundown building, the fetid stench turning his lip down, memories of his childhood flickering faintly at the back of his mind. ‘I will see to it, but for now, you must come along with me, for Eydis has demanded your presence.’

* * *

Jael didn’t know what to say. The right words would have been, thank you, of course, but they stuck stubbornly in her throat, refusing to come out.

‘You like horses, but you don’t like dogs?’ Eirik wondered wryly as he watched his daughter’s disappointment grow.

They were in the hall. Eydis was sitting in a small, wooden chair, next to Eirik, in his much larger one, on a raised, fur-covered dais. The hall was crowded but quiet, filled with a companionable murmur, as everyone lazed about in a slumberous state after two days of overindulgence. The fires burned high, keeping the chill at bay, as snow kept piling up outside.

Jael’s eyes followed Eirik’s down to Eydis. It was hard not to notice how deflated the young girl appeared; her eyes were large and moist, her bottom lip trembling. Having been so excited to give Jael her wedding present – two tiny, Osterland Hound puppies, that were currently biting each other’s fluffy tails – she had been met with this unexpected wall of silence.

‘I...’ it was Jael’s turn to be haunted by memories. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. They are a very kind gift.’ But her words held little meaning and did nothing to change anything; Eydis only looked more disappointed.

Jael tried again, coming to sit on the floor beside the small chair. ‘I do like dogs... and these puppies look very... it’s more that I, I had a dog once... when I was younger, maybe even your age. A very beloved dog, and she was killed.’

Eydis reached out then, searching for Jael’s hand to hold onto. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Jael let Eydis grasp her hand, feeling suddenly very uncomfortable as she revealed her private memories in this very public place. She lowered her voice. ‘Well, it was very sad for me, she was my best friend,’ Jael said softly, as a long-forgotten ache returned. ‘We were inseparable. And the boy who killed her did it because he knew how much I loved her. I had beaten him in a sword fight, embarrassed him in front of his father and his friends, so he took his revenge on me, through my dog.’

‘That was cruel of him.’

‘It was. He was a cruel boy. But he achieved what he wanted. He hurt me, as I had hurt him, so he won. For a while.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘I killed him,’ Jael said coldly, then stopped herself, lost in the past as she was; she didn’t want to say anymore. ‘I swore I would never have another dog.’

Eydis wasn’t in the least shocked by Jael’s revelation. ‘You don’t have to take the puppies, I understand. One was for you, and one was for Eadmund, but I doubt he would be much good at caring for them anyway.’

‘No, I don’t suppose he would,’ Jael murmured, desperately trying to keep hold of that old pain as she watched the puppies rolling about, nibbling on one another, tangled up like a black and grey ball of wool, but they were irresistible. The thought of their company in this new, lonely existence proved impossible to ignore. ‘I’ll take them.’ She said it quickly, before she could change her mind. ‘But you shall have to help me name them.’

* * *

‘Ido and Vella.’

‘Which ones which?’ Biddy asked, unimpressed, as the puppies sniffed their way around their new home, chewing inquiringly on everything they came across.

‘Ido’s the black one, the boy. Vella’s a girl,’ Jael said grumpily. Despite the puppies obvious attraction, she felt annoyed that she’d ended up a dog owner again, convinced it would end in more heartache; she had a way of making enemies.

‘I thought you were done with dogs?’ Biddy took her broom and shooed the puppies away from her kitchen. ‘After what happened to Asta?’

‘Oh, I was,’ Jael groaned as she sat down to warm her chapped hands by the fire. The puppies raced over, begging to be picked up. She pushed them down. ‘But how do you refuse a wedding gift from the king’s daughter? Who happens to be a little blind girl.’

Biddy smiled as she stirred the hot cauldron of stew hanging over the meal-fire, its fishy smells awakening Jael’s appetite at last. ‘So, marriage has turned you soft already, has it? Cooing over puppies and little girls?’ She lumped a generous helping of the stew into a bowl and handed it to Jael, who eagerly picked up her spoon.

‘Marriage?’ Her laugh had a hollow, bitter tone to it. She blew on the stew to cool it down. ‘If this is marriage, I’ll take it. Being in this big house, with that bed?’ She glanced longingly towards the bedchamber. ‘And no husband in sight? Perfect. If only Aleksander were here.’ He hadn’t been far from her thoughts all day; his absence was tormenting her.

Biddy sat down with her own bowl, shoving away Vella’s eager, wet nose; she seemed to be the braver of the two. Then realising that the puppies must be hungry, she put her stew down and went hunting for some scraps to feed them. ‘It is strange, though, that he hasn’t returned, don’t you think?’ Biddy called from the kitchen. ‘Not that I wish to listen to that snoring again!’

‘I can only hope he’s happy to stay away, drinking himself onto a pyre,’ Jael mumbled through hot mouthfuls of stew. ‘Imagine being able to go back to Brekka soon?’ She frowned. ‘I wonder if they have made it back yet? Thorgils said that it’s not completely frozen over, and it’s surely colder here than in Andala, so they must have made it through.’

‘We can only hope so. I wouldn’t want to be out in that sea in the dark.’

‘No. I can’t imagine Edela will ever sail again. She looked petrified getting into the ship. I’ve never seen her so scared.’

The puppies attacked the plate Biddy put down for them, scattering food all over the floor, eating as though they had not had a meal in days.

‘Fleas,’ she huffed, sitting down. ‘We’re going to be sharing this place with fleas.’

‘I imagine so. And plenty of shit and piss too,’ Jael smiled. ‘And that will just be Eadmund.’

Biddy looked unimpressed. ‘I imagine he must turn up soon.’

Jael choked on a mouthful of fish. ‘Don’t say that! I was looking forward to going to bed, alone.’

‘You can’t avoid him much longer. You can’t avoid what marriage means.’

‘And how do you know what marriage means?’

‘Well... I know what it’s supposed to mean, what I’m sure the king is hoping it will mean. Perhaps he needs to go and have a word with his son, remind him of how things are supposed to go?’ She pushed Ido away this time; he kept putting his hairy, black paws upon her knee, sniffing keenly at her stew, his dinner bowl already licked clean.

‘Why are you so keen to have that drunken mess here?’ Jael wondered, placing her bowl on the floor for the hungry puppies to finish off.

‘I’m not, but I can imagine what the king would do if he knew Eadmund had slept on the floor last night.’

Jael rounded on Biddy, her lips set in a straight, thin line. ‘Well then, nobody had better tell him, had they? Especially not you. Leave Eirik thinking that everything is as it should be. Leave Eadmund out there doing whatever he likes. And we can stay here, undisturbed by any of them, for as long as possible.’

* * *

Edela had never felt worse.

She had crouched, numb from cold and fear, in the most sheltered corner of the ship, imagining Saga, Goddess of Souls, coming to claim her, tortured by the thought of dying before she could help Jael.

The wind had stalked them mercilessly on their journey, tossing the ship about with an anger that kept everyone half frozen and on edge. Despite Edela’s surety in her own path, which she believed was not destined to end at the bottom of the Nebbar Straights, she had remained in a state of terror, her childhood nightmares holding her firmly in their grip. But more than that, more than the threat they faced, as the dark water thickened and froze around them, was the memory of their leaving and the girl on the shore.

The girl.

Was it a girl?

Edela spoke to no one. Keeping all thoughts tightly bound to herself, she sheltered next to Axl, who did all he could to shield her from the treacherous conditions. Edela barely noticed. Those black eyes seared themselves into her memory, consuming her every thought. She couldn’t shake the chill they rose on her skin.

Jael was in danger.

When they finally, thankfully, arrived in Andala’s harbour that evening, Edela had only one thing to say as her grandson helped her out of the ship. ‘I must find Aleksander.’

* * *

Aleksander hadn’t known what to do with himself after Jael left. He was completely alone for the first time since he was a boy and he felt emptied of everything that resembled love and hope. The pain of losing his horse was achingly raw and having Jael wrenched away from him almost simultaneously was more grief than he could consume. He hadn’t been able to find a way to cope with it. Drink was the obvious answer; dulling the agony, easing the transition. He tried that at first, but it just made everything more emotional. He gave up and just sat, alone, in their cold, lonely cottage, trying not to think and failing utterly.

There wasn’t even Biddy anymore, who had cooked, and cleaned, and cared for him since he was a boy, just as much as she had cared for Jael. Of course she had fussed too much, coddled and nagged him as though he were her own, but in her way, she was part of his patched-together family too.

As he sat in the dark cottage, Aleksander tried to recall everything the Widow had revealed to him in his dreams. Or had she? Had she really had anything to do with them? She’d given him the tincture to drink but did that mean she had fabricated his visions, or, as she told him, had he only seen what the gods wished him to know?

Jael was coming back. Time and time again, he pushed all other thoughts away and held on to that one hope, but after she had loved another man and had his child. Loved another man; that bit stuck. Hard. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly aware of the frigid air smoking around the cottage. He knew that he needed to get up and grab a fur, but he couldn’t move.

She would come back, so he would wait for her. But how long would it take? How long would he have to be without her? He closed his eyes, shivering now, trying to go back to the dream he’d had at God’s Point; trying to remember how old Jael’s daughter had looked when he’d seen her returning. How many years would he have to endure alone?

The knock at the door was so faint that in his sleep and food deprived state he failed to notice it. But, as the door creaked open, Aleksander jumped out of his chair with a start. Even half-conscious, his reflexes had a sharp edge. When he saw who it was, his shoulders slumped with relief and sadness. ‘Edela! What are you doing here? I didn’t think you were due back for days?’ Coming towards the old woman, he embraced her stooped frame.

Edela sunk into his arms with a great sigh of relief. ‘We must help Jael!’

Aleksander was instantly alert, his skin chilling even more. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened? Why are you back so early?’

She shuddered, glancing about in the darkness. ‘We need a fire, Aleksander. There is much to discuss, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been this cold in my life!’ Her teeth chattered as she stood shivering before him.

Aleksander hurried to find his tinder box and set about starting a fire as quickly as he could. The flames bloomed into life but did nothing to warm Edela’s bones. Wrapped in layers of fur, sitting as close to the fire as she dared, she couldn’t stop shivering, but Edela couldn’t wait any longer. She told him about the girl on the hill, about the nightmares she had been having these past few weeks, and her confusion about all of it.

Aleksander’s forehead worked itself into a deep frown. ‘Do you think you were seeing this girl as she really is? Or were you having a vision about her? A dream?’ he wondered. ‘Was she a creature or a person?’

‘Creature? No, I don’t believe so,’ Edela murmured, shaking her head. ‘Although, in truth, I have never seen anything like it, so I don’t know. She was a girl, looked like a girl but... I had a bad feeling, that there was something on Oss, on the islands that was a threat to Jael. But I couldn’t see what it was. I feel as though I am dreaming blind these days!’ Edela despaired. ‘I can usually make sense of what I see but I was too late, and now Jael is trapped there, with that girl. Till spring.’

‘It’s not too late. I can take a ship!’

‘You can’t! The sea was freezing around us. By morning it will be frozen solid. There will be no way through.’

Aleksander stood up. ‘But if I leave tonight...’

Edela reached out to place her shaking hand on his. ‘You cannot. No one will take you, not in that weather. And if you go, you won’t come back.’

Aleksander felt confused, angry, and helpless all at once. Sighing, he sat down. ‘Did you tell anyone? What you’d seen?’

‘No.’

‘Good. You shouldn’t. We should figure this out between the two of us.’

They sat in silence. The sounds outside the cottage were dying down as the night drew a veil over Andala. The fuss over the returning travellers was over, and most of the townspeople were securing their homes and livestock, preparing for another night of heavy snow.

‘Can you contact her in another way?’ Aleksander wondered suddenly. ‘Through her dreams? Is that possible?’

Edela stared at him, the creases on her weary face accentuated by the soft flames of the fire. She looked deeply unsettled. ‘There are ways,’ she said at last. ‘I have never attempted it, but I know of people who have. It was not accepted in Tuura. The idea of entering another person’s dreams was forbidden.’ She looked around. ‘But Jael needs us, and we’re not in Tuura, are we?’

12

Eadmund pulled on his worn leather boots, desperate to escape. Evaine had warned him that the drifts looked more than knee-deep, hoping to convince him to stay but he’d made up his mind.

‘Do you have to leave already?’ Evaine purred, her breath making smoky swirls in front of her. She sat on Eadmund’s bed, wrapped in two furs, leaving only her head exposed to the cold interior of his old cottage.

‘I think it’s best that I do,’ he smiled quickly at her, ignoring the pounding at his temples. ‘Eirik will be prowling about looking for me, no doubt, wondering why I’m not getting to know my new bride.’

‘Oh, don’t say that!’ Evaine wrinkled her pink-tipped nose. ‘The thought of her being your wife is disgusting. She looks more like Thorgils than a woman! Did you see that scar on her face? Imagine what the rest of her looks like?’ She paused. ‘No don’t, I don’t want to think about that!’

‘Well, my father didn’t pick her for prettiness,’ Eadmund grimaced as he stood up, feeling one of his knees give way. ‘But hopefully, I will only have to look at her in the dark.’

That incensed Evaine. She knew it was inevitable that they would be together soon, but she couldn’t bear the thought of it. In a desperate attempt to change his mind, Evaine dropped her furs, revealing chilled, pink nipples and a body trying its very best to undo his resolve. ‘Are you sure you have to go?’ she smiled, easing her knees apart.

Eadmund didn’t know what to say. It was easy for her body to tease his, but although Evaine had been warm company, he felt himself slowly suffocating from her attentiveness. He was desperate for some air. He needed time to think, to find a way to shake off the hopelessness that was weighing him down. ‘You make it very hard on me,’ he grinned, leaning forward to wrap her up again. ‘Now don’t get cold or you’ll fall ill, and then we can’t have any more fun, can we?’ He was placating her with a patient, forced smile, talking to her like a child. He hoped it would work.

‘Fine.’ She was unimpressed. ‘I will see you here tonight, though?’

‘I think so. Now go and get dressed!’

Eadmund hurried to open the door before she could change his mind. A small avalanche of snow slid into the room. Frowning in annoyance, he rushed to kick it back outside again. It wasn’t an effective approach, and he should have stayed and cleared an actual pathway to his door, but he didn’t want any more delays blocking his escape.

Turning back to Evaine, who was pouting slightly, he called, ‘and don’t let anyone see you leave!’

She poked out her tongue, pouting some more.

Eadmund shut the door with a sigh, relieved to finally be alone. He took a deep breath as he surveyed the blanket of bright, white snow that had settled in the night, scowling as it seeped into his boots; he had been meaning to replace them for weeks. Striding off in search of peace and solitude, he managed to walk straight into his father.

‘You do like to disappear, don’t you, my son,’ Eirik smiled cheerfully. ‘Your wife didn’t know where you had gone this morning.’

Eadmund stumbled at that, wondering exactly what Jael had revealed. He hid his guilty expression under a yawn, turning to walk off, hoping to lead his father away from his cottage and far away from Evaine. Thankfully, Eirik moved to follow him.

‘Why were you looking for me?’ Eadmund wondered, keeping his tone light.

‘Oh, just to see if you were still alive, I suppose.’ Eirik’s eyes twinkled in the morning sun; he was in a particularly good mood today. ‘Do you remember the year we found you buried in the snow after a heavy night in the hall? It took a while for anybody to notice you’d not been seen for almost a day!’

‘I don’t remember that,’ Eadmund mumbled, barely listening as he ploughed on quickly, deciding to take his father to the hall. Hopefully, he could leave him there and be on his way again.

‘I’m not surprised! You were barely breathing after nearly a night and day under the snow. I’m amazed you lived through that one,’ Eirik laughed, rolling his eyes. ‘But now you have a wife, so I don’t need to spend all my time running around after you, making sure you haven’t fallen off a cliff somewhere. I’m sure Thorgils will be pleased. Torstan too.’

‘I’m not that bad!’

‘Not all of the time,’ Eirik smiled. ‘And not today it seems. Why are you in such a hurry?’

‘Because it’s fucking cold out here, old man!’ Eadmund chattered at his father, grabbing him by the elbow and moving him along. ‘And I want to get to your fire before my bones start knocking!’

They made it to the hall quickly enough, their trousers wet through; the snow higher than knee-deep in some places. The hall was filled with Eirik’s closest circle, his most valued warriors and advisors, huddled around the fires, defrosting their numb limbs.

‘It’s certainly frozen in the straights now,’ Morac noted as he walked up to Eirik. ‘Beorn confirmed that all the ships in Tatti’s Bay are in the sheds.’

‘Good,’ Eirik nodded, not bothering to join the men at the fire. He strode up to his chair and sat down awkwardly, instructing his servant to bring him a cup of something warm. He didn’t mind the cold but his scarred back suffered in the winter. When the temperature dropped, the wounds his father had inflicted upon him as a child would ache, deep within his flesh. His face, though, as he sat listening to his men, betrayed nothing. ‘We will need to be ready to go at the first drip of thaw,’ Eirik urged. ‘You must ensure the fleet is ready, but not just ready, we must be building throughout the winter. I want that schedule from Beorn. I need to see how he plans to get the new ships built in time. What teams he has organised.’

‘He is working on it,’ Morac promised, coming to stand closer to Eirik. ‘I don’t believe it will be a problem. His men have always worked fast, in whatever conditions Oss has thrown at them.’ He paused. ‘It’s not the ships that concern me, though, it’s the men. We will need to find ways to keep them sharp and ready for battle, not just lazy and sodden, with drink and women.’ Morac couldn’t help his eyes from darting towards Eadmund then; it wasn’t lost on Eirik.

‘Yes, well I’ve come up with an idea for that.’

The handful of men gathered around the nearest fire turned to look at their king, eager to hear his plan. All apart from Eadmund, that is, who was trying to ease his way out of the hall unseen.

‘Eadmund!’ His father spied him edging towards the doors. ‘You must bring your wife to eat with us tonight. I have an announcement to make that is sure to interest her. Promise me, now!’

‘I will, Father!’ Eadmund called out as he pushed on the heavy door, shrinking from the glare of the morning sun. ‘We’ll be here.’ And with that, he turned to make his escape.

‘Eadmund!’

Shit.

He adored his sister, but she had bad timing. Clenching his teeth and sighing deeply, he let go of the door and turned around. ‘Hello, Little Thing.’ She was feeling her way along the wall towards him, and he kicked himself for being such a selfish brother.

‘Eadmund,’ she smiled. ‘I could smell you from my chamber!’

‘Thank you, as always,’ he bowed, then realised that the gesture was lost on her.

‘I wanted to know about the puppies,’ she smiled keenly up at him. ‘How are they?’

Eadmund looked blankly at his sister, happy that she couldn’t read his empty face. He screwed up his forehead and started digging into his useless, hole-riddled memory for a clue as to what she was talking about. She was so excited; it must be something important.

Eydis frowned. ‘Or have you not even noticed them?’

‘The puppies?’ he stalled. ‘Yes, the puppies. I have noticed, of course, I have noticed them! How could I not?’ Eadmund swallowed a few times. ‘They are well, and... and... full of energy, you know... as puppies are.’

His sister fixed him with an unsettling stare. Her milky eyes lingered somewhere near where she imagined his to be; close, but not close enough to make him feel comfortable. ‘Are they?’

‘Yes, they are.’

‘And what are their names? Do you remember?’

‘Ahhh, well, I’ve never been too good at remembering anything, let alone puppy names. I’m sure you know that.’

‘Of course,’ she smiled patiently. ‘And do you remember their colours at least?’

His mouth slackened, his brain now stretched beyond its weary limits. ‘I... not especially. I’m not one for dogs really, Eydis. They all look the same to me.’

Eydis looked cross as she leaned forward, searching for his arm. ‘Eadmund!’ she hissed, gripping hold of his cloak. ‘Father will kill you. Truly, this time he will!’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You haven’t even seen Jael, have you? You don’t even know about the puppies I gave you both! Where have you been? You’re supposed to be in your new home, with your new wife, as Father thinks you are.’ Her voice was quiet but loaded with warning.

‘Eydis –’

‘No! Don’t tell me I’m a child, that I wouldn’t understand,’ she interrupted. ‘I understand what will happen if you ruin this. Don’t forget that I can see the future. All you have to do is go and see her, spend some time with her, do the things that you’re supposed to do. That will keep Father happy. That will make you happy, believe it or not.’

‘Eydis...’

‘Eadmund, please.’ She grabbed him harder, imploring him with frantic eyes. ‘Please don’t ruin this. I can see what will come for us if you do.’

* * *

The hammering had started early, and Jael was utterly fed up with it now. The men were obviously industrious, eager to finish the stables their king had commanded them to build, and she was just as keen for that to happen, but the noise was ruining any chance of her focusing on being truly miserable.

‘How is it possible that you’re still in bed?’ Biddy wondered for the fourth time, walking into the bedchamber and prodding the submerged figure. ‘With that noise going on outside and those puppies yapping and wailing? How is it that you’re lying here, warm as bread, still asleep?’

Jael pushed the furs away from her head and glared at Biddy. The light was unusually bright in the house this morning, and Jael blinked to adjust her eyes. ‘What’s the point in getting up?’ she scowled. ‘What’s the point in coming out from under here? Why should I bother?’

‘Well, you could take your puppies outside for a shit every once in a while, so they stop doing their business all over my floor!’ Biddy huffed as she bent down to pick up the puppies in question, throwing them onto the bed and stalking out.

They bounded over to Jael’s head, greeting her with wet tongues and wiggling tails. As much as she was determined to feel sorry for herself, to stay in a dark, isolated place, Ido and Vella had other ideas. She felt their fluffy warmth as they burrowed under the furs, down towards her feet, and it roused a lighter spirit, deep inside her wallowing. Jael heard her father’s voice then, urging her to get up and make a plan, to choose a way forward. She imagined Tig’s furious whinnying, annoyed at her neglect of him, desperate to be ridden, to be set free.

And she felt the same.

Emerging from her warm cave, at last, she reluctantly left behind all thoughts of Aleksander and hurried to get dressed before the chill found her bones. The puppies rushed to escape the furs, desperate to follow her.

* * *

‘Ahhh, my annoying friend! And how are you this fine morning?’ Thorgils grinned as he fell in beside Eadmund, just outside the main block of stables. The fetid stench from within wafted gently towards them.

Eadmund frowned, irritated to have come across yet another obstacle in his quest for solitude. ‘Annoying?’

‘More than annoying but I am a well-mannered man and today is a good day, so I won’t go any further,’ Thorgils smiled jovially through his thick, red beard.

‘That’s very kind of you. If only I were as well-mannered, but I can’t be arsed talking to you this morning, so I’ll to leave you to your business.’ And with barely a glance, Eadmund headed off, walking with purpose in the direction of the gates.

Thorgils stared after his friend, bemused. For Eadmund to be in such a hurry, there had to be a drink waiting for him somewhere. He shrugged, determined not to be bothered or worried for a change.

Turning around, he spied Jael, wrapped in a thin, black cloak, her head bent low, striding towards the stables. Well, if one-half of the new couple wasn’t interested in his company, perhaps the other would be more amenable?

* * *

Jael was livid as she surveyed the deteriorating conditions inside the stables; snow was thick on the ground now, and the stench was unbearable. She was determined to remove both horses to stay with the livestock at the back of her house until the stables were complete. The speed those annoying builders were going it could be as soon as later today, depending on how long the sun held power over the moon, of course. She would have to talk to Eirik about the rest of the horses, though; they couldn’t stay here another night. These stables needed to be used as firewood; that was all they were good for.

Jael saw the red beast that was Thorgils trudging towards her, wrapped in a huge, white fur cloak. She sighed.

‘Good morning,’ he nodded cheerfully, then gagged. ‘What a stink! These poor horses.’

‘You don’t have a horse stabled here?’ Jael wondered as she fitted Tig’s bridle over his twitching head. There were at least another 15 horses shivering in the muck along with Tig and Leada; not many, so there must be other stables in the fort.

‘Here? Not likely. Not if you want your horse to keep all four of its legs,’ Thorgils grinned, coming over to run his hand down the muzzle of Eadmund’s thoroughly neglected gift. ‘She’s a beauty.’

Jael smiled. Someone who liked horses, that was something. ‘She is. Strong too.’

Thorgils raised one eyebrow at that. ‘Good. No point riding a timid horse into battle.’ He took a carrot from his pocket and let her nibble it slowly from his hand. ‘What’s her name?’

A man who kept carrots in his pocket? Jael was impressed.

‘Leada. She’s Eadmund’s gift from my family, not that he would know that, of course.’

‘No,’ Thorgils concurred, ‘I don’t imagine he would. He hasn’t ridden for years. Once his horse died, he didn’t bother with a replacement.’ Sadness filled his eyes as he dug into his pocket for another carrot. ‘But she can’t wait on Eadmund to notice her. If you want some company, I’ll come along and give her a run.’

He was already reaching for a bridle, and although Jael had no real desire for company, she couldn’t see a reason to turn down his offer. Besides, in this unfamiliar world of snow-covered cliffs and sheer drops, she would be grateful for a guide.

* * *

Outside the gates they paused. Jael felt her whole body sink into Tig’s sheepskin-covered saddle; a comfortable familiarity that relaxed her instantly. It was freezing but freeing. She nodded at Thorgils, gesturing for him to lead the way. The snow was deeper than she’d realised but Tig barely noticed as he strained against her hold. There was no ice, so it was perfectly safe, as long as you knew where you were going and she didn’t, so she followed Thorgils and Leada, keeping the reins tight against her cloak.

The view from up here, on the highest peak of the island, with the sun almost directly overhead, was breathtaking. The dark sea was now ice-covered and looked as though it was consuming the entire island, gathering it into an ominous, wintry embrace. Jael shivered as she looked down to the shore, remembering Edela’s terrified face. That face would not leave her alone. She hoped they had made it back to Andala safely.

‘Come on!’ Thorgils called, the cloudy waves of his cold breath streaming out behind him like a veil. He was already well ahead, but Jael only had to give Tig light encouragement before he was trotting to catch up.

They rode relatively carefully, in total silence. Jael was alert and consumed with interest by everything she came across. Up here, as they were on the ridge, there was sparse foliage and not much that wasn’t snow covered. It was rocky and uneven beneath the snow; she could feel that in the way Tig skidded, at times unbalanced, his feet unsteady. It was hard to keep her mind on that, though, when there was just so much to take in. She looked hard, with a great dose of wishful thinking, to see if she could spot a glimpse of Brekka in the vast expanse of sea ice but only the outer islands were visible.

‘Not such a bad view?’ Thorgils suggested with a grin.

‘No, not so bad,’ Jael admitted. ‘Do all of the smaller islands belong to Oss?’

‘Yes, all seven of them,’ Thorgils nodded, leaning over to give Leada a reassuring pat; she was also struggling with her footing. ‘They’re all Eirik’s. He has a lord on each, but he is the only king.’

‘And they give him no trouble?’ Jael leaned back in the saddle as they started the slow descent towards the lowlands. Tig’s feet came in and out of the snow deliberately, slowly, as Jael swayed from side to side. She could tell he was enjoying himself; his ears were pointing forward, and his head was high as he followed Leada down the hill.

‘Not normally. He’s softened in his old age, but Eirik is still a beast. He will cut you down if you cross him.’

Jael raised an eyebrow as she pulled on Tig’s reins, trying to contain his eagerness. The cold was biting into her legs now, a dull ache forming behind each knee. She wondered how long it would be until her lips were too frozen to speak. ‘So, he thinks he can cut Haaron down, then? Conquer Hest, when everyone else has failed?’

‘Eirik? No, that’s not his game. He had to agree to join Lothar’s invasion in order to get you.’

‘Get me? You make me sound like a prize!’ she snorted, relieved to be down on flat terrain again. Tig shook his rump and hurried to catch up with Leada.

‘Well, to Eirik you are,’ Thorgils said, eyeing Jael earnestly. ‘He’d almost given up on Eadmund before Eydis dreamed about you. He doesn’t care about Hest. He stopped trying to build an empire years ago. He just wants to secure what he has, for the future. And he needs Eadmund to do that for him. And if Eadmund can’t, then he has to turn to Ivaar.’

Jael glanced at Thorgils. ‘Ivaar? Eadmund’s brother?’

Thorgils stared at her darkly. ‘Yes, Ivaar. No one wants to think he will resort to that.’

‘And where is this Ivaar?’ Jael wondered as they came to a small lake, frozen solid, its pale surface glinting menacingly under the sun.

‘Ivaar is Lord of Kalfa, one of the islands,’ he grunted, tugging on Leada’s reins so that she turned to the right, skirting the lake. ‘But of course, he is the eldest son, and his ambitions extend beyond that pebble. He wants the throne, you can be sure of that.’

‘So, if he’s the eldest, why is Eadmund Eirik’s heir?’

‘Ahhh... well that’s a long story, and my lips are probably going to freeze before I can tell it,’ he grinned. ‘But the short story would be that Ivaar’s a cunt, and no one wants him here.’

‘Ha!’ Jael couldn’t help but laugh. ‘That was perhaps a little too short,’ she shivered. ‘Surely there’s more to say than that? What did he do to make everyone hate him? To make his father choose Eadmund over him?

‘You truly don’t know the story?’

‘No, why would I? In Brekka, we only ever bothered about Oss when you were sailing over to attack us. Why should we have cared about your family squabbles?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘Fair point.’ He bent down to pat the accommodating Leada, who had not complained once about her very cumbersome load. ‘There’s a gap between the two mountains up ahead. We can let the horses run for a while then. It’s very flat.’

‘Good, they need it, as do I,’ she said desperately. ‘Now, tell me this story about Ivaar.’

‘Ahhh, well... Ivaar hated Eadmund before Eadmund was even born. Eirik was married to Odila, Ivaar’s mother, when he fell in love with Eskild. He divorced Odila and married Eskild, and they had Eadmund. Odila was so humiliated that she killed herself. So, there you go, a very good reason for Ivaar to grow up hating Eadmund.’

‘Indeed, who could blame him?’

‘Well, no one I suppose, apart from the fact that he was a strange shit of a child anyway. He would do nasty things to people and animals. He had a perverse sense of humour. He was jealous of Eadmund and hated Eskild too. He once even killed a dog she had given Eadmund.’

Jael frowned, disliking Ivaar instantly.

Thorgils paused as he navigated Leada around a cluster of smooth stones covered in ankle-breaking ice. ‘So, that’s how things went along until they all went completely wrong. Eirik was trying to make a trade alliance with a lord from Alekka, and his daughter came to Oss with him. Melaena.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘That was that, both brothers fell hard in love. She was pretty, for sure, but she knew it, and she played them both like a sweet tune. They thought she was the sun, and the moon, and the stars in one. And she couldn’t decide between them.’

‘Poor girl,’ Jael mumbled sarcastically.

‘Except that one day her father made her choose, and she chose Eadmund.’

‘And?’

‘And they were married,’ Thorgils said sadly. ‘And Melaena died that very same night.’

‘How?’ Jael was shocked.

‘Poisoned wine.’

‘So, everyone assumed Ivaar had done it?’

They were at the pass now. Jael smiled; it certainly was an inviting, flat stretch, and as both riders pulled up on their reins, they could feel the horse’s excitement rippling through their eager muscles.

‘Of course,’ Thorgils said blankly. ‘Who else? Eadmund demanded Ivaar’s head but there was no proof, nothing to tie him to Melaena’s murder except reputation and motive. It wasn’t enough, though, not if the law was to be upheld, so Eirik sent him away instead.’ He looked into the distance, his eyes further away than the white landscape before him. ‘Eirik found him a wife, gave him lordship over Kalfa, and Ivaar was never to be heard from again. Unless of course, Eadmund ruins this one last chance with Eirik. Then he’ll return. And I don’t imagine Ivaar will be feeling very charitable towards his brother, or his brother’s wife.’ He nodded pointedly towards Jael. ‘Especially as Ivaar always insisted he was innocent.’

The horses were getting cold and impatient as they stood there waiting, but there was suddenly so much Jael wanted to know. ‘So, Eadmund has one last chance? To do what? Prove he’s worthy of being king?’

‘Exactly,’ Thorgils said, shaking as the cold started to claim his limbs. ‘But will he? Can he? Perhaps that’s up to you, Jael.’ He stared at her intently, then kicking Leada’s rump with a loud, ‘ha!’, took off, white horse and white rider disappearing quickly into the white distance; the only marker of their presence being Thorgils’ flaming-red hair flapping ferociously behind him.

Tig skittered excitedly, flicking his tail, desperate to follow. Jael nudged him gently and let him fly. He was fast, even in the heavy conditions; it had only taken him a few strides to remember how to gallop in the snow. Jael bent low over his neck, clinging on with a smile that grew in the bitter wind that raked her face. She left all thoughts of Eadmund, Aleksander, Brekka, and Oss behind as she raced to catch up with Thorgils, almost happy for the first time in weeks.

13

Aleksander walked down the back streets of Andala, his head bent against a mean wind, trying to avoid concerned eyes. He had a purpose now, and it felt better, he felt better, but still, he had no desire to entertain the pitying looks that followed him around.

Edela had sent him on a mission to collect as many items as possible for her attempt at dream walking. Dream walking? It sounded a fanciful wish, more than a possibility, but they were both desperate enough to try anything to contact Jael. Edela had dug into the dark corners of a locked, iron box she kept buried under the floor of her cottage. It contained a book, passed down through her family, filled with secrets, magic, even some dark magic that the Tuuran Council had outlawed centuries ago. It was a book Edela had never even opened. Her grandmother had given it to her, insisting that she only call on its secrets in her direst moment.

So far his mission had been challenging. Many of the items he needed were plants; fresh, not frozen. Most didn’t take well to being submerged in snow, but he had managed to rescue a few hardy leaves last night and throughout the morning. Now he was on his way back to his cottage, looking for anything Jael might have worn and left behind, something that might have her hair on it. He wasn’t feeling confident.

‘Aleksander?’

It was Amma, Lothar’s youngest daughter. She spoke quietly enough, so as not to attract much attention, bar his. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard her but she was the king’s daughter, and it wouldn’t do him any good to fall into trouble today. He reluctantly walked over to where Amma was waiting, by the side of an abandoned shed, wondering what she could possibly want with him.

‘How are you, Aleksander?’ she asked innocently enough, her shy, brown eyes full of concern. ‘Without Jael?’

He sighed; this was what he had been dreading. ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ He wanted to leave, but she remained, staring at him with an earnest look.

‘I know Jael was worried about leaving you behind, about how you would cope without her,’ she went on. ‘But I assured her that all your friends and family here would not abandon you. We’ll make sure you don’t feel alone.’

Aleksander was too distracted to make much sense of Amma’s words until she reached out and placed her mittened hand on his arm.

And left it there.

‘If there is anything you need, you only have to ask me. I have my father’s ear, you know,’ she whispered to him. ‘He wants to see me happy, whatever that means. And so... if I can help you with anything, it would make me very happy indeed.’

Aleksander’s face froze in an expression of unexpected awkwardness. He wanted to shake her hand away before anyone came along and saw it, but at the same time, he knew it would be unwise to insult the girl. So, he found a smile from somewhere deep within and instead placed his hand on top of hers. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ he said as generously as he could manage. ‘I think I just need some time to adjust to things. But I won’t forget your offer, I promise.’ He nodded and stepped slowly backwards, still smiling, hoping to have carried off his escape with as little insult as possible.

Amma held her breath as she watched him walk away. He looked so terribly sad and thin. There had to be something she could do to help him?

* * *

Thorgils’ face was flushed as he came alongside Jael. ‘So you can ride a bit then?’ They had let their horses chase each other through the pass, enjoying their first burst of freedom in days.

Jael smiled at him, her face just as red as his. She couldn’t feel a thing but had the sense that her nose was dripping, so she wiped it quickly on the back of her glove. Patting Tig’s neck affectionately, she noticed a thin trail of smoke snaking its way out of a row of trees in the distance. ‘Does someone live out here?’ she wondered, nodding towards the smoke. The trees formed a windbreak in front of a path that led down to an outlying neck of land.

‘Live?’ Thorgils mused. ‘I suppose you could call it that.’

They followed the steep path down to a clearing. The smoke was in their nostrils now, the smell of food stirring their cold, empty bellies, and the sounds of grunting and banging filling their ears.

Jael saw a boy hitting what looked like a wooden man, with a wooden sword, in an area that had been cleared since the snowfall. He appeared to have no ability with the sword at all. He hit his target with little direction or skill, or any understanding of what he was doing at all.

Jael looked sideways at Thorgils.

‘Fyn,’ he smiled in answer to her puzzled face. ‘Morac’s son.’

‘Morac?’

‘Eirik’s man,’ he tried, but Jael looked at him blankly. ‘Thin, long, pointy face, looks like he’s sucking on a mouthful of piss.’

She laughed and nodded, recognising the man from the hall who she’d taken an instant dislike to. But why would the son of the king’s man be living out here all alone?

Fyn saw them then and dropped his sword in surprise. Jael tried not to laugh; had no one ever taught this boy how to handle a weapon? He was lucky it was made of wood, or he might have just lost a toe.

‘Fyn!’ Thorgils raised his arm, grinning warmly as they dismounted.

The boy relaxed, rushing eagerly towards his visitors then.

‘Thorgils! I didn’t recognise you. I thought you were raiders!’ He peered inquisitively at Jael through long, reddish-brown hair which hung limply over his eyes. He brushed it away nervously. His face was kind, with a boyish innocence that reminded her of Axl.

‘Nothing that bad, I promise,’ Thorgils smiled, clapping Fyn on the shoulder. ‘Although, I think we would like to relieve you of something hot to eat!’ Jael pulled back the hood of her cloak, then, and Thorgils watched in amusement as Fyn’s eyes bulged. ‘This is Jael, Eadmund’s new wife.’

Fyn’s eyes popped out even more then. ‘Oh,’ he bowed, awkwardly. ‘My lady.’

‘Hello,’ she shivered. ‘This is a rather remote place to live all alone. Do you not like your family?’

Thorgils rolled his eyes at Jael’s lack of subtlety.

Fyn’s face darkened, taking on an older, sadder look. ‘I... I don’t choose to be so far away, my lady.’ He paused, staring at his feet. ‘The king, he... banished me. From Oss.’

‘Banished you? But you’re still here?’ Jael found it hard to hide her growing curiosity; it seemed a strange situation. And why had he not been taught how to use a sword?

Thorgils disappeared inside the tiny hut. It was almost invisible, built into the side of the hill. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t see it at all; only its smoke hole had given it away today. There were no windows, only a small wooden door that looked more like part of a tree trunk than an entrance to a home.

‘I, I stay to protect my mother,’ Fyn stuttered in the face of Jael’s interrogation. ‘Well, not protect her, but to be here for her... if she needs me. I couldn’t just leave her. But my father, he doesn’t know.’ He blinked rapidly, his large, blue eyes filled with fear.

‘But your mother does? She comes to visit you?’ Jael wondered.

‘There’s hot food!’ Thorgils grinned wildly, poking his head outside, his frame filling the minuscule doorway. He watched Fyn’s face fall. ‘If you would be so kind as to spare just a morsel or two, my young friend?’

‘Of course, of course. You must be so cold,’ Fyn smiled. He wanted to be an accommodating host, and his mother would send her servant soon with another bundle of food, he reminded himself.

Jael secured the horses, and, bending her head carefully, followed Fyn inside. The hut was almost warm, which was a welcome respite from the bone-aching bitterness outside. Warm, but so dim; it was almost like stepping into the night. And smelly. Like a rat-infested cave. Damp too. Not a nice place for anyone to call home.

Fyn had a thick stew cooking in a small, misshapen cauldron that hung over a very modest fire.

Thorgils licked his frozen lips, desperate for a taste. ‘Do you have any more bowls?’ he asked, scouring Fyn’s mostly empty shelf, his stomach growling impatiently.

‘We can’t eat Fyn’s food, Thorgils. I’m sure he needs to make it last longer than just this meal!’ Jael warned, glancing at Fyn’s anxious face.

‘No, no, of course we won’t. But just a mouthful or two will warm us up enough to get us back to the fort,’ Thorgils smiled reassuringly towards the boy, giving him no choice in the matter.

Fyn hunted about in a corner of the hut, where he had stacked a pile of broken rubbish he intended to get rid of one day. He retrieved two small bowls, both cracked; they would have to do.

They sat huddled around the fire on barely-worked tree stumps, knee to knee, numb hands thawing dangerously close to the flames. Thorgils took the bowls and started ladling in the steaming stew.

‘How old are you, Fyn?’ Jael wondered as she adjusted her position on the stool, trying to avoid the sharp splinter threatening her behind.

‘18,’ Fyn replied distractedly as he watched Thorgils’ generous portioning. ‘19 soon.’

Jael frowned. ‘And you’ve never been shown what to do with a sword? Your father didn’t train you?’

Fyn’s face fell. ‘No, he didn’t think there was much point. He said I was too clumsy, that there was no chance of me becoming a warrior, so he wouldn’t bother.’ He blushed as he took the bowl Thorgils handed to him and passed it on to Jael. ‘You saw me out there. I’m sure you know he was right.’

Jael frowned as she took the bowl. ‘Well, of course, if you’re trying to learn on your own, with only a wooden man to advise you, what else could you expect?’ Jael caught Thorgils’ attention, glaring at him sternly, so he spooned a small amount of stew back into the cauldron. ‘You need to be trained by a warrior, someone who can actually help you. Someone who knows how to use a sword better than your wooden friend!’ She smiled at Fyn, who bent his freckled face away from her gaze. He was so shy; it was hard not to warm to that.

Jael took a quick mouthful of the stew, eager to fill her body with its promised warmth. She almost gagged. Her frozen nose had led her astray because up close, the stew smelled rancid and tasted even worse. She knew she had to swallow what was in her mouth so as not to offend their host, but not one part of her wanted to. Fyn was staring at her now, greedily tucking into his own bowl as though it contained the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. Jael closed her eyes and swallowed everything inside her mouth in one big, unappetising lump. ‘Do you have anything to drink?’ she croaked, her eyes watering as she tried to ignore the vile flavours flooding her mouth.

‘I have some small ale,’ Fyn answered, leaping up to grab a jug from the stool by his bed.

Jael glanced quickly at Thorgils, who was staring apprehensively at his own stew.

‘That would be good,’ Thorgils coughed. ‘Pour me a cup too, Fyn.’

Fyn once again had to hunt about in his rubbish pile. ‘I’m not used to many guests,’ he apologised nervously. ‘It’s only my mother’s servant who I see these days.’

He managed to find two more broken cups and poured a small measure of watery ale into each. They drank quickly, desperate to wash down the putrid taste of Fyn’s stew.

‘Perhaps Jael can come and train you?’ Thorgils suggested cheekily, hoping to keep Fyn from noticing that they had both stopped eating. ‘She is, after all, a warrior of great repute.’

Fyn looked mortified by the proposition. ‘Oh no, no, I couldn’t imagine that would be a good idea.’

Jael raised one eyebrow but wasn’t sure who she intended it for.

‘No, I suppose you’re right, Jael really must focus on taking care of Eadmund and preparing for motherhood.’ Thorgils was enjoying the twisting, turning expressions on her face as he talked. ‘Although...’ he turned to her, ‘you do have that shiny, new sword and it would be a shame to keep it in its scabbard for long.’

Jael couldn’t help but smile as she reached down and fingered the unfamiliar hilt, running her hand over the chilled moonstone. It was reassuring to have a sword again and one that was, for the first time, truly hers. As amusing as Thorgils was attempting to be, he was actually right, the sword needed to be used. It was better to get to know its secrets now before she had to call on it. Although, not necessarily against a boy who couldn’t fight back.

‘I think it’s probably best if Fyn is trained by someone who can show him more basic techniques. Someone with a simple approach, someone, maybe like you, Thorgils, who is at that sort of level.’ She winked teasingly at the big man. ‘Someone with my experience and skill might only end up hurting Fyn, especially with a sword as well-made and sharp as this.’

Fyn’s mouth hung open, his eyes flicking back and forth, following the banter. He wasn’t sure he liked the sound of either suggestion.

Thorgils was busy forming a retort when Jael spun around suddenly. ‘Did you hear that?’

‘What?’ both Fyn and Thorgils asked quickly, their eyes darting towards the door.

‘The horses! I’m sure I heard someone out there!’

Fyn was out the door in an instant, and Thorgils made to follow him, still holding his bowl, before Jael hissed at him. She quickly grabbed the bowl out of his hand and dumped its contents back into the cauldron, along with her own. Thorgils hung his head at his dimness, then raced out after Fyn, remembering to duck his head just in time.

* * *

Jael and Thorgils turned to wave to Fyn as the horses carried them slowly up the hill. Both were relieved to have escaped without another mention of the stew.

‘That was truly the worst thing I have ever tasted,’ Jael muttered, shuddering at the memory. She leaned over and spat loudly onto the snow.

‘The boy is turning feral if he thinks that bowl of anus-smelling, bollocks-flavoured shit tasted good!’ Thorgils cursed. ‘Did you see him gulping it down as though it were food from the gods?’

‘I had fur in my mouth.’

‘Is that all?’ Thorgils countered. ‘I swallowed a claw!’

* * *

Eadmund had slept a lot. That hadn’t been his intention when he’d finally found some solitude in his favourite drying shed, but the rest had cleared much of the fog out of his muddled head. Suddenly he could see himself in sharper relief, and what he saw was brutal.

The drying shed was open on two sides, lined with row after row of hanging fish carcasses. It was a stinking place, a cold place. Normally Eadmund didn’t notice. He was usually barely conscious when he came here, desperate to escape Evaine or his father, needing to be alone in his own mess, without witnesses. But today, for the first time, there was a witness: himself. And it was all because of her.

Jael.

He needed to think, to find a way out of the hole he had sunk into, to change who he had become, but his mind kept wandering down the path that led to her. Why? He couldn’t understand it. She was prickly and stern and looked at him as he really was: a soft lump of waste. No one on Oss did that. Of course, sometimes there was a look of pity or disappointment, but most still held onto the image of who he had once been and the hope that he would return, someday. He was still their friend; they could still drink with him, share stories and jokes, and even women with him. Even his father, for all his fire, still treated Eadmund as though there was still some hope there. But not Jael. She saw nothing but the truth.

He sat on the hard dirt floor, his back against the shed wall, watching as the carcasses moved gently back and forth above him. He’d been quite happy to let the past consume him, secretly hoping it would devour him whole one day. But now he saw Jael’s face and wasn’t so sure.

* * *

Tarak was busy pounding someone’s face into the muddy slush when Thorgils and Jael rode through the gates, red-nosed, numb-limbed, but happy.

Snow had been cleared from an area known, Thorgils informed Jael, as the Pit. And making the most of the fine day, Tarak was putting on a show for a large crowd of cheering Osslanders. Swords had been abandoned, and it now appeared to be an all-out wrestling match, which was rather one-sided judging by the bloody pulp that used to be Tarak’s opponents face.

‘Could’ve been you,’ Thorgils winked at Jael.

She looked unimpressed, by both the sloppy wrestling and her new-found friend’s insinuation. ‘Why? Because he’s a giant and I’m a girl?’ she sneered. ‘That doesn’t make him a skilled fighter. He’s squashing that fool with his big, fat gut. There’s no skill in being able to lie on somebody to win a fight.’

‘That may be, but Tarak is skilled in winning, no matter how he achieves it. He’s only been beaten once in all the time he’s been here.’ Thorgils looked over as a cheer rang up from Tarak’s group of supporters. ‘And that shocked him so much, he’s never let it happen again.’

‘So, you’re going to tell me that it was you who beat him?’

‘Me? I wish I could say so as no one would like to knock that bastard out more than me, but no... it was Eadmund.’

Jael was stunned. She pulled on Tig’s reins, bringing him to a complete stop. ‘Eadmund? Eadmund can fight well enough to defeat that? When did that happen?’ Her eyebrows arched in surprise.

Thorgils shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘I’m not sure, maybe eight years ago, maybe more. I can’t honestly remember. It’s been a long time since Tarak was beaten and a long time since Eadmund even held a sword, that much I do know. A shame on both counts.’ He dismounted then. ‘Do you think your stables are finished? I’m sure your servant will have something better to offer us than young Fyn did. I’m starved!’ He whispered this to Jael; not many people knew that Fyn still resided on the island, and he certainly didn’t want Morac to catch wind of it from him.

Jael slid off Tig with a grimace, her legs stiff and sore from the biting cold. ‘That’s the best thing you’ve suggested all day.’ She yawned and ambled after Thorgils, tugging on Tig’s reins. It was barely midafternoon, but she was already thinking about her bed.

They led the horses across the sloppy, brown slush of the square that only hours earlier had been untouched snow. And in the midst of all that muck, Jael once again spotted the girl in the white cloak, talking angrily to the pointy-faced man. Morac.

‘So, do you know why Fyn was banished?’ she wondered, unable to stop staring. She couldn’t make out their words, but it was clear that they were arguing; Jael was itching to know what was going on.

Thorgils followed the turn of Jael’s head and swallowed hard. It was in everyone’s best interests for him to keep her away from Evaine. ‘No, I’ve never found out the reason. We weren’t told. Eirik and Morac kept that one close to their chests. I can’t imagine what Fyn could have done, though. He’s a bit simple.’

‘Simple? No, he’s not! He’s nice. And shy,’ Jael insisted. ‘I don’t imagine you can be banished for that?’

‘I don’t imagine so, but come on now, I need to get something hot and clawless inside me before my heart stops beating!’

Jael reluctantly turned away. ‘So, Morac is Fyn’s father...’

‘He is.’

‘And the girl... Evaine? Is she Fyn’s sister?’

Thorgils was silent. He kept walking.

Jael laughed loudly behind him. ‘You, my friend, say more with your silence than you do with your words!’

Tiras stood to one side of the hall, watching Jael walk away. Without her husband. Again. He still hadn’t seen her with him. Not once. Turning away into the shadows of the alley, he smiled.

14

Eirik banged his fist on the table again to silence the hall. He frowned; he was having a hard time getting anyone’s attention at all. It was no doubt the snow’s fault, keeping everyone indoors for much of the day, so that they were only just now using up all of their energy. Finally, though, voices hushed and expectant faces turned towards their impatient king.

‘Well, it seems we are now in the grip of the Freeze. We are officially frozen in!’

There were cheers at that. It was a happy tradition here on Oss, and despite the hardships that accompanied the frozen sea, most seemed to embrace the challenge of having to sustain themselves till spring. Their stores were healthy enough this year, and there was a good deal of optimism in the hall knowing that they would invade Hest and refill their coffers come the Thaw.

‘But we must not turn into fat hermits while we wait for spring, though. We cannot spend all our time face-deep in women and ale!’ There were a few hearty boos then. Eirik smiled, rolling his eyes. ‘We must keep our minds and bodies sharp, ready for battle. So, you are all going to train, sweat, and practice in the snow and ice every day, for we are going to hold a contest before the Thaw is upon us!’

Eirik looked pointedly at Jael, who had barely been listening, and even now, stared at him blankly.

‘It has been many years, too many years, since we held one of our famous contests and now, with the arrival of my new daughter,’ he smiled, and Jael cringed, ‘it feels like the perfect time to return the tradition to our beloved Pit!’ The hall thundered with raucous applause and table thumping, and Eirik soaked it all up. As king, all decisions were his, and not many were greeted with much joy, so this was something to savour. ‘For those of you who don’t know how this works,’ he looked towards Jael again. ‘There will be four groups of men, who will fight each other until we have one champion from each group. And of course, we narrow it down from there, until there is only one standing. And that bloodied and broken man, or woman, will be named Champion of Oss!’

Jael was listening now, and she didn’t like the look on Eirik’s face. He kept glancing at her, as though she was the prize he was holding up in front of all these spitting, dribbling, frothing men. She couldn’t deny the charge she felt in her gut, the desire to exercise her sword arm again but she was rusty, and, with a new sword, unsure of herself; she didn’t want to be anyone’s prize.

The hum of excitement in the hall intensified, and Eirik sat down, content with the outcome. He nodded to Morac, sitting at the far end of the table, who looked similarly pleased, then turned to Jael, who looked anything but. ‘So, that should be something to make you smile,’ he said confidently.

Jael frowned. ‘Smile?’

‘It’s a chance to fight. I thought you would like that. A chance to use your new sword.’

‘So, you organised this for me?’ She looked doubtfully at Eirik, taking a small sip of ale.

‘Well, no,’ he conceded. ‘But I’m sure you won’t complain about having to fight this lot, will you?’

‘No, I don’t suppose I will,’ Jael admitted, taking in the wild bunch before her. She didn’t fear them, but she knew that she would have to start training immediately and that was a strange thought; she had only ever trained with Aleksander. ‘Is it a fight to the death, then?’

‘No, it’s a fight until I declare a winner. I can’t afford to lose most of my warriors before we invade Hest!’ Eirik laughed. ‘Is that how you do it in Brekka?’

‘Yes, of course. What’s the point in fighting someone if you know you can’t kill them?’

Eirik peered at her, looking for signs that she was merely playing with him, but he could find no humour in her eyes.

Eadmund sat anxiously on Jael’s left. He had barely exchanged more than a nod with his wife over their meal. In truth, they had barely exchanged more than a nod since their wedding.

He had felt an unfamiliar sense of clarity since returning to the fort, a building desire to reclaim the man he had once been. He wanted to show his father that he would make a good king. He couldn’t avoid or escape his life anymore, couldn’t run and hide inside a cup of ale. So, he had walked into the hall that evening, with his head a little higher than normal, his eyes more alert, his back straighter. And then he’d smelled the ale, and watched his laughing friends drinking, and he’d started to sweat. And throughout the meal, he had stared at his cup, his teasing, tempting cup, filled with perfectly-scented ale, as it called sweetly to him. He’d ignored his itching palms and jammed his teeth together, and tried to do anything but take up its seductive offer. He wanted to stay this way, this clear-headed, determined way, or did he? Or was it even anything to do with the ale? Would one drink make any difference? Certainly not after the amount he had been drinking these past few years. No, he was sure that one drink would barely affect him at all. But perhaps he would wait; wait until the end of the meal at least.

Thorgils chatted incessantly next to him on his left, and to his right, his wife was mostly silent. He listened as his father tried to engage her in conversation, but she didn’t respond with much enthusiasm. He couldn’t imagine she wanted to be here any more than he did.

Eadmund didn’t know what to say to her. She was a wall of intimidating ice and every idea just dissolved before it ever reached his lips. Once in a while, she would turn to look his way, but there was nothing in her eyes inviting his company, or his conversation. His mood was sinking fast, and his cup’s call grew louder.

‘So, what do you think, are you going to enter the contest?’ Thorgils laughed, thumping his friend firmly on the back.

Eadmund glanced anxiously towards him, wiping moisture from his brow; he couldn’t stop sweating. ‘Very funny.’ He licked his lips, fiddling with his fingers.

‘Are you alright?’ Thorgils wondered, noticing for the first time how disturbed Eadmund appeared.

‘What? Yes, I’m fine.’

‘You’re not drinking?’

‘I‘m... taking it a bit slower,’ Eadmund muttered. His head was screaming at him now, demanding that he pick up the cup. ‘I’m getting too old to be sleeping on the floor every night.’ He tried a casual smile in an attempt to bat away Thorgils’ interest.

‘Well, that’s good news.’ Thorgils’ face broke into a crooked grin. ‘Very good news! Perhaps we will get a sword back in your hand, then?’

Eadmund panicked; he felt his body starting to shake. ‘Hold on, hold on! I hardly said I’m going to turn into you!’

‘Well, no, that would be impossible my friend, for I am sure to be crowned the next Champion of Oss!’ He leaned in closely, lowering his voice. ‘And I’m going to beat that arsehole, Tarak, once and for all. I’m going to push his fucked-up face into the muck and claim my long-overdue prize.’

Eadmund couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed his cup and drank from it, his desperation finally proving greater than his half-formed resolve. Thorgils frowned slightly, more in pity than disappointment. Eadmund chose not to notice; he didn’t care. His body loosened its tense hold on him at last; his breathing slowed, relief flooding his tight chest.

Jael turned around just then. She saw the blissful smile on Eadmund’s face as he drained his cup and reached out to a passing servant for another. She saw the disapproving look on Thorgils’ face, and while she knew it was not in Eadmund’s, or perhaps her own best interests for him to be drinking, she couldn’t help but feel relieved. A drunken Eadmund would surely not find his way to her bed tonight.

‘Will you be fighting in the contest?’ Eadmund wondered, turning towards his wife, his confidence partly restored.

Jael saw Thorgils watching with interest. ‘I suppose I have no choice,’ was her flat reply.

‘Well, you may be with child then,’ Thorgils suggested with a cheeky grin. ‘You couldn’t fight if that were so.’

‘Yes, yes, that is true,’ Eirik interrupted. ‘Hopefully, that is the case!’ He stared pointedly at Eadmund, whose head was down, ignoring his father.

Jael looked just as disturbed by the thought. ‘When is this contest taking place? Next week?’

‘Oh, no!’ Eirik scoffed. ‘It’s something we take seriously. It’s not just a few scrappy fights. I still have to choose a day, but we will give the men two or three months to prepare. It should keep us from turning to fat while we wait for the Thaw. It will help prepare us for Hest.’

It was Jael’s turn to scoff. ‘You think that one contest is all you will need to be ready for Hest? To have a few lean men, who can fight in the snow?’ She surveyed the hall, doubt flaring in her eyes. ‘No one has conquered Hest. Ever. Why do you and Lothar think you can change that?’

Eirik glanced towards Tiras, who was lurking at a table in the farthest corner of the hall. He had ordered the little turd to sit as far away from him as possible. As usual, though, Tiras’ beady eyes were staring Eirik’s way. He was beginning to despise the constant presence of Lothar’s pet. He lowered his voice. ‘Why? Because this will be a dual attack, of course, on two fronts. Haaron won’t be expecting that. He won’t have prepared for both of us.’

‘You don’t think he has spies everywhere? You don’t think word has gotten back to him of your new friendship with Lothar? Of this marriage?’ She gestured to Eadmund, who was actually listening, which surprised her. ‘He hasn’t ruled for so many years because he’s a fool. I don’t imagine he thinks you and Lothar have been making friends just to share a few cups and tell a few tales. He’ll know what’s coming and he will be preparing for it. And even if he’s entered his dotage now, those four sons of his will be prowling about, waiting to pounce on any pretenders to the throne they have waited so long for themselves.’

Her words were iron-heavy, and Eirik baulked under the weight of them. It was true, of course, he knew it, of course he did, but he didn’t wish to be told it by her. ‘And you’re an expert on the Dragos family and Hest, are you?’

Jael could see that he was annoyed, but it didn’t deter her; she tended to get spurred on by confrontation, or, as her mother liked to insinuate, ‘was always looking for a fight’, especially when she was feeling miserable. Thoughts of Aleksander had been dragging her down into a dark, lonely place all afternoon, and she was in an ornery mood. ‘I’m no expert on anything, but I’ve fought against Haaron and his sons many times. He was always one step ahead of us. He always knew what was coming,’ she sighed, remembering the frustration of constantly having to rebuff his attacks. ‘When my father ruled, we worked hard to put defences in place to protect ourselves against their incursions. But Haaron always seemed to know our weakest points. He knew where to strike, and when. If our army had been weaker, if my father had been weaker, we would have been overrun by them every time. But my father was always ready. He knew they would keep coming. He worked us hard, constantly, to prepare for that. And with Lothar, when he attacked Hest, they defended to meet his plans of attack, exactly. He was never going to win. There was certainly a spy. There were eyes on Brekka, from Saala to Andala. Haaron was watching, somehow. Or more likely, he just has his own dreamer.’ She looked at Eydis then, who had sat quietly at her father’s side throughout the evening, sharing barely a word, or a smile with anyone; she didn’t appear to be listening.

Eirik’s earlier annoyance softened slightly. It surprised him to realise that Jael’s experience against Hest was greater than his. He had never launched a campaign against Haaron and his wild men behind their southern mountains. He had tried, once, to take Skorro, Hest’s perfectly positioned little island that sat beyond the Widow’s Peak. Haaron had a garrison placed there to protect his trade routes with the Fire Lands across the Adrano Sea. Eirik had wanted to free up those routes, to bring more traders to Oss, and vice versa, but it had proved a disastrous mission that had failed in a great, bloody, ship-sinking mess. As Jael had said, Haaron appeared to know his every move before he made it. He had lost many ships and too many men and not tried again, until now, to even think about claiming any part of Hest. He would not risk his men for something he did not believe could work this time, and with Lothar, he had thought it possible. Their combined armies, their two-pronged attack, it made sense, and he truly thought they had a chance for success. He didn’t need or want to be thinking differently, but Eirik knew he couldn’t dismiss her words lightly.

He turned to look at Eydis, realising that he had been so focused on her advice for Eadmund, that he hadn’t asked her about the invasion. He would have to find time to sit down with her soon.

The mood at the table had been flattened by Jael’s words; even Thorgils looked downcast and grim. The men and women of the hall in front of them were loud, though, happy to focus their minds on battles, and fighting, and glory. There were a handful of eager boasters, sizing each other up, confident of their chances in the contest. Jael watched them dispassionately, annoyed by their good moods. Her eyes drifted towards Tarak. His little army of followers was looking up at him, gilding his ego with excessive praise and encouragement. He puffed out his thick, square chest, rolled back his meaty shoulders, and stared straight at her, smiling through the flames of the fire that separated their tables.

Jael returned his smile, her lips barely moving. She clenched her fist on the table, suddenly cheered by the thought of this contest. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so meaningless after all?

* * *

Jael was tired, or perhaps it wasn’t tiredness, but more the overwhelming desire to be alone that motivated her to stand up. She yawned, thinking of her bed. The hall was still full, but she had grown bored of the drinking, and loud, endless talk of battles and contests.

Some of the day had been good, and her spirits had lifted for a while, but now her body was heavy with sadness. She missed Aleksander intensely; nothing felt right without him. And the thought of how long it would be until she could see, or speak to him again made her want to scream. Or at least escape to the house and try to dream of him again.

‘You are ready for your bed, it seems,’ Eirik smiled, looking tired himself as he pushed the bench back to stand up. He was stiff, she noticed, but he didn’t complain.

‘Past ready,’ she said quickly, hoping to escape before there was any mention of Eadmund coming with her.

‘So, it’s a good bed, is it?’ Eirik wondered coyly.

‘I suppose so, yes, it’s a fine bed,’ Jael said, confused by the question.

Eirik frowned; that hadn’t been the response he had tried so hard for. ‘A fine bed?’

Jael glanced at him, puzzled. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Oh no, no reason,’ Eirik mumbled, shaking his head. ‘Now, don’t forget to collect Eadmund on the way out!’ He winked at her, nodding towards the doors, where Eadmund and Thorgils were in the midst of a rowdy conversation with their friends.

‘I think he’s having too much fun, so he can just come along later,’ Jael said firmly as she made to leave. ‘I’m sure he knows the way. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight,’ Eirik smiled, a bit deflated. Fine? How could she not be salivating over that bed? He had tried it out himself and had been certain it was going to astound her. He sat back down again with a frown.

Jael hurried through the hall. Men and women were packed in around the walls, in small groups, sharing their stories and insults, clanking their cups, clapping each other’s backs. She was almost at the door when she heard Thorgils call her name.

‘Jael!’

She froze, wondering what to do.

He did it again. So, sighing in annoyance, she slapped a smile on her face and turned around, walking over to the swaying huddle of bleary-eyed men.

‘I think you’re forgetting someone, aren’t you?’ Thorgils slurred, his words rushing out through his damp, red beard as he peered down at Jael with a foolish grin.

‘Am I?’ Jael wondered impatiently as Thorgils struggled to get his thoughts in order.

‘Eadmund! Eadmund! You can’t leave without your husband!’ He grabbed Eadmund by the shoulder and pushed him forwards. Eadmund stumbled, almost falling onto Jael.

‘I think my husband is having far too much fun with you, Thorgils,’ she said patiently, trying to avoid looking at Eadmund’s bloated face. ‘I wouldn’t want to take him away from you all too soon.’ She was just about to slip away, when she saw Tiras seated nearby, watching her intently. Biting her tongue in frustration, Jael sighed, turning back to Eadmund. ‘Although, perhaps Thorgils is right and you should come with me now.’ She tried to subtly motion with her eyes towards the watching spy, but neither man took her hint; both were far too dumbstruck by her change of heart.

‘I, I...’ was all Eadmund could get out.

Thorgils grabbed Eadmund’s cup and pushed him towards his impatient wife. ‘I would leave right now, before she changes her mind,’ he smiled, draining Eadmund’s ale before tossing the empty cup onto a nearby table. ‘I imagine it’s not an offer that will be repeated!’

Eadmund looked caught between going along with everyone else and wanting to run back to retrieve his empty cup and refill it. Jael didn’t have enough patience to wait for him to move his legs on his own, though, so she slipped her arm through his and started leading him towards the doors.

‘Have fun!’ Thorgils yelled loudly behind them. He made such a noise that a few cheers and whistles followed them to the door, but neither Jael nor Eadmund turned to acknowledge them.

Outside the hall, a searing, cold wind attacked them, and Jael realised she would have to get a new cloak made of thick fur if she were to survive this frigid place. Pulling on Eadmund’s arm, she almost dragged him along. He didn’t say a word as he stumbled behind her; he was too busy trying to keep to his feet in the icy conditions.

They tiptoed quickly across the square, Jael constantly looking over her shoulder, but there was no sign of anyone following them. She turned into a narrow alleyway, barely lit under a sliver of moon, then dropped his arm abruptly, leaning into his chest. Eadmund stumbled backwards, hitting the wall of a shadowed building.

‘Could you not see that Lothar’s man was watching us?’ she hissed angrily at him, glancing around, listening for footsteps. ‘He won’t hesitate to talk to your father if he sees anything amiss between us.’

Eadmund shook himself awake. He was groggy, nauseated, and cursed his weakness again. He was cold too. In the rush to leave, he’d left his cloak behind; that was a mistake. ‘I didn’t know Lothar had a man here,’ he shivered, puzzled. ‘Why?’

‘To watch us, to make sure that he knows everything that is happening here. To sniff out any threat to his alliance with your father.’ Jael’s green eyes glowed through her thick, white breath. ‘Tiras will report everything back to Lothar and believe me, he will work very hard to find something.’

Eadmund stared into her eyes, blinking hard. She was so intense, with her words, with that sharp stare; he felt trapped. And cold. He wanted her to stop talking so that they could get to the house, get to a fire.

‘I assume you have somewhere you go every night?’ she asked quickly. ‘Somewhere you can stay hidden away till morning? Not going back to the hall so Tiras can spot you again?’

‘Oh.’ He was surprised. ‘Ummm, yes, I can go to my cottage.’

‘Good. Without being seen?’

‘Yes, it’s just down this street and beyond, no need to go anywhere near the hall.’ Eadmund was waking up now, his thoughts forming more clearly, his words coming out of his mouth quickly; the cold had a way of doing that to a person.

‘Good, then go,’ Jael ordered and turned to leave. ‘I will show you what he looks like tomorrow. That way we can both stay ahead of him. Although, perhaps it would help if you drank a bit less. It’s not easy to make good decisions if your head is always drowning in ale.’ Noticeably shuddering, she hurried away, her black cloak and dark hair quickly merging into the night.

Eadmund stood for a moment before he started shaking uncontrollably. He turned in the opposite direction, heading quickly for home. His home. He stumbled, slipping on an icy patch of snow, despondent, disappointed, but at the same time thoroughly annoyed to have been taken away from his drinking so soon. But as much as he wished to sneak back to the hall, the memory of Jael’s eyes warned him otherwise.

15

They sat huddled around the fire, thoughtful in the silence. Edela noticed how gaunt Aleksander looked behind the flames; she must make sure he started eating properly. He had always been lean – lean but strong, he would insist with a smile – but now he just looked broken. And starved.

They were waiting on the night, neither imagining that what they were hoping for would actually work. But hoping, nonetheless.

To dream walk Edela needed Jael to be asleep, but who knew when that would be. So they would wait, a good, long while, to ensure that Edela would find her dreaming.

‘What will you say?’ Aleksander broke the silence. ‘If you contact her?’

Edela started. ‘I, I will just warn her. Tell her what I saw. I have seen nothing more since that day on the beach. I know as little as I did then, unfortunately. I can only warn her and hope that it will be enough to keep her safe until I know more.’ She thought for a moment, her forehead creasing. ‘There are ways to help protect her, Tuuran symbols to ward off evil. I should have thought about that before she left. Hopefully, there is someone on Oss who can tattoo her in the Tuuran way.’

Aleksander looked sceptical. ‘But that depends on who she can trust, doesn’t it? We can’t assume that this girl is the only one like that on the island, whatever she is.’

‘Perhaps I will send Jael to speak to Eadmund’s sister? She is one to trust, I’m sure.’

Aleksander stared at her doubtfully.

Edela thought she heard his stomach rumbling. ‘I have some bread left from my meal. Would you like some?’

‘No,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘No, I’m not hungry.’

‘Aleksander, you cannot stop living. If you die of starvation, how will you help Jael?’ Edela implored.

He glared at her then, irritation crawling under his skin. ‘You wanted her to be with him, didn’t you? You thought he would make her happier than I ever could, that she would love him more.’

‘I cannot help what I see, what I saw,’ Edela said softly, her face pale and sad. ‘Yes, I did see that she was meant to be with Eadmund and not you. Not to hurt you, never that. Even though, of course, it does.’

‘Hurt me?’ He stood quickly, built-up sadness, frustration, and fury finally overflowing. ‘It isn’t hurting me, Edela, it’s killing me! To love someone so much, to have them taken away like that... not dead but given to another man, who she doesn’t love, not now at least, hopefully not ever, despite what you see! And all I can do is stay here, alone, and know that everyone thinks that that is how it must be. That I should just leave it all alone, let it happen, stay away, not get involved, ignore my feelings. Let the woman I love, who loves me, be with another man, be his wife, have his child?’ He stared at Edela in painful despair. ‘It’s not hurting me! I feel as though I’m slowly dying without her! And whether you think that sounds foolish or not, I don’t care. I can’t be without her. I just can’t!’

Aleksander sat down again, deflated, crying, broken. Edela got up to comfort him. She knelt beside his heaving body, holding his hand in hers, stroking his hair, heavy with the guilt of her part in his pain.

* * *

The puppies were pleased to see Jael. They wiggled themselves into a wailing frenzy of excitement, happy that she was finally home. Jael was being far too soft with them, she knew, but their affection was welcome at the moment, so she barely told them off as they lunged and jumped, begging for attention as she sat down by the fire. She couldn’t feel her hands as she thawed them near the flames.

‘So, you’ve managed to shake him off again?’ Biddy wondered with a wry smile as she handed Jael a cup of milk.

Jael wrapped her fingers eagerly around the warm cup. ‘I have, thankfully.’ She took a quick sip, but the milk was too hot and burned her tongue. ‘He spent most of the evening just staring at his ale. I thought he might have turned some corner, but it didn’t last long, and he ended up a blathering mess again.’

‘Poor man,’ Biddy said thoughtfully. ‘Must be that he can’t control himself at all when it comes to drink. My father was a bit like that. Well, a lot like that.’

‘Was he?’ Jael wondered, surprised. Biddy no longer had any family living, and her childhood was something she had always kept to herself. Or, was it that Jael had never asked?

‘I remember my mother saying that he couldn’t help himself. That he was always trying his hardest not to drink, but that he had been born without any self-control, so it wasn’t really his fault.’

‘And what happened to him?’

Biddy tucked a loose curl behind her ear and stared down at her hands. ‘Well, he ruined us all, in truth. He drank and gambled all our coins away, so my mother ended up miserable, alone, and in debt. She tried to help him, to change him, and sometimes he wanted her help, I remember that. But there was nothing to be done for him. No matter how hard she tried, he never changed. He just got worse, and eventually, he was killed in a fight over a handful of coins.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Jael said quietly.

‘It was too long ago to hurt now,’ Biddy murmured as she bent down to stroke Ido. ‘But it does make me feel sorry for Eadmund. You might laugh and not want him here, and I cannot blame you for that, but perhaps he needs your understanding more than your scorn.’

‘Perhaps,’ Jael considered. ‘But I’m not looking for a friend, I’m not even looking for a husband. He has family and friends, many friends. Let them take care of him. They seem to have been managing that without me. I just need to survive him, survive this place, so that I can get back to Aleksander. I can’t waste my time trying to help someone who can’t even help himself, who has no future as a king or a man.’

Biddy frowned at Jael, disappointed but not surprised, by her harsh words.

Jael didn’t want to see herself reflected in Biddy’s stern expression, so she got up. ‘I’m going to bed.’

The puppies raced to follow her as she quickly finished the milk and took her cup to the kitchen. ‘I know I could be kinder, Biddy, but if I stop to think about Eadmund, I won’t be able to focus on what I must do to get us home.’ She walked towards the bedchamber. ‘I don’t want a part of his future. If he’s going to drink himself dead, it’s not something I choose to worry about.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Goodnight.’

Jael shook away all thoughts of Eadmund and didn’t look back as she headed for bed and her dreams of Aleksander.

* * *

Evaine was surprised to see Eadmund so early in the evening but thrilled that he had indeed come, as promised.

Eadmund had given up having a servant years ago. None could abide his ways – the mess he left, the mess he was – and so, caring for him and his home was something that Evaine had eagerly taken on, without Eadmund ever really being aware of it. He was not in the cottage a lot, but when he was, she tried to make sure it was clean, warm, well-lit, and well-stocked for him. As he rushed to sit by the fire, shivering uncontrollably, Evaine grabbed a fur off the bed and threw it over his shoulders. ‘Eadmund! Where’s your cloak?’ She was horrified. ‘How could you go out in the cold with just this light tunic on?’

It was her turn to talk to him like a child now, it seemed. The irony was lost on Eadmund, though. He sat shuddering and silent, staring at the flames. Had that just happened? Had he let himself be dragged away from his friends, his drink, his fun? Thrown against a wall in a dark alleyway and ordered about, by her? His wife. And gone along with it all, like a docile dog? Ordered away from their marriage bed too? Not that he wanted to be in that bed with her, but still... His head continued to ring with the sound of her voice. His forehead creased, his shoulders slumped in disappointment. At himself. Again.

Evaine blinked, worried by Eadmund’s continued silence. ‘Are you alright? Eadmund?’ She came to sit beside him, resting her hand on his leg. She had been lying in bed, almost asleep, hoping he would come and now felt cold, sitting here in just her nightdress. She opened up Eadmund’s fur and nestled under it, next to him, inhaling the rich infusion of smoke, ale, and meat that was so familiar to her. Everyone else might want to change him, but to Evaine he was exactly how she wanted him to be.

He was hers.

The fire still burned high enough to warm Eadmund’s chilled bones, which helped focus his mind. ‘Is there any ale left in the jug?’ he wondered, looking urgently towards the kitchen.

‘Ale?’ Evaine got up immediately. ‘Of course, I’ll get you some.’

‘No!’ He reached out and placed his hand on her arm, shaking his head. ‘No, don’t. I don’t want any.’

She sat back down again, under the fur, leaning into him, but he didn’t say a word as he continued to stare into the flames.

* * *

Jael thought about Eadmund and didn’t want to. She kept seeing his sad eyes, and they threatened her sleep. He was hopeless, she told herself. There was no point in trying to help him; he couldn’t even help himself. She remembered what Thorgils had told her about Ivaar, about what would happen if Eadmund ruined his last chance. What would Ivaar do if he came? And would she still be here then?

Jael kicked herself, annoyed that she was wasting her thoughts on Eadmund, instead of dreaming of Aleksander as she had planned. But in truth, it avoided her having to acknowledge how alone she was in this enormous bed; how cold her feet were without his legs to warm them on. She sighed, closing her eyes at last, remembering Aleksander’s hands on her face and the kindness in his eyes when he smiled at her. She scratched at her hand in frustration, so annoyed that she couldn’t be with him, that she wasn’t free anymore. Or at least, free enough to choose her own bed companion.

She tried to picture every part of their cottage, the smells, the light, the colour of their furs, the feel of his long, straight hair as she stroked it slowly...

* * *

Edela checked inside the basket once more. Yes, she had everything she needed. She ran her eyes over the book, sitting on the floor to her left. It was open on the right page.

‘It must be late enough now, Edela?’ Aleksander asked impatiently. ‘We should get started.’

Edela nodded. He was right, she thought. She had been delaying on many more grounds than the possibility that Jael wasn’t asleep yet. She felt nervous, never having attempted to use her gifts in this way. After all, it was forbidden, and that gave her cause for concern, but knowing that this was the only way they could think of to warn Jael kept her walking down that uncomfortable path. ‘Blow out the lamps,’ she instructed, her voice husky and low. ‘I need to focus on the fire alone.’

Aleksander was relieved. He got up to blow out all three lamps, then came back to sit on the floor, next to the fire, which she was facing. Edela had insisted on sitting on the floor. She had never done anything like this before and said that she would prefer to be on the ground, but still, she looked very uncomfortable sitting there, her legs crossed awkwardly in front of her, peering at the book in earnest.

‘What should I do?’ Aleksander wondered.

‘Well, you need to start banging on that drum when I close my eyes. Keep a rhythm going, don’t stop. It will help take me into the trance and keep me there, hopefully.’

Aleksander picked up the wooden drum that Edela had borrowed from one of Andala’s musicians. He hit the skin firmly with his hand a few times. ‘Like this?’

‘Yes, keep going,’ she said, distracted now, removing herself from him and the darkened room. The only light now was the warm, orange glow of the fire, its flames highlighting the sharp lines of concentration on her face.

Edela reached into the basket and emptied its contents onto the sheet in front of her. There were handfuls of plants and herbs, most of them painstakingly collected by Aleksander, but also five, smooth, grey river stones that Edela had painted symbols onto; Tuuran symbols that made no sense to Aleksander. Bending down to inspect and select each stone carefully, Edela slowly started to place the stones at various points around herself, now and then pausing to close her eyes and breathe deeply.

After one last, quick glance at the book, she picked up a small, bronze bowl that she had placed nearby, swirling its contents with her fingers. Edela started painting, thick, red lines from stone to stone, creating a circle, enclosing herself within the sacred space. She had sacrificed a young goat for its blood and felt a sharp pang of guilt as she painted. Thankfully, Jael had not taken everything with her, and they had been able to find a few strands of hair on her pillow to mix into the blood.

Aleksander kept drumming, a slow, steady rhythm as Edela picked up the bundle of herbs and plants and threw it onto the flames. The fire spat and crackled angrily, loudly, the room quickly filling with a heady, thick fug that made Aleksander’s eyes blink and water. The smoke grew so rapidly and intensely that he couldn’t stop coughing, trying to clear his throat. He peered at Edela, worried that he was disturbing her, but her head was back, her eyes closed as she swayed calmly to his rhythm, inhaling deeply, untroubled. The smoke sent Aleksander’s head spinning, and he had to fight a desperate urge to rush outside and take a deep breath of fresh air. They had built the fire up so high, that even on this freezing night, he could feel sweat trickling down his back.

Edela started chanting, repeating the same unfamiliar phrases, again and again. Her voice sounded smoky and deep, not at all like her. The hairs on Aleksander’s arms rose in fear and uncertainty, but he drummed on.

Edela rocked back and forth now, her voice growing louder. Over and over, the same sound echoed in Aleksander’s ears, and he found himself swaying along to the rhythm, his head lost in the strange fumes, his mind twisting with peculiar visions.

Edela stopped suddenly and remained still, her eyes closed. The room was silent, apart from the occasional spit from the fire, and Aleksander’s drumming. He tried to clear his mind, to focus on that steady rhythm she needed from him. She had gone, he realised, gone to try and reach Jael. He closed his eyes and prayed to Eseld that she’d make it there, and back.

* * *

In Jael’s dream, she was watching Eadmund fight Tarak. She was standing so close that she could see every bead of sweat, every drop of blood fly from Eadmund’s face as Tarak hit him, again and again, with his giant-sized, bloody fist.

Eadmund had his feet planted on the ground as he swayed, taking every fierce blow without flinching, smiling through bloodied teeth, daring Tarak on, goading him into hurting him, over and over. Jael didn’t understand. Why was he doing it? Why didn’t he fight back? She could see how to beat Tarak. She could help Eadmund, show him how to escape alive. But she didn’t move, she didn’t speak.

Jael looked to her right. Eirik and Thorgils were watching on, and Eydis, Morac, Evaine; all the people she knew on Oss. And not one of them moved; their faces remained blank, watching Tarak destroy this man they all professed to care about. No one moved. Why? Why wouldn’t anyone help him? She turned back to Eadmund. He was going to die soon; Jael was certain of it. As the fight carried on, Tarak’s smile grew wider, his confidence surging, his pleasure in his opponent’s humiliation, palpable.

Jael turned back to the crowd, demanding someone do something, calling out now, but no one heard her. Then she saw Edela, and her breathing stilled. Edela didn’t look like the rest of them, all dressed in pale colours, as they were. She was wearing her familiar dark-red cloak, her face tight with tension as she hurried towards her granddaughter.

‘Jael!’

‘Grandmother!’ Jael called. ‘You must do something! You must stop the fight before he is killed!’

Edela looked around, puzzled. ‘What fight?’

Jael turned to show her, but it had all gone. They were nowhere now, and she felt confused. What had happened to Eadmund? Had he survived?

‘Jael, I must speak with you urgently,’ Edela breathed thickly. ‘There is a dark threat that I have seen, here on Oss. Come and sit, there is much I have to tell you, and I’m not sure how long I will be able to hold on.’

Edela motioned Jael over to a wide, wooden bench that she hadn’t noticed before. The ground was covered in snow, but Jael didn’t feel cold. She didn’t even have a cloak on. In fact, as she looked down, she noticed that she was wearing her wedding dress. She reached out a hand and saw her ring, too big for her finger, its small twists of gold, glinting under the harsh sun. Everything was white and bright, Jael noticed as she looked around. They were all alone; there was nothing here to see, as far as her eye wandered, nothing but this wooden bench, sitting amongst the snow.

‘Are you dead?’ Jael wondered, suddenly concerned. ‘Did you die on the way back to Andala?’

Edela didn’t have time for much of an explanation. ‘No, I am safe at home with Aleksander. He is with me, helping me. I have travelled into your dreams to warn you.’

‘About what?’

‘A girl with a white cloak and a scorched face.’

‘A scorched face?’ Jael stared at Edela, puzzled. ‘There is a girl with a white cloak that I know of, but a scorched face? I don’t understand.’

‘She was down on the shore when we left, standing not far behind you and Eadmund. She was young, I thought, perhaps a bit older than Amma. She smiled at me so knowingly, and when I blinked and tried to clear my vision, I saw her face as a scorched mask of darkness. A warning. And I wanted to run back to you then, to tell you, but they pulled me onto the ship, and there was nothing I could do.’

Jael looked troubled. ‘You don’t think it was just a vision? A waking sort of dream?’

‘I cannot tell you what it was,’ Edela sighed, shaking her head. ‘But I do know that you’re in danger. The smile on her face, that was a threat, I know that for certain. It was as though she had you now, that you were trapped here.’

‘Do you think this is part of your dream about the Darkness?’

‘Yes, it must be,’ Edela said with almost certainty. ‘There was menace in her eyes. Her intentions were evil, I know it.’

‘What should I do? Jael wondered. ‘Keep watching her? Kill her?’

Edela shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what you can do about her, not yet, but no, you can’t kill her without reason. You can keep yourself protected and safe from the threat she poses, though.’

‘Well, I have my sword, but I don’t imagine that’s what you’re referring to.’

‘No, it’s not. I want you to have these Tuuran symbols tattooed on you.’ She turned her palms over to reveal two small, grey stones, painted with dark-red symbols. ‘Find someone on Oss to tattoo these onto your arms. One on the left, one on the right.’

Jael took the stones from Edela; they felt hot in her hands.

‘Here,’ Edela instructed, reaching up to touch the tops of Jael’s arms, just below her shoulders. ‘Make sure they are done up here. In woad. There will be a ritual needed with the ink, Tuuran words must be spoken. Talk to Eydis, ask her advice. Hopefully, she will know how to ensure the ink is given the blessing of protection. I’m sure she will help.’

Jael’s head was overflowing with things to remember, but more urgently, with the desire to know what had happened to Eadmund. Had Tarak killed him? Was he dead?

‘Jael!’ Edela hissed urgently, sensing her granddaughter’s daze. ‘Do you understand? You must remember these symbols. I’m not sure what that girl is, what evil she might possess. I will dream more, find any information I can, but you must keep yourself safe from her. We cannot reach you until spring, and I do not think I will have the strength to walk your dreams again.’

‘I will, I promise,’ Jael insisted, placing the stones onto the bench and reaching out for Edela’s hands. ‘Stay for awhile, Grandmother. Don’t go. Please. Tell me about Aleksander.’

‘Jael...’ Edela looked pained. ‘He... he is well. He will be fine, but it will take some time. I must go. I can’t stay. Be safe. Please be safe. And talk to Eydis. About the tattoos. Ask her to help you. Perhaps she might know of something like this. She is wiser and more powerful than she realises.’

Jael could feel Edela’s bony hands slipping from her grasp. ‘Don’t go yet. Please, Grandmother. Don’t leave...’

But it was too late. Jael watched as Edela’s red cloak slipped away into the whiteness, and soon she was holding nothing but air.

* * *

Edela’s eyes shot open. Her head jerked forward onto her chest. She started gagging. Aleksander jumped up to grab her before she tipped into the fire.

Her face was ghostlike, covered in a pale sheen of sweat, her breathing laboured. Aleksander helped her crumpled body onto the bed and hurried to open the door, ushering in a burst of fresh air. Inhaling quickly and deeply, he felt his head start to clear. Taking a piece of kindling, he lit a lamp beside Edela’s bed and came to kneel at her side. ‘Edela?’

‘Water,’ she croaked, her voice as imperceptible as dust. ‘Water. Please.’

Aleksander rushed to the kitchen and brought back a full cup of water. He helped her sit up, but she was so weak that she had to lean against him as she drank it down steadily.

‘More. Please.’ Her voice was coming back now.

Pouring her another cup, Aleksander bit down on all the questions that were fighting to escape his mouth. He was desperate to know whether she had made contact with Jael, but Edela looked ready for sleep.

‘Yes, I did speak with her,’ she smiled weakly. ‘I did. I did.’ And relieved, she let her head drop back onto her pillow.

The room was suddenly cold, and Aleksander covered Edela up with furs, before going to shut the door. He could still taste the residue from the smoke on his tongue, but the night air had cleared most of it out of the cottage, and his head felt almost back to normal. He came to sit on Edela’s bed, smoothing her hair out of her closed eyes. She was breathing comfortably now but didn’t stir. He sat next to her, silently, hoping she was going to be alright.

‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded quietly, her eyes still closed. ‘Please stay.’

He was surprised by that, but of course, he thought, she shouldn’t be alone. ‘I will,’ he promised, but she was already asleep, her jaw slack, her breathing hoarse and slow.

Aleksander looked around the cottage. There was a chair, a few pillows, and a spare blanket that he could use. Carefully stacking a large log onto the dying flames, he blew out the lamp and settled into the thick fur of the chair. There was no sleep in him, though, just an urgent impatience to find out what had happened.

16

Jael woke up from her dream, shaking, her whole body vibrating like an anvil being hammered. She couldn’t catch her breath; her heart was racing. It was a feeling she remembered so clearly. Two years ago she’d woken from a dream in which she’d seen her father about to die. It had felt so intense and vivid that she hadn’t hesitated to act. She’d raced to mount Tig, dragging Aleksander and Ren along. They’d ridden to find Ranuf in Iskavall, the kingdom on Brekka’s left shoulder. It had taken three days, and although Jael had hoped they would make it in time, they were too late; Ranuf was already sick and dying when they arrived, exactly as she had dreamed. He died the very next day, and there was nothing she could do.

There was Tuuran in her, of course, but she had never acknowledged the possibility that she shared any of Edela’s gifts, no matter how much her grandmother insisted she did.

It was still dark in the bedchamber, but the puppies were awake now, alert to Jael’s distress. Vella left her spot on the corner of the bed to come and nuzzle her cheek and Ido wrapped himself into a ball on the pillow, right next to her ear. Their presence distracted Jael from the panic rising in her chest, and her breathing gradually slowed.

She lifted one hand out of the thick mound of furs and realised it was clasped tightly as if holding something. Jael opened her fingers, but there was nothing there, nothing at all. Sighing in frustration, she closed her eyes, desperately searching back into the dream, trying to remember the symbols on the stones; the symbols that Edela had insisted were so vital to her safety. She could almost see them, but they were quite different from each other, and she couldn’t remember exactly how either one looked. She checked her other hand; nothing there either.

It was so dark and quiet that Jael knew she had hours to wait until dawn. She searched back through the dream once more, closing her eyes, wondering if she could sleep again and slip back into it. But she was simply too alert, too awake for sleep to come now. She saw Evaine’s face as her grandmother had painted it for her and wondered what it meant. If in fact, she was in love with Eadmund, which, from Jael’s observations seemed likely, then Evaine saw her as a very real threat. And possibly a threat she wanted to remove. But how would she do it? Obviously not with a sword, but what was she? What could she do?

Jael opened her eyes, annoyed that she had to wait so long for the sun to shed some light on her unanswered questions. She picked Vella up and tucked her under the furs, wrapping her arms around the sleepy, little body, letting the puppy’s warmth soothe her impatient mind.

* * *

‘That smells good,’ Edela croaked, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She coughed, trying to clear her throat, which felt drier than she could remember. She tried to ignore the aches in her legs, her knees, her back; the list was endless. She smiled instead at Aleksander who was cooking bread over the fire.

He got up, rushing over to her. ‘Edela! Are you alright?’ Reaching out, he helped her to stand, slowly guiding her to her chair by the blazing fire. He brought a fur over and wrapped it around her shoulders.

‘Oh, to be so doted on every day,’ she smiled wearily at him, her eyes puffy and strained.

‘Well, I think you deserve it after what you went through last night.’ Aleksander went back to the fire, hoping to save his bread from burning. The little rounds needed to be removed from the skillet but appeared stuck. He had watched and helped Biddy cook, many times as a child, but those memories were dust-covered now; he was certain he’d gone astray somewhere in the process.

‘Ahhh yes, last night,’ Edela sighed, letting her head drop back onto the soft fur of the chair. ‘I cannot believe it worked,’ she sighed. ‘Well, at least I hope it did.’

Aleksander managed to scrape the three little flatbreads off the skillet without leaving too much behind. He left them on a plate to cool. ‘So what happened? Did you see Jael? Speak to her?’

‘I did, yes,’ Edela smiled. ‘Perhaps you could pour me some water, and I will tell you all about it.’

Aleksander quickly filled a cup and brought it to her, sitting on the little stool expectantly. Edela smiled sadly, remembering Jael there, not so many weeks ago.

‘Well, I certainly entered her dream and spoke with her. I warned her,’ Edela started, then stopped to consider things. ‘It felt very real, to me at least. And Jael listened, so I can only hope she remembers what I told her about the girl and the symbols. About how she can protect herself.’

‘I can’t believe it worked!’ Aleksander sighed with relief. ‘Or at least, that you made contact with her. I’ve never seen anything like it, what you did last night. I was worried about you. That you wouldn’t come back.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Edela admitted. ‘I felt the same, for sure. I knew I had left you behind and I could only hope I was able to return. I wouldn’t want to leave you even more alone.’ She reached out and patted Aleksander on the knee. ‘Thank you for staying last night. I wasn’t sure what state I would end up in, but I appear to have a beating heart and a working tongue, still!’

And a way of contacting Jael, Aleksander thought to himself. He could only hope that Jael had heard the message and was able to do something to protect herself; to keep herself safe. He hoped it would be enough.

* * *

Jael ended up lost, twice, but finally made her way to Fyn’s hut in the hill. She’d struggled to recognise much that was familiar from her ride with Thorgils. Visibility had been miserable most of the way there. The clouds were thick and dirty today, with the threat of more snow, or possibly even a storm, if the ferocity of the wind was any indication.

‘Jael?’ Fyn was outside, practising with his useless wooden man again.

She smiled as she dismounted, slipping Tig a piece of bread; he seemed to have enjoyed the ride, in spite of the wind, showing more confidence with his footing this time.

‘I didn’t expect to see you again so quickly,’ Fyn said nervously as he wandered over to greet her. His face suddenly froze. ‘I hope you haven’t come to train me? I didn’t think you would take Thorgils seriously.’

Jael saw an opportunity. ‘Well, yes, I thought I would come to help, not train you if you don’t want, but I could at least give you some advice if you’d like?’

Fyn glanced at his feet. ‘I.... I’m no good. I’m sure you saw that yesterday. It’s not worth your time to try and help me. Although, it is very kind of you, especially as I’m sure you have so many other things you need to do.’ He hid his face, not knowing where to look.

Jael walked Tig over to a small, covered shelter and tied him up. ‘What sort of things do you imagine me having to do?’ she asked over her shoulder.

Fyn scurried after her. ‘Ummm, well I’m not sure. You are a... princess. But I’m not quite sure what they do.’

‘Princess? Yes, I suppose I am,’ Jael laughed as she approached the tiny patch of ground where Fyn had placed his wooden friend. ‘But I think most princesses spend all day fussing over their hair and dresses, don’t they?’

She took off her cloak and sword-belt and placed them on a large log, then reached down to pick up a practice sword, noting the sizable pile of wooden swords stacked nearby, many of them broken. ‘But I’m not bothered about what I wear, and, as for my hair... as long as it’s not flapping around my face while I’m trying to remove someone’s head, I’m happy.’ She turned around, held the sword out in front of her and narrowed her eyes. ‘Let’s begin.’

Fyn gulped and stepped reluctantly towards her, every part of his body clenched in fear. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes already defeated as he stopped in front of Jael, his sword held out awkwardly in front of him.

‘Well, there’s the first thing,’ Jael said evenly. ‘You need to face your opponent more from the side. Don’t give him so many things to aim it. Here, like this.’ She dropped her sword back into the pile and came over to grab hold of Fyn’s shoulders, turning him slightly side on, spreading his legs into a more stable position. He flinched from her touch. ‘You need to be balanced at all times, especially when wielding an actual sword and shield. They can be heavy, so it’s much easier to be knocked off balance, and if you have no balance you’ll likely end up on your arse, and that’s a hard place to defend from.’

Jael picked up her sword again. It was smooth and well made. ‘You obviously have a lot of time on your hands out here? How many of these swords have you carved?’

‘Many,’ Fyn said sadly. ‘Too many.’

Jael felt sorry for him, and as much as she was desperate to talk to him about his sister, she knew that she needed to coax him into trusting her first; his eyes told her that he didn’t trust anyone much. ‘Well, perhaps you could work on some shields next?’ she smiled, coming forwards. ‘But in the meantime, I can teach you how to defend yourself with whatever you have to hand. There will be times when all you have is your eating knife, or maybe not even that.’

Fyn held his sword loosely, watching Jael’s every move as she strutted about in front of him.

‘So, here you are, someone wants to kill you, and they have a sword, you have a sword, nothing else. The ground is mucky. The sky is murky. You have no shield. There are many things against you right now, but many things in your favour also. First, you are in your own surroundings so you can use that knowledge to help you. Think of what you may have lurking around that you could use as a weapon if your sword were to break or be lost. Think.’ Jael tapped her head with her free hand as she circled in front of Fyn, her two side braids flapping angrily in the wind. ‘That’s how you start a fight, with an alert mind, a thought-filled mind, always thinking. Think about your opponent, too. Look into his eyes. Is he tired? Weary? Injured? Many warriors are carrying old wounds that haven’t quite healed. That makes them weaker. Find those places, look for clues. Does he favour one leg or the other, wince when you aim for a particular spot? Keep watching, keep looking. Does he smell?’

Fyn looked surprised. ‘Smell?’

‘Yes,’ she grinned. ‘Sick, rotting wounds smell. They have a stink that you’ll become familiar with. Blood, the smell of blood, is iron-strong. It lingers on a person. Use every sense you have to keep thinking, forming ideas. You may be fighting with a sword, or your hands, or an axe, but mostly I think, you’re fighting with your mind. That’s what my father taught me.’

Jael lunged forwards and hit Fyn’s sword straight out of his hand, her sword coming to a point in the middle of his chest. Fyn gasped, stumbling away.

‘Always keep thinking, Fyn,’ she said bending down to pick up his sword. ‘What is my opponent doing? Why are they doing it? To confuse you, relax you, make you more comfortable than you should be? And most importantly, hold onto your sword!’ She laughed, and Fyn’s face relaxed. He took the sword from her, holding it firmly.

‘You need to think of it as part of your arm,’ Jael insisted. ‘You wouldn’t want to lose the bottom half of your arm, would you? Not without a fight, I’m sure. You’d grip that arm so tightly that no one could take it. You have to feel the same about your sword. You lose your sword, you’re halfway dead.’ She watched as his hand squeezed around the grip. ‘Tighter. Even tighter. Get your fingers used to it, to how much pressure you need to exert for it to feel natural but secure.’

Satisfied with Fyn’s hold, at last, Jael went back to her starting position. ‘Alright, so remember to stand more to the side. To think, all the time, about everything. And to hold onto your sword like losing it will mean death.’

Fyn nodded eagerly, and Jael smiled. He was standing taller now, his fingers wrapped firmly around his sword’s grip. His body was positioned side on, his legs wide enough to balance him, and his eyes were alert. He was a fast learner. And he was showing signs that he was beginning to trust her. That was a start.

* * *

Eadmund vomited onto a pile of snow. He spat twice to try and clear the taste of sour ale from his throat, wiping his hand over his short beard.

‘Ahhh, I can see why the ladies like you so much,’ Thorgils laughed. ‘Who wouldn’t want to kiss that tasty mouth?’

‘Shut up,’ Eadmund grumbled irritably, swallowing again. He felt worse than he could remember. Nausea, the headache, and the aches and pains were all familiar feelings, but it wasn’t any of those that was troubling him. It was the realisation, finally dawning, that he was no longer a man. He’d seen it last night in Jael’s eyes, more clearly than he’d ever seen it before. And it wouldn’t leave. It clawed its way inside his head and would not leave. The picture was so sharp now; he was desperate to escape its mocking vision.

Torstan snorted as he stood, breathing white fumes, holding his sword, waiting for Thorgils to come and meet him. The temptation of glory in the contest had roused more than a few warriors out of their cold beds earlier than normal this morning, none more so than Thorgils. But why Eadmund was up so early was a question on both his friend’s lips.

‘You are not used to this hour, it seems,’ Thorgils smiled as he touched swords with Torstan, before stepping back into position. He was eager to get their practice underway before the weather put an end to it. The sky was thick with the promise of another heavy dump that day, and small flurries were already blowing across the Pit. ‘Perhaps you need to crawl back between Evaine’s warm thighs a while longer?’

Eadmund frowned as his friends exchanged childish giggles. ‘Thank you, but no, I’ve come to watch you two idiots try to figure out how you’re going to defeat Tarak.’

Serious looks replaced grins then, as both men hardened their expressions.

‘Well, there is no hope for Torstan here, of course,’ Thorgils said confidently. ‘For he has never even beaten me, and besides, he only comes up to Tarak’s knee!’

Torstan raised his sword at that and swung sharply at his much-larger friend. Thorgils brought his wooden blade down to meet it, expertly turning it over to crash down upon Torstan’s sword. Torstan shuddered from the force of the blow, stepping back to regain his balance.

‘Tarak’s knee?’ Torstan wondered boldly. ‘At least down at his knee I don’t have to sniff his ballsack like you do!’ He shot forwards then, extending his sword arm in an attempt to hit Thorgils low but Thorgils was sharp-eyed this morning, and once again he countered Torstan’s strike. Torstan backed off, frustrated, his mind whirring.

‘You could always come and show us how you managed to defeat him,’ Thorgils suggested, his eyes fixed firmly on his prowling opponent. ‘If you can still remember?’

Eadmund smiled wistfully as he leaned on the railings surrounding the Pit; that was an old memory, but yes, he remembered some of it still. ‘I would like to say there was a reason behind it but it was likely just luck from the gods. I’m not sure he’s beatable by anyone here on Oss. Not anymore.’

‘Not even your wife?’ Thorgils asked as he parried one way, then reversed and struck out at Torstan in the opposite direction, catching him in the stomach.

Torstan grumbled, annoyed with himself for taking Thorgils’ bait.

‘That would be one point to me,’ Thorgils nodded cheerfully.

‘Jael?’ Eadmund scoffed. ‘You think she could beat Tarak?’

‘Me? No, I don’t think she can. Perhaps with her tongue, but no, her size would count against her, for sure, just like Torstan here. Tarak would break her and squash her.’

‘I’m not that much bigger than Jael and certainly not as big as you,’ Eadmund pointed out. ‘But I defeated him. So perhaps there is a chance for you, after all, Torstan?’

Thorgils, puzzling on that, allowed himself to be distracted long enough for Torstan to make a sharp attack on his left, weaker side, hitting him on the hip.

‘I believe that is one point each,’ Torstan smiled smugly.

Thorgils frowned, turning to Eadmund. ‘Go and find yourself a drink and stop distracting me. I have to focus both my mind and body on defeating this little turd here.’

Thorgils meant it jokingly, of course, but Eadmund’s face fell. He’d woken up early, seeking a new purpose, and had come to find his friends with the half-formed idea of picking up a sword; maybe taking the first steps towards learning how to use it again. But it had been so long, and Thorgils and Torstan had forgotten who he used to be just as much as he had.

He shrugged, defeated, and turned to leave.

‘Or, you could get into the Pit and pick up a sword?’ Thorgils called after him. ‘Show us how it’s done?’

Eadmund stopped and considered. The suggestion of a drink was far more appealing than the offer to make a fool of himself. He heard Jael’s voice then, and the memory of last night taunted him until some unacknowledged pool of anger started to bubble up inside him, overtaking all other fears and desires. He turned around and walked back to the railings. ‘Alright then,’ he smiled, more confidently than he felt, his knees shaking from more than the cold. ‘I can do that.’

* * *

‘So, that is what I need you to dream on,’ Eirik murmured as he guided Eydis around a large mound of snow. He didn’t want everyone knowing his business, nor how reliant he was on a 13-year-old girl’s advice; he didn’t wish to put Eydis in that position. There was a suspicion, of course, amongst most Osslanders that Eydis had inherited her late mother’s gifts, but Eirik kept her abilities close to his chest. Eadmund was only one of a handful who knew.

‘I’ll try, Father,’ Eydis promised. ‘But you know it doesn’t always work like that. Not for me. Not without any training.’

‘I understand that, of course,’ Eirik said distractedly, waving to Morac, who was walking to the hall ahead of them. ‘But if there is any sign I should pay attention to, then I would gratefully receive it. There are many lives I am committing to this invasion. I don’t wish to waste them. Not after last time.’

Eydis could sense the weight upon her father’s shoulders, but she didn’t feel confident that she would be able to help him; she felt no mastery over her dreams.

Eirik suddenly gripped Eydis’ hand with such strength that she cried out. ‘Father! What is it?’ She was immediately on edge, desperate to know what was happening, but Eirik remained silent.

Silent, because he had just been rendered speechless.

‘Father?’ Eydis turned towards him, imploring an answer.

‘It’s your brother,’ Eirik said, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘He’s in the Pit. With a sword. He has a sword in his hand!’ He was amazed, almost tearful. He had given up hope of witnessing such a thing again.

‘Eadmund?’ Eydis was just as overcome. ‘Truly?’ There were tears in her eyes. Her face shone with happiness and relief in equal measure.

‘Truly.’

Eirik watched on as Eadmund stumbled around the muddy Pit. He looked awkward and unsure, there was no doubting that, but he was there, sword in hand, face flushed with effort, and that was the best gift Eirik could ever have imagined.

There was hope.

* * *

‘Hit me.’

‘No! I can’t do that,’ Fyn insisted, shocked that Jael would suggest such a thing.

‘True,’ Jael acknowledged. ‘Try to hit me.’

Fyn had shown some improvement with the sword, but that had been abandoned now, and Jael was showing him how to defend himself using only his body. Despite his growing confidence, he had no desire to try and hurt her.

‘I think, perhaps we should stop. The snow is getting heavier... we should head inside to the fire...’ He started to edge his way backwards.

‘Fyn!’ Jael glared at him firmly. ‘You want to be a warrior? Well, you can be. There’s nothing wrong with you. Nothing is stopping you, except a lack of knowledge and some confidence.’ She stood in front of him, her nose dripping, and despite the tension she felt about her dream, she was enjoying herself. ‘It took me years to learn how to protect myself. How to kill when I had to, to keep my people safe. My father trained me so hard that I spent most of my childhood in tears, covered in cuts and bruises. But he didn’t care what I thought, or how hard I believed it was, or how much I complained. He needed to know I would be safe. He wanted me to learn everything, to master every way I could possibly keep myself alive. So, he never gave up trying. He never gave up forcing me to try.’

Fyn could see the passion in her eyes when she talked about her father; he wished he could feel the same way about his own.

‘So now, because of all that work he put in, and I put in, nothing scares me,’ she insisted. ‘I have fear. I get nervous before a battle or a fight, but I never feel scared because I know I can find a way to stay alive. I have confidence in what I can do, in what I have learned. If you have that, then you can welcome the shakes or the shits, and you can just move forward and kill to survive.’

Fyn stared at Jael, trying to locate that pit of confidence that lived so far down inside himself, he often wondered if it existed at all. Her words resonated with him, though, so he dug deep and dropped his shoulders back, rocking his head from side to side. ‘Alright,’ he decided at last. ‘I’ll try.’

Jael smiled; she was genuinely pleased. She stepped back and put her hands up in tight fists. ‘Good. I’ll defend myself a little, and you try to hit me.’ She moved from side to side. ‘But do try, Fyn, because my tits are freezing out here!’

Fyn looked so shocked that Jael burst out laughing.

He gulped in a deep, icy breath and came forwards, circling in front of her, his fists close to his chest, white trails of winter-cold puffing from his nose and mouth. He smiled in an attempt to distract her, and then rushed one fist towards her face, but he was slow and predictable, and Jael knocked him away effortlessly.

‘Go for where my hands aren’t, Fyn,’ she suggested. ‘As far away from them as possible. There are no rules in a fight for your life. You want to kill your attacker as quickly as possible. So, you can move around in front of me like you’re dancing and it’s very pretty, but all I’m thinking about is how long before I can get you on the ground. That’s your goal. Get me on the ground.’

Fyn looked daunted but undeterred, and he started circling again, assessing his options. Jael was alert and fast in her movements, but he took her advice and tried to surprise her with a swift jab towards her lower ribs. He used his left hand, which did surprise her, but as he wasn’t naturally strong with it, the hand came at her too slowly, allowing her to anticipate its fall. Jael twisted backwards, grounded her weight on her left foot, and swung her right leg around, snapping her boot quickly into the side of Fyn’s head. He flew into the snow.

‘Are you alright?’ Jael asked, trying not to laugh at the look on his face as he sat up and stared at her, horrified.

‘You kicked me in the head!’

‘Yes. And now you’re on the ground, and I can finish you off,’ she grinned and held out a hand. ‘But I won’t because you have promised me a hot fire, for now, my tits are truly frozen!’

Fyn took her hand. ‘You kicked me in the head,’ he said again, as he stood.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘A little, but not as much as my pride,’ he smiled bashfully. ‘That hurts quite a lot. I’m glad Thorgils wasn’t here.’

Jael laughed, walking over to give Tig a couple of small carrots that had frozen in her pocket. Happily, his little shelter was mostly snow-tight and almost large enough to keep him comfortable. The sky was darkening, though, and she was conscious of the need to have her conversation with Fyn before conditions made their return journey treacherous.

‘So, did your father teach you that, kicking people in the head?’ he wondered as he waited for her to follow him into the hut.

‘Not him, no. He never did that,’ Jael frowned, imagining her very stern, traditional father doing such a thing. ‘But he found someone who did.’ She followed Fyn inside, rubbing her frozen hands together. ‘He brought many different people to Brekka, from all over the world to train me. As I said, he was driven by a desire to keep me safe. So, he tried to find every way possible.’

The fire barely had any life in it, so Fyn hurried about, stoking it up again.

‘You must get so lonely living here?’ Jael suggested, looking around his little, broken home. ‘With no one to talk to every day?’

Fyn looked up at her, sadly. ‘Well, I have never been good at talking to people, so I don’t mind it too much.’ He grabbed his cauldron and hung it over the struggling fire, filling it with water.

Jael sat down, close to the flames, desperate to warm her shivering limbs. ‘What about your family?’ she wondered, trying to subtly edge her way towards the subject of Evaine. ‘Don’t you miss them? I think you said your mother visits you? But what about your sister?’ Subtlety wasn’t Jael’s strongest skill.

Fyn visibly shuddered.

‘Evaine, isn’t it?’ she continued. ‘I met her the other day. A very pretty girl.’

‘I suppose,’ he said tightly. ‘But not especially kind.’

‘No? That’s a shame for you. A mean father and a mean sister. That is some bad luck.’

Fyn shook off her words but saw that she looked genuinely sad for him. He sprinkled some dried leaves into two cups. ‘Do you like lemon balm?’

‘Yes, perfect,’ Jael smiled wistfully, remembering her grandmother’s favourite tonic for any ailment.

‘It is bad luck I suppose, but then, I have a kind mother, a good mother,’ he considered as he placed the cups on a stool, grabbing a small pot nearby and scooping out a tiny dollop of honey into each. ‘It’s not easy on her, that I’m here and she is alone with... them.’

‘Your sister is difficult, then?’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Difficult? More than difficult. She is... not evil, she just... she considers no one but herself. Ever. Anything or anyone that stands in her way, she removes, one way or another.’

Those were strong words, Jael thought to herself. ‘How?’

‘How?’ he considered, peering into the cauldron, watching for bubbles. ‘Evaine just seems to have a way of getting every obstacle to disappear. How? I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s the way she looks or...’ he paused. ‘I don’t know. Except that, of course, she didn’t get her way where Eadmund was concerned.’

Jael’s ears pricked up. ‘Eadmund?’

Fyn realised that his tongue had wandered far away from his head. ‘Oh, I...’

‘It’s alright,’ Jael rushed to reassure him. ‘I can tell that she has feelings for Eadmund. I don’t care. I have none myself.’

‘Feelings?’ Fyn looked doubtful. ‘It’s not feelings that she has. It’s an obsession.’ He spoke freely now, convinced by Jael’s casual interest and calm words. ‘She’s been obsessed with Eadmund since she was a child. Which is strange, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps it’s true love?’

‘It’s something, that’s for certain. It’s all she has spoken of for years and years.’

‘And now there is me,’ Jael pondered. ‘Her biggest obstacle yet. So, what do you think she is going to do about me?’ She watched Fyn’s face, looking for any clues as to what he truly thought but might be too timid to reveal. But she had underestimated him.

‘That, I couldn’t say,’ he insisted gravely. ‘But I would be careful around her. There is just something about Evaine that is... dangerous. I can’t explain it any more than that. But I do believe she would do anything to get him back.’

Jael considered that. It was nothing she didn’t suspect already, but having her fears confirmed was a good start. She needed more, though. ‘There is no Tuuran blood in her, is there?’ she asked softly, keeping her voice light, hoping to keep Fyn talking. ‘She doesn’t possess any gifts I should be worried about?’

Fyn frowned, shaking his head. ‘Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps that would explain some things, but no, our parents were both born as slaves, here on Oss. So there is nothing special about her there.’

Jael was disappointed. He didn’t know anything that could help her. There was no explanation for the face Edela had seen, except that perhaps it was a warning, painted so darkly that it was impossible to ignore. Perhaps that is all it was; a warning for her to stay alert around this obsessed girl, who meant her genuine harm. Or was it more? Her threat had now been clearly identified. She was slightly wiser, but still, it wasn’t the result Edela would have hoped for when she had walked into her dream. She needed to find Eydis to see if she could help her with the symbols.

Jael broke out of her trance and caught Fyn rubbing the side of his head. ‘Is your head alright?’

He grinned. ‘It still works, I think.’

‘That’s good,’ Jael smiled, standing up.

‘You don’t have to leave just yet, do you?’ Fyn stumbled to his feet. ‘You haven’t had your tea, and I can heat us up some stew I saved from yesterday.’

‘No, no, that’s generous of you, but I think the snow will make it much harder to find our way back if we don’t leave now,’ Jael insisted very firmly, not wanting to revisit the taste of that stew ever again. ‘Besides, more stew for you to enjoy. You will need a good meal after all that hard work!’

Fyn looked disappointed to be losing her company.

‘If you don’t mind getting kicked some more, I’ll come again,’ Jael suggested as she headed out into the snow, pulling her hood up.

‘Yes, that would be good. Perhaps next time, I’ll see you coming!’ Fyn laughed as he walked her to the shelter, where Tig was starting to get impatient.

‘I don’t think so, but I like your confidence,’ Jael grinned as she untied the reins.

Looking suddenly more serious, Fyn glanced at Jael. ‘Be careful around Evaine,’ he said thoughtfully, wiping the falling snow out of his eyes. ‘I can’t say she’d be foolish enough to try and hurt you, but I know how strongly she feels about Eadmund. She won’t rest until he belongs to her.’

‘Well, she is welcome to him, he’s no use to me!’ Jael said dismissively, swinging herself up into the damp saddle. ‘I shall be back, hopefully, tomorrow if the weather improves, so practice, practice, practice! And maybe start working on some shields. We could use a few of those.’

Jael tapped Tig lightly, and he dug his hooves into the deep snow, slowly gaining traction as he carried her up the hill. She turned around to wave to the lonely figure, isolated in a landscape of almost pure white, wondering just what she was going to do about his problem sister.

17

Aleksander failed to look up in time.

He had been meandering slowly, knee-deep in the memories of his night with Edela, still bothered by the stink of those herbs in his nostrils, when he saw Osbert, Lothar, and Amma blocking his path. Stopping immediately, he realised that they were all looking at him, talking amongst themselves, but watching him. Fighting the urge to turn and run in the opposite direction, he ploughed on reluctantly.

‘My lord.’ He acknowledged Lothar with a brief nod of his head. ‘Osbert, Amma.’

‘Aleksander!’ Lothar smiled broadly, one of those ingenuous smiles that he used so regularly. ‘I wasn’t sure we’d ever see you again. Where have you been?’

‘Well, I –’

‘Father, that is very insensitive of you,’ Amma interrupted. ‘Forgive my father, Aleksander. He sometimes forgets that people have feelings, especially men, but of course, it must be a hard time for you, losing Jael, as you have.’

Lothar eyed his daughter crossly, not appreciating her public rebuke.

Osbert eyed his sister curiously, noting the pink flush on her cheeks when she looked at Aleksander.

Aleksander didn’t know where to look. ‘I... yes, it is not the best time, but then again there is spring to look forward to, and a battle with Hest is always a reason to keep heart.’ It sounded trite, but it was the sort of thing Lothar loved to hear, and his face lit up, just as Aleksander had intended.

‘Exactly! Those Dragos’ had better sleep well this winter as I’m certain it will be their last.’ He puffed out his bulging chest. ‘Gisila!’ Lothar removed his attention from Aleksander and gave it to Gisila and Axl, neither of whom looked welcome of it.

‘Lothar,’ Gisila nodded, her eyes barely acknowledging him before turning to Aleksander. ‘How are you?’

Lothar bit his lip peevishly. All the attention was on Aleksander today, it seemed.

‘I’m fine,’ Aleksander mumbled, dismissing her concern. ‘I was just going to buy some supplies for Edela. She is feeling unwell today.’

‘Is she?’ Axl looked worried. ‘I’ll come with you. I haven’t seen her for days.’

Aleksander wasn’t keen on acquiring any company but could do little to dissuade it in front of such an open-eared audience. ‘She’d like that, I’m sure. I just have to get the things she needs first. If you’ll excuse me.’ Smiling quickly at Gisila, and purposefully ignoring Amma, he slipped through the crowd, into the market, Axl loping after him.

‘He looks very thin,’ Amma said to Gisila. ‘Don’t you think?’

Gisila looked suddenly very uncomfortable to have been left behind with Lothar and his children. ‘Yes, he does. Perhaps I had better go and supervise him? I don’t expect he will make the best choices.’

‘No, no, Gisila!’ Lothar reached out and grabbed her arm with his pudgy, heavily ringed hand. ‘I was hoping that perhaps you would walk with me instead? There are some matters I wish to discuss with you.’

Gisila looked ill at the thought of being alone with him. ‘I, I...’

‘Come along now. It won’t take long, just a little chat between old friends.’ And he slipped her arm through his and led her off to the hall... the long way.

‘Poor Gisila,’ Amma giggled. ‘It looks as though Father has her trapped.’

‘But why would he want to?’ Osbert spat meanly. ‘She’s no beauty anymore. She has no status, no fortune. She’s worth nothing to him.’

‘Love isn’t about fortune or status,’ Amma scolded her older brother.

‘Love?’ Osbert was horrified. ‘You think he loves that?’ He laughed, scornfully.

‘You might mock, Brother, but I’m sure you have spent many nights wishing you had someone to love your miserable soul.’

Osbert’s eyebrows pinched together at that, and he leaned forward, his mouth uncomfortably close to Amma’s; she cringed backwards. ‘Well, love seems to be on everyone’s minds and faces today, doesn’t it, Sister,’ he smirked. ‘Does Father know about your little love-crush on Aleksander Lehr? Does he? Would he like to know, do you think?’

Amma knew her brother well enough to believe that he would do as he threatened, but she wasn’t about to be cornered by him. He was pathetic, and a bully, and although she knew he had their father’s ear, she was comforted by the fact that she had always been Lothar’s favourite. ‘Go ahead, do as you wish, Osbert. I may just tell Father myself if you don’t.’ She shoved him off her and stepped away, leaving Osbert to simmer in his lonely pile of bitterness.

* * *

Aleksander frowned at the paltry selection of vegetables available to buy in the market. Admittedly, the weather had affected the availability of fresh supplies, but still, the limp fare would hardly be what Edela was hoping he would bring back for her. He selected a bunch of tired carrots, a couple of soft turnips, and a withered cabbage. It was something. Perhaps he would see if he could bring her neglected vegetable patch back to life? It was better than wasting any coins she had on such pitiful produce.

Aleksander handed over one, tarnished, silver coin as payment, and shoving the vegetables into his small basket, looked around quickly, hoping the Furycks had gone. They had, from what he could see, but Axl was still lurking about. He had quickly grown bored of vegetables and gone off instead with a group of friends. Aleksander sighed. They were empty-headed types, the sort of men-boys who thought they knew all things. And they were the wrong sort of friends to have whispering in your ear if you wanted to stay alive.

‘Axl!’ Aleksander called loudly. He raised an arm, ushering him over.

Axl came willingly enough.

‘Do you still want to come and see Edela?’ Aleksander wondered, walking slowly through the busy crowd, mud and snow-wet to his ankles.

‘Sure,’ Axl smiled, falling in alongside, raising a hand to his friends as they passed.

‘So... what do you think your sister would say if she saw you talking to those fools?’ Aleksander wondered, trying to keep his voice light.

‘They’re not fools,’ Axl grumbled. ‘They’re my friends, and what would it be to her anyway, if she were here to care?’

‘Well, keeping you safe is something she would think is to do with her, and those boys are more about making trouble than keeping you safe, don’t you think?’

‘Why do you say that?’ Axl asked, annoyed.

‘Because,’ Aleksander lowered his voice as they slipped between two rows of houses set right on the street front. ‘I know boys like that. Boys that want fame and think they can get it the easy way, by riding along on someone else’s cloak. Your cloak. Thinking that if you become king, then they will become rich.’

‘They’re not like that,’ Axl insisted. ‘They want me to have what I’m owed, what was given to me by my father. That’s all. Why shouldn’t I have friends who think that? Better than ones who think I’ll just be this nothing my whole life.’

The streets merged into broad paths now and were thicker with snow as they turned towards Edela’s. There were fewer houses, and fewer homeowners happy to clear walkways this far out of the town centre. It was quieter too, as both men brooded along, the crunch of their boots in the snow suddenly very loud.

Aleksander stopped and grabbed Axl’s arm. ‘I don’t blame you for feeling that way. You’ve had something that was taken from you. I’ve had experience of that recently,’ he smiled wryly, but Axl’s face was unmoved. ‘They’re not going to help you get it back, though. They’re just going to get you killed.’

Axl sniffed loudly at that, wiping his nose on the back of his glove. ‘So you say, but why shouldn’t I give them a chance, listen to their ideas? Who else is going to help me? Jael? Well, she had her chance. For two years she had her chance to help me change things after Father died, but she did nothing. Both of you did nothing. And now she’s gone, so it’s up to me to change things. No matter what you say, Aleksander, I’m going to do something... with, or without your help.’

Axl strode off, his head in the air, his body awkwardly trying to catch up with it. He had a purpose, Aleksander thought, but little direction. And that lack of direction, coupled with his bad taste in friends was likely to make things difficult for all of them.

* * *

It was just Eadmund and Thorgils now. The snow had gotten too much for Torstan, and he’d abandoned them for a hot fire and a plump woman he’d been keeping company with of late.

Eadmund was nearly done, though. Every part of his body, every single part, was throbbing in shock at what he’d put it through. He had not moved this purposefully in years. Thorgils had shown him no sympathy at all, relishing the opportunity to beat the shit out of Eadmund for the first time in memory, sending him into the slush, time after time.

‘You must be ready to wave your little white banner now, Eadmund Skalleson?’ Thorgils mocked merrily, his red beard white with snow. ‘If not, I think I shall wave mine. My snow banner! For it’s snowing too fucking much to see you! Let’s get to the hall and watch Torstan make a fool of himself while we melt by the fire.’

Eadmund couldn’t deny that it sounded a much better plan than freezing to death, face down in slop. He was sure that if Thorgils had knocked him down one more time, he would not have been able to get up. ‘Alright, let’s wave the banner and be gone! I’ve had enough of watching you enjoy yourself at my expense. I’d forgotten what a smug bastard you were in a fight. No wonder I stopped fighting you!’ he smiled, then grimaced; even his cheeks hurt.

They stored their swords inside the small shed where the training weapons were kept and headed for the hall.

‘You never said,’ Thorgils started, then stopped to sneeze loudly. ‘How were things with your wife last night?’

Eadmund looked puzzled. ‘Things?’

‘You left the hall together, you idiot, don’t you remember?’ Thorgils laughed. ‘I assumed that things occurred... of a marital nature.’ He gave Eadmund a hearty dig in his aching ribs.

‘Ha!’ Eadmund scoffed, grimacing as he paused outside the doors of the hall. He dropped his voice, peering around. ‘The only marital things that occurred were a nagging wife and a bored husband, who went their separate ways very quickly. No need to nudge me about that.’ He pulled on one of the hall’s enormous doors and disappeared inside, desperate for a drink.

‘Oh,’ Thorgils sighed, catching the door just before it closed. He had hoped Eadmund’s sudden turnaround was because things with Jael had entered a very necessary phase.

‘Do you need some help there, old man?’ Jael wondered, walking up to Thorgils as he dawdled in front of the open door, Ido and Vella impatiently jumping up his legs.

Smiling in surprise, he ushered Jael and the puppies inside. ‘So, you abandoned me for our ride today?’ Thorgils attempted to look hurt as he followed her through the hall, brushing the snow out of his beard. ‘Poor Leada. Poor me! I was left having to train with those useless fools all morning.’ He nodded towards Eadmund and Torstan, who were standing in front of a well-stoked fire, laughing with a few other men.

‘Who?’ she wondered, only half listening, distracted by thoughts of finding Eydis. ‘You don’t mean, Eadmund?’

‘I do, actually,’ Thorgils murmured. ‘He picked up a sword. First time in, I think, maybe five years. Maybe longer.’

‘He did?’ Jael stared at Eadmund in surprise. He certainly did look brighter, somehow; his face appeared flushed with something other than ale. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that; annoyed probably. Most of her was still hoping he would die and set her free quickly, but still, there was a small, very small part of her that felt sorry for him, and that very small part smiled.

‘He did!’ Thorgils laughed happily as he squatted down to give some attention to the wiggling puppies. ‘I never thought I’d see that again.’

‘Well, maybe he’s been inspired to enter the contest,’ she grinned half-heartedly. ‘That might ruin your plans for defeating certain people.’ She glanced around, but there was no sign of Tarak. ‘Ido, Vella, come, come,’ Jael clicked her tongue, and the puppies ignored her completely.

There were a few chortles from the fireside group. Jael shot them a stern, silencing look.

Thorgils, though, wasn’t so shy. ‘How long has it been since you had a dog?’ he wondered.

‘Why?’

‘Well, you have to command their respect, show them that you’re the leader of their pack, not one of their pack.’ He stood up, wincing at the aches in his well-worked muscles. ‘So far, I think, they like you, but they’re not following you, so you need to show them that you’re in charge.’

Jael didn’t want to stand about discussing the best way to train puppies; she wanted to find Eydis. ‘Well, how about you come and help me do that tomorrow? Show me all your dog skills before we go for a ride. Not too early, though. Mid-morning will be fine.’ And with that she stalked off, the puppies deciding, at last, to follow her.

Thorgils laughed as he watched her go. She was like a bolt of lightning, that one, he thought to himself; it was very hard not to admire her spirit.

Jael wandered to the end of the hall, peering about, wondering if Eydis was lurking in the dark shadows somewhere. She was just about to head through to the bedchambers, which were curtained off from the main part of the hall, when Morac stepped in front of her.

‘Are you looking for someone?’ he asked coolly, his voice sliding down her spine like a sliver of ice.

Vella sat back on her heels, growling low and menacingly. Jael was surprised by that. Pleased too; she didn’t stop her. ‘I was looking for Eydis,’ she replied, with an even smile. ‘I’ve brought the puppies to visit her.’

Morac eyed Vella crossly. ‘Eydis is in her room, I believe. Do you know the way?’

‘I do, thank you,’ Jael smiled again, hoping to unsettle the uptight man. She slipped past him, behind the thick, green curtain.

Eydis was sitting on her bed, playing with a collection of wooden dolls, when Jael knocked. She could hear and smell the puppies. ‘Come in, Jael!’ she called happily.

Ido and Vella raced in, pouncing on their old friend, Eydis, whose smell they knew well. They were just as pleased to see her as she was them.

‘I’m so glad you’ve come!’ Eydis’ eyes sparkled merrily. ‘I’ve been hoping you would bring the puppies to visit. I’ve missed them terribly.’

Jael grabbed a small stool from a corner of the room and came to sit in front of the bed. ‘I’m happy to bring them whenever you like,’ she said softly. ‘You can even look after them for me when they are getting under my feet too much, or, I should say, under Biddy’s feet.’

‘Who’s Biddy?’ Eydis wondered, lifting each puppy onto the bed in turn.

‘My servant,’ Jael said. ‘She came with me from Brekka. I suppose she is my friend too. She’s been taking care of me since I was born.’

‘And you only suppose she’s your friend?’ Eydis laughed with scolding eyes.

‘I’m not one for friends,’ Jael said slowly, thinking deeper on that. ‘I’ve only ever really had one friend.’

‘Well, that’s not so bad, as long as she is a good friend, then your life is richer, for sure. I don’t think I have any real friends at all, apart from Eadmund that is. Not many children want to play with a blind girl, even if she is the king’s daughter.’

Jael watched Eydis’ eyes fill with sadness. ‘Well, they sound like idiots if that is the case,’ she reassured her. ‘And no one needs an idiot for a friend.’

‘True,’ Eydis laughed as Ido nuzzled her cheek. ‘I’m very glad you brought me such wonderful company, but I think there is more on your mind than pleasing me.’

‘You do?’ Jael squirmed, still trying to decide how to approach a young girl with such a serious problem.

‘I may be blind, but I see many things, and I hear a lot too. So what is wrong? Is it Eadmund?’

Jael couldn’t help but laugh. ‘No, no, that’s another conversation entirely. No, this is something that you may be able to help me with. I hope you can help me with it.’ She leaned forward, conscious of keeping her voice low in case Morac had decided to stay and listen outside the door.

Jael told Eydis all about Edela’s warning, Evaine’s face, the symbols, everything she could remember from her dream. Eydis’ eyes were wide as she listened, her body still, her hands tense in her lap.

‘Oh,’ was all she could say when Jael had finished. A long sigh escaped her small body. ‘Oh.’

Jael frowned, worried that she had upset her. ‘Are you alright, Eydis?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ she insisted, shaking her head. ‘I’m just cross that I hadn’t seen those things myself. Eadmund has been following Evaine around for the last year or so, I know that. I always thought something about her was so troubling. Now I know I was right, but why didn’t I see the truth of it?’ She was deeply puzzled.

‘You’re only young,’ Jael insisted. ‘Your gift will grow as your body does. I’m no expert, but it may be that you are only shown those things you can do something about. And if what Edela saw is true, there was nothing you could do, not on your own. Not without someone here to help you.’

‘Perhaps,’ Eydis murmured thoughtfully. ‘But I could have spoken with my father. Had her removed from Oss.’

Jael looked doubtful. ‘You may have had a hard job convincing him of that, with her father being his friend. And at least this way we can get rid of her together, if that is what we need to do.’

‘It sounds as though that is most definitely what we need to do,’ Eydis said firmly, her body shaking with determination. ‘I am going to put my mind to it tonight. I’m going to tell myself to dream on it. It may work.’

‘Well, good, you should certainly do that, but we must try to find those symbols Edela wanted me tattooed with. Perhaps you should have them as well, if your father would allow it?’

‘There’s no need for that,’ Eydis smiled as she pulled back the sleeve of her yellow, woollen dress. It was loose and rolled easily, all the way up to her shoulder, revealing a small, blue tattoo.

Jael recognised it immediately, her eyes gleaming. ‘That’s it! One of the symbols from my dream!’ She was incredulous. ‘And do you have the other?’

‘Yes, I do!’ And a triumphant Eydis rolled up her other sleeve.

It was, without question, the other symbol from the painted stones.

‘Why do you have them? Who put them on you?’ Jael wondered, distractedly picking up Vella, who was trying to jump off the bed.

Eydis’ eyes were momentarily troubled. ‘My mother. She was from Tuura. She saw her death coming. She knew that she would leave me, so she made my father promise her two things. That when I was 10-years-old, he would have the symbols tattooed on me. She gave him two stones, with the symbols painted on them, just like in your dream, for him to keep safe. And on my tenth birthday, my father did as he promised. He wanted to keep me safe. He didn’t want to lose me as he had lost her, so he went along with it.’

‘And what was the other thing?’ Jael wondered.

‘He was to send me to Tuura, two years later, to start my training. So that I could learn more about my dreams, how to truly be a dreamer, like your grandmother. Father promised he would, but then he changed his mind. The loss of her was too much for him, I suppose,’ she sighed. ‘Every woman that he has loved, you see, has died, has been taken from him too soon. Even his own mother. So he won’t lose me. He doesn’t trust Tuurans. He won’t take me there.’

Jael shuddered. Memories of her last visit to Tuura flittered briefly past her eyes; she blinked them away. ‘Well then, we need to find someone to tattoo me,’ Jael said, plonking Vella down on the furs and standing up.

‘Entorp can do it,’ Eydis suggested, but Jael looked at her blankly. ‘Entorp! He married you and Eadmund, don’t you remember? He’s from Tuura. He left to come here with my mother. He was her friend,’ she smiled. ‘He did mine. I will take you!’ Eydis hopped off the bed and felt her way over to the door, where her cloak was hanging.

‘The snow is quite heavy out there now,’ Jael warned.

‘I’ve lived on Oss my whole life, Jael. It’s usually snowing quite heavily!’ And smiling sweetly, Eydis slipped her fur neckwarmer over her cloak, pulled on her gloves and stood ready to go.

Jael could see the determination shining out of that sweet, little face, and realised that there was not much she could do to dissuade her. She had invited Eydis into her confidence, and now it was her job to ensure that she remained safe.

* * *

Runa sat by the fire, a pale blue, woollen dress draped over her knees; thread and needle in hand. She was alone, apart from their house servant, embroidering delicate white flowers onto the dress. The dress was for Evaine, who had insisted the flowers be added; not that she needed another dress, Runa thought irritably. But Morac liked to indulge her and would regularly buy bolts of luxurious cloth from the merchants who travelled around the islands, to be made into equally luxurious garments. Not for Runa; there never seemed to be enough cloth left over for her. She frowned, a rare show of resentment clouding her sad face; there were many reasons to despise the girl.

‘It’s so heavy out there!’ Evaine exclaimed as she rushed into the room, covered in melting snow. ‘There will certainly be a storm tonight. The wind is getting so loud!’

Runa looked up briefly, trying to wish away the dark feeling that settled in her chest every time her daughter was near. If only Morac saw the wisdom in marrying Evaine off. Now that Eadmund was married, it was something that she would have to raise again.

‘Mother?’ Evaine looked annoyed by the lack of attention. Her mother had quickly returned to her embroidery, barely acknowledging her arrival. ‘Didn’t you hear me?’

‘I heard you, of course,’ Runa sighed. ‘And I agree. I’ve been listening to the wind picking up for a while now. I shall have to ask Alfar to check on the house, make sure everything is secure before nightfall.’

Evaine looked resolved to suffer her mother’s lack of interest as she removed her wet cloak and furs, and handed them to the servant.

‘Where’s Father?’ she asked coldly, coming to sit by the fire.

‘Still at the hall as far as I’m aware.’ Runa didn’t look up.

‘Is he now...?’ Evaine mused, staring at her mother’s greying head. ‘Perhaps I should go and get him, make sure he is back before the storm strikes? He should look over the house, too. We can’t trust Alfar to do it alone. He’s so old now. I’d be surprised if he can even see out there.’

Runa looked up, suspicion creasing the corners of her gentle blue eyes. ‘Why should you need to get your father?’ she wondered, peering at Evaine’s scheming face. ‘I’m sure he will come when he is ready. Perhaps he will stay the night in the hall? You know how Eirik likes his company.’

‘And leave us to the storm?’ Evaine stood up. ‘No, I think I should go and fetch him home.’

‘Evaine,’ Runa said firmly, and placing her needle on top of the dress and moving it to one side, she rose. ‘If you go to the hall you will put your father in a very awkward position. Do you wish to be banished, as Fyn was?’ She looked ready to cry at just the sound of her poor boy’s name.

‘Fyn?’ Evaine snorted. ‘How is me going to the hall anything like Fyn? How is it something to be banished for?’

‘Because Eirik has threatened your father. He knows of your friendship with Eadmund, and he has promised to get rid of you if he even sees you near him. That would shame your father greatly. To have both his children banished by the king? I’m not sure how he could continue here. He would be humiliated.’ Runa looked at her daughter pleadingly, hoping that some sense would enter her Eadmund-addled mind. ‘And I for one believe him. After all, look at what he did to Fyn.’

Evaine screwed up her nose, pushing her hands tightly into the sides of her green, woollen dress. Her body twitched distractedly, her eyes darkening with a slowly brewing storm. ‘Fine.’ She sat down, squeezing her fingers together repeatedly, staring at the floor, thoughts racing desperately around her head. Being banished would not help her get rid of Jael. Being taken away from Eadmund would only open the door for him to fall in love with her. And no matter what her aunt had warned her, she was not going to let that happen.

* * *

It turned out that the ritual of Tuuran tattooing was as much about the ink, and the position of the moon, as it was about the symbols themselves. Entorp had eagerly enlightened her on that point when Eydis had explained Jael’s situation. He had not looked well, though, plagued as he was with a bone-rattling cough. She hoped he would still be alive in 14 days time, when apparently all factors would come together to create the most portentous time. It really was a very bad cough, and it was a long time to wait, Jael thought. She would have to make sure she remained alert.

The storm that had been threatening all day had finally descended upon Oss, and after taking Eydis back to the hall, Jael was keen to get home before it blew her away. She had a puppy tucked under each arm to avoid losing them in the blizzard, and neither of them were enjoying the containment. Her cloak was streaming so far behind her in the wind that she worried it would detach itself entirely. She couldn’t see anything at all, just a white wall that was blowing itself horizontally into her face.

Her first clue that someone was approaching was the rumbling of Vella’s furry belly. Jael stopped and waited, watching a shadow emerge from the whiteness. Her sword hung at her waist, and she wanted to allow herself enough time to drop the puppies safely and unsheath it before the threat was upon her. She waited, and the shadow took shape as it came forwards. Vella’s growl moved from her belly to her throat now, and Ido joined in.

It was Tiras.

‘Are you lost, my lady?’ he asked in that hissing voice she found so repellent. He held his hood open just enough for her to see his snow-dusted, beady eyes. Locating the source of the growling noise, he stepped back, disconcerted.

Jael was pleased to see that he didn’t like dogs. Naturally. And they didn’t appear to like him either. ‘Lost? Hopefully not. Why? Are you offering me your assistance?’

‘I assumed you would be looking for your husband, and I know for certain that he’s not in that direction,’ he sneered. She couldn’t see his smile, the snow was too thick, but she knew it would be there; he had a full set of brown-stained teeth that he liked to show off.

‘No, you’re right, he is in the hall, with his friends. Perhaps you should go and join them? It must be so lonely for you here without anyone to conspire with.’

‘Oh, I am keeping very busy,’ he assured her. ‘Very busy indeed.’ And with a curt bow, he dropped his hood back over his face and slid back into the storm.

Jael stared after him. He was going to cause trouble. Eventually. He was definitely going to cause trouble.

18

Eadmund couldn’t feel his fingers. His hands were swollen from days of continuously holding a sword. He had almost convinced himself to give up after every fight, but somehow he kept going. Thorgils had reminded him that his fingers would harden soon; that the hilt would feel part of his hand again. But they were only using wooden swords, and he was struggling with their gentle contours, let alone the grip of an iron-heavy sword with no such sympathy.

He sighed heavily, feeling his resolve to get up disappearing amongst the grim rays of light that were straining in through the smoke hole. Perhaps today he would rest? His body wasn’t used to this much physical punishment. Thorgils and Torstan had been making a fool of him for days; he’d been ignoring Evaine every night, and not paying much attention to his ale either. Perhaps today he would stay indoors, avoid a humiliating beating, and wrap himself up in Evaine’s warm body for a while? That would make her happy.

The urge for a drink started pulsing through his veins. Eadmund realised he was going to have to move if he was to reach the jug of ale on his kitchen shelf; next time he must remember to leave it by the bed.

Groaning loudly, he crawled out from under the furs and creaked his way quickly across the room. The fire was completely lifeless, and his breath smoke was thick. Not bothering to find a cup, he tipped the jug into his mouth and was completely devastated to find that it was empty; not even a drip would fall onto his parched tongue.

Eadmund banged the jug onto the table in annoyance and looked around for his cloak. He’d need some supplies if he was going to spend the day in this icebox.

‘Eadmund!’

Eadmund froze, his shoulders sagging at the sound of that voice.

‘Are you dead in there, or just dead drunk?’ Thorgils yelled through the door. ‘Come on, come on! My balls are shrivelling up out here! We need to get training quickly, or I will never be able to father a child!’

Eadmund said nothing, still thinking he had a choice to make, but it was Thorgils, so there really was no choice. He sighed and reached for his cloak, cracking his neck from side to side and grimacing morbidly.

* * *

It was a clear enough morning; the wind merely a stiff breeze. Jael leaned over the railings of the Pit, watching Torstan and Eadmund tiptoe around each other in the cleared enclosure. Thorgils stood next to her, barracking them with loud insults.

‘They’re taking it rather easy,’ Jael observed.

Thorgils eyed her. ‘Oh says you, who isn’t doing any training for the contest at all.’

‘I’m doing some,’ Jael said slyly.

‘With who? Where?’ Thorgils wondered.

‘With Fyn, actually,’ Jael whispered. ‘I’ve been training with him every morning for a week or so.’

‘What?!’ Thorgils boomed in surprise, his voice so loud that both Torstan and Eadmund stopped, their swords in mid-air. Thorgils waved them on. ‘You have? Why?’

‘Because he should know how to fight. Because he’s all alone out there. Because I have nothing better to do. It helps keep me busy.’

‘Nothing better to do? Except train for a big fight or a lot of them, depending on how well you do,’ he insisted. ‘That is the whole point of the contest, for everyone to practice, to get as strong and sharp as possible. Any who aren’t will just make fools of themselves, at best. At worst, they’ll damage their reputation, especially if they end up in the muck, with Tarak on their back.’ He laughed, as Eadmund toppled over his own feet into the snow. ‘Ha! Like that one there!’ He gestured for Eadmund to come out. ‘I think your turn is over, my friend,’ he chortled, picking up his sword and shield. ‘Perhaps it’s that you just feel more comfortable playing swords with a simple boy who can’t fight back?’

Thorgils slipped between the rails and into the Pit, beating his sword on his shield. Pointing it in Jael’s direction, he issued her a challenge with his bushy eyebrows.

That big, cocky, red-headed tree, she thought to herself. And her desire to keep everything so tightly controlled was finally undone by a much stronger desire to wipe that stupid smile off Thorgils’ face. If he wanted a fight so badly, perhaps it was time she gave him one?

Hanging her cloak and sword-belt over the rail, Jael climbed into the Pit. Eadmund looked surprised as he passed her on his way out. She reached out for his sword and shield, without even looking at him; her eyes were firmly fixed on Thorgils.

‘Good luck,’ he croaked, handing them over, almost too tired to speak. ‘He won’t take it easy on you.’

Jael liked the sound of that.

* * *

Gisila wrung her hands, over and over. She said nothing as she stared anxiously at her mother, but her expression told many tales.

‘I’m sorry that it is not what you wish to hear,’ Edela soothed. ‘But often my dreams reveal an unappealing truth. Just ask Jael.’

Gisila couldn’t even offer a hint of a smile at that. ‘So, what do you suggest I say to Lothar then?’

‘Well, what can you say but yes,’ Edela offered. ‘He will not be satisfied with any other answer, will he? He wants you as his next wife, so unless he drops dead, it will certainly happen. You cannot turn down a king. And you won’t. Not if my dreams are any indication.’

Edela felt sorry for Gisila, whose face paled, her swollen eyes blinking back tears. And who could blame her? Lothar was a vile lump of slime that she wouldn’t wish on an enemy, let alone her eldest daughter.

Gisila sighed despairingly. ‘Well then, let’s not talk about it again, and certainly don’t mention it to Axl or Aleksander. Axl will be wild at me for even considering such a thing.’

‘Of course he will, he’s wild about everything these days,’ Edela said thoughtfully as she sipped on a warming cup of rosehip tea. ‘He wants what he thinks was his, and he’s going to wrap himself up in a lot of trouble trying to get it too.’

‘Will he?’

‘Of course. You don’t need to be a dreamer to see that in his future,’ she said smartly. ‘Besides, Aleksander told me about the boys Axl is friendly with, what sort of ideas they are putting into his head. Without Jael here to keep him in line, he is going to find himself in real danger soon.’

‘So, me marrying Lothar could actually help Axl?’ Gisila suggested, mostly to convince herself. ‘If he were to get into trouble, I would have much more influence over Lothar.’ She mulled that over, still wringing her hands.

It was early in the afternoon, and the light was generous inside Edela’s cottage. Jael wouldn’t have recognised it, Edela thought to herself. It was bright and clean, well organised and fresh smelling. Aleksander had sorted through her shelves, moved her furniture, dusted and cleaned every surface, thrown out all the old floor reeds, and replaced them with freshly scented ones. He’d even taken out all her furs and given them a good beating. Edela was certainly grateful for it. She was feeling older by the day, and the number of tasks she was able to complete on her own was diminishing.

Aleksander had insisted upon moving his things in to take care of her while she recovered her strength. She was considerably weaker after the dream walk, and although she didn’t truly need that much help, his presence had become a real comfort. And she could see the direction and friendship that it was giving him in return. He had even started to eat regularly, which had been an easy habit to rediscover once he began cooking for Edela.

‘Mother?’

Edela blinked. She hadn’t been listening at all.

‘Have you had any dreams about Jael? Any clues as to how things are on Oss with that feral husband of hers?’

‘I’ve had one or two,’ Edela said carefully. ‘But nothing of any significance that I can share.’

Gisila raised one eyebrow but knew better than to prod any further; her mother only ever revealed what she wanted to. ‘No doubt she has just hidden away from them all, waiting for Eadmund to drink himself to death,’ Gisila shuddered. ‘I think that’s what I’d do.’

‘I don’t think Jael’s ever been the type of person to hide from anything or anyone,’ Edela suggested with a smile. ‘Do you?’

* * *

Eirik couldn’t help but laugh as Eydis struggled to tell him an awful joke. She’d whispered it into his ear, too shy to think someone would overhear. It had been passed on to her by Eadmund and was ridiculous, but her delight in it made his cheeks hurt with happiness. She giggled uncontrollably next to him, then stilled suddenly, hearing a commotion at the door.

Eirik turned to follow her distracted gaze. One of his men, Eadon, had rushed into the hall, straight up to the dais.

‘What is it?’ Eirik stood up at once, concerned.

‘My lord, it’s Jael!’ Eadon announced loudly, slightly out of breath. ‘She’s in the Pit, fighting Thorgils!’

Eirik turned to Eydis, excitement in his eyes, and grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll get your cloak, Eydis, we must see this!’ And he snatched his own cloak off the back of his chair.

They were quickly joined by the rest of the hall, as everyone rushed to catch a glimpse of the fight.

* * *

‘So, before we begin, Jael,’ Thorgils bellowed, more to the gathering crowd than to her. ‘Are there any places on your womanly self that you would prefer me not to hit?’

There were jeers and whistles at that, mostly from the men. Thorgils strutted about, smiling at his appreciative audience, basking in all their attention. The railings around the Pit were full with curious Osslanders now. All other groups had cleared out, and it was only Jael and Thorgils inside the whole enclosure.

Jael’s face was impassive, stern even, as she considered his question. ‘Well yes, thank you for asking,’ she said, just as loudly and theatrically, walking up to Thorgils, her sword extended out in front of her. ‘I would very much appreciate it if you did not hit me here.’ She touched her sword to Thorgils’ left nipple. ‘And here.’ She moved the sword to his right nipple.

There was much hollering then; the Pit ringing with raucous laughter at the look on Thorgils’ face. ‘And whatever you do, please don’t ever hit me here.’ Jael gritted her teeth, swung her leg back and kicked him as hard as she could, between the legs.

Thorgils uttered a pitiful, high-pitched sound and plummeted headfirst into the muddy slush. The crowd sucked in its breath, teeth bared, as they shared in Thorgils’ discomfort. Then, as he started to groan and move gingerly about on the ground, the cheers started again, and laughter followed.

Jael walked off to one corner of the Pit as she waited for Thorgils to recover. She remembered all the times she had trained with Aleksander; thousands of times. He knew her so well that it was almost impossible to surprise him, but Thorgils knew nothing of her or her fighting style. She was keen to sit back and learn about him, to see if she could draw him out.

‘So, that’s your game, is it?’ he coughed, finding his voice again, trying to shake off the aching in his balls, and the sick feeling in his stomach. She had a kick on her that he’d have to watch. ‘Kick a man in the balls, and the fight is done? Well, I’m afraid you haven’t met balls like these before, Jael Skalleson!’ he called. ‘They are iron-tough and super-smooth. Just ask any of these lovely ladies who’ve had the pleasure of sucking on them!’

She didn’t even flinch as the crowd roared with laughter and Eirik covered Eydis’ ears. Jael stayed where she was, breathing quietly, and fixing Thorgils with a blank stare.

He paced around in front of her, still playing up to the crowd.

‘Ahhh, so now that you’ve realised how strong my balls are, you’re going to stand back and let me run around you like a pecking chicken?’ He made to walk like a chicken, and the crowd laughed along with him.

Jael said nothing. Her mouth was set in a straight line that betrayed no emotion. He’s right, she thought, I am going to make him run around me; he just doesn’t know it yet. She saw her father’s smile in that idea; it had been one of the first things he had ever taught her. So she waited. And watched.

Thorgils could sense the crowd’s patience slowly wavering. They wanted to see some action now, not just listen to his witty barbs. Apart from his hammering in the balls, there had been nothing to watch, and Jael looked uninterested in even starting to fight. Was she worried he was going to humiliate her? Hurt her? His mind started whispering so loudly that he found himself unsettled, uncertain how to move forwards. He shook his head, walking from side to side, talking some hard sense to himself.

Thorgils looked across and saw Eirik then, with Eydis, and realised what a difficult position his big mouth had gotten him into. If he were to hurt or humiliate Jael, Eirik would not be forgiving. But if he were to do nothing and have her humiliate him – he couldn’t help but glance at Tarak, who was watching on curiously – then it would be his reputation tarnished.

And still, Jael did nothing.

The air was bitter, but Thorgils was sweating now. The crowd were no longer tolerant; they called out for him to do something, to make her fight. His shoulder blades tightened, his groin jiggled moistly in his woollen trousers. He felt itchy all over as he continued to walk around, crossing in front of Jael, from one side to the other and back again. His face twisted anxiously, worried and cross. His palms felt sweaty, and he loosened his grip on his shield.

And that was when Jael came.

She flew at Thorgils with such pace that he managed to get his shield up on instinct alone. He staggered backwards, almost slipping over on a small patch of snow. Jael slashed quickly, taking him in the torso, on his right arm, down at his left hip. He chased her sword with his shield as swiftly as he could, always a step behind, feeling the sharp jab of her sword biting at his muscles. She lashed out with her shield, knocking the rim of his into his chin. Again, he almost lost his footing. It was all Jael; her eyes cold, hard, and fixed on him, her dark hair flying wildly behind her. Thorgils backed away, as quickly as he could, to recover.

And she let him.

There was silence around the Pit. A few mouths hung open. No one seemed to know what to say. Jael caught Eadmund’s eye, and he looked just as stunned as the rest of them. She could feel her ribs hurting, but didn’t cringe from that, or smile at her first victory. She walked left, then right, trying to let her breathing calm naturally. She was not in good shape, she realised; Aleksander would have had her on the ground by now.

Thorgils spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, rubbing his chin. There were a few cheers then. He frowned, not sure whether they were for or against him. His confidence was flapping in the wind, a tattered mess, but at least he had an idea about which way things were going to go if he didn’t get his head right. He lifted his shield up to the crowd, banging it with his sword in a bold show of intent. ‘I thought it only fair to let Jael have a turn. What sort of man would I be to deny a woman what she so desperately craves?’ He snuck a quick glance at Eirik and was happy to see him smiling. ‘Now, my lord, Eadmund, I’m sorry to say, but it’s time for me to show your wife what a true spanking looks like!’

He smiled with such confidence that everyone forgot what they had just witnessed and started cheering for him again. There were notable exceptions, of course, like Tarak, who hated Thorgils, and Eirik, who was supporting Jael. Eadmund remained quiet; he was unsure who he wanted to win.

‘You talk a lot,’ Jael observed, her expression not wavering as she glanced at the condition of the ground in front of her.

She turned her back on Thorgils and walked away. The crowd stilled, wondering what was coming now. Thorgils did too. This time he kept his grip firm on his shield, holding it high, just below his bruised chin, which was what Jael had been hoping he’d do.

When she’d walked far enough she turned, and taking a deep breath of freezing air into her lungs, she started running at him. There were gasps of surprise as she kept up her pace. Thorgils lifted his shield to protect himself, leaning slightly backwards for stability, frowning; he had no idea what she was planning now. Just before she reached Thorgils, Jael jumped, up onto his shield, lunging at him with her sword, catching him on the side of the neck, knocking him down to the ground. As shocked as he was, Thorgils recovered quickly and rolled away from any attempt Jael might have made to finish the fight then. He scrambled for his sword and shield, which he had dropped in the fall, and hurried to his feet. Jael followed.

They came together quickly, and there were no smiles anymore. Swords held in front, shields tight as they exchanged countless fast blows, blade to blade, meeting every challenge issued, shields banging and deflecting with ease and speed.

Thorgils jabbed Jael in the waist, and she jumped back as the force of that bit at her uncomfortably. He didn’t smile or pause to enjoy the victory of it, though; she could see that he had focused now, desperate to beat her, ignoring, for the moment, the worry that he wouldn’t.

Thorgils came at her with increasing force, giving her no respite, his stamina stronger than hers, and it was Jael’s turn to step back. Her feet were damp in her boots, her footing less steady now as she moved about, seeking firm ground. She was on the defence. He attacked her repeatedly, his powerful strokes flowing with ease. And she let him come, ducking underneath his blows, sweeping her sword around, catching the back of his legs.

He was much bigger than her and Jael knew she could turn that to her favour. She started stepping back, coolly, letting him come at her, again and again, until she was only defending, saving her energy, and keeping herself protected. He slashed at her repeatedly, but now that she was pulling back each time, he kept missing, his face pulsing with red-bearded fury.

He finally made contact with Jael’s shield, and it broke. She quickly threw away the shattered pieces, pushing her sword out in front of her body; it was her only defence now. He had tired himself out, she could see, while she had been pacing herself and now she could finish him off. He looked unsure what to do now that she had no shield. He was thinking too much again, worrying over the fact that she was a woman; Eirik’s prize, Eadmund’s wife. She could read his darting eyes. He might still have a shield, but she could sense that his mind was vulnerable.

Jael decided to end it quickly now; she was hungry and cold. Heaving in another deep breath, she spun around, unsettling Thorgils once more. He didn’t know which way to expect her to come at him. She used that to her advantage, aiming at his left, but, as he threw his sword and shield to counteract her move, she shifted her weight to the right and hit him straight in his exposed stomach. He groaned sharply and stumbled, and she rushed at him. His shield went up, but she’d hurt him, and his sword arm didn’t respond as quickly as he needed. She struck his thigh with force.

There were groans and gasps from the crowd as Jael continued her assault on Thorgils. She was on the front foot, coming at him again and again, her sword making contact with nearly every strike. Thorgils stumbled against the railings now, but as she lunged forwards, Jael caught Eadmund’s worried glance. She tried to shut it out, but for a moment, her focus blurred. She saw the fear in Thorgils’ eyes. Not the fear of being hurt, but the fear of humiliation. She had taken the advantage, she could finish it, and he could sense that. So could the crowd. Their cheering was whisper thin. Jael wasn’t one of theirs; they weren’t supporting her victory.

It was her turn to stumble as she lost her footing on a piece of slush. She tipped slightly sideways and off balance. Thorgils was at her quickly, using the advantage of his shield to butt her harshly to the ground. There was nothing she could do but fall, and although she still had her sword, Thorgils brought his hefty foot down on her arm in one quick move, his sword at her throat.

Fight over.

Cheers rang out and Thorgils, breathing more heavily than he could remember, rolled his eyes in relief. He looked down at Jael, lying on her back in the dirt and felt the pleasure of his victory settle sweetly into his chest. He reached down and pulled her up. She frowned at him, uninjured, he was pleased to see.

‘Well done,’ was all she could say before Thorgils’ friends invaded the Pit and started the back-clapping celebrations.

Jael stepped away from the crowd and took a deep breath.

‘That was very kind of you.’

Tarak had crept up behind her.

Jael froze, surprised by his comment. ‘Kind?’

Tarak leaned in closely, his sour breath warm in her ear. She flinched. ‘Letting him win like that,’ he rasped.

Jael turned around, desperate to escape his closeness. ‘Letting him?’ she hissed. ‘I fell, he won. There was no letting.’

Tarak just smiled, not taking his eyes off her, and walked away.

* * *

It hadn’t been so awful to fight Thorgils, Jael decided as she watched him celebrate with his friends. He kept looking over at her as she sat quietly at the high table with Eirik, Eydis, and Morac, raising his cup to her, regularly motioning for her to join them. But she shook her head each time; she wasn’t a bad loser, but she didn’t feel like celebrating.

‘So, do you think he has a chance of beating Tarak?’ Eirik wondered as he followed Jael’s gaze.

‘Thorgils?’ she grimaced as she turned towards him, her side aching from one of Thorgils’ shots. ‘None at all.’

‘Ha! That’s not very generous of you,’ Eirik snorted.

‘I wouldn’t put my coin on him beating Tarak,’ she whispered firmly. ‘If that’s what you want to know. Not today, but perhaps I’ll help him, and then he may have more of a chance.’

Eirik couldn’t help but laugh again. ‘But he beat you!’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ she smiled, wryly. ‘He did.’

Thorgils had staggered up to their table now, tired of her shaking head. ‘Come on, Jael, come and share a drink with me. After that fight? That was some fight we had, you and I!’ he slurred into her face. ‘Come, come on!’

Jael smiled reluctantly at his red-faced happiness. ‘Alright, just one, just for a moment. I can only stand listening to you tell the story of your victory one more time!’ And she stood up, wincing slightly at the ache in her legs.

Eadmund was draining his cup with vigour as Jael stepped into the tight little circle of friends. He looked surprised and uncomfortable to see her, his easy smile quickly replaced by a tense frown. He stood up straighter, wiping his hand roughly over his beard.

‘Do you know everyone here?’ Thorgils wondered, handing Jael a cup of ale. ‘I imagine not. Well, Torstan, of course. Eadmund? Perhaps not...’ He laughed at his own joke, but neither Jael nor Eadmund joined in. ‘Then we have Erland, Klaufi, and Orvar, three pieces of shit we’ve known since we were hairless boys. And all still standing!’ All five men raised their cups to Thorgils with a smile.

Jael nodded briefly at the three new faces, trying to avoid Eadmund’s eyes. He wasn’t as drunk as usual, not even swaying, and her awareness of that made her slightly irritable. She didn’t want to do anything to encourage him to her bed. Not tonight. Not ever. It was unavoidable, of course, she knew that, but she was happy to keep living this deluded existence a while longer.

‘So,’ Thorgils smiled, leaning down to her ear. ‘I beat you then.’

Jael laughed at the pure, drunken pleasure that painted his beaming face. ‘Yes, you did.’

‘So now, I think you must agree that I have a good chance against...’ he looked around, still retaining enough wits to keep his volume measured, ‘...Tarak.’

‘Well...’ Jael looked unconvinced. ‘I’d say no. No chance.’

Thorgils almost fell over backwards. ‘What?!’ he roared, then laughed loudly, a deep chuckle bubbling out of his throat. ‘I didn’t pick you for a bad loser, Jael, nor a foolish one!’

‘I think you could have a chance if I were to help you. I could train with you, teach you some ways to improve.’

‘You? Who were just beaten by me? Help me?’ Thorgils eyes rolled wildly at her as he chewed on that, confused. He fixed her with a wobbly stare, then leaned in, throwing waves of ale towards her face, his expression lightening suddenly. ‘Yes, you know, I think that is a very good plan actually. I have no idea how you did some of those things out there, and as for what you did to this,’ he tapped the side of his head, ‘that is something I do need to know. So yes... let’s do that then. Let’s be a team. The team,’ he whispered, placing one arm around her shoulder and breathing into her ear, ‘who will destroy Tarak Soren.’

Jael smiled, accidentally catching Eadmund’s eye. He didn’t look away and for some reason, neither did she, and she felt her stomach flip. The sensation was so unexpected that Jael almost bit her tongue. She swallowed and finally dragged her eyes away, staring into her cup. She took a quick drink, thinking that it was time she left. But Thorgils had slipped away to talk with the men whose names she’d already forgotten and Eadmund moved in to speak with her.

Eadmund wasn’t drunk; he’d had a few cups of ale, but his feet were steady, and his head felt clear as he stepped towards Jael. He didn’t know why he felt compelled to talk to her. Perhaps it was that his father was watching him? Perhaps it was the look he’d seen on her face during the fight when she’d slipped? It hadn’t been a look of surprise; he’d been sober enough to notice that, clear-headed enough to see what she had done. Something in that moment had given him a feeling that wasn’t dislike, or fear, or even disgust. He’d finally witnessed a person behind those scowling eyes; the person he was married to.

‘Are you going to train with us, then?’ he asked quietly.

‘With you?’ Jael was surprised. ‘Are you training? I didn’t realise.’ She looked him over doubtfully, and most of Eadmund’s loosely-put-together confidence dissolved.

‘What did you think I was doing in the Pit every day?’

‘I wasn’t sure,’ she smiled. ‘Finding a new place to sleep? Every time I saw you, you were lying face down in the mud.’

Eadmund saw humour lurking in the corners of her eyes and he relaxed. ‘Well, it has been a long time. So yes, mostly I have been lying in the mud. But it’s a start.’

Jael had no choice but to look at him now. He was quite close to her, having been bumped forwards by Thorgils, who was gesticulating madly behind him. ‘Well, that’s a good thing, to make a start. Now you just have to keep going. Less drinking and more fighting.’

‘Maybe,’ Eadmund muttered, suddenly anxious. ‘Maybe on both counts. I’m not sure I’m ready for either of those suggestions. All I know is that if I can get up and get into that Pit each morning, there’s a chance.’

His face looked so much better, she thought; less bloated. He was still fat, of course, a week of being chased around by Thorgils and Torstan wasn’t going to shed much of that, but overall he seemed more alive. His eyes were focused on her, almost alert.

Eadmund’s attention suddenly made Jael feel very awkward. She swallowed, draining her cup, and excused herself quickly.

‘I will see you in the Pit tomorrow!’ Thorgils called after her as she slipped through the crowds and up to the table where she had left her cloak.

‘You’re leaving?’ Eydis wondered. ‘I don’t blame you. They will be drinking for hours yet!’ She rolled her eyes in the way a young girl does when she thinks about something revolting; usually boys.

‘I know,’ Jael yawned, wrapping her cloak around her shoulders. ‘But I will come and visit you tomorrow, Eydis, and we can go walking together. Goodnight.’

Eydis looked pleased.

Eirik looked surprised. She was an unusual creature, he thought to himself. And hopefully a fertile one. He watched as she moved through the crowd. There were a few cheers after her, a few goodbyes, a small show of affection that had not been there before. And who could blame them? She had put on some show in the Pit. What a fighter, he smiled. Why had Lothar been foolish enough to let her go? Well, perhaps there was the answer, he surmised: Lothar was a fool.

As Jael hurried to escape the hall, Eirik looked for Eadmund, who was still there, talking to his friends, but his head had turned in the direction of the door, staring after his wife.

* * *

The bed was freezing. Jael had thrown both puppies under the furs with her in a desperate attempt to warm herself up, but they had wriggled out as soon as she’d let them go, preferring to lie on top, and, in Vella’s case, as far away from her as possible.

Jael thought of Aleksander and Edela. She worried about Axl. She wanted to sink into another dream where she could speak to her grandmother again. She sighed and let her mind wander back there, to familiar thoughts of home; comforting smells and faces, rooms and touches. But her mind wouldn’t let her twist away from Eadmund for long. He kept coming up. She saw his face at every turn; annoyingly, frustratingly.

Jael opened her eyes and frowned. She tried to think on the fight instead. Her body ached, and from experience, she knew that the aches and pains would only intensify tomorrow. She thought of Thorgils, and of the slip that had gifted him victory. Hopefully, it was only Tarak who had seen that she had done it on purpose. Jael didn’t regret it. She’d had her fun, and beating Thorgils would have meant nothing to her; no one would have cheered for her. Well, maybe Eirik, or Eydis, maybe Fyn, when she told him the tale, but no one else. She was a stranger to them, and an awkward one at that, she knew. Thorgils’ win held much more value to him, to all of them. Perhaps one day they would cheer her on, and if that day came, perhaps she would care enough to win?

Jael shook that thought away quickly; what was she thinking? Thinking about Oss and its people as though she wanted them to like her, as though she wanted to belong? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember Andala. But Andala without Ranuf had felt like living with strangers; strangers who had betrayed her family. It was proving harder to remember that place with any warmth now, as much as she wanted to. Except for Aleksander. Her eyes relaxed as she saw his face, and all the tension in her body started to ease away. If only she could hear his voice and listen to him laugh at how soft she was becoming. He knew her better than all of them. She sighed, her body unwinding further.

Eadmund’s face suddenly jumped into her mind again. Groaning loudly, she rolled over and put the pillow over her head.

19

Eydis looked out of sorts, Jael thought, as they walked briskly along the snow-covered street. Snow had been falling steadily all afternoon, and no one had been out to clear it yet. Jael couldn’t blame anyone for not wanting to be outside. It was mean-spirited weather, weather only the truly hardy could enjoy. And she was not one of them.

She gripped Eydis’ hand tightly as they walked towards a huddle of large men. They nodded at Jael as she passed, their smiles visible underneath low-drawn hoods; that was new, she thought, as they hurried on towards Entorp’s house. It was time for her tattooing and Jael was not looking forward to it. She had her head down, distracted by thoughts of tattoos and Evaine, and completely failed to notice that Evaine was actually heading straight for them.

‘Jael!’ Eydis squeezed her hand urgently, and Jael’s eyes came up just in time to avoid a crash.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ Evaine straightened up, pulling back her white hood to reveal pink cheeks and innocent eyes. ‘I was so busy trying to hide from the snow that I didn’t see you coming!’

Jael was unsure how to respond to this girl, who she was on her way to protect herself from. Despite Evaine’s childlike appearance, her right hand was itching to slip inside her cloak and rest on her sword.

‘Nobody’s fault but the weather’s,’ Jael said shortly.

But that didn’t send Evaine on her way.

‘And how are you, dear Eydis? I haven’t spoken to you in so long!’ Evaine smiled serenely at the little girl, who gripped Jael’s hand tightly.

Eydis frowned and didn’t say a word.

Jael was pleased to see that it unsettled Evaine. ‘Eydis is unwell today,’ she explained. ‘I thought some cold air might help, but the snow is so bad, we may as well give up.’

Evaine turned her gaze towards Jael. ‘Well, there is always plenty of cold air on Oss, isn’t there Eydis? Cold air and darkness. Especially at this time of year. Nothing but darkness it seems, surrounding us all.’ She stared serenely at both Jael and Eydis, whose very hearts froze at her words.

‘But the darkness won’t last,’ Jael said firmly, her eyes narrowing. ‘Spring will be here before long. Now, I must get Eydis walking before she freezes to the street. Goodbye.’

They left quickly, both feeling even colder than before.

When they reached Entorp’s door, Jael turned to Eydis. ‘Are you alright?’ You haven’t said a word since we left the hall, nor since we bumped into her.’

Eydis turned her head towards her feet. It was snowing heavily now, but Jael didn’t want to go into Entorp’s if Eydis had something important on her mind. There was a lean-to shelter on the other side of the street that appeared unoccupied, so Jael grabbed Eydis’ hand and dragged her across to it.

‘Where are we going?’ Eydis protested. ‘Entorp is expecting us!’

‘That may be true, but I think you should tell me what’s wrong first,’ Jael insisted firmly. ‘Something is wrong. I can feel it, and it was there before we ever bumped into Evaine.’ She wandered to the back of the shelter, checking for anyone lurking in the shadows. Thankfully there was no one to be seen. The snow had sent most people to work on indoor chores for the afternoon, it seemed.

Eydis looked uncomfortable but resigned. She felt her way to a hay bale, and sat down, slipping her gloved hands under her legs. ‘I’ve been trying to dream a lot these past few weeks, for my father, and for you. It has not been easy. I’ve had some very dark dreams,’ she said faintly, so faintly that Jael had to sit down next to her to make out her words.

‘What about?’ Jael wondered anxiously; a worried dreamer was always a bad sign.

‘About Ivaar,’ Eydis said sadly. ‘He’s coming. I see it so clearly. He will be here soon. Before the Thaw.’

Jael was shocked. ‘But how? The sea is frozen. That would be impossible, surely?’

‘Well, there is one place to the south of the island, where the winds blow warmer. The seas do not freeze so much there, and that is how you can get to Oss from some of the islands, from Kalfa, where Ivaar is. He could make it. He will make it. I have seen it. He will bring his whole family. He will come.’

Jael rubbed her gloves together, her dark eyebrows pinched into sharp lines. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was no good thing for Ivaar to come, that was what Thorgils had warned. Eydis, too, saw it as a bad omen but what would it truly mean for her? Thorgils believed Ivaar would kill Eadmund, and who else? She glanced at Eydis, who still looked troubled. ‘What is it? What else have you dreamed?’ she wondered, watching Eydis squirm beneath her questions.

‘I, I...’ she stuttered awkwardly. ‘I have seen Evaine... carrying Eadmund’s child.’

A dull blow struck Jael somewhere deep inside. She swallowed, moved around on the hay bale, readjusted her cloak. ‘Oh.’

‘That is no good for Eadmund or my father. Or Oss. None of it is,’ Eydis sighed, shaking her head.

‘No, I can see that.’

‘Ivaar will cause much destruction. He cannot come.’

Jael frowned. ‘But can we do anything? Stop it from happening? Perhaps she is already pregnant?’

‘I don’t know,’ Eydis said quietly. ‘Maybe it’s just a warning, to keep Eadmund away from Evaine? He needs to keep getting stronger, to show Father that he doesn’t need Ivaar. But I don’t know if we can change anything I’ve seen. It may be that it is already decided.’

Jael stood up. ‘Hmmm, I have a feeling you’re right.’ She reached for Eydis’ hand. ‘But we can at least go and get those symbols tattooed on me so that I can stay safe from whatever is coming, whether it’s your brother or any threat that girl poses. That’s a start at least. We can figure out the rest as we go along.’

Eydis tried to show Jael her brave smile, but her little face was clouded with fear and confusion.

‘I won’t let anything happen to you, Eydis,’ Jael insisted as she helped her up. ‘I promise you that.’

* * *

Evaine sat by the fire, fingering her long, blonde hair. The wind was always terrorising the island, and her beautiful hair was constantly knotted and tangled by it. If only she were as sensible as her friends, her mother would always say, the ones who wore their hair in braids. Evaine screwed her face up, thinking of her mother, who seemed to be doing everything she could to keep her away from Eadmund. Although, as she looked across at Eadmund, he seemed just as keen to stay away from her himself lately. She had barely seen him, and when he had invited her company, like tonight, he was so distracted, he hardly noticed she was there.

‘What did you say?’ Eadmund wondered, slowly sipping on a cup of mead.

Evaine had brought him a full jug of mead in the hopes of earning his affection, and while he had seemed pleased to see her, his reaction to the mead had been mixed. He was trying to stop drinking so much, it seemed, and that thought unsettled her. ‘I was just wondering how the mead was?’ she said, smiling sweetly. ‘It was from my father’s private store. He was saving it, but I don’t imagine he’ll miss one jug.’

‘You shouldn’t have done that, Evaine,’ Eadmund said harshly. ‘I’m not interested in taking another man’s drink, especially if he’s been saving it. I will stopper it up, and you can take it back when you leave.’ He put his cup down on the floor and got up to seal the jug.

Evaine looked as though she had been slapped. Anxiety burst in the pit of her stomach as she stared after Eadmund. They had eaten, without any conversation, and just sat silently around the fire together, and now, he had scolded her. He hadn’t even looked like touching her or wanting her for days. She didn’t know what to do. He was slipping through her fingers faster than she had anticipated.

Eadmund saw how upset Evaine was when he came back to sit beside her. He had invited her to his cottage, but he wasn’t being very good company at all. He was just so distracted with other thoughts, of ale, and swords, and fights, and things he didn’t want to name, even to himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he smiled, lifting her chin with one finger. ‘I know you were only trying to make me happy. It’s just that I don’t need to be drinking mead, especially not your father’s. It’s not easy to say that, and it’s even harder to do.’

‘But why?’ she asked desperately, moving as close to Eadmund as possible, thrilled that he was talking at last. ‘What’s wrong with drinking mead all of a sudden?’

‘It’s not the mead,’ he explained patiently, putting one arm around her. ‘It’s drinking, all things...’ He paused to stare into the flames, realising that this was the first time he was putting words to his thoughts. ‘I seem to have decided that I would rather be able to stand, sleep in a bed, hold a sword, become a king, than have too much to drink.’

‘Oh.’

It sat there between them for a while, a shift in their relationship; Eadmund had shifted it. He was changing himself, and therefore, what they had and how they had been with one another would inevitably change. Evaine felt a rush of fear flood her veins. Her body started shaking, and she stilled one hand by putting her other on top of it. She was losing him.

Eadmund saw the tension in her face and sought to reassure her. ‘It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see you,’ he tried to convince her. And himself. ‘But if I don’t make these changes, then my father will bring Ivaar back. And if Ivaar comes, then he will be king, and no one wants that, especially not me.’

‘Nor me,’ Evaine uttered quietly.

‘So, I have to show my father that I can make the changes he needs to see,’ Eadmund sighed. ‘It has taken me far too long to realise it, but now that I’ve started, I can’t go back. I don’t want to.’

Eadmund could feel the vibrations in her body as it leaned against his.

‘You will have less time for me.’

‘Evaine!’ Eadmund laughed at her down-turned mouth. ‘You’ve probably spent most of our time together watching me sleep! Unconscious from too much ale, on the floor, pissing myself, not even aware of you. This, I hope, will be better for you as well.’

‘Of course,’ she smiled at him dully. ‘I’m sure it will be just as you say.’

‘It will,’ he promised as he brought his hands up to her face, leaning in to kiss her. She flinched underneath his touch. It was different, she insisted to herself, despite the fact that he was kissing her, eagerly it seemed; he was different.

Something had to change before he slipped out of her grasp entirely.

* * *

It hurt, much more than she had imagined it would. Jael didn’t let it show, though, as she clamped her jaw shut, looking away from the constant tapping. There was a lot of blood. She could smell it and was happy that Eydis couldn’t see it.

Entorp was a fast worker, though, and despite his bone-jangling cough, he had managed to keep a steady hand. He had talked throughout the process, about the symbols and their history, and although Jael thought it was no doubt worth listening to, her mind kept wandering. She couldn’t stop thinking about what Eydis had revealed about Evaine. A pregnant enemy was going to be trickier to defeat, surely. Or remove. Would Eirik get rid of her if he found out, or keep her around, happy for a grandchild from any source?

She groaned as Entorp tapped into a particularly sensitive spot.

‘Are you alright, Jael?’ Eydis wondered. She was sitting on the bed in one corner of the small house, playing with Entorp’s trio of snow-white cats. She seemed to have relaxed since they had spoken.

‘I am,’ Jael grimaced. ‘We’re nearly done, I think, and then I can walk you back home before your father wonders what has happened to you.’

‘Almost there,’ Entorp croaked, concentrating hard on her right arm. ‘I’ll apply bandages to stop the blood, but you’ll need to keep the tattoos moist until they’ve completely healed.’ He sat back and cocked his head to one side, admiring his work with a blue-eyed squint. ‘I have a salve for you to apply. It reeks, but don’t let that stop you from using it!’

‘And is that all I’ll need? Tattoos? Salve? And I’ll be protected from all the evil that’s coming for me?’ Jael smiled cynically, grinding her teeth together as he tapped a few finishing touches on her arm.

‘If only it were so,’ Entorp murmured, brushing his wild mop of orange hair out of his eyes. ‘No, there is plenty of evil these tattoos will offer you absolutely no protection from. These symbols are old magic from the Tuuran gods. They will keep you safe from all those who mean to do you harm through maleficent ways, such as alchemy or bewitchment, trickery or enchantment. No one will be able to command you. These symbols are the gateposts to your soul and your mind. They will protect them both.’ He coughed, a deep hacking cough, right next to Jael’s ear. ‘But as for your mouth, if they wish to poison you, or your flesh, if they try to cut you, only you can save yourself there. And from what I have heard, you have a good chance of doing just that.’

Jael’s face lightened; she was suddenly less bothered by the discomfort. Entorp was right. She knew how to protect her body, but now she had the confidence of knowing she could enter the fight with her mind and soul safe.

She closed her eyes and thanked Edela. Her grandmother may just have saved her life.

* * *

Aleksander squirmed on his stool. Amma was sitting right there, next to him, chatting to Edela, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had only sat down to be polite, and now he didn’t feel as though he could leave without appearing rude.

Why was she here? She had brought a large basket of food for Edela, that part was obvious at least. It was gratefully received, no doubt stolen from Lothar’s stores, and Edela seemed very pleased about that. But why else? He knew the answer, of course he did, but he couldn’t admit it to himself; it was not something he even wanted to consider.

‘We will be an even closer family soon,’ Amma smiled at Edela. ‘With my mother dying and Getta being married off, our family has been shrinking, but soon I will have you and Gisila. You will be like a grandmother! I certainly don’t remember either of mine. They died before I was born.’

Edela smiled, distracted by the tension in front of her. She was only slightly surprised, having seen some flashes of Aleksander’s future in her dreams recently. ‘Well, I shall be very lonely without Jael to annoy, so I shall expect many visits from you, then.’

‘Of course!’ Amma smiled. ‘And there is the wedding to look forward to. I’m just so glad that Gisila and Father are waiting until spring so that I can wear a beautiful dress, rather than a big, old cloak. I thought I would freeze to death at Jael’s wedding!’

Aleksander felt the blow of that reminder, and his polite mask slipped.

Amma carried on, blissfully unaware. ‘Perhaps Jael will come to the wedding?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure Gisila would want her there.’

Edela lifted her eyebrows, trying to stop Amma before she tangled herself up into a complete mess. ‘Oh, I don’t know if that will happen, my dear.’

‘Yes, you’re right, I suppose Jael could be with child then, so she might not want to make the journey.’

Amma finally noticed Edela’s pleading eyes, and the morbid look on Aleksander’s face, and realised that she really ought to leave before she made things any worse. Flustered with embarrassment, she rushed to get up. ‘I should be going,’ she smiled tightly. ‘I didn’t want to take up your day. I just know it can be hard to come by fresh food at the moment, so hopefully, you will be able to enjoy what I found.’

‘We are most grateful for it,’ Edela said warmly as she stood. ‘I shall put Aleksander to work right away. He’s turning into an excellent cook, and I’m sure he’ll be glad to have something more than a limp old cabbage to serve up tonight.’

‘Yes, it was very kind of you,’ Aleksander admitted as he showed Amma to the door. ‘But make sure you don’t get yourself into trouble with your father on our behalf. We will be fine to make it through the winter on what I can scrape together.’ He was firm, hoping to dissuade her from coming back. She was well-meaning, but he didn’t want to be around her; she had a way of making him feel uncomfortable.

‘I understand,’ Amma said, ducking her head as she pinned her cloak to her shoulder. ‘I hope you enjoy the food. Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye,’ Aleksander said quickly, shutting the door before she’d barely left the doorstep.

‘Are you sure you didn’t just shut her finger in the door? You couldn’t have closed it any quicker if you’d tried!’ Edela laughed as she returned to her seat, grabbing a fur off the bed to wrap around her shoulders; the cold was in her bones today, and not even the fire would warm her through.

Aleksander frowned as he started to unpack Amma’s basket. For all his discomfort and annoyance with her attention, he couldn’t deny that she had provided an impressive hoard of produce; much better than anything he had been able to find.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Amma, you know,’ Edela called to him over the spitting fire. ‘She’s nothing like her father or her weasel-faced brother. She will make good company when she grows a little older, I think.’

‘She’s a girl, a little girl with the wrong ideas,’ Aleksander said coldly, turning towards Edela. ‘And she’s wrong about me. I have no plans to forget Jael and find someone new. It may take some time, but you should know, Edela, that I’m waiting for Jael to come back. And she will. I’ve seen it.’

He stared at Edela with such fierce determination that she shuddered at both his expression and his words. Seen it? How? What had he done?

20

Fyn was thrilled to see Jael. It had been days. Days of nothing but howling whiteness. He was frozen, lonely, and sick of his own company.

Jael dismounted with a strained gasp and half a smile.

Fyn grabbed Tig’s reins and led him away to the little shed. ‘Are you alright?’ he wondered as he came back to her, eagerly handing over a practice sword.

‘Fine,’ she sighed, feeling the ache in her upper arms. The tattoos had been annoying her for days now, and although the pain had lessened, she was finding it hard to sleep without lying on them.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes,’ she said irritably, pushing away the sword. ‘At least let me take off my things before we begin!’

While Jael removed her cloak and sword-belt, Fyn trotted about the cleared practice area, slashing the air with his sword. She couldn’t help but smile; his confidence had grown so quickly. ‘I brought you some food,’ she remembered. ‘It’s in my saddlebag. Remind me to get it when we’re done.’

‘Really? That’s very kind of you,’ he smiled. ‘I was wondering what I was going to eat today!’

He did look thinner, Jael thought as she picked up her sword and trudged towards the energetic figure. ‘So, you have no food?’

‘Not really,’ he admitted with a cheerful shrug. ‘I should ration more carefully. Respa can’t make it out here with supplies from my mother when the weather is bad.’

‘Yes, you should,’ Jael grumbled as she raised her sword to touch his. ‘And you should get on with those shields. You’ll need to learn how to hold onto one of those too!’

Fyn laughed. ‘They’re a lot bigger than a sword to make. I am trying!’ He lashed out at her, surprising Jael, hitting her on the shoulder.

She yelped and stepped back.

‘Had we begun?!’ she barked at his shocked face.

‘I, I, I thought we had!’ Fyn insisted, dropping his sword arm down and coming to see if she was alright.

Jael pounced on him and knocked the sword out of his hand. It fell into the snow.

‘Oh,’ he sighed, bending down to pick it up.

‘Yes. Oh,’ Jael growled. ‘Never let go of your sword. Never loosen your grip. Never allow yourself to become so distracted that someone can surprise you. Hold onto your sword!’

She laughed at the look of embarrassment on his face.

‘I was worried about you!’

‘I don’t need you to be worried about me, Fyn, I need you to hold onto your sword!’ Jael said, happy to see him firm up his grip.

She went easy on him then, and they trained for a while in a slow, methodical way, working on the idea of predicting shots; getting behind them, blocking, protecting your body, staying alert.

The ache in Jael’s arms, from the tattoos and the cold, eventually got too much for her. ‘Let’s have a break, Fyn,’ she sighed, and without waiting for an answer, she put down her sword and went to grab the bag of food she had brought with her.

Fyn’s eyes widened at the shape of the well-stuffed bag as he followed Jael into the hut; he really was starving.

They made themselves comfortable around the fire, which, Fyn noted, was starting to burn low; he knew how much Jael hated the cold. He would need to bring in some more wood soon.

‘Is something wrong?’ he wondered, tearing off a piece of the bread that Jael offered him. It had been warm when she left the fort but had almost frozen on the ride.

‘Wrong?’ she mumbled, trying to swallow her lump of hard bread. ‘Well, if you’d paid attention, you would have realised I had wounds that were healing. You could have gone for those areas instead of pissing about trying to hit my stomach for the past hour!’

‘Your arms? What happened?’

‘I’ve been tattooed.’

‘Tattooed? Why?’

‘They’re Tuuran tattoos, symbols of protection,’ Jael said distractedly, looking around the room.

‘Protection from what?’ he wondered.

‘Your sister, mainly,’ Jael smiled. ‘Do you have anything to drink in here?’

Fyn was too shocked to respond, so Jael got up, and, finding a jug beside Fyn’s bed, poured herself a cup of very watery ale.

‘Evaine? You think you need tattoos to protect yourself from her? Can they? Protect you, I mean?’

Jael sat back down. ‘I hope so. But if not, I shall look very pretty,’ she grinned.

Fyn was silent. He had so many questions but didn’t know where to begin. So Jael told him, all about her dream, about what Edela had seen on the beach, how she had come to warn her.

‘I don’t understand what it all means,’ was all Fyn could say when she’d finished. ‘The scorched face? I’ve never seen it, or anything like it. She is the worst person I’ve ever known, well not the worst, but I have never seen anything like that on her. Ever.’

‘We don’t know what it means, none of us do,’ Jael admitted, taking a sip of ale. ‘But hopefully I can keep myself safer, and Eydis too. And perhaps it’s time you got away from here? Made a new life in the Fire Lands, or on one of the other islands?’

Fyn sighed. ‘I can’t do that, Jael. I can’t leave my mother.’

‘But you don’t even see her,’ Jael insisted. ‘You are out here, starving, all alone, with no family, no one to talk to, not even a horse for company!’

‘I know...’

‘And how long do you think you can live this way?’

‘I...’ Fyn looked defeated.

‘You should have friends, and fights, and fall in love, have adventures, have a family, or at the very least someone to talk to,’ Jael implored, turning to him. ‘You have to leave here. Surely your mother wouldn’t want you to exist like this? She would want you to have a life of your own.’

‘But who would protect her if I go?’

‘Protect her from what? Your sister, or your father?’ Jael wondered.

‘Both of them, I suppose,’ Fyn said quietly. ‘I know I can’t do much all the way out here, but I didn’t want to leave her. She is not like them. I wanted her to come with me, and I know she thought about it, but I think some part of her still loves my father, so she stayed, told me about this hut, said she’d send food for me. So, I stayed here... for her.’

Jael was troubled. She liked Fyn. It was like having a little brother again, but easier; she didn’t resent him. She wanted to help him have a life again, somehow. ‘I could talk to Eirik,’ she suggested. ‘He seems to like me well enough. I’m sure I could convince him to bring you back. You could go home again.’

‘No!’ The look on Fyn’s face was pure terror. ‘No, please Jael. Please don’t do that!’ He reached out, grabbing her hands. ‘Promise me you won’t say anything to the king, or to my mother or father. Please!’

His eyes were desperate and something else. Scared.

‘Alright, alright,’ Jael soothed. ‘I won’t say anything, I promise. On one condition, though. That you tell me why you were banished.’

Fyn gasped. His eyes told her that he wanted to run and hide, but he kept staring at her. He dropped his head, at last.

‘Alright, I will.’

* * *

‘And where is your wife this morning? Still trying to seek revenge on Thorgils no doubt?’ Eirik laughed, prodding the fire cheerfully.

Eadmund raised one eyebrow as he leaned into the flames. ‘No, not this morning. Thorgils is busy wrestling Torstan and Klaufi out in the Pit. I haven’t seen Jael. She probably went riding.’

The hall was filled with a murmuring quiet that felt comfortable to both men. Eadmund seemed reasonably sober, and was starting to change shape, Eirik noticed. They were able to sit here and just talk around the fire; a reminder of how things used to be, many years ago.

‘She’s always riding, that one, or fighting it seems,’ Eirik observed. ‘Not the kind of wife I imagined you’d end up with! I wonder how she will be when my grandsons start arriving?’

Eadmund squirmed. It had been playing on his mind these past few weeks, that he must change things with Jael. He needed to find a way to break down the wall between them before his father had reason to grow suspicious about his lack of grandsons. He just hadn’t found the opportunity to do so. Not yet anyway. ‘I imagine she’ll be much the same. I can’t see her sitting around the fire, with a circle of women, embroidering a tapestry,’ he grinned.

‘No, nor should she,’ Eirik smiled. ‘That would be like putting a wolf in a room of children and asking it to play nicely. It would end up a big, bloody mess!’

Eadmund laughed, remembering the look on Jael’s face when she had fought Thorgils. She certainly was wolf-like with those eyes of hers. They followed him everywhere; he saw them constantly, even when he was with Evaine.

‘So, will you be placing a few coins on your wife in the contest?’ Eirik wondered. ‘Or perhaps, Thorgils?’

‘Or Tarak?’ Eadmund suggested, nodding to Erland and Orvar who had wandered into the hall.

‘I think most people’s coin will be on Tarak, as always,’ Eirik muttered, shuffling his stool closer to the fire. ‘Although, I’m a bit bored with him winning every damn contest we have. I’d rather bet on Jael or Thorgils instead.’

‘I can’t see Jael beating Tarak,’ Eadmund mused. ‘He’s a giant next to her. She wouldn’t be strong enough against him, despite her skill with a sword.’

‘Thorgils isn’t that much smaller, and she coped with him well enough,’ Eirik considered. ‘Although, Tarak is the better fighter, for sure.’

‘Don’t tell Thorgils that,’ Eadmund smiled. ‘He thinks he has a chance this time.’

‘And maybe he does, with Jael helping him.’

‘Maybe, but I’d still choose Tarak. He’s made of stone. It’s like hitting a wall. Nothing moves him. He’s unbreakable.’

‘But you defeated him,’ Eirik smiled. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘Not really,’ Eadmund said dismissively. ‘It was so long ago. I think I was probably drunk at the time! I almost didn’t, I think. I had a lot of luck that day.’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in a fight that didn’t involve some luck,’ Eirik noted. ‘The gods are always watching. They choose to help the one they think worthiest.’

Eadmund looked scornful. ‘Well, what does that say about them, if they keep picking Tarak as their champion?’

‘Ahhh, well, they like a man who knows how to win. Say what you like about him, but he never gives in, no matter how the fight is going. He always finds a way to come back and win. Except against you, of course,’ Eirik smiled. ‘So, perhaps you need to step up your training now, see if you can be the one to defeat him. I know it would make a lot of people happy to see him lose.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘Me? Ha! I don’t think so, not this year at least. But it would be nice to see someone give him what’s he had coming these past few years. Whoever it is.’

* * *

Fyn had stalled, insisting upon going outside to the woodpile to bring in another armload of logs. The room was too cold, he told Jael, and she hadn’t complained because, well, he was right.

Now the fire was spitting happily, and the room had warmed up so quickly, that Jael was almost considering removing her cloak. Fyn sat quietly next to her, vibrating with nerves.

‘So, begin then,’ she said plainly. ‘Tell me what happened. It can’t be that bad, can it?’

He swallowed, gulping a few times, his eyes wandering around the room. ‘It was bad,’ he whispered quietly. ‘For me, it was very bad.’

Jael waited. She didn’t want to rush him.

‘My father, he... didn’t like me. I don’t know why, but he never liked me, so when he... when he found me, as he did, he knew he’d found a way to get rid of me. He didn’t want to listen or hear anything because his own ideas were already planted in his head. So, he told the king everything he’d seen and gave him no choice. He had to banish me.’

Fyn saw the confused look on Jael’s face and tried to unmuddle his thoughts. ‘He found me,’ he paused, coughing nervously. ‘Being raped.’

Jael gasped. She couldn’t help it. Her eyes widened in sympathy as she stared helplessly at him.

‘I was face down on a table, being raped,’ Fyn shuddered, the memories painting torturous pictures in his scarred mind. ‘And my father didn’t stop him. He didn’t stay and try to stop him. He just left. Left me being raped. The look on his face... disgust, that’s all he felt. He didn’t try to save me. He, he thought I was doing it, part of it, finding pleasure in it. I don’t know. But he didn’t do anything to stop it.’

Fyn’s eyes were wet as he stared into the fire, reliving everything. ‘He told the king, though. He couldn’t wait to do that.’

‘I don’t understand how you could be punished for being raped?’ Jael said, frowning, her heart throbbing loudly in her ears. ‘How is that possible?’

‘There are rules, laws on the islands. About men laying with other men,’ Fyn said awkwardly, the words poison on his tongue. ‘It’s acceptable to be the man doing it, but to be the one... receiving it... allowing it... that is to be like a woman. Not a man. No one like that is acceptable on the islands. They are banished.’

Jael was horrified. ‘What? But you were raped, Fyn! Didn’t you tell your father that, or Eirik?’

Fyn was silent, lost in his memories.

Jael reached out one hand and touched his arm. He shuddered.

‘No, I didn’t tell my father. I didn’t speak to the king. I just left when my father told me to. He warned me to never come back.’

‘But why? And what about the man who did this to you? He should have been punished. He should have been the one banished!’

Fyn laughed at that, and it sounded bitter and rust-tainted. ‘Not him. They would never banish him. There was no point in me ever saying anything, not against him.’ He looked angry now. ‘He didn’t just rape me that night, Jael. He had done it to me since I was a boy.’

Jael’s body clenched. Her breathing stilled.

‘He would find me, no matter where I went, or where I hid,’ Fyn went on, numbly. ‘He would come and get me, and hurt me, and make me do things that made me want to vomit. And he would scare me so much that I never said anything, to anyone. He told me that he’d hurt my mother if I did. So, I never said a word. Not once, till now.’ Fyn dropped his head into his hands and sobbed, his shoulders heaving up and down with the force of his pain.

Jael put her arm around his back, brought his head down onto her shoulder, held onto him while he wept and wept. She felt sick. Sad for Fyn. And angry, so angry that this man had tortured him and ruined his life, while he was still living in Oss, free and unpunished. ‘Who was it, Fyn? she asked, her voice hard as stone. ‘Who did this to you?’

He sat up, wiping his dripping nose on the back of his hand. He sniffed, a lot, considering, not wanting to speak that name again. Then looking at her strong face, he suddenly felt reassured and not alone; she was his friend.

‘It was... Tarak.’

* * *

Thorgils was waving his arms around, retelling his battle victory to two attentive women, when Jael strode past and climbed through the railings, into the Pit. She shrugged off her cloak but kept her sword-belt on.

‘Let’s try with real swords today,’ she snapped, glaring at him intently.

Thorgils’ attention was immediately drawn away from the attractive faces, towards the fearsome creature who stood there, waiting for him. She had a look in her eye today that creased his forehead. ‘Real swords?’ He smiled politely at the women, excusing himself with a bow. ‘You think you can handle that? Have you even used that sword of yours before?’ Thorgils removed his cloak and clambered into the Pit. He wasn’t sure this was the wisest game to play, but he was too intrigued to stop and think about it for long.

‘No,’ Jael said quickly. ‘But I need to know how to, so you can help me. Unless you’re scared of my little Toothpick? It has a very sharp blade, you know. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.’

Nothing in her eyes was sympathetic. Just hard. He flinched beneath her scowl. ‘Hurt me?’ he asked, his smile wavering. ‘Go ahead, if it will make you feel better.’

They had trained together, many times since the fight, but without much intensity. Jael had tried to give Thorgils some advice, which he had almost listened to; shown him ways he could play with Tarak’s mind to help him win. But now, after her conversation with Fyn, now she wanted the pleasure of beating Tarak herself. And she needed to get stronger and sharper, in every way possible if there was a chance of that happening.

‘Better?’ Jael scoffed. ‘This won’t make me feel better, but it will help me on the way.’ She squatted slightly, shifting her legs apart to balance herself, scuffing the ground until she could feel the certainty of the earth beneath her boots. ‘Come at me as hard as you can, with everything you have. Let’s see where we are at. How ready we both are, for this contest of yours.’ She was so angry, felt so enraged by what Fyn had told her. She didn’t know what she could do to help him, but right now, she needed to release all the furious tension that was threatening to drown her.

‘Well, certainly, I can do that,’ Thorgils smiled confidently, noticing that the two women had remained behind to watch. ‘If you think you’re ready for it?’

‘Oh, I’m ready.’

And she gripped her sword tightly and went for him.

21

‘It’s stopped bleeding, I think,’ Biddy murmured as she stepped back, admiring her needlework. ‘You’ll live.’

Thorgils groaned, unconvinced.

‘It’s not that bad,’ Jael insisted with a grin. ‘Hardly worth a stitch really.’

Biddy and Thorgils glared at Jael, neither one impressed by her lack of sensitivity.

‘You nearly took my balls off!’ he grumbled crossly, wincing at the sight of the small wound on his upper thigh.

‘How big are these balls of yours, Thorgils? I scratched your leg!’

‘That is not a scratch,’ he insisted. ‘That sword of yours is deadly!’

‘Good!’ Jael laughed as she sat down on the bed next to him. ‘There wouldn’t be much point to it otherwise.’

‘But perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to practice with it, not unless you’re actually trying to hurt someone?’ Biddy suggested as she brought Thorgils a cup of ale to settle him down. ‘Surely that’s what the wooden swords are for?’

‘They use real swords in the contest,’ Jael told her as she leaned back against the wall, enjoying a cool sip of ale. ‘And I need to learn how to use mine, and quickly if I’m to make an impression.’

Thorgils raised an eyebrow at that. ‘You want to make an impression now, do you? Why the change?’

Jael looked down at the bed, the memory of her talk with Fyn still twisting in her gut. She shut it away for now. ‘Well, I suppose, revenge for one thing,’ she said, looking up. ‘I can’t have everyone thinking I can be beaten so easily, especially by a big girl like you. And maybe... maybe I want a chance at Tarak too. Why not? Somebody needs to knock him down, so why not me? You certainly haven’t been able to manage it before now, and one of us needs to put him on his giant arse.’

Thorgils laughed heartily at the determination on her face. He didn’t doubt that she had more than a chance, especially after today. She’d been in the red mist when she’d fought him. If he hadn’t started bleeding so quickly, she would have shown him no mercy, he was certain of it. Something was troubling her, that much was obvious.

‘Well then, here’s to destroying Tarak!’ He raised his cup and knocked it into hers. ‘As long as the contest ends with him in a crying heap of his own shit, we’ll both be happy.’

‘Agreed! If only it were a fight to the death...’

Thorgils looked into her eyes and saw that she meant it.

* * *

Jael lay in bed that night, numb; her conversation with Fyn ever present in her mind. She was so troubled by it and consumed with sadness for him, but more than anything, she was furious. And she wanted to kill Tarak. She’d wanted to kill people before, of course, and had, but not for a long time. Nothing had entered her heart to make her feel this wild, where she felt so compelled to act, to seek justice. But how? Where was justice to be found? Not in the laws of Oss, it seemed.

She’d promised Fyn that she wouldn’t say anything to Eirik, or Morac, or even Tarak. But how could she help him, and how could she ensure Tarak was punished if she didn’t say or do anything? Nobody deserved to be banished more than that vile, child-abusing bastard.

She was full of angry steam as she lay there, unable to sleep, incapable of relaxing. And lonely. She would have talked to Aleksander about this. He would have been annoyingly practical, and she would have dismissed his advice completely, but still, it was always nice to hear it, to know he cared enough about her to try to help. The loss of him was hard to escape. She felt as though she was missing a part of herself, that only half of her was here, lying alone in this large, empty bed.

Jael wondered if he was still waiting for her, or if he’d decided to find someone to warm his bed until she came back? In his vision, she had come back with a child, so that was certainly a long way off, especially as she had never even touched Eadmund yet. She shuddered. He was improving, and there were signs of hope, but she couldn’t imagine sharing this bed with him each night. He wasn’t Aleksander. And she loved Aleksander. But if she wanted to get back to Aleksander, she needed a child. And for that, she needed Eadmund.

* * *

Runa felt sick. She held Evaine’s hair back as her daughter bent over, retching into the bucket again. It was the third time this morning; it was the third time this week.

The sick feeling in her stomach had grown every day, fuelled by the look of her daughter, who was both pale and glowing at the same time, whose appetite had changed, who complained about feeling uncomfortable, whose body seemed rounder somehow. There was simply no denying it, but Runa was still determined to do so.

‘Water,’ Evaine coughed. ‘Forget my hair, Mother! Just get me some water!’ She flapped at her mother and straightened up, holding her back, which was aching.

Runa returned with a cup of water and Evaine sipped from it cautiously. Everything was making her ill at the moment, but as miserable as her body felt, she couldn’t have been happier. ‘When do you think I should tell Eadmund?’ she asked coyly, coming to sit by the fire, smoothing her rumpled dress, pressing it firmly over her growing bump.

Runa swallowed sharply, conscious that their house servant, Respa, was sweeping the floor in the kitchen.

‘Tell him about what?’ her father asked irritably as he pushed open the door, shaking himself free of snow.

Runa and Evaine stared at each other in surprise, mouths open, neither wanting to be the first one to speak. Evaine’s confidence dissipated; her father was not going to be pleased with her at all.

‘Evaine?’ Morac demanded. He was feeling old, and cold, and his day with Eirik had frustrated him. They’d talked incessantly about Hest and Eirik had refused most of his advice. He was in no mood for childish games this evening.

‘Yes, Father,’ Evaine smiled sweetly as she moved to sit next to him.

‘What do you need to tell Eadmund?’ Morac wondered, impatiently, as he tugged on his boots.

‘Oh that. It was nothing, just talk between women,’ she giggled lightly. ‘Perhaps you need a drink of something to warm you up? It looks as though you have had a hard day.’ And getting up, Evaine rushed away to the kitchen to speak to Respa.

‘What is she up to?’ Morac asked Runa, who came to help him with his boots, which, being wet, were not coming off easily.

Runa tried her best not to look guilty, then giving up, simply turned her face towards Morac’s boots. ‘Nothing, as she said. She’s just being silly, thinking of Eadmund all the time. As she always does. She’s having a hard time getting his attention lately, I think.’

‘Well, as long as it’s only thinking she’s doing,’ Morac grumbled as Evaine came back to the fire. ‘You keep staying away from him like I told you and we’ll all be better for it. I’m sure that once this marriage stops being new, and Eirik has the grandson he wants so desperately, he’ll be more relaxed about everything. But until then, you must keep your distance. Don’t let Eirik catch a glimpse of you!’

Evaine didn’t enjoy being reprimanded. Ever. Fire rose up in her chest. She bit down on her bottom lip and sat sullenly next to her father, simmering. When she was Queen of Oss, Eadmund’s queen, when that day came, and it would, she had seen it so clearly, then no one would be able to tell her what to do. Ever.

* * *

There was only darkness.

Edela strained her eyes, but there was nothing to see, just darkness. It was heavy, all around her, inside her, and she struggled to breathe, to clear her throat and mind. She felt herself getting sucked into it, as though she was becoming part of it, as though her life-force was slipping away from her, into it. She tried to scream, to call for help, but her screams echoed back to her, all around her. She was trapped in a cave, a small cave, all alone. In the dark.

Then she heard the screaming; women’s voices, wailing in agony. She turned around, searching desperately for the source. Suddenly she noticed a light, a hint of fire in all the blackness. Edela could hear her breath, rasping out of her lungs, as she ran towards the flames. As she approached the fire, it grew bigger, brighter, then disappeared entirely to reveal a town. It was Tuura. There was nothing she recognised, nothing to tell her where she was, but she knew, in her knotted stomach, she knew this place.

The screaming died down, replaced with low, keening moans. A crowd stood around in the night air; a huddle of raven-haired Tuurans in winter cloaks, snowflakes drifting around them. Some were holding onto each other in grief and despair, while others, it seemed, looked less upset, more relieved. As the crowd parted, Edela stepped in, peering through the people, who didn’t notice her at all.

Two men, in boiled-leather aprons, were cleaning up a mess. A mess of blood and bodies. Two bodies. Two heads. Each man picked up a head, and with an expressionless face, jammed it onto a long, pointed spear. Edela inhaled sharply, as she glimpsed the agony-strained death masks. They were young women, no more than girls. Long, dark, blood-soaked hair hung down from their crudely chopped off heads.

Edela wanted to vomit, but there was no fluid in her; she couldn’t even retch. She tried to turn and run from those pained, ruined faces, but her feet wouldn’t respond. Her body wouldn’t move at all, and as the men shoved the spears firmly into the hard earth, leaving the heads to drain of all their blood, Edela was forced to stare into those glazed eyes. Not even her head could turn itself away, nor her eyes close against the horror.

‘We have to find the other one,’ she heard from somewhere behind her. ‘She must have taken the book.’

Edela woke, gagging, coughing, spluttering.

Aleksander was at her side immediately. ‘Edela!’ He had been awake for some time and had watched her dreaming, her body twisting relentlessly in her bed, uncertain whether he should wake her. ‘Edela, are you alright? What’s happened? Is it Jael?’

He handed her a cup of water, which she quickly pushed away. She wasn’t thirsty; she needed air. The room was suffocating her. She felt as though part of her was still trapped there, in that cloying darkness; she needed to breathe. ‘Open the door,’ she croaked urgently. ‘Please!’

Aleksander did as he was bid. The dull light of the morning fell gently into the small room as Edela scrambled out of bed, and, with Aleksander’s help, headed quickly for the door. Her body sunk into his supportive arm as she felt the chilled air on her face. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, letting the air fill her lungs and cool her panic. ‘That’s enough,’ she shivered eventually. ‘I’ll get frostbite if I stand out here any longer!’

Aleksander sighed, relieved that Edela had recovered herself, but also desperate to know what had happened. ‘Come, sit down,’ he urged, guiding her towards her chair. He put another log onto the fire and poked at the embers, before coming to sit on the stool in front of her. ‘What happened? What did you see?’

Edela didn’t know what to say. She gazed into his worried eyes, trying to form an explanation for what she had been shown. ‘I’m not sure. It wasn’t about Jael, not really,’ she mumbled thoughtfully, noting his relief. ‘It was about the Darkness, that much was obvious. And perhaps it was another clue.’

She told him all about her dream, about the beheaded girls, and the missing one, the one with the book.

‘Do you think that it could be the Book of Darkness?’ Aleksander wondered eagerly. ‘Perhaps your theory is right? That it all comes back to that book? That it’s real?’

‘Yes, possibly,’ she frowned, uncertainly. ‘But it’s all so very muddled. I have no real answers, and no one to talk to about any of it. I think you and I might need to go on a journey, to Tuura. The vision I had in my dream, it was Tuura, I’m sure of it. It seemed an older time, though, something that had happened long ago. That was my feeling,’ she said with more confidence. ‘I’m sure we can find someone in Tuura who might know of it, someone who can help us help Jael.’

Aleksander squirmed. ‘But Tuura...’

‘I know,’ Edela murmured as she got up, desperate for that water now. ‘I know, we don’t want to go back there, none of us do after what happened, especially you. I know it will be hard, but we need to find out more. We won’t be able to help Jael until we do, and I certainly can’t help her without you.’

She eyed Aleksander with a determination that he recognised. He shuddered, never imagining that he would have considered returning to that place.

* * *

Eadmund felt dreadful as he trudged towards the Pit. The snow was thick to his ankles, and his balance was unsteady. He’d drunk too much last night, for the first time in weeks, and his body was punishing him mercilessly. His limbs were heavy and his head banged with every step. He wasn’t looking forward to Thorgils’ rollicking either. The day was dull and grim, but Eadmund could tell the morning was nearly over. His friend wouldn’t be impressed by his late arrival.

‘Ahhh, you’re awake at last, sleeping princess,’ Torstan grinned as he eyed the dishevelled figure before him. ‘You really did have too much last night, didn’t you?’

‘Maybe one or two more than I should’ve,’ Eadmund said, slightly embarrassed. ‘But I’m here. I might vomit at any moment, but I’m here.’ He looked around, rubbing his eyes; he might have been here, but no one else was. ‘Where is everyone?’

‘They’ve gone to eat, most of them,’ Torstan said as he threw on his cloak. ‘Ketil knows how to drum up business, that’s for sure. He started cooking in the middle of training, and no one could think with their sword arms after that, just with their bellies. Come on, you can buy some meat on a stick.’

‘Where’s Thorgils?’ Eadmund wondered, following his friend towards the square. ‘And Jael?’

‘Oh, they just left. He went riding with her. On your horse. Again.’ Torstan blew on his hands, most of which were exposed in well-worn, blue gloves. ‘Anyone would think she was his wife, instead of yours, the amount of time they spend together!’

Eadmund was irritated by the observation and wasn’t sure why. His head was thick with regret this morning, and he was struggling to form any clear thoughts at all. He was relieved to know that Jael wasn’t here, though; he could spend the afternoon trying to wake himself up, ready to face her again. She was always so sharp and fast, and he felt like a blundering fool in front of her. An addled head was hardly going to help him improve upon that. He cursed himself for being so weak again.

‘He’s welcome to her!’ Eadmund grinned, attempting to appear more jovial than he felt. ‘I’m sure Eirik won’t suspect a thing. As long as his grandsons don’t come out with bright red hair!’

* * *

They rode along silently, into the dark grey morning. It was an awkward silence, and Thorgils felt as though there was something he had missed; there was definitely a tension that he wasn’t part of. Not an unfriendly one, but he sensed that something had occurred. He dismissed it for now, though, determined to enjoy the ride, despite the moodiness of his companions and the gloom of the day.

It had been Thorgils’ idea to take his horse, Vili, with them so that Fyn could join them for a ride. And he had something in mind that would put a smile on both their miserable faces. ‘You will be speechless, I promise,’ Thorgils winked at Jael. ‘Oss has some secrets that will amaze you. Secrets that most people on the island don’t even know about. It may be that this will surprise you too, young Fyn!’

Fyn looked unconvinced, but Jael smiled. Thorgils had quickly forgiven her for nearly severing his balls, and was as cheerful as ever, unlike Fyn, who had barely spoken to her for weeks now. She had tried to broach the subject of what to do about Tarak, but he had backed into his shell so quickly, that she’d left it alone. Trawling up memories from such a dark pit hadn’t been easy for him, she could see, and Jael knew it would take some time for him to release them back into the abyss again.

Despite the sinking clouds, there was much to take in. Oss was a wild, windblown place and Jael found it unexpectedly appealing. Whereas Brekka was lush, rolling, and serene, Oss was a jagged, angry mess of dark mountains, frozen lakes, sharp cliffs, and wide valleys. The scenery was a constant surprise, even hiding beneath a good blanket of snow, as much of it had been since she’d arrived.

They rode at a leisurely pace through a winding valley, mountains rising up around them on both sides. Jael hadn’t been this way before, in fact, she had not explored much without Thorgils, so she had no idea where they were going at all.

‘So, you won’t say where you’re taking us then?’ she wondered.

‘No, not a chance,’ Thorgils said happily. ‘I want to see your faces when we get there. I think you will like it. I know you will!’ He was enjoying leading them along, his chest puffing out bullishly in his new, brown, fur cloak.

‘We turn here,’ Thorgils smiled and pulled on Leada’s reins, turning her left, towards the mountains.

Jael and Fyn shot each other puzzled looks behind Thorgils’ back; where was he leading them?

* * *

It was perfect. Tender, smoky, and the ideal remedy for his grumbling belly and muddled mind. Eadmund chewed happily on his hot pork, as he sat opposite Torstan, amongst the crowds of Ketil’s satisfied customers, enjoying the noise of the square as it meandered around him. He started to relax.

‘I meant to tell you,’ Torstan mumbled. ‘Your father came by, looking for you this morning.’

Eadmund’s face dropped, his shoulders tensed, and he stopped eating. ‘And what did you tell him?’

‘I didn’t tell him anything, but Thorgils did. Said you were unwell,’ he snorted, wiping a greasy hand over his short, blonde beard. ‘Not that Eirik thought much of that! He rolled his eyes a lot and left.’

Eadmund’s improved spirits quickly sunk. It had been a nice change to feel his father’s approval these past few weeks. He had been embarrassing him for so many years, and Eirik had endured it better than most fathers would have. Eadmund felt he owed him something now, for keeping faith in him for so long.

‘Speaking of which, here he comes again!’

Eadmund abandoned the rest of his meal, and, clapping Torstan on the back, went to meet his father, who had stopped to talk with Ketil. He tried to ignore the urgent desire he felt for a quick sip of ale.

‘So, you’re awake then?’ Eirik smiled, although his good cheer did not extend much past his lips, Eadmund noted.

‘Almost,’ he grinned, keeping his tone light. ‘Perhaps I may have had one or two more than I should have last night.’

Eirik raised a woolly eyebrow at that. ‘One or two? Or maybe 10 or 20?’

‘It wasn’t that many!’

‘Oh, if you say so,’ Eirik smiled wryly. ‘I’ve just had Morac this morning, telling me that our ale stores are running low, which is not the thing I want to hear when we’re not even at Vesta’s Feast yet. He didn’t mention your name, but I have a feeling he was trying to suggest it might have something to do with you.’

‘Well, it sounds as if Morac needs to work on his planning a little more if you’re running out of ale this quickly. Perhaps I should make some suggestions about how much he should allow for in future?’ Eadmund’s tired eyes sparkled with a little humour. He was making an effort to smooth over any cracks his lapse last night had caused. It was working, he sensed, as his father’s face started to lose its sharp edges.

‘I’m not sure anyone should take advice from you, not when it comes to ale, my son.’

‘Eadmund!’ Eydis smiled, coming towards her brother, using a long stick Eirik had carved for her. It enabled her to be independent around the fort while keeping her safe, although Eirik still hated to let her out of his sight. She was growing up, he knew, but he couldn’t stop worrying about her. He was terrified of losing her, as he had her mother.

Eadmund grabbed his sister and spun her around. ‘How are you, Little Thing?’ he smiled, genuinely pleased to see her.

‘Hungry! And you smell like what I want to eat,’ she said cheekily.

‘You want to eat dirt? Ear wax? Snot? Stale ale?’

‘No, but you can buy me one of Ketil’s meat sticks please.’ She dug inside the little purse hanging from her belt.

Eadmund put his hand out to stop her. ‘Eydis, no, I think it’s well past my turn to treat you,’ he insisted. ‘You wait here.’ And he went off to stand in line for her.

‘He seems happy?’ Eydis stared questioningly towards her father, her milky eyes full of hope. ‘Maybe it was just a small hiccup?’

Eirik watched Eadmund, who looked alert and cheerful enough as he chatted with his friends. ‘I hope so. I don’t want to lose him all over again.’

‘Well, maybe you could let the ale run out completely?’ Eydis suggested. ‘Then you would always have him like this.’

‘Ha! I would, but the rest of the men would plot to kill me, for sure!’ Eirik squeezed Eydis’ arm, enjoying the feeling of relief as it soothed his tense muscles. Eadmund did seem alright, he thought. If only he would stay this way, always; no hiccups. Then he could sleep through the night, for the first time in years.

Next to him, Eydis tugged on his cloak. He turned to see Runa approaching. He had always liked Runa but the years had not been kind to her. She walked in a shadow these days; her heavily lined face mostly turned towards the ground. He wondered if that was the loss of her son, or perhaps the trial of her daughter, or was it Morac who had worn her down; his old friend had become increasingly ornery of late. ‘Runa,’ he smiled warmly. They had been friends since childhood, perhaps even bed companions in their youth; although he had spent much of that time as drunk as Eadmund, and couldn’t say if that was a true recollection.

‘Eirik, Eydis,’ Runa nodded, returning his smile politely. Her eyes darted about, showing no signs of friendship anymore.

‘Are you looking for Morac?’

‘Yes, he wasn’t in the hall, and since everyone seems to be at Ketil’s today, I thought he might be here.’

‘I haven’t seen him, but I will tell him you’re looking for him if I do.’

‘I would be grateful, thank you.’

Evaine snuck up behind her mother then, and Eirik watched Runa’s expression freeze in horror as she saw her daughter. He imagined his face didn’t look much different.

‘Hello, Mother, my lord,’ Evaine beamed, her pale cheeks showing spots of pink. ‘Eydis, I didn’t see you there! I hope you are feeling well again?’

No one said a word.

Eydis reached for the assurance of her father’s hand, to steady both of them. Runa looked as though she wanted to run away.

Eadmund returned, not noticing Evaine until it was too late.

‘Hello, Eadmund,’ Evaine smiled coyly, looking down at her clasped hands, which sat just in front of her belly. She could hardly contain her happiness; it had been days since she had seen him.

Eadmund was immediately consumed by the awkwardness of the situation. He gave Eydis her meat stick and nodded in Evaine’s direction, making no attempt to look directly at her.

No one said a word.

‘So, have you been training for the contest, Eadmund?’ Evaine asked sweetly, trying to ease the tension that was building. ‘My father said I’m allowed to watch this year, as I’m old enough. I’m very much looking forward to it. Of course, Tarak will be the favourite, but I imagine there will be a few challengers, perhaps even your wife?’

Eadmund didn’t reply. He was confused, wondering just what Evaine was playing at with her pointless chatter; getting herself into trouble with everyone, it seemed. His father’s face was turning red; that was a bad sign.

‘We must be getting along to find your father, Evaine,’ Runa hissed at her daughter, her composure withering under Eirik’s furious stare. ‘I wish you luck in the contest, Eadmund.’ She nodded quickly at Eirik and Eydis, and grabbed Evaine firmly by the arm, pulling her away.

The three Skallesons stood in silence. Evaine had somehow managed to make each one of them feel uncomfortable.

Eirik spoke first. ‘I should get rid of that girl.’ He looked furious, all good humour erased from his face.

Eadmund suddenly felt sorry for Evaine. It was his fault, he knew, for leading her on. He had encouraged her for purely selfish reasons, and if she were to be punished, or worse, banished, it would surely be his fault. That thought weighed heavily on him. She was so young, and he cared for her, of course he did, but ultimately he knew, he had used her. ‘You can’t do that, Father,’ Eadmund pleaded, turning towards him. ‘She’s done nothing wrong, nothing to be banished for at least. You may as well banish me. It’s my fault!’

‘Well, don’t think I won’t do that too,’ Eirik grumbled. ‘You need to be spending time with your wife, not some childish girl who wants to play games with you, and me, it seems’. He looked around, frowning. ‘Where is Jael, by the way? It feels as though I haven’t seen her for days.’

‘She’s gone riding with Thorgils.’

‘Again?!’ Eirik’s eyebrows knotted together in displeasure. ‘Perhaps it’s time you remembered how to ride a horse so that you can spend some time with her yourself. She’s horse mad, that one, so you’d better get back in the saddle if you want to keep up with her,’ he huffed. ‘Eydis, you stay with your brother and finish your meal, I’m going back to the hall to get warm.’ And mumbling crossly to himself, he stormed off.

‘Well, he’s easily annoyed today,’ Eadmund said with a bemused grin as he watched his father scurry away.

Eydis didn’t say anything. She had suddenly lost her appetite, for she had felt Evaine’s glow, seen a vision of light around her. Not darkness, but light; the light of life growing inside Evaine.

She was pregnant.

22

The cliff they stood beneath was so high that Jael had to strain her neck to see a glimpse of its peak. It stood there, staring back down at her, steaming with cold moisture, its sheer exterior, dark and imposing amongst the low-lying mist.

‘We go in here,’ Thorgils smiled, his eyes twinkling with pleasure as he pointed to the rock-face.

Jael and Fyn looked around, confused at first, but a slight turn to the left revealed a light emerging from the rocks, and a natural opening wide enough for Thorgils to slip through. They followed him, Fyn as curious as Jael now; he certainly hadn’t been here before.

The smell, when they entered the cave was intense, like rotten eggs, Jael thought, wrinkling her nose. The air was much warmer than outside, though, warm, and glowing blue! Looking up in amazement, she saw that the high, curved ceiling of the cave was covered in thousands of tiny, blue lights; glow worms, she remembered. She had seen something similar in one of Andala’s sacred caves, but nothing that matched this; this place felt like magic.

They followed Thorgils down a ragged path towards a huddle of large rocks. ‘Careful here, it’s very slippery,’ he cautioned them. ‘I would suggest you close your eyes before you get to the surprise, but that would no doubt kill you both!’ He stopped and waited for Jael and Fyn to come beside him, smiling at their puzzled expressions as he gestured over the rocks. He had led them to a little pool, a shimmering, steaming pool, rippling under the sky of lights.

Fyn’s eyes widened. ‘It’s a hot pool, isn’t it?’

Jael’s eyes widened. ‘Hot? It’s hot? Hot water?’

Thorgils looked triumphant. ‘It is! A hot pool, just for you, the coldest woman on Oss!’ He laughed happily at the look of sheer joy on her face. ‘I’ve seen you shivering about since you arrived, moaning and miserable in that thin cloak of yours, so I thought you needed something to warm you up. And I remembered this place,’ he smiled. ‘Eirik found it and named it Eskild’s Cave, after Eadmund’s mother. Only those people Eirik trusts know about it, and luckily for you, one of those people is me!’

Jael was touched that he would think to bring her here, but impatient too; her frozen body was demanding she throw herself into the steaming hot water immediately. ‘I can’t think of anything to say, except, thank you, and get out so I can get in!’ She smiled ecstatically at the men as she rushed to remove her gloves and cloak.

‘Alright, alright, give us a chance to leave!’ Thorgils panicked as he hurried back to the entrance with Fyn. ‘I don’t want to see you naked before your husband does!’

Fyn stared at Thorgils curiously as they made their way outside.

‘Don’t ask!’ Thorgils laughed, rolling his eyes.

Jael didn’t even look up to see if they had gone; she was undressed in a heartbeat, folding her sword up into her damp clothes, happy to escape their miserable embrace for now. She caught a glimpse of her tattoos as she approached the water. They had almost completely healed; she hoped they wouldn’t mind the heat.

Her body went limp as she slid one toe into the dark pool. It was warm. Warmer than just warm, though; it was hot enough to melt her icy bones. She slipped into the water as quickly as she could, feeling the heat devour her shivering flesh.

The water was deep enough for Jael to stand and still be mostly submerged, but the heat quickly made her limbs heavy, so she found a little hole in the side of the pool, just big enough for her backside, and sunk into it. She lay her head back against a smooth rock and stared up at the sparkling ceiling, marvelling at the lights. Her body sagged contentedly, restfully, into the water and she closed her eyes. She saw Eadmund’s face then and frowned. What had happened to him this morning? Perhaps the changes in him had just been an illusion, a false hope for everyone to cling to? Maybe it just was, as Biddy had said, the way some people were born. Perhaps it was that Eadmund would end up as miserable as Biddy’s father had? She hoped not.

Jael opened her eyes. She suddenly felt low and didn’t want to feel that way in this perfect, perfect place. Shaking her head in frustration, she tried to stop Eadmund from entering her thoughts. She cleared her mind and closed her eyes again. Her body was utterly limp now, and it was impossible to resist the sense of unravelling she felt as the water softened every part of her. Her mind kept wandering back to Eadmund, though, and eventually, she didn’t resist. Should she try to help him? He was her husband, after all, for now at least. Perhaps there was something she could do? He would likely need all the help he could get if Eydis was right about Ivaar coming back to Oss.

But what could she do? If Evaine was to fall pregnant, then nothing was going to stop Eirik from bringing Ivaar back.

* * *

Kalfa was a small island, about a quarter the size of Oss, and Ivaar hated it. In truth, he hated Oss too.

The people of Oss had never liked him. His father had never liked him. His brother had hated him, and the feeling had been entirely mutual on every count. But he had spent every day of the past seven years imagining a way to get back there and reclaim the life he once had, as the king’s son, as heir to Oss.

He was a lord here, on Kalfa. The lord. It was his island, as much as it was his father’s. His father never came here, and Ivaar never went to Oss, so Kalfa had become his whole world, and him, its prisoner. A tiny, unimpressive, rocky stone of a go-nowhere world. He was lord of nothing much and going slowly insane because of it.

Ivaar was ambitious; desperately so. And not prepared to wait any longer. He’d had word that there had been a wedding on Oss; that his pathetic brother had married, and married well. A Furyck. His father had pulled a surprise there. Jael Furyck was a real prize, the woman he would certainly have chosen for his wife if he had been given any choice in the matter. Furia’s daughter, they called her, and a battle-hardened warrior too. That was a woman to have, not like his dim-witted and tedious wife, Isaura.

Forced upon him at the last moment before he’d been thrown from Oss to Kalfa, she had provided him with four living children; one of them a son, three of them annoying, screeching, and equally dim-witted girls, so she had done her job. But nothing about her excited him, just as nothing about Kalfa excited him. And he was desperate for excitement; desperate to turn everything upside down in his boringly predictable life.

Ivaar sat impatiently on his large, wooden chair, inside his ugly, little hall, on his small, little island and stroked his finely groomed beard. His eyebrows narrowed. There had to be a way back to Oss; if only the gods would help him. Perhaps he needed to talk to his dreamer about making a sacrifice?

There might be hope in that.

* * *

‘Did Jael give you that bruise?’ Thorgils wondered, pointing to a large, greenish mark on the side of Fyn’s face.

Fyn blushed, ducking his head. ‘Ummm, yes, she did. One of many.’

They were standing by the horses, jiggling and shivering in the freezing air, both wishing that Jael would hurry up so they could take their turn in the hot pool.

‘Ha!’ Thorgils laughed as he stroked the side of Leada’s cold face with one hand, feeding her a carrot with the other. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. She doesn’t go easy on you, that’s for sure.’

‘No,’ Fyn agreed. ‘But if she had treated me softly, I’d probably still be tripping over my feet, dropping my sword every time she looked at me. Now I just need to learn how to avoid being kicked in the head!’

Thorgils looked shocked. ‘She kicks you in the head? How does she do that?’

Fyn laughed at Thorgils’ contorted face, relaxing for the first time in a while. ‘Easily, it seems, as she’s done it a number of times and I’ve not seen it coming yet!’

‘So, that’s what the bruise is from, then? Her boot?’

‘Mmmm,’ Fyn mumbled, gnawing on a piece of dried fish he’d pulled from the pouch on his belt.

‘But how does she kick that high?’ Thorgils was still stunned by the thought of it, reaching his arm out to measure the height of Fyn’s bruise from the ground. ‘I should like to see that.’

‘I’m sure she would happily show you,’ Fyn laughed. ‘But you’d probably end up with your face in the snow!’

‘Show you what?’ Jael wondered as she emerged at last through the hole in the mountain, folding her hood around her wet hair, her face red with heat and pleasure.

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ Thorgils muttered quickly as he slipped past her. ‘Nothing for you to worry about. You just keep those horses happy, and we’ll be back soon.’

Jael looked at Fyn, but he just shrugged his shoulders and followed Thorgils into the cave. She smiled, pleased to see a flicker of life in his eyes again.

* * *

Eydis knocked on the door, but there was no answer. There was no one around at all, she thought, as she listened intently, not even a horse and certainly not any puppies; she couldn’t hear a soul.

Her shoulders dropped in disappointment. She had been hoping to see Jael, to talk to her about Evaine, to try and decide what they could possibly do, as futile as it all seemed.

‘Hello there,’ Biddy smiled down at the little girl standing outside the door. ‘You must be Eydis.’

The puppies rushed joyously at Eydis, jumping up her legs. She bent down, with a smile, happy to be showered in their sloppy affection again. ‘And you must be Biddy,’ she said shyly.

‘I am that,’ Biddy said as she unlocked the door. ‘Come inside and warm yourself up, young miss. I’m sure that Jael won’t be long.

* * *

‘You need to go there regularly, I think,’ Thorgils laughed. ‘You look like a different person with that silly smile all over you. I think in this mood, you’d even give Eadmund a kiss or two!’ He laughed loudly at his own joke and the sudden twist in her cheerful face. ‘Oh, he’s not that bad that you can’t even imagine kissing him, is he?’

‘Well, he’s not my choice,’ Jael tried to explain, suddenly awkward. ‘He’s not who I would choose to kiss, or choose to be married to.’ Her eyes drifted away gloomily then. ‘If I had ever chosen to be married at all.’

‘So, you had someone in Brekka, then?’ Thorgils suggested delicately.

Jael eyed him as they ambled up the hill towards the fort, the horses blowing hard after a fast ride from Fyn’s. ‘I might have.’

Thorgils looked at her with deep sympathy. ‘Well, that’s a hard thing, Jael, and I’m sorry for you. But you can’t go back, can you? What’s done is done. You’re married now. And I tell you, in Eadmund you have a good man, and if you give him a chance, you might find a reason or two to kiss him, at least once. And who knows where that might lead...’

‘You have to stop worrying about me and Eadmund, and focus on your own chances for getting kisses, my friend,’ Jael told him as she gave Tig an encouraging nudge with her heel. She was starving, and desperate to get back to see what Biddy had cooking. ‘Why is it that you’re not married?’

Thorgils’ face fell so heavily that Jael regretted her words. She’d never seen him look so serious or sad, but within moments he had masked his eyes, and shaken it off with a light-hearted grin. ‘Oh well, I’m the picky type, you see,’ he insisted, trying to keep his voice casual. ‘I like to sample the goods, rather than go through with the purchase.’ It didn’t sound like him at all, and he knew it, and he knew that she knew it, but both of them left it alone. ‘Besides,’ he continued. ‘I watched my mother nag my father to a miserable death, so I was never keen on the idea of living under the thumb of a woman, no matter how comfortable her tits might be to snuggle into at night!’

Jael rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, with talk like that, I can imagine the line to receive your favours stretches long and deep.’

‘Yes, just like my cock!’ He couldn’t help the laugh that roared out of his chest as he firmly shut the door on the painful memories she had uncovered. They were so dusty now; it was an easy door to keep closed... most of the time.

Jael shook her head and nudged Tig again, who, annoyed now, dug his hooves into the thick snow and started to climb faster, leaving Leada with her much heavier weight, and the extra burden of towing Thorgils’ horse, in his wake. Jael turned around in the saddle and laughed at the frustrated face staring back at her. ‘You’d better hurry up old man, or there’ll be no stew left for you!’

* * *

There was not even any stew for her, it turned out. Eirik had sent word that he expected Jael at the hall for the evening meal, so Biddy hadn’t prepared anything, which was just as well, as Eydis was desperate to talk. Thorgils left them to it and headed to the hall, his stomach rumbling loudly.

‘What’s happened?’ Jael asked as she removed her wet boots, worried by the troubled look on Eydis’ face.

Eydis hesitated, glancing about, unsure where Biddy was, but feeling her presence in the room.

‘Oh, you needn’t worry about Biddy,’ Jael insisted as she gripped Eydis’ hand. ‘Biddy wouldn’t dare reveal anything we talk about. She knows what I can do with a sword!’

Eydis smiled nervously, half-heartedly reassured. She felt strange putting words to her thoughts, talking about such adult things.

‘Tell me what’s happened, Eydis.’

‘It’s Evaine,’ she spluttered. ‘She’s pregnant. I know she is.’

They both heard Biddy’s gasp from the kitchen; Jael was too stunned to say anything.

‘She was in the square today, with her mother,’ Eydis went on. ‘She sounded so happy, and I could see a light around her. I could see a child in her. I am certain of it, Jael. I saw it this way in my dreams.’ Eydis turned her head towards the floor, worry shrouding her pale little face. ‘She is pregnant. Now.’

‘Well, alright,’ Jael muttered, almost to herself, scratching her nose distractedly. ‘There’s not much we can do about that, is there?’

‘Isn’t there? Anything?’ Eydis pleaded hopefully. ‘She can’t have Eadmund’s baby. You’re supposed to do that!’

Jael didn’t know what to say. She felt uncomfortable; all this constant talk about Eadmund was getting under her skin. If only Eirik had married him to Evaine, they could all have saved themselves a lot of trouble. ‘All we can do is try to keep your father calm when he finds out,’ Jael suggested, trying to imagine Eirik’s reaction. ‘He has seen the changes in Eadmund, so he may not be as quick to jump for Ivaar as everyone thinks.’ She glanced at Biddy, who had come to join them by the fire.

Biddy’s face reflected the doubt in her own. ‘Perhaps you just need to get yourself pregnant before he finds out?’ Biddy suggested helpfully.

Jael didn’t welcome that piece of advice. ‘I think I would rather have Ivaar here than suffer that!’ she snorted.

‘No, no, don’t say that, Jael!’ Eydis cried, her eyes full of fear. ‘You don’t know what he’s capable of. You don’t know what he’ll do!’

Jael sighed, deeply. She felt as though she was rushing towards everything she had spent her whole life avoiding. But rushing towards it, she was.

* * *

Axl sat, simmering furiously as he watched his uncle paw at his mother. Their marriage plans were gathering pace, and Lothar assumed that gave him the right to touch Gisila where and when he wanted, and he chose the King’s Hall, in front of anyone who mattered in Andala.

Lothar sat there in the seat that had been Ranuf’s, touching the wife who had been Ranuf’s, wearing the sword that had been Ranuf’s. Axl was not sure he’d ever felt so helpless and angry at the same time; he could barely contain himself. He chewed on his lip, clenched his jaw, rolled his fingers over and over, his mouth set in a firm line of displeasure.

‘You should learn how to craft a better smile than that,’ Gant whispered hoarsely in his ear. ‘It might save your life.’

Axl didn’t turn around to acknowledge him. Gant was Lothar’s man now, why should he care what he said? He had abandoned them all when they’d needed him most, chosen to follow the easier option of his bloated, ridiculous uncle, so Axl had no need for his advice now. He picked at the food on his plate with his knife and remained silent and sullen.

‘Your sister’s not here, and your mother won’t be able to save you if you keep to this path, Axl,’ Gant tried again, keeping his voice low. ‘Don’t think they’re not watching you.’

Axl looked up and saw Osbert’s eyes boring straight through him. Without looking at Gant or Osbert, and completely ignoring his mother and Lothar, Axl got up from the table and left to join his friends at the rear of the hall. He was too angry to speak.

‘Axl does not seem happy these days,’ Osbert noted pointedly to Gisila. ‘Perhaps he does not approve of you marrying my father?’

‘Well, no, he is not too pleased,’ Gisila admitted nervously, worried by Axl’s mood and Osbert’s interest in it. She tried to keep her face calm and her tone light. ‘He misses Ranuf greatly. It’s hard to lose your father when you’re still a boy. He’s missed out on so much guidance these past few years. And now, with Jael gone, it’s even harder for him.’

‘He’s hardly a boy, Gisila,’ Lothar scoffed, turning his bulging belly towards her. ‘And of course, we all miss Ranuf, but Axl must accept that you deserve to find some happiness, to reclaim your rightful place as queen.’ He nibbled on a withered carrot from her untouched plate. ‘He must see how it benefits him to be stepson to the king? Surely he can be happy for you and put a smile on his surly face for once?’

Gisila wanted to push Lothar off her. His immense body kept rolling towards her, touching her, and the smell of him and the intent in his eyes made her want to recoil. She smiled blankly at him; there was nothing else she could do. ‘I will try and talk to him. Perhaps I’ll ask Aleksander to speak to him before he leaves,’ Gisila said, trying to look confident as she reached out her hand and reluctantly placed it on Lothar’s sleeve. He beamed from her touch and pressed himself even further into her, his hand slipping under the table to rest on her thigh.

Gisila swallowed sharply, trying to control her body’s urge to flinch. With Lothar on one side of her and Osbert on the other, she felt like a trapped animal, ready to be pounced on if she made one false move.

Watching from his table, Gant saw terror flare in Gisila’s eyes that she quickly tried to mask. He observed the intense way Osbert stared at Axl. He saw Lothar, oblivious to anything that did not directly involve him, trying to stick his hand up Gisila’s dress, and by the look on her face, it appeared as though he had succeeded. There was no Jael, and no Aleksander, who was packing to leave on his trip with Edela. He saw Ranuf’s face and felt the rebuke in it.

They had been closer than brothers. Ranuf’s family had felt like his own for so many years. Guilt weighed more heavily on his conscience with every passing week. He should have done more to help them.

Perhaps it wasn’t too late?

23

Jael couldn’t get their faces out of her mind. First, there was Fyn’s troubled one, then Thorgils’ broken-hearted one, and now Eydis’ terrified one. Her three friends on Oss, and each one of them traumatised by something she could do nothing about.

Then, of course, there was Evaine...

Ido and Vella rolled about in the snow at her feet, but Jael was too distracted to notice how happy they were to be let outside at last. It had snowed relentlessly for days, so heavily in fact, that most Osslanders had simply hibernated in their homes to wait it out. But this day had blown in without a hint of bad weather, and everyone was finally emerging outside again.

‘You’ll lose them in the snow if you’re not careful,’ Eadmund grinned as he came to stand beside Jael at the railings of the Pit. He looked happy and relaxed, warm too, in a thick, fur cloak.

No one was out training today. It would take a long time to clear the Pit. The snowfall had been the heaviest dump so far, and no one seemed inclined to tackle the task of clearing such a large area this early in the day.

Jael stared at him uncertainly, uneasy in his presence. Eadmund had never approached her like this before. Not in daylight. Not when he was near-sober. She fiddled anxiously with her cloak, wanting to leave.

‘You really should have a warmer cloak,’ he tried again, watching her squirm. ‘Something that’s more suited to Oss’ weather. That thing will never keep you warm here, not even in summer, I should think,’ he said with more confidence than he felt.

‘I know. I’ve been thinking about just wearing one of the furs from my bed instead,’ Jael said awkwardly.

‘Your bed?’ Eadmund raised an eyebrow, leaning casually over the rail, watching the puppies disappear into the deep snow.

‘Yes, my bed,’ she replied, lowering her voice. ‘I’m the only one who has slept in it, so yes, it’s my bed.’ She glanced at him and saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.

‘For now, maybe,’ Eadmund murmured, looking straight ahead.

That surprised her. He had been quite different lately, she thought, for the most part. She had not seen him drunk in some time. It unsettled her. Perhaps he knew about Evaine’s baby? But if that was the case, why wasn’t he with her?

The puppies decided that Eadmund should be their new friend, so they raced towards him, pawing his legs, demanding his attention. He laughed and bent down to give them just that. ‘What are your names, then?’ he grinned, stroking their snow-covered, wriggling bodies, trying to avoid their frantic tongues.

‘Vella’s the grey, Ido’s black, although right now they both appear to be white,’ Jael laughed as the puppies fought over Eadmund’s affection.

‘It’s been years since I had a dog,’ he sighed wistfully.

He likes dogs, Jael noted, annoyed. ‘Well, perhaps it’s time you found yourself one then?’

‘Found myself one? I thought these were our dogs?’ Eadmund frowned. He stood up, closer to her than he’d anticipated, but he didn’t move away.

‘Our dogs?’ she snorted, to cover up her discomfort. He smelled almost pleasant, she noticed with surprise. ‘No. My bed. My dogs.’

‘Is that right? Your horses too?’

‘Well, one certainly is. As for the other... you’d have to talk to Thorgils about that. He’s the one who rides her. You don’t even know her name.’

‘True. But perhaps it’s time I did? Thorgils has his own horse. He doesn’t need mine.’

Jael was just about to offer a clever retort when she noticed Eadmund’s smile fade and his attention drift. She followed his gaze and watched it fall on Evaine, who was standing at the entrance to a street across the square, trying to catch his eye. He was immediately distracted and unsettled.

‘It seems that you have to go,’ Jael said briskly, consumed by a sharp burst of irritation. ‘Ido! Vella!’ She clicked her tongue for the puppies to follow her and thankfully, they did. She strode off quickly and didn’t look back.

Eadmund frowned after her, disappointed by the abrupt end to their promising conversation. He reluctantly turned his attention back to Evaine. He’d been doing his best to avoid her for days, even sleeping at Torstan’s. Eventually, he knew, he had to face her and put an end to things, before his father truly lost patience, but he’d had no appetite for it. He knew it would devastate her and the coward in him didn’t want to be responsible for that.

Shrugging his shoulders, Eadmund waded through the knee-deep snow towards Evaine. He turned to look behind himself, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Jael but she had already gone; that made him even more annoyed. ‘You really are trying to get yourself banished, aren’t you?’ he growled, grabbing Evaine’s arm and pulling her down the street, away from public view, back to his cottage.

Evaine looked crestfallen. She had watched him smiling with his wife, enjoying her company, but now he was utterly furious. At her. She felt the tears coming and couldn’t stop them rushing down her cold cheeks as she hurried along behind to him. ‘Eadmund, wait,’ she sobbed loudly. ‘Please!’

Sighing in irritation, he stopped and turned to her, still gripping her arm. Evaine shook him loose and ran quickly from the street to a pile of snow outside an unused hut, and bent over, retching.

Eadmund looked disturbed as he came up behind her. As she started vomiting through her sobs, he froze, realising with horror what this might mean. There was no one around. They were in a back alley, barely used, and he was grateful for that, at least. ‘Are you alright?’ he asked dully as she straightened up, wiping her mouth. She was a dishevelled, tear-stained mess and his anger started to cool; he couldn’t help but feel sorry for her in this state.

‘I’m pregnant, Eadmund, so no, I’m not alright. I’m carrying your child!’

She hadn’t lowered her voice, and he rushed to cover her mouth with his hand, too shocked to breathe, not wanting her secret to escape, lest it be real. ‘Sssshhh,’ he implored. ‘We are not alone! Anyone could hear!’

She pushed his hand away. ‘There’s no one around,’ she whispered crossly.

And she was right, Eadmund saw, as he glanced down the street and back again, but he still felt uneasy. Grabbing Evaine’s hand, he hurried her along, hoping to get back to his cottage before she said, or did, another thing; his head pounding with the consequences of what this might mean for them both.

* * *

‘I wish you didn’t have to leave,’ Gisila sighed, gripping her mother’s hands, her face pinched with anxiety.

‘You will be fine,’ Edela assured her with a squeeze. ‘We’ll be back by spring, I’m certain. We won’t stay away any longer than we need to.’

‘But couldn’t you wait until spring to go?’ Axl frowned, looking almost as anxious as his mother. ‘It would make travelling much safer, especially for you, Grandmother.’

‘Well, no, not really,’ Aleksander said as he eased Edela up onto her horse. ‘When spring comes, we’ll be leaving for Hest, won’t we? I need to be here then. Lothar has been very clear about that. Besides, if your aunt is unwell, we don’t have time to wait.’

They had three horses, six saddle bags, and at least six days supply of food. It would take four days to get to Tuura, but Aleksander was not sure how slowly they would have to travel to accommodate Edela’s age and lack of experience. She hadn’t ridden much these past few years, and he worried at the toll the constant riding would take on her old body. The snow wouldn’t help much either. It was a fair day, but the winter cold would make a difficult travelling companion.

‘Perhaps we should come with you, then?’ Gisila suggested, her eyes brightening at the thought. ‘If Branwyn is very ill, I could help. I should be there for her.’

‘Mother, you don’t really want to go back there, do you?’ Axl asked, shuddering. ‘I certainly don’t.’

‘No, of course not,’ Gisila murmured, dropping her head; the memories, although 17-years-faded, were still raw enough to cause her to swallow hard. ‘But she’s my sister. I just hope she will be alright.’

‘So do I, which is why I’m going now,’ Edela smiled down at her daughter. ‘And I promise you, my dear, you will still be here when we return. I have seen your wedding, and I am there!’

Gisila’s shoulders slumped; she sighed hopelessly.

‘How about me? Will I still be here?’ Axl wondered, with a hint of his old smile.

Edela frowned. ‘You? You must watch yourself, my Axl. Ahhh yes, I know,’ she said as he frowned at her. ‘But you aren’t living by yourself, on some rock out at sea. Everyone is watching you, especially the people who matter. So, take care of your mother, and stay away from those stupid boys!’

Axl grumbled; all three faces were staring at him with the same stern expression, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Amma came rushing towards them, her breath streaming out in front of her in great, white clouds as she stopped by Edela’s horse. ‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re still here! I wanted to say goodbye, wish you safe travels.’ She reached up and took Edela’s hand. ‘I hope your daughter will be alright, and that the weather will be kind on your journey.’

‘You are a sweet girl, Amma,’ Edela smiled, squeezing her hand affectionately. ‘Perhaps you can help look after my other daughter there, while I’m gone. Make sure she doesn’t feel too lonely without her old mother around to keep her company.’ She glanced at Gisila’s lost face and felt a tug of guilt. Edela hated to leave when things were so hard, but she knew that going to Tuura was necessary for all their futures.

Both Aleksander and Edela had agreed that they must leave as soon as possible. It was her idea to suggest that she’d had a dream about her daughter, Branwyn, being ill. Nobody had questioned her story, nor her urgency to leave immediately.

‘Of course, yes, I will,’ Amma replied eagerly, slipping her arm through Gisila’s. ‘We can work on the wedding together!’

Everyone’s faces fell at that and Amma squirmed uncomfortably to see it. Her father’s unpopularity shouldn’t have surprised her – she was more than aware of his flaws – but he was still her father, and since her mother’s death, and her sister’s marriage, he was all she had; not counting Osbert, of course, which she never did. It upset her to see the strength of feeling against him, especially amongst her own family.

‘We should go before the morning runs away,’ Aleksander insisted into the awkward silence, sensing, but trying not to catch Amma’s eyes as they sought his own.

‘Yes, I’m already feeling ready for a rest!’ Edela laughed.

‘We haven’t ridden anywhere yet!’ Aleksander said with a frown as he mounted his new horse. She was a young, gentle mare, with a beautiful roan coat. He couldn’t bring himself to name her yet.

‘It was only a joke,’ Edela chuckled as she tapped her heels into the flanks of her dirty, white horse, Deya, who looked almost as old as she was. ‘Now, come along before the morning runs away!’

Aleksander tapped his own horse’s flanks and hurried to get in front of her, their pack horse trailing behind him. He turned to wave goodbye and accidentally met Amma’s eye. She smiled keenly at him, happy to have caught his attention at last but Aleksander looked away so abruptly that he didn’t notice her disappointment.

Axl did, though. ‘Come on, Cousin,’ he smiled kindly, putting one arm around her shoulder. ‘How about we go for a walk, and you can tell me all the reasons why Aleksander Lehr is the greatest man you’ve ever known, and how you’re going to convince your father to let you marry him as soon as possible.’

The sheer embarrassment on Amma’s burning face had him roaring with laughter.

* * *

Eadmund’s mind was clear of ale but thick with panic. How was he going to get out of this mess? How was Evaine? She was certainly going to be banished now, as was he. And it was all his fault.

He sat on the end of the bed, his head in his hands.

‘I wasn’t trying to get pregnant,’ Evaine sniffed next to him.

‘I know that,’ he mumbled, unconvinced.

‘It just happened.’

‘I know. It’s my fault, of course it is.’ Eadmund sat up, sighing heavily. ‘There’s no ale is there?’

‘No,’ she said sadly, holding his hand.

Eadmund wanted to rip it out of her grasp. He wanted to be reasonable and calm, but the more he gnawed on the situation, the more annoyed he felt.

‘So, what are we going to do then?’ Evaine wondered quietly.

Eadmund’s reaction had been nothing like she’d imagined when she’d rehearsed this moment, over and over every night, as she lay in her bed, dreaming of him. In those fantasies, he’d been so excited and happy at her news, convincing his father to grant him a divorce so that they could marry and raise their child together. Looking at his angry, distant face, she couldn’t see that happening now.

‘Do?’ he asked crossly. ‘Do? Well, nothing for now. You mustn’t tell anyone, Evaine. The moment my father hears of this is the moment he banishes you, and in all likelihood, I won’t be far behind. He will not take this well. At all.’

She’d never seen Eadmund so angry before, well never at her, at least. She didn’t know what to say that could make things any better. There was not even a single drop of affection in his eyes; nothing that wasn’t cold and hateful. ‘But Eirik wanted an heir, he wanted you to have a son. He wanted you to show him you could be king, and you have been doing that,’ she tried. ‘The only problem is your wife. If you divorce her, then we can marry, and our son will be your heir.’

Eadmund looked at her incredulously, shaking away her hand and standing up. He had just noticed how cold the room was and made to start a fire. ‘You don’t know my father at all, or what he wants,’ he said morosely, grabbing his tinderbox. ‘He doesn’t want you, even if you gave me 10 healthy sons! He wants Jael to be the mother of my children. He wants the Furyck line, the Furyck name. He will not want this baby, for him or me. He will not let you stay here to have it. It would shame him.’

Evaine shook, with fear or cold, Eadmund couldn’t tell, but as the fire sparked into life, he came back to sit with her, his ire cooling, his head clearing. ‘You need to get married, to someone else.’

‘What?’ She looked horrified.

Eadmund turned towards her, his eyes alert, imploring. Reaching out, he grabbed her hands. ‘If we find someone to marry you immediately, then you could pass this child off as his. My father would never know. No one would, except you and I.’ He paused, looking at her sharply. ‘You haven’t told anyone else, have you?

‘Just my mother.’

‘Good, then keep this secret, and we can think of someone for you to marry. You are the most beautiful girl on Oss, Evaine. There will be many contenders.’

‘But Eadmund –’

‘I know, it’s not what you want, but it will keep you here, with me,’ he smiled, softening his face deliberately, hoping to convince her of this plan, which had suddenly given him hope. ‘If my father finds out, he will send you away, and I’ll never see you or the baby again.’

Evaine didn’t look pleased with his logic. Tears were threatening her eyes again, and her bottom lip was quivering. She placed her hands on her belly, which he realised, did have a slight curve he hadn’t noticed before.

‘I will think on it,’ she said so quietly, it was almost a whisper.

‘Good!’ Eadmund said desperately, feeling the small flicker of hope in that. He clung on, determined not to let go. Wrapping one arm around Evaine’s shaking body, he pulled her close. ‘Just take your time, and make sure that in the meantime, you don’t tell anyone. It’s the only chance we have.’

24

The crackle and spit of the fire echoed amongst the tall fir trees, and nearby, their three horses nuzzled through the snow, looking for something more to eat.

Aleksander sipped on a cup of cold ale and sighed. It was a relief to finally stop. It had been a steady days ride, and they’d made reasonable enough progress. Edela was hardier than he’d imagined possible, for a woman of her age. He had watched her nodding head and her weary eyes but hadn’t heard any groans or complaints as she had trailed behind him throughout the day.

Camping in the snow was not going to be easy, though. Aleksander had hoped to find a cave before nightfall, in fact, he had one in mind that he used regularly, but they hadn’t travelled far enough to make it there before the sun started sinking. So, instead, he had made a camp for them in a sheltered grove of trees, a little way off the main road. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

He had dug out an area of snow to form a pit for them to lie their bundles of furs into and unpacked the tent he had brought along. With Edela’s help, they had joined the wooden poles together, secured them into the ground, and to each other, and slipped a thick, linen tent over the frame. It would be enough to keep out the worst of the night, and hopefully, give Edela a restorative sleep.

‘Do you think you’ll be able to do the same again tomorrow?’ Aleksander wondered anxiously as they both leaned into the first flames of the fire, desperate for warmth after a day that had left them both numb.

‘Of course!’ she insisted resolutely. ‘I am old, but not weak. I can sit on a horse for many more hours if I have to, and I will do so again tomorrow. As long as there’s a hot fire and a warm bed at the end of each day, that will be enough to keep me going,’ she smiled with tired eyes. ‘This is too important to worry about a few aches and pains. I’m an old woman... I’ll have them anyway!’

Aleksander sighed, relieved. She sounded determined, although he did still wonder if they should have taken a cart. The strain on the horses, the lack of a clear road to follow in the snow, and the worry about getting stuck, had all played a part in his decision to simply go on horses and hope for the best. But he wasn’t sure how Edela was going to feel, having to get up tomorrow and do it all over again. ‘Well, get as much sleep as you can. You will need more strength for tomorrow.’

‘I don’t think sleep will be a problem,’ she cackled, her smile still bright, despite the trials of the day. ‘I’m sure I will sleep deeper than I have in my whole life!’

‘Good. Maybe you will have another dream to help us, too?’

Edela’s face paled, despite the warm glow of the fire. She stood, trying not to give in to the intense pains shooting through her aching limbs.

‘We need to know more,’ she sighed, grimacing. ‘That I do know. But my dreams have been so terrifying lately. I would rather stay awake than sink back into that dark pit again.’

‘I know. It must be hard to see those things and feel as though you are in it, living through it.’

‘It is, of course, but still, I’m being shown them for a reason. The gods think I can help Jael.’ She looked wistful, wondering how Jael was faring on Oss. She missed her granddaughter’s fiery company more than she ever let on. ‘I have a feeling there is so much more hiding in the shadows. I’m just not sure I want to peek inside.’

Aleksander got up to help her to bed. He snatched at her fur to stop it from falling into the fire. ‘Well, you’re not alone out here, at least. I can’t come into your dreams and save you, but I’ll be waiting here if you need me.’ He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and eased her down onto her bed.

‘You’re a good man, Aleksander,’ Edela said with a yawn. ‘And tomorrow we can talk all about Amma on our ride, and perhaps you will finally tell me why you think Jael is coming back to you?’

Aleksander blinked at her; he wasn’t looking forward to that.

* * *

Eadmund hadn’t made eye contact with her once; he hadn’t even turned her way. It felt very strange after their conversation at the Pit, which had been their friendliest one so far. Strange also, because they were sitting next to each other, eating their evening meal in the hall, their bodies almost touching.

Eadmund was drinking, but not excessively, Jael noticed. He wasn’t talking, to anyone at all. His father appeared to have given up on him and was speaking with Morac instead. Jael had been talking to Eydis, but she had left for bed.

Thorgils saw the empty space and took it. ‘Eirik’s going to announce the groups for the contest tonight.’

‘So he said.’

Thorgils looked unimpressed by her lack of enthusiasm. ‘It’s important to get into the right group, to see which one of us has a chance. You know,’ he whispered, moving closer to her, ‘with Tarak.’

They both looked over at Tarak then, who must have sensed their attention, for he stared straight back at them. They looked quickly away.

‘We’re not ready,’ Jael said bluntly. ‘Neither of us are.’

‘Well, speak for yourself!’ Thorgils scoffed. ‘My sword arm’s never been in such fine shape. And thanks to you, I’ve gotten more in control of this.’ He tapped his head. ‘Stronger with my technique, too. Surely you’re being hard on yourself there? I’m not saying you could defeat Tarak, or even me, but you don’t look that bad. I doubt there are many out there who could beat you.’

Jael barely acknowledged Thorgils’ words. She felt agitated being in the same room with Tarak, feeling his eyes on her; his very presence made her skin crawl. She had tried to avoid him ever since her talk with Fyn. She had worked hard to stop herself thinking about him, or being around him, but it was near impossible; he was loud, large, and always showing off somewhere nearby. Whenever she heard or saw him, she thought of Fyn; Fyn crying, Fyn as a little boy, Fyn being raped, and that made her so wild that she had to bite down hard on her tongue to stop herself from doing something rash. So far, she had managed it, but only just.

‘If I were training with my old partner now,’ she said, her voice softening as she saw a glimpse of Aleksander’s face for the first time in days. ‘He would have won every fight against me. Easily. That’s how I know I’m not ready for Tarak. I’m nowhere near sharp enough.’

‘He was good then, this partner of yours?’

‘Not as good as me, but close,’ Jael smiled sadly. ‘We had trained together since we were children, so we learned the same techniques over and over again. My father brought in warriors from every kingdom to teach us. We learned everything together, practised it together. Constantly. It’s strange to fight without him.’

The look on Jael’s face told Thorgils more than her words; he could understand that sort of sorrow. ‘And yet, you were beaten by a nothing sort of Osslander named Thorgils!’ he laughed, trying to cheer her up. ‘So, either I’m better than I thought, or you were having a bad day,’ he winked at her.

Torstan grabbed Thorgils’ attention then, and Jael was once again reminded of her silent husband. Was it Evaine? Had she told him? It would certainly explain his silence. He wouldn’t know what to do if that were the case. In truth, she didn’t know what to do. And more importantly, what would Eirik do?

Jael reached out and touched Eadmund’s arm, then retracted her hand quickly, immediately regretting her rash show of affection.

Eadmund looked around, surprised; he had almost forgotten she was there. He stared down at his arm, wondering if he had just imagined her touch.

Jael tried to smile, but it was awkward and only half-formed, so it came across as more of a grimace. ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ she mumbled as he looked away again.

Eadmund drank from his cup, not looking back at her. ‘I have some things on my mind.’

‘Ahhh, woman troubles, is it?’ she smiled lightly, trying to be friendly, wondering at the same time why she felt such an urge to be friendly.

Eadmund’s tongue tangled inside his mouth and he ended up gaping at her, no words forming at all. ‘I...’

‘Or, were you thinking that you must come around and look at that horse of yours before Thorgils takes her home to live with him and his mother? He does love that horse, and she loves him, so no doubt you were planning to bring her a carrot to try and lure her away. It won’t be easy, their bond is a strong one, but she does like a good carrot.’ The words kept tumbling out of her mouth, as much as Jael wanted to stuff them back inside. ‘Perhaps you were thinking that you should act fast, so tomorrow would be the best time?’

Eadmund’s mouth hung open some more, but the look in her eye was warm and inviting; in fact, everything about her was inviting, now that he considered it. She was sitting close to him, her body turned in his direction, her head inclined his way, her eyes staring into his.

Eadmund put his cup down on the table but didn’t take his eyes off her. He suddenly forgot about Evaine, pregnant Evaine, and the problem of the baby that he had been eye-deep in all evening long. He forgot about everything except those eyes, which were deep-green and not at all harsh and judgemental right now. They were almost concerned, certainly friendly, and definitely open to him. He didn’t look away. ‘I... yes, I do believe that is just what I was thinking. About the horse, and tomorrow. It would be good to come. Over. To see the horse.’ He felt flustered, clumsy with his words.

‘Good. I’ll make sure I’m back by mid-morning,’ Jael said, enjoying flummoxing him, but then realised, she felt just as flummoxed herself. She looked away, grabbing her cup, hiding her heated face in it.

‘Back? Are you going somewhere?’ Eadmund broke his trance to take a deep breath and a long drink.

‘I like to ride, every morning,’ Jael mumbled between sips of ale. ‘Tig’s a moody horse. It’s best to keep him well exercised and happy. He’s more likely to do as he’s told then.’

Eadmund smiled. He didn’t know what to say, or what had just happened; he felt better, though, less alone. Maybe Eydis was right, after all, maybe he did need someone to save him. And maybe it was going to be Jael.

Eirik stood up to quiet the hall, which had been low-humming with anticipation all evening. They hushed easily for him tonight, for most were waiting to hear which group they would be in for the contest. Eirik was in a particularly good mood as he surveyed his warriors. The plan to keep everyone eye-bright and focused, had, for the most part, worked, and he’d been pleased to see how full the Pit had been, in the best and worst conditions that winter had thrown at Oss so far.

The first part of the Freeze had gone better than he could have imagined. Eadmund had pulled himself out of his ale-soaked ditch. He had a Furyck wife now, and soon their sons would run around their old grandfather’s legs, if there was time. He hoped he had time; he would like to see that. He looked wistfully down at Eadmund, remembering him as a scrawny little boy, whose golden hair was always being braided by his beautiful mother; she had loved it too much to ever cut it off. Eirik felt a yearning then, for Eskild, his second wife, who he had loved so passionately. He was wandering too far away from the hall, he knew, so he inhaled a deep, ale-rich breath to bring him back to the present. There was no point in looking behind him; he still had much to do before his time was at an end and Vidar came to take him to his hall.

‘Right, I have the list!’ Eirik bellowed, holding a piece of parchment high for everyone to see. ‘Morac and I have taken your names and placed you into four groups. Your opponent will be drawn before you fight. After four rounds of fighting, we’ll drop down to two groups, who will fight until we are left with just two men standing!’ Eirik didn’t mean to, but he stared at Tarak, whose scarred face rippled with confidence. ‘And of course, those two will fight for the champion’s honour!’

Thorgils clapped Jael on the back, whistling loudly, joining in the chorus of cheering Osslanders. Jael wasn’t sure how he was going to contain his excitement over the next few weeks; it was already boiling over.

As Eirik started to read out the names, Jael noticed that Eadmund was looking around the hall, staring at each warrior in turn. ‘Assessing your competition?’ she wondered quietly.

Eadmund blinked, caught out. ‘No, no, not me. I’m not in the contest. Not this time.’

‘Makes sense. Best to wait until you’re ready. There’s no point getting squashed by Tarak for no good reason.’

‘Mmmm, I have a memory of him trying that the last time we fought. I suppose it makes up for his lack of skill with a sword.’

Jael heard her name mentioned but wasn’t especially interested.

Thorgils was, though. ‘You’re with Torstan! Ha! Look at his face!’

He was right, Jael saw, as she caught Torstan’s eye. He was suffering the jeers of his friends as they slapped his back and pointed at Jael, clutching their bellies and laughing. Torstan had trained with Jael twice, and both times she had defeated him harshly, to the amusement of many in the Pit. He didn’t look pleased at all.

‘At least you and I are not in the same group,’ Thorgils sighed, relieved. ‘I wouldn’t want to humiliate you any further.’

Eadmund laughed loudly at the look on Jael’s face. She smiled at him, feeling relaxed, almost enjoying herself as she looked around the hall. These men were genuinely happy, she saw, Eirik too. He stood up there, proudly reading out the names of his warriors, basking in the glow of their victory dreams as they sat around the fire, which warmed them from the bitter winter, hiding just outside the hall’s thick, wooden doors.

Jael took another sip from her cup and felt her shoulders sink slowly down. Eadmund had turned her way and was toasting Thorgils, who appeared to have landed in an easy enough group, or so he said. Eadmund’s leg was resting against hers under the table. Jael felt a twist in her stomach as her body responded to his, but she didn’t flinch, and she didn’t move away. She saw Aleksander’s face and felt the rebuke it in.

‘You will have it hard, Jael. Your group has a couple of good men in it,’ Thorgils said, attempting a sympathetic smile; his eyes alive with thoughts of facing Tarak. ‘But we have a few weeks to get ready, and even though I haven’t trained with anyone who wasn’t a piece of shit, no offence meant Eadmund, I’m sure I can give you just as good a beating as your old partner!’

Eadmund saw Jael’s smile slip. She recovered it quickly enough, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes.

‘Perhaps we should go our separate ways now?’ she suggested. ‘We might meet each other in the final, and we wouldn’t want to give away all our secrets, would we?’

Thorgils scratched his beard; she had a fair point. He considered it, then bent his head low towards her ear. ‘The only thing that truly matters to me is that one of us beats that giant turd. And if I can’t stop him, then it will be up to you. We both need to enter that Pit with the best we have. So, let’s help each other. No games. Let’s spend the next few weeks out of sight from everyone else. We can go and train at Fyn’s. Perhaps together we can cook up a few surprises for whoever we’re drawn against.’

He sat back, one bushy, red eyebrow raised in her direction and Jael nodded, reflecting the fierce determination she saw in his eyes.

‘Agreed,’ she whispered. ‘But Thorgils, if that is what you really want, then I’ll have to stop being so easy on you!’

His face broke into a lop-sided grin, and she shared in it. For all that she missed Aleksander, for all that she needed him to make her better, what she did have now was Thorgils and Fyn, and somehow, they would have to be enough.

She turned around to speak to Eadmund, but he had gone.

* * *

‘Aleksander! Aleksander! Wake up!’

Edela shook the sleeping lump with both arms, trying to rouse him out of his nightmare. He had been wailing, tossing about loudly enough to wake her. She tried again, shaking herself as much as him. It was bone-numbing inside the tent, and she was desperate to crawl back under her frozen pile of furs.

‘What?!’ Aleksander yelled suddenly, sitting up in surprise, reaching instinctively for his knife, which he always kept under his pillow.

‘Sssshhh, it’s me, Edela. You’ve had a nightmare.’ Tired of bending over inside their little tent, she sunk down by his legs, listening to the gentle crackle of frost on his furs. The moon was full enough for her to make out his face; it shone with sweat, ghostly pale. He was shaking.

‘I’m sorry I woke you,’ he chattered. ‘Get back to your bed before you freeze.’

He made a move to get up and help her, but Edela put her arm out to stop him. ‘You keep warm, I’m alright, it’s not that far,’ she chortled as she heaved herself up and over to her own bed, wondering at the wisdom of taking this trip in the deep winter. She lay down, feeling aches in many new places as she tried to get comfortable; her body was telling her off, loudly. ‘What was your nightmare about?’ she wondered as she jiggled her arms and legs, trying to warm herself up.

Aleksander crept out of his bed and prodded the fire to see if there was any life in it; there was, just. Wrapping a fur around his shoulders, he grabbed a handful of dry twigs and leaves that he had collected earlier and made a little nest around the glowing embers. They didn’t catch. ‘It was about my parents,’ he murmured, feeling about for his tinderbox. ‘Watching them get killed again.’

‘Of course,’ Edela mumbled from under her furs. ‘I imagined that going back to Tuura would bring those terrible memories up. I’m so sorry for you, truly sorry for what happened.’

Aleksander struck his firesteel on the flint, half his mind still lost in his dream, still hearing the screams of his mother as she lay over his father’s dead body, before she too was slaughtered before his 10-year-old eyes. His memories before that night were forever coloured by their traumatic loss. He only felt sadness when he looked back now. They had been good parents, he thought, good to each other, and he knew he had been loved, but when they died, all of that had been replaced by a sense of loss, and emptiness and nothing else.

Aleksander blew on the burning touchwood and carried it carefully to the little nest he had made, his hands shaking with cold. It smoked, then burst into flame. ‘I’ll never understand why it happened. What reason there was for any of it.’ His voice sounded lost and far away. ‘Why did those men attack us? Why did they kill my parents? Why didn’t you see it coming?’ he sighed sadly as he blew on the struggling flames.

‘I wish I had answers for you,’ Edela sighed. ‘But even after all these years, I still have none. No one in Tuura saw it coming. There was no warning from anyone. But you must always remember that your father died trying to protect Jael. Without him, I’m not sure she would have lived.’

Aleksander considered that; it was a consolation, of course. His parent’s deaths had brought him into Jael’s family, and that was something that had changed his life, for the better, ultimately. But still, he had always lived with the nagging question of why they had to die.

‘Come and sit by the fire,’ Aleksander urged, shaking away the last remnants of the dream, roused to life by the welcome heat. ‘Warm your bones up a while.’

‘Not likely!’ Edela snorted, her head under her furs now. ‘I plan to leave my bones here till morning, so if you’re planning on having any more nightmares, you shall have to save yourself!’

* * *

Evaine lay her head on Eadmund’s shoulder. She was completely still, watching his chest rise and fall, listening to his breathing as he thought on what to do. She didn’t want him to think on what to do, with her, or their baby.

It hadn’t unfolded as she’d planned. She had taken too long to fall pregnant, and he’d drifted away from her; she could see that now. She kept remembering the way he had been with Jael at the Pit, the way he had placed his body so close to hers, his smile so easy and free with her. All of it said that he wanted her, perhaps even loved her. He’d made all these changes to himself, but they were for Jael; she saw that now. He wanted to be different... for her.

Evaine felt morose and nauseated, but there was still a flicker of hope inside her heart. She placed her hands on her belly and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. She knew that there were other ways to keep Eadmund, to bring his attention back to her, to make him forget his wife entirely. She needed to find a way to visit her aunt. She would know how to help her.

25

‘Aaaarrrhhh!’ Jael skidded backwards on a newly formed patch of snow, just managing to keep to her feet. She touched her cheek, which Thorgils had just caught with his sword, blinking rapidly, her eyes watering.

‘Are you alright, Jael?’ Fyn was at her side immediately, attempting to examine her injury, but Jael jabbed him with her sword.

‘We’re in the middle of a fight, Fyn!’ she barked. ‘You can’t just walk in between us to check my wounds!’ Her cheek stung, and her ears buzzed loudly.

‘Jael’s right, you little turnip! Get out, so I can finish her off!’ Thorgils growled, his face clear of any sympathy. ‘I want to sup on the sweet taste of my revenge before we’re snowed in!’

It had snowed steadily all morning. It wasn’t getting heavier, but the wind was building, blowing snow straight into their faces now. They were both struggling to see.

‘Alright, alright, I’m going inside. I’ll heat up the stew,’ Fyn sulked, as he strode off into his hut in the hill.

Jael and Thorgils exchanged nervous glances through the mess of snowflakes. Fyn had been threatening them with his stew all morning, and they were both determined to be gone before they had to face it.

‘Forget the revenge, I think we should leave now!’ Thorgils laughed loudly as he walked over to Jael and eyed her cheek. ‘It’s not bleeding, but I think you’ll be finding your way home with one eye.’

Jael grimaced. ‘I think you’re right there. We should go before the snow gets worse, or we’ll be stuck eating furry claws again!’

The wind screamed around them, so loudly that Thorgils barely heard her as he headed towards the hut. Jael glanced over at Tig and Leada, who were sharing a shelter made for one. Neither looked terribly impressed by the conditions. The sound of the wind was making them jittery; it was going to be a difficult ride home.

‘Your eye is closing up,’ Fyn noted as Thorgils and Jael shook themselves by his fire. The stew didn’t smell bad... yet, but both Jael and Thorgils looked away from it with fear on their faces.

‘It is, so we’ll head back to the fort,’ Thorgils said firmly as he plonked his boots near the modest little fire. ‘But first, I just need to feel my feet again!’

Jael placed her boots next to Thorgils’. Her face ached, but she didn’t think on it for long; her mind was occupied with thoughts of Eadmund. He would be at the house soon, and that agitated her. Why had she thought to invite him? Why had she reached out to him at all? She told herself that it was mere curiosity, to see what Evaine might have revealed, but she knew that things other than that were stirring her body and rattling her nerves.

‘Hello?’ Thorgils stared at Jael, slightly concerned. ‘Has that bump knocked your thinking parts about in there?’

Jael shook Eadmund out of her head and drew her eyes and feet away from the fire. ‘No, no, I just have things on my mind.’ She jiggled her hot toes around inside her steaming boots.

‘Eadmund things, is it?’ Thorgils wondered cheekily. ‘I saw you two speaking to each other last night. Things are moving along at a rapid pace now. Before long, you might even decide to get married!’

Jael frowned. ‘You are the one who wanted me to speak to him.’

‘True, and I’m pleased that you did. But still, he didn’t look so happy. Something is under his skin, I think. And I don’t think it’s you.’

Jael opened her mouth to share her suspicions, then closed it.

The look on her face was one of guilt, though, and Thorgils cocked his head to one side. ‘What is it? What’s wrong with Eadmund? I can see that you know more than I do.’ He leaned towards her.

Fyn sat down next to Jael, his face echoing a similar curiosity.

Jael stared at both men, listening to the thick sucking of the stew, the spitting of the fire, and the wind screeching past the door, loudest of all. They were her friends, she was certain of that. And she would need their help if everything was to fall to pieces, which it seemed, was about to happen. ‘It’s Evaine,’ she began.

Fyn swallowed hard, squirming on his stool.

‘I think she may have told Eadmund she is pregnant,’ Jael said quietly, feeling two pairs of eyes bulge from either side of her.

‘Wwwhat?’ Thorgils stammered. ‘What makes you think that?!’

‘Eydis saw it coming, in her dreams. She believes she is pregnant now. I have a feeling she told Eadmund yesterday. It would explain his odd behaviour last night.’

There was silence as each man digested Jael’s revelation.

‘It would be something she would do,’ Fyn said at last. ‘If she were to have his child, it would tie her to Eadmund forever.’

‘Well, she didn’t do it alone,’ Jael noted, wryly. ‘I think Eadmund may be partly responsible.’

Thorgils pulled on his beard, his eyebrows knitting together. ‘This is a bad thing. If Eirik finds out, he will be in a wild fury, for sure.’

Jael looked into his troubled eyes. ‘Eydis has seen Ivaar coming.’

Thorgils’ face fell. Fyn drew in a sharp breath.

‘When?’ Thorgils could barely speak; his mind was whirring.

‘Before the Thaw is over, she said. Soon.’

‘We need to leave. Now!’ Thorgils glared sternly at her as he stood up. ‘We have to talk to Eadmund, find a way to stop Eirik finding out. It might be too late already, but we have to try.’

‘Eadmund is coming to the house when I get back, to meet Leada. I can talk to him then.’

‘What do you mean, meet Leada?’ Thorgils frowned as he pulled his hood over his bushy hair. ‘He’s decided he wants a horse now, has he?’ He ducked out of the door, muttering crossly to himself.

Fyn stood up. ‘But what about the stew? Wouldn’t you like something hot to eat before you go?’

Jael shook her head and pulled her own hood up. ‘Thorgils is right. We need to find out what’s happening, to see what we can do. If Ivaar is as dangerous as everyone says, we have to find a way to stop Eydis’ dream coming true.’

The weather had disintegrated further, and the horses were in no mood to leave their shelter. Thorgils was in no mood to care what they thought, however. ‘We may or may not be back tomorrow,’ he called to Fyn, throwing himself up into the saddle. It was covered by an old sheepskin that helped make winter riding bearable, but the wind had blown so much snow into the shelter that it was now wet through and half frozen; he barely noticed, though, as he tugged on the reins. ‘It depends on what we find when we get back, if we can even find our way back in this shit!’ He kicked his heels sharply into Leada’s flanks and took off, not waiting for Jael.

‘Well thanks, Thorgils!’ she called out after him, her voice lost in the noise of the blizzard.

Tig wouldn’t stand still long enough for her to mount him – he was too spooked by the screeching wind – so Fyn grabbed his bridle, gently stroking his face, whispering soothing words into his ear as Jael clambered quickly up onto him. ‘Don’t be too hard on Thorgils,’ he called up to her. ‘He has more reasons than most not to want Ivaar back.’

Jael wanted to ask what those reasons might be when she heard Thorgils bellowing at her impatiently from up on the ridge. ‘Tomorrow! You can tell me tomorrow!’ Jael yelled at Fyn as she bent low over Tig’s neck, racing to catch up with Thorgils.

* * *

‘I want you to prepare the children’s things,’ Ivaar whispered hoarsely, bending his thin face towards his wife. ‘We are going back to Oss.’

Isaura didn’t know where to look. When he was on top of her, she tried to keep her face over his shoulder; that way he didn’t notice the look of empty disinterest she found hard to disguise. She endured his touch, the invasion of his cock, because she had no choice; it wasn’t even the worst part of their marriage. It happened less, now that they had a living son, but still, he came to their bed regularly, using her to scratch whatever itch he might have, at any time of the day or night. At least tonight she got to lie on her back.

Isaura turned her soft, sad face towards him in surprise. ‘Oss? Why?’ Oss. It was a long-ago memory that she had shut behind an iron-strong door. She didn’t want to open it again. Not ever.

‘I spoke with Ayla, today. She sees it coming, soon. We will be going back there. At last.’ Ivaar continued to thrust into her with an increasingly steady rhythm. His face expressed no pleasure in what he was doing or saying.

Isaura tried not to let anything that might have stirred in her heart just then, show on her face; if she still had a heart left after all these years. Of course she did, she chided herself; she had four children, they were her heart. And her son that had died as he took his first few breaths of life; they filled her heart with hope. There was room for nothing else. No one else lived there anymore, she had made sure of that.

‘What? You have nothing to say? You’re not happy to be going home again?’ Ivaar narrowed his cold, blue eyes and peered down his nose at her. ‘I’m sure there’s a least one person you’ll be happy to see, isn’t there? If he’s still alive, of course.’

Isaura stared blankly at her husband, keeping as calm as she could under the pressure of his steely glare and prickly words. She despised him but had never allowed herself to be completely destroyed by him. She had always been determined to survive, for her children. She had done whatever it took, to be whatever he needed, in order to keep going, for them. ‘I don’t know how I feel about going back to Oss. It was all such a long time ago now. I’m not sure anyone will want us back, will they?’

Ivaar looked annoyed by her question. His rhythm broke, and he stopped, staring fiercely into her pale, brown eyes. ‘Seven years,’ he hissed at her. ‘That’s how long we’ve been exiled here. Do you think we should care who wants us back?’

Isaura shook her head, trying not to blink. ‘I suppose not.’

Ivaar closed his eyes, arched his back, and pressed himself into her again, hard. ‘No, my father made a big mistake sending me here. And he will be making an equally big mistake bringing me back. He just won’t realise it until it’s too late.’

Ivaar bent low over her, his head towards the pillow, and Isaura allowed her face to sink back into misery. Returning to Oss was everything she had once wished for, but Ivaar was right, seven years was a long time. Too long, she feared, convinced that everything would have changed; certain that nothing would be as she had left it.

* * *

‘What is that smell?’ Jael gagged, screwing up her face as she guided Leada and Tig towards the stables. She had convinced Thorgils to let her speak with Eadmund alone. He had not lost any of his furious anger during their ride back to the fort, and she didn’t think his mood would help things at all. Thankfully, Thorgils was not blind to his own madness and had seen the wisdom in that, although he had urged her to find out the truth of it quickly.

Biddy looked up irritably, her brown and grey curls blowing about her face. She was squatting in the snow, under the shelter that linked the stables to the house, trying to control both puppies who she had trapped in a wooden tub. The sight of Jael was too much for them to bear, though, and they wriggled out of her grasp, splashing out of the tub, happy to leave the cold water behind.

‘The smell, you are about to find out, is them!’ Biddy grumbled as she stood up and tried to catch her escaped prisoners. They weren’t keen to go back into the tub, however, and avoided her angry arms.

‘Down! No, no, get down!’ Jael snapped as the puppies jumped up her legs, spooking the horses, who skittered about wildly.

‘I caught them in the stables, rolling in all the horse shit before Askel had a chance to change the hay,’ Biddy sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve. ‘For some reason, they love the stinking stuff, but nothing has ever smelled worse, and I’m not letting them back into the house until they’re clean, no matter how cold the water is!’

Jael ushered the horses inside the stables and shut the door. She scooped Ido up in one arm, and Biddy captured Vella. ‘I’ll help you. Then I’ll sort out the horses. Eadmund will be here soon.’

‘What?’ Biddy almost dropped Vella. ‘What do you mean here? Why is he coming here? What for?’ She was suddenly on edge, anxious about the state of the house; the fire which had probably burned down to nothing, the lack of food, the mess she had been in the middle of clearing up. She ran it all over in her mind, and it set her nerves jangling.

‘He’s coming to visit Leada. I think he might start riding her soon.’

‘Oh,’ Biddy sighed, relieved. ‘Well, perhaps he won’t go inside the house then, just the stables?’

‘What?’ Jael dumped Ido into the cold water and started scrubbing his shivering body with a lump of soap. The smell was unbearable, and she had to turn her head away. ‘You think he should stay out in the stables? In this weather?’ She cringed as Ido shook all over her. ‘I think he will certainly go into the house. He must be curious about it. I’m not sure he’s even seen inside it before.’

Biddy looked anxious as she wrestled Vella into the tub. ‘Well, let us hurry up then as everything’s upside down in there. I was cleaning before these two monsters put a stop to it. It’s a complete mess!’ She snorted, trying to clear the shit smell out of her nostrils.

‘Ha!’ Jael laughed as she lifted Ido out of the tub and was promptly showered with icy water as he shook all over her again. ‘Perhaps you haven’t seen Eadmund before? He’s a mess! He’ll feel very comfortable if everything’s all over the floor, I’m sure.’ Jael smiled to cover her own anxiety; she felt oddly nervous about him coming too.

She wrapped the shivering Ido in a blanket and took him inside to the fire, happy to be out of the blizzard at last. Rubbing him briskly, she set him free.

‘See what I mean,’ Biddy gestured around the living area. ‘It looks as if a herd of goats lives here!’ She handed Vella to Jael. ‘Here, you dry her, and I’ll get started.’ She rushed to hang her cloak on the back of the door and grabbed her apron, tying it around herself.

Jael glanced at Biddy’s wet clothes as she rubbed Vella’s wriggling body. ‘Hadn’t you better put something dry on first? You’re a little wet.’

Biddy looked down at her sodden dress but didn’t have time to worry now. She ignored Jael completely as she sat down to take off her wet boots, her eyes racing around the room, deciding where to begin.

Jael let Vella go, laughing as she chased Ido around Biddy’s legs, much to her annoyance. She headed outside to tend to the horses, wondering exactly how she was going to ply Eadmund for information about Evaine.

* * *

He wasn’t coming.

Jael and Biddy sat around the fire in silence, the puppies fast asleep, warm, fluffy, and snoring gently on a pile of rugs by their feet. Jael sipped on her tea and sighed.

‘Should I make us something to eat?’ Biddy wondered quietly.

‘I’m not hungry.’

It was well past midafternoon now. The day had grown increasingly grim, the storm taking a determined hold on Oss. It was almost completely dark outside.

There was a sharp knock at the door. Ido and Vella woke with a start, barking with a slightly confused excitement. Both women stumbled to their feet. Jael straightened her favourite black tunic as she walked to the door and looked around at Biddy, who was standing awkwardly behind her, smoothing down her apron. Jael swallowed slowly and opened the door.

It was Eirik.

III

Into the Storm

26

Thorgils couldn’t settle. He had tried sitting at the table in his mother’s house, listening to her mutter and moan, but he’d wriggled about and been so uptight and irritating that she had kicked him out. Into the blizzard. And now, here he was in the hall, unable to sit still, his eyes anxiously darting around, wondering what Jael and Eadmund were talking about.

There were not many in here today, which didn’t surprise him. A blizzard tended to gather everyone into their cottages. Families grouped together, keeping each other and their livestock safe. Most of the men in the hall were single and alone, with no one to care for. Thorgils felt guilty. Perhaps he should go back to his mother’s to make sure she was alright? The wind was high-pitched wailing now and who knew how deep the snow would get.

‘There’s something funny going on,’ Torstan whispered as he came to sit beside Thorgils.

The hairs on Thorgils’ neck stood on end; he didn’t look at Torstan. ‘What do you mean?’ he whispered back, just as cautiously. There was no one within hearing distance but still...

‘I don’t know, just things. Things that make me think something has happened,’ Torstan murmured. He wasn’t normally the most perceptive man Thorgils knew, but the peculiar look on his face told him that something was wrong. ‘Eydis is in her bedchamber. I can hear her crying.’

‘What about Eirik?’

‘I haven’t seen him, or Morac all day, not in here anyway. Nor Eadmund.’

Thorgils glanced around quickly. Everyone appeared relaxed. There were no sideways glances or whispered conversations. The men sitting around the fires were talking and laughing openly. But something was wrong, and Thorgils could feel it in his chest. ‘You wait here,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll go and speak to Eydis.’

He left a worried Torstan by the fire and strode off towards the back of the hall, looking for answers, afraid of what he might find.

* * *

Eirik looked tense as Jael ushered him inside, out of the snowy gale. His usual spark of good humour was gone, replaced with a sullen glare.

‘This is a surprise,’ Jael smiled cautiously. ‘We were expecting Eadmund.’

The puppies sniffed about Eirik’s legs, satisfied that he wasn’t an enemy. Jael wondered if they were right in their hastily-formed assumption.

‘Were you? What for?’ Eirik made no move to step any further into the house; his back remained to the door.

‘Would you come and sit by the fire?’ Jael wondered politely.

Eirik said nothing as he followed her to a stool she had placed out for Eadmund.

‘Something to drink?’

‘I had an interesting visit from your little Brekkan friend this morning,’ Eirik stated, ignoring her offer as he sat down. ‘It was early, too. He couldn’t wait, I suppose, after all his hard work. He couldn’t wait to lay it all at my feet, to enjoy his gloating at my expense. I’m sure he can’t wait to tell Lothar about it either.’

Jael’s heart was racing now. Eirik spoke as though she wasn’t there, and she could feel everything slowly starting to fall down around her.

‘So, that little bitch got herself pregnant,’ he spat bluntly.

Jael heard Biddy’s stifled gasp from the corner of the room.

‘You don’t look surprised,’ Eirik noted, glancing towards Jael for the first time. ‘Did you know?’

She took a deep breath and sighed. ‘No, not really but I guessed. I was hoping to talk to Eadmund about it, to find out the truth.’

‘Were you now?’ Eirik looked to the fire, his tone flat and defeated. ‘So, you are talking to him now? Not lying with him, not sleeping in the same bed, but talking to him?’

It was Jael’s turn to ignore him. ‘It doesn’t matter that she’s pregnant, does it? Truly?’

Eirik eyed her sharply. ‘Doesn’t it? Not to you? You don’t care that your husband will have a child with another woman? You feel relieved, do you?’

‘It has nothing to do with me,’ Jael said coldly. She felt anger spark inside her then, somewhere deep, where it had been simmering a long time. ‘I didn’t ask to come here, to be in this place with your son. What he does with other women... what control do I have over that? What has it got to do with me?’

‘You’re his wife!’ Eirik growled, standing up, his fury overwhelming him. His face reddened as his voice rose. ‘I brought you here to be his wife! To have his sons, to bring your name to my heirs! To be a wife! Not to ride around with other men, to fight with your sword, to do everything and anything you wanted, to avoid being his wife!’ His eyes bulged angrily at her.

Jael stood and stepped towards him, her own fury on the edge of consuming her reason. She saw Biddy’s worried face out of the corner of her eye, and that checked her a little but not enough to stop her. ‘You are angry at the wrong person, Eirik!’ she began loudly. ‘Your son spent the first part of our marriage drunk! Nowhere to be seen! I never even knew where he was, let alone had the chance to speak to him. How was I going to be a wife to a man I couldn’t find? What did you expect me to do, hunt him down? Drag him out of her bed and into mine?’

‘Why not?’ Eirik countered. ‘You certainly could have if you’d wanted to!’

‘Of course, but why would I want to?’ Jael was wild now. ‘I didn’t even want to come here! I never wanted to be married to anyone! Ever! That was the choice I made, but you and Lothar decided that I didn’t deserve a choice! You took it from me and forced me to come here, gave me this new life, which I didn’t want. You took me from my family and my home. You made me come here and be a wife to this hopeless drunk, who could barely even stand. And what was I supposed to do? Fix him? Turn him into the son you wished he was? How was I to do that when none of you could?!’ She shook with anger. ‘I am no goddess. I have no powers to do anything like that. What you asked of me was too much. It is Eadmund who needed to save himself, not me!’

Jael sat down, not wanting to go on. Weeks and weeks of pain was rushing, tumbling out of her, and she needed to stop. She wasn’t really angry at Eirik, or even Eadmund, she just felt furious about so many things that had nothing to do with her and that she could do nothing about. Yelling at Eirik wouldn’t change anything, no matter how good it felt.

Eirik sat quietly down beside her, his face stripped of all anger now; he just looked sad. ‘You are right, of course,’ he said quietly, his voice trembling. ‘It was always Eadmund who needed to change himself.’

‘And he has!’ Jael implored, turning to her father-in-law. ‘Haven’t you seen how hard he has tried lately? How different he looks? He’s been drinking less. He’s started training with a sword, and today he was even coming here to look at his horse. It was a start. It could have been a beginning.’

Eirik looked bereft. ‘It’s not enough.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Tiras, that vile bastard. He had a lot to say,’ Eirik sighed, looking away. ‘About your wedding night.’

Jael frowned. ‘What about our wedding night?’

‘That nothing happened between you and Eadmund that night. That your marriage was not consummated. That it has never been consummated. That Eadmund hasn’t even set foot in this house since your wedding. That he slept through that night on the floor!’ Eirik stared at her intently, challenging her to deny Tiras’ accusations.

Jael thought that over. How would Tiras know all of that? Did he sit outside the house all night, with his ear to the wall, listening to Eadmund snore? She clenched her teeth furiously; she hated that spying little maggot. ‘It’s all true,’ was all she could say.

That set Eirik off again. He lurched to his feet and paced around the fire, scratching his hands fretfully through his long, white hair. ‘But that’s the worst kind of luck there is! Not to consummate a marriage on the wedding night? That is ill fortune right there. The gods will curse such a misformed union! Nothing good can come from your marriage now. Nothing at all!’

‘You’re wrong,’ Jael insisted, standing up. ‘You’re wrong! There is hope in Eadmund, in both of us.’ She instantly regretted her words, no matter how true they might have been. ‘Just give us a chance.’

‘It’s too late!’ Eirik glared at her, his mouth set in a decisive line. ‘It’s too late, Jael. That was Eadmund’s last chance with me. I warned him. He knew it. He only had that one chance, and now it’s gone.’

‘Why? What have you done?’

‘I have had Morac take the girl away,’ Eirik said coldly. ‘And I’ve sent for Ivaar.’ Eirik removed all feeling from his face as he turned to leave. ‘I wish you luck with your marriage, Jael. Both you and Eadmund. You are going to need it. But it is no longer any concern of mine.’ And he opened the door and left without another word.

The door banged loudly in his wake, and Jael made no move to go and shut it; she was frozen to the spot.

* * *

‘Have you told Jael? About Isaura?’ Eydis wondered shyly.

Thorgils sat in front of her on a chair that was far too small for him, his bushy, red head cradled in his hands. His mind was filling with painful memories he never imagined having to face again. ‘No.’ His voice was dull, muffled.

Eydis sniffed. She had spent most of the day sobbing after her father had raged at her about Evaine. She’d never felt so much anger in him, mixed with so much disappointment. He felt betrayed, she knew, but he was reacting harshly and too quickly. She’d pleaded with him to change his mind, but he wouldn’t listen to anything she had to say. He felt that she was a conspirator, that she’d kept things from him, important things, that he needed to know. It was too late, he warned her, too late for Eadmund.

‘I thought you would be happy, to see her at least?’ Eydis suggested hopefully, the cold emptiness of the room consuming her words.

Thorgils lifted his head up, his eyes morose. ‘Oh, Miss Eydis,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘But you know nothing about love, do you? Who knows, maybe you will, one day soon.’ He sighed deeply, reaching out to grasp her little hand. ‘You see, love can feel as though your heart will burst with happiness. And love can feel as though your heart will break with pain. With true love, there is no easy middle ground between the two. Just happiness or pain. And with Isaura, we had happiness. More than I ever thought to deserve. We were so happy that I foolishly thought we would always be that way.’ He looked wistfully at Eydis, trying to picture Isaura’s face. His eyes drooped sadly because he couldn’t. ‘So, when your father took her from me and gave her to Ivaar, I thought I would die from the pain. Just like Eadmund, when he lost Melaena. He had the pain of knowing she would never return to him, and me... I had the pain of knowing that Isaura was only a ship ride away, married to your bastard brother. And there was nothing either of us could do to stop it. There still isn’t.’ He hung his head.

‘Isaura didn’t want to go. She had no choice. She would never love Ivaar.’

Thorgils smiled uncertainly. ‘No, I don’t suppose she’d ever love Ivaar. Only Ivaar could truly love Ivaar.’

‘So, that means she still loves you,’ Eydis said encouragingly. ‘And if there is still love, then there is still hope that you can find happiness together again, isn’t there? Unless of course, you’ve given up?’

Her words were a challenge, and he thought on it. He had given up, he realised. His frown cleared as Eydis’ words turned over in his head; his thoughts drifting and then forming shape. He had given up. On Isaura. On hope.

‘But now she is coming back. And even though no one wants Ivaar to come, at least it gives you another chance with Isaura. Somehow, maybe? If you don’t give up,’ Eydis smiled confidently. She could feel Thorgils’ pain so intensely. She wanted to help him, guide him in the right direction. Towards possibility.

But in her mind, she saw Ivaar coming, and her heart turned cold.

* * *

Isaura’s hopes sunk as she watched the ship being pulled up onto the beach, her one-year-old son, Mads, grizzling on her hip. Her three daughters ran down to the shore, filled with excitement; they didn’t often get visitors to Kalfa, especially during the Freeze. Ivaar’s face glowed with satisfaction as he waited expectantly beside her. She could feel the vibrations in his body as his shoulder brushed against hers. His long-awaited revenge was about to be delivered to him, by the very man he dreamed of destroying.

* * *

Eirik had thrown him out of the hall, insisting he never step foot in there again. Tiras didn’t care; he felt a charge inside himself, thrilled to have finally unravelled Jael and Eadmund’s sham. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to use his knowledge about their wedding night to his advantage, but when he’d overheard Eadmund and Evaine arguing in the street, it had all come together perfectly. All those cold nights huddled outside houses, lurking in the shadows, hoping for some sweet morsel that he could take to Eirik, had finally paid off.

He smiled gleefully as he built up his fire in his sparse little shack. He’d been treated like nothing since he’d been here, so he couldn’t have been happier, knowing that his revenge had played out against them all. Unfortunately, despite his revelations, he was stuck here, having to endure their company for the rest of winter, and what a bitch of a winter it was already proving to be. He shrugged his hunched shoulders, knowing that nobody was as good at appearing invisible as he was. He would just hide away, keeping his ears and eyes open, until spring. There were a few on the island who would be happy to bring him information for a reward. He didn’t need to show his face to continue his work for Lothar. He was certain there would be more to find, more ways in which he could undermine Eirik and Jael. Oh, how he would have loved to have seen her face when Eirik told her everything.

The door to the cottage flew open, slamming against the wall so forcefully that the whole room shook; Tiras shook, because standing in the doorway, looking ready to kill him, was Jael.

She saw him crouching by the fire and didn’t hesitate. In two strides she had him in her hands, one around his neck, the other on his shoulder. She rushed him backwards, pushing him down to the floor, pinning him there with her weight, one knee in his ribs. He was certain that he was heavier than her, but he could do nothing to push her away. The full weight of her was upon him, her fingers pinching his throat sharply. He couldn’t breathe. Tiras’ hands flapped against the hard, dirt floor, trying to gain purchase, hoping to bat her away, but he couldn’t even reach her.

‘If you take a fish out of water, how long do you think it can breathe before it runs out of air?’ Jael asked slowly, coldly, her eyes as hard as iron, her face betraying no effort as she held him down. ‘I have often wondered that. How reliant we are on a simple thing like air. What happens when it’s taken away from us? Just like that.’ She leaned down harder, pressed her knee further into his ribs, squeezed her fingers around his throat, and now his ears were buzzing and ringing. He started to get dizzy, seeing black patches dancing before his eyes, his head thick with confusion.

Jael had come here wanting to frighten him, threaten him, punish him. But now that she had his mean, little life in her hands, now that she knew how easy it would be to keep going like this until his breathing stopped, she found herself not wanting to let go. He was a shit-stained piece of nothing who had never done anything but try to destroy the people he, or Lothar, disliked. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears, and she felt her breathing slow as everything around her faded away. All she could see were Tiras’ bulging eyes jumping out of his weasel-like face. She watched the panic in them, the fear that she was truly about to kill him. His arms and legs flailed underneath her, but she knew she’d weakened him enough that it would make no difference. She could finish him now; take her revenge quickly.

Jael bent her head towards his face and slipped her short knife out of its scabbard with her free arm. Tiras’ eyes darted to the left. There was still enough life in him to fear that sound; he knew what was coming now. Jael readjusted her weight, bringing the knife past his eyes, forcing him to watch its blade shimmer in the fire’s light, its finely honed tip coming to rest on his pulsing throat. She smelled Tiras’ bladder open then, flooding the floor with the bitter stench of his terror.

Jael stared down into his eyes and smiled.

* * *

The mood of the hall grumbled around Eirik as he sat, picking over the remains of his meal. Everyone avoided his eye, as much as they could, gossiping quietly amongst themselves, rolling his words around inside their heads, chewing things over with one other.

He felt more isolated than he could remember as he sat at the high table, alone. There was no Morac or Runa. There was no Eadmund or Jael. Eydis wouldn’t come out of her room, wouldn’t even speak to him, and of course, there was no Thorgils either. Eirik had other friends, other advisors, but they were never invited to sit near him, so he had faced the hall on his own, too furious to care how many people he had upset with his announcement that Ivaar was coming back.

Jael and Eadmund had deceived him, Eydis and Thorgils too; they had all known things, things they should have told him. As for Morac and Runa, they should have kept that girl locked away. Eirik’s mind raced. No one wanted Ivaar back; from the troubled looks on the faces around him, that much was obvious. Eadmund was beloved amongst the people of Oss, as his mother had been, but he would not make a good king, Eirik was certain of that now. Yes, he had picked up a sword again, but what did that really show? He shook his head; that was not enough commitment for him. True commitment would have been paying attention to his marriage, actually being in it; sleeping in the same bed as his wife, especially on his wedding night, when all the gods were watching, waiting to give their approval!

He felt embarrassed, imagining Lothar’s fat face gloating over his shame. Lothar would blame him, of course, and would be right to do so. Eirik couldn’t honestly see how Jael was to blame for any of it. There was certainly no reason for her to want to be with Eadmund. It had been up to him to take the lead with his wife, as her husband; he had that responsibility, as a man. He had failed; at every opportunity, he had failed, and no matter how hard he might be trying now, it was too late. Ivaar was his choice now, and all those miserable faces would have to get used to it.

Eirik simmered angrily as he drained his cup of mead, the taste of it bitter on his tongue. He was confident that Ivaar could show them that he was everything Eadmund had turned out not to be. He pictured Eydis’ tear-stained face, pleading with him as he left to send a note to Kalfa, warning him that Ivaar would destroy Oss, destroy all of them. Eirik hadn’t listened. He had shut her words away behind his disappointment in Eadmund. He chose to forget about them, care not about them. He had had enough.

27

‘Are you alright?’ Aleksander asked for the third time, glancing behind himself. He hadn’t yet decided if it was better to ride in front, or behind Edela. He’d tried both, switching regularly, and each position had kept him in a constant state of anxiety, wondering whether she was falling behind, or stumbling off the path. He carried the responsibility for her safety as a heavy pack on his back.

‘Yes, yes, of course!’ Edela croaked crossly. ‘It’s just a bit of bread caught in my throat. I’m still breathing back here!’ She tapped Deya lightly, and they moved up alongside Aleksander. ‘You must stop worrying so much. I’ve not seen my end on this journey, I promise!’

The look on her face relaxed his, a little. He sighed, feeling the pain in his shoulders; the tension that had kept him prisoner since Jael left, offered him no respite. He wondered how life was for her now? If she thought of him anymore? If she was carrying her child yet? He shuddered at the image of her being with Eadmund, but at the same time, it would mean she was one step closer to coming home; he was certain of that.

‘So, tell me then,’ Edela smiled craftily. ‘Tell me why you think she’s coming back to you?’

Aleksander started, unsettled by the timing of her question. He swallowed. He’d been expecting this but wasn’t sure how much of an answer he was prepared to give. ‘Well, I just believe that she is.’ He stared into the distance, watching soft, grey clouds rush towards them; he couldn’t see any snow on the horizon yet, which was a good thing. ‘I’ve had my own dream about it.’

Edela made a noise somewhere between a cough and a groan. ‘I see. Different from mine, was it?’

‘I’m not sure,’ he wondered, honestly. ‘Did you ever see Jael coming back to Brekka? To me?’

Edela rolled words around her tongue, considering which ones she needed to pick. In the end, she couldn’t see any other path to take; he needed to know. ‘I did see her returning to Brekka, yes, but Eadmund was with her.’

Aleksander said nothing but she could see that she had shocked him. His mouth hung open, his eyes flooded with despair.

‘You were so certain that she was returning to you?’

‘I had a dream, a vision,’ he said faintly. ‘I only saw Jael and her child. Not him. In the dream, we were together again. I am sure that’s how it was.’ He frowned, digging back into his memories, hoping to find any clue he may have missed; hoping to prove Edela wrong.

‘But it was just a dream,’ she said kindly, ducking under a drooping branch. ‘And you have had dreams and nightmares your whole life. Why did you believe in this one so much?’

Aleksander watched the lean of the trees in front of them. The wind was picking up again, he thought absently. The further north they climbed, the harder the weather would get.

‘Aleksander?’

‘I saw the Widow.’ He couldn’t even look at her.

Edela said nothing but her whole body froze in horror. That was a name she hadn’t heard whispered for many years.

Aleksander felt her shock and rushed to fill the awkward silence between them, his words tumbling out now. ‘She gave me a tincture, told me to drink it, that the gods would send me the dreams I needed to have. That’s when I saw it, Jael and her daughter coming to Brekka, back to me. But I never saw him. He wasn’t in my dream. I am certain of that. He wasn’t there.’

‘The Widow,’ Edela began, then shivering, she stopped, inhaling a deep breath. ‘The Widow is no one you should ever seek guidance from. Her very soul has always been black with evil intention. I didn’t even know she still lived.’ She shook her head, her eyes seeking out Aleksander’s. ‘She would not have helped you for any reason other than to cause pain, to you, or someone else. That was always her way. She doesn’t help or heal, she hurts. Everyone she meets. You should not have sought her out.’

Aleksander saw the fear and anger in her eyes, but he’d clung to the hope of that dream; it was all he had. He wasn’t prepared to give it away, no matter what Edela thought.

* * *

The new snow made for slow walking. It was well over her knees, and Jael had barely stepped away from the house before she considered going back to change her trousers; no wonder so many smiling Osslanders were wearing leather wraps around their legs! As she walked away, she could hear the plaintiff cries of Ido and Vella, who were not going to be let out for a while yet, and were miserable because of it.

Jael wondered how Tiras was faring this morning in his piss-stained trousers? Had she truly intended to kill him? Possibly not, but it had taken an enormous amount of willpower to keep her blade from tearing his throat open. Her heart had hardened so quickly. She had felt nothing watching his distress, nothing but pleasure at the terror she saw in his eyes. But in the end, it would have cost her more to kill him, than let him go. He was Lothar’s favourite pet, and his death would have caused trouble for them all.

Jael sighed, lifting her legs higher, trying to step over the snow instead of wading through it. There were too many shit-filled people walking about, she decided, on Oss, and in Brekka; too many people who didn’t deserve the breath that filled their lungs. Surely it was time one of them met their end?

Jael trudged towards the hall, wanting to see how Eydis was faring. She could imagine that her father’s news would have been a hard thing to hear, no matter how much she had seen it coming. Perhaps Eydis would know what had happened to Eadmund?

As she walked past a block of stables, Thorgils staggered into her path. He faltered when he saw her, squinting at the blanket of snow spread before him.

‘Slept with the horses, did we?’ Jael smiled, then grimaced. Her cheek ached, and her eye was no better; she could barely see out of it.

Thorgils blinked at her groggily, trying to make his mouth work but it was too dry, so he tried to clear his throat instead, which hurt his head and made his eyes water. ‘I’m either going to fall into the snow and drink it, or you can drag me to the hall so I can get something to wet my tongue,’ he croaked, staring at her pitifully; a slouched wreck of a man.

Jael grinned and slipped her arm through his, hoping he wasn’t about to lean his substantial bulk on her. Thorgils stunk, almost as bad as Eadmund had when they’d first met, and she turned her head away as she helped him limp towards the hall.

The cold air started to revive him, and before long he was almost upright. ‘Have you seen Eadmund? Did you speak to him?’ he wondered, noticing the stares they were getting as they staggered through the snow. There were not many people about this early, but those who were seemed intent on whispering and staring.

‘No, he never came, but Eirik did.’

‘Oh... well then, you know everything,’ Thorgils muttered, hanging his head, the misery of yesterday’s events snuffing out any hope of a better day.

‘Yes, and by the look on your face, so do you.’

‘I do, indeed.’ He shook his head, then remembered how sore it was and stopped. ‘We should be at Fyn’s already, but I don’t even know if I can lift a sword today.’

‘Well, that’s good news for me and my one eye, then,’ Jael grinned as she helped him up the snow-covered steps to the hall. He stumbled. ‘Careful! You’ll have us both on our faces if you don’t open your eyes wider!’

Thorgils tried blinking to clear his vision, but everything was just a white blur. He sighed morosely as Jael opened the door, pausing, unsure how he felt about seeing Eirik this morning. ‘I think... maybe we should get a drink elsewhere.’

‘Why?’ Jael stopped and let the door close.

‘I’m just not sure I can face it yet. Why don’t we ride to Fyn’s? I can cling onto Leada, let the breeze blow some sense into my thick head.’ He stared down at Jael sadly. ‘We can talk about some things.’

‘We can do that, although, with all this snow, I’m not sure the horses will be too happy.’

‘True,’ he nodded. ‘But I think they’d be even less happy to stay shut up in the stables all day. Besides, at least one of us needs to practice and even more now,’ he muttered, lowering his voice. ‘With Ivaar coming, who knows what’s going to happen on Oss. I don’t imagine either of us will be safe much longer.’

* * *

Eydis knew all of Eadmund’s hiding places; he’d had so many over the years. He’d not been intentionally hiding, most of the time, but somehow he’d just ended up falling asleep in the same places, over and over again.

They had checked four of them now, without any luck, but Eydis had a strong sense that Eadmund would be in the fifth place. He had to be; she had run out of ideas.

‘Are you warm enough, my lady?’ Biddy wondered anxiously for the third time.

Eydis had come early, seeking Jael’s help to track down Eadmund but had wound up with Biddy instead, who had no intention of letting her go exploring on her own; not in this much snow.

‘You must call me Eydis, Biddy. My lady sounds like I’m my mother,’ she smiled sadly.

‘Well, Eydis,’ Biddy said severely as she pulled the shivering girl towards her to avoid an oncoming group of snow shovellers. ‘You’re shaking, and I think we should go back now. We’ve found no sign of that brother of yours, and you need to change your clothes. All of them!’ She looked down at Eydis’ wet cloak, dress, and boots. Her own clothes were clinging to her legs, and she couldn’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to go back to the house and sit by the fire.

‘Just one more,’ Eydis pleaded, arms out in front of her now, feeling around. ‘I think we’re here. Is it a small cottage, all by itself? With antlers over the door? No windows?’

‘Well, I suppose so. They all look much the same around here. But it could be the place.’

‘Good, then I’ll go in and see. You can wait for me here,’ Eydis smiled confidently, pushing on the slightly crooked door.

Biddy looked distressed as she called after her. ‘Well, I’m not sure I should just let you go in there. It doesn’t look the cleanest place for a lady to go...’ But her words fell onto the snow and stayed there, ignored, as Eydis disappeared through the door.

The air inside the cottage was frigid, and Eydis couldn’t hear or feel a fire. She shuddered, noticing for the first time just how wet her clothes truly were. She heard nothing but the hollow sound of her boots on the floorboards; she was surprised a place this small had floorboards.

‘Eadmund?’ Eydis asked quietly into the nothingness. ‘Are you in here?’ She sensed someone nearby; could hear someone breathing. The cottage stunk, of stale ale and other things she didn’t want to imagine. Eydis followed the faint, snuffling noises until she felt a bed, and, using her hands, she found a leg and a space, and sat down. ‘Eadmund!’ Eydis squeezed the leg as hard as she could.

Eadmund sat upright, blinking in shock as the cold grabbed hold of his body. He gasped, surprised to see the shadowy little figure of his sister sitting nearby. ‘Eydis! What are you doing here?’ He squinted at her with one eye. ‘You shouldn’t be here, it’s freezing!’ His head was full of fog, but he had enough sense to scramble up and wrap his bed furs around her. ‘How did you get here? You’re wet through!’ he croaked, shaking his head, trying to wake himself up.

‘Biddy brought me. She’s outside, so perhaps you could put your head out and tell her that she can go home now. I don’t want her standing around in the snow getting cold.’

‘Biddy?’ Eadmund mumbled, stumbling towards the door, his head pounding with every step. ‘Who’s Biddy?’

Eydis rolled her eyes and sighed. ‘That is how we got into this mess in the first place!’

Eadmund opened the door to see a middle-aged woman, dressed in a plain, brown cloak, with a fierce look on her face; she appeared ready to break into the cottage. Seeing him, however, she took a step back, and her face relaxed.

‘I take it that you’re Eadmund?’ Biddy said, wrinkling her nose at the foul odours that had escaped through the door.

‘Yes, and you’re Biddy?’ he shivered, wondering where he’d left his cloak. Again. ‘Eydis is sending you home. I will bring her back to the hall when she’s done telling me off.’

Biddy couldn’t help but smile at his swollen-eyed, miserable face. Despite the look and the stink of him, there was something there that she warmed to. ‘Well, you are both more than welcome to come back to your house instead, if you like. I shall have something hot waiting, and I know two puppies who would like the company.’

Memories started shifting around in Eadmund’s head, and he put them all together with a crooked smile. ‘My house?’ he said slowly, then frowned. ‘What about Jael?’

‘Well, you needn’t worry about her. She’s gone riding with Thorgils. I don’t imagine they’ll be back for hours.’

Eadmund scratched his head. ‘Perhaps we will. That does sound more appealing than seeing my father.’

‘Good. I had better hurry back and start cooking then,’ Biddy said, nodding quickly, remembering all the chores she had been in the middle of when Eydis had whisked her away; she would have to move fast.

Eadmund closed the door and came back into the room. ‘Ahhh, Biddy...’ he sighed joining his sister on the bed. ‘My wife’s servant?’

‘Your servant too, if you ever went to your own house!’

‘Well, it’s too late for that, isn’t it? It hardly matters now.’ Eadmund hung his head, remembering the look on Eirik’s face when he’d told him about his plans for Ivaar. He had never seen such fury in his father’s eyes; such heart-aching disappointment. He lifted his head up, shaking the memories away.

Eydis reached out for Eadmund’s hand. ‘It’s not too late.’

‘I can’t get Evaine unpregnant, or make Jael pregnant in one day, Eydis. It’s too late,’ he told her firmly. ‘Everything’s too late.’

‘Eadmund, listen to me,’ she pleaded. ‘I saw Ivaar coming. I saw Evaine with your child. I have seen many things, some of them far into the future, but I don’t believe we can’t change them. Why else would the gods show me what’s coming? It’s a warning, isn’t it, so that we may have a chance to do something, to stop the bad things from happening.’

Eadmund felt ashamed of his own weakness as he glanced at his little sister’s face. She was desperately clinging to hope, whereas he was ready to fall down and give up. Every part of his body was trying to convince his mind that going back to sleep was the best way to deal with the situation or ale; if he could just find more ale.

* * *

‘Well, that makes sense of all this,’ Jael said, motioning towards Thorgils’ miserable looking figure as they rode carefully down the slope towards Fyn’s. ‘I don’t blame you at all. But surely seeing Isaura again is something you can look forward to?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘With him? Seeing her with him? What if she does love him? What if she’s stopped loving me?’ He sighed deeply. ‘What if she hasn’t?’

Tig’s hooves slipped, and Jael had to catch herself from falling forwards. ‘Whoa, Tig.’ She gave him a reassuring pat, resettling her weight backwards. ‘You can’t worry about any of those things, can you? Not now, at least. When you see her, you’ll know the answer to all of your questions. But until then, don’t think on it, it won’t help you. You have to keep your mind and your body on the contest. That’s the only thing you have any control over. Any more mornings like this and you won’t even get a chance to meet Tarak, let alone have any hope of defeating him.’

Fyn waved his sword at them, an eager smile on his freckled face. He must have been out clearing the practice area since dawn, for he had moved enough snow for them to begin right away. Although, Jael thought, feeling her swollen eye, and glancing at Thorgils clutching his belly, he might have done it all for nothing.

* * *

Morac sighed heavily. He should be too old to care by now, but he did. He frowned, remembering the look on Eirik’s fuming face when he had ordered him to remove Evaine from Oss. Ordered. Like he was his servant. Is that what he truly thought of him now, after all these years; no more than a servant? He supposed it was true; he had put himself in that position. Eirik was so used to him bending to his every whim, that he took more and more advantage as the years wore on.

It had all been so different once, when they were boys. Eirik had been like a little brother to him then. Morac had looked out for him, taken care of him. All those nights when Eirik’s father used to beat him, it was Morac and his sister, Morana, who had tended to his wounds, who had given him comfort and friendship, who had ultimately helped him escape and take revenge upon his father. It was so long ago now, and they had both forgotten so much, it seemed. Morac had been the leader then. He had saved Eirik’s life; how they had both forgotten.

But Morana hadn’t.

She looked as withered as an ancient tree, he thought, as he stared at his younger sister. Her black and white hair hung loose, down to her waist, wild and matted together; her skin wrinkled like weathered bark. But her dark eyes were still sharp, and they sought his out in the dim light of the cottage. ‘Without us, he would have turned to ash before he’d even begun,’ she spat angrily. ‘Does he not remember? Is he so old that his memory box has broken?’

Evaine sat on a small bed, leaning against the wall, barely listening. She stared at her hands, her eyes hurting, her breasts aching, her heart breaking.

‘Time will do that to memories,’ Morac said wryly. ‘It can twist and shape them into whatever it is we want them to be, whatever comforts us and allows us to sleep at night. Eirik is not alone in that.’

‘No, I suppose he is not,’ Morana conceded reluctantly, sipping on a foul-smelling brew. ‘But he owes you more than he has ever acknowledged. He is King of Oss because of you. And now, instead of giving you thanks, he is ripping your family apart, piece by piece. Soon it will just be you left, and then.... no one.’

She was being dramatic, Morac thought, knowing his sister as he did. But Eirik had banished three members of his family now. How was he to hold his head up on Oss ever again?

‘Eirik Skalleson is old. His death is coming. And soon.’

Morac looked up sharply. ‘You have seen this?’

‘I have, and he has too,’ she snorted. ‘Why do you think he’s made all this fuss about having an heir? His time is rushing away from him, and when he is gone, you will have your chance. We all will.’ She smiled fiercely at Evaine, showing off two crooked rows of rotting teeth.

* * *

Jael felt weary as she pushed open the door. She’d barely been able to see, and Thorgils had barely been able to stand, but somehow they had managed to use most of the daylight fighting one another, much to Fyn’s amusement. He’d enjoyed his improved chances against both of them, and taken a few gleeful helpings of revenge for the punishment they had served up to him recently.

The house was warm and quiet, apart from the crackle of the fire, and an odd rumbling sound, that reminded her of... snoring? Jael looked about the room as she bent down to pat the very sleepy Ido and Vella who had come to greet her. She saw Eydis sitting by the fire and Biddy tidying her kitchen corner, but where was that noise coming from?

Biddy put her finger to her lips. ‘That would be your husband,’ she whispered, pointing towards the bedchamber.

Jael’s eyes rounded in surprise; she shivered.

‘Go and sit by the fire,’ Biddy insisted as she came to take Jael’s cloak. ‘You’re shaking.’

Jael felt awkward as she sat down next to Eydis... in a chair. ‘Hello Eydis,’ she smiled. ‘Where did this come from?’ It was a very nice chair indeed; fine, smooth oak, with a high back, and ample arm rests. Jael sunk back into it, comfortable but confused.

‘I had it brought around for Eadmund,’ Biddy whispered as she came to perch on a stool. ‘I thought he needed something more solid, especially after watching Thorgils trying to balance on these little stools.’

Jael raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at her. ‘I see. But these little stools are alright for me?’

‘Well, your rump fits perfectly on them, so I haven’t been worried about you, no.’

‘But you have been worried about him?’

‘Of course! I want him to feel at home here.’ Biddy shot her a look of determination as she lifted Ido onto Eydis’ knee. ‘Here you go, my dear. He’s looking for a cuddle.’

‘He’s getting so big,’ Eydis laughed quietly as she reached out to stroke Ido’s smooth fur. ‘I don’t think he’ll fit on my knee for long.’

‘Good,’ Jael said, looking irritably at Biddy. ‘That way I’ll be able to take them walking without worrying they’re going to drown in the snow!’ She watched Eydis’ expression change then and turned to see that Eadmund was standing in the doorway.

‘I do believe that’s my chair you’re sitting in.’

He looked terrible, with his crumpled face and wild, sandy hair, Jael thought; she couldn’t help but smile. ‘Feel free to move me out of it, if you like.’

‘I wouldn’t think of it,’ Eadmund croaked as he walked towards the fire. ‘You look like you’ve had a rough day.’ He pointed to his eye.

Jael reached up and touched her own. ‘Oh, that? That was Thorgils.’

Eadmund looked surprised as he sat down on a stool; Biddy was right, he was far too big for it. ‘You were training together? I haven’t seen either of you in the Pit lately. Where have you been going?’

‘We... ahhh, we’ve been fighting elsewhere.’ Jael stumbled about, trying to construct a story that didn’t involve Fyn. ‘Just somewhere Thorgils likes to go, for privacy. I’ve no idea what it’s called. He’s worried about Tarak knowing his secrets. He’s taking the contest very seriously.’

‘I can’t blame him,’ Eadmund said, wincing, as the pains in his head reminded him just how much he had drunk last night. ‘Tarak has humiliated Thorgils every time they’ve fought. Not just beaten him, but worked hard to make him look like a fool in front of everyone.’ He scratched his sparse beard thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know what makes someone want to be that way. To get pleasure from hurting others.’

‘Well, there are a few like that around here, wouldn’t you say?’ Jael noted wryly. ‘And it seems your father is about to welcome one more.’

Eadmund grimaced, sighing. ‘Yes. That.’ He didn’t know where to look or what to say, but suddenly the room felt too hot, his tunic too close to his skin, the lamp too bright near the corner of his eye. He felt anxious, uncomfortable in this place, under her scrutiny, as seemingly casual as it was. ‘It... is unfortunate, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He had made it clear enough what would happen if I were to... let him down.’ Eadmund could feel Biddy’s eyes and Eydis’ ears taking everything in, and his words felt foolish and poorly formed because of it. ‘I should get you home, Eydis, or at least walk you to the hall steps. Father will no doubt be wondering where you’ve been all day, but I hardly think he’d like to see me.’ He stood up to leave, his head hanging low, his spirits even lower.

Eydis lifted the sleeping Ido onto the floor and let Biddy wrap her up in her cloak. She’d had such an enjoyable afternoon, sitting and talking with her by the fire, cuddling the puppies, listening to Eadmund snore away, eating far too many bowls of nettle soup. She was reluctant to leave, but she could hear the distress in Eadmund’s voice; he needed to go.

Jael got up and followed them to the door. ‘Do you have a cloak?’ she wondered. He was only wearing a tunic and already looked cold.

Biddy had already found it, though, and handed it to him with a sympathetic smile; he really did look like the saddest man she’d ever seen. ‘Here you are.’

‘Thank you,’ Eadmund nodded, embarrassed. ‘Thank you too, for the meal and the company, and the bed, of course. That bed is a hard thing to leave. I’ve never slept in something like that.’ He shook his head. ‘My father worked so hard on that for you.’

‘Did he?’ Jael was surprised.

Eadmund laughed. ‘He wanted to impress you so much. I think sometimes he doesn’t feel like a real king, not compared to your family, at least. I suppose it’s hard letting go of who we used to be, no matter how far away we end up from where we began.’

Jael could see the sadness behind his smile as he bent down to pat the puppies, but she didn’t know what to say, or how she felt... about any of it. They all stood in silence, awkwardly by the door.

‘You should come again,’ Jael tried at last. ‘We can talk about my horses and my chair and my puppies.’ She started to smile, but her eye hurt, and she cringed instead.

Eadmund laughed, pleased to have caught a flash of kindness in her eye; that meant something. ‘Perhaps I will.’ He shook his head and turned to his sister. ‘Come on, Eydis. We need to go.’

Jael reached out and squeezed Eydis’ hand. ‘You must come and keep Biddy company again. She is getting lonely without me these days, and old people always like to be around the young, don’t they Biddy?’ She winked at her servant, whose face twisted into a scowl.

‘Yes, you should come again, Eydis. It will make a nice change to be around a real lady.’ She reached down to pick up Vella, who was pawing her leg.

‘Goodbye, Eadmund.’

‘Goodbye, Jael.’

He smiled briefly, his lost eyes lingering for just a moment, before he opened the door, ushering Eydis out and quickly shutting it behind them.

* * *

‘You are in the best place possible now,’ Morac promised as he climbed aboard the ship. He felt so reluctant to leave her here; so angry that Eirik was forcing him to.

Evaine didn’t look convinced. Her small, pale face was drawn tightly together. She did not want to be left here, on this island, with her aunt, without Eadmund. ‘Will you come back? Will you come and take me home?’

Morac stumbled, his feet unsteady in the rocking vessel. He blinked away his uncertainty. ‘Of course, of course, I’ll come back. And so will you. Ask your aunt. She sees everything, which she will no doubt tell you over and over again!’ He smiled, hoping it would relax her, but Evaine looked even more miserable.

‘Perhaps Eadmund will come and visit me?’

Morac looked away, not sure he could face disappointing her further. The oars were in now, and the helmsman was demanding they leave. The sky did not look too troubling, but the wind would make it a difficult journey back to Oss. The narrow slip of sea water that remained unfrozen was notoriously tricky to navigate, even on a calm day.

‘Go back to the cottage, Evaine,’ Morac called to her as the ship backed into the waves. ‘Get yourself warm. You must take care of that child. And yourself!’ His words blew away on the wind, and he held his hand up instead, waving to her, watching her disappear, hoping she would be alright.

Evaine sighed miserably, trying not to vomit; the salty tang of the sea air was turning her stomach. She pulled her cloak in to stop it flapping away and turned to climb the hill back to her aunt’s stinking little cottage; her new home.

28

Thorgils kept swallowing as he stood there, waiting. He could feel the tension growing at the base of his neck, the straining of his nerves as he watched her slowly coming towards him. He wanted to look away, so desperately afraid of what he would see in her eyes, but not wanting her first look of him to be a disappointment. He tried to keep his shoulders high, his face impassive, but strong as he waited.

The small party from Kalfa had spent nearly two days making their way from the very south of Oss, overland to the fort. The trip had, for the most part, been uneventful, but with four children and a large group of servants, most of whom were women, it had been a tedious journey indeed. Ivaar was thoroughly sick of them all by the time they approached the rise of the hill where the fort stood, exactly as he had left it, seven years before. He felt his left eye twitch in a burst of anger as he caught his first glimpse of the figures waiting for him and his outcast family. Oss had been his home, and he’d been thrown out of it in the most humiliating way. He clenched his jaw, knowing that he had to keep his feelings hidden deep down inside himself if he were to achieve the revenge he had dreamed of for so long.

Eirik could feel his beard starting to freeze; he wished they’d hurry up. As much as he was looking forward to meeting his grandchildren and seeing Ivaar again, he was beginning to wonder what he had done. A few days without Eadmund had cleared his mind, allowing him to wander far enough back into the past to remember why he had removed Ivaar in the first place. But still, he told himself, he had to make a choice, there was no time not to. His responsibility as king was to leave his people in the hands of someone who could keep them safe and prosperous. He hoped Ivaar would give him reason to think that it could be him.

‘Father!’ Ivaar beamed as he dismounted his horse and stepped forwards to embrace Eirik in a firm hug. His father looked smaller than he remembered, but his eyes were still hard and alert as they peered at him.

‘Ivaar,’ Eirik smiled warmly, determined to show the gathered crowd that his eldest son was to be welcomed. ‘It has been a long time.’ He stepped back and was pleased with what he saw; Ivaar looked well indeed. His handsome face had barely aged since he had last seen it. He had cut his blonde hair very short, which made him look more severe than he remembered, and his pale blue eyes were as sharp as ever. After watching Eadmund’s decline, Eirik was relieved to find that his eldest son was mostly unchanged.

He glanced towards Ivaar’s wife, who was helping the children out of the wagon. ‘Isaura! My dear girl, and look at all these grandchildren of mine!’

Isaura turned around and smiled nervously at Eirik. She had left as a nobody, seven years ago, and returned, daughter-in-law of the king; she didn’t know how to behave at all. Her weary eyes remained at chest level, staring straight ahead. She didn’t want Ivaar to catch her looking for Thorgils, but she knew he was there; she could sense him watching her. ‘My lord,’ she smiled politely, bowing her head.

‘Oh no, you must not be that formal with me,’ he smiled kindly, tickling each child’s chin, in turn, paying particular attention to the little boy, who promptly started grizzling. ‘Eirik is fine. But now, tell me who each of these fine, young people are.’

‘This is Selene... Annet... Leya... and the baby is Mads,’ Isaura mumbled, pointing to each blonde-headed child in turn, who all looked tired and out of sorts. The journey had been long, and much of it had been spent in tears.

Eirik looked genuinely delighted, Jael thought, as she shivered nearby, holding onto Eydis’ hand. She only hoped that he would usher them inside before her teeth broke from all their chattering.

‘Eydis!’ Ivaar came over to greet his little sister. ‘You have grown so big!’ He lifted her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. He chose not to notice the look of horror on her face or the rigid way she held her body, as though she was trying to escape his clutches. ‘And you, you must be Jael,’ he murmured, returning Eydis to the ground.

Jael’s smile was as polite as she could manage. She nodded in his direction, casually, studying his appearance. He did look like Eadmund, she supposed, but a narrower, leaner version. His smile was not warm, though, and his eyes did not sparkle. ‘I am, yes.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you, at long last,’ he said, letting his eyes roam the length of her. ‘I have heard much about you, for many years. All the stories of your battle victories with your father. What little news filtered through to me on Kalfa at least, which, I have to say, was not much.’ He drew his eyes towards Thorgils then. ‘And Thorgils. It has been a long time, but you’re still as big as ever!’

Thorgils bit down on his teeth, bit down on all the words that were threatening to rush out of his mouth. ‘Ivaar,’ he nodded shortly. ‘Welcome back.’

‘Thank you.’ Ivaar returned the nod, then leaned in closer. ‘Perhaps it won’t be so easy between us, not as it once was, but I’m sure we will smooth things over quickly enough.’

Thorgils wanted to rip those slimy words out of his throat and shove them up his arse. He swallowed quickly, trying not to speak until he had control of himself; unsure if that would ever be possible. Thankfully, Eirik gestured for everyone to head to the hall, and Ivaar turned away, giving Thorgils a chance to take a few quick breaths.

Ivaar caught up with his father, leaving Isaura to usher the children along behind him. As she turned around to gather them all into the same general direction, she looked back, letting her eyes wander just far enough to find Thorgils. It was as though no time had passed between them at all. He suddenly felt hot, as the unfamiliar burn of tears stung the corners of his eyes. She looked away, grabbing her youngest daughter’s hand, hurrying to catch up with her husband.

Thorgils didn’t move. He wanted to stay there, remembering those eyes, reading everything they had said to him in two, tiny heartbeats.

‘Come on,’ Jael smiled kindly as she walked up behind him. ‘Come inside and let’s have a drink together.’

* * *

Eadmund knew that they would all be in the hall by now; he knew that he should be there with them. If he was going to turn his father back towards him, he had to show more fight than this.

He sat on the bed in his lonely, dark cottage, dressed in his cloak and boots, ready to join them, but he couldn’t move. He remembered the warmth and company of Jael’s house. His house. No, he shook his head, it didn’t feel like his house, like he had earned the right to be there, sitting in his chair by the fire. He smiled sadly; not yet.

Eadmund thought of Evaine, and wondered how she would fare on Rikka, with her strange aunt; he felt the guilt in that. She would have his child in the spring, but would he even know when it happened? He imagined his father’s face, staring at the doors of the hall, wondering if he was ever going to step through them. What would Jael think? Would she care that he wasn’t there beside her?

Eadmund drank deeply from the jug. He’d drunk more than he’d planned, and now he didn’t know if he was right enough in the head to be in the hall, with Ivaar and his sharp eyes, and Jael and her harsh tongue. But what about Thorgils, he thought guiltily? How would he be coping, having to face Isaura again, knowing that she was married to Ivaar, who would be making it as torturous as possible; of that he had no doubt. At least Thorgils had Jael and Torstan, he convinced himself. They would help him, he was sure.

Eadmund hung his head as it swum with memories and fears, but no direction. He couldn’t see a way forward, not even with Jael, as pleasant as that had felt lately. He wanted to be all those things everyone assumed he could be; the person his father had hoped for, or Eydis believed in. But his father only saw the faded hope of his mother in him, and Eydis saw nothing at all but dreams; none of it was real.

He took another swig from the jug, his head lolling around from side to side, knowing it was too late for him. He couldn’t go to the hall now, it would only embarrass everyone he cared for. Let them talk to Ivaar, let them welcome him back to the island with open arms. He would rather stay here and drink; here where there was no one to judge him but himself.

* * *

Aleksander sighed with relief as Tuura finally came into view. Or was it discomfort? He almost couldn’t tell. He’d felt so irritable and been so quiet since his talk with Edela about the Widow, that he’d barely noticed anything but his own thoughts. But now, here they were. Tuura was staring him in the face, and he suddenly felt 10-years-old again. Aleksander reined in his horse without a name and waited for Edela to come alongside.

‘We made it,’ she sighed heavily, leaning forward to pat her faithful horse. ‘I wasn’t sure I’d ever be happy to see this place again, but after four days of sitting like this, I’m delirious!’ She glanced over at Aleksander, who still looked morose. She felt responsible for that. It seemed that she had a way of dashing every hope he had for his future with Jael.

‘Well, at least you’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing that you don’t have to sit on a horse tomorrow,’ Aleksander said. He tried to smile, but his frozen lips barely moved. He nudged his horse forwards.

‘Aleksander, wait,’ Edela called, reaching out to stop him. ‘We mustn’t forget why we are here, what we are hoping to find out. I know you’re mad at me, but it’s important that we stay true to our purpose. We cannot reveal any of our suspicions, not unless we’re with someone I trust. You cannot talk about my dreams, especially not the book, and definitely not the Widow.’

Aleksander held the reins tightly in one hand and turned to look at her, curiously. ‘Why, definitely not the Widow?’

Edela looked out towards the imposing stone-walled town, watching smoke plumes rise into the darkening sky, and sighed. ‘She was banished from here a long, long time ago. As I said, her soul is black. We don’t need anyone discovering that you sought her out, that she helped you. It would not reflect well on us at all. And I’m sure there are more than a few elders who would like to know the whereabouts of the Widow.’

Aleksander mulled that over as their horses snorted impatiently beneath them; they could smell civilisation and were eager to get to it. ‘What did she do to get banished?’

‘I’m not actually sure,’ Edela admitted, shaking her head. ‘My grandmother used to tell me tales of her, tales to frighten me into using my gifts for only good things. Whatever she was banished for has always been a well-guarded secret, though. Only the elders would know something like that.’

‘Well, don’t worry, I want to find out what is going on as much as you do,’ he insisted impatiently. ‘No matter what you see in my future, what anyone sees, I will always try to help Jael and keep her safe. Whatever is out there for us, nothing will stop me trying to help her.’ He bent his head, lest she see how hard those words were for him to say. Tapping his boots lightly into his very agreeable horse, he moved off ahead of her again, riding down towards the very place that had ripped his life apart, and put it all back together again in the darkness of a blood-splattered night.

* * *

‘There is no chance, Daughter!’ Lothar bellowed, his eyes mocking her. ‘Not while I’m alive. No chance that such a marriage will ever take place, I promise you that! Why would you think I would ever agree to such a thing?’

Amma shook from embarrassment, from humiliation, and from something else, anger. She stood in front of her father in the King’s Hall, but they were not alone. Many others were milling around; some of his men were gaping at her in amusement, a handful of servants were preparing tables for the evening, and Osbert sat to one side, smirking in his chair. Why had her father chosen to make this such a public rebuke, she wondered? What had she done to deserve this low treatment? ‘I never suggested such a thing, Father,’ she tried to interject, but her voice was so quiet that he rolled over her again.

‘But you thought it, didn’t you? Wanted it to be so?’ He strutted back and forth in front of Amma, crossly, his ample girth jiggling, his rich, blue cloak swishing angrily across the floor. ‘I’m sure it was only a matter of time before you brought it up yourself, tried to win my favour for the match.’ He stopped and glared down at her, his dark eyes bulging out of his insipid face. ‘It was never going to happen. It will never happen!’ He harrumphed loudly and stepped back to sit in his chair, which shuddered beneath his weight. ‘The only wedding we shall be celebrating is mine, my girl, and you will remember that!’

Amma could feel her bottom lip quivering. Tears were dampening her eyes. Perhaps she should let her father see her cry? Perhaps it would soften him? Remind him that he loved her, that he cared about her happiness.

‘And you can stop those tears! If you think that’s going to make a difference, it won’t!’ He turned and whispered to Osbert.

Amma ducked her head and wondered if she could leave without him yelling at her any further; she was desperate to escape.

‘Amma,’ Lothar’s voice softened as he motioned for her to come to him. ‘Come, come here.’ She reluctantly walked to stand in front of her father, and he leaned forward, peering into her eyes. ‘Aleksander Lehr is no one. And you are the daughter of a king. Not just any king, either, but the King of Brekka, a Furyck king! I will not allow my daughter to marry a no one.’ He grimaced, lifted one buttock, and farted loudly. ‘I only want the best for you, just like I did for Getta. She is now Queen of Iskavall. Queen! And she’s not much older than you. Can Aleksander offer you that? No! He can offer you a tiny cottage, a few rags, and not much else. But you will have more than that, I promise you. So much more!’

Amma feared what he meant by that. She saw Osbert out of the corner of her eye, enjoying her discomfort, a knowing smile growing on his nasty little face. She thought about Aleksander and felt embarrassed; relieved that he wasn’t here to witness her humiliation. She felt foolish then, foolish, and so very alone.

* * *

Jael wondered where Eadmund was. She wasn’t the only one. There were a few faces turned towards the hall’s closed doors, waiting to see if anyone else was going to open them. She glanced at Ivaar with his keen eyes and decided it was better that Eadmund had stayed away. He would need a clear mind and a quick tongue to face his brother, and she didn’t imagine he would find either of those in a jug of ale.

‘They make a good couple, don’t you think?’ Thorgils mocked, gesturing with his head towards Ivaar, who was clapping Tarak on the back; the two of them apparently old friends.

‘It’s hardly a surprise. Rats will gather together,’ Jael said softly.

‘He certainly is that. I don’t blame Eadmund for staying away,’ Torstan mumbled.

Ivaar turned to look at their little party then, and such was the look on his face that Torstan froze.

Jael laughed. ‘It’s alright, Torstan, I’ll keep you safe.’

That managed to raise a half smile on Thorgils’ face. He sipped distractedly on a cup of mead, doing everything he could to avoid looking for Isaura. He had a sense that she was talking with Eydis but he didn’t want to be caught searching for her, especially not by Ivaar, whose eyes were patrolling the hall.

‘She looks so sad,’ Jael whispered quietly to him as Torstan slipped away to top up his cup.

‘Ahhh, best that we don’t talk about it,’ Thorgils muttered, dropping his head, wanting to hide the unhappiness he could barely keep off his face. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘Not yet, anyway,’ Jael said thoughtfully as she stared at Tarak and Ivaar. ‘But don’t lose hope, my friend, there will be something we can do, I promise you.’

‘Hello again,’ Ivaar smiled as he approached. Thorgils nodded and raised his empty cup, leaving quickly to fill it.

He was handsome, Jael thought, as she considered Ivaar closely by the high flames of the fire; certainly to look at, with his well-groomed beard and his carefully cropped hair. He looked as though he spent much time on his appearance; that what people thought of him mattered. He appeared confident, his eyes constantly roaming over her face and body. She had to fight the urge to slap him to make him stop.

‘Are you pleased to be back then?’ Jael said, with effort.

‘I am. Very pleased.’ He didn’t blink. ‘It’s been a long time, an unfortunate time for us all. I am just relieved my father decided he was ready to bury the past and make a new future, one that we could all benefit from.’

Ivaar was standing too close to her. The hall was noisy, but not so loud that he needed to stand this close. Jael couldn’t risk stepping back, though; he was testing her. She kept her eyes up and her body rigid. ‘Yes, your father seems very intent on creating new futures for everyone, it seems.’

Ivaar laughed. ‘Mmmm, I was surprised when I heard Eadmund had married you. It was an interesting choice, and one I don’t imagine you made for yourself.’

‘No?’

‘Eadmund? No.’ Ivaar shook his head, dismissively, his lips turned up in a smirk. ‘My brother is a fair enough warrior – although, I’ve heard that’s not quite the case anymore - still, even when he was at his finest, when they called him Eadmund the Bold, even then I couldn’t imagine he would have been your choice. That a Furyck would wish to marry an Islander? One step removed from a slave?’ He laughed, and it sounded hard-edged. ‘But I suppose we are all tokens in our father’s games, until we become the kings and queens ourselves and then the games are ours to play.’ He angled his head towards her; it was a challenge.

Jael continued to smile easily at him, but thoughts were chasing each other around her head. He was supposedly her enemy, but he didn’t know that for certain, did he? Here he was, talking to her, looking to find out which side she wanted to be on. He would have seen her with Thorgils and assumed a lot from that, but perhaps could she confuse him now, make him wonder where her true loyalty might lie... if she even knew herself.

‘No, that is true,’ Jael said, her smile friendly and open. ‘I did not come here for your wretched brother. Yet, here I am. The threads of our lives are often pulled in different directions, away from what we may have wanted or imagined was being woven for us.’

‘True. I had thought your father would make you queen after his death.’

Talk of her father always made Jael uncomfortable; he was not long enough dead, not yet. Her eyes faltered, and she was happy to let him see it. ‘Yes, well, there you have it. The kings do make all the decisions, don’t they? Although, it seems you have a good chance of being one yourself now, which I imagine you had all but given up on.’

She was blunt, he noticed, and he liked that. Attractive too, despite her bruised face, and that scar that sat dangerously close to those very green eyes. He saw a fire in her that heated him quickly. After so many years of enduring his insipid wife and a handful of thick-headed servant girls, here was a real woman, blade-sharp and fiercely strong. He would love to see what she could do with a sword. More than that, he would love to see what she could do to him in bed. ‘That is true. I had thought I would just wither and die on that shit heap of an island, but here I am, rising from the ashes. Back where I belong, and happy for it. It does feel good to be home.’

Ivaar stared at Jael with such blue-eyed intensity that she had to work hard not to flinch. He was intrigued by her, it seemed, or at least was trying to appear so. She remained still, her smile hardening, her eyes narrowing, holding his gaze. There was a chance here, she saw, a chance to be part of the game, and for all their sakes, she was going to take it.

29

Tuura was an ancient stronghold; a tiny, remaining speck on the land that had once belonged solely to its people. Before the Furyck settlers had arrived, escaping the burning ruins of Osterhaaven, they had roamed these lands, their land, with freedom. Now, 800 years later, they were feasting on mere scraps, their grip at the northern tip of Osterland becoming increasingly precarious. There were regular incursions from the Northerners across the sea now, even raiders from Iskavall, to the south, tried to break through their defences, stealing what food and treasure they could find. And so Tuura had been forced to build its walls even higher, hoping to keep its ever-encroaching neighbours at bay.

It was not how she remembered it, Edela thought sadly as she stared at the heavily fortified town through the sinking gloom of the afternoon. Tuura had once felt like a free place. There had been walls, of course, but they had felt much less oppressive than what she was looking up at now. Now, Tuura resembled a prison; its thick, stone walls, topped with sharpened wooden palings, reached as high as a small mountain.

Aleksander glanced quickly at Edela, sensing her unease. They halted the horses just before the wooden gates, waiting patiently behind a line of farmers and traders. He had been to Tuura only once, and it was not a place he had planned to revisit. His eyes tried not to seek out much, lest he saw ghosts lurking in the places that tormented his dreams. Aleksander just wanted to stable the horses and find something hot to eat, preferably indoors. The sun was trapped behind a thick hedge of clouds and the late afternoon cold was closing in around them. He shuddered, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself

He did not want to be here again.

The line moved ahead quickly enough, and despite a brief interrogation and inspection of their horses and saddlebags, they were ushered inside the gates with ease.

It was darker in here now, Edela noticed as her eyes flitted eagerly around her long-forgotten home. The high walls imposed themselves upon the town, leaving much of it in shadow. She had left here with Gisila, so many years ago, on their way to a new life in Brekka with Ranuf Furyck. Tuura had remained close to her heart, though, and she’d returned many times to visit her mother and Branwyn, until that night, when everything had changed. She had never felt the same way about it again and had barely visited since.

They rode on, down the main thoroughfare, which was broad and thick with well-trodden slush. Edela looked around in distress, noting the buildings in need of repair, the paths whose boards had worn through and not been replaced. Even the children who ran alongside her and Aleksander looked ragged and dirty. Despite the illusion of wealth and power the new fortifications created, Tuura felt like a crumbling ruin.

‘Mother?’ Edela turned to see her daughter, Branwyn, rushing towards her, bustling her way through the bunches of curious onlookers, standing around in the snow, peering at the visitors.

Edela’s face creased into a joyful smile. It had been so long since she’d seen her youngest daughter. She felt a pang of guilt but blinked it away as Branwyn grabbed her hands.

‘Mother! This is a surprise! What are you doing here?’ Branwyn’s gentle, brown eyes were wide with happiness. She had similar features to Gisila and had inherited some of her beauty, but whereas Gisila was lean and refined, Branwyn was buxom and soft, her face rippling with the soft wrinkles of a happy life. ‘How did you ride all the way on that?’ She pointed at her mother’s horse, her eyes blinking in surprise.

Aleksander reached up to grab Edela around the waist, gently lowering her to the ground. She couldn’t help the groan that escaped her frozen lips when her boots touched the snow, nor the series of loud creaks as her joints readjusted themselves.

‘Oh, that?’ she smiled, sighing heavily. ‘Well, I had a dream that I must come and visit you, that it had been far too long. So, I forced dear Aleksander here, to accompany me on an old lady’s whim.’ She stretched out her back gingerly. ‘Although, I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same again!’

Branwyn laughed and hugged her mother tightly. ‘You look so well! Truly. It is so good to see you.’ She smiled at Aleksander, who was trying not to make eye contact with anyone. ‘Come, come along, and we will take the horses to the stables. I’m sure they have plenty of room. Then we can find something warm to fill your bellies. You look frozen!’

Aleksander raised an eyebrow towards Branwyn. There was a woman to admire, he decided. Horses first, then food; Jael would have approved. He grinned and picked up the reins of their two leading horses, falling in behind Edela and Branwyn, who were already thick in conversation, their heads bent towards each other in easy familiarity.

* * *

‘I cannot believe how grown up you are,’ Isaura smiled wistfully as she glanced at Eydis. ‘I remember when I used to look after you and braid your hair. You hated it so much that you would run crying whenever you heard me coming. Do you remember?’

Eydis smiled shyly. ‘I do. You would tighten the braids so much that my head would ache. I would beg my mother to keep you away from me!’

Isaura looked horrified. ‘Oh no, did you? That’s terrible. I must have gotten better at it, though, as my daughters are not scared of me yet, and I’ve been braiding their hair since they were very young!’ She reached out and patted Eydis’ arm. ‘It is so good to see you again, dear Eydis, to see this hall again. Your father has improved it greatly.’

‘So he tells me,’ Eydis sighed. ‘I do see it in my dreams, if you can believe that? My dreams are filled with pictures of how it must be in here. I’m sure I imagine it as the grandest hall there ever was.’

‘Which is a good thing to do. Sometimes, all we have are dreams to hold onto, so it’s best to make them grand.’

She sounded so forlorn that Eydis felt uncomfortable. She didn’t know where Ivaar was – there was too much noise in the hall for that – but she couldn’t feel him nearby. Still, she didn’t want to say anything out of turn that would cause problems for Isaura.

‘How is Eadmund?’ Isaura asked, scouring the hall again, but there was still no sign of him. ‘I don’t imagine he was happy about us returning.’

Eydis hung her head. ‘No,’ she whispered somberly, then lowered her voice. ‘Is Ivaar nearby?’

‘No, no, he’s talking far away. You can speak freely. I will tap your arm if he comes close.’

Eydis nodded, relieved, but she whispered anyway. ‘Eadmund is not himself. He has not recovered since Melaena died. I thought Jael would be able to help him, and she did for a while, but in the end, it was all too late. Evaine fell pregnant, and Father sent her away.’

‘Evaine Gallas? Fyn’s sister?’ Isaura was shocked. ‘Oh dear. I can imagine your father wasn’t happy about that. I do remember Evaine,’ she murmured, frowning. ‘She was such an annoying little girl, always following him about.’

‘Well, she never stopped, not even when he had a wife.’

‘What did your father do with her?’ Isaura wondered, her eyes wide, her voice hushed.

‘Father banished her to Rikka, to live with her aunt.’

‘Oh well, they will make good company for one another, won’t they? That old crone Morana was always a strange one.’ Isaura watched as Ivaar walked over to speak to Jael, for the second time, she noted; he was already busy playing his games it seemed. ‘And what about Eadmund’s new wife? How is she?’

Eydis’ troubled face broke into a smile. ‘Jael? She is perfect for Eadmund. She is everything he needs. He had gotten so much better before this happened. It was certainly because of her.’ Her eyes glazed over. ‘I’m not sure what will happen now. I don’t know how Eadmund will cope with Ivaar being here. I imagine he will go back to being drunk all the time,’ she sighed.

‘Oh.’

‘What is it?’ Eydis could hear the strain in Isaura’s voice, and a collective hush as it murmured its way around the hall. ‘Isaura, what it is?’

‘It’s Eadmund. He’s just stumbled inside. He doesn’t look good at all. What has happened to him?’

* * *

The house was thickly insulated, and after three nights of sleeping outdoors, Aleksander was grateful for it. Tuura was a bitterly cold place, but with the door shut and a change of clothes, he found that he had no complaints at all. There was even a fur-lined chair for him, placed right next to a blazing fire.

Branwyn had fed them well, and as he sat with his legs stretched out near the flames, Aleksander could almost feel his toes again. He sighed contentedly as he sunk back into the chair, his shoulders easing down, his muscles relaxing for the first time in weeks. Branwyn’s two sons, Aedan and Aron, had run in and run out. Her husband, Kormac, had also stopped by to welcome their visitors, before returning to work at the smithy. But now the house was almost still. The women were nattering softly to each other on one of the beds that lined the walls of the main room, and Aleksander allowed his eyes to close and his thoughts to wander far away, back to Jael, always back to her.

He remembered how she had been that night when his parents were killed. She’d come to him in Gant’s arms, covered in blood, her small body shaking, too numb to speak. She had just stared blankly at him. He must have looked much the same, he thought. Gant had put Jael down beside him, firmly instructing Aleksander to look after her. He’d shaken him by the shoulders, making his tear-filled eyes focus, forcing him to understand the importance of keeping her safe. Gant had handed Aleksander his long knife and then left, his sword drawn, ready to find the men that had done this to them. And Aleksander remembered that feeling, of being so incredibly lost and distraught in that moment, but forgetting it all when he’d looked into Jael’s eyes and saw how broken she was. He knew he had to help her then, to watch over her, because Gant had told him to, but also because he had seen something in her that he truly wanted to care for.

He wanted to keep her safe.

And now, he didn’t know how it was for her – whether she loved her husband or not – but he knew that he would do anything he could to help her, for as long as he had breath.

* * *

This was not good.

Jael caught Thorgils’ eye, and he nodded, grabbing Torstan and heading swiftly towards Eadmund’s swaying figure. Every face had turned in his direction, watching as he barged his way towards Ivaar and Jael.

‘My brother!’ Ivaar called, his lips forming a tight smile. He opened his arms out in a show of friendship, determined to appear conciliatory before his father and the people of Oss.

Eadmund saw nothing, except the fact that his brother was standing next to Jael; next to his wife. He’d seen their faces as they stood talking. As blurred and mixed up as his mind was right now, it had only taken a heartbeat to conclude what was occurring, from her silly grin, and his brother’s intense stare. Eadmund brushed away Ivaar’s outstretched arms and stopped in front of Jael instead.

‘My wife,’ he slurred into her pinched face. He turned to glare at Ivaar. ‘Of course, you would be here, next to my wife, wouldn’t you, Brother. How long did that take you? Ha! You do seem to like my wives. But you see, you are wasting your time here, for your attentions on her will do nothing to hurt me. You are welcome to this one!’ he spat, grabbing a cup of mead from the tray of a passing servant, draining it quickly. ‘Just ask our father. We have no real marriage at all.’ Eadmund glared ferociously at Jael. ‘I’m not even sure why she’s still here.’

Jael felt the shock as Eadmund’s words echoed around the hall. This was not good. Thorgils and Torstan came up behind Eadmund, their arms out, ready to pull him away but she shook her head slightly, warning them to keep back. Something had to be rescued from this mess. Eadmund was not about to go quietly, and if she didn’t do something, the only winner would be Ivaar, gloating, as his brother was forcibly removed from the hall, humiliated before everyone. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tarak striding towards their little huddle. Was he merely keen for a closer look, or about to add to the trouble? He moved to stand just behind Ivaar, raising a challenging eyebrow in her direction.

‘Ahhh well, it’s no secret that Eadmund prefers his women younger and blonder,’ Jael smiled sarcastically and turned to Ivaar. ‘I suppose that’s why you’re here.’

Thorgils’ face froze in surprise. He stared at Jael, demanding her attention, but she wouldn’t look at him. What was she playing at?

Eadmund’s face froze in shock. Her eyes peered so fiercely into his that his reply tripped over the tip of his tongue and didn’t come out of his mouth. What was she playing at?

‘But as to why I’m still here?’ She looked at Ivaar as she spoke, pointedly ignoring Eadmund. ‘I can assure you, it has nothing to do with my husband.’ She shot Eadmund a look that was thick with scorn. ‘It is for the weather that I stay. For the cold, and the snow, and the wind of course!’ she smiled, sensing some of the curious faces around her relax. There were a few chuckles, a handful of grins; even Eirik looked slightly more at ease. ‘And though I am no beauty myself,’ she bowed her head slightly. ‘Nor am I small and blonde,’ she aimed another sharp look at Eadmund. ‘I hope that the people of Oss will, in time, be glad of my presence, even if my husband is not. Although... after the contest, I’m sure there will be many of you wishing I’d left for Brekka before the Freeze!’ She played up to the crowded hall, grinning cheerfully, and was rewarded with a smattering of cheers.

Jael let her eyes rest on Tarak for as long as she could stomach it, then walked away, barely noticing the amused faces turned in her direction. She headed straight for the high table and sat down next to Isaura who looked too shocked to move. The eyes of the hall followed her, watched her sitting, relaxed, drinking from her cup, and their attention wandered back to Eadmund and Ivaar, and what would happen next.

* * *

‘Go away,’ Gisila murmured, not even wanting to look up. ‘Pretend you didn’t find me.’

‘You know he’s looking for you, then?’ Gant wondered gently as he stepped into the cottage. He found her huddled by the barely there fire, staring into the feeble flames, a thin blanket draped over her shoulders.

‘He always is,’ she sighed heavily. ‘I thought at least I could avoid his attentions until the wedding, but he won’t leave me alone. Not ever.’

‘So I’ve noticed.’ Gant looked around the small room. ‘Where’s Axl? Gunni?’

‘Gunni’s gone somewhere, visiting her sister or something. Axl, I don’t know about. Perhaps he’s with a girl? He’s never here anymore.’

Gant rolled his eyes at that, but Gisila didn’t notice. He doubted Axl was staying away for a girl. ‘You can’t refuse him, you know.’ He crouched down and took her hand. ‘Gisila, look at me. You can’t say no to Lothar. It will only mean bad things for all of you.’

She looked up then, and he saw that her beautiful eyes were swollen, tired, and bereft of any hope. ‘I’ve been sitting here, remembering so many things today. When there’s no noise, no one talking to you, your mind can truly get lost.’ She stared into the flames again. ‘I was queen here, for over 30 years. That is no small amount of time, is it? For more than half of my life, I was queen here. And now look at me, Gant. Look at my family. It’s broken into unhappy pieces, and I don’t know what to do. Without Ranuf, and without Jael, and now my mother...’ She looked up at him, desperately. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

‘You’re about to be queen again,’ Gant said quietly as he grabbed a stool and came to sit beside her. ‘Don’t forget that. I’m sure you never thought that would happen, that your fortunes would turn again.’

‘Not in this way, I didn’t,’ she spat harshly. ‘Not like this. I never wanted this.’

‘That may be the truth, but it will help all of you get out of here,’ he insisted, motioning around the dark and dingy room. ‘And who knows what else it will be useful for.’

‘Of course,’ she sighed, staring into his concerned eyes. ‘Of course, it all makes sense as you say. And I shall have fine dresses and eat well again. And once I thought that truly mattered,’ she sighed, looking away. ‘But now... now I’d rather have this hovel and these rags, and be free of that disgusting man and his hideous son.’

Gant thought on that. He knew it was his job to convince her to come with him, but at the same time, the last thing he wanted to do was take her there, to that slug, so that he could drool all over her again. She deserved so much better than that, especially after what she had been through. ‘Perhaps we can wait here a little while before we have to go?’ He looked at her kindly. ‘Lothar doesn’t need to know.’

* * *

Eadmund wasn’t sure what would happen next. He was so confused about what Jael had just said and done; she had somehow extinguished all of his ire. His head felt as though it was swimming backwards, searching for a way to turn around and move forwards again. He wasn’t sure what to do. He was surrounded, about to be pounced upon, but who was to be his captor? Tarak was glowering at him from behind Ivaar, and his father was quietly simmering on his right. He knew Thorgils and Torstan were behind him, and of course, Ivaar was right in front of him, looking just as surprised as he felt. And as for Jael... she was sitting next to Isaura, drinking as calmly as anything, after all of that. What was that?

Isaura. His face lightened suddenly as his eyes met hers. She looked at him with such gentle pity that he faltered, feeling the years since they had last seen each other tumble away. Seven years since they had cried on each other’s shoulders. He had just lost Melaena, and she was about to lose Thorgils; they were both bereft. She had been a true friend throughout his childhood, cared for him like a brother. He didn’t want her to see him this way, in this pathetic state. He tried to blink some sense into himself, to salvage something from the mess that he had made.

‘So, where are all your children then, Ivaar? Where are my nieces and nephews?’ Eadmund asked through gritted teeth. He was still unsteady, in both mind and body, but he wanted the hall to relax away from him so that he could find another drink, and a chance to speak to Isaura. All eyes were still turned on their conversation, waiting for the fight he had suddenly lost all heart for.

Ivaar frowned, puzzled and disappointed by this sudden change in his brother’s mood. ‘My children?’ He looked around the hall distractedly. ‘They are resting with their servants, I suppose. It was a long day for them. They are very young.’

‘Well, perhaps I shall meet them tomorrow, but in the meantime, I shall go and welcome back their mother.’ He stared at Ivaar but made no further threat, brushing past him and walking towards the high table as quickly as possible.

Eirik caught Thorgils’ eye, suggesting he follow Eadmund, but that was the last thing Thorgils wanted; Eadmund was heading for Isaura.

‘It’s alright,’ Torstan whispered, ‘I’ll go.’ And he followed Eadmund towards the other end of the hall.

‘I suppose it could have been worse,’ Ivaar laughed as his father approached. ‘I had thought he might come in with his sword drawn!’

Eirik did not feel as light-hearted as Ivaar was attempting to be. He was uncomfortable, for more reasons than he could count. Eadmund was rotten drunk again, Jael seemed to hate both him and Eadmund, Eydis still wasn’t talking to him, and Ivaar was acting as though the kingdom had already been promised to him. Eirik supposed he had given him that impression when he’d sent his note, asking him to come back, but still, Ivaar’s confidence rankled. Eirik watched sadly as Eadmund hugged Isaura. It had all been going so well; how had they ended up back here again?

‘You look surprised,’ Eadmund mumbled, barely meeting Isaura’s eyes as he released her from his arms. ‘Is it because I didn’t kill Ivaar? Or is that I’m as fat as a pig ready for slaughter?’

Isaura laughed. ‘Both!’ she smiled, relaxing at the appearance of the twinkle in his eye that she remembered so well. It was still there; he was still in there, somewhere. ‘But yes, you are very fat Eadmund. What have you been doing to yourself?’

‘Thank you very much, my dear Isaura. How I have missed your honesty!’ he laughed, looking around for something to drink. He was getting far too sober now; his wife had a way of doing that to him, it seemed. She sat there, so close to him, but did not even look his way; all her attention was now on Eydis. Eadmund lost himself, watching her, remembering her words, puzzled by them. He blinked again. He needed that drink.

‘Do you really think more ale will help?’ Isaura wondered, reading his mind.

‘Help?’ He shook his head. ‘No, but I will feel better for a while, and that is enough for right now.’ He stopped a passing mead girl and grabbed a freshly poured cup from her.

‘But a while will not last long, and then you will feel nothing but regret. Regret, and a pounding head,’ she scolded lightly.

‘Are you speaking from experience?’ he asked with a crooked grin. ‘Is that how you survive my brother? Ale or mead? I don’t know what they drink on Kalfa. Fermented sheep’s milk?’

Isaura laughed, distracted. ‘No, not for me. I have my children to help me survive, that’s all I need.’ She smiled tightly, watching Ivaar, who was still talking to Eirik, not looking at her at all. She felt momentarily free, but still, she kept her voice hushed as she leaned in closer. ‘How is Thorgils? Is he married?’

Eadmund saw the despair and longing in her eyes. He knew how she felt, how tortured and lonely she would have been without Thorgils all these years. He looked around, checking for Ivaar but saw only Torstan, who seemed to have been sent to watch him. He frowned in his friend’s direction, then turned back to Isaura. ‘No, he’s never married. His heart has never mended. He was not looking forward to you to coming back.’

Isaura looked devastated. ‘Oh.’

‘No, no, I didn’t mean it like that!’ Eadmund said, scrambling about inside his muddled head, trying to find the right words. ‘I mean that he didn’t know how he would be able to see you, with Ivaar. I imagine he thinks you may have forgotten him, or even fallen in love with your husband.’

Isaura snorted so loudly that even Ivaar turned in her direction. She looked embarrassed and said nothing for a moment, waiting for Ivaar to resume his conversation. ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘Never. Never that, not with him. Never.’

She looked terrified, Eadmund thought, and that sobered him quickly. The years had been hard on her, he realised. Her cheeks, which he remembered plump with dimples, were dull and pale. They matched her eyes, which looked empty. She had always been the happiest person he knew, but she didn’t look as though she had smiled much in years.

Isaura grabbed his arm to let him know that Ivaar and Eirik were walking towards them. ‘Tell Thorgils I have not forgotten him,’ she whispered quickly, trying to keep the tears out of her eyes, lest Ivaar see.

‘I will,’ Eadmund promised as he moved quickly to avoid having to sit next to either arrival. The only seat left was next to Jael. He coughed, stumbling down onto the bench, trying to avoid touching her. It felt odd. He desperately wanted to catch her eye, to know what she was thinking, but at the same time he was afraid of what he would find, so he kept his eyes down, focused on the plate full of food he had no appetite for.

Jael made a point of not looking at Eadmund. She could feel him there, his shoulder almost touching hers. She wanted to move, just enough to brush against him, to let him know in some small way that they were still friends. She shook her head; is that what they were... friends? She tried to ignore her confused feelings, which were busy tangling themselves into a knot, keeping her face towards Eydis. But as she glanced up she caught Ivaar staring at her. He smiled, his eyes locking with hers. She smiled back, believing it was the best path to take. Surely it would be useful for all of them if she made friends with Ivaar?

Thorgils walked past at that very moment, catching the friendly exchange between Ivaar and Jael. He stormed past and quickly took his seat. He was going to have to have a very serious conversation with Jael tomorrow.

* * *

Jael stroked Vella’s soft, thick fur. After the tension and noise of the hall, it was soothing to listen to the occasional crack from the fire and run her hands through that shaggy mane. Vella seemed to like it too, as she lay there, contentedly flopped over Jael’s knee.

‘I hope Eadmund will be alright,’ Biddy said with a frown. ‘At least you managed to calm him down in time.’

‘I suppose I did,’ Jael muttered distractedly. ‘But I’m not sure what he will think about any of it. He was a complete mess, though, so he probably won’t remember it tomorrow.’

‘Well, that’s a shame for him,’ Biddy sighed. ‘He seemed to have made a change, didn’t he? For a while there.’ She sipped on her milk, enjoying the house, as the quiet of the evening settled in around them.

‘But as you said, perhaps some people are just born that way. Maybe Eadmund will never be able to escape it, like your father. Maybe it will kill him too? It certainly could have tonight, the way he came into the hall ready to murder Ivaar.’

‘But if Eadmund keeps drinking, if he gets worse, then this Ivaar will certainly become king, won’t he? And Eydis sees bad things for that. So, we have to help Eadmund stop drinking.’ Biddy put her cup down and stood up, disappearing into the kitchen.

‘I’m not sure that’s possible,’ Jael said solemnly. ‘There’s always going to be ale, or mead, or wine about, wherever Eadmund goes. What chance has he got of controlling himself with all that temptation?’

‘Well, there may be one way,’ Biddy sighed triumphantly as she came back to her stool. ‘There is this.’ She held a little, brown bottle out towards Jael. ‘Edela gave me this tincture to help Eadmund, when you thought it was time.’

‘Really?’ Jael leaned forward and took the bottle. ‘What does it do?’

‘Well, it’s supposed to stop him drinking. To stop the need for it,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Edela said that you must keep him restrained, keep him away from any drink while the tincture does its work. And watch him, don’t let him out of your sight.’ She looked sideways at Jael. ‘It may take some days, of course, for him to work through it, but Edela said that if he were to finish the bottle without anything else touching his lips, then he would have a chance to be free of it.’

Jael stared thoughtfully down at the tiny bottle. ‘And you believe that? You think it could have helped your father if you’d have known?’

‘My father was a bastard, so I wouldn’t have wasted it on him in the first place,’ Biddy spat, her face twisting harshly before the fire. ‘My mother and I were better off without him.’

‘So, drinking too much is not always a bad thing, then?’ Jael suggested, surprised by the venom in Biddy’s eyes. ‘I suppose it just depends on the person who is caught in its trap.’

Biddy shook herself away from that dark place. ‘Yes, it does, and Eadmund is one who I think we must save. Don’t you?’

Jael frowned at her, thinking it over, but didn’t say a word.

30

‘It’s a bad idea, Jael!’ Thorgils grumbled. ‘You don’t play with Ivaar. He plays with you!’

He was barracking her from his wooden stump as she circled Fyn, trying to ignore his disgruntled mumblings. ‘Are you ever going to come at me, Fyn? I may as well fight the snow for all the use you are today!’

Jael was irritable. She had not slept much. Her dreams had been terrifying and vivid; thoughts of Edela and Evaine, threats of darkness and dead bodies, storms and blood, Ivaar and Eadmund. She’d woken up frowning and weary, and had stayed there, trapped in that scratchy place. Thorgils had barely spoken to her on their ride; his mood was as fractured as her own.

Fyn felt stuck in the middle, between two rapidly approaching storms. He didn’t know what to say or do. Perhaps it was better to let the two of them fight it out. ‘I’m going for a drink,’ he decided and threw down his sword, heading off towards his hut.

Jael and Thorgils blinked after him, surprised.

Jael picked up Fyn’s sword and handed it to Thorgils. ‘Well, come on then, I’m going to freeze solid if I don’t start moving about,’ she sighed, stretching her neck from side to side. ‘We both need the practice.’

Thorgils stood up, still annoyed with her, and took the weapon, happy not to be fighting with real swords today. The mood they were both in, it would likely end up a bloody mess, and it was better to save that for the contest. ‘I wish you would hear me, Jael. You’re making a mistake playing with Ivaar.’ He raised his sword and took three quick steps towards her, slashing his blade down in a hail of fast, aggressive strokes.

Jael rushed her sword up to defend herself, then backing away, lunged quickly, hitting him in the ribs. It did little to improve Thorgils’ mood. He flinched crossly, taking a step backwards.

‘If Eirik dies and leaves Ivaar as his heir, what will happen to all of us? Jael wondered, too distracted to fight. Her shoulders sunk, she lowered her sword. ‘What will happen to Eadmund?’

‘You think you can protect him by becoming Ivaar’s lover?’ Thorgils stepped forwards and glared down at her. ‘How will that help anyone?’

Jael laughed loudly. ‘Ivaar’s lover?’ She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t thinking about being that friendly!’

‘You didn’t notice the way he was looking at you?’

‘Of course I did, but I’m not interested in playing the game that seriously,’ Jael insisted. ‘I just want to confuse him, distract him, while we try and sort Eadmund out. If we can do that, then Eirik will have a reason to change his mind. He doesn’t really want Ivaar, he’s just angry, but that will pass, especially if Eadmund can stop drinking and start training again.’

Thorgils looked unconvinced. ‘Maybe, but playing with Ivaar is only going to end badly, for all of us. Ivaar is a fucking arse, but he’s no fool. He won’t believe you, no matter how convincing you were last night.’

‘Do you have another plan?’ Jael muttered crossly. ‘It makes sense. I’m going to distract him. We’re going to fix Eadmund and make Eirik change his mind. That’s our plan. If you have something better, then tell me, otherwise, that is our plan!’

Thorgils mulled it over, his bushy eyebrows working hard as he stared at her. He didn’t like the sound of it, but he didn’t have anything else to offer. Besides, if Jael was so determined to keep Ivaar busy, it might give him a chance to speak to Isaura alone. Eadmund had passed on her message, and his hopes had lifted considerably. He raised his sword and tapped it against hers. ‘Alright, it’s our plan. For now. It’s a bad plan, and I want you to remember I said that when it all comes shitting down on our heads. But be careful. Remember what happened to Eadmund’s last wife!’

Jael rolled her eyes and casually turned back towards the shelter where Tig and Leada were huddled together. ‘I am nothing like Eadmund’s last wife,’ she promised darkly as she stilled, taking a long, deep breath. ‘But I shall remember the warning.’ She swung herself back around quickly then, raising her leg as high as she could, snapping her foot fiercely into Thorgils’ jaw.

‘Aaarrrhhh!’

Fyn came rushing out of his hut in time to see Thorgils staggering out of the snow, gripping his face, his eyes bulging in shock. He couldn’t help but laugh. ‘She got you then? That’ll be a nice bruise tomorrow.’ And smiling, he picked up a sword and headed towards Jael, reminding himself to watch out for that leg of hers.

* * *

Morana was a slow walker, much to Evaine’s irritation. She wanted to stop and explain the use of every plant she picked; how it survived in the coldest climes, what time of day or night was best to pick it, and how the moon needed to be a certain number of days old or new. Evaine had stopped listening some time ago. She yawned, scratching at her tired eyes. She had not slept for more than a few hours since she had arrived, traumatised by the thought of never seeing Eadmund again. Surely that could not happen; she was carrying his son!

Morana poked Evaine with her long, nobbly staff. ‘You are not listening, child!’ she grumbled, and not for the first time. ‘I am thinking there is not much between those pretty ears of yours, certainly no patience at least!’

Evaine eyed her aunt moodily. They had walked in circles for hours, it seemed, and for what? A few plants and an aching back, to go with a swirling stomach, and a throbbing head. She was truly miserable, and her bottom lip remained firmly turned towards the snow they waded through.

‘Do you not care to know the magic of these plants? How they can help you achieve all that you desire?’

Evaine lifted her head, her eyes suddenly full of interest. ‘What do you mean, all that I desire?’

‘Is it so long since you last visited me that you have forgotten what I can do?’ Morana crept towards Evaine, her torn and dirty, black cloak slithering across the snow behind her. ‘What I have helped you do, in the past?’

They were standing in a small cluster of trees, hidden from any sun that might have escaped the thick, morning clouds. It was bone achingly cold in the shadows. The tall, gnarled trees looked as though they were closing around Morana as she stepped forwards, pointing her staff at Evaine.

‘No, no, of course not,’ Evaine muttered quietly. ‘It’s just that I don’t see what I can do from here. What use is your magic when there’s no one to use it on? How can I achieve anything when I am so far away from Eadmund?’

Morana smiled. ‘There is always something we can do. Besides, that child won’t stay in you forever, and you won’t stay here forever either. Just long enough for us to make our plans. We have much to talk about, you and I.’

* * *

Edela was thrilled that there was nowhere to ride to this morning. Her body felt weak, as though it was held together by a few loose stitches. She was certain that if she moved too quickly, she would crumble apart, so she was content to sit by the fire, nibbling on some warm bread and hard cheese, as she chatted to Kormac and Branwyn.

‘It is so different these days,’ Kormac said thoughtfully, shaking his mop of curly brown hair at the wedge of cheese Branwyn was offering. ‘You can see that, of course. Raiders were coming so frequently. We were easy prey, but now the army is everywhere. The elders keep building the walls higher, making the army bigger and stronger, which, I suppose is good for us blacksmiths,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘But the elders have shut themselves further and further away from the people. They barely come out of the temple, except to announce decisions by the council, and they no longer let anyone in, besides the dreamers of course.’

‘Really?’ Edela coughed in surprise. ‘Why is that?’

‘We’re not sure,’ Branwyn said, handing her mother a steaming cup of skullcap tea. ‘They will not say. Since Marcus became the elderman, it has all changed. The elders have become almost invisible.’

That was not good news for Edela’s plans. She would have to tell Aleksander when he returned from checking on the horses.

‘What is it, Mother?’ Branwyn wondered, sensing the trouble in Edela’s eyes.

‘Oh, it is nothing, I suppose,’ Edela smiled lightly, uncertain how much she wanted to reveal. ‘I was just hoping to speak to someone... I have some questions, about... Tuuran history. I had thought I would simply go to the temple and find an elder, but it seems it will not be that simple now.’

‘What sort of questions, Edela?’ Kormac wondered as he tended to the fire. ‘Perhaps we can help? The elders aren’t the only ones who know Tuura’s secrets. We have our own ways of finding things out.’

Edela frowned. It had been many nights since her last dream, but every detail of it had been carved into her memory with a sharp blade. She wasn’t sure who she could trust with it, besides Aleksander. She rested her eyes on Kormac and let her body relax, clearing her mind. He had always seemed a very decent man, and he had made Branwyn happy, she saw. He turned his kind, brown eyes on her with such genuine concern that she felt a certain push towards him. She leaned forward, aware of the creaking pains in her back, and told them both, in hushed tones, about the girl with the scorched face, the nightmares, the book, and the danger she had seen for Jael.

Kormac and Branwyn listened with wide eyes and furrowed brows; neither said a word until she was done. Edela sipped on her tea, resting her feet close to the fire. She glanced at their faces, hoping they would be open to helping her, but doubting there was much they would know. Kormac was a blacksmith and Branwyn had not inherited her mother’s gifts, and neither of them were particularly close to any dreamer or elder that she knew of.

‘That is very troubling, Mother, but I’m not sure what you will be able to find out here,’ Branwyn puzzled. ‘There are people who know more than most about Tuura’s history, but those people are in the temple, hidden away with all the secrets they keep. I can’t imagine they will be eager to reveal anything to you.’ She shook her head and looked towards Kormac.

‘Branwyn’s right, they guard their secrets well,’ Kormac said. ‘But of course, you know that. It has not changed these many hundreds of years. The dreamers tell the elders what they see of the future. The elders have their scribes write everything down, and they keep it all safely hidden away, all those prophecies of the future, hidden from the ones they concern the most. They have never told us, have they? Not in all these years. We have watched as they turned this village into a town, and now a fortress, and we wait, knowing that something is coming. Something must be coming, but they won’t tell us.’ He lowered his voice, staring into the flames. ‘But there are others here, who have secrets, who have knowledge that has been passed down through the centuries of time. Not all Tuuran secrets are housed in the temple.’

That surprised Branwyn, who eyed her husband curiously. ‘What do you mean?’ she whispered, suddenly conscious of how loud their voices sounded, echoing around their large house. Her eyes darted towards the closed door.

‘Well,’ Kormac whispered hesitantly. ‘I know about the sword.’

* * *

‘You’re back then?’

Morac could barely bring himself to raise his head as he walked towards Eirik’s chair. ‘I am, yes.’

‘That didn’t take long.’ Eirik was out of sorts and not at all pleased to see his friend again. It was a bitter reminder of all that had happened; of the betrayal he felt by the people closest to him.

‘I only stayed as long as I needed to.’

‘Well, who could blame you? Morana is hardly the best company,’ Eirik muttered crossly as he leaned backwards, resting his head against the carved back of his wooden throne. He was feeling weary today, disturbed and unsettled by the events of the past few days, and in no mood to be generous with his words.

Morac eyed him, just as crossly. ‘She is still my sister, Eirik, no matter how ill your feeling towards her may be.’

Eirik sat up, feeling the full of weight of that rebuke. He bit his tongue lest he say something more to regret; there had been far too much of that lately. ‘You’re right. Let us not talk of her, or that girl. I’m in no mood to grumble at each other like old women.’

‘That may be so,’ Morac said, trying hard to control his rising anger. ‘But you have insulted my sister, and now you dismiss Evaine as though she is nothing.’ He ran a hand through his lank, grey hair distractedly. ‘She may be just that girl to you, but she is my daughter, and you have sent her away from me!’ He was shaking now, vibrating angrily, bursting with decades of resentment and fury towards this man who he’d always thought of as his closest friend.

Eirik rose out of his chair, his eyes bulging with irritation as he stepped down towards Morac. ‘I took her away?’ Eirik smiled coldly. ‘Me?’ He laughed, and it sounded hollow in the almost empty hall. He leaned in closely, his breath white in front of Morac’s face. ‘I warned you. How many times did I warn you?’ he growled, shaking his head. ‘I should never have let that girl come here in the first place, but I did, for you. She was only here because of you, but now look at what that weak decision all those years ago has cost me!’

‘And you blame Evaine for that? She is just a girl! It is Eadmund who used her, who did this to her!’

Eirik laughed. ‘Just a girl? Ha! I did not take you for such a fool, my friend. You really think this had anything to do with Eadmund?’

Morac was momentarily thrown. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying that your little bitch of a daughter has had her claws in my son and one eye on my throne since she could walk. You’re blind if you can’t see that! The way she followed him around? Everyone could see it. Everyone but you!’ Eirik was becoming furious; he could feel his tongue loosening and his chest throbbing. Morac was blinded by his loyalty to that girl, and there was nothing he could do to make him see the truth.

‘You should stop and choose your words more carefully, Eirik,’ Morac warned, his eyes narrowing, his voice threateningly quiet. ‘That bitch, as you call her, will be mother to our grandson. You would do well to remember that.’

‘Ha! Our grandson? You seem a long way from the truth of anything today.’ He shook his head and returned to his throne. ‘That child is nothing to me. It will be born a bastard, and you may do with it what you wish, but you will not bring it here, and you will never mention it to me again. Or her. Never again. Do you understand?’

Morac shuddered as he stood before the throne. In all their years of friendship – over 50 years of it now – they had never fought like this. His heart was pounding loudly inside his chest, his hands shaking with fury by his sides. He knew that something had just broken between them. There would be consequences to pay for it, of that he was certain. ‘I understand. Perfectly well.’ He spoke with barely any volume, and nodding his head, he turned and walked slowly out of the hall.

* * *

A fresh afternoon breeze had managed to blow away most of Thorgils’ cobwebs; that, and a stop at Eskild’s Cave on their way back to the fort. Jael had suggested that a soak in the hot pool would make him feel better, and she had been right, annoyingly. He glanced over at her bright face as they dismounted. She was still determined to go ahead with her ridiculous plan. It was going to end badly, he was certain of it.

‘Seems you’re very popular after your little speech last night,’ Thorgils noted as they passed a group of warriors smiling amiably in her direction.

‘Ha!’ Jael scoffed. ‘I can’t imagine that’s why they’re looking at me. They’re probably just staring at my tits.’

‘You have tits?’ Thorgils raised an eyebrow in surprise. ‘I did not notice that about you. Where are you hiding them, then?’

His humour had returned, despite his swollen jaw, bruised ego, and turmoil over Isaura, and Jael was happy for it. ‘Nowhere you will ever find them!’ she laughed and looked up at the sky as the first gentle flurries of the day started to drift down. ‘Looks as though we made it home just in time.’

She caught sight of Tarak then, and her face froze. He was walking towards them, with Ivaar, the two of them sharing a joke and indulging in much back slapping. Jael scowled.

‘Ahhh, our two favourite people,’ Thorgils mumbled. ‘Let’s turn here so we can avoid them.’

But he was too late for Ivaar’s keen eye. Spotting Jael, he smiled and strode quickly towards them, Tarak trailing in his wake like a giant dog. ‘Hello there,’ Ivaar said, holding his hand out for Tig to sniff. ‘A beautiful beast you have here, Jael,’ he smiled, stroking Tig’s muzzle. ‘Eirik has been telling me how much you like to ride, you and Thorgils here.’ He acknowledged Thorgils with a brief nod, noticing his swollen jaw. ‘What happened to your face?’

‘Oh... I, ahhh...’ Thorgils looked awkwardly at Jael, his mouth empty of words, his cheeks starting to burn.

‘He fell off his horse,’ Jael said quickly. ‘We came across a lot of icy patches today, didn’t we? It must have rained last night.’

‘Mmmm,’ Thorgils nodded, happy to let her do the talking.

‘Well, perhaps we need to ask Vidar to send us more rain? That will make the contest more interesting,’ Tarak growled. ‘There’s more than one person I’d like to watch sliding about on their arse.’ He glared at both of them, one corner of his mouth curling down in disdain.

Jael felt something snap inside herself then. ‘I heard you had a thing for arses, Tarak,’ she said sharply, digging her toes into her boots, trying to control the anger that was starting to boil. She felt Thorgils still beside her, knew that Ivaar was staring at her curiously, but her eyes were fixed on Tarak. The look of horror on his hideous face was a start.

He recovered well, though. ‘What man doesn’t?’ he laughed boorishly. ‘And, just like your husband, I prefer mine small and blonde.’ His smile appeared confident as he shared it with Ivaar, but his eyes were anxious.

‘Oh? Really? That’s not what I heard,’ she said cocking her head to one side. ‘I thought it was tall and brown-haired that you liked. Young, freckles...’

Tarak stumbled then. It was only a small movement, but it was obvious to everyone that Jael had her finger on something that Tarak did not want her to have her finger on. His mouth gaped open, his discomfort palpable.

Jael took a short breath and decided she had better leave it there. With one last pointed look at Tarak, she dismissed him entirely and turned to Ivaar. ‘Will you be fighting in the contest?’

Ivaar blinked a few times. ‘No, no, I haven’t trained properly with a sword in a long time,’ he laughed dismissively. ‘I’d be slaughtered in the first round, for sure. Besides, this way I can sit back and watch you fight. I’m looking forward to that.’

Jael was barely listening. She was trying hard to cool her fury, but with that bastard staring at her, breathing on her, it was nearly impossible. She felt her right hand clenching instinctively, eager to reach for her sword. Jael heard her father barking at her then, remembered the look on his face whenever she’d given in to her temper, and she relaxed her hand, regaining a small measure of control at last.

Thorgils grabbed her arm, deciding it was the only way he was going to get her out of the hole she had determinedly dug her toes into. ‘We should get the horses back to the stables, don’t you think? They need a rub down.’

Jael shook her head, waking herself up. ‘Yes, you’re right, we should. No doubt we will see you in the hall tonight, Ivaar?’ she smiled at him, softening her face deliberately, reminding herself of the plan.

‘I hope so,’ he smiled back and stepped aside to let them pass. ‘I look forward to it.’

Behind him, Tarak stared after Thorgils and Jael. His body remained still, but inside he was shaking. What did she know? And if she did know anything, what was she going to do about it?

31

The four of them sat, huddled around the fire.

Edela had insisted they wait for Aleksander before Kormac revealed what he knew about the sword. Thankfully he had been on his way back to the house, and they were able to begin without much delay.

‘Did you lock the door?’ Branwyn wondered nervously, glancing back into the darkness. It was a dull day, and despite a healthy fire, there was barely enough light to see by.

‘Of course I did,’ Kormac said calmly. He felt relaxed enough, but still, he did not wish to be overheard.

Aleksander edged forwards, eager to find out what this was all about. He had no idea what he had been dragged into, but from the looks on everyone’s faces, it appeared to be serious.

‘So, you said you knew about the sword?’ Edela prompted, feeling a sense of excitement surge through her body; she had wondered about the meaning of that mysterious weapon for most of her life.

‘I do,’ Kormac said hoarsely. He took a long breath in and blew out a puff of cold, white smoke. ‘You see the elders are not the only ones who keep secrets in Tuura. The guilds do as well, at least the Blacksmiths Guild does.’ He stroked his bushy, brown beard thoughtfully. ‘I don’t suppose that many of our secrets are of great importance, though, to everyday folk. Most of them are just about tasks we are set by the elders. They always need someone to do something for them, to make something, go somewhere, even deliver a message. They don’t do much for themselves.’

‘That is true,’ Branwyn muttered, looking at Aleksander. ‘They sit in that temple, with all those prophecies. No one sees them, and no one knows what they mean for any of our futures. What the point of it all is, I don’t know.’

Kormac looked patiently at his wife, waiting for her to finish. She nodded bashfully towards him, realising that her tongue had run away with itself.

He continued, lowering his voice even further. ‘But some of the secrets are a little more interesting.’ That had their attention, he saw, as Aleksander’s eyes widened expectantly, and Edela leaned further forward, not wanting to miss a word. ‘Some three or four hundred years ago, I forget which, the elders asked the Master Blacksmith, Wulfsig, to make them a sword. He was not told what the sword was for, or who it was for, just that they needed it made urgently. They insisted that its very presence was to be shrouded in the utmost secrecy, that no one could ever know about. So, Wulfsig forged the sword to their very specific instructions, gave it to the elders, and never saw it again. Obviously, he told another member of the guild, for the story has passed down from blacksmith to blacksmith throughout the ages.’

Edela’s forehead creased. That made no sense to her, and she wondered if Kormac was telling the story of a different sword.

‘But then,’ Kormac continued, noting Edela’s puzzlement. ‘Some 50 years ago or more, the elders brought the sword to your grandfather, Edela. They gave it to him and told him to give you the sword, to put his mark on it, as though he had been the one who’d forged it. That it was for your granddaughter, to be kept safe until it was ready for her.’

‘What?’ Aleksander’s mouth hung open. He stared at Kormac, then Edela, who looked just as surprised as him. ‘You had this sword? For Jael?’

‘Well, yes,’ Edela admitted. ‘I knew it was important. My grandfather insisted I keep it a secret, so I hid it from everyone. Not even my husband knew about it. No one saw the sword until I gave it to Jael on her wedding day.’

‘But how did they know?’ Branwyn asked, then chided herself. ‘Well, of course, the dreamers told them. But what does it mean? What is Jael supposed to use the sword for? And why her?’

Kormac shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘What was it made of? What makes it so special?’ Aleksander wondered.

‘That remains a secret, taken to the pyre, I’m afraid,’ Kormac said. ‘Wulfsig only revealed the fact that he had been asked to make the sword, not what it was made of. Not long after he gave the sword to the elders, he died.’

Three faces froze.

‘How?’ Branwyn whispered.

‘I have no idea, my love, but it is suspicious of course.’

‘And now Jael has it,’ Aleksander frowned, running a hand through his dark beard. ‘Does anyone else know about it, do you think?’

Kormac thought on that. ‘Possibly. I often wonder if that is why we were attacked that night all those years ago. Did those men come looking for the sword?’

Aleksander stared blankly at the other faces. ‘Were they looking for something?’

‘I don’t know,’ Edela admitted, climbing back into her memory of that night. ‘It didn’t feel as though they were looking for something in particular. Did it?’ she asked Kormac.

‘I’m not sure,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘They were raiders, as far as I’m aware. They are naturally going to be looking for something to take. They wanted the treasures of the temple, they wanted the elders, but they left with nothing that I know of at least.’

‘Perhaps we are trying to squeeze too many pieces into this puzzle?’ Branwyn suggested, her face troubled by the unwanted reminder of that terrible night. ‘Perhaps the sword is nothing to do with any of these things?’

‘Well, it certainly has something to do with Jael,’ Aleksander said anxiously, glancing at Edela. ‘If anyone knows what the sword can be used for and they know she has it, they will go after her, surely. It must be a weapon worth having.’

Edela looked just as worried. ‘But it’s Jael. We can be grateful for that,’ she said, trying to reassure them both. ‘If anyone can look after herself, it’s that granddaughter of mine.’

* * *

‘What was that about?’ Thorgils wondered, eyeing her suspiciously.

‘What?’ Jael looked up innocently. She was crouched on the ground, drying Tig’s legs. Thorgils stood next to her, rubbing a towel across Leada’s back. Both horses were cold and damp from the ride.

‘That, with Tarak, whatever that was,’ he nodded towards the stable door, which was closed against the blustery snow. ‘It was something, and don’t say it wasn’t.’

Jael straightened up and walked around to Tig’s side, rubbing his flank. ‘I’m just trying to prepare Tarak for the contest. We need his nerves jangling,’ she said lightly. ‘It doesn’t hurt to mess up his head a little, does it?’

‘What does that mean?’ Thorgils grumped as he hung his damp towel on a peg and fished a carrot out of his pocket. ‘What do you know that would make that pig’s arse nervous?’

Jael kept drying and thought on it. She wanted, more than anything, to tell Thorgils what Fyn had revealed but at the same time, she knew that it was Fyn’s secret to share, not hers. Besides, it would unhinge Thorgils when he was already completely muddled by Isaura’s return. He would need to have all the parts of his head working if he were to defeat Tarak. ‘Perhaps one day I shall reveal all of my secrets,’ she smiled. ‘But until then, you’ll have to keep guessing and trust me.’

Thorgils just looked cross, mumbling irritably as he opened the door. ‘Well, if you’re going to be like that, I shall go in search of friendlier company for the afternoon. Perhaps Eadmund might have woken up by now?’

Their eyes met, and they exchanged worried looks.

‘He’s getting worse,’ Jael said quietly as she hung up her towel.

‘He is, yes,’ Thorgils admitted. ‘But it’s his own fault of course. If he’d stayed away from that scheming girl, none of this would have happened.’

‘True, he’s an idiot, but,’ she looked around and lowered her voice, ‘if we are to change Eirik’s mind and get him to forgive Eadmund, we are going to have to stop him drinking. Quickly.’

Thorgils sighed, coming back into the stables and shutting the door. ‘Well, how in the name of the gods do we do that then? I doubt we’ll even be able to find him today. He was such a mess last night. He’s probably wandered off a cliff. Ivaar coming back has wrecked him.’

‘Well, we have to try,’ Jael insisted. ‘I have something that may help him, something my grandmother gave Biddy.’

Thorgils looked interested. ‘What sort of something?’

‘A tincture, to help him stop drinking.’

‘So, your grandmother saw the trouble you were going to be in with your husband, did she?’ he smiled. ‘Did she see a good ending? Or do we lurch from this shit to more shit, and then all die in our own shit?’

‘Ha! I don’t know,’ Jael admitted. ‘Perhaps we don’t even survive the contest? Tarak looks ready to kill me.’

‘True, but I’m sure he’s not the only one,’ Thorgils grinned, his mood lightening. ‘Alright, I’ll go and find Eadmund, and we’ll see what we can do with this potion of yours.’ He bent his mouth close to her ear, just in case Tiras was on the prowl again. ‘I’m willing to do anything if it means getting rid of Ivaar.’

Jael looked at him and nodded. ‘Then find Eadmund and let’s get started.’

* * *

Aleksander had been desperate to escape Branwyn and Kormac’s house. Aron and Aedan had arrived with their wives, to feast with their guests, and the noise and revelry had quickly worn on him. Edela, sensing his discomfort, had suggested they take a walk together, to check on the horses and he had leapt at the chance.

As they headed out into the frozen darkness, Aleksander tucked her arm through the crook of his, worried by the ice he saw sparkling under the moon; she had already stumbled once.

‘I did just spend four days upon a horse, you know,’ she snorted as he refused to release her arm. ‘I’m not so feeble that you must hold me up like a doll!’

‘Alright then, shall I let go and watch you skate across the street?’ he smiled smartly at her.

Edela caught sight of the ice herself and gripped hold of him tightly. ‘Well, since you insist, you may as well hold onto me until we reach the stables. If it will make you feel better?’

Aleksander laughed and helped her along the darkened streets, his eyes firmly turned towards the ground, avoiding both the icy patches and any reminders of that night he didn’t wish to find.

There was no one about when they entered the large stable block. Helpfully, there was a torch still burning by the entrance way. Aleksander removed it from its sconce and guided Edela through the building, looking for their three horses. They had been stabled together, and all three jostled about, nickering softly, pleased they hadn’t been forgotten.

‘You must name your horse, you know,’ Edela said gently as she patted each animal in turn. ‘She deserves that, I think.’

Aleksander sighed, placing the torch in a holder nearby and reaching out to stroke his horse’s cold face. She butted his head, seeking his affection. ‘I suppose I must.’ He tried not to look into her large, brown eyes; it was always the eyes that got him.

‘She’s yours now. Maybe yours for many years,’ Edela smiled. ‘She needs a name.’

Aleksander brushed his horse’s red mane out of her eyes. ‘She does, of course, but naming an animal means they are something to you,’ he said sadly. ‘I’m not sure I can stand the pain of any more loss. If anything were to happen to her...’

‘I know, but if you risk nothing, you will have nothing,’ Edela said gently as she walked towards Deya, who eagerly sucked up the tiny apple she offered. ‘If you only focus on the pain at the end, you will have an empty life, filled with fear and loneliness. Death will claim us all, eventually, you can’t stop that. But you can choose how you live before it does. Give her a name. She’s yours.’

Aleksander couldn’t quite raise a smile, but he nodded towards Edela, glancing around the stables. He knew they were alone but still, he bent towards her, his voice a whisper. ‘I’ve been thinking on the sword.’

‘Mmmm, I’m not surprised, so have I.’

‘The elders would not have had that sword made without a reason, without a prophecy from one of the dreamers. And if they record all the prophecies, they would surely have recorded this one. A sword like that? There must be a reason for it being made in such a secretive way. Saved for someone who wasn’t going to be born for hundreds of years? There has to be a way to find out why.’

Edela looked around anxiously. ‘I agree. There will be a prophecy in the temple, and we need to see it. But we have no chance of getting in there. None that I can see, at least.’

‘Really? None? There’s no one you know who could help you?’ He paused as a thought suddenly popped into his head, his eyes widening with hope. ‘But Edela, you’re a dreamer! Dreamers are allowed into the temple, aren’t they? So why wouldn’t you be let in?’

Edela frowned, ready to argue, but then realised, he was right. What was to stop her from entering the temple? ‘I will go tomorrow then, or at least try to,’ she muttered quietly, suddenly nervous. ‘I will have to go alone, of course. Hopefully, they will let me in.’

‘I’m sure they will,’ Aleksander said reassuringly. ‘But I don’t imagine they’ll show you the prophecy, and I don’t think you should ask about it either. Not yet. That part might take a little more figuring.’

Edela nodded distractedly, remembering her dream of the beheaded girls. Something had happened here, long ago, and she was certain the elders did not want anyone finding out about it.

* * *

Thorgils hadn’t been able to find Eadmund; there had been no sign of him anywhere. No one knew where he was, and the worry of that ate away at him as he stood drinking next to Torstan, Klaufi, and Erland in the hall that evening. He’d convinced them all to help in the search, but each one had returned with empty hands. Thorgils watched Jael chatting easily to Ivaar out of the corner of one eye and frowned. It was all well and good trying to keep Ivaar busy, but if something had happened to Eadmund, what point was there to any of it?

His eyes drifted across to the high table where Isaura sat. He was desperate, beyond words, to speak to her, or even look at her, without fear of being caught. To touch that pale skin of hers, run his fingers over those dimples, which he hadn’t even seen a hint of yet. She looked so melancholy, so unlike the woman he remembered... when she was his. He kept having to remind himself that he no longer had the right to walk up to her and tilt her head, kiss her lips, coax her smile back when she was feeling sad.

‘Thorgils,’ Torstan whispered hoarsely, elbowing him in the ribs. ‘You need to stop looking at her.’

Thorgils shook himself awake and realised his friend was right. He quickly turned away, sighing. ‘I think I’ll go and have another look for Eadmund. Better than standing about here all night, gaping like a speared fish.’ He nodded quickly to his friends and eased his way through the crowded hall, towards the doors.

Jael watched Thorgils leave, noticing the slumped curve of his shoulders; she knew how he must be feeling.

Ivaar followed her gaze, noting her concern. ‘You and Thorgils are good friends?’

Jael looked away, blinking any feeling out of her eyes. ‘We’ve been training together for the contest, but no, he’s Eadmund’s friend, not mine.’

Ivaar nodded. ‘He’s a good warrior. Not as good as Eadmund was but not bad.’

‘Was Eadmund better than you?’ Jael wondered, trying to turn the conversation around to him and far away from Thorgils.

‘Me? I suppose so,’ Ivaar said casually. ‘Although now? By the look of Eadmund last night, I’d say even Eydis could beat him!’ He watched her expression as he laughed, testing her.

Jael laughed along with him. ‘Having seen him train, I would agree with you. And easily too. Eadmund defeats himself most of the time, just by tripping over his own feet!’ It felt oddly disloyal to talk about him that way, but it was just what Ivaar wanted to hear. His smile grew wider, almost reaching his eyes, so she kept going. ‘Don’t mark him down as head of your army, when you take the throne.’

Ivaar stilled. ‘Is that what you think will happen? That I will be king here?’

‘Isn’t that why Eirik called you back?’ Jael suggested.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Ivaar said, his eyes darting about uncertainly. ‘It’s just so long since it was taken from me now. It feels strange to talk about it after all this time. And of course, looking at my father, he could rule for another decade at least, don’t you think?’

Jael glanced over at Eirik, who was trying to talk to Eydis. ‘Well, no one ever knows what plans the gods are making for us, do they? It would be no fun for them if everything went as we expected.’

Eirik frowned as he watched Jael and Ivaar smiling at one another.

‘Jael is making more of an effort with Ivaar than that husband of her’s,’ Eirik muttered to his daughter.

‘You can’t expect Eadmund to want to talk to Ivaar,’ Eydis whispered crossly. ‘Not after what he did.’

Eirik dragged a piece of bread around his plate, mopping up the leftover juices of his meal. ‘No, I don’t suppose I can.’ He stopped and sighed, feeling his eyebrows release the giant crease they had been working into the middle of his forehead. He had been irate, on edge, and ornery for days now and nothing seemed to be shifting. He knew he had to do something, though, before he ended up completely isolating everyone he cared about.

‘You must give Eadmund some time, Father,’ Eydis warned. ‘This will have set him back again.’

‘Mmmm, well let’s hope he doesn’t take seven years to recover himself this time, as I certainly won’t live to see it!’ He peered at his daughter, wishing she could see him; see the fear that lived behind the rheumy film of his fading eyes, the threat of his impending death, which haunted him daily. But then, he remembered, she was only 13; why should he terrorise her with his own nightmares?

As much as she worried about her father, Eydis was still cross and didn’t feel like talking to him at all. She was anxious to know what had happened to Eadmund, what Jael was doing befriending Ivaar, and whether Thorgils had spoken to Isaura. She felt frustrated as she sat on the outside, waiting for someone to tell her what was going on. There was too much noise: the spitting of fires, the low hum of constant chatter, servants clearing plates, warriors jeering. She had struggled to pick up anything that would tell her exactly what was going on. And if she didn’t know what was going on, how could she help anyone?

‘I think I’ll go to my bed now, Father,’ Eydis decided, standing up. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Already?’ Eirik frowned. ‘Are you unwell?’

‘No. I would just rather be by myself now,’ she said firmly. ‘It’s too noisy in here for me. Goodnight.’

Eirik watched Eydis leave, resisting the urge to get up and help her; it would only irritate her further.

‘Sleep well,’ Isaura murmured, looking up as Eydis felt her way to the wall.

‘Goodnight, Eydis,’ Jael called as she took her seat next to Isaura, thankful to have escaped Ivaar at last. She smiled briefly at the small, golden-haired woman, who quickly returned her gaze to the plate she had been picking at. Jael was not usually concerned with being friendly, but she felt compelled to attempt conversation. Isaura might be Ivaar’s wife, but she was Thorgils’ woman. And Thorgils was her friend. ‘I understand you were all very close growing up, you, Thorgils, and Eadmund,’ Jael said lightly as she took a sip of ale.

‘We were,’ Isaura sighed. ‘It was a long time ago now, though. We are all much changed.’

‘Even Thorgils?’

‘Well, no,’ she smiled. ‘He looks much as I left him.’

‘On the outside, perhaps,’ Jael suggested carefully. ‘He has a thick hide, that one.’

‘I am glad of it,’ Isaura whispered. ‘It has not been easy, all these years.’

‘But now you are back.’

‘And that is even worse,’ she grimaced, forcing a smile on her face as Ivaar glanced her way. ‘Worse because now we cannot even look at one another, and yet we are finally close again.’ She shook her head, annoyed with herself. ‘I shouldn’t speak so. There is no point to any of it.’

‘Perhaps you should speak to Eydis? She might have a dream for you.’

Isaura looked puzzled. ‘Eydis is having dreams? She’s a dreamer now?’

‘You didn’t know?’ Jael was surprised. She leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘She saw you and Ivaar coming. Saw that girl getting pregnant. What else she has seen I’m not sure, but I don’t think much of it is good.’

‘No, I’m not surprised to hear that. I don’t think any good is going to come from our return at all.’

Jael didn’t know what to say. Isaura obviously didn’t like her husband, and from the few condescending looks she had seen Ivaar give his wife, the feeling appeared mutual. So, if she was hoping to construct a friendship with Ivaar, she realised that she could hardly start one with Isaura, which suited her just fine. She’d never had a female friend, apart from Biddy, who was simply Biddy, and neither man, nor woman in Jael’s eyes, or Eydis, who was a child and didn’t count. She was more than happy to leave it that way. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said shortly and turned her face towards the doors, wondering if Eadmund was going to burst through them tonight. It felt odd without him sitting next to her. She hoped Thorgils would be able to find him.

* * *

‘You won’t find what you are looking for here, Edela.’

It was just a voice. In the darkness. She couldn’t see anyone, but the voice rumbled around inside the black, foul-smelling mist that hung everywhere. It rolled and echoed, and she felt the warning in it.

Edela could hear her breath, ragged and heavy in her ears, as she stood, listening in the nothingness.

‘Go back to Brekka. Keep out of those things which do not concern you, Edela. This is not something you want a part of. This will end in death, and there is nothing you can do about that, I promise you,’ the voice cackled hoarsely. ‘Everyone you love will die, and there is nothing you can do to stop it, I promise you... I promise you!’

There was laughter then. Wild, hysterical, female laughter. Edela could feel the shiver race over her skin as the darkness came to claim her.

32

Osbert was bored. He wished winter would hurry up and be done; he was ready for something to happen. The invasion of Hest, planned by two, old, addle-brained kings was sure to end in disaster, but he couldn’t wait for it to begin. He was desperate for any form of excitement, even if it ended in a bloody death for them all. Anything would be better than this constant, white, bone-chilling boredom that he had plodded through since Jael’s departure.

How strange, he thought to himself, as he turned towards the hall, that he should miss his cousin so. Well, not if he were truly honest, he supposed. She was an exciting woman, despite all her obvious flaws. When he was around her, he felt alive. He missed her scowls and insults; missed the opportunity to tease and torment her. And now there wasn’t even the heartbroken Aleksander to entertain himself with; he truly was bored. And no matter how many big-titted women writhed beneath him every night, his days had become a shadowy existence of predictable nothingness.

Osbert shook his head and kicked out at the snow in front of him. Cross. Bothered. Aimless. Then he heard a voice and looked up, a smile curling one corner of his thin lips. Amma.

By the drop of her head and the slowness of her walk, he could tell that she was unhappy; still stewing over her public humiliation, no doubt. He smiled; there was fun to be had here. ‘Amma!’ he called, watching as she froze.

She didn’t look around, but her two companions did. They glanced anxiously behind themselves, and, seeing Osbert, they squeezed Amma’s arm and hurried away, leaving her to his mercy.

* * *

Jael had wandered far away from Oss in the night and had woken up lost and unsettled. Her dreams had been filled with childhood memories; memories of her father, of training with Aleksander. She had not thought of him in days and felt a guilty stab in her heart as she realised that.

Vella crept over to Jael and curled up into her chest. She sighed and reached out to stroke her, wondering if Aleksander was waiting for her? Did she still want him to? She saw Eadmund’s sad face and felt confused, and then annoyed with herself for even daring to feel confused. It was Aleksander! How could she think of Eadmund, when she loved Aleksander?

She pulled the furs around her neck, sinking further down into them, wanting to feel warm again, to fall back into her dreams. She smiled sadly, remembering how Ranuf would bark instructions at them as they trained, his face always a dark mix of disappointment and fury. She would spend most days crying in the beginning, wanting to be so much better than she was, to please him, to earn his elusive approval. He would roll his eyes, she remembered, and huff and puff his way over to Gant, who would soothe his nerves and send him back over, calmer and ready to give both children a second chance. It didn’t seem so long ago, but it was, a lifetime ago. And now he wasn’t here, and nor was Aleksander, and she felt very alone.

* * *

‘Where have you been?’ Thorgils sighed in exasperation. ‘I’ve spent a whole day and night looking for you. Not for the first time!’

Eadmund hung his head. He didn’t know what to say. Not for the first time.

‘We thought something had happened to you! Are you alright?’

‘We?’ Eadmund lifted his head.

‘Everyone! Torstan, Erland, Klaufi... we’ve all been looking for you.’

‘Oh.’ Eadmund hung his head again, staring at the floor. He didn’t know what to say. He had wanted to be alone, desperately so, but it was embarrassing to think his friends had wasted their time searching for him.

They were standing just inside the doorway of Eadmund’s cold cottage. There was no hint of a fire.

‘You haven’t been here all night, have you?’ Thorgils grumbled, peering past his friend into the dank smelling darkness. ‘I came here at least three times, but there was no sign of you.’

‘No, I was down on the beach in the drying sheds, for some of the night at least. I wandered around a lot. I wasn’t trying to be found, I suppose,’ Eadmund mumbled as he ushered Thorgils inside, albeit reluctantly. He was in no state to make sense of his thoughts and turn them into words; he wasn’t looking for company.

‘We have to talk, you and I,’ Thorgils said firmly. ‘You cannot allow Ivaar to send you back down into that dark place. You were just climbing out of it. You can’t let him have that power over you again!’

‘It’s not as easy as that,’ Eadmund sighed, sinking onto the bed.

‘I know, believe me, if anyone knows, it’s me,’ Thorgils said sympathetically as he took a stool and placed it in front of Eadmund.

‘What was Jael doing with him, like that?’ Eadmund frowned, his mind wandering far away. ‘That’s what I don’t understand. She knows what he did, but the way she was smiling at him... I don’t understand...’

Eadmund looked so genuinely hurt that Thorgils didn’t know what to say. He thought about revealing Jael’s foolish plan. It would have eased Eadmund’s mind, he was certain, yet there was a part of him that believed Jael was doing the right thing. And he knew that Eadmund was not to be trusted, not until he was sober and able to keep his mouth shut around Ivaar. He couldn’t know about their plan. Not yet.

‘I wouldn’t think on it too much. Women can be fickle, even Jael, it seems,’ Thorgils said dismissively as he got up and started examining the contents of the cottage. ‘I have to go before Jael leaves without me, but you have enough to get a fire started in here, so get one going before your balls drop off!’ He stood up and headed for the door, then turned around, worried. ‘And stay here, please, just stay here today, and we will talk more when I get back. I do know something that will help you, I promise. There may be a way that all of this might start to feel better.’ He opened the door. ‘Just stay here, Eadmund. Don’t go wandering off again!’

* * *

‘Do you feel like some company?’ Ivaar wondered as he leaned over Jael.

She was crouching down, inspecting Tig’s hooves, checking for any rot. Thankfully there was none, but there was the sudden problem of Ivaar. She stood up, trying not to show her annoyance. ‘Company?’

‘On your ride? Unless you’d rather be alone?’ He looked at her keenly, trying to read her expression. It was early morning; he thought she looked tired.

Jael tried to smooth away her frustration. ‘No, I’ll take some company,’ she smiled tightly, wondering what she was doing; Thorgils was not going to be pleased with her. ‘You can saddle up my other horse, Leada. She’s in the stables. I’ll be back in a moment.’

Jael headed into the house.

‘Biddy,’ she hissed urgently as she closed the door, pushing Ido and Vella away as they jumped up, begging to go with her. ‘Biddy!’

Biddy emerged from the bedchamber, frowning. ‘What is it?’

‘Find Thorgils, and tell him Ivaar invited me for a ride, so we can’t train this morning.’

Biddy raised one eyebrow in disapproval, sticking her hands firmly into her hips.

‘It’s the best thing,’ Jael insisted. ‘Listen, tell him I’ll be gone with Ivaar for a good while, so he can go and speak to Isaura. That should keep him happy.’

Biddy followed her to the door. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ she whispered sternly.

‘So do I,’ Jael said uncertainly. ‘For all our sakes.’

* * *

‘What do you want, Osbert?’ Amma snapped as she spun around, her long, brown hair flapping angrily behind her in the wind. She was still smarting from her father’s words but knew that the whole scene had only played out because of her brother’s petty trouble making.

‘My sister! My last, unmarried sister,’ Osbert purred, smiling his way towards her. ‘It is so brave of you to show your plain little face again after your very public humiliation.’

Amma frowned and stepped forwards. She was slightly taller than her brother and peered down at him, her face full of disdain. ‘Well then, I suppose I am brave, which is a compliment, don’t you know? So much better than people calling you small, or petty, or mean.’

Osbert squirmed; he hated the way she was leaning over him. He dropped his shoulders back and sucked in his stomach, rising slightly on his toes. ‘Well, let us see how brave you are when Father introduces you to your new husband.’

Amma’s face paled, and she shrunk backwards somewhat.

Osbert smiled, his chest puffing out with renewed confidence; it was always a pleasant feeling to reassert his power over a weaker opponent. ‘Oh, that’s right,’ he said slowly, with wide, innocent eyes. ‘You don’t know about that, do you?’ He shook his head in mock horror. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have said anything, should I? Father is going to be so cross with me.’ And smiling, he stepped around his sister and started to walk off. He assumed that she would say something, call him back, but Amma just stood there, frozen to the spot. He paused, realising the game would end if he didn’t do something, so he turned around and walked back to her, placing his mouth to her ear. ‘I wouldn’t worry, though. I hear the weather in Hest is so warm in winter that you don’t even need a cloak.’

Osbert heard her sharp intake of breath and felt much better. Now he’d surely set her head spinning. He’d be able to sit back and watch her crumble over the coming days, too angry and afraid to even talk to their father about it; she would just simmer. Perfect. He turned and walked off, feeling as though the day, barely started, was already a success.

Amma stood shaking as he left, realising that her life was about to unravel. She could see how Jael must have felt, and that was Jael, who was capable of killing any man in Osterland. But even Jael had been unable to stop her marriage to that drunken fool. What hope did she possibly have?

* * *

The sun was out for the first time in days, and despite the frigid air, Jael was relieved to be set free from the confines of the house and her suffocating thoughts. She tried to forget her unease about Ivaar’s company and her anxiety about Thorgils, and just let everything blow away into the wind; lost and forgotten, just as she wished to be today. It proved impossible, though, and she frowned, all her thoughts tumbling back into her head. Eadmund, Ivaar, Tarak, and Aleksander all rushed around inside her there. It was getting messier by the moment.

‘Are you alright?’ Ivaar looked concerned, as he came alongside her.

‘Yes, fine. I didn’t sleep much last night.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Ivaar said sympathetically as he walked Leada slowly next to Tig. ‘We don’t have to stay out long.’

‘No, no I love it out here,’ Jael insisted. ‘Riding away from the fort is my favourite thing about living here!’

Ivaar laughed. ‘Well, I can’t blame you there.’

They carefully navigated a narrow path that led them down into a small valley. ‘I have missed this place,’ he sighed, his eyes travelling up and down the dark, chiselled cliffs that bordered their route. ‘Kalfa is a nothing sort of place compared to Oss. Oss is full of bold shapes and hidden surprises. There’s so much I’d forgotten.’

Jael stole a quick glance at his face; he appeared genuinely happy. ‘It must have been hard being away for so long.’

Ivaar turned to look at her. ‘Hard?’ He considered that. ‘Yes, it was. I suppose you can understand how it felt. You didn’t want to leave Brekka, did you?’

‘No.’

‘Neither did I, but I had no choice.’

‘Well, after what you did...’ Jael couldn’t help herself.

Ivaar didn’t even flinch. ‘You’ve heard all the stories about me, of course.’

‘And they’re just stories, are they?’ she asked carefully.

‘I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you mean,’ Ivaar said sharply and clicked his tongue, nudging Leada ahead of Tig. They slipped down another narrow path, leaving Jael staring after him with an open mouth.

She caught up quickly and brought Tig alongside Leada as soon as the path widened. ‘You didn’t?’

‘Of course I didn’t,’ he insisted. ‘Why would I? I loved her. Desperately. Why would I kill someone I loved?’

‘Because you couldn’t have her for yourself? Because she chose your brother? Love and hate are similar passions. It’s easy for one to overwhelm the other,’ Jael suggested.

‘Of course. But she didn’t choose Eadmund,’ Ivaar said quietly. ‘She chose me.’

‘That’s not the story I heard.’

‘Well, I can imagine how the story would have gone if it were Eadmund or Thorgils doing the telling.’

Jael pulled on Tig’s reins, determined to look at Ivaar as he spoke. She needed to know the truth of it and couldn’t discover that without looking into his eyes. ‘So, what is your story then?’ she asked, peering at him.

Ivaar reined Leada in, his face dark with old memories. ‘Melaena,’ he sighed heavily. ‘She was incredibly beautiful, and she tormented us both. That is how it was for a long while. She came with her father, who was keen to make an alliance with Eirik. So, they stayed some time, enough time for her to wrap the both of us up in knots.’ He looked away, searching for the right words. ‘She would say that she couldn’t decide who it was that she wanted more. Eventually, when I told her I wouldn’t share her with Eadmund, that I wouldn’t go on like that, she told me that she loved me. She chose me,’ he sighed sadly. ‘But her father had a different plan. He wanted her married to the future King of Oss. Not some spare.’

‘But why was that?’ Jael interrupted, soothing a restless Tig with her hand. ‘Why had Eirik made Eadmund his heir? What had you done?’

‘Done?’ Ivaar’s laugh was hollow. ‘You have so many bad ideas about me, Jael! Done? I was just born to the wrong woman. Eirik had married my mother for her riches, for an alliance, but he despised her in the end and divorced her to marry Eskild. When he fell in love with Eskild, nothing else mattered, no one did.’ His eyes were those of a little boy for a moment, but he blinked his memories away quickly.

Tig skittered about under Jael. She tugged sternly on his reins; he might have been ready to move on, but she was eager to hear the rest of Ivaar’s story.

‘When Eadmund was born, Eirik simply made him his heir. He loved Eskild, and he wanted her son to be king. It was too much for my mother,’ he said quietly, dropping his head. ‘She couldn’t live with the shame of it all. She killed herself.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jael said sympathetically. The pain on his face looked very real. Perhaps he was playing a game, but if so, he was playing it expertly; she felt completely fooled.

‘Shall we keep riding?’ Ivaar wondered with a hint of a smile. ‘Before your horse runs away with you?’

‘I think we should. He’s not very happy with me today it seems.’ Jael wondered if Tig was mad at her out of loyalty to Thorgils. She didn’t blame him, but what Ivaar was revealing was worth the price of both his and Thorgils’ anger, she was sure.

33

‘Gone? With Ivaar?’ Thorgils shook his head incredulously as he stood on the doorstep, dressed in his thickest cloak, his pockets full of carrots. ‘But we’re supposed to be training!’ He looked at Biddy in shock. ‘Why would she do that?’

‘I don’t know,’ Biddy frowned. ‘But she did suggest you could go and see Isaura. She was sure they’d be gone a long time.’

Thorgils stilled at the suggestion. Jael was clever to twist the story in that way, he smiled to himself. He would certainly have stern words with her when she returned, but until then... ‘Well, perhaps I could do that,’ he said uncertainly. ‘Although, it has been a long time. She may not wish to speak to me,’ he mumbled into his beard.

Biddy reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. She glared at him sternly, in a way that reminded him of his mother. ‘There is only one way to find out. And if you stand here on my porch jiggling in your britches any longer, you’ll never know because Ivaar will be back!’

Thorgils blinked rapidly, realising that she was right. He readjusted his cloak and ran a hand through his beard. ‘Right, I shall go then.’ He looked down at Biddy but didn’t move.

‘Thorgils! Go!’ And she shooed him away impatiently with her broom.

* * *

Edela drifted away, lost in old memories as she stared up at the vast doors of the Temple of Tuura. They were just as imposing as she remembered; giant wooden panels, latticed with strips of dark wood, secured at every corner by huge, iron rivets. Tall, carved steeples raged out of its roof, calling to the Tuuran gods, welcoming them to this sacred place. The gods were fierce, and the temple spoke to them, but it was no place for ordinary people now; the elders had made sure of that.

The temple had stood for over a thousand years, little changed in all that time. As the lands and the people of Tuura had slowly vanished beneath its dark glare, the temple had remained, impenetrable and remote. It offered no sanctuary, though, no welcoming embrace for its disappearing, frightened people. It kept all their hopes for the future locked away behind those doors; a tomb of secrets hidden from all but the powerful elders.

Edela shuddered, remembering her dream. She had not known that voice, a woman’s voice, but it had been a voice to fear. She wrapped her dark-red cloak tightly around her shivering frame. There was danger coming, a darkness that threatened to consume them, of that she was certain now. But what she could do to keep them all safe, she had no idea.

‘Edela?’

As she turned around Edela’s face broke into a wrinkled smile that was warm and agreeable. ‘Alaric! My old friend!’

‘Old, is it now?’ he smiled shyly, embracing her.

‘Yes, that is what we have both become, it seems,’ Edela chortled as she considered his long-seen face. ‘Old, but wiser, I hope.’

He was a small man; only as tall as her, if that. They had been childhood friends, although Alaric had once wanted more; once, she reminded herself, when they were young enough to care for such things.

‘Wiser or more foolish, I am yet to decide,’ Alaric said, his watery eyes flickering nervously.

‘I feel much the same, I must admit,’ Edela frowned, staring up at the temple doors again.

‘Are you going in?’

‘Me?’ It was her turn to look nervous. ‘I’m not sure. Branwyn tells me that many things have changed since my last visit. I hear that all are not welcome through those doors anymore.’

Alaric dropped his head, lest she see his eyes. ‘Things have changed, that is true.’ He looked up at her again. ‘But you’re a dreamer. You will always be welcome there. It is only the rest of us who aren’t.’

His words were thick with sorrow and something else, she noticed, fear. She glanced up at the doors, then turned to him and smiled warmly. ‘It has been so long, my dear Alaric, since we were last together. You must tell me how it is for you? How your life has unfolded since I was last here?’ She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm and turned him away from the temple steps. ‘I am eager to hear all about it.’

Alaric relaxed, his shoulders dropping in relief as she led him away; happy to talk to her, as old friends, about anything other than that temple and the secrets he wanted no part of.

* * *

They rode silently for a while, but Ivaar’s words kept themselves busy in Jael’s head. She felt confused and unsettled by them. Was he just twisting the truth into a palatable story? Probably, she decided, but nothing about him appeared false. There was real pain there, she saw, when he spoke of Melaena and his mother. But could it be possible, truly possible, that Eadmund had spent all these years heartbroken over a woman who hadn’t even loved him?

Jael slowed Tig down again, waiting for Ivaar; she needed more. ‘So, if you loved her and she loved you, as you say, why is she dead? And why does everyone assume you did it? Obviously more than assume. You were banished for it,’ Jael said bluntly.

Ivaar scratched his short beard and frowned. ‘They assumed because Eadmund told them I did it. Convinced them all of it. But he didn’t know that Melaena loved me. He didn’t know that we never stopped being together, even after she was betrothed to him. We couldn’t be apart, couldn’t stay away from one another,’ he breathed, staring deeply into Jael’s eyes. ‘I had no reason to kill her.’

Jael looked away, confused. ‘So, you didn’t kill her?’ she frowned. ‘You’re without blame in the whole mess?’

Ivaar laughed, and it was bitter and cold. ‘I’m certainly not without blame. I was in the middle of it, so of course, some of the blame is mine. I could have, should have backed away, left her alone, left her to my brother,’ he sighed. ‘But she was intoxicating. I loved her desperately. So yes, I am to blame for that. But killing her? No.’

Jael narrowed her eyes, trying to find the lies in his. But she couldn’t see any, and that worried her. If Ivaar hadn’t killed Melaena, who had? And if Ivaar hadn’t killed Melaena, was he really their enemy at all?

* * *

He had almost convinced himself to give up, certain that she wouldn’t want to talk to him, when he saw her. She was down on the snow-covered beach, standing by the drying sheds, feeding seabirds with her children. Her three daughters were racing about in the snow, throwing crumbs into the air as the birds screeched and swooped down towards them. The little boy sat grizzling on her hip, a fat fist in his mouth.

Isaura didn’t look happy to see him.

‘You can’t be here,’ she hissed as he walked up to her. ‘Ivaar will find out. He has a dreamer. She will know.’

Thorgils looked down at the fair-haired little boy, who stopped his grizzling, staring in shock at the big, red-headed man peering down at him. Thorgils smiled sadly as he held out his thumb for him to grab hold of. ‘I’ll go then,’ he said somberly.

Isaura looked at him, not wanting him to go at all. She could feel tears filling her eyes and wished them away. She inhaled his smell as it blew towards her on a stiff breeze; it was so achingly familiar, as was that face, albeit with a few new lines and scars. She sighed; it wouldn’t help him or her if she lost control now. ‘There are too many things we could say,’ she quietly. ‘And none of them will make any of this better. None of them will take away the past seven years. We are both damaged by it, but we cannot change what has been. I have my children, and they have a father, and Ivaar is not someone to cross. Ever. You know that.’ She wiped her eyes and looked out, across the frozen sea, towards the sharp, mist-covered spires, as the sea birds wailed and called around them.

Thorgils heard his heartbeat echoing loudly in his ears. Isaura’s son had a firm hold on his thumb. He sighed, wishing that all things between them were different; that it was their children they stood watching on the beach, that they could go back to their house and sit around a warm fire and eat a meal together. They had talked about that, when they were growing up, longingly planning the time when they could escape his mother and her father; when they would be free to be together, alone.

‘He’s gone riding with Jael,’ Thorgils murmured.

Isaura looked at him anxiously. ‘You need to warn her about what he’s doing. The way he always goes after whatever Eadmund has. It will end badly. I’ve seen the way he looks at her. I remember that look.’

‘I know, so do I. She won’t listen, though. There’s never been a more stubborn creature than Jael Furyck.’

Isaura’s eyes were fierce as they sought his. ‘Then you must make her.’

Thorgils nodded, easing his thumb out of the little boy’s wet hand. ‘Just tell me one thing, and then I’ll go. Tell me you would still choose me if there was no Ivaar. If you had a choice.’

She looked away, watching as her daughters started running towards them. ‘Go now, before the girls come, please.’ Her face was pained as she stared imploringly at him. ‘Thorgils, you never need ask me such a question. What we were, what we had, that will never change in my heart. Now go.’ And she turned away from him and started walking towards the girls, hoping to cut them off before they had the chance to investigate her visitor.

He hesitated for one, thick, white breath, watching her go, then turned and walked slowly away.

* * *

Alaric’s cottage was a tiny, dark hole, thick with dust. There was barely anything in the small, fusty smelling room. Just a simple bed with a threadbare fur, a poorly made table and stool, a few vessels for cooking, and not much else.

Edela felt sorry for her friend and the poverty of his existence, remembering how close they had once been. She sighed, feeling the ache in her weary shoulders; how quickly their youth had rushed away from them. ‘You never married then?’ she wondered quietly as Alaric pulled the solitary stool out for her to sit on.

He sighed as he bent towards the fire, poking the charred logs, looking for flames. ‘No, in the end, it all just passed me by, I suppose.’ He glanced at her, sadly. ‘Some things just aren’t meant to be. You know that, of course.’

‘Yes, better than most,’ she shivered. It was almost colder in here than outside. ‘But what about your work, as a scribe? Why is it that you’re not allowed into the temple anymore? I thought the scribes were just as important as the dreamers?’

Alaric screwed up the wrinkled folds of his face, his eyes almost disappearing beneath them. He looked hesitant. ‘Well...’

‘You don’t have to tell me, of course,’ Edela reassured him kindly. ‘I don’t wish to make you uncomfortable. If it’s something you’d rather not say...’

Alaric looked back to his dead fire, hanging his head; there was no life in it, nor in him anymore, it seemed. But here was Edela, a bright-eyed reminder of his past and a time when there had been hope in his heart. He stood up, his hips clicking in protest, and came to sit on the edge of the fireplace in front of her, running his withered hands through the few strands of hair left on his head.

‘There are many secrets here, of course, always secrets,’ he said softly. ‘The elders grow more and more worried about them escaping the temple. They don’t trust anyone now. The dreamers are different, the elders need them, but the scribes?’ He leaned in closer now, resting his arms on his knees, lowering his voice. ‘Someone stole a prophecy, many years ago. They decided it was one of us who was responsible for that. Marcus interrogated us all. He’s the elderman now,’ Alaric shuddered. ‘It was very important, this prophecy. I don’t know of it. It was not written in my time at least. But they wanted it back, desperately. In the end, they decided it was Arbyn Nore who did it, that he had told someone about it, or stolen it himself. Arbyn insisted he was innocent. Nothing would compel him to confess, but in the end, they found him guilty and beheaded him.’

‘Oh!’ Edela’s eyes widened in shock; he had been one of their childhood friends. ‘I didn’t know that. Poor Arbyn. Do you think he did it? Told someone about the prophecy or took it himself?’

Alaric shook his head gravely. ‘You wouldn’t choose to steal a scroll, would you? That is hardly a treasure, not unless you have knowledge of what it contained. Someone knew what it said, that it would be important to somebody, which is why it disappeared. But no, I don’t believe Arbyn did it. He was devoted to his work,’ Alaric insisted, shivering. ‘But someone revealed its presence and let a thief into the temple, or took it themselves. After the prophecy was stolen, the elders shut everyone out and turned their attention towards strengthening the army, building the walls higher. It does not fill us with any confidence, to see what they are doing. I often think about what that prophecy might have contained... what its loss could mean for all of us.’

Edela felt confused. There were so many threads dangling hopelessly inside her head, all loose and unattached. If she were to help Jael, she had to start weaving them together in a way that made sense; before it was too late.

* * *

Thorgils hadn’t come back, and Eadmund wasn’t going to sit and wait any longer. He didn’t need anyone to look after him. He was perfectly able, just slightly pathetic, but his legs and arms were all working fine. So, forgetting Thorgils entirely, he threw his cloak around his shoulders and headed out in search of food. And maybe some ale.

He left the door to bang behind him, grimacing as the cold attacked his face and his boots sunk into the deep, wet snow.

‘I wondered what had happened to you. I’m glad to see you’re still breathing!’

Eadmund froze, closing his eyes. He turned around, reluctantly, his mood suddenly as murky as the clouds sinking above him. ‘No doubt you were hoping I’d dropped off the cliffs somewhere.’

Eirik frowned, then sighed. ‘One day you will know the feeling of having a child, and for the most part, never wishing they’d drop off a cliff.’

‘Not even if they murder someone?’ Eadmund spat crossly, his stomach growling loudly to match his mood.

Eirik chose to ignore that. He peered at his dishevelled looking son. ‘You know, Ketil has just opened for the day. I’ll walk over with you. I could do with something to eat, and by the look and smell of you, you’re going to need someone to prop you up soon.’

‘And you think you’ve got enough strength in that sack of bones to hold me up?’ Eadmund grumbled; he couldn’t bring himself to say anything nice.

‘Boy, I didn’t make myself king by sitting about and scratching my arse all day,’ Eirik smiled as they started walking towards the square. ‘I think even these old bones would make it further in the contest than you.’

Eadmund looked sideways at this father, readying a smart retort but his head was so addled that he couldn’t come up with anything at all. He sighed, feeling the itching in his throat; he really did want that ale now. ‘Well, I can’t deny that. You probably could.’

Eirik looked at his son and felt a twinge of sorrow. Finally, something other than anger was stirring inside him, it seemed. He wished he could reach into Eadmund and fix everything that was wrong but he couldn’t; that, he decided was the curse of being a parent. ‘And what about Jael then, how do you think she will do? She seems to be disappearing to train with Thorgils often enough. She must be taking it seriously?’ Eirik suggested.

‘Jael?’ Eadmund looked even lower then. ‘I’m not sure. You’d have to ask her. We haven’t spoken in a while.’

Eirik frowned and stopped, grabbing Eadmund’s arm. ‘She is your wife now,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve had three wives and loved two. Truly loved. And I recommend it, very highly indeed. A bloody death awaits us all, my son, so we have to hold onto those few things that give us happiness. Otherwise, what is the point of any of it? To just be miserable and alone until we die?’ He sighed, sensing that Eadmund wasn’t even listening. ‘They are both gone now, but I don’t regret that I loved them. After your mother died, I didn’t imagine ever finding happiness again. But then I saw Rada. It would have been easy for me to stay sad and alone, to wallow in that place, without your mother, but the gods offered me another chance. I didn’t want to take it at first. I remembered how it was when your mother died,’ he said quietly. ‘But I did, in the end, I took the risk, and I found another six years of happiness I hadn’t expected. So, now I’m here, all alone, without Eskild or Rada, but with you and Eydis and a head full of memories. And I don’t regret any of it. If I’d let those chances slip away, then I’d be like you now. Still broken. In pieces. Trying to drink enough ale so that I didn’t feel any of it.’ Eadmund looked away, uncomfortable, and Eirik grabbed his arm harder. ‘But Jael is here. Your chance for happiness is here. Now.’ Eirik shook his head. ‘This isn’t about heirs or legacies, or being king. You’re my son, Eadmund! Find a way out of this. Be happy. You have a chance to be happy.... take it.’

Eirik blinked the tears out of his eyes. He could feel more coming, so he ducked his head, not wanting to say anymore. The despair of all these years, watching his son drift away from him, was just too much. His helplessness and Eadmund’s hopelessness overwhelmed him, and he walked away, not looking back.

Eadmund felt the tears stinging his own eyes. It was a hard thing to see his father like that. He felt shame and embarrassment burn his cheeks. He wanted to sink to his knees, into the freezing snow, and just scream away all the memories, all the pain that he couldn’t escape, no matter how much he wanted to be free of it, no matter how tired of it he was. His father was right, of course he was. He had a wife, and he had felt things, seen in her eyes that she had felt things, but now he wasn’t sure of any of it. He would never know the truth, though, if he didn’t try to find out what could be.

Sharp pains attacked the base of his neck, and Eadmund’s stomach growled impatiently again. He really did want some food, he thought, as he looked around. He was just across the street from Jael’s house, he noticed with a wry smile. There was smoke twisting its way out of the hole in the roof. He imagined Biddy stirring a stew in her cauldron, his chair by the fire, the puppies lying at his feet. Jael and Thorgils would probably still be training, so he had time. He took a deep breath and made the decision to try.

He stopped himself before he’d even begun, watching as Jael and Ivaar walked towards the house with the horses. His house. His horse. Ivaar was patting the white horse, smiling at Jael. Eadmund slunk backwards, hiding amongst the shadows, not wishing to be seen but still, wishing to see.

Jael’s face was flushed from riding, he could tell. Her cheeks and nose were bright red, and her teeth were showing as she laughed with Ivaar. She seemed comfortable with him, he noted; very comfortable. And Ivaar couldn’t stop looking at her. Eadmund clenched his jaw, ignoring the urgent call of his stomach. He wanted to see what was about to happen, what he feared was happening all over again.

34

Amma sat sobbing on one side of Axl; his mother sniffed morosely on the other. Axl didn’t know who to try and comfort first. He wished Edela were here; she always seemed to know what to say. ‘It is no easy thing being a woman,’ he tried awkwardly.

‘Well, it was a lot easier when your father was here,’ Gisila muttered crossly. ‘He would never have married Jael off, especially not to an Islander. And if he were here, then I wouldn’t be marrying Lothar.’ She glanced quickly at Amma.

‘It’s alright, Gisila,’ Amma mumbled, wiping her running nose on a cloth Axl had found for her. ‘Say what you like about my father. I’ve seen the truth of it now, with my own eyes, and it’s an ugly truth, that is certain. I had thought Osbert was simply a freak, my mother being so gentle natured, but I see now where Osbert’s character truly comes from.’

‘Amma,’ Axl said quietly, leaning towards her. ‘You will only make things worse for yourself if someone hears you talking like that. As angry as you feel, you must find a way to keep control of your thoughts. Keep them off your face.’

‘Well, isn’t that what everyone has been saying to you?’ Gisila scolded him. ‘And have you listened?’

Axl sighed; it was true, of course. Perhaps it was just easier to see a way to help someone else? He hadn’t cared about the danger his behaviour could have brought to his own door, but he should have thought more about what it could mean for his family. He felt the vulnerability in Amma and his mother and with it a responsibility to care for them. He’d been treading a dangerous path listening to his friends, and as desperate as he was to reclaim the throne meant for him, it would feel a hollow victory if he lost everyone he cared about in the process.

‘There must be something we can do, Axl?’ Amma wondered hopefully. ‘Some way to stop all of this happening, to stop my father and Osbert?’

Axl felt his mother’s eyes turn towards him. He was frozen, wondering what his father would do, what Jael would do. But he was not like either of them; he knew that, of course he did. Why had his father thought to make him his heir? How could he look after a kingdom of people when he was struggling to think of a way to protect two women?

‘We can stay safe,’ Gisila said calmly, sensing the panic in Axl’s eyes. ‘And wait. Pray to the gods and don’t do anything foolish. Something will turn in our favour, I am certain of it.’

* * *

Jael was starving, wishing that Ivaar would hurry up and leave so that she could go inside and eat. It would have been polite to invite him in to join her but he had a wife and children; he could eat with them, and besides, she was not overly interested in being polite anyway. She wanted to stick her toes by the flames, sip on some ale, eat a large bowl of something tasty, and talk to Biddy about everything Ivaar had revealed on their ride. But first, she had to get rid of him.

Jael handed Tig’s reins to Askel, the stable hand, who was waiting to rub the horses down and turned to Ivaar, ready to send him on his way.

‘Perhaps we could ride together again?’ Ivaar murmured, sensing that she was ready to go but not wishing their conversation to end just yet.

‘I’m sure we can, although I’ll be training with Thorgils tomorrow.’

‘Oh, perhaps another day?’ He looked disappointed, then smiled. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do with a sword. I’ve heard all about your fight with Thorgils.’

‘Ha! That. Well, who knows, I might fall on my arse in the first round and spend the rest of the day watching everyone else.’

‘I doubt that, but you never know, it might rain.’

‘Well, if Tarak is praying to the gods it will,’ Jael said sarcastically.

‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

‘No, I really don’t.’

‘You’re a brave woman to play with a man like that,’ Ivaar frowned in warning. ‘Eirik won’t protect you against him. He’s too valuable to Oss, and he knows it. He isn’t someone to make an enemy of.’

‘Ahhh, so that’s your plan? Make friends with the big, scary ones?’ Jael smiled.

‘Of course! Better than having them creep up behind you to slit your throat in the night, don’t you think?’

‘Perhaps, but I have good hearing,’ Jael said smartly, ‘so, I’ll take my chances with Tarak.’

Ivaar looked doubtful. ‘Well, I’ve warned you at least. I’m sure you can take care of yourself, as you say. I’d better go and find my father. He wants to talk to me about Oss, Eadmund, everything it seems.’

‘I look forward to hearing all about that, if I live long enough,’ she grinned. ‘Who knows, Tarak might sneak up on me tonight?’

‘I hope not, Jael,’ Ivaar smiled as he walked away. ‘Who would I go riding with then?’

She kept her smile fixed until he had walked across the street, then turned around and quickly let it fall as she wandered towards the house, desperate for some warmth, thinking about that chair by the fire; Eadmund’s chair. She smiled sadly as she opened the door, hoping Thorgils had found him.

‘You’re back then,’ Thorgils growled, as he got out of Eadmund’s chair. ‘It sounds as though you and Ivaar had a lovely time together.’

* * *

Eadmund lost his footing and clattered against the side of a cottage. The noise turned Ivaar’s head in his direction, and he came stalking towards his brother.

‘Are you alright, Eadmund?’ Ivaar wondered sarcastically. He checked behind himself to make sure Jael had gone inside; there was no sign of her. ‘You look as though you need a hand back to bed.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Eadmund muttered furiously as he straightened himself up. ‘My legs work just fine.’ He moved to step past his brother, but Ivaar blocked his way.

‘Were you spying on us from over here? Eavesdropping?’ He looked at Eadmund with one eyebrow raised, a condescending smile on his unsympathetic face.

Eadmund frowned. ‘Spying on what? I was on my way to Ketil’s.’ His stomach rumbled to support his argument. He tried to step around his brother, but again Ivaar moved to stop him.

‘You cannot blame her, you know.’

Eadmund’s shoulders sagged. He wanted to get away from Ivaar; he didn’t want to play the game. It was an old game he remembered well from their childhood. Ivaar would dangle a tasty morsel to torment him, Eadmund would eventually rise to take the bait, and Ivaar would have him trapped and torture him mercilessly. ‘You are welcome to talk to anyone, Ivaar. I don’t care. As I said to you in the hall, do what you wish with Jael. She means nothing to me. I didn’t choose her, and I don’t want her. I believe you will discover the feeling is mutual.’

Ivaar studied his brother, his swaying, stinking, bloated brother. He looked truly pathetic. There was nothing about him that resembled the man he remembered. But he felt no pity or sympathy, just a growing sense of pleasure to think that his brother suffered so badly; there was some justice after all. ‘Hmmm, there are many things I had forgotten after all these years. So many things. We were apart for such a long time, but I’ve just remembered what a bad liar you are,’ he laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re even lying to yourself, and you don’t know it? In this state, I doubt you know anything at all,’ he sneered. ‘But I will tell you one thing, Little Brother, you love your wife,’ he laughed. ‘It’s in your eyes. It’s all over you. You forget I’ve seen you in love before. I know the look, I recognise the signs. And you have it all again. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.’

Eadmund blinked rapidly, clenching his fists at his sides. He wanted to kill his brother, more than he had wanted anything in his whole life. Ivaar was shorter than him, just, but he stood on a higher piece of ground, towering threateningly over him. Eadmund felt like a small nothing, standing in the shadow of Ivaar’s scorn. He had wasted his strength over the years; his body had no fight left in it, and he knew that. As angry as he was, as he was about to get, he also knew that the only outcome he could expect if he fought Ivaar, was humiliation and pain. The pain he wouldn’t have minded, but he couldn’t stand any more of his brother’s gloating. There was only one way out of this if he was to cling to any self-respect and it had to be with his head held high. ‘Well then, I wish you luck,’ Eadmund said quietly, his lips tight, his body pulsing with barely contained fury. ‘My wife is a strong woman. You will need all the luck you can get if you are going to play with her.’ And he stepped past Ivaar as quickly as he could.

Ivaar let him go, disappointed that Eadmund had not taken his bait. But there would be plenty of time to hook him; he was sure of that.

* * *

‘Lovely time?’ Jael asked irritably as she sniffed around Biddy’s cauldron. Hot, good smelling things were bubbling away inside, and she was desperate for a taste. ‘Well, lovelier than you, by the look on your face.’ She handed Biddy her cloak and sat on a stool to remove her wet boots.

Thorgils stayed standing and frowning. ‘I thought we would train today. We were supposed to train today!’

‘It’s only one day. We won’t miss it, not really. Don’t forget, we have a plan. I could hardly say no when he asked to come along with me. Besides, it was well worth it. He did a lot of talking.’ Jael placed her wet boots next to the fire to dry, and her feet by them. She was frozen solid, desperate for the heat from the flames.

‘About what?’ Thorgils wondered crossly.

Jael patted the stool next to her. ‘Well, I’m not going to yell it up to you. If you want to hear the story, sit your hairy arse down here.’

Thorgils harrumphed and reluctantly plonked himself down. ‘Go ahead, then. My arse is ready.’

Jael shot him a sideways look. ‘I thought you’d be happy, me leading Ivaar away like that. I thought you’d be able to talk to Isaura, alone.’

Thorgils looked away from her, towards the flames. ‘She didn’t want to talk to me.’

‘Oh.’

‘She was worried it would cause problems for me. The truth is that it would cause problems for her too, so I left.’

‘That’s a shame. I’m sorry.’

Thorgils shook away all thoughts of Isaura for now; he was too cross with Jael to think about anyone else. He hated the thought of her befriending his worst enemy. ‘So, what did he say that was so interesting?’

‘Well... he explained how it was, with Melaena.’ Jael moved her feet away from the flames, which, having rapidly thawed them, were now scorching her socks. ‘He said that she’d loved him, not Eadmund. That she had wanted him but her father made her choose Eadmund, as he was Eirik’s heir.’

‘Ha! Of course he thinks that’s how it was. Are you surprised?’

‘He didn’t appear to be lying.’

‘And you can tell a liar from an honest man, can you?’ Thorgils raised an eyebrow and peered at her. ‘You’ve probably never heard Ivaar tell the truth, which is why you can’t see the lies in his eyes, nor hear them on his lips. But believe me, everything he says is his version of events. He is so in love with himself that he never sees his own fault in anything.’

Jael frowned. She had believed Ivaar. Nothing he did or said had led her to think he was lying; she was certain of it. ‘He told me he didn’t kill Melaena.’

Thorgils laughed loudly, startling Biddy, who was standing next to him, ladling stew into a bowl. ‘And let me guess, you believed him about that too?’ He got up, his irritability overwhelming him. ‘What has happened to you, Jael? I thought we were on the same side? But now you seem to be flying Ivaar’s banner. What about Eadmund? What we were trying to do?’

Jael stood up, looking just as cross. ‘Lower your voice,’ she hissed. ‘Tiras is probably sliding around out there.’ She shook her head as Biddy offered her a bowl; her need to make Thorgils listen to her was stronger than her hunger pains.

‘He did kill her, and you need to realise that,’ Thorgils growled deeply. ‘And she did love Eadmund. She chose Eadmund. Whatever Ivaar is telling you, believe the opposite, otherwise you’ll find yourself in a real tangle. It’s his game, what he’s doing to you, what he’s always done. Isaura told me to warn you that Ivaar had started to play with you. He does that. He watches and sees what Eadmund loves and then he goes and takes it for his own. He’s always done that. He wants to hurt Eadmund, always. It’s how he feels good about himself.’

Jael shook her head, feeling suddenly very odd. ‘What? Eadmund doesn’t love me. Why would Ivaar think that?’ She could feel a burst of warmth on her cheeks, and it wasn’t coming from the fire.

Thorgils glared at her. ‘Listen to me. Hear my words, please Jael. We cannot keep going with this plan of yours if you forget what the plan is... if you get lost with Ivaar.’ He ran a hand through his wild hair. ‘Ivaar is a handsome man...’

‘What?’ Jael looked insulted. ‘What does that mean?’

Thorgils sighed uncomfortably. ‘I’m just saying that perhaps you’re getting distracted. You have been on this island a while now. You must be lonely, and you have a husband who spends much of his time in a... bad way.’

Jael was tired, hungry, and mad. She couldn’t believe Thorgils was so full of doubt over her intentions and her character. She glared at him. ‘Yes, you’re right, I have been on this cold, fucking island for a long time now, and if I’m lonely for anything, it’s for a real friend. Someone who knows I’m not a dim-witted idiot, about to be fooled by a man because of the way he looks, or how careful he is at crafting a lie!’ she huffed impatiently, shooing away Vella who had started chewing on her sock. ‘A real friend, someone who knows me, knows they could trust me to find the truth without getting lost along the way.’ She turned around and took her bowl from Biddy who was still standing there, holding it out, watching the bickering friends with troubled eyes.

‘Right then, well I will leave you to your meal,’ Thorgils said quickly. He was hurt and angry and both emotions fused together into a bright red face and a burst of fire inside his belly. ‘I wish you luck in the contest, Jael. Not that you’ll need it, of course.’ He adjusted his cloak, nodded to Biddy, and headed out the door in a rush.

Jael sat down, staring into her bowl but she was no longer hungry; her appetite had left with Thorgils.

* * *

‘Where have you been?’ Eirik called impatiently as Ivaar opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. ‘I was beginning to wonder which one of my sons I had asked to see. It’s usually Eadmund I end up waiting for!’

Ivaar ignored his father’s grumbles, laughing as he sat down opposite him. ‘What’s the hurry? Have you nothing else to keep you busy?’

Eirik sat back on his chair, trying to decide whether Ivaar’s attitude was meant to annoy or relax him; it was an even choice. ‘No, I have nothing else to do today, except wait on you, it seems. What were you doing?’

They were sitting in Eirik’s private chamber, a place he reserved for his less public conversations, of which there were not many, but he had seen the eyes as they followed Ivaar; it was better to talk away from them and their accompanying ears.

‘I went for a ride with Jael,’ Ivaar said casually as he warmed his hands over the inviting fire. His father’s room was plush and well heated, its floor covered in layers of hides and furs. It was the chamber of a king; one day his, if this conversation went as he expected.

‘Jael?’ Eirik didn’t look impressed. ‘That’s no way to endear yourself to your brother, nor anyone else here.’

‘Why? Eadmund doesn’t seem to like her, why would he be bothered?’

Ivaar was fishing for information and Eirik could see it in his eyes. He said nothing more on the subject. ‘What do you think of the place after all these years, then? Better than Kalfa?’ Eirik wondered evenly.

‘The stables are better than Kalfa,’ Ivaar sneered. ‘Yes, of course. It’s not been easy, being away. We’re all relieved to be back.’

‘I’m not sure your wife looks relieved. I haven’t seen her smile yet.’

Ivaar blinked. ‘Well, no, I suppose it is harder for her. Her father is dead now. She had no one to come back to. She doesn’t have fond memories of how she left either.’

‘No, well that would be my fault, I suppose, but I did owe her father a favour,’ Eirik admitted. ‘Still, she has given you fine children so far. Another son or two will be necessary if you become my heir, though.’

‘If?’ Ivaar narrowed his eyes. He didn’t want to appear too keen, but he was desperate to hear the words he had been dreaming of for most of his life. ‘I didn’t think I was here for just a visit.’

‘Didn’t you now?’ Eirik snorted. ‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ve ever had a problem with confidence, have you, my son?’

‘I will make a good king, Father, and Eadmund is obviously in a bad way. Do you have any other choice?’

Eirik leaned forward, irritated, ready to defend Eadmund but then his shoulders sagged, his irritation eased; he realised he couldn’t. Ivaar was right; Eadmund had given him no choice. ‘When I am ashes, drinking in Vidar’s Hall, and you are here, sleeping in my bed, sitting in my chair, what sort of king will you be?’ Eirik wondered, studying his son carefully. Ivaar was 34-years-old now; any youth had vanished, leaving his face sharp-edged. His clear, blue eyes held no emotion that Eirik could see, just cold, hard ambition. He didn’t need an answer; he could tell what sort of king Ivaar would be, and that rankled, but what else could he do?

35

Aleksander turned to Edela. ‘Are you sure about this?’

‘I am most certainly not sure about this,’ Edela murmured uneasily as she stared up at the never-ending doors. She had let her conversation with Alaric keep her awake for much of the night and knew that she would never get any closer to the answers she sought unless she entered the temple. But now that she was here, she felt unsettled.

‘I would come with you if I thought they’d let me in,’ Aleksander smiled, sensing her anxiety. He squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘Just don’t forget that you’re welcome in there. You’re a dreamer. They like dreamers!’

Edela glanced up at him, relaxing her face slightly. ‘So I hear. But not all, I’m sure.’ It was snowing, and she didn’t want him freezing out here while she dithered about like a foolish, old woman. Edela shook her head, waking herself up. ‘You go, go on back to Branwyn. I’ll walk there when I’m done.’ She tried to look brave, but her bottom lip quivered.

‘I’ll come back. I’ll keep coming back to see if you’re here,’ Aleksander insisted. ‘The snow is only going to get worse, so I’ll just spend some time in the stables... thinking of a name for my horse.’

Edela laughed, forgetting her tension as she stepped forwards. ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, come on,’ she gripped his arm. ‘Help me up these steps and then go. I’ll be fine.’

Aleksander guided her up the snow-covered steps to the temple, then hesitated, watching as she stood there, knocking on the door. Edela turned and shooed him away. Aleksander backed down the steps as one of the large doors slowly opened, the light of the temple falling out into the dark grey afternoon. With one final, anxious look towards him, Edela disappeared inside.

* * *

Fyn was getting so good at this, Jael thought to herself as she watched him strut into the centre of their circle, his sword pointing confidently out in front of him; she could see that his grip was strong.

It was an unpleasant day for fighting; the coldest one yet, and blowing such a snow-gale about her face that she could barely see. Jael couldn’t imagine anything she’d rather be doing, though; if only Thorgils were here. She shoved that thought away quickly; she was still too angry at him.

‘Are you sure you have the strength to go again?’ Fyn asked cockily.

Jael raised one eyebrow and tightened her numb fingers around the wooden grip of her sword. ‘Really? You think my panting is because I’m tired, you little weed?’ She shook her head and walked towards him until their swords were almost touching, her smoky breath lost in a haze of sweeping snow. ‘No, that’s just me trying to calm my fury before I unleash it upon you!’ She smiled, and Fyn laughed.

That was a mistake.

Jael lunged forwards, jabbed her sword into the side of his ribs, stood on his foot so that he couldn’t move, and smacked her elbow into his jaw. She jumped back quickly, leaving him to stumble, grumble, and feel his face before he recovered, blinking the snow out of his eyes, raising his sword and thrusting, slashing it towards her. Again, it was a mistake. She swung herself around to the side, avoiding his sword and smacking the back of his legs with hers. Hard. He stumbled again but didn’t go down.

‘Lucky for you, my sword is made of wood, little boy!’ she warned and turned to hit him again. She went for his face, and he just managed to get his sword up in time, then she changed angles and hit the inside of his wrist. He flinched but didn’t drop his sword. Jael was impressed but didn’t let it show. She didn’t have time to because he was coming at her again. He lowered his sword and went for her belly but his jab was laboured, and she moved aside easily, quickly, bringing her sword up to his left side, hitting him firmly in the waist. He grimaced but didn’t stumble. Jael frowned; surely it was time for him to go down?

‘I’m watching your legs, Jael,’ Fyn smiled, teasing her. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you won’t get me this time.’

Jael turned her back on him and walked away. It was so cold; it felt as though her sweat was freezing on her face. She wanted to get inside to the fire and heat herself through. But first, she had to find a way to end Fyn’s fun.

Jael cocked her head to one side and smiled; she had an idea.

Fyn shivered in his frozen boots, steadying himself as he waited for her. He knew that she would not take his goading well and would surely come at him with speed. He pushed his right leg back, firmly into the ground, feeling it slip slightly on fresh snow, and waited, gripping his sword as tightly as he could.

She turned, and her face was completely blank. It unsettled him, how cold she looked, as though she was staring right through him. She didn’t move. The wind flapped his hair into his face, and he tried to shake it away without taking his eyes off her; he should have braided it, he thought irritably.

Jael rushed at him quickly, and he braced himself. She moved that leg of hers, and he felt a half-smile form on his face; he knew what was coming, surprised that she’d be that predictable. He moved his sword up to the left, preparing to protect his head and knock away her leg but before he could blink, she had dropped to the ground, sweeping her leg in a fast circle, knocking both his legs out from under him. He fell into the snow with a thud, feeling a small rock lodge in his side, grimacing at the pain of it, cringing at the shame of it, and staring up into the thick, white storm as it blew about him. And then Jael’s face, as she leaned over him, smiling.

‘I hope your fire’s still going,’ she grinned and held out a hand.

* * *

It was vast, bigger than she remembered and much quieter, Edela thought, as she shuffled down the length of the temple, her eyes adjusting to the soft glow of light that coloured the high walls. Fires were burning down the middle of the large, vaulted room, and their loud crackling was the only sound she could hear; that, and the soft squelching of her wet boots as she trailed after the woman who had let her in. Edela didn’t know who she was, or where she was leading her to, but she had no time to ask as she hurried across the stones, desperate to keep up.

Towards the very back of the temple was a corridor; a narrow, dark passage, leading to a handful of rooms. Memories flooded back suddenly, like old friends. This was where the dreamers would come and talk to the elders, to share their visions and learn how to interpret them as more than just pictures or words. She had been so young in these rooms once, young and intimidated but excited by her new gifts, eager to learn, wanting to see more, always wanting a new dream. But now? Now she was terrified when she closed her eyes every night. She was tired and needed answers more than she needed dreams.

The woman led her to the room at the very end of the corridor and knocked on the door, leaving Edela without even a nod. It was much colder here, in the narrow passage, without the warmth of the fires, and Edela was suddenly conscious of how wet her cloak was as it clung to her legs.

‘Come in!’

Edela thought she knew that voice. She frowned, trying to picture the face it belonged to as she turned the handle and eased open the door. A burst of warmth flooded towards her, and she was relieved to see a large fire and lamps burning. It was bright in here, bright enough to recognise the woman who stood before her. ‘Neva,’ Edela breathed in surprise, confused. ‘I didn’t know you had become an elder here.’

Neva had been Branwyn and Gisila’s childhood friend, many years ago. A very pleasant girl, Edela remembered, but now? She didn’t know what to think of this middle-aged woman who stood there so calm and still, her face completely unreadable in the firelight. Her hair was gathered back in red and grey streaked braids that hung to her waist. Her figure had wasted away somewhat, Edela thought, and despite the attractiveness of her pale blue, velvet dress, she looked thin and frail.

Neva smiled as she came forwards. ‘Well, it has been many years since I came to the temple, many more since I raced around with your girls.’

‘Yes, I think you are all a bit too old for that now, aren’t you?’ Edela said wistfully.

‘Come, please, sit down.’ Neva helped Edela to a simple wooden chair by the fire and took the one opposite. ‘I have been waiting for you.’

Edela stilled at that, her senses heightened. She didn’t know where to look.

‘You have many questions, I know,’ Neva said softly. ‘More than I am able to answer, I warn you. But let us begin and see where we end up.’

* * *

Jael’s hands were dangerously close to the flames, but her body was still shivering. ‘I’ve never been this cold,’ she chattered.

Fyn sipped on a cup of ale next to her. ‘That’s not good. I’ve known it to get much colder than this,’ he warned her. ‘This has been a mild winter so far.’

‘What? Don’t say that!’ Jael looked horrified. ‘Well, perhaps next time I need to bring Leada, and we can ride to the cave and warm ourselves up.’

Fyn frowned. ‘What about Thorgils? You still haven’t told me why he hasn’t been coming with you lately.’

Jael frowned back at him. ‘Thorgils is being an idiot. It’s as simple as that. When he stops being an idiot, I’m sure he’ll be back.’ She looked more confident than she felt; she hadn’t seen him for days.

‘Oh,’ Fyn shivered as the wind raced under the door. ‘Well, I hope so because I’m not sure I can offer you much in the way of a challenge. You need more help to get ready for the contest than me and my little wooden sword.’

‘Don’t think like that,’ Jael smiled. ‘You’re getting good. Better than I thought possible when I first saw you dropping your sword all over the place. Your father was an idiot to think you wouldn’t make a warrior. Truly.’

Fyn ducked his head, uncomfortable with both her praise and talk of his father. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m ever going to become a real warrior, though. Fighting with an army.’

‘Not if you hide out here, you won’t,’ Jael said crossly. ‘We need to do something, get you back to the fort before you die out here, especially if it’s going to get colder than this! You can’t hope to have a life out here, Fyn. On your own, in this hole.’

‘No, Jael, no!’ Fyn glanced anxiously at her, his eyes darting back and forth in fear. ‘You promised me you wouldn’t say anything! Please don’t. I’m fine here. I don’t mind the cold at all. I like my own company, I really do.’

Jael sighed. He was terrified, and she didn’t know how to change that. ‘Alright then, I won’t mention it again. At least not for a day or two,’ she said sadly, then had an idea. ‘But promise me this, if Thorgils or I manage to defeat Tarak in the contest, let me talk to Eirik about you coming back.’

Fyn shifted about on his stool, looking away from her. He didn’t imagine she would defeat Tarak, as good as he knew she was, nor Thorgils either. No one could; he was certain of that. Tarak was simply too big and too experienced at winning. He sighed heavily. ‘Alright, I promise.’

‘Good!’ Jael was happily surprised. ‘That is extra motivation for both of us then, yet another reason to destroy that bastard. As if we needed any more.’

Fyn shuddered; just hearing that name made him sick. He tried to shake away the memories, but it was impossible. They haunted him, asleep or awake; he couldn’t escape them.

* * *

‘It took a while to find you,’ Tarak rumbled irritably at the hunched figure lurking in the shadows. ‘No one knew where you had crawled away to. I thought that Brekkan bitch might have thrown you off a cliff.’

Tiras scowled. He didn’t like the look of the giant beast glowering down at him, but he could see the opportunity he provided, especially when he glanced at the man standing next to him. Ivaar. If there were two sides on this island now, then this was the only side Tiras would pick; the side that had a chance of defeating Eadmund, and with him, that cunt of a woman. ‘She wouldn’t dare,’ he hissed. ‘Despite all her words and her temper, she’s afraid, that one. She let Lothar take the throne for himself and did nothing to stop him. She could have killed me, but she didn’t.’

‘Maybe that’s not afraid,’ Ivaar said coolly, dismissing Tiras as a nothing kind of fool. ‘Maybe it’s clever. She would only create problems for herself by killing you, and she didn’t have the support to defeat Lothar, from what I hear.’

Tiras and Tarak stared at Ivaar; his defence of Jael surprising them both.

‘Why have you sought me out?’ Tiras wondered, trying not to appear nervous under Ivaar’s iron-edged glare and Tarak’s towering frame.

Ivaar narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, you are the reason I was brought back, from what Tarak tells me, so I came to thank you.’

‘Thank me?’ Tiras squinted doubtfully at Ivaar.

‘Yes, thank you,’ Ivaar said coldly. ‘And make you an offer of my protection.’ He leaned towards Tiras, who flinched back into the shadows.

They were standing, hunched over, inside the tiny hut Tiras had found for himself in the farthest corner of the fort. It was barely big enough for a dog, Ivaar thought dismissively, and looking at the filthy, animal-like creature before him, he thought it a fitting hole.

Tiras raised an eyebrow. ‘And in return?’

‘In return, you will place your very useful ears back to the ground, and to the doors, and to the windows of every place in this fort, and you will bring me anything and everything I need to know, especially anything to do with Jael or my brother. I want to know how many times they are shitting a day, every word they speak to one another, every person they meet, every small detail you can sniff out. Bring it to me. And in return, Tarak here will keep you safe, from Jael, and from my father, and most of all, from me. Do you understand?’

Tiras stared into those cold, humourless eyes and nodded. He was caught in a trap.

* * *

Edela fumbled nervously beneath Neva’s calm stare, not knowing where to begin, nor what to reveal. She had no idea who she could trust or what danger she was in.

Neva reached out and gently patted Edela’s hand. ‘I don’t mean to intimidate you,’ she smiled reassuringly, her pale grey eyes softening. ‘This is about your granddaughter, isn’t it? Jael?’

‘It is, yes.’ Edela felt her heart racing in her chest as she looked into Neva’s encouraging eyes. ‘I... I’ve had many dreams these past few months, about her, about what threatens her. And now the sword...’ she looked closely but Neva didn’t flinch. ‘I’ve always known that there must be something special about her... something she was meant for. Why else was I given that sword to hold for her?’

‘She has the sword now?’ Neva asked.

‘Yes, I gave it to her on her wedding day, as my grandfather told me to.’

‘Good,’ Neva nodded, smiling briefly. ‘It is good that she has the sword... and Eadmund.’

Edela frowned. ‘Eadmund?’

‘You always saw that, didn’t you?’ Neva wondered. ‘That she was meant to be with him?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘You will need to go back there, to Oss,’ Neva said more seriously. ‘Jael will need you to keep her safe, to save her life. You are right, Edela, she is in danger, will be in danger, soon.’

Edela swallowed, shivering, despite the warmth of the small room. ‘What sort of danger? What from?’

‘Danger that the sword cannot protect her from, I’m afraid, no matter how well she learns to use it. But you can save her. You will find a way when the time comes. Do not fear Edela, we all have confidence in you.’

‘But what is the sword for if it cannot protect her from the danger that seeks her?’ Edela puzzled. ‘Why was it made?’

Neva sat quietly, her face calm. ‘The sword has a very particular purpose, but what that is, I cannot say. Our prophecies, as you know, are sacred between the gods and the elders. We are trusted to keep them safe, never to reveal their contents, especially when what they promise is yet to be realised. It would put many in danger, especially the people the prophecy concerns.’

Edela didn’t know what to say. One look at Neva’s face told her that she would not be moved, so she had to try another approach. ‘I have seen a girl with a face of darkness, had dreams of dark things coming. Is that the danger? These dark forces?’

Neva stilled, her eyes barely blinking. Her voice, when she spoke, was smooth and light. ‘As you know, Edela, there are many ways to interpret your dreams. You cannot take everything as you see it only. You must work to understand what the darkness could represent. Darkness may be the way you are being shown danger. This girl you speak of?’ Neva leaned in, her face suddenly harder. ‘She is dangerous. She is the greatest threat Jael faces right now. Her name is Evaine, and she is in love with Eadmund. She has always believed she is meant to be with him, that he will be hers and hers alone one day. It is something that she has been told her whole life by her mother, a very dangerous woman. And now they plot together, against Jael.’

Edela moved to the edge of her seat, her body rigid with fear. ‘She wants to take Eadmund back for herself?’

‘Oh yes, she does, and urgently, for she is carrying Eadmund’s child.’

‘Oh.’

‘As soon as the Thaw comes, you must cross the Nebbar Straights, back to Oss and keep Jael safe.’

‘I will, of course,’ Edela insisted, her eyes wide. ‘But will she be safe in the meantime?’

‘Do not fret too much, Edela,’ Neva said, relaxing her face. ‘Evaine is not on Oss now. She has been removed by the king, but she will return. You just need to make sure you are back in time.’

‘And this girl’s mother? Who is she?’

‘Her name is Morana Gallas. She is very skilled in the use of dark magic. Everything that Evaine thinks or feels or does comes from Morana. And Morana wants to destroy Jael.’

Edela was consumed with uncertainty. She didn’t feel equipped to battle against dark magic, and if she failed, what would happen to Jael?

‘We will talk again before you return to Brekka. There is time, do not fear,’ Neva assured her as she stood up. ‘I will show you ways that you can protect both you and Jael against what is coming.’

36

Ido and Vella chased each other around Eydis as she sat on the floor of the hall, laughing as she tried to catch their slippery bodies.

‘Your dogs are growing,’ Eirik noted awkwardly, coming to sit next to Jael on the long bench she had placed near the fire.

Jael was surprised, but not unhappy, that he had sought her out. They had barely spoken since that night at the house, and she was ready to make things right between them. ‘They are. I will have to start training them properly, I suppose.’

‘You haven’t already?’

‘Not as well as I should have. Perhaps they’re just a stubborn breed,’ she frowned. ‘I’ve never had any problems with dogs before. They are obedient to most commands, but they simply refuse to come when I call.’

‘Sounds like good practice for having children to me!’ Eirik laughed. ‘If only my children would have done as they were told, I would have had more sleep and less of these!’ He pinched his sagging folds of wrinkled skin.

He was smiling, but his eyes were so sad, Jael thought as she turned to face him. ‘It’s not too late for Eadmund, you know.’

Eirik frowned, a sigh escaping his down-turned mouth. ‘Yes, it is, it’s far too late. I’ve made up my mind, spoken to Ivaar. It’s done.’ A hint of uncertainty flickered in his eyes, though. ‘Ivaar is my heir now.’

Jael looked around and lowered her voice. ‘But what if Eadmund changes? I can help him. I can help him stop drinking and start fighting again.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ Eirik asked, his eyes showing little belief in her words. ‘After what you said about him? How your marriage has been? Not even a marriage.’ He shook his head sadly, the disappointment of how everything had turned out still raw. ‘Why do you suddenly want to help him now?’

Jael sighed; she wasn’t sure she had an answer to that. ‘I think he’s a good man...’ she stumbled, feeling uncomfortable, aware that Eydis was listening. ‘He’ll make a good king here, and you know that too. He will care about your people and keep them safe. Look at Lothar and my father. My father did everything he could for the Brekkan people, but Lothar is only interested in himself, and Brekka is suffering because of his greed. I don’t know Ivaar, other than by reputation, but I am certain you know who your people would choose for their next king.’

Eydis coughed loudly, and both Jael and Eirik turned to see Ivaar and Isaura, walking towards them with their children.

Jael stood up and walked quickly towards the puppies who were jumping all over the littlest girl, Leya, as she leaked great big tears. ‘Vella, get down!’ Jael called crossly, and for once, Vella obeyed and came racing back to her. Ido loped after his sister, leaving poor Leya to run into her mother’s arms.

‘You’ve trained your dogs well,’ Ivaar grinned as he ignored his crying daughter and came to stand just a little too close to Jael.

She frowned; his wife was only two paces behind him. ‘Well, you would think so. It’s a start.’

‘You like dogs?’

Jael looked at Eydis, who was now being hugged by her nieces. ‘They were a wedding gift from your sister,’ she whispered, rolling her eyes. ‘I couldn’t refuse.’

‘Oh, well I suppose they could get lost on a walk one day?’ he winked.

‘That would not be good preparation for motherhood,’ Jael smiled. ‘I’m sure any child I have will be far more annoying than a couple of puppies.’

Ivaar laughed. ‘You’re right there. I would say that children are better left to the women but I don’t imagine that’s what you want to hear.’

‘Good morning, Jael,’ Isaura smiled politely as she came to stand next to Ivaar, Mads wriggling on her hip, drooling from the mouth, and looking ready to grizzle at any moment. ‘Hello, Eirik.’

Eirik rose to greet her. ‘Isaura. And how is my only grandson here? I heard a lot of noise in the night.’ He smiled at the little boy, who looked back at him sternly.

‘Oh, yes, Mads is a troublesome sleeper,’ Isaura blushed shyly. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

Ivaar raised an eyebrow in her direction. ‘Yes, troublesome is certainly the word I would use with that boy.’ He turned to look at Jael. ‘I’m not sure we’ve had any sleep since he was born.’

Jael looked horrified by the thought.

‘He’s not that bad, Jael, I promise,’ Isaura insisted. ‘He has teeth coming through, that’s all.’

Jael cringed. Everyone saw her having this future child, but the thought of it made her toes curl; she enjoyed sleeping far too much.

Isaura smiled at her. ‘Don’t worry, when they’re your own, you will love them through all the sleepless nights, all the teething, all the bad behaviour. Just ask Eirik.’

‘It’s true,’ he admitted. ‘It’s the only thing that keeps you from flinging them out into the snow every night!’

‘There’s always a servant?’ Ivaar suggested helpfully. ‘Or you could build another house next door?’

‘Oh, please stop!’ Jael pleaded, only half joking. ‘It’s not something I want to think about, not now or ever,’ she sighed. ‘I’m going for a ride, so if you’ll excuse me.’ She ducked her head and patted her leg for the puppies to come.

‘Would you like some company?’ Ivaar asked quickly. ‘I enjoyed our ride the other day.’

Jael saw Isaura’s face pale slightly. She noticed the tension around Eirik’s lips. She could feel Eydis’ stern glare, but what could she say? ‘Yes, alright. Leada needs someone to ride her. She’s not getting much exercise these days.’

‘Why? What’s happened to Thorgils?’ Eirik wondered, ruffling his annoyed looking grandson’s hair. Mads’ lip turned down and started wobbling; he was ready to cry.

‘Oh, he’s decided to train on his own for a while,’ Jael said lightly. ‘He couldn’t cope with being beaten by a woman every day.’

Eirik and Ivaar laughed, but Isaura looked upset. Jael felt sorry for her then, standing here with Ivaar, and Ivaar’s children. It was not the life she had dreamed of for herself.

Jael knew exactly how she felt.

* * *

‘What happened to you?’

‘What happened to you?’

‘You look like shit.’

‘Thank you. So do you.’

Thorgils sat down opposite Eadmund, irritably picking at a hanging fingernail.

‘I thought you’d be out training with Jael?’

Thorgils snorted loudly.

Eadmund raised one eyebrow. It hurt. ‘What’s happened?’

Thorgils leaned over, sighing. ‘I suppose we are fighting.’

‘Fighting?’ Eadmund almost laughed. ‘About what?’

‘Her bad judgement, mainly,’ Thorgils said, looking up. ‘She’s stubborn, won’t listen. Just like you.’

Eadmund smiled. ‘Poor you, having such difficult friends.’

‘Yes, you’re right, you’re both idiots.’ He scratched his head. ‘But you, I can forgive. Jael... that may take longer.’

‘Is it Ivaar? The way she is with Ivaar?’ Eadmund asked, glancing around. They were sitting outside Ketil’s, surrounded by ears and eyes. He didn’t want to be overheard; who knew how many people Ivaar had already managed to slip into his pocket.

Thorgils avoided Eadmund’s keen eyes as they sought his. Despite his fury at Jael, he still didn’t want to involve Eadmund. By the stink of him and the bloat on his face, he was struggling more than ever; now was not the time to bring him into his confidence. ‘Well, that doesn’t help things. She seems to find him very interesting, doesn’t she?’

‘Who could blame her, with that hair of his? It brings out the colour in his eyes, don’t you think?’ Eadmund’s lips curled into a smile, but his eyes were heavy with sadness; he hadn’t spoken to Jael in a long time. There was a wide valley between them now, and she was standing on the other side of it with his gloating brother.

Thorgils laughed loudly, slapping the table, his frown easing for the first time in days. ‘You are so right! That hair! Ha!’ He bent over suddenly, lowering his voice, realising how loud he had become. ‘At least it won’t get in his eyes when he’s swinging his pretty sword around.’

Eadmund’s smile faded as he thought back to his brother’s sneering face. ‘If only he were swinging it at me, as he was going down beneath my sword.’

‘Well, why not?’ Thorgils said hoarsely. ‘It wasn’t so long ago that you picked up a sword. If things hadn’t gone so wrong, imagine where you’d be now? We can start again. I can help you, now that I’m not training with Jael.’

‘It’s that bad between you two?’ Eadmund was surprised.

‘It is. For now. No doubt I’ll forgive her when she sees sense, but until then, she can fight herself for all I care.’

‘Ido! Vella!’

Both men turned to see the puppies racing through the snow towards them. They had grown so big that the snow barely troubled them now. Having sniffed out Thorgils, they jumped up to say hello, pawing his knee, licking his hands. There was food about, and they were eager to see if he had any to spare.

Jael trudged after them, cursing herself for their lack of obedience; she may as well be the wind for all that they listened to her.

‘Hello, hello,’ Thorgils smiled as he patted the puppies snow-dusted heads. ‘Looks as though you’d better run along now before your mother tells you off.’ He didn’t look at up at Jael, but he could feel her cold glare aimed in his direction. A few days without each other had not softened either of them it seemed.

Eadmund watched the frosty exchange and was so distracted by it that he forgot his own awkwardness. His eyes met Jael’s, and she blinked, then frowned at him. He looked away quickly as the puppies, having abandoned Thorgils, raced around to try their luck with him.

‘Ahhh, so fickle, just like their mother,’ Thorgils noted wryly.

Jael rolled her eyes, ignoring him. ‘Well, I would love to stand around and share stories with you ladies, but I must get back to the house. Ivaar and I are going riding. Leada’s in need of exercise, and since both of you have abandoned her now, Ivaar is helping me out.’ She watched the pinched expression on Thorgils’ face with some satisfaction. ‘Come on Ido, Vella, let’s go, come on!’ And walking off without acknowledging either man, she clicked her tongue and patted her leg. The puppies, eventually realising that she wasn’t coming back, chased after her.

Thorgils turned to Eadmund, his face bursting with irritation. ‘Well, there you go. I say we go to the Pit and get you a sword.’ He stood up and walked around to Eadmund, leaning towards his ear. ‘You’re never going to get rid of your bastard brother if you’re pissing your pants, asleep under a table every night.’ And with that he strode off in the opposite direction to Jael, towards the Pit, not waiting to see if Eadmund would follow him.

Eadmund considered things. The idea of cutting Ivaar to pieces was one of the better thoughts he had had lately. The lure of ale remained ever present, though, despite the ache in his head and the bile swimming in his throat. Perhaps he would keep Thorgils company for a while. Then he could find a drink.

* * *

Jael slammed the door behind her. Biddy jumped, and so did the puppies as she stormed past them into the bedchamber and slammed that door too.

She threw herself onto the bed and screamed into a pillow, so loudly that she felt her throat burn with the strain of it. Jael was furious with Thorgils, annoyed with Eadmund, ready to kill Tarak, and completely fed up with Fyn. She pushed her face into the pillow and screamed again.

Her body went limp then, and she rolled over, staring up at the cobweb-thick ceiling, wishing she was under the blue lights of Eskild’s Cave, deep in that hot water. Jael wrapped herself up in a fur and lay there, trying to calm down. Ivaar would be coming soon, and contrary to her appearance around Thorgils and Eadmund, she was dreading it. He was not unpleasant company, she supposed, but he was not her friend, and she couldn’t relax around him. She was permanently on edge, trying to maintain a facade, lest he see her real intentions; just as she supposed he was being falsely interested in her. It was all a game, and she had never been very good at games; her temper and tongue always seemed to get in the way.

Jael closed her eyes and thought of Aleksander. There was another reason to scream. Being apart from him was torturous. She hated the fact that she couldn’t just talk to him or look at him. She missed that serious face of his. Jael sighed and buried herself deeper into the furs, knowing that before long she would have to get up and face Ivaar.

There was a firm knock on the door.

‘When you’ve finished having your little tantrum, I have filled up the tub with hot water for you, so you can come and have a bath,’ Biddy called through the door.

Jael rolled out of the furs, her tension unravelling itself at speed. She may not have Aleksander, but at least she had Biddy. And Biddy was a gift from the gods.

Jael opened the door and was instantly pounced on by two hairy bodies, who were relieved to find that she was alright again.

‘Well, come on then, come soak away all that rage,’ Biddy grumbled as she pointed her towards the back room.

Biddy had shifted the goats and chickens into the new stables once they’d been built, so the back room had been left empty, apart from their food supplies and large barrels of ale she had brought in for Eadmund. She’d recently acquired a wooden tub, and this was the first time she had filled it up.

‘Are you sure you’re not a dreamer?’ Jael wondered as she walked into the softly glowing room. It felt almost warm in here; almost, but her skin still shivered as she undressed, desperate to feel her toes again.

‘Ahhh, if I were a dreamer...’ Biddy smiled wistfully. ‘I wouldn’t still be here, bathing you after all these years!’

Jael laughed and stepped out of her clothes, throwing them towards Biddy, who looked less than impressed.

There was a loud knock on the door.

‘Who is that?’ Biddy wondered irritably, covered in clothes.

Jael paused, one foot dangling just above the water, her face pained in despair. ‘Ivaar,’ she groaned. ‘We’re going for a ride.’

Biddy frowned. ‘Again?’

Jael stood back on the stool and reached out for her clothes, her expression sour. ‘Yes, again. Into that fucking cold. Again.’

‘Well, at least you can come back to a hot bath,’ Biddy promised her. ‘I’ll keep it warm for you somehow. But don’t do anything silly out there. Don’t forget about Eadmund, now.’

Jael frowned at her as she hurried to put her clothes back on. ‘You’re starting to sound like Thorgils! I haven’t and I won’t. I won’t forget about him, don’t worry.’

‘He needs our help,’ Biddy urged her.

‘I know he does,’ Jael sighed crossly. ‘I know what we’re trying to do. It was my idea in the first place! Why does everyone think I’m going to fall under Ivaar’s spell?’ She grabbed her cloak out of Biddy’s hands and wrapped it around herself, pinning it to one shoulder. ‘Can you go and open the door now? And please, stop fretting.’

Biddy gave her one last fretting look and disappeared back through the house. Jael shook her head. How was it that her friends thought her so easily manipulated? Did they truly think she was so weak?

There was nothing that Ivaar could say or do to lure her over to his side. Not one thing.

* * *

‘Don’t you think it’s time for a drink,’ Eadmund panted, his body heaving as he bent over.

‘You look like a drink is the last thing you need right now,’ Thorgils suggested. ‘Let’s sit down for a bit. Then we can go again.’

Eadmund straightened up and winced. There wasn’t one part of him that didn’t hurt. He was right back at the beginning again and was doubting the wisdom of even trying. What was the point anyway? He wouldn’t be able to keep it going.

Thorgils strode over to him, smiling encouragingly. ‘Come on, don’t give up. Let’s just sit for a while. I’ll go easier on you, I promise.’

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Eadmund snapped, throwing his sword away in frustration. ‘I’m wasting your time! There’s no point to any of this,’ he sighed, rubbing his neck. ‘All I’m thinking about is where I can get a drink from. I need some ale! I know I should care about swords, and fighting, and Ivaar, but I just don’t, not right now, not while I don’t have a cup in my hand. It’s all I can think about, Thorgils.’ He looked up at his friend imploringly. ‘So there’s no point in doing any of this because,’ he hung his head, ‘I’m always going to ruin it. I can’t see any way out of this feeling. It never leaves. I can’t stop!’ Eadmund gritted his teeth anxiously, his eyes wild with despair.

Thorgils noticed that some of the training sessions had paused and more than a few faces were watching on with interest. ‘Come on, let’s get you that drink,’ he said kindly. ‘We don’t have to do any more of this today.’ He picked up Eadmund’s sword and took it to the training shed with his own. ‘But don’t ever think you’re wasting my time. You’re my friend. We swore a blood oath to each other, don’t you remember? How old were we when we made that? Eight? Nine?’ he smiled wistfully. ‘Sometimes I could punch you in the head, but most of the time, I just want to help you be alright again. It’s been such a long time, but I don’t think it’s as far away as you do. Truly, I don’t. You have everything you need now. It’s just about getting your head right.’

As they walked off towards the hall, Thorgils realised he was going to have to go and have words with Jael; peace-making words. He had to get help for Eadmund, and if that meant swallowing his pride and apologising, he could try that. Surely it wouldn’t be too hard?

* * *

They dismounted by a giant, frozen waterfall. It was the first one Jael had seen on Oss, and it was breathtaking; a mountainous burst of glimmering, icy shards, hanging from the cliff, waiting to be released again.

‘This is one of my favourite places,’ Ivaar smiled as he walked towards the edge of the cliff. ‘There’s something so powerful about these falls. Dangerous. Free. Exhilarating. But even they are no match for winter!’ He turned to look at Jael, and his eyes were full of more than just waterfalls.

She had been distracted on their ride, her thoughts bouncing between Eadmund and Aleksander; she had barely noticed Ivaar at all. But now, here he was, moving too close to her once again. She heard Thorgils’ voice, promising her that she would end up in a tangle, but she had no intention of letting him be right. She turned away from Ivaar, stroking Tig’s face, slipping him a carrot.

Ivaar stepped even closer to her then. ‘Have you thought about what will happen when Eirik dies, and I become king?’

Jael was never one for stepping back, but she also didn’t like physical closeness with anyone she didn’t have plans to be physically close with; so far that had been everyone she had ever met, apart from Aleksander. It seemed that Ivaar was intent on doing everything he could to challenge that. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I can break the alliance with Lothar, grant you a divorce from Eadmund, give you an army to help you take back the Brekkan throne, for you or your brother.’

Jael was stunned. He had spoken so casually, and almost quietly, that she wondered if she had heard him correctly. ‘What?’ She screwed her face up. ‘Why would you do that?’

Ivaar leaned in, his lips almost touching her ear, his breath hot on her neck. ‘Why wouldn’t I? It’s what you want, isn’t it? To be back in Brekka? To be rid of Lothar? I can do that for you.’

Jael moved her head away to look at him. ‘And you want to make an enemy of Lothar as soon as you become King of Oss?’

‘No, I want to make a friend of you,’ Ivaar murmured, staring into her eyes. She was uncomfortable, he could tell, and he enjoyed the feeling of power he had over her at that moment. Ivaar smiled to himself. He wanted her, desperately, to hurt Eadmund, of course, but also to satisfy his own burning need. She was beautiful, confident, strong, and everything about her excited him.

Jael’s thoughts tangled themselves up inside her head, just as Thorgils had predicted. She blinked, trying to regain control of herself. Ivaar had unsettled her so quickly by his closeness, and now he was promising her everything she had wanted so desperately, and more. But what did he want in return?

‘Well, those are nice words,’ she said bluntly, ‘but it might take you years to become king, and by then I will be old, and my house will be filled with Eadmund’s children. What use is your offer to me, really?’ Ivaar’s eyes told Jael that he knew more than she did and she hated that. She had an overwhelming urge to punch him in the eye just to make him stop squinting at her in that knowing way. The thought of that made her smile, but it only served to encourage Ivaar, and he stepped forward, his face bending towards hers. It was very clear what he wanted from her in return.

‘My father will not live long,’ he breathed.

‘Why? Are you planning on adding another victim to your collection?’

‘Ha! You make me smile,’ he laughed. ‘I’m not sure I have smiled this much in years. At least seven of them.’ And he leaned in to kiss her.

Jael had no choice then but to back away. Abruptly. ‘No! No, that is not a good idea!’

Ivaar looked puzzled, but not deterred, as he glanced around. ‘Why? We’re completely alone out here. Unless,’ he narrowed his gaze, ‘you have feelings for Eadmund. Do you?’

Jael had to think fast. ‘No, not Eadmund,’ she laughed. ‘Someone else. Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to stay away from your brother? I have someone in Brekka. He is waiting for me.’

‘I see,’ Ivaar frowned; annoyed and curious. ‘What is his name?’

‘His name?’ Jael squirmed, wondering how far she was going to walk down this icy road. But then again, she knew Aleksander; he would be able to protect himself, no matter what trouble she unwittingly sent his way. ‘His name is Aleksander Lehr.’ Her eyes filled with a sadness that was genuine; she had not spoken his name aloud in such a long time.

‘I see.’ Ivaar’s voice was clipped now. ‘I have heard of him. The two of you used to fight together, didn’t you?’

Tig shook his head impatiently, hitting Jael’s shoulder and bumping her towards Ivaar. ‘We did, yes. We grew up together, trained together. We were inseparable until your father brought me here.’

‘You’re very loyal,’ Ivaar said tightly, his mind whirring. She was not to be moved, not yet it seemed. He would have to find another way to get her to succumb.

‘Of course,’ Jael insisted strongly, although inside she felt anything but. ‘We made an oath to each other. We love each other. We should have married but saw no need, which was our downfall of course, when Lothar and your father decided to make peace. I am only here until I can figure out a way to get home, back to Aleksander.’ The words felt so strange on her tongue that she wondered if she believed them anymore. She hoped her face looked more convincing.

Ivaar considered her quietly. He backed away and threw Leada’s reins onto her back, climbing into the saddle. ‘My offer stands, Jael,’ he decided at last. ‘As I said, my father will not live long. And when he dies, I will grant you a divorce, set you free from Eadmund, and you can go back to Brekka to be with this Aleksander. Lothar Furyck is an idiot from what I hear, so I would much rather have an alliance with you than him, or his son, who appears to be an even bigger fool.’

Jael was unsettled. She threw herself up into Tig’s saddle and gathered the reins into her hands, a sharp crease forming between her eyebrows. ‘Why do you think your father will die soon?’ she wondered as Tig skittered about underneath her. ‘Who has told you that?’

Ivaar turned Leada around and brought her alongside Jael. ‘I have a dreamer,’ he said quietly. ‘She saw us coming back here, and she has seen Eirik’s death quite clearly. He will die soon.’

37

Aleksander had waited. Patiently. But now his curiosity was itching so loudly inside his head that he couldn’t give her any more time; he simply had to find out what had happened.

‘Edela! Wait!’ Aleksander raced to catch up with her as she hurried down the street. A storm was brewing, and he could taste it on his lips. Soon there would be rain, and perhaps thunder and lightning. He looked up, and the sky looked angrily back down at him, its threatening clouds dropping lower and lower over Tuura’s high reaching walls.

Edela turned around and sighed as she saw Aleksander rushing towards her; she had hoped for some more time alone. Her talk with Neva had unsettled her so greatly that she was afraid of saying anything to anyone. She had not breathed a word, despite all the expectant looks she had been plagued with since returning from the temple. Edela knew that she could trust Branwyn and Kormac, and certainly Aleksander, but still, what little Neva had revealed to her would worry him. He would want to head back to Andala immediately and find a way to Oss, but there wasn’t, and she knew that, so they would have to wait; wait and know that Jael was in danger and they could do nothing to stop it from happening. Not yet. Edela frowned in frustration. She felt as though she was always reaching for more information; she never seemed to have quite enough.

‘Where are you going?’ Aleksander slid to a stop beside her, his trousers wet to the knee.

Edela looked uneasy. ‘I thought I would visit my friend, Alaric again,’ she muttered. ‘He seems very lonely. I thought he might like some company.’

Aleksander stared at her, wanting her to look at him, to notice he was there. She had seemed so far away since her visit to the temple, as though she didn’t hear or see him anymore. He reached out and touched her arm. ‘We need to talk, don’t we? About what happened? I’ve been as patient as I can, but Edela... I need to know.’

Edela paused before she spoke. She wasn’t afraid of Neva or the elders; she hadn’t avoided Aleksander for that reason. It was just that every step they took together seemed to take him further away from Jael, and he blamed her for all of it. She didn’t know how she could hurt him again.

There was a loud rumble in the sky then, not too far away, and they both looked up anxiously.

‘Let’s stand over there. You can tell me quickly before the rain comes.’ Aleksander grabbed Edela’s elbow and guided her across the street, wading through the snow and around a flock of sheep that was being quickly shepherded home. ‘We can’t go back to the house. It’s full of people.’

‘I know, why do you think I left!’ Edela grumbled.

‘What did you find out that you’re afraid to say?’ he implored as they huddled beneath the drooping porch of a small cottage. ‘You have me thinking every sort of dark thing imaginable.’

‘I didn’t find out enough,’ Edela said, frowning, cross with herself. ‘But hopefully, there is more to learn soon.’

Aleksander glanced around as lightning streaked through the darkening sky. ‘Did you find out about the sword or the prophecy?’

Edela shook her head sadly. ‘They don’t want me to know about either of those things. We didn’t speak of them, not really.’ She took a deep breath and braved those sad, brown eyes. ‘They knew about Eadmund, told me that he was meant to be with Jael, just as the sword was meant to be with her. That it was important they were together.’

Aleksander froze. How could he have expected anything else? Everyone wanted to take her away from him, it seemed. There wasn’t one single soul on his side, apart from the Widow, he supposed, unless she had just been playing a game with him. ‘I see. Well, that’s not a surprise, is it?’ he smiled wistfully, shutting away the feelings that were fluttering inside his chest. ‘Can he help keep her safe?’

Edela looked extremely doubtful, her mouth opening and closing while she thought on it. ‘Well, that depends on whether Jael has managed to get the tincture into him. He certainly couldn’t help her if he’s in the state he was when I was there. But I don’t know if she would want to help him, and if that’s the case, no, he will be of no use to her.’

The clouds opened and rain teamed down, suddenly and violently. More thunder followed. They were under the slightest of ledges, and icy shards of rain found them quickly.

‘We should go!’ Aleksander called over the noise, grabbing Edela’s hand.

‘No, wait, listen to me,’ she said urgently. ‘Jael needs our help. That is what I learned above all things. She is in danger. The girl I saw, she is trying to kill Jael. Will try to kill her. Her mother knows dark magic. We have to get to Oss as soon as the Thaw comes.’

Aleksander frowned, his body tensing. ‘But will that be enough time? What if something happens before then? Spring is months away.’

Edela shook her head. ‘The elder, Neva, she said that the girl was not on Oss, would not be back for a while. We have time.’

The rain was soaking them now, and Aleksander could see Edela’s body shaking in the glare of another bolt of lightening. ‘Come on, let’s get back to the house. You can go and visit your friend tomorrow.’

She nodded, cringing beneath the fury of the storm. Aleksander pulled her along as fast as he could, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. The elders were confident that there was enough time for them to get to Oss but what if they were wrong?

* * *

Jael grumbled to herself as she hurried to get undressed for the second time. She was colder than ever and more unsettled. Her limbs shook, and her head was a mess. She hadn’t said a word to Biddy about any of it since she’d been back; she was in no mood for a lecture. Her mind had been solely focused on getting into the hot water as quickly as possible, hoping its soothing warmth would clear her mind. She wished she could talk to Edela; to have her peer into the future and forge a clear path for her. At the moment everything was suddenly fog-heavy.

Jael hopped up on the stool, dipping one foot into the water. Biddy had managed to keep it warm! She smiled and sunk her whole foot in, hopping over the side and standing in the water, letting her body acclimatise; it was so used to being permanently frozen that the heat came as a shock to her numb limbs. She sat down and closed her eyes, leaning her head against the back of the tub, enjoying the sensation of the water as it lapped around her neck.

There was a knock at the door.

Jael’s eyes flew open in a burst of furious rage. Who was it now?!

Biddy popped her head in, her eyebrows raised. ‘Who could that be?’

‘Well, whoever it is, you can talk to them. I’m not getting out!’ And Jael slipped further under the water, letting its wet warmth wrap around every part of her. She kept one ear out, though, wondering who their visitor was. She hoped it wasn’t Ivaar; she had had enough of him and his hot breath for one day.

‘Hello, Biddy.’

Jael sat up immediately. She knew that voice. It was Thorgils.

* * *

Eydis looked forlorn as she wandered through the square, her long stick disappearing into the snow as she walked, her ears soaking up all the sounds around her. It was a quiet day in the fort, it seemed. Nothing stood out as interesting or unusual. Warriors were training in the Pit, smoky, cooking smells blew towards her from Ketil’s fire, and she could hear the general hum of the villagers working steadily away at their daily tasks. But still, Eydis could sense an uneasiness, or perhaps that was just within her?

She had not spoken to Eadmund for days, and every time she was around Jael, Ivaar seemed to be there too. She could hear how intrigued he was by her and that worried Eydis. More so because of the dreams she had been having about Ivaar and Jael recently. What would that mean for Eadmund and Oss?

She stilled suddenly, hearing footsteps close behind her, smelling an unfamiliar, feminine scent. She turned around quickly, anxiously. ‘Who’s there?’ she called, her eyes blinking with fear.

‘My name is Ayla,’ the woman smiled as she came towards her. ‘I thought I would seek you out, Eydis. Your brother, Ivaar, told me about you. I am a dreamer, like you. I’m his dreamer. There are not many of us that I know of, on any of the islands,’ she said sadly. ‘It would be nice to speak to you, I think, perhaps for both of us?’

Eydis stilled, her face clouded with uncertainty. Ayla’s voice did not disturb her greatly, and she heard no threat in it, but she was Ivaar’s dreamer, and that was enough to put Eydis on edge. Still, she had not met many dreamers in her life, and her desire for more knowledge piqued her curiosity. ‘Yes, alright,’ Eydis said cautiously. It was so hard when she couldn’t look people in the eye and assess their true intentions. She could tell much by a voice and by the sounds a body made when it spoke, but she was always filled with longing to stare into someone’s eyes, to see into their soul. ‘I have not spoken with many dreamers before.’

‘Perhaps we could walk?’ Ayla suggested gently. ‘I could take your hand?’ Eydis nodded, and Ayla reached out for the little, gloved hand, leading her through the square. ‘Ivaar tells me your mother was a dreamer. Have you been to Tuura yourself?’

‘Tuura? No, I haven’t.’ Eydis couldn’t keep the disappointment out of her voice.

‘So, no one has taught you about your dreams?’

‘No, my mother died when I was small, before I had any.’ Eydis ducked her head. ‘I have not been having dreams for that long. They do not come all the time.’

‘No, you are too young for that,’ Ayla smiled, understandingly. ‘But soon, as you grow older, they will become more and more urgent. Soon you will dream constantly. The gods have chosen us so that we can help people, advise them, warn them, comfort them... so many things.’

They walked for a while, Ayla’s words hanging in the air between them. Eydis tried to paint a picture of her. She imagined her to be her mother’s age; her voice was certainly young enough to be so. She was of medium build, Eydis decided, as her footsteps had weight to them, but not too much. Her voice was not too far away from her, so she wasn’t that tall, and she appeared to walk easily enough. Her hand, too, felt smooth and firm.

‘But how did you end up with Ivaar?’ Eydis wondered suddenly. ‘On Kalfa? So far away from Tuura?’

Ayla stumbled, her boots slipping on a patch of ice. ‘Well, I... I fell in love with a merchant. I left Tuura with him, and we were married. I sailed everywhere with him. And on one voyage he took me to Kalfa and we... never left.’

Ayla gripped Eydis’ hand tightly as she led her down a back street, away from any prying eyes or ears.

‘Where are we going?’ Eydis suddenly noticed the lack of noise, felt the air cool around her. There were boards under her feet now. She felt anxious.

‘I just thought, perhaps we could talk more easily if we were alone.’

Eydis stopped, dropping Ayla’s hand, her eyes darting about uselessly. ‘Why? What is it that you really want from me?’

Ayla looked awkwardly around herself. They were standing close together, between two narrow rows of houses. It was not as private as she had hoped, so she lowered her voice. ‘I want nothing from you, Eydis.’ She ran a hand through her loose, dark curls. ‘I had a dream. I wanted to share it with you, in case it was something you hadn’t seen for yourself.’

‘What dream? What have you seen?’ Eydis said quietly, swallowing hard.

‘About your father. I have seen his death. He does not have long.’ Ayla looked down at the girl who stood, shaking, in front of her. ‘I don’t mean to scare you, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear. I thought you should know.’

Eydis didn’t know how to feel. She had seen her father’s death herself, but part of her had always hoped to be proven wrong; that further dreams would come eventually to contradict her first. But now, this was a confirmation of all her fears for him. She felt her heart breaking with the knowledge that soon, she would become an orphan. ‘I understand,’ Eydis sighed. ‘I have seen it too. My father knows all about it. I have warned him.’

‘I am glad,’ Ayla said with relief. ‘Glad that he knows and can prepare things for Oss, and the islands, and you.’

Eydis was confused by this woman. She was with Ivaar, which made her an enemy, despite her clumsy attempt at friendship. But perhaps she had more information, had seen more than Eydis herself had? ‘How will he die? That I don’t know.’

‘I have not seen his death,’ Ayla said thoughtfully. ‘I have only seen his funeral pyre and the ceremony with it. I have seen Ivaar, as king, here on Oss. How it all unfolds or is connected, I do not know. But it will not be long. I have seen you there, and you are not much older than this.’

Eydis shuddered. It was well into the afternoon now, and the air felt ice-tipped. Darkness would fall soon, and Eydis felt an overwhelming need to be back at the hall. She wanted to be alone, to think, to try and understand what Ayla’s presence meant; whether she could trust her.

‘Shall I help you back to the hall?’ Ayla wondered softly. ‘I have upset you, and you look very cold.’

‘Thank you, yes,’ Eydis nodded quickly. ‘I would like to go back to my father.’

Grasping her hand, Ayla turned Eydis around and led her back down the street and out into the brighter light of the square, her mind jumbled with nerves. Ivaar had ordered Ayla to befriend his little sister, to earn her trust so that she could ply her for any information that would serve his needs. Ivaar wanted a way into Eydis’ dreams. But Ayla saw more than Ivaar realised, more than she had told Eydis, and now she found herself caught between needing to obey her master, and a strong desire to help a fellow dreamer.

* * *

Thorgils’ voice was low as he spoke with Biddy; too low. Jael tried to make out what they were muttering about, but it was impossible. As eager as she was to find out, though, she was in no hurry to get out of her long-promised bath. ‘You may as well come in here if you’ve got something to say!’ she called out crossly from her tub.

Thorgils blinked and glanced at Biddy, who had been in the middle of trying to convince him to come back later. She shrugged her shoulders and pointed to the doorway at the back of the house. Thorgils looked uncertain but wandered down towards it anyway.

He poked his head into the dimly lit room. Jael sat there in a high-walled wooden tub, only her head visible. She turned to look at him curiously. ‘So, what do you want then?’ Her voice was sharp and not at all forgiving, which was unfortunate since forgiveness is what he’d come seeking.

Thorgils raised his eyebrows and looked about for a stool. He didn’t want to be standing there, peering over the edge of the tub, no matter how dark the room was or how submerged Jael appeared; he felt awkward enough already.

There was nothing suitable to take his great weight, so he disappeared into the house and came back with a stool, which he promptly plonked near the tub. ‘I want to talk about Eadmund.’

It was Jael’s turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘To Eadmund?’ Thorgils sighed. ‘Well, before all of this between us,’ he waved his hands about. ‘We were going to help him. Us and your tincture. Remember? But then...’ He couldn’t look at her; he was no good with apologies and didn’t really believe he should apologise anyway, it being all her fault. ‘He’s in a bad way. He needs our help. Now.’

Jael frowned. That was hardly an apology, and he owed her an apology. As for Eadmund... after her ride with Ivaar, she didn’t know how she felt or what she wanted to do about him.

Thorgils sensed her hesitation. ‘Have you changed your mind? About helping him?’ He narrowed his eyes and glared at her. ‘Has Ivaar changed your mind for you?’

Jael’s eyes flared angrily. There they were, back in that place again! She ignored the fact that he had a point and turned around to attack him, all the frustrations she’d been stowing away, spitting out of her mouth. ‘Ivaar? Ivaar! Why do you think I’m such a willing victim to Ivaar? I don’t understand it. How can you and I be friends when you think so little of me? Still!’

‘You didn’t rush to help Eadmund then, did you? I saw it on your face, the hesitation. It wasn’t there a few days ago, but it’s there now. And that’s Ivaar, that’s what he does. I’ve seen it!’ Thorgils’ face was a mass of frothing anger. ‘He’s like a blood sucking tic, crawling into your skin, making you his, taking what he wants. He does it to everyone. He gets his way, every time.’ Thorgils shook his head in frustration. ‘You are my friend, Jael, and I don’t think you’re a willing victim at all, but I think there are ways Ivaar can play with you, things he can use against you and he has, I can see it in your eyes. You’ve changed! Something’s changed!’ Thorgils stood up and paced the room, suddenly not caring what he saw in the tub.

Jael simmered, wishing he’d go away. She’d missed his company more than she would admit but not his judgement; he could go and take that with him. She turned around and stared straight ahead; she had nothing to say.

Thorgils ran both hands through his hair, pressing his fingers anxiously into his forehead. This was not going well. He needed a white banner. They had to make a truce; Eadmund needed them to.

‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, reluctantly pushing the words out of his mouth.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight with you, not because of Ivaar anyway. There are better things to fight about than that nothing.’ He grabbed the stool and brought it closer to the tub, sitting down again. ‘Eadmund needs that tincture. If you don’t want to help him, then give it to me, and I’ll do it on my own.’ Again he saw her reluctance, and it worried him. Ivaar had her, had something over her; he could smell the stink of it.

Jael glared at him, and there was no warmth in her face. The flickering light from the lamps illuminated the scar under her eye as she scowled at him. ‘Biddy has it. You can get it from her on your way out.’

Her voice was bitter, and he shuddered from the chill in it; there was no forgiveness to be found here, he realised. Not today. ‘Thank you,’ Thorgils nodded as he got up and left, wanting desperately to say something more, but knowing there was no point to it. Not now. She had gone far away from him, and Eadmund.

Jael watched Thorgils leave and did nothing. Inside she was screaming at him to stop and come back, that she wanted to help Eadmund with him, but she couldn’t. Because Ivaar was offering her something more; Ivaar was offering her Aleksander, and Jael loved Aleksander.

38

The storm that had blown through in the night lingered the next morning, so there was no riding to Fyn’s, and thankfully, no riding with Ivaar. Jael couldn’t face him again, not until she had her head in order and at the moment it was a scattered mess.

She’d spent the night revisiting conversations with Thorgils, Ivaar, Aleksander, and Eadmund, and even now, as she sat by the fire with Biddy, listening to the wind battle the rain outside the house, she had no idea what she thought. She wondered if Thorgils was with Eadmund, and felt guilty because she wasn’t.

Biddy handed her a hot cake, fresh off the skillet. ‘Careful,’ she warned. ‘You’ll burn your tongue.’

Jael looked up, blinking herself back into the room. She looked down at her fingernails, which she had gnawed to nothing since yesterday, then up at Biddy who was staring at her, concern in her eyes. She closed her own eyes and sighed.

‘Well, I could pretend not to notice that something’s wrong,’ Biddy said matter-of-factly. ‘But I’ve never been very good at pretending. Much like you.’ She looked at Jael’s lost face. ‘Tell me what happened. On the ride with Ivaar. It might help.’

Jael couldn’t meet Biddy’s eye; she certainly didn’t want to say anything, not yet. ‘I think I’ll go and see Eydis,’ she decided suddenly, ignoring her completely.

‘In this weather?’

‘Mmmm, I think Eydis would probably like to escape that hall for a while and visit the puppies, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for an answer, though, as she grabbed her boots and started to pull them on. ‘I haven’t spoken to her in days. It’ll be nice to see her.’

Jael wrapped her cloak around herself, not bothering to pin it, and pulled her hood up. ‘Perhaps you could heat up some milk? Eydis would like that,’ Jael mumbled distractedly as she headed to the door, slipping out before the puppies had a chance to escape with her.

Biddy jumped as the wind whipped the door shut. Something was badly wrong. She had never seen Jael look so far away, and the fact that she wouldn’t say anything made her worry even more. It was something to do with that Ivaar, she was certain. Perhaps Thorgils had been right after all?

* * *

It was hard trying to help someone you couldn’t find, Thorgils grumbled to himself as he trudged through the storm. He had had the tincture in his pocket since yesterday, but there had been no sign of Eadmund. He wasn’t sure that Eadmund was even avoiding him, he just liked to wander about whenever he was drunk, and at the moment, that was constantly.

Thorgils was crossing the square, heading back towards Eadmund’s cottage when he saw Jael walking up the steps to the hall. She didn’t notice him as she pulled on a door and disappeared inside. Perhaps she was going to see Ivaar? He frowned, anger pulsing at his temples. She was a strong woman, and he had no doubt that she could defeat Ivaar in a sword fight, but Ivaar had other weapons at his disposal. He knew how to manipulate people’s thoughts, twist them, turn them, use their weaknesses against them. Thorgils sighed, trying to imagine what Ivaar was doing with Jael. To Jael. Why was she so different yesterday? He’d never seen her look so cold.

He shook his head, trying to get the freezing rain out of his eyes as he turned his face away from the dark doors of the hall. He hoped that whatever temptations Ivaar was laying out for Jael, she would find a way to see the lies in them and come back to him. And Eadmund. They needed her.

* * *

‘I didn’t expect to see anyone today,’ Ivaar smiled broadly as he walked towards Jael, who had stopped to shake herself by a fire. He glanced back to where Isaura and Eydis sat, playing with the children. ‘But I’m glad for the change of company,’ he sighed. ‘Even my father has taken himself away from the constant prattling and whining of that lot.’

‘Well, perhaps you should do the same, for I’m not staying. I just came to get Eydis.’

Eydis lifted her head towards Jael, her eyes suddenly bright.

‘Eydis?’ Ivaar looked both surprised and annoyed.

‘Yes,’ Jael said loudly. ‘I promised her a visit with the puppies today.’

‘In this weather?’ Ivaar scoffed.

‘Well, we don’t plan to play outside!’ Jael laughed as she walked over to Eydis. ‘I’ll go and get your cloak and then we can go. Biddy has some milk and hot cakes waiting for you.’ She headed for Eydis’ bedchamber without waiting for a reply.

Ivaar stared after her, puzzled. Isaura dropped her head, trying to stop the smirk that was threatening her face. It made a pleasant change to watch Ivaar twist and turn.

Jael was back quickly, in no mood for conversation as she wrapped Eydis up in her cloak and helped her on with her gloves. ‘I’ll bring her back this afternoon before it gets dark,’ Jael said firmly, slipping her arm through Eydis’. ‘In case Eirik wonders where she’s gone.’

‘Have a nice time!’ Isaura called out cheerfully from the floor as her children clambered all over her.

Ivaar scowled at his wife’s happy face and turned to watch Jael and Eydis hurry towards the doors. He frowned. Yesterday he was certain he had hooked Jael with his tasty bait, but now? She had barely even looked at him, and as for taking Eydis to her house... what was that for?

Ivaar turned and walked over to his father’s chair, the king’s chair, which sat empty, tempting him with the promise that one day it would be his. But it all still felt too far away for his liking. He shook his head, trying to release the frustration that was building there. He had no fear of Eadmund, nor Thorgils, or any of their idiot friends. But Jael? If he didn’t get her onside, she was going to cause him problems, he could feel it. He would have to speak to Ayla. She needed to get herself into Eydis’ confidence and quickly. He had to find out what was going on with Jael.

* * *

Eydis sipped on her cup of warm milk, relieved to be away from the hall. She loved spending time with Isaura and the children, but the feeling of Ivaar prowling around in the background left her in a constant state of anxiety.

‘Are you sure you’re warm enough?’ Biddy fussed. ‘I can throw another log on to heat the fire up a bit more?’

‘No, I’m fine, I promise,’ Eydis smiled. She reached out with her empty cup, not knowing where to place it. Biddy grabbed it from her quickly and took it to the kitchen.

Jael lifted Vella onto Eydis’ knee. ‘Here, she’s just small enough to fit on there, maybe for the last time.’

‘Oh,’ Eydis laughed as her knees sunk with the weight of the fluffy lump. ‘She is getting bigger, isn’t she?’

Eydis looked sad, Jael thought, despite the sweet smile on her face. ‘How has it been at the hall with so many children?’

‘Oh, it’s been very noisy!’ Eydis laughed. ‘But they are good company when they are not crying and wailing. Isaura is too. But Ivaar...’

Biddy came back to sit by the fire and gave Jael a pointed look. Jael frowned it away and turned her face towards Eydis, listening.

‘He has a dreamer, you know,’ she said, her eyes suddenly filled with fear. ‘I didn’t know that before yesterday, but she came and found me, while I was walking. She took me down an alleyway, told me things about my father that only I knew. I’m not sure why she did that, really. I don’t know what to think of her. She’s Ivaar’s dreamer, so I don’t think I should trust her.’

Jael’s eyes met Biddy’s as she leaned forward, concerned. ‘What things about your father?’

Eydis sighed heavily, her eyes quickly brimming with tears. ‘That he will die soon.’

‘Oh.’ Jael didn’t know what to say. Ivaar had implied as much, but still, she felt unexpectedly sad. ‘How soon?’

‘Before I am much older. I don’t know when exactly, but it does not feel far away at all now,’ she said miserably, tears running down her face. ‘And then, what will happen to me? I won’t have a mother or a father anymore. I will be completely alone!’ Her bottom lip wobbled anxiously.

Jael reached out and put her arm around the sobbing girl, pulling her close. ‘Eydis, Eydis, you won’t be alone. You’ll have Eadmund. He will take care of you, and you’ll have me, and Thorgils, and Biddy too.’

Eydis pulled back, sniffing. ‘But I won’t, I won’t, don’t you see what is coming? Can’t you see what he’ll do?’

‘You mean, Ivaar?’

‘Yes, Ivaar! I think you are friends with him now and maybe that will save you, I’m not sure, but Ivaar will kill Eadmund, as soon as he can. As soon as my father is burning, he will kill Eadmund and Thorgils, all their friends, anyone loyal to Eadmund. He will take their heads. All of them! And then, what will happen to me? What will he do with me, when he has his own dreamer? When he has no need for me? No need for a useless little blind girl?’ she cried so loudly that Vella jumped off her knee in fright.

Jael knelt on the ground in front of Eydis, pulling her into a firm embrace. She didn’t know what to say. Everything Eydis said made sense. Ivaar would certainly want revenge, wouldn’t he? For all the years he had been banished, and before, when Eirik had chosen Eadmund over him. He couldn’t rule as king when most of the people didn’t want him, not until he had removed Eadmund’s loyal followers, and Eadmund himself. And what would he do with Eydis, when there was no one left to protect her?

Eydis sniffed as she pulled herself out of Jael’s arms, wishing she could see her, to know how she felt about all of it. She wasn’t speaking, and that worried her.

Biddy handed Eydis a cloth and shot Jael a look that said nothing Jael wanted to hear.

‘Have you dreamed all of this?’ Jael wondered as she sat back on her stool, listening to the fire spitting and hissing under the steady stream of rain dripping down the smoke hole.

‘Yes,’ Eydis sighed, blowing her nose. ‘But it’s so muddled now. I can’t see what it all means. It’s a handful of pieces, and I’m not sure how to put them together. In my dreams, my father is dead, and Ivaar is king, and he kills Eadmund and Thorgils.’

Jael frowned. ‘And what about me? Do you see me there, in your dreams?’

‘No. Not anymore,’ she said sadly. ‘I used to, but not anymore.’

Jael felt a sick feeling building inside her stomach. She glanced towards the fire, imagining her father’s face in the flames, but it was unreadable; she couldn’t hear his voice as she always did when she didn’t know what to do. He would want her to take Ivaar’s offer, though, wouldn’t he? To go back to Brekka, put Axl on the throne? He would urge her to do what was right for Brekka, above all things; demand it of her, she was certain. It would be a way for her to repay the mistake she had made when she didn’t challenge Lothar for the crown after his death.

Brekka was important. She was a Furyck. It was her responsibility to care for the Brekkan people. She sighed as she looked at Eydis, who seemed so very helpless and lost. And then, of course, there was Aleksander...

Jael put her fingers up to her mouth to chew on a nail but realised there was nothing left.

* * *

‘What a day!’ Alaric laughed to himself as he bustled about preparing cups of small ale. It was all he could afford to give his guests; the ale part of it being much smaller than most would expect. ‘I’ve not seen weather this fierce in many a year.’

Aleksander smiled tightly as he glanced at Edela. She had brought them here in search of more information, but looking around this sparse, little hut and at this frail, little man, he wondered about their chances.

‘It certainly reminds me of how troublesome the winters can be up here,’ Edela smiled. ‘And how cold. I’ve had too many years living a soft life in Brekka, it seems because I haven’t stopped shaking since we arrived!’

Alaric smiled nervously as he handed out the cups. He had no food to offer his guests and felt embarrassed by the lack of it. The few stores he had left had to see him through winter, yet what he was still living for, he did wonder at times. Every year brought with it more aches and ailments, and an ever decreasing amount of joy, especially since he had left the temple.

At least he had a fire today, Edela thought as she took her cup. She felt sorry for Alaric and wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong for him. As a scribe, surely he would have earned enough coins to be living a richer life than this?

‘I went to the temple, yesterday,’ Edela murmured to her old friend as he came to sit beside her on his bed.

Alaric’s face paled. ‘Did you now,’ he mumbled nervously, his breath coming in short white bursts.

‘I saw Neva, which was a surprise. I didn’t know she had become an elder.’

‘Neva...’ Alaric’s face relaxed some. ‘She is a good woman. I’m glad it was her you spoke to and not Marcus.’

‘Who’s Marcus?’ Aleksander asked with a frown. He had heard that name mentioned a few times now and no one seemed to like the man.

‘He’s the elderman, remember?’ Edela said patiently. ‘He has a reputation for being...’

‘Firm?’ Alaric suggested.

‘Yes, firm is a good word,’ Edela smiled. ‘Although perhaps it is a little soft to describe his true nature, from what I hear.’

‘But you saw Neva, so perhaps there is no need to see him?’ Aleksander suggested, worried for Edela.

‘Yes, yes, Marcus is not someone you will see unless you end up causing problems,’ Alaric warned. ‘Then you will wish you had never come here at all.’

Edela could sense Aleksander’s unease, but they needed to know more, whatever the consequences. ‘Do you remember what happened to my family, in Tuura, all those years ago?’ she asked, turning towards Alaric.

He looked puzzled for a moment, then disturbed by her question as the memories of that night revealed themselves. ‘Yes, I do. That was a terrible, tragic night, wasn’t it?’ He shifted about uneasily, sensing that Edela was only just starting to divulge the true reason for their visit.

‘Aleksander lost his mother and father that night.’

‘Oh.’ Alaric’s eyes bulged with surprise. ‘I’m very sorry for you,’ he murmured uncomfortably, glancing towards the solemn looking man.

‘Thank you,’ was all Aleksander could manage. He knew they needed information, but he had no desire to talk about that night.

‘Yes, his father was killed trying to protect Gisila and the children. It has been hard for him to come back here, to the place that orphaned him.’

‘I see. Of course,’ Alaric muttered.

‘But we had to come for my granddaughter, Jael, because of the danger she is in now.’

One wild, snowy eyebrow shot up at the mention of that name. He didn’t look surprised, though, Edela thought. She studied his face. They had been so very close once, and if her memory held true, he knew more than he was prepared to reveal; but she had no plans to leave until he did. ‘Why did those raiders come that night? Do you know?’ she asked him directly. ‘Were they looking for something?’

Alaric took a quick sip of his ale; it was even more watery than he’d imagined and his face puckered at the insipid taste. ‘Edela...’ he shook his head. ‘There are things the elders... they don’t take well to their secrets being spoken about. You know that.’

‘Alaric, please. Jael is in grave danger. Neva confirmed it to me, and we are trying to help her, to stop anything happening to her,’ she sighed. ‘She didn’t reveal much, but if you know anything that could help, you must share it with me, please, Alaric. Please.’

‘About that night?’ He saw the determination in Edela’s eyes and felt defeated; he could never refuse her. ‘Yes. They were looking for something, yes, well... someone.’

Edela and Aleksander leaned forward; they hadn’t been expecting that.

Alaric hesitated, then sighed. ‘They were looking for your granddaughter. But they got the wrong one.’

Edela gasped loudly, her mouth hanging open in shock. She could feel the tears coming then, remembering how it been that night when those raiders had burst into their cottage. There had been three of them. She remembered it so clearly; they were so large and fast. They’d knocked down the door and ripped her granddaughter out of her mother’s arms. But it wasn’t Jael. It was Evva, Branwyn’s daughter by her first husband. She was Jael’s age, and they took her, quickly, their swords flying around the cottage, threatening anyone who tried to stop them, but it was a house full of women and children, and no one could do anything. Gant and his men had rushed in, but they were too late. One of the hooded warriors had held Evva up by her hair. Gant had lunged for him, but the hooded man had slit Evva’s little throat as Branwyn and Edela had screamed, and the swords clashed around them all.

Edela blinked, tears running down her face, trying to drive the blood-splattered memory from her mind. They thought they had killed Jael, she realised, and everything else that had happened was a way to cover it all up. But they hadn’t. When had they realised that?

Aleksander felt lost. ‘Do you mean your other granddaughter? They thought she was Jael? That’s why she died?’

Alaric nodded solemnly, reaching out to pat Edela gently on her arm.

‘How did the elders know? That the men were looking for Jael?’ Edela’s voice was barely a whisper.

‘How do they know anything?’ Alaric sighed. ‘A dreamer told them. I don’t know who it was. I did overhear a conversation in the temple the next day, but it was all so muffled. They spoke about being relieved that Jael was safe, that the raiders had made a mistake. But they were worried. They didn’t know how someone had found out about her, about how important she was. They said someone would have to tell Ranuf. That it was time he knew, so he could try to protect her. That she would never be safe again.’

* * *

Eydis had calmed down now and was curled up in Eadmund’s chair, stroking a snoring Ido, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed.

‘I will go and talk to this dreamer of Ivaar’s, tell her to stay away from you,’ Jael said firmly as she chewed things over. The storm had retreated, along with Eydis’ tears; the house felt much quieter now.

‘Thank you, Jael,’ Eydis smiled gratefully. ‘You will be able to see what you think of her. She sounded kind, I thought at first, but when she led me away like that, the things she said...’ Eydis shuddered. ‘I wasn’t sure what to think after that. I didn’t feel safe.’

‘But she knew about your father, so Ivaar knows he’s going to die too,’ Biddy murmured.

‘Yes,’ Eydis looked up. ‘Which is why he sounds so happy. He knows that no matter what happens, he will be king here soon.’

‘What do you mean, no matter what happens?’ Jael wondered.

‘Well, even if my father changed his mind and made Eadmund his heir again, Ivaar knows he could come back and defeat Eadmund easily. That he will rule here either way,’ she sighed. ‘There is little hope in Eadmund being strong enough to defeat him, is there?’

Jael thought on that. ‘Does Ivaar have a large enough army to do that?’

‘On Kalfa?’ Eydis frowned. ‘No. It is a small island, but he may get support from the other islands once my father dies. Eadmund has done nothing to win any of their respect, not for years. But Ivaar has Tarak and Tarak has a lot of loyal followers here.’

Jael reached down and picked Vella up. She wanted to go to bed, to find Edela waiting for her in a dream, with a calm face and a steady stream of advice. Her head was a swirling storm of dark clouds, and she couldn’t make sense of any of it. ‘How is your father going to die?’ Jael asked, as gently as she could.

‘I have been trying to dream on that, but I don’t see anything at all,’ Eydis sighed. ‘He keeps asking me to see if the invasion of Hest is a good idea. But I can’t. I can’t see anything about it.’ She paused. ‘Maybe it’s because he dies before it happens? Maybe it never happens at all? Or maybe he dies in it? I don’t know. I don’t want to think on it at all really.’ Tears threatened her eyes again. ‘It makes me feel so helpless. So sad. I don’t want him to die. I don’t want to be alone.’

Jael’s eyes were full of sympathy as she glanced at Biddy. Biddy’s eyes were full of questions as she looked at Jael. But despite what Eydis had said, she still had no answers. Not yet.

* * *

Eadmund had waited out the storm in a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of the fort. It was an abandoned heap of sticks, ready to fall down, but Eadmund often took his chances there, just for a night or two. He knew Thorgils would have been looking for him and his shoulders were heavy with the guilt of that; his friend deserved better than a life spent chasing after him.

The rain had stopped, and the wind had retreated to just a whimper, but the ground was ice, hard for a mostly drunk man to navigate, especially in the near-dark. He tiptoed cautiously through the square, on the way to his cottage, sure that he had stored a few jugs of ale there. There was barely a hint of moon, though, and it was slow going; every few steps resulting in another heart-stopping slip.

Eadmund looked up as a hall door creaked open. One of the doors had always had a loud and distinctive squeal that nobody had been able to silence in all the years since Eirik had replaced them, no matter how much fish oil or sheep fat he had ordered rubbed onto its hinges. Eadmund smiled to himself; it was so familiar that he didn’t even notice it, except now when everything else around him was shrouded in bone-chilling silence.

He turned to see who was leaving the hall and froze. Despite the darkness, he could tell it was Jael. He couldn’t help but watch her, his white breath swirling around him as he stood there in the silence. Her head was down, and he was far enough away so that she wouldn’t see him, he was certain. He stayed still and watched, a wistful smile on his face, as she walked... straight into Tarak.

39

‘Ahhh, my favourite Brekkan whore,’ Tarak boomed, loud enough for anyone to hear; if there had been anyone around. ‘Have you been plying your trade inside? Looking to tempt Ivaar again with your sagging tits and your dried up cunt?’

Jael frowned. She was in no mood to be clever with Tarak. She was far too confused for that; too confused to think clearly at all. ‘From what I know about you... Tarak,’ she spat coldly. ‘You’d be far more interested in tempting Ivaar than I ever would be.’

Tarak glared down at her, anger spiking in his pitch-black eyes.

Jael didn’t back away, nor try to move around him.

‘What do you think you know about me?’ he growled, leaning into her, his voice much quieter now.

‘About you?’ she asked with wide-eyed innocence. ‘Much more than you would wish Eirik to know, and certainly more than Ivaar would be happy to hear about, I’m sure.’ Jael was ready to go on but somehow managed to grab hold of her tongue, just before everything she had promised Fyn she wouldn’t say, tumbled out of her mouth.

Tarak peered at her closely. He needed to find out what she knew, or at least, he needed to shut her up before she said anything that would weaken his position with Ivaar, for Ivaar was going to become king, and Tarak was first in line to be his most valued advisor. ‘You should think hard on whether you have the balls to play this game, whore,’ he hissed through bared teeth. ‘Because between you and I, there will only ever be one winner. And it won’t be you.’ And reaching out, he shoved her in the stomach, as hard as he could. There was no traction, nothing for her boots to grip onto, and Jael flew through the air, landing on her back, her head slamming onto the hard ice with a loud crack.

Glancing around quickly, to check that no one was watching, Tarak laughed, and pulled open the hall door, disappearing inside.

Jael lay there on the ice, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. The pains in her back and her head were screaming but all she could feel at that moment was the shame of being knocked down so easily by that grinning turd. She sighed as she lay there, grimacing, as everything started throbbing, staring up at the starless night sky. And then she smiled as a few tiny flurries started drifting their way down towards her. Better to let Tarak think she was easy to defeat, she decided. There was plenty of time to take her revenge.

‘Do you need some help down there?’

Eadmund leaned over with a crooked smile and put out his hand. He blinked uncertainly into her eyes, wondering if she was alright.

‘I might,’ Jael croaked as she reached up and grasped onto him. She felt the friction in his touch as their eyes met. She groaned, loudly, as she stood, listening to the clicking and cracking in her back and hips as they protested the shock of the fall.

‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Eadmund winced in sympathy, his sour ale-breath warm on her face.

Jael hung her head for a moment and gritted her teeth. ‘I’m alright. At least it was dark, and there was nobody to see, apart from you that is,’ she frowned. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d be with Thorgils?’

‘Thorgils?’ Eadmund looked slightly bemused. ‘Is he looking for me again?’

‘You haven’t seen him today?’

‘No, I’ve been, ummm...’ Eadmund looked down at the ice, trying to locate any words that could explain his situation without making him appear as completely hopeless as he knew he was. There were none.

Jael grabbed hold of his drooping chin and lifted it up, ignoring the clanging in her ears. ‘Eadmund, why don’t you come back to the house. Biddy will have something cooking, I’m sure. You can rest there, and I’ll go and find Thorgils.’

Eadmund frowned, stepping away from her, his feet slipping slightly. ‘Why Thorgils? Why do I need to see him? I’m fine, just on my way home,’ he slurred. ‘Thought you needed some help, but you go, I’m fine. I don’t need Thorgils, or you.’

She stared at him, and he hated to see the pity that had filled her eyes; those eyes which were wide with something he couldn’t interpret at all. His shoulders sagged, and he felt desperately ashamed. He needed to get away, to be alone, to find that ale in his cottage.

‘Eadmund, wait!’ Jael called softly as he turned and started to leave, sliding about on the ice. ‘I can help you.’

‘I don’t need your help, Jael!’ he shouted crossly, not bothering to turn around. ‘I don’t need anyone’s help!’ and he disappeared into the darkness as the snowflakes thickened and danced through the bitter night air.

Jael stared after him, all thoughts of Tarak and revenge forgotten. All thoughts of Ivaar, and Brekka, and Aleksander were gone too. She turned and walked away, slowly and carefully.

* * *

‘Oh, it’s you,’ the old woman grumbled.

She couldn’t have been that old, Jael supposed, but she had so many lines buried into her face that it was hard to imagine she had ever been young at all. There was certainly nothing to admire about her now, but that was more because of her sour glare and turned-down lips, which were mean and miserly. Her hair was wrapped in a faded yellow scarf, her hands wedged firmly into ample hips. It was not much of a welcome, Jael decided.

‘What are you doing here?’ Thorgils head appeared over the top of his mother’s. Her head came up to just past his waist and was only half the size of his.

He must take after his father, Jael decided, trying not to grin or grimace. ‘I was hoping to speak to you,’ she said, raising an eyebrow, trying to convey the need for privacy as his mother peered on with an open mouth.

‘Mother, this is Jael –’ Thorgils began politely.

‘You think I don’t know who this is, boy?’ she hissed up to her son through a handful of brown-stained teeth. ‘My eyes work just fine, same as yours.’ She turned back to Jael. ‘I saw you beat her. I was there when you defeated this woman, here. I know who she is alright.’ She glared at Jael, her baggy eyes bulging with dislike.

‘I need to go, Mother,’ Thorgils said carefully as he disappeared to grab his cloak. ‘I’ll be back later.’

‘Later, when?’ Odda Svanter barked at her large, only child.

‘Later, when I return. If I do,’ he smiled, ducking through the door and kissing her lightly on the scarf. ‘But don’t worry about any food for me, I’ll have something in the hall, no doubt.’

Odda frowned at them both, and Jael turned away without saying another word. What a wretch of a woman, she thought. How had Thorgils managed to grow up with such a smile on his face?

They walked away from the long-reaching scowl, as it followed them from the doorway, without a word, both too busy concentrating on the slippery ground than the need to smooth everything over right away.

‘You have saved me from another evening with my mother, and for that, I am in your debt,’ Thorgils winked at Jael with a flash of his old humour. He’d seen something in her eyes when she’d come to his doorway, as though she’d returned from that dark place. He hoped he was right.

* * *

‘We cannot tell Branwyn,’ Edela insisted firmly as they walked away from Alaric’s cottage.

‘No, I agree,’ Aleksander said solemnly. ‘That would be hard for any parent to hear. That their child was killed accidentally? Mistaken for someone else?’ He shook his head, still in shock.

It was dark now and the cold bit at their legs as they walked. Despite the plummeting temperature, neither were in a hurry to return to Branwyn and Kormac’s house; there was much to discuss.

‘Evva was so gentle, so innocent,’ Edela said sadly, tears threatening her eyes again. ‘They murdered her because they thought she was Jael. But who were they? Where did they come from?’ She shuddered. ‘I wish Alaric had known more, but I’m certain he told us all he could.’ She gripped Aleksander firmly as they came upon a crowd bustling outside a meat vendor. The smell of cooking meat called to her empty stomach, and it rumbled back in return. They had been at Alaric’s a long time, and he hadn’t offered them anything other than that insipid ale-water. Poor man, she thought sadly.

Aleksander rolled things around inside his head. ‘If those people thought they had killed Jael, how long do you think it took them to realise that she was still alive? And did they try again?’

‘I don’t know. It would make sense for them to try again, though, wouldn’t it? But I suppose getting into Andala was a lot harder than coming into Tuura that night. There were barely any fortifications back then. Not like now.’

‘Do you think that’s why Ranuf started training Jael as soon as we were home? That one of the elders did tell him about what had happened?’ Aleksander wondered.

‘Possibly, but what we really need to find out is who those people were. What sort of people kill a 10-year-old girl because they fear what she will become? What does the prophecy say Jael will do?’

‘Well, I don’t imagine your elder friend will be telling you that in a hurry, will she?’ Aleksander smiled as they came to a stop outside the house.

‘No,’ Edela murmured. ‘But we know a lot more than we did, and that’s something. So, now we just have to sleep on it, and hopefully, I can dream on it. And tomorrow, perhaps we can think up a list of possible enemies. If we can do that, it might take us even closer to the answers we need.’

Aleksander nodded and opened the door, ushering Edela inside, wondering as he did, just who had led those raiders to Tuura that night? Who had let them in? He shook his head, tired of there being so many unanswered questions swimming about in there.

* * *

Thorgils stopped and turned around, surprised. ‘You’re not coming?’ The snow was heavy in his beard, and he shook it out, peering at Jael questioningly.

Jael didn’t move. ‘I think it’s better that you do it. You go. On your own.’ She had stopped, not far from Eadmund’s cottage, uncertainty flaring again.

Thorgils frowned and walked back to her. ‘Jael, I don’t think it’s going to work without you.’

‘Why do you say that?’ she said uncomfortably. ‘It’s a tincture. Anyone could pour it into his mouth.’

‘I don’t think that’s the point of it, do you?’ he said softly. ‘Your grandmother made this for you to give him. Not me, but you, when you were ready to do it. Do you really think it will work if I give it to him?’

Jael had a mouthful of words ready, reasons why she didn’t need to go with him, but instead, she just opened and closed her lips and stared at Thorgils blankly, her insides turning over and over.

Thorgils smiled kindly at her, sensing her unease. ‘You came and got me for a reason, Jael. You want to help him. Don’t run away now.’ He stared into her eyes. Despite the thickness of the snow, he could see the panic as it flitted across her face.

* * *

Eadmund had quickly swallowed the contents of the two jugs of ale he’d found in his cottage. His head was throbbing, and he felt a little sick, but despite that, he was wondering how he was going to get some more, and quickly. He yawned as he sat on the edge of his bed, convincing himself of the need to stand up, but not sure if his legs still worked. His stomach rumbled, but he didn’t care for food. He was thirsty, though, he realised, and ale wasn’t about to come to him, so if he wanted more, and he definitely wanted more, he would have to go and find some himself; hopefully without being seen by his father, or Ivaar, or Jael, or Thorgils. Even Isaura, he grimaced, guiltily. He tried to blink away the memory of her pitying face.

It was completely dark in the cottage. The fire he had hastily put together had not taken and was now just a pile of scorched logs. He’d not been able to find lamps or candles and had given up on the idea of light or warmth altogether. He just wanted ale.

His mind wandered back to the bed at Jael’s house. His whole body sighed with longing, but he didn’t think he’d be welcome there anymore, not when Jael had become so friendly with Ivaar. He remembered her face when she was with Ivaar. Ivaar’s too. There was definitely something there, and he wanted no part of it; he was done with Ivaar’s games.

Eadmund shook his head, driven to stand by his overwhelming desire for another drink. He would take the risk, gather his supplies and come back to his cottage and drink all thoughts of Ivaar and Jael away. He stumbled towards the door, wrapping himself in his fur cloak, already missing the warmth of his lonely bed.

The door shot open, knocking into him. He lost his already unstable footing and fell over backwards, his head hitting the floorboards with a loud crack.

‘Eadmund!’ Thorgils rushed over to his prone friend, horrified. ‘Are you alright?’

Jael laughed awkwardly as she closed the door behind them. ‘What were you doing standing behind the door?’

Eadmund groaned as Thorgils tried to help him to his feet. He was mostly dead weight, and despite his size, Thorgils could barely raise him. Jael stepped in to help and between the two of them, they managed to get Eadmund up; his head wobbling about, his eyes opening and closing, as he moved in and out of consciousness. The stench of his breath had them both squinting.

‘How were you even standing on your own?’ Thorgils wondered.

The room was dark, but Jael could just see Eadmund’s bleary eyes trying to focus on her. He looked confused, a little cross, and thoroughly drunk. She sighed, wondering at their chances of success. This tincture would surely have to be magic if they were to have any hope.

‘Come on, come sit on the bed,’ Thorgils said kindly as he helped Eadmund down onto his pile of furs. ‘I’ll go and sort that fire out. We need some light in here.’ He watched as Eadmund swayed unsteadily about on the bed, then glanced at Jael, who was standing there, watching, obviously still doubting her decision to come. ‘Perhaps you can go and hold him up? I need to get the wood.’

Jael sighed and sat down next to her unstable husband, grabbing his arm to steady him; he flinched.

‘Why are you here?’ he slurred angrily, his head bobbing towards her face. ‘Is Ivaar busy?’

Jael let go of his arm and pushed him backwards. He tipped over easily and just lay there, without another word. ‘Perhaps it’s best if you have a little sleep now,’ she murmured.

Thorgils walked back into the cottage with an armful of snow-covered logs and saw Eadmund lying with his eyes closed and Jael sitting by the fire. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Your soothing voice put him to sleep, no doubt?’

‘Something like that,’ she smiled as she grabbed a log from him and placed it into the fire.

Thorgils added some twigs and tinder, and together they resurrected the flames. Eadmund’s cottage was frigid, and they had plans to be there for a long time. They had to make it habitable, or they’d all freeze tonight.

* * *

Isaura lay still, her heart thudding anxiously in her chest as she listened to Ivaar’s steady breathing. He had barely wanted to touch her since their arrival on Oss; it had been both a surprise and a wonderful relief. No doubt he had found some servant girl to molest. Oh, how glad she was for the number of servants there were in the fort; so much more than on Kalfa. And then there was Jael; perhaps she was the reason Ivaar seemed so distracted, so uninterested in her anymore? Isaura had assumed he was merely playing with her for the sake of torturing Eadmund, but perhaps there was more to it than that? She could certainly see the appeal of Jael to a man like Ivaar. Not so much for a man like Eadmund, or at least the Eadmund she had known. This version looked nothing like the man she remembered. She’d never seen such a damaged, broken creature. He appeared to be trapped in the past, never escaping his heartbreak. She knew how he felt.

Ivaar sighed heavily and rolled towards her, flinging one arm across her chest. She froze, her breathing stilled, and she waited. He snuffled, groaned, and started snoring loudly again, his breathing resuming a steady rhythm. She closed her eyes, her body sinking into the bed, imagining how different life would have been if she had married Thorgils. She thought of Ivaar and their children then, and that small flicker of hope was snuffed out. Now it was even worse. Now Thorgils was close; closer to her and closer to Ivaar. One wrong move and Ivaar would certainly kill him, that she knew. She had watched him train every day on Kalfa. She had seen the care he had taken of his sword, the fierce, single-minded way he had practised. He had been driven, from their first day in exile, determined to find a way back to Oss, to take his revenge. And now here they were at last, and she didn’t know what he was about to do.

* * *

‘Why are you here?’ Eadmund was awake now. He felt confused, and although his head seemed clearer, he couldn’t put his thoughts into any order that made sense.

Jael looked hesitantly towards Thorgils, who was busy looking at his feet. She sighed. ‘We came to help you.’

Eadmund snorted. ‘And why do I need your help?’

Thorgils looked up, frowning. ‘Why? Well, let’s see... your brother already thinks he’s the king and you’re hiding out here, wobbling about as drunk as an ale-soaked apple, with no hope of stopping him.’

‘Stopping him?’ Eadmund scoffed. ‘You think I could stop him? Ha! How am I supposed to do that?’

‘Well, you could breathe on him,’ Jael suggested tartly.

Thorgils glared at her, although he had to admit that Eadmund did reek. ‘You can stop him by convincing Eirik that you deserve a second chance.’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘He’s not about to give me that. He’s made his choice. He’s too proud to go back on his word.’

‘Eirik doesn’t want Ivaar as king,’ Jael insisted. ‘He wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble over this marriage of ours if he’d been thinking of bringing Ivaar back. Ivaar has always been his second choice. You just have to remind him why you were his first.’

Eadmund didn’t want to look at her, or listen to her; it was all too confusing. He closed his eyes and saw her with Ivaar, then blinked and looked away.

‘Listen, Eadmund, we can help you,’ Thorgils said quietly, leaning closer to his friend. ‘Truly. Jael’s grandmother is a dreamer. She made this tincture here to help you.’

Eadmund looked suspiciously at the tiny, brown bottle that Thorgils pulled out of his pocket, watching the way the glass glinted ominously by the firelight. ‘Help me do what? What did she see I needed help with?’

Thorgils squirmed and looked hopefully at Jael.

‘Well, you’re a big, fat drunkard, Eadmund,’ Jael said bluntly. ‘The tincture is supposed to help you change all of that.’

Thorgils sighed. ‘What your sweet wife over there means, is that this can help you stop drinking.’

‘What?!’ Eadmund stood up angrily and swayed for a moment, his cloak flapping close to the flames. Thorgils stood up to grab him, but Eadmund ignored him and stomped away from the fire. ‘I do not need help with that!’

‘No?’ Thorgils wondered sarcastically. ‘You can just stop it on your own, can you? Because nothing will change until you do. Not for you, and certainly not for Eirik. If you keep drinking like this, Ivaar will have everything he wants. You will be giving Ivaar the kingdom. And worse than that, you will be giving Ivaar your life and mine, Isaura’s, Eydis’, Jael’s. Eydis has seen your father dying soon, and whatever happens, you have to get better, or we will all die.’

Eadmund walked over to his bed and sat down with a thud. He wanted to vomit, could feel the bile rushing up into his throat. He grimaced and dropped his head, wishing it all away. He needed to think, but it seemed to be the one thing he was completely incapable of.

Jael came and sat beside him.

‘Why the sudden change?’ Eadmund snapped at her. ‘Why do you want to help me? You and Ivaar are such good friends. Why help me defeat him?’ He couldn’t bring himself to look into her eyes, afraid of what he would find.

Thorgils laughed as he sat down on Eadmund’s other side, the bed creaking angrily under his additional bulk. ‘Oh, that was Jael’s plan, didn’t you know? She was trying to distract Ivaar.’

Eadmund frowned but at the same time, his spirits lifted ever so slightly. ‘Your plan?’ He raised his eyes as high as he dared, just catching hers.

‘It was a good plan!’ she grumbled at Thorgils, then turned to Eadmund. ‘Ivaar seemed to like me well enough, so I thought I might as well encourage that, lead him away from any games he might be planning for you. Let him play with me instead, which he has been very keen to do.’

Both Eadmund and Thorgils raised their eyebrows at that.

‘What do you mean, play with you?’ Eadmund wondered dully, shaking his head. ‘You never want to let Ivaar play with you. He’s a sick bastard. He’ll always find a way to get what he wants.’

‘I agree,’ Thorgils said, poking at the fire. ‘He’s dangerous. You don’t know him as we do.’

Jael shrugged their concerns away. ‘Look, the most important thing is to get you right, Eadmund, to get you back in front of your father so that he can believe in you again. So that he remembers why he stood by you all these years, while you drunk yourself into this mess. You owe him something, and the people of Oss, and Eydis, and even Thorgils here. They’ve all cared for you, and helped you, and wanted you to come back to them. And if you don’t, if you stay like this, and Ivaar is made king, who knows what will happen to them. You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?’

Her words hit Eadmund like a dull blow, and he lurched, stumbling off the bed and running for the door. He opened it just in time to get his head out, before vomiting loudly.

Jael cringed at the violent, retching sounds coming from outside and looked at Thorgils, who smiled crookedly at her. ‘You have a way with words, it seems.’

40

Eydis didn’t know why she was here.

Her father had asked her to sit with him as he met with Sevrin, the head of his army, and Otto, his fleet commander. She was pleased that she couldn’t see their faces, but she could imagine the surprise on them; they would both be wondering why she was there. She could hear it in their words, could almost feel their eyes turning quizzically in her direction. Eydis kept her head turned down, towards her clasped hands, and her mouth closed. She was still disturbed by her meeting with Ayla, disturbed and uncertain how she felt about the woman. The dull droning of the men meandered around as she sat there, preoccupied, barely listening.

‘But if we fail?’ Eirik couldn’t help but glance at Eydis then, annoyed that she didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He frowned, not wanting to even consider such an outcome, but still, he was king and needed to ensure the safety of his people. ‘If we fail and they come after us?’

Otto scoffed, which was typical of him, Eirik thought regretfully. He had led their last disastrous attack on Skorro. Perhaps he should have had him removed from his position before now, but there was no one as experienced to take over; no one that he trusted, at least. Eirik shook his head and tried to focus, but it was hard. He had not seen Morac since their argument and was beginning to realise how much he had relied upon his old friend. After all these years, Morac knew Eirik well enough to know how Oss should run, without the need for endless debate. But now, without Morac’s planning and foresight, he was flailing about like a child. He knew there were things he must do to keep their plans for the invasion rolling along, and the contest, and Vesta’s Feast, which was coming too. But the what, when, and how of organising it all was overwhelming him.

‘If we fail,’ Sevrin murmured, carefully, ‘we need to know that the fort is defended. If our fleet is crippled, they will not make it back in time to help, if they make it back at all. I don’t believe Haaron will let us get away with such a bold attack. He will surely send his fleet to Oss, and if we have barely dented them, the damage they inflict could be catastrophic.’

Eirik looked sternly at the wooden figures on the table in front of him. He had sequestered one of the hall’s tables for their battle planning, and it now stood to the right of his chair, permanently covered in moveable figures, outlining his ever-changing strategies for the invasion. Without Morac’s calm reassurance, he found himself doubt-riddled and fretting, fiddling with the figures constantly.

He picked up two of the wooden ships and brought them back to join the couple he had left at Oss. ‘We cannot send so many ships, then.’

‘But if we don’t take enough men, we have no hope of defeating them, my lord,’ Otto urged, his brow furrowed with concern. ‘The men on Skorro are some of Haaron’s best. His best sailors, his best warriors. If the invasion is to be a success, we have to eliminate them and quickly. It will determine the outcome of everything, I am certain of it. The more ships we send, the better chance we have. Besides,’ he said, looking pointedly at Sevrin, ‘you forget how much trouble they will have coming through the Widow’s Peak. If they try to follow us, most of them won’t make it through in one piece.’

Sevrin snorted. ‘You think they won’t have learned how to navigate that handful of stones by now?’ He glared impatiently at Eirik. ‘We underestimate them and put ourselves in grave danger if we simply assume they won’t be able to chase us.’

Eirik pulled on the ends of his beard distractedly, regretting that he’d allowed himself to become so dependent upon Morac’s thinking; his own head had become lazy because of it.

He glanced at Eydis as he sat down in his chair. So far she’d had no dreams at all about Hest. None. And it worried him. He needed luck for this invasion. Perhaps her lack of dreams was already a sign that no good thing would come of it. He sighed. He simply couldn’t lead his men to another heavy defeat. Or, he stilled, perhaps that was how it was to end for him? Sinking into the black depths of the Adrano Sea, watching his men drown alongside him. He shuddered, plagued by swirling doubts; he was desperate for some insight.

‘Let us continue this tomorrow. I will think on your suggestions overnight,’ Eirik muttered distractedly, rolling his hands over the edges of his chair. ‘Go, get yourselves a drink.’ He waved his hand, dismissing them with a frown. The two men gave Eirik a quick nod and turned to leave. He barely noticed; he had already turned his attention towards Eydis. ‘So what do you think, my daughter? What chance do we have of taking Skorro?’

Eydis blinked, squirming in her seat. ‘I can’t say, Father. I have tried to dream on it, but nothing has come at all.’

‘Just my death, that’s what’s coming, isn’t it?’ he whispered at her. ‘Coming faster each day, and still I’m in this muddle with Eadmund and Ivaar.’ He leaned his head backwards, his body slumping with a sigh. ‘My life was not an easy one, but all of this,’ he swept his hand around the hall, ‘is mine. All of it. And where did I come from? I was the shit on my father’s boot, kicked about like a dog from the day I could walk. I scraped around this hall, waiting for the blows that would come, watching the way he treated us, all of his slaves, as though we were nothing.’ Eirik stared into the far reaches of the hall, further beyond, back to a time when it had belonged to Grim Skalleson. It had been a smaller, darker place then, filled with the rotting stench of slavers and their perverse ways. ‘I saw what he did to my mother. I swore I would destroy him, destroy all the slavers, take this place back, free us all. And I did. But what was the point of any of it, if it all returns to a pile of picked-over-bones when I’m gone? How do I know that it won’t?’

Eydis’ eyes were wide with concern as she felt about for her father’s arm; he sounded morose and very, very lost. ‘Where is Morac? I have not heard his voice for many days. Don’t you need his advice more than mine? He can help you, can’t he?’

‘Morac...’ Eirik sighed. ‘We have had a disagreement, he and I. I’m not even sure if he’s even still on Oss, or whether I will see him again.’ He closed his eyes, wondering if he even wanted to.

* * *

Runa was tired of this endless silence. She loved silence most of the time, when Morac wasn’t here, when Evaine had left the house, when she found herself completely alone, but this? She had had enough of this. Something had to change.

Morac sat and stared into the fire. It felt as though he had been sitting there for days, and Runa didn’t know what to do to shift him, both out of his stupor and out from under her feet. She felt as though she couldn’t breathe. He needed to get back to the hall and make amends with Eirik. Another few days of this and she would lose her mind.

‘I was thinking that we should leave.’

Runa looked up from her embroidering, horrified. She was adding details to a new cloak for herself; a luxury she had not had the pleasure of for many years. ‘Leave? And go where?’

‘To Rikka.’ Morac looked up, his drawn face suddenly brighter, the clouds in his head finally shifting. ‘Evaine will need us. Morana can care for her and help her with the birth, when the time comes, but she lives in a dirty, stinking shack. Evaine will be suffering, of that I’m sure.’

Runa wanted to say how pleased she was to hear it, and that the two of them deserved one another, but she bit her lip and thought quickly. ‘Rikka? But surely if you do that, there would be no way back into Eirik’s hall. You would be banishing us all?’

‘What makes you think I want back into that hall?’ Morac spat bitterly. ‘What has he done for me, after all these years of me doing everything for him?’

Runa put her work to one side and came to sit next to her husband. ‘Well, we have this home, surely the finest on Oss?’ she tried. ‘Remember when we were children and you had to dig about for scraps so we could eat? We shivered in Grim’s hall every night, with not even a blanket to cover us. Look at how far we have come because of your friendship with Eirik, because of your service to him. Without that, none of this would have been possible.’

Morac looked scornfully at his wife. ‘And you think that when I am taking my last breaths, I will be glad I lived in a fine house? That it is my thick walls and wooden floorboards I will be thinking of as I die? As if that is all my life truly meant?’ He looked disgusted. ‘I haven’t done all of this to have a house, Runa! To go from being a slave to a servant with a nice house. That is no life! Where is the power in that? What power do I have over my life? Or that of my family’s? That he could just send my daughter away because she displeases him?!’

‘Well, he is the king,’ Runa tried. ‘No matter who you become on Oss, Eirik is the king, and the king will always have his way.’

‘Will he, though?’ Morac wondered, smiling to himself. ‘Will he?’

* * *

It had snowed throughout the night, and Jael was relieved to be wading through soft, wet powder, instead of skating about on treacherous ice. She grimaced, remembering the pain of her fall and the look of satisfaction on Tarak’s face as he watched her fly. Grumbling into her cloak, she took another bite of the hot loaf of bread she was bringing back to Thorgils.

So far the tincture had been trouble. Eadmund had initially decided to accept their help, but not long after his first dose, he’d become edgy, irate, desperate for a drink, and difficult to control. He’d paced anxiously around the cottage for some time, then decided to try and escape. Repeatedly. They’d restrained him, tied him to the bed, and Thorgils had brought Eadmund’s chair from the house and some more rope. It had been a long few days, listening to Eadmund growl, bark, yell, shake, and vomit.

No one had slept much.

‘Hello there,’ Ivaar smiled as he snuck up behind Jael.

She froze, her mouth stuffed full of bread.

‘I didn’t realise you had such an appetite!’ Ivaar laughed, peering at her bulging face and the loaf of bread she was trying to hide beneath her cloak.

Jael swallowed as quickly as she could, trying to decide exactly how she felt about her Ivaar plan, now that she had made the decision to help Eadmund. ‘Well, it’s hot,’ she mumbled. ‘I like it when it’s hot.’ She cringed; that had to be one of the stupidest things she’d said in a while.

‘You are the most interesting woman I’ve ever met!’ Ivaar laughed. ‘It feels as though we have not spoken in days, not since the waterfall. Not properly at least.’

Jael looked around. It was mid-morning, and a fair amount of people were milling about the square; she felt awkward and exposed. ‘Ahhh, that.’

‘Yes, that.’

‘Well, you tried to kiss me, so I suppose I’m avoiding you,’ she smiled, unsure whether honesty was the best approach with a man like Ivaar, whose eyes were always shifting about.

‘Ha!’ he laughed freely, relief on his face. He had been worried that she had gone over to the other side, that he had lost any hope of having her on his, but she seemed fine. More than fine. ‘Well, I can’t blame you there. Although, it’s probably the only time I’ve ever been turned down.’

‘Really?’ Jael acted surprised, playing along. ‘Well, you do have nice hair. I can imagine it’s impossible to resist a man who makes such an effort with his appearance.’

Ivaar felt a surge in his body as he looked into her eyes; he’d missed her company, more than he’d realised. She was completely unafraid of him, and he was fascinated by her. ‘Let’s go for another ride today,’ he suggested. ‘I promise not to try and kiss you this time.’

Jael narrowed her eyes. ‘That may be what your mouth is saying, but your eyes are saying something else entirely,’ she grinned and started to walk away. ‘Perhaps tomorrow? You may have cooled down enough by then!’

Ivaar watched after her, frustrated but excited. There was still hope to be found in Jael. He was sure of it.

* * *

Runa came back into the house after finally escaping for a long, cold walk and found Morac in their bedchamber, packing all their clothing into chests. She gasped. ‘What are you doing?’

Morac barely looked up. ‘We can get to Rikka tomorrow. I’ve been out to speak to Edrun, and he’s happy to take us in the morning, all being well with the weather overnight.’

Their house was well insulated and warm, but Runa couldn’t stop shivering. How was she going to talk him out of this idea? He seemed to have made up his mind, but she couldn’t go to Rikka. The thought of being with Evaine again made her ill, but having to endure Morana as well, terrified her. And there was no way she could leave poor Fyn. Not that she ever got to see him anymore, but at least he knew she was here, and she could ensure he was sent food regularly.

She would not abandon him.

‘But what about Eirik?’ Runa tried. ‘What will you tell him?’

‘Why do I need to tell him anything?’ Morac snorted. ‘I am not bound to him, not anymore.

‘But you made an oath.’

‘Bah!’ Morac spat, closing the lid on his chest and moving over to start on hers. ‘He broke that oath when he banished Evaine. Why should my loyalty remain true to a man like that, who doesn’t respect my family? Our oaths were made when we were nothing boys. What do they mean now? Just lies and empty promises. I do not care about any oath that lies in the dirt, trodden on, year after year.’ He sighed and sat back onto the bed, his body suddenly weary. ‘Runa, come here. Come, sit down.’

She did as she was bid, still shaking, her eyes darting about desperately. She would not go to Rikka; she couldn’t go to Rikka.

‘You don’t want to go, do you?’ he asked quietly, taking her hands in his.

Runa looked down. ‘I don’t want to leave Oss,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s our home. If we both leave, there will be no way back here for our family. Not ever.’ She looked up and saw some hope on the horizon, then. ‘But if you go, on your own, then I can keep our house here, for when you return with Evaine and the child. Who knows what would happen to the house if we were both to abandon it? Eirik might not take things well and have it destroyed. And you know how much Evaine loves this house.’

Morac frowned. She did have a point, he realised. It would be easy for him to slip away without any fuss, but if they were both to leave, there would certainly be loose ends and a lot of people whispering in Eirik’s ear. He didn’t want to make things worse where Eirik was concerned, not yet anyway.

Morac put Runa’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly, his eyes lingering on hers for a moment. They had been together for most of their lives. It would not be an easy thing to leave her, but then he thought of Morana, and Evaine, and the promise of the future, and he smiled.

41

‘You took your time,’ Thorgils grumbled, as Jael crept into the room. His stomach had tortured him with hunger pains, joining the misery of his back and the ache of his head.

‘I got waylaid by Ivaar,’ she grumbled back, then wished she hadn’t said anything; she didn’t want to start another argument. But one look at the bread Jael pulled from her cloak, and Thorgils forgot all about her much-discussed and forever-maligned, Ivaar plan. The packets of cheese, dried fish, and salt pork she took out of her pockets, made him even happier.

‘It’s still warm!’ he exclaimed gleefully, grabbing the bread.

Eadmund groaned and rustled about on the bed, starting to wake up. They both froze and held their breaths. Jael frowned at Thorgils, who looked sheepish and shrugged back. Eadmund was certainly easier to manage when his eyes were closed, and he wasn’t trying to escape; they hoped to keep him that way as much as possible.

Jael kept her cloak on as she sat in front of the fire; despite the height of the flames, the room was bitterly cold. Thorgils helped himself to the only plate-like object he could find and came to sit beside her. He ripped off some of the bread, smiling again; there was nothing he loved more than warm bread. He made himself a serving of bread, fish, pork, and cheese, and shovelled into his mouth, or at least half of it made its way in there; the rest lingered in his beard for him to collect later.

‘I’m not sure I brought enough,’ Jael observed as Thorgils started filling the plate again.

He paused, mid-chew, and picked up the loaf, handing it over to her.

Jael tore off a corner. She was just as hungry as he was but felt too tired and preoccupied to eat much. ‘When do you think I need to give him another dose?’ she wondered, looking over at the large, sleeping lump.

‘I say as soon as he wakes. If there’s any chance of it helping, you need to get more of it into him and quickly,’ he mumbled, studying her worried face. ‘What did Ivaar say?’

Jael sighed. ‘He wanted to go riding again.’

‘And you said?’ Thorgils leaned forward, his voice an irritated whisper.

‘I said, maybe in a day or so,’ she glared at him. ‘We have enough to worry about right now without another Ivaar argument, don’t we?’

‘We do, yes,’ Thorgils agreed. ‘Let’s forget about him for now then. Focus on the nicer brother.’

Jael smiled at that and handed back the bread, which Thorgils had been drooling over. ‘Shall I go back and ask Biddy to make another loaf?’

‘At least.’

* * *

‘Not long till Vesta’s Feast,’ Ivaar grinned at his father as he sat down by the fire.

Eirik’s shoulders drooped, matching his already miserable face. ‘Mmmm.’

Despite the dullness in her father’s voice, Eydis’ eyes lit up. ‘Ooohh, I can’t wait!’ she squealed, feeling a rush of joy for the first time in weeks. ‘That is something to look forward to!’

Isaura didn’t look as enthused as she bent down to stop Leya poking a stick into her brother’s ear. ‘At least the days will start to get longer again. More chance for the children to play outside.’

‘Well, there’s something to look forward to,’ Ivaar said pointedly to his wife, who ignored him, and reached down to take the stick away from her very persistent daughter, who promptly started wailing.

‘You always love Vesta, Father,’ Eydis said excitedly. ‘Why not this year? The games, the feasts, the singing. It’s the best part of winter!’

Eirik sighed. ‘Well yes, apart from the fact that Morac usually organises all of that. Without him, I have no idea what to do.’

‘Oh.’ Eydis looked heartbroken.

‘I can help if you like?’ Isaura said shyly as she scooped Leya up to try and stop her tears. ‘Help you organise everything, I mean. I used to plan our own Vesta on Kalfa, much like the ones I remember here. Just a smaller version.’

‘She did,’ Ivaar agreed. ‘It always went well, from memory. You should let her help you, Father.’

Eirik stood up and allowed himself half a smile. ‘Well, yes, I’m sure that whatever help you can manage, it will be double any poor show I might come up with by myself.’

‘Good,’ Isaura said, her eyes blinking nervously, unsure what she had just walked into. ‘I’ll shepherd the children off with the servants, and we can talk over some ideas.’

‘Mmmm,’ Eirik nodded, only half listening as he wandered over to the fire. He was wondering how to go about making peace with Morac. It had taken a while for him to realise that he’d been harsh; harsher than was fair. But how was he going to heal the gaping wound? They were both far too old to let things fester this long. He would have to go and see him.

* * *

‘I need a drink!’ Eadmund rasped furiously, pulling against his bindings.

They had tied him to the chair when he’d woken, given him another dose of tincture and left him to fall asleep. He had been weak and tired, and thankfully, had barely protested at all.

Thorgils had gone for some air, and Jael was lying on Eadmund’s uncomfortable little bed, trying to find some sleep. Her mind had flitted about anxiously like a hungry bird, though, and she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes closed for long.

She sat up, stretched and groaned, pain searing through her back.

‘Are you alright?’ Eadmund wondered, suddenly quiet as he noticed the discomfort she was in.

‘Fine,’ Jael frowned as she padded towards him, her feet numb in damp socks. ‘But I do owe Tarak a good beating.’

‘What did you say to make him do that to you?’ Eadmund wondered, forgetting his desperate need for a drink for a moment.

Jael opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything that would make sense to him. She searched around for the tincture, trying to remember where she had placed it. The fire had burned down to nothing, and it was already dark outside, making it very hard to see. ‘He just doesn’t like me very much, I suppose,’ she mumbled. ‘But perhaps we will meet in the contest, and I can finally have a turn at him.’

‘You won’t be able to push him over that easily,’ Eadmund croaked. ‘He’s made of stone. He’s a tower that won’t go down unless you take away his foundations.’

Jael removed the stopper from the bottle and walked towards Eadmund. ‘That’s true. I shall think on it. Now open your mouth so that we can get this over with.’

Instead, Eadmund turned his head away. ‘That’s not the sort of drink I had in mind.’

‘I imagine so, but you won’t save yourself, or anyone else, if you don’t try this drink. Come on,’ she urged, careful to stand just out of his reach, in case he knocked the bottle out of her hand.

‘Where’s Thorgils?’

‘Eadmund,’ Jael said firmly. ‘Take the tincture. Please. I’d rather you opened your mouth on your own. I don’t want to knock you out and pour it down your throat myself.’

He turned around and glared at her wildly, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair. ‘I’ll take your fucking tincture, if, if you get me a cup of ale. Just one cup. It doesn’t even have to be big. A small cup of ale for one drink of tincture. That’s a fair trade, don’t you think?’ His voice was high with desperation.

‘No. No ale. No liquid. Nothing but the tincture.’

‘How do you even know it will work?! How do you know what it does?!’ He shook angrily against the ropes, banging his wrists up and down on the arms of the chair, growling in frustration. ‘I don’t feel any better, or any worse, just the same.’ He glared at her angrily, his teeth bared.

Jael stoppered the tincture, placing it far away from him, and walked back to the bed. She grabbed the furs and pulled them over her aching back, facing the wall in silence.

Eadmund’s eyes followed her, at first furious and then, when he realised she wasn’t coming back, desperate. He was so thirsty that his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. He could barely swallow. He needed some form of liquid in his throat, and if it wasn’t going to be ale… ‘Alright, I’ll take it.’

Jael didn’t move.

He bit his lip in frustration, his forehead creased, his toes tapping the floorboards beneath his feet. He’d lied to her; his whole body was vibrating with the need for ale. His head felt as though a giant tic was crawling around inside it, constantly biting at his thoughts. He wanted to reach his hands inside his head and scratch till he bled. Not one part of him wanted to go through with this anymore. He didn’t want to think about any of them; they could save themselves. He just needed ale, ale, ale, but right now he would take liquid in any form, just to feel some moisture in his throat.

‘Please, Jael.’

Jael sighed and got up, wondering why she had been stupid enough to lie down again; Eadmund’s horrible little bed was not helping the pain in her back. ‘Alright, but if you’ve made me get up just to turn your head again, I will have to slap you hard.’

She wandered over to the kitchen, which really was only a broken bench and one shelf, both covered in a thick mess of dust and cobwebs; it appeared that he hadn’t done much cooking there for a while. She found a stale-smelling cup and tipped in a couple of drops of tincture, deciding that it was better to keep the bottle well away from Eadmund. Jael could sense the desperation in his voice now, no matter how much he was trying to convince her otherwise.

‘Here.’ She held the cup up to his face, urging him to tilt his head.

Eadmund glared at her for a moment, his jaw tensing, which was not the action of a man who was about to open it. He breathed loudly through his nose, fast, quick breaths, and watched, as Jael stepped away. ‘Alright, alright,’ he snapped and quickly tipped his head back, opening his mouth.

She leaned forward and dribbled the liquid inside, shook the cup, and moved away as quickly as possible. The wind was starting to pick up outside; a breathless howl that crept its way around the walls. Jael sighed and grimaced, her stomach rumbling as she came to sit by the fire. She hoped Thorgils would be back soon, and that he’d bring some food.

‘Why are you doing this?’ Eadmund said faintly, trying to take his mind off the overwhelming desire to scream and rage at his wife, demanding she release him.

‘Helping you, you mean?’

‘Well, you may call it help,’ he muttered, his teeth chattering suddenly. ‘But it feels more like torture to mmmeeee.’

‘I think you have that wrong,’ Jael said sadly as she placed another log on the fire. ‘What you’ve been doing to yourself, all these years, that was the torture. This part is the help.’

‘Grrrrrrrr!’ Eadmund snapped, his eyes popping furiously. ‘You have no idea what this feels like! If you did, you’d rip these fucking ropes off me and give me something to drink!’

‘And then what?’

Eadmund blinked.

‘What will you do then? Drink, and then drink some more and go wandering about, falling asleep, disappearing, while your brother slowly takes over Oss and then kills everyone you love?’

Eadmund frowned, rattling his arms over and over. ‘My father is still king here, isn’t he? He’s in no hurry for anyone to take over, I’m sure of that.’

‘But he knows he is going to die soon, doesn’t he? Ivaar knows it too.’

Eadmund was almost still, then. Jael could hear his breathing, shallow and ragged. His eyes lost their fire for a moment as he lingered on the thought of losing his father. ‘We have to destroy Ivaar,’ he whispered finally, feeling the clarity of that singular thought and trying to grasp hold of it.

‘We do, but first, we have to save you.’

* * *

‘I need you to approach her again,’ Ivaar insisted softly to the ample breasts he lay between. ‘You cannot enter her confidence if she doesn’t get to know you. You can’t give up without even trying. This time, just do it differently. Put her at ease more, become her friend.’

Ayla tried not to sigh as she shivered beneath Ivaar’s sprawling body. She was freezing, wishing she could just tell him to grab the furs, but from experience, she knew not to interrupt him when he was talking; he liked the sound of his own voice far too much. ‘I’ll try again then, perhaps tomorrow,’ she said sadly. ‘I don’t think Eydis trusts anyone much, not when she can’t see them. It must be very hard for her.’

Ivaar sat up, finally cold himself, and went to retrieve the furs which had been tossed off the bed. ‘I know, she’s always been ridiculously shy, but don’t you see,’ he said as he threw the furs over Ayla and climbed in under them, ‘you’re a dreamer! She doesn’t know any dreamers. She will want to get to know you. She won’t be able to ignore her curiosity. That will win her over, I’m certain of it.’

Ayla opened her mouth to speak, but one look at his face made her close it. She smiled tightly. ‘Of course, you’re right. She did look keen on that idea, I think.’

‘Good,’ Ivaar said as he lay one leg over hers, pushing himself firmly into her side, seeking her warmth, yawning repeatedly. ‘I need to know what she has seen. Dreamers don’t always reveal everything they see, do they Ayla, my love?’

Ayla froze as she watched his eyes close, a sly smile lingering on his lips. Ivaar had a way of finding out anything he wanted to know. She was terrified that he would find a way into her dreams and discover the visions she hid from him.

* * *

They lay Eadmund down onto the bed again, securely him as tightly as possible. He looked up at them furiously, hating them both. His arms smashed the bed repeatedly, trying to loosen the ropes, but he had little strength remaining and had to stop after only a short while.

‘I need to piss.’

Jael looked at Thorgils. ‘It would be your turn, I think.’

Thorgils squirmed. ‘I think it’s probably better that you do it, don’t you? You’re his wife, remember? You’re supposed to touch his cock. I’m not!’

‘Well, hurry up then. You’ll have to untie him and hold him over the bed,’ she grumbled. ‘I’ll find that fucking pot.’

‘I left it by the door,’ Thorgils called over his shoulder. ‘Follow the stink!’

Jael shuddered and suddenly thought of Biddy, enjoying the warmth of the fire at the house, with the puppies, probably drinking some hot milk, while she shivered in this wind-tortured shack, helping her raving husband piss in a pot. Surely something was wrong with that?

When Jael returned, Thorgils was having a battle with Eadmund, who appeared to have changed his mind and just wanted to run to the door. But Jael was in no mood to do this again in a hurry, so she crouched down and quickly lifted Eadmund’s tunic, grabbing hold of his flapping cock and shoving it into the pot. They’d had such a hard time managing this at first that he’d pissed his trousers, and they’d decided just a tunic would be easier from now on.

She crouched there, half asleep, fed up, and in complete agony, trying to ignore what she was doing, thinking instead of the comfort of her perfectly soft but firm bed. She shook her head quickly, not wanting to think of firm things; that would surely not help matters.

There was a gentle trickle, then an evil, rotting stench flooded the whole room. It was eye-watering, and Jael retched, getting up as soon as Eadmund had finished, rushing to the door and throwing the entire pot outside, desperate to take a deep breath of anything that wasn’t that smell.

She heard Thorgils gagging behind her as he started pushing Eadmund back down onto the bed. Between them they fought him into submission and tightened the ropes, leaving their prisoner grumbling, yawning, and frowning at them as they moved away to sit by the fire.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Thorgils wondered. They had not spoken much since they had stumbled upon peace, but he had noticed that Jael was making a lot of strange faces.

Jael looked up as snow started drifting down the smoke hole, sizzling the flames. She stretched her back. ‘Tarak.’

Thorgils leaned forward, worried. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘He wanted to see if I could fly,’ Jael smiled wryly. ‘So he pushed me, as hard as he could, onto the ice. Just another reason to defeat the bastard. As if we needed more.’

‘But why? What did you say to him?’

‘Well...’ Jael mumbled. ‘I suppose I threatened him, taunted him, that sort of thing...’

‘And you thought it would end well, did you?’ Thorgils looked unimpressed. ‘You could have broken something! Ice is an unforgiving bitch.’

‘True, but it was worth it, and I don’t think I did.’

‘Worth it? How?’

Jael smiled. ‘He doesn’t see me as any sort of threat now. Just a smart-mouthed woman he can push over. So, if I do come up against him in the contest, he will be overconfident about his chances. It might even up the odds.’

Thorgils laughed, almost happy for the first time in days. He had missed Jael’s company and her crazy insistence on trying to out-think everybody. He leaned in and lowered his voice. ‘And what about Ivaar? How is that plan going?’

‘Ahhh, well, it’s going along at a steady pace, I suppose,’ she muttered, jiggling about on her stool, avoiding Thorgils’ enquiring glare. ‘He seems to like me well enough.’

‘Oh, does he now?’ Thorgils glare intensified. ‘And what does that mean?’

Jael glanced over at Eadmund, but he appeared to be sleeping. ‘Well, he tried to kiss me.’

‘What?!’ Thorgils growled. ‘That bastard! What a shit. What a fucking shit!’ He stared at her. ‘I told you this would happen.’

‘Ha! I don’t believe you told me that would happen but stop fretting. Ivaar knows I’m not interested.’

Thorgils gave her a doubt-filled look, and she gave him back a pair of determined eyebrows, and they were just about to pick up their argument again when Eadmund started shaking violently. His eyes were closed, and his body was jerking about with no control; he was having some sort of seizure. The only look Jael and Thorgils exchanged then was one of panic as they both raced to the bed.

‘Quick, untie the ropes!’ Jael urged as she raced to undo the ropes at his feet.

Thorgils was frozen in fear as he watched Eadmund’s shuddering body; he didn’t move.

‘Thorgils!’ Jael yelled. ‘We have to turn him onto his side! You need to untie the ropes!’

Eadmund’s head was banging into his pillow, his feet were hitting the end of the bed’s frame, and now his eyes were open, rolling about in his head. Thorgils suddenly woke out of his daze and raced to tear open the knots around his wrists. It wasn’t easy; they’d tied them very tight.

‘Let’s roll him over!’ Jael instructed as the ropes came undone, at last, her voice filled with anxiety. ‘I’ll lie behind him, and you come here and make sure he’s breathing.’

Thorgils didn’t argue as he swapped places with Jael, who crawled up onto the bed, which was shaking and groaning under Eadmund’s jerking body, and her extra weight. It held, though, and she managed to grab hold of Eadmund and stop his arms flapping about. She could feel her heart thudding loudly against his moving back. She closed her eyes, begging Vidar to keep Eadmund safe.

He couldn’t die. Not like this. She wouldn’t let him.

42

‘Mother!’ Branwyn grabbed Edela by the shoulders and tried to wake her. ‘Mother! You’re having a bad dream! You need to wake up! Mother?’

Edela sat up quickly, her eyes still closed, her breathing shallow. She frowned, trying not to wake fully until she had a firm hold on the threads of her dream.

‘Are you alright?’ Branwyn looked worried; her mother’s face was very pale.

Edela remained silent as she tried to remember the fading visions. There had been a note, and a cup, and what else? Eadmund, that’s right; something was wrong with Eadmund. She blinked her eyes open, staring into Branwyn’s troubled face. Edela yawned and shivered as the chill of the room wrapped itself quickly around her; she looked keenly towards the fire.

‘Mother?’

‘Yes, yes, I’m alright my dear,’ Edela groaned as she eased herself out of bed. Her hip clicked, and she felt the pain in it; the colder weather was making all her familiar aches worse, but there was no time to dwell on that now. ‘I’m just trying to keep my dreams afloat. They can disappear so quickly these days.’

Branwyn grabbed the fur from her mother’s bed and wrapped it around her shoulders. ‘Here, warm yourself by the fire, and I’ll bring you something hot to drink.’

Edela smiled gratefully and settled herself into the comfortable, fur-covered chair, closing her eyes, disappearing back into the darkness. She’d seen the two beheaded girls again, as though she was standing barely an arm’s length from them; just their heads, on the spikes. Two pairs of dead, glazed eyes staring into hers. A hooded figure had been crouching there, underneath the heads, with a cup, catching some of the dripping blood. It had been so dark, but she remembered the flash of a knife as it tore off a clump of each girl’s long hair.

Edela opened her eyes. It was an unpleasant dream to revisit, but she was glad for having retained it. She shook her head, cross with herself for forgetting those girls. What had happened to them was important, somehow. She needed to discover if anyone knew about them.

‘Here you are,’ Branwyn smiled as she handed her mother a cup of fragrant tea and sat down beside her. ‘Have you managed to remember your dreams, then?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ Edela croaked, still only half awake. ‘Some of them at least. It felt as though I hadn’t dreamed for many days, and then suddenly, there were so many at once. I’m sure most of them slipped away in the night, but I do remember dreaming about Eadmund. Something is wrong there.’

‘Jael’s Eadmund?’

‘Mmmm,’ Edela murmured as she tried a sip of tea, but it was too hot. ‘His soul is far away from him, wandering lost. He must decide whether it is life or death he seeks because he can no longer have both at the same time.’

Branwyn’s forehead creased; she didn’t understand what Edela was talking about at all. ‘What else did you see? Anything about the sword?’ She’d noticed how secretive her mother and Aleksander had become; anything they were uncovering was not being shared with her or Kormac.

‘The sword?’ Edela said distractedly. ‘No, but I did see something that confused me.’ She shook her head, trying to make sense of everything. ‘Perhaps it is another clue... I saw a note. Someone wrote a note about us coming to Tuura all those years ago. They were alerting someone about our visit.’

Branwyn swallowed. She hated to talk about that night; it had been the single worst moment of her life. She felt sick reliving it, but the thought of discovering the why of it all piqued her interest. ‘So, you were the reason they came? They wanted you or something you had?’ Branwyn frowned. ‘Then why kill Evva?’

Edela’s face blanched; she realised how careless she had been with her words. She’d forgotten that she was talking to Branwyn and not Aleksander. Where was Aleksander, she wondered, looking around the house? She could see the faded misery in her daughter’s eyes and felt the guilt of making her relive that night again. ‘Well, it was not much of a dream, I must admit,’ Edela smiled quickly. ‘I think I’ve woken up more muddled than when I went to sleep. Perhaps a soak in your tub would clear my head?’

‘Of course.’ Branwyn rushed to get up. ‘I’ll ask Berta to heat some water for you. That sounds exactly what you need. Maybe some of your dreams will come back to you while you soak? Perhaps things will be clearer then?’

‘I do hope so,’ Edela sighed. She was already wandering far away again, desperately searching her memory for more clues. The note had been written in a woman’s hand; she could see that very clearly. And that hand had a very distinctive ring on it; a ring she knew. And if she could just remember who it belonged to...

* * *

‘And he hasn’t opened his eyes since?’ Biddy wondered, peering down at Eadmund, her eyebrows pinching tightly together; he did not look well at all. Thorgils and Jael stood beside her, and all three faces registered deep concern.

‘Not once, and one of us kept watch all night,’ Jael said quietly, her eyes straining to stay open.

‘But he’s breathing,’ Biddy said, almost to herself. ‘That’s the main thing.’

‘He looks as pale as snow, though,’ Thorgils murmured. ‘And the stink...’

‘Yes, perhaps I need to air things out a little in here,’ Biddy suggested, resisting the urge to gag. How anyone had managed to sleep in the vile stench was a miracle. Vella and Ido ran around her feet, sniffing everything; there was a lot to keep their noses occupied with this morning.

‘What do we do now?’ Jael wondered. ‘He still hasn’t finished the tincture. But what if it’s not even working, just slowly killing him?’

‘Of course it wouldn’t be killing him!’ Biddy scoffed with as much confidence as she could muster. ‘You trust Edela, don’t you? With your own life, I’m sure. She would only have prepared something she believed would save him, not hurt him. Never that.’

Jael sighed and scratched her head. She was anxious; anxious about Eadmund, worried about Tig and Leada needing a ride, not to mention poor Fyn, who would be wondering what had happened to her. But most of all, right then, she was starving. She sat down and dove into Biddy’s basket, and Thorgils came to join her, along with the puppies, who had decided that the basket filled with food was the best smell in the room by far.

Thorgils pushed their wet noses away and peered into the basket himself, his face troubled. ‘I’ve never seen a thing like that,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘What happened to Eadmund last night.’

Biddy glanced over her shoulder at Jael, as she grabbed a broom and started sweeping. Jael didn’t say a word.

‘How did you know what to do?’ Thorgils continued, stuffing his mouth with a boiled egg.

Jael chewed slowly and thoughtfully; her eyes far away. ‘My eldest brother, Stellan, had seizures like that, sometimes. Nobody knew what to do when it happened, except my grandmother. She would tell us to put him on his side, that it would keep him safe. And it always worked, and he would recover quickly.’ She stopped chewing and looked up at Thorgils. ‘One day, he didn’t come back from a walk, and my father found him in the woods, lying on his back, dead. He’d died, I suppose because he was all alone when he’d had a seizure. There’d been no one to help save him. He was only 12-years-old.’

Biddy walked past and opened the front door, letting in a blast of fresh, icy air.

‘I’m sorry,’ Thorgils said, glancing towards the bed. ‘That is no easy thing, I know. But thanks to your brother, you knew how to save Eadmund.’

‘This time, yes,’ Jael said thoughtfully. ‘But who knows what else is coming his way. Who knows what the tincture will do to him next.’

* * *

‘That worm Tiras has been having fun, creeping about in the snow,’ Tarak laughed loudly.

Ivaar glared at him, motioning with his head towards Isaura, who was well within hearing distance; although with three children all talking to her at once, it was unlikely she could hear a thing, but still... ‘Have some thought in your head about where you are,’ Ivaar growled. ‘If we have private business, we can discuss it in a private place. And anything to do with him is very private indeed.’

Isaura wandered off after the girls, who were chasing their crawling brother, and Tarak moved closer to Ivaar, who was drinking by the fire. ‘He tells me that the Brekkan bitch has been holed up in your brother’s cottage these past few nights.’

Ivaar almost dropped his cup into the flames. ‘What?!’ That was unexpected. He had planned to seek Jael out shortly, hoping to go riding with her but now...

‘Mmmm...’ Tarak was triumphant, unable to contain his glee. He hated how obsessed Ivaar was with Jael, but this was surely the beginning of the end now. ‘Yes, she’s barely left the place, he said.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well, he did mention that the big, red idiot has been there as well, much of the time.’

Ivaar frowned, feeling the burn of anger as it surged up into his throat. Had she been playing with him? Was that possible? ‘Tell our friend to keep his ears open. I want to know what’s going on inside that cottage.’

Tarak smiled, the look of rage on Ivaar’s face warming his heart. It seemed that the bitch’s downfall was about to pick up speed.

* * *

Edela found him in the stables brushing Sky, the horse who finally had a name. He was talking to her softly as he ran one hand over her rich, red coat. She smiled sadly; life had been hard for him lately. If only she could promise him that it was going to get any better, but unfortunately, her dreams warned her otherwise.

‘Awake at last!’ Aleksander grinned when he saw her. He’d left the house early to go riding, desperate for some air that felt fresh and non-Tuuran. He hated the close, cloying feeling of the place and its people as they squirmed about miserably beneath its growing walls. ‘I thought you’d decided to sleep the day away?’

‘Oh, if only I could!’ Edela chuckled. ‘Imagine that? But at my age, I’d probably just end up stiff, sore, and even more crotchety. Better to be shuffling about in the freezing cold looking for you!’ She wandered over to Deya and gave her a carrot.

Aleksander glanced around, noticing that the stable boy had left; they were alone. ‘So you’ve had a dream, haven’t you? I can tell by that crease between your eyes. Whenever you’ve been dreaming, you walk about with that big line all day.’

‘Do I?’ Edela had never been told that before. She laughed, relaxing her crease a little. ‘It’s hard, at my age, to keep hold of the dreams. You might not think there is much work in having them, but dreams are like clouds. They all float past you, and you have to grab hold of those things you think could be important, go after them, follow them, go deeper. Until you learn that, it all just feels like a muddle, and you can’t tell which are true visions, and which are just your fears and desires leading you astray.’ She sighed and walked over to pat Sky. ‘I cannot hold onto them as I once did. I suppose I am old.’

‘Well, yes, you are!’ Aleksander laughed. ‘But think of all that you have been able to find out so far. We are only here because of you, and now we know we have to get to Oss to help Jael. Don’t be hard on yourself. You are the only reason we have any idea about what’s going on.’

Edela reached out and patted his hand, then froze. She looked up into his deep, dark eyes and she was back in her dream, seeing the hand with the ring and the note. She shivered. That golden ring, with a blue sapphire, set in a gold star; she could see it so clearly now. That beautiful ring had belonged to Fianna Lehr. And Fianna Lehr was Aleksander’s mother.

* * *

Jael yawned as she stepped through the snow, which seemed much deeper today; walking felt harder than it normally was. Or perhaps it was just that her aching limbs were as tired as her aching eyes. But she thought of her bed and smiled; that was enough to spur her on. Biddy had sent her away for some real sleep, and as worried as she was about Eadmund, she realised that without sleep, neither she nor Thorgils would be able to keep watch over him.

Jael sighed as she caught sight of the stables. Tig and Leada had been so neglected while she had been looking after Eadmund. She would try to take Tig riding tomorrow, but she couldn’t face asking Ivaar to ride Leada, and there was no chance Thorgils could come with her. Leada would have to wait for another day.

‘Ahhh, there you are!’ Ivaar called as he walked towards her, smiling. ‘Perfect timing. You look all dressed for our ride!’

Jael tried to keep her shoulders up, and her face calm as the entire contents of her body sagged. She had really led herself into a thick forest with this stupid plan of hers. She took a deep breath. ‘I was actually thinking about coming to find you,’ she said with effort, cursing herself for the stubborn creature that she was. Eadmund was not going to be strong for some time, and if she could keep Ivaar busy and away from him, even for a while, then it was worth it. ‘I may be ready to ride with you again. If you promise that you’ll only try to kiss Leada this time.’

Ivaar came closer, wanting to see her eyes. ‘I can only try,’ he breathed softly. ‘But I can promise you, it won’t be easy.’

Jael shuddered as she glanced into his cold eyes; something was wrong. It was the sort of shudder usually followed by an urge to grip her sword, to feel the cold comfort it provided when she felt under threat. And right now, for some reason, she felt in danger.

* * *

‘What is it?’ Aleksander grabbed Edela’s hand. Her face had gone completely white, her eyes blinking at him in horror as she stumbled in the hay. ‘Edela, what have you seen?’

She closed her eyes in an effort to calm her rising panic. Aleksander loved Jael; she knew that. Aleksander would never, ever hurt Jael; she knew that. She trusted him... didn’t she?

‘Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,’ she mumbled, suddenly overcome with the need to sit down. ‘I just saw a vision from my dream again.’ She glanced around and lowered her voice. ‘It was about the two girls, the beheaded ones. I saw more this time. Someone collected their blood, took some of their hair.’

Aleksander’s thick eyebrows shot up. ‘That sounds like magic.’

‘It does, most certainly,’ Edela agreed, although she was only half listening. The other half of her was desperately trying to think of a way to find out more information about his mother, without causing him any distress. Fianna had been one of Gisila’s closest friends. Why would she have sent those men to kill Jael, especially as they ended up killing her and her husband? It made little sense to her muddled mind.

‘So, we have to find out who those girls were, don’t we?’ Aleksander frowned. ‘There must be a reason you are being shown them again. As though you missed something the first time?’

‘Dreams can be like that,’ Edela agreed unsteadily. ‘Sometimes there are just too many pictures and not enough of me to make sense of them all. As I said, I’m getting far too old for this now.’

Aleksander slipped Sky a piece of bread from his pocket and wrapped his arm around Edela’s shoulders. ‘I’ll take you back to Branwyn. It’s too cold to stand about in here too long. Unless you’re a horse, of course, and even then I’m sure they’d much rather be sitting by a warm fire given half a chance!’

Edela smiled distractedly and allowed herself to be led away, her heart sinking with every wet squelch of her boots. If Fianna Lehr had conspired to have Jael killed, what did Aleksander know about it?

* * *

They’d ridden so fast that the bitter slap of wind on her face had managed to keep her awake. As much as Jael needed sleep, she also needed to feel free from the confines of that horrible cottage, and the worry that lay cloaked around Eadmund. Although, there was the nagging problem of what was wrong with Ivaar. His mouth was tight when he smiled; his eyes were evasive and yet predatory. Something had happened, but what? Pulling on Tig’s reins, she decided to find out.

‘Had enough already?’ Ivaar breathed as he slowed Leada to a stop. His eyes lingered on her, but although they were still full of desire, there was no warmth in them anymore.

‘No, not yet, but it’s hard to talk when we’re chasing the clouds like that,’ Jael said, smiling as brightly as she could manage; it wasn’t only Ivaar who could play games, she decided. ‘Besides, I wanted to know what was wrong.’

Ivaar blinked, his eyes shifting about uncomfortably. ‘Wrong?’

‘Mmmm, you’re not very good at hiding your feelings,’ Jael said. ‘Did you know that? You look ready to kill me today, rather kiss me.’

‘Kill you?’ Ivaar looked horrified. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, there is some dreamer in me you know. I do have the occasional vision. I can see things more deeply than most,’ Jael almost-lied, wondering how easily she could tease the truth out of him.

Ivaar opened and closed his mouth, surprised by that. ‘Well, I...’ He ran one hand over his cropped hair, suddenly anxious under Jael’s stare. Her bluntness had disarmed him, and now he just felt confused. ‘I know about you and Eadmund.’ His blood ran hot again just speaking his brother’s name, before it was whipped away from him on the wind. They had stopped the horses in a wide valley, and the wind raced around them with a ferocity that matched his darkening mood.

Jael tried her best to look only puzzled, but her mind was racing, trying to quickly piece together what that actually meant. She looked at him and smiled. ‘Ahhh, so you’ve made friends with Tiras, have you?’ It was a guess, but what other explanation could there be?

Tig hated the shriek of the wind and jiggled about restlessly under her. Jael soothed him with a pat, leaning down to murmur in his ear, giving herself a chance to think. What would Tiras have found out? Eadmund’s walls were very thin...

‘Well, I thought he would come in useful,’ Ivaar said carefully.

‘To spy on me?’ She tried her best to look hurt.

‘No, no, not you, in particular.’ Ivaar looked down at his reins to avoid her eyes. ‘But I’m going to be king in a place I no longer know, with loyalties I need to determine. There will be a lot of people unhappy with Eirik putting Eadmund aside. I need to know of any problems I will face before I have to face them.’

‘And you see me as one of those problems all of a sudden?’ Jael wondered, her hair whipping across her face. ‘Because Tiras told you I was with Eadmund?’ She was putting it all on him, making him do the work, not backing away for a moment, her eyes constantly challenging him.

‘Well, weren’t you?’ Ivaar demanded sharply.

Jael nudged her stubborn horse closer to Ivaar. ‘You make me an offer of friendship, and then a few days pass, you hear a rumour, and suddenly you decide we’re enemies? I think it would be hard to be friends with someone like that, someone who is so quick to judge, who has a spy follow you.’

Ivaar could see her point and felt cross with himself, but still... ‘You told me you loved Aleksander Lehr. That you were waiting for him. How easy is it for me to be friends with someone who lies?’

‘Ha! Lies?’ Jael looked cross now, although truly she was cold, wind-whipped, and desperate to end the game of words and race home to bed. ‘I was with Eadmund because Thorgils asked me to go, begged me to help him because Eadmund is a mess. He has drunk himself into such a state that he is now bedridden. So, I’ve been there, in that rancid hole, looking after someone I don’t want to be married to, while he vomits and shits all over the place, and your little spy creeps around outside! Maybe next time you should tell him to knock on the door, ask to come in and see what’s really going on, because I can promise you it is nothing like either of you have imagined!’ And with that, she turned Tig’s head, tapped her heels firmly into his flanks, and steered him for home.

Ivaar stared after her, his mouth gaping open, the sting of her words sharp on his cheeks. That had not gone as he’d planned.

43

Gisila bit her tongue so hard that her mouth filled with blood. Next to her, Axl spluttered Lothar’s expensive wine all over the table, Amma choked on the tough piece of chicken she had been gnawing on, and even Gant coughed in surprise. The only person who carried on eating his meal without pause was Osbert.

‘I hardly think it’s that shocking!’ Lothar laughed, looking around at the startled faces. ‘I just thought it made sense to bring the wedding forward. Come spring, we only need to be thinking of the invasion, not of feasts and guests. Surely you agree, Gisila? Our focus must be on Hest.’

Gisila’s tongue ached, but the pain of Lothar’s news was worse. ‘Five days? That is not much time at all.’

‘Well, it’s time enough for our needs. You will have plenty of dresses to choose from, I’m sure, from your time as queen... if the moths have been kind. It will be dark, so it doesn’t need to be that new anyway, does it? And as for the ceremony, we can make do with whatever we can organise in time. Surely the most important thing is that we’re married and can be together... properly.’ He gave her a look that left everybody sitting at the high table in no doubt as to why he was rushing the wedding forward.

Lothar may have been king, but Gisila had been determined to keep him at arm’s length until they were married, so he had decided it was time to remove the remaining obstacle and finally claim her. He had dreamed about having her since the first hairs sprouted on his face; watching as Ranuf took her for his bride, all those years ago. She had always been the most beautiful, desirable woman in Brekka, and even now, he was tortured with need to claim her for his own.

‘But Father, what about Jael and Edela? What about Aleksander?’ Amma wondered quietly. ‘Gisila’s family will not be here.’

‘No, that is true and unfortunate,’ Lothar mumbled cheerfully between large gulps of wine. ‘But this is not your first marriage, and you are no longer at an age where that sort of thing matters, does it, my dear?’ he smiled, leaning towards her. ‘Besides, I already have plans for a large feast when we get back from Hest. I’m sure Eirik and all his family will be here then, ready to celebrate our victory and our union.’

Gisila rinsed her mouth with wine and dabbed the corners of her lips with a napkin, resisting the urge to vomit all over her plate. ‘Well, yes, you are right, of course. It would have been nice to have my mother here, and even my sister, if she were well enough, but as you say, we can make up for it in the spring.’ She glanced quickly at Lothar, avoiding Axl’s eyes, which she could tell, were desperately seeking her own.

‘Exactly!’ Lothar belched triumphantly. ‘Which is why you and I will be such a perfect match. Our two heads already think as one, don’t they?’ And he leaned forward and touched his lank, black curls to the side of her head.

Gisila froze, blinking tears away as she caught Gant’s eye. He gave her the smallest of reassuring smiles, but Gisila was too filled with panic and despair to notice. Five more days and it would be her wedding night.

She wanted to die.

* * *

Thorgils could barely keep his eyes open; the silence was sleep inducing.

Biddy had gone back to the house to make something for their evening meal, and Eadmund was quieter than falling snow behind him. He sat, hunched over the fire, wishing the flames were warmer and that his roughly-hewn stool was a large, soft bed, complete with Isaura and a stack of thick furs. He sighed forlornly, closing his eyes, remembering her eyes, and breathing in the thick wood smoke that was being blown back down the hole by the angry wind.

The door creaked open, and he jerked himself awake. Jael stood there, looking even worse than when she’d left.

Thorgils blinked. ‘Couldn’t sleep much?’

Jael grumbled and rushed towards the fire, her face as weary as his. ‘I didn’t sleep. I went riding.’ She ripped off her wet gloves and stuck her numb fingers near the flames.

‘Well, I’m not sure that was the best idea.’

‘Blame Ivaar,’ Jael yawned as she sat down, tugging on her wet boots, which were difficult to budge, much like her foul, Ivaar-tainted mood. ‘He came along again, just as I was about to go into the house, as he always seems to do.’

‘Oh, really?’ Thorgils looked unimpressed as he stood up. ‘Did he try for another kiss?’

Jael shook her head and beckoned him closer.

Thorgils frowned as he crept over. ‘What?’ he whispered, glancing around curiously.

‘Tiras has been creeping about outside apparently, telling tales to Ivaar.’

‘Oh, has he now?’ Thorgils murmured, his red mop of hair shaking about irritably. ‘Well, he does keep good company, that one. First Tarak, now Tiras. A trio of turds.’

‘So, we have to be very quiet in here,’ Jael warned him. ‘Ivaar thinks I have turned against him since I am holed up in here with Eadmund.’

‘Well, bad luck for him. I hope he cries himself to sleep tonight,’ Thorgils snorted unsympathetically, scratching his chin. ‘Perhaps I should lay a trap behind the cottage, just underneath the snow? We’ll know if someone’s crawling about then.’

Jael smiled for the first time in a while. ‘More likely one of us will stumble upon it, half asleep, and end up with one less foot!’ She rubbed her eyes, nodding towards the bed. ‘How is he?’

Thorgils sighed sadly as he wrapped his cloak around his large frame; its thick, brown fur made him look like a red-headed bear. ‘He’s the same. Not a move, nor a sound. Nothing at all.’

‘Well, we have no choice but to wait.’

‘Mmmm, we can’t do anything else, I suppose. Although,’ he mumbled, ‘I was wondering if we should tell Eirik? What if this is it? What if he doesn’t wake up?’

‘Of course he’ll wake up!’ Jael insisted. ‘He will. The tincture is going to help him. I’m sure it is helping him... healing him.’

‘By putting him to sleep?’ Thorgils asked doubtfully. ‘How can that possibly help him? Eadmund needs to be awake. He needs to live again, not lie about like a corpse. This is not helping him, Jael.’

Jael nibbled her lip anxiously. She didn’t want to think he was right. She didn’t want to believe that Edela could have been wrong about the tincture. They had all seen that she was supposed to save him. But how could she do that when he was just lying there asleep? What could she possibly do?

* * *

He watched them, again.

They wandered away towards a place he had never been. It was their secret place, just over the hill, into the small, dark grove of trees. He heard Ivaar whisper that to her as he bent his face close to her ear, his lips brushing against that place on her neck that always made her purr like a cat. Ivaar smiled then; he must have heard her soft, sweet sound. He turned around and stared straight at Eadmund, and the smile on his face was so satisfied that Eadmund wanted to run at him, as much as he wanted to run in the opposite direction.

He was trapped here, in these dreams, but they were more like nightmares; seven-year-old nightmares. So many of them new, and every one of them torture. He was desperate not to see anymore, to be forced to watch the illusions he had spent seven years holding onto, crumble into dust before his eyes.

Melaena loved Ivaar. Not him. Was that real? Was this dream Ivaar’s evilest plan so far? He didn’t think so, as desperate as he was to believe that it was all his brother’s well-crafted lie. It felt too real. Melaena felt too real. He had watched them together, as they kissed and rushed at each other’s bodies with urgency; heard the way they laughed at him with such scorn and pity. Her father had forced her to choose Eadmund because he was to be King of Oss, she told Ivaar. Eadmund shook his head; if only her father had been able to see into the future.

He wanted to scream as he watched them disappear over the hill, holding hands, Melaena’s head on Ivaar’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, and at last, there was darkness; cold, soothing darkness. He would stay here, he decided, in this place where nothing existed, where nothing was real or false, just this blissful, perfect emptiness. There was nothing to see here, and for a moment, he was at peace.

‘Eadmund!’

His eyes flew open; his head jerked back. She was standing there before him, in her wedding dress. Eadmund blinked; his chest felt so tight. That dress. Her dark brown curls fell over slender shoulders, over the bright green of that dress. It was perfect, and so was she, in the warm glow of the fire. He couldn’t help but smile, as sad as he was, as angry as he wanted to feel. Then he saw the tightness in her eyes; he’d never noticed that before. Her lips were turned upwards as though she was smiling at him, but was she really? He blinked again and saw that her eyes were not soft, nor happy, not really.

‘Eadmund, what is it? You’re looking straight through me,’ Melaena laughed, turning around to pick up her goblet. ‘You’re not nervous, are you?’

What did he say? She was about to die. What did he say? The poison was moments from her lips, and he stood frozen before her, doubting every single thing she had ever said to him; every look, every kiss, every moment they had shared when she was wishing she was with Ivaar instead. But still, he should stop her, shouldn’t he? Warn her? Something! ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, his voice a nothing echo inside his head.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘Now go and get your goblet because this is my father’s most special wine, which he saved for our wedding night. I want you to have the first taste.’

He frowned and slowly turned around. His glass was waiting on a small table next to his side of the bed. Was that going to be his side of the bed, he wondered? If he stopped her, maybe; stopped her drinking that wine, but he didn’t, not yet. He knew she was waiting for him. He remembered how it went.

Thunder boomed above their heads, and Melaena jumped, giggling nervously, nearly spilling the wine, but she didn’t, not yet. Not until she was falling to the ground would she spill it; all over her perfect wedding dress, all over the snow-white furs that lay beneath their feet. They would be burned, along with her stiff little body, wrapped in that perfect dress. But not yet, not until she drank that wine.

Eadmund came back to her, stood in front of her, raised his goblet up to hers and watched as she smiled again. She lifted her goblet to her mouth.

Eadmund gulped, his heart beating so loudly inside his ears that it was all he could hear. The goblet was on her lips, and his mouth hung open, waiting, his breath shallow, so slow...

‘Wait!’

She stopped and stared at him.

‘I don’t want you to die,’ he rasped, his breath so ragged, tears burning his eyes. ‘I don’t want you to die,’ he sobbed. ‘Please, please don’t drink that wine, Melaena. Please...’

When Eadmund looked up she was gone, and he was all alone in the dark, outside, ice under his boots. He felt unsteady, his breath smoking out in front of him in quick, urgent puffs. And then he saw Jael walk out of the hall. He remembered this. He started walking quickly towards her, desperate to stop her before she bumped into Tarak; before Tarak pushed her over. He’d get there in time, he was certain of it. But just before he was upon her, he watched her walk straight into... Ivaar.

Eadmund stopped. Jael smiled at Ivaar, placing her hand on his arm, on his shoulder, on his neck, curling his face down towards hers, kissing him passionately. Ivaar reached around with his arm and pulled Jael into him, kissing her back, not stopping. Eadmund turned around to leave, desperate to escape, but the ice was slippery, and he fell and hit his head, so hard that it started ringing. And in the background, he could hear Ivaar’s laughter echoing with the pain as it spun and danced, around and around, inside his head.

44

Eirik was ready to stop being nice.

He’d listened, for three interminable days, to Isaura prattling on about Vesta. She had ideas, more than he could have anticipated, but at every turn, she came to seek his approval. He’d quickly grown sick of the sight of her and dreaded watching as she tiptoed nervously towards him, grizzling toddler permanently attached to her hip. He’d done his best not to let his eyes roll and his throat growl, but now he’d simply run out of patience. ‘Isaura!’ he bellowed, standing up and stalking towards her as she mumbled at him. ‘That’s enough!’

Isaura looked mortified, quickly backing away. Mads burst into tears of terror, and the entire hall, which had fallen silent, echoed with his distressing wail. She didn’t know what to say; her mouth gaped open, but no words would come out.

Eirik took a deep breath as he approached the shrinking woman. ‘I know you are trying to help and you have so many ideas,’ he said as calmly as he could manage, trying to make himself heard over his grandson’s noise. ‘But I simply don’t care about any of them! You organised your own Vesta for many years so please, please stop asking me to decide everything! To pick every song, every dish! I simply do not care enough to waste my breath on it! I leave it all up to you. All of it!’ And he harrumphed past her, past all the wide-eyed, shocked faces, and headed out of the hall, desperate to escape them all.

Isaura didn’t move. She knew she needed to try and soothe the horrible noise coming out of Mads, but she was simply too stunned to even to turn her head in his direction. She felt as though she had just been slapped in the face, in front of everyone, and her cheeks burned with the shame of it.

‘Isaura,’ Eydis said beside her. ‘Give him this.’ She held out a filthy looking cloth that Mads loved to suck on.

Isaura blinked and took the cloth, which Mads quickly snatched out of her hand and stuck in his mouth. The sound of quiet sucking was welcome, but she still couldn’t bring herself to move.

‘Come,’ Eydis said gently. ‘Come and sit down, and you can tell me all about your ideas and I can help. We can make plans together.’

Isaura attempted a smile and followed Eydis to the closest table by the fire, where Ayla was sitting. She looked crossly at the dark-haired woman, not wanting her company, but Eydis had already sat down, and she didn’t see she had much choice.

‘Hello, Eydis, Isaura,’ Ayla breathed softly.

Eydis jumped. She hadn’t heard or felt Ayla come into the hall; she wouldn’t have sat down if she had known she was there. Eydis had managed to avoid the dreamer since their first meeting, but she didn’t appear to have any choice now. At least Isaura was here, and they were in the very public hall.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ayla smiled. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

Isaura had started to wake up from her shock now and noticed how uncomfortable Eydis looked around Ayla; she didn’t blame her. She could see what Ivaar found so useful and interesting about the woman, but didn’t believe it had anything to do with her dreams. ‘If you don’t wish to scare people, it would be best not to sneak about so quietly, especially when you’re approaching a blind girl,’ Isaura grumbled.

Ayla looked embarrassed. ‘Yes, of course, I’m sorry. I simply didn’t know what to say in the middle of all that noise.’

Now it was Isaura’s turn to look embarrassed. She turned her reddening face away and ran a hand through her son’s fine, blonde hair. ‘Well, I imagine the king has much on his mind, but perhaps you would know more about that than me?’

‘He does,’ Eydis interrupted, hoping to cool Isaura’s ire. ‘He doesn’t have Morac around to help him, and he’s worried about so many things,’ she sighed sadly. ‘But I’m sorry he was so rude to you.’

‘What’s happened to Morac?’ Isaura wondered, not wishing to dwell on her humiliation any longer.

‘I’m not sure, but they must have had a very bad disagreement, for I have not seen him in weeks. I can tell Father misses him, but I think he’s just too proud to say.’

Ayla frowned. That was a name she had heard in her dreams lately. Morac. She closed her eyes, trying to find him lurking in the depths of her memories, but he was hiding out of sight. She held onto the name, though, and tucked it away, reminding herself that she must think on him later. That name gave her an intense feeling, and it was not a good one.

* * *

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Eirik!’ Runa looked mortified as she ushered him inside. ‘I forgot that I’d sent Respa on an errand and that there was nobody here but me.’

Eirik frowned as he peered around the elaborately decorated room. It was a very warm, comfortable house, he noted; Morac had certainly done well for himself out of his position in his hall. ‘Morac is not here?’ he asked shortly, ignoring Runa’s attempts to offer him a seat.

‘Ahhh, no.’ She looked down at the floor and then away to the door, anywhere but at his face. ‘He has gone to visit Evaine.’

Eirik’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Oh. Has he now?’ He was instantly irritated. ‘Just a visit is it?’

‘Yes.’ Runa had known she would have to face Eirik’s wrath eventually, and as awkward as it was, it was worth it to have been left behind. ‘He was worried about her, leaving her with Morana like that. You know what she can be like.’

Eirik jerked at the mention of that name. ‘I do, indeed,’ he murmured, trying to keep his temper under control. ‘And when do you expect him back then?’

Runa’s face froze. ‘I.... I am not sure. He wasn’t happy when he left. He was upset. I don’t imagine he will be away too long, but truthfully, I don’t know.’

‘I see.’

‘Can I offer you something to drink? Some wine or ale?’ Runa said lightly; she could barely meet his eye.

‘No, it was only Morac I came to see.’ Eirik shook his head briskly, annoyance flaring in his eyes. ‘I really must go and attend to matters in the hall. Vesta is only a few days away, and there is much to do. I had thought perhaps Morac would be here to help, but no, it appears he has more important matters to attend to than those of his king.’ And with one quick look at Runa’s nervous face, he turned and made his way out through the door, closing it sharply behind himself.

Runa couldn’t move. She was relieved that it was over but worried to think what it all would mean in the end. Eirik was not going to welcome Morac back with open arms, if, or when, he did decide to return.

* * *

Isaura had left to deal with a bleeding knee, and Ayla was pleased to have Eydis to herself. She knew Isaura disliked her, and that her presence would only enhance Eydis’ distrust. As much as she wanted to leave the girl alone, she knew that Ivaar would demand to know if she had spoken to her.

‘I am sorry about the other day, Eydis,’ Ayla said softly, sliding closer. There weren’t many left in the hall now, and most were far away but still...

‘Did Jael speak to you?’ Eydis wondered. She hadn’t seen Jael for days but was hoping she’d done as she’d promised.

‘Jael?’

Eydis’ face fell. She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘You needn’t worry about me, you know,’ Ayla tried to reassure her. ‘I don’t mean you any harm. I went about our first meeting all wrong. I shouldn’t have led you away like that. I frightened you when I was only trying to befriend you.’

‘Why?’ Eydis turned towards her crossly. ‘Because Ivaar wants you to?’

Ayla couldn’t blame her for that. She looked around quickly but saw no sign of Ivaar. ‘He wants me to get to know as many people as I can, yes. He needs to know who will be loyal to him when he is king.’

Eydis’ milky eyes were troubled. She hated to think about what was coming; hated the thought that Ivaar was at the centre of it all. ‘I’m not sure he really cares about whether I’m loyal, does he? I’m just a child. Why should I matter to him? Besides, you don’t need to talk to me to find out. Surely you can see everything in your dreams?’

Ayla smiled gently at the fierce face before her. ‘Yes, I suppose I could, but I’m sure you know that dreams don’t always answer the questions you have. Sometimes they can just be a confusing mess of even more questions.’

Eydis picked at the well-worn grooves in the table. There was so much she wanted to know and learn, and here was someone who could finally help her; the closest she was going to get to any lessons in mastering her dreams. But still, Ayla was loyal to Ivaar, and there was no way Eydis could trust her.

‘I can help you,’ Ayla said quietly, sensing Eydis’ turmoil. ‘Teach you more about your dreams. You are young, and they will be hard to manage without guidance,’ she warned. ‘When I first came into my dreams, I believed that everything I saw when I closed my eyes was a prophecy, and I couldn’t stop warning everyone, revealing what I thought was the future. It took me some time to learn how to tell a true vision from just a dream, to keep quiet until I was certain.’

‘There’s a difference?’

‘Of course!’ Ayla laughed. ‘That is what they teach you in the temple. How to sort through what you see, to hold onto what is important and useful. To disregard that which is not.’

Eydis’ eyes were wide with possibilities, then. What if everything she had seen about her father and Ivaar, about the terrible things that would happen... what if those weren’t real dreams at all, just her own fears for the future? What if it was just her imagination, rather than a vision? But then she sighed as the light was extinguished; Ayla had come to her with the same dream.

‘So, you do see Ivaar becoming king then? There is no mistake in that?’ Eydis wondered sadly.

Ayla paused. She despised Ivaar, but she needed to give him what he wanted to keep him happy, and that kept her cautious.

Eydis could sense her hesitation in the heavy silence that hung between them, and she suddenly felt more confident. ‘I see him as king, and in my dreams he does terrible things to us all,’ she whispered. ‘He kills my brother and all those loyal to him, and in my dreams, he kills me.’

Ayla gasped; she had not seen that. ‘But perhaps that is just what you fear will happen,’ she said quickly, trying to soothe away Eydis’ panic. ‘Dreams are always filled with our own worries. You must feel very concerned about what will happen after your father’s death. It is natural, I promise you, to be seeing such things.’

Ivaar walked past then, and Ayla froze. He had been in a terrible mood since yesterday, but when he saw her talking to Eydis, he raised one corner of his mouth in a half smile. She nodded at him and looked away, trying to focus on Eydis again, but those eyes of his haunted her, as did Eydis’ words. She had not seen what Eydis had, but with Ivaar, anything was possible, and the guilt of what he might do, lay heavy on her heart.

* * *

Neither of them had much of an appetite anymore.

‘Perhaps we have to tell Eirik,’ Jael sighed reluctantly, staring at the lifeless figure before them. Eadmund had shown no signs of coming around since his seizure, and that had been days ago. She glanced at Thorgils, who looked just as forlorn as she felt.

‘I think so,’ Thorgils agreed. ‘Someone’s bound to come looking for him soon. Let’s give him the night, and if he’s still like this in the morning, then I think we have to tell him.’

‘Perhaps we don’t mention the tincture, though?’

‘No, we definitely don’t mention that,’ Thorgils said, shaking his head. ‘He might think your family tried to kill him.’

Jael couldn’t raise a smile, though, and neither could he.

‘You go, take Tig for a ride, see Fyn. It’s been so long. He’s probably starved to death out there,’ he said quietly. ‘Try to sneak away without Ivaar cornering you again, though.’

Jael rolled her eyes, remembering her last conversation with her brother-in-law. She doubted he was very pleased with her, but she honestly didn’t care what he thought anymore; she was done with the plan. ‘I do want to go and see Fyn,’ she sighed, reaching for her cloak. ‘Tell him what’s been happening. But I won’t be long. I don’t want to be away long.’

Jael walked over to the bed and looked down at Eadmund’s ashen face. His breathing was almost silent, his whole body so still. She bit her lip in frustration and turned away. ‘Perhaps prod him with something sharp while I’m gone,’ she suggested, finding a smile at last. ‘He’s obviously having far too many good dreams to be bothered waking up.’

Thorgils walked her to the door. ‘Well, at least one of us is,’ he grumbled. ‘When he’s back from his dreaming, I’m going to bed until spring!’

* * *

Ivaar kept whispering in her ear and then she would turn towards him, her eyes staring into his, and they would laugh at some shared joke that no one else was privy to. His leg was pressed against hers, Eadmund noticed, as he stood there watching. She looked different, so cold and far away; her eyes only on Ivaar. Eadmund couldn’t understand it at all.

‘It’s such a shame,’ Ivaar murmured as he rose and started walking forwards, ‘that it should come to this. But what choice have you given me? Have you given us?’ He turned around and put his hand out for Jael to join him. ‘As king, I demand loyalty, Eadmund. But what loyalty have you ever shown me? And now? You and your... friends here,’ he waved his hand dismissively and Eadmund turned to see Thorgils and Torstan standing near him. ‘You plot to try and overthrow me, to take my crown, the crown our father gave to me?’ His voice was rising as his eyes narrowed into blade-sharp slits. He let go of Jael’s hand and started circling Eadmund, his eyes never leaving his face. ‘Jael thought I should kill you right away, remove the threat you posed. But I told her that I wanted to trust you, to give you a chance to prove yourself loyal to me, to earn a place here on Oss.’ He sighed heavily. ‘But my faith in my family was misplaced, it seems.’ He nodded towards Tarak who was waiting nearby, his sword glinting in the sunlight.

‘Ivaar,’ Eadmund croaked as Tarak came forward, dragging Eydis, screaming behind him. Eadmund’s eyes bulged in terror. ‘Ivaar, please!’ He couldn’t move. His arms were being restrained by two of Ivaar’s bulky warriors; he was too weak to break free. He turned to look at Jael, but her face was an emotionless mask; her eyes wouldn’t meet his. ‘Jael, you must stop this! Please! Don’t let him hurt her!’

Tarak shoved Eydis forward and knocked her to the ground. She was sobbing uncontrollably, her little body shaking in terror as she cowered beneath his shadow. Eadmund tried to lunge towards her but he couldn’t move. ‘Eydis, it’s alright, it will be alright, I promise! Just look at me. It’s alright, it’s alright!’

Eydis started wailing as she kneeled in the dirt, her head spinning desperately, trying to follow his voice.

‘I’m here, Eydis, I’m right here behind you. It’s going to be alright, I promise!’ Eadmund called as calmly as he could. He could feel his heart racing inside his chest, could see Thorgils and Torstan trying to wriggle free from their restraints, their panic matching his. ‘Ivaar, no! I will do anything! Anything! Please let her go. I’m begging you! Please!

Ivaar smiled as he looked into Eadmund’s desperate eyes. He nodded at Tarak and walked away, back to Jael, where he waited and watched, unaffected by the screaming, the tears, and the begging.

Tarak raised his sword. Eadmund shouted and shouted in despair, jerking his body forwards, but it was no use. The iron-bright blade flew down to send blood splattering everywhere.

Thorgils blinked. He’d almost fallen asleep by the fire, but as his eyes were closing, he was sure he’d seen Eadmund move. He got out of his chair and leaned over the bed, frowning. Eadmund’s body hadn’t moved, but something about his face was different; Thorgils was certain of it.

He looked as though he was in pain.

45

‘What’s happened?’ Fyn demanded as Jael dismounted. ‘Where have you been?’ She looked pale and tired; something was wrong.

‘Oh, that.’ Jael tried to smile but it wouldn’t come, and her face remained tense. ‘It’s Eadmund. He’s been unwell.’

‘Unwell?’ Fyn stared at her, confused.

‘Well, more than unwell, I suppose,’ she admitted as she led Tig over to the little shelter, tying him to the sturdiest looking post. ‘He’s not woken up for a few days.’

Fyn frowned. ‘Not woken up? But he’s still breathing?’

‘Yes, he’s still breathing.’ Jael shook her head as she followed Fyn towards his hut. ‘But that’s all he’s doing. Thorgils is with him now.’

‘But what happened?’ Fyn ushered Jael inside and was happy to see he’d left a good fire burning. He motioned for her to sit down.

She sighed heavily and didn’t argue, overcome with relief at being away from the cottage, but at the same time, afraid of what could happen while she was gone. She told Fyn about the tincture and Eadmund’s seizure.

He looked just as worried as she felt. ‘If only you could talk to your grandmother. If only she were here,’ he murmured. ‘Surely she would know what to do to help him since she made the tincture?’

‘I’m sure she would,’ Jael said wearily. ‘But she’s not, and I’m not her, so I don’t know what to do, except wait.’

Fyn prodded at the fire with a short, iron rod. ‘But if he dies... there will be no one to stop Ivaar.’

Jael leaned towards the flames. ‘As it stands, Ivaar will get the crown either way. Eirik hasn’t changed his mind about that. But yes, without Eadmund there’s little hope of getting rid of Ivaar, which is not good news for anyone, except Tarak. He loves Ivaar.’

Fyn cringed, and Jael felt guilty for speaking so thoughtlessly. She tried to lighten the gloom on his face. ‘Unless, of course, I manage to accidentally kill him in the contest.’

Fyn gave her a crooked smile. ‘That’s a nice dream to have, Jael, but it’s just a dream. If anyone is going to be accidentally killed, it won’t be him.’ He blinked repeatedly, trying to shake away the nightmare of that face... those hands.

‘Well then, come on, let’s grab the swords,’ Jael said, heaving herself up with some effort. ‘I need some practice if I’m going to make that dream of mine come true.’

* * *

Ivaar leaned over the railings of the Pit, watching Tarak train; although he wasn’t really watching. He was staring in Tarak’s general direction, but in his mind, he only saw Jael. He couldn’t stop thinking about their fight – if that’s what it had been – and he didn’t know what to do next. She had been furious with him, and now he was utterly confused by the whole situation. The thought of taking her from Eadmund was so pleasurable that he didn’t want to let her slip through his fingers; not yet. And then there was the part of him that wanted her body. The frustration of that gnawed away at his already dark mood.

Tarak bellowed loudly as he lifted his opponent up and threw him into the slush as if he were just an empty sack. He looked towards Ivaar triumphantly, seeking his approval, but instead, Ivaar sighed irritably and turned around, just in time to see Ayla walking towards him. She was a very beautiful, shapely woman, he thought to himself, despite her perpetually sad face. He knew how lucky he had been to stumble upon her; she was going to be the key to what would happen next, he was certain of it.

He raised one eyebrow in Ayla’s direction, shutting all thoughts of Jael away; there was more than one woman who could tempt his body. ‘What did my little sister have to say for herself, then?’ he murmured into her face.

Ayla glanced around, trying to avoid Ivaar’s hooded eyes. ‘She didn’t say much. I didn’t ask her much. As you suggested, I was just trying to make friends first.’

‘Oh.’ Ivaar’s annoyance twitched his lips.

Ayla watched the darkening clouds on his face and scrambled to think of something to clear them. ‘But she did say that she saw you as king. She had dreamed that.’

His face lightened. ‘And?’

Ayla hesitated for a moment. She felt confused, but ultimately she knew it was Ivaar who would choose whether she lived or died. ‘And... she saw you killing her and your brother.’ She waited, watching his face for any signs that Eydis had been right.

The slightest of smiles rose Ivaar’s lips, and his eyes, when they peered into hers, were bright. ‘Did she now?’ He scratched his chin. ‘Hmmm, perhaps she’s a better dreamer than you already? Maybe that’s a reason to keep her alive.’

Ayla felt chilled to the bone as she stared at his emotionless face. She couldn’t tell if he was playing with her, but surely he was? He wouldn’t really kill his own sister, a little blind girl, would he?

‘Come,’ he said, his eyes full of something else now. ‘I need to see you naked.’ And he walked off without looking back.

Ayla sighed with dread and turned to follow him, trying desperately to shut away the terrors that were lurking in her head, for she saw dark things coming for them all.

* * *

‘You look better,’ Thorgils said wearily as Jael sat down with a thud, her whole body numb from the ride.

‘Perhaps. A little,’ she admitted. ‘It was good to see Fyn again and beat him about with a sword for a while.’ She bent down and pulled off her boots. ‘Although, he is getting so good, he did a bit of beating himself.’

‘Really?’ Thorgils looked surprised as he hunted around for his cloak. ‘It’s been a long time since I saw that scrawny runt. Perhaps I’ll take Leada for a ride tomorrow, stretch out my own sword arm?’

‘You should,’ Jael smiled, pulling off her wet socks. ‘You’re going to need some practice before you fight me again.’ Her smile faded quickly as she looked towards Eadmund. ‘No change, then?’

Thorgils wrapped his cloak around his massive shoulders. ‘Well, actually, he looks different, I think.’ He walked over and peered down at Eadmund. ‘His face has changed somehow. I was falling asleep, but I thought I heard him move or speak, and when I looked at him, it was as though something had shifted. What do you think?’

Jael got up immediately and bent down to inspect Eadmund’s face. It was nearly dark outside, and the light of the fire didn’t illuminate much, but Jael could tell that Thorgils was right. ‘He looks as though he’s in pain,’ she frowned. She reached down and touched the deep crease that had formed between Eadmund’s eyebrows. ‘Right here. As though he’s having a bad dream.’

‘Well then, he must be dreaming about Ivaar,’ Thorgils muttered. ‘That bastard brings nothing but pain.’ He shook his head, eager to get Ivaar out of it. ‘Biddy came by while you were gone. Said she would bring something hot for you later, which I’m sure will be better than anything my mother has planned for me.’ He rolled his eyes in terror. ‘That woman does not cook well.’

Jael smiled. ‘Well, why not go eat with Biddy, then? I’m sure she would have made enough, and honestly, I’m not hungry at all.’

Thorgils looked at her uncertainly.

‘Really, go to the house, eat some food, and I’ll see you in the morning. And so will Eadmund,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve grown quite bored of this now. I’m going to have him awake by morning, I promise.’

Thorgils opened his mouth to argue, but the fierce look in her eye made him close it. She was determined, it seemed, and he saw no reason to doubt her.

* * *

Edela was relieved when Aleksander left. Branwyn’s eldest boy, Aedan, had come with an offer of a drink, and Aleksander had not hesitated. Edela couldn’t blame him. They’d been cooped up inside Branwyn and Kormac’s house together all day, and she had not been able to think of anything to say to him. She’d dreamed of the note writer again, and this time had seen more than the hand and the ring; she’d seen Fianna Lehr’s face. But how could she search for the whys behind that vision? The only person she could ask was the one person she was trying not to.

‘Mother?’ Branwyn wondered into the silence of the room. ‘Are you alright? You looked very tired today, I think.’ She came towards Edela with a cup of warm milk.

‘Thank you,’ Edela mumbled distantly as she took the cup into her chilled hands. As pleasurable as it had been to see Branwyn again, she missed the solitude of her cottage, which provided her with all the quiet she needed to untangle her dreams. ‘I’m alright, my dear. I suppose there are just so many things on my mind. It’s hard not to feel anxious and frustrated. We don’t appear to be making much progress.’

Branwyn pulled a stool next to Edela’s chair and sat down, frowning. ‘You must have made some, though. You and Aleksander always seem to have your heads together, whispering about something.’

Edela could sense the eagerness in Branwyn’s eyes; there was also a little resentment there, for which she could hardly blame her. She had opened a door, let both her and Kormac into their secrets, and then promptly shut them out. ‘We have not found out much at all, I promise you that,’ she smiled gently. ‘I will always tell you what I can, but you cannot know everything, nor can Aleksander, and even I’m not allowed to know all the secrets. There’s always someone who seems to be one step ahead of us all.’

‘You mean the elders?’

Edela sighed. ‘Yes, them. If only they would reveal what they knew, then I’m certain we could just get on with things, but it’s all a big secret, and, as you said, they like to keep their secrets locked away.’

‘Yes, while the rest of us suffer,’ Branwyn said crossly. ‘I thought Neva would have been different. We were all so close once, but now I suppose, she is just like the rest of them.’

Edela was barely listening. She was thinking about Aleksander’s mother. She turned her head to the side and peered at Branwyn suddenly. ‘You were close, weren’t you? You, Gisila, Neva, and Fianna.’

‘Yes, once, before we all married. Before Neva went to the temple, and Fianna left for Brekka with you and Gisila. We were all like sisters once,’ she smiled wistfully into the flames. ‘How different it all is now. And poor Fianna... what a terrible end she had. Aleksander looks just like her, doesn’t he? I’ve been thinking about her a lot since you arrived.’

‘He does, yes,’ Edela said, feeling her chest fill with hope. ‘He is a very kind man. He has been very good to me, especially since Jael left. But I wonder, do you think he got that from Fianna or Harald?’

Branwyn looked puzzled by the question, and by the intense look on her mother’s face. ‘Well, I didn’t know Harald at all really. But Fianna... she was always very serious, often quiet. She would keep to herself a lot, so perhaps it is her he takes after. But why do you ask?’

‘Oh, I just had an odd dream about Fianna the other night,’ Edela said lightly, taking a quick sip of milk and shielding her eyes from Branwyn’s keen stare. ‘I suppose it was only natural for her face to appear as I’ve been spending so much time with Aleksander. But it was just very odd. She seemed different in my dream, almost untrustworthy.’ Edela shook her head, unsure of how to lead Branwyn on without opening up a gaping hole of trouble.

‘Fianna?’ Branwyn frowned. ‘No, you would never say that about her. She was incredibly loyal, especially to Gisila. Gisila trusted her with everything, including Jael.’

‘What do you mean, including Jael?’

‘Well, don’t you remember, there was that incident when Jael was a toddler, and she went missing.’

Edela’s eyebrows shot up; she had completely forgotten about that. ‘I do, yes. She disappeared for an entire afternoon, didn’t she?’

‘Gisila told me about it, how everyone in Andala had been looking for her, fearing the worst, and eventually, they’d found her wandering about in the forest, all alone.’

‘Yes, they thought that a servant had tried to take her away, as she disappeared at the same time and never came back,’ Edela breathed, her heart racing.

‘That’s right,’ Branwyn nodded, poking at the fire. ‘Well, after that, Gisila trusted no one to care for Jael, apart from Biddy and Fianna. She trusted her completely. So, perhaps you are right to think that Aleksander is like her. She was a good woman.’ She smiled sadly at her mother, losing herself in the events of that terrible night again.

Edela didn’t know what to think. Someone had tried to take Jael as a toddler. How could she have forgotten that? And Branwyn was right; Fianna had been very close to Jael, so why would she have sent men to kill her? It made no sense.

‘I think I may head for my bed,’ Edela mumbled, almost to herself as she eased her aching bones out of the chair.

‘Already? But we haven’t eaten yet. Kormac’s not even home!’ Branwyn looked up, surprised, but her mother wasn’t waiting.

‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I just need to go and dream awhile.’ And she crawled under her bed furs, wriggling into the softest spot she could find and closed her eyes. She had to find answers.

* * *

Jael yawned as she clambered onto the bed beside Eadmund. She had no idea why she had promised Thorgils that she could wake him up by morning; she had no idea how to do it at all. She sighed as she lay there, wedged between Eadmund and the wall, listening to his barely-there breathing, occasionally interrupted by a loud pop from the fire.

As a young girl, Jael had hated being alone at night, and would often crawl into Edela’s bed and listen to her soft voice as it soothed her to sleep. Edela would stroke her long, dark hair and tell her that she would become a dreamer when she grew up, just like she was. Jael would get so cross to hear that. She didn’t want to be a dreamer at all. She wanted to be a warrior like her brothers were training to be. She wanted to be like her father. She wanted to rule Brekka. Jael tried to ignore her dreams when they came. They didn’t come often at all because she wouldn’t let them, or at least that’s what she told herself. But Edela insisted that she had inherited the gift of dreams and that it would be with her always.

Jael turned to look at Eadmund’s face. She reached out and touched his cheek, almost shyly. It felt like ice and Jael shivered, pulling the furs closer to her body, tucking them over Eadmund. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, reaching out to grab hold of his arm; he didn’t move and nor did she. If Edela couldn’t be here to save him, then she would have to. Somehow.

* * *

It was so quiet in the hall; uncomfortably so. Most of his men and their families were eating in silence, Eirik noticed, as he looked up from his plate. He took a long drink of ale and sighed. He’d walked himself to a standstill during the day, trudging through the snow, wandering far away from the fort, trying to get rid of the cloud that he’d carried over himself for weeks. He could see now how much everything had changed, how far away he was from everything he had hoped for.

Turning to his left, he saw Ivaar smiling away to himself as he ate, oblivious to the mood of the people; that was a worry. A king needed to be aware of his people, to anticipate their needs, to manage their expectations. Ivaar gave him the impression that he would be happy to ignore any needs but his own. Then there was Isaura, who would not meet his eye. Who could blame her, after his humiliation of the poor girl? That was it. There was no Morac, Eadmund, Jael or Thorgils, no Eydis even, who didn’t like to eat with Ivaar, it seemed. He had thought a communal meal in the hall would help bring everyone together, but all it did was show him how much everything had fallen apart.

‘I was harsh on you, Isaura,’ Eirik admitted, running a hand through his beard as he turned towards his daughter-in-law. ‘Perhaps we could try again, tomorrow? I know Vesta means a lot to Eydis. I would like to see her smile again.’

Isaura looked up tentatively. ‘I understand,’ she said quietly. ‘Our return has not been an easy time for anyone.’

‘No, that is the truth,’ Eirik said sadly. ‘But perhaps Vesta is a chance to smooth everything over? Leave all the broken things lying in the past? It will be a new year, a time to start again. We can all benefit from that, I think.’

Isaura didn’t know what to say. She nervously sipped on her ale. ‘Eydis has been helping me today. Perhaps we can all meet tomorrow and finalise our plans?’ she suggested. ‘We made a lot of decisions, so there won’t be much to talk about, I promise.’

Eirik laughed. ‘Well, I’m sorry for barking at you like a rabid dog. I’m sure I can stand a few more questions before I do it again!’

Isaura glanced at her father-in-law. His face had relaxed, and he appeared less ready to attack her. ‘Perhaps we can ask Jael to join us? She can tell us how they do Vesta in Brekka?’

‘I imagine that one would rather stick herself in the eye with a sword than do that, but you can always try!’ Eirik winked, missing his other daughter-in-law suddenly. He hadn’t seen her for days and felt the absence of her feisty company. Everyone was avoiding him, it seemed, and who could blame them? He would have to go and find her, and Eadmund, tomorrow and see about making some peace. He had to find a way forward for all their sakes.

* * *

Eadmund stood in the smoke as it belched out of the pyre. He tried to blow the stench out of his nostrils. It was not a memory he wanted to keep; the smell of her as she burned. Not that she was there anymore, he told himself. The flames were dying down, retreating, shrinking, revealing the nothingness that was left behind... of Melaena.

Eadmund felt cold, but it was summer, he remembered. He could feel himself shaking, with unhappiness, with anger, with the overwhelming desire to merge into the smoke and drift away with Melaena’s ashes. He coughed as the smoke found its way into the back of his throat.

‘Here,’ she said. ‘You need a drink.’

Eadmund turned around, angry before he even saw her face. He ignored her outstretched arm and the cup she was holding for him. ‘Get away from me, before I kill you!’

Jael blinked, confused.

‘I know all about you and Ivaar, about her and Ivaar,’ he spat, turning back to the fire. ‘I’ve been blind to everything, but now I know all of it.’

‘You know nothing,’ Jael said firmly. ‘Nothing that is real. You’re dreaming, Eadmund. Nothing is real in here.’

He turned back to her and took the cup; he was so thirsty. He drank, and it tasted horrible, like that cursed tincture. He spat it out and threw the cup away. ‘You and Ivaar, that was very real. The way you were with him...’

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Jael insisted, stepping closer. ‘No, that was your fear. That what happened with Melaena will happen with me. That I will be trapped by him too. But look at me... do I look like I’m going to let Ivaar have me? Really? You think I would choose a man like that?’

Eadmund stared at her. She was dressed for battle, in mail, her sword at her side, her hair braided.

‘I’ve come for you Eadmund. I’ve come to take you back.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you have to save Oss. You have to kill Ivaar. And if you stay here, he will destroy everyone and everything you love.’

‘Including you?’

‘Me? No, Ivaar won’t destroy me, but I won’t be able to stop him destroying everything else. Not without you.’

The bitter smoke made him cough again, and he stepped away from the pyre, away from Jael, and she let him go.

‘I’ve seen a lot of things,’ he said slowly, turning back to her. ‘But most of all, I’ve seen how stupid and weak I’ve been, how much I let Ivaar take from me. And I did nothing about it, nothing at all.’

‘Well then, come here so I can take you back, so that you can stop him.’

‘And how will you do that?’ he wondered as he stepped slowly towards her. ‘How will you get me out of these nightmares?’

‘Like this,’ Jael breathed, and she leaned up to his face and gently kissed his lips.

Eadmund blinked, surprised and unsettled. He looked towards the pyre, but it had gone. And they were in the snow. And that smoky taste in his throat was seven-years-old, and he wasn’t there anymore, and nor was Melaena, but Jael was, and he took her face in his hands and kissed her back.

46

Gisila shivered as Arnna hobbled around the bottom of her dress, muttering away to herself. Arnna’s fire was only spluttering, barely there, but she didn’t appear bothered by the chill, which was surprising given how little skin was covering her ancient frame.

‘Hmmm, it’s a shame there was no time for a new dress,’ Arnna grumbled. ‘This is well-made but old now, and the moths have had their way with it somewhat.’

Gisila didn’t care. She had simply picked the first dress she had seen in her chest; the chest where she kept all her memories of a different life. She thought of Ranuf regularly, wishing he was here to slit Lothar’s throat from ear to ear. He would have been furious with the damage his waste of a brother had inflicted upon Brekka and his family. She sighed, letting his face slip helplessly back into the past. What was the point in such fantasy, she told herself, when all she had was the now of it, and that was a wedding to Lothar in two days.

Arnna stretched up and grabbed Gisila’s hands in hers. ‘We will make the best of it, I promise. You will look like a queen again, don’t worry.’

Gisila could feel the tears tumbling down her cheeks, but she did nothing to wipe them away. ‘I don’t care if I look like a servant when I marry that man,’ she sniffed. ‘So don’t trouble yourself too much. Just tighten it a bit, and that will be enough.’

Arnna frowned and peered up at Gisila’s morbid face. ‘Oh my dear, you must think of how good it will feel to be queen again! You forget how much power there is in being a queen, especially with a husband who desires her as much as Lothar does you.’ She bustled off to her kitchen and poured Gisila a cup of wine. ‘Here, drink this. Better than an old rag to stop your tears!’ She bent down and continued to assess the prospects of the dress.

‘Lothar might desire me, as you say,’ Gisila cringed, sipping on the tart wine, ‘but I can’t think of anything good that will come of that.’

‘There are many ways a woman can get what she wants,’ Arnna cackled. ‘And there is also much a woman can endure if she has a mind to. How many women do you know like Jael, who can take what they want with a sword? None! And even she couldn’t get herself out of a marriage she didn’t want. But that daughter of yours is tough. She will find a way to make it right.’ She stood up again and started to creep her away around the middle of the dress, pinning the waist in; Gisila had lost a lot of weight since she was last Queen of Brekka. ‘There are many ways to feel powerful, instead of powerless, that don’t require a sword. You just need to think of them. Stop seeing yourself as weak. There is strength in you, Gisila. You must remember that. Surely Jael didn’t inherit all that fire from Ranuf alone?’

Gisila took a large gulp of wine, letting Arnna’s words swirl around her head. She dropped her shoulders back and held her head a little higher, remembering how it felt when she had walked around Andala as queen. It had not been that long ago at all; how had she forgotten so quickly? Arnna was right; there was a chance here to take back some of what she had lost. If only she could survive the disgusting things Lothar planned to do to her. She shuddered but didn’t retreat. Surely she had enough strength in her to withstand that?

* * *

‘Thorgils! Where have you been hiding yourself?’ Eirik called as he walked towards the fur-covered figure who had stopped, frozen to the spot, not far from Eadmund’s cottage. ‘I was just going to find that son of mine. I haven’t seen either of you for days!’

There was a smile on Eirik’s face that Thorgils hadn’t seen in a while, which was unfortunate, as today was the day they were going to tell him about Eadmund. He didn’t want to do it now, though, not until he had a chance to speak to Jael, to see what had happened in the night.

‘Oh, well, things have been... difficult... lately,’ Thorgils said awkwardly, ducking his head, lest his eyes betray him. ‘I don’t suppose either of us have enjoyed the changes around here very much.’

‘No,’ Eirik agreed, his smile fading. ‘No, I suppose not, but there is no choice. Ivaar is here now.’

‘For how long?’ Thorgils wondered.

Eirik paused, he hadn’t thought about that. ‘Well, I suppose he will return to Kalfa soon. I know he wants to stay for the contest, so perhaps he will leave after that? He has to sort out his affairs in Kalfa, and I will need to find a new lord for sure.’

‘Maybe you could send Tarak to Kalfa?’ Thorgils suggested cheekily. ‘I’m sure he would love to be a lord.’

‘A good idea!’ Eirik laughed. ‘If only I didn’t need his sword so much.’

‘Ahhh well, wait till the contest is over, then you will see if you still need Tarak,’ Thorgils warned.

Eirik raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s confident talk after what he did to you last time.’

Thorgils blinked that memory away. ‘Time has moved on. I’m better than I was.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Eirik smiled. ‘If only Eadmund could say the same.’ He stepped past Thorgils, who moved to stop him.

‘Thorgils?’ Eirik stared at him, puzzled.

Thorgils dropped his head. ‘There’s something you should know,’ he muttered into his beard.

Eirik felt himself tense all over. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

* * *

It was the cold that woke her. Her teeth were chattering so much that she bit her tongue and jerked awake, her eyes bulging from the pain. The fire was long gone, and the room was ice-tinged in the early morning light. Jael leaned over and peered closely at Eadmund’s face. She shook her head and sighed. He hadn’t moved; nothing had changed at all.

Jael crawled out of bed despondently, wrapping a fur around her shoulders. She shuffled over to the fire, grimacing at the now familiar pain in her back. Thankfully, Thorgils had left everything she needed nearby, and Jael yawned her way through setting a new fire, trying not to send sparks into her fur instead of the tinder she had placed in front of the kindling. As the flames started to take, she sat back, leaning against a stool, staring at the bed. So much for thinking she could do anything, she told herself miserably. So much for her being the one to save Eadmund; everyone had been wrong there. She’d had no dream that she could remember; nothing had happened at all, and now they would have to tell Eirik. She was not looking forward to that.

Standing up, she took her fur to the bed and laid it over Eadmund, tucking it around him, brushing her hand over his cheek, making sure she could still feel his breath, cold on her skin; that was something at least. She stood there for a moment, then shivered, wondering where she’d left her cloak.

The door banged open, and Jael jumped in surprise, reaching instantly for the sword she didn’t have; it lay wrapped up in the cloak she couldn’t find. It was Eirik, and Thorgils was not far behind him. Jael glared crossly at Thorgils as Eirik barged past her, striding towards the bed.

Jael moved to stop him. ‘Wait! Eirik, just wait a moment!’ she tried.

‘I want to see him,’ Eirik demanded crossly, his eyes tight with concern.

‘He’s resting,’ Jael tried again.

‘Resting?’ came the faint croak from behind her, and she spun around to see Eadmund, starting to move, his eyes fluttering open. He coughed, tried to sit up, but fell back, exhausted. ‘Is that what you call it?’

Jael couldn’t move; she stared at Eadmund in disbelief.

Eirik sighed with relief as he sat down on the bed. ‘Thorgils said you’d been unwell, very unwell. And by the look of you, he had it right.’

Eadmund felt so weak, he could barely keep his eyes open. ‘Well, you can blame these two here for that,’ he rasped crossly. ‘They’ve been trying to cure me. They stopped me drinking, tied me to a chair.’

‘Really?’ Eirik murmured, raising his eyebrows in Jael and Thorgils’ direction. ‘Well, sounds like a good idea to me,’ he smiled. ‘I wish I’d thought to do that earlier. I wouldn’t have needed to call Ivaar back.’

Eadmund flinched at the sound of his brother’s name but his gaze remained sharp as he rested it on Jael. ‘I don’t suppose everyone is disappointed that Ivaar’s here, though, are they Jael?’

Thorgils and Eirik blinked at Jael, and she blinked at Eadmund. She didn’t know what to say; what had he been dreaming about? He was back from the dead and ready for a fight, it seemed.

‘Hello?’

They all turned their heads to see Biddy standing awkwardly in the open doorway, struggling with a basket of food that looked far too heavy for her small frame. Thorgils rushed over to take it from her and ushered her inside.

‘You’re awake!’ Biddy smiled at Eadmund, then noticed the cross look on his face and the tension on everyone else’s. She frowned, confused. ‘I’ve brought food if anyone’s hungry?’

Eadmund managed to sit up, groaning and light-headed, but starving. ‘Have you anything to drink?’ he asked desperately.

Everyone turned towards him, mouths open.

‘I have some milk,’ Biddy offered cautiously.

‘Perfect,’ Eadmund croaked. ‘Please.’

Four sets of shoulders relaxed as Biddy went digging into her basket.

Jael could feel Eadmund’s eyes burning into her. This wasn’t how she imagined it would go; he looked ready to kill her.

Eadmund turned away from Jael. ‘How long have I been asleep?’ he asked Thorgils, who was caught between being thrilled that his best friend was alive again, and confused as to why he was in such a foul mood. Although, when he thought on it, they had kept him prisoner, and after that, he probably would’ve felt ready for a fight too. ‘A few days, I think. We’ve barely slept while we looked after you so I couldn’t say for sure.’

‘Three days,’ Biddy muttered as she brought him the milk.

‘Wait!’ Jael called out, snatching the cup out of Biddy’s hand. ‘You have to finish the tincture first. There’s only a drop left, but you need to have it all before you drink anything else.’

Eadmund glared at her and sighed furiously. ‘Well, go on then, let’s finish it.’

Eirik looked at Thorgils, confused. ‘Tincture?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Thorgils smiled wryly, enjoying the relief of thinking they had made it to the end. He hoped.

Jael brought the bottle to Eadmund and shook the last drops of the vile liquid onto his tongue. He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t protest either.

They all held their breaths as he swallowed it down and held his hand out to Biddy. ‘Can I have that milk now?’

Biddy looked towards Jael, who nodded.

The tincture was done. Now they had to wait and see what would happen, and with the mood Eadmund was in, Jael wasn’t sure what that would mean for any of them.

* * *

‘What happened to your husband?’

Ayla almost dropped the bowl of apples she was carrying to the table. She didn’t know what to say. ‘He, ahhh... he died.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Eydis said sympathetically. ‘That must have been very hard for you.’

‘Yes, it has been... difficult,’ Ayla said sadly as she placed the bowl down and came to sit beside Eydis, handing her the reddest apple she could find. ‘Here, take this.’

‘Thank you,’ Eydis smiled, biting into the sweet smelling fruit. She was becoming more comfortable around the dreamer now. She didn’t feel threatened at all, not like the first time. Eydis didn’t trust her, but she no longer feared her, and that was enough to keep her talking.

Isaura bustled over to the table, her forehead wrinkling in displeasure to see Ayla sitting with Eydis again. She had suddenly become a very visible presence, and Isaura had a bad feeling about it; certain that Ivaar had her spying on them all. She would have to find time to speak to Eydis and warn her, but first, she had to survive the next two days. Agreeing to organise Vesta had been a bigger undertaking than she had imagined, and she felt very nervous about speaking to Eirik again.

Ivaar sauntered over to the table and sat down beside Ayla, close enough for their shoulders to touch, Isaura noted sourly.

‘Ladies,’ he smiled to Ayla and Eydis, ignoring his wife entirely.

Eydis’ smile quickly disappeared, and she squirmed in her seat, desperate to leave.

‘Good news!’ Eirik called loudly as he entered the hall, Thorgils trailing reluctantly behind him. Eirik had insisted Thorgils tell him everything about Eadmund and the tincture and had made him follow him all the way back to the hall while he listened to the tale.

Ivaar looked at his father with interest, but Isaura glanced away, not wanting her eyes to betray her. She had not even caught a glimpse of Thorgils in days and was desperate to know how he was.

‘Eadmund is awake!’ Eirik smiled widely.

‘Eadmund?’ Ivaar laughed. ‘At this time of day? That is good news indeed.’

No one joined in Ivaar’s joke. In fact, Eirik ignored him entirely and spoke instead to Isaura and Eydis, much to Ivaar’s annoyance.

‘He’s been ill, for some days now. Jael and Thorgils have been looking after him, but he is through the worst, so we should be seeing him around here again, once he gets his strength back.’

Ivaar raised an eyebrow; Jael had been telling the truth then. He felt a brief surge of pleasure at that, which was quickly extinguished by the look of happiness on his father’s face. Eadmund was well again. So what did that mean? What did Eirik want that to mean? He shut those thoughts away quickly. He was going to be king. Ayla had seen it. Eydis had seen it. Eadmund wasn’t about to take his birthright away from him again. ‘Well, that is good to hear, Father,’ Ivaar said as he stood up, smiling with forced enthusiasm. He caught Thorgils peering at him doubtfully but chose to ignore him. ‘And just in time for Vesta too.’

Eirik turned to his son with a genuine smile. ‘Yes, it is perfect timing. We shall have to make this Vesta the most memorable one yet. If you think we can manage that between us?’

Isaura swallowed nervously, not daring to look up. ‘I think we can,’ she said with absolutely no conviction at all.

‘Good!’ Eirik smiled, handing his cloak to a servant who was hovering expectantly near him. He rubbed his hands together as he sat down opposite her. ‘Tell me your plans. I want to hear all of it!’

Isaura gulped. Thorgils, with one, quick look in her direction, turned and headed for the door, his chest tight with joy for Eadmund, and sorrow for himself.

* * *

Biddy had cleared everything away after they’d eaten and left as quickly as she could. The tension between Jael and Eadmund had only increased, and she had no desire to be there when one of them lost control.

Jael sat in front of the small fire, freezing, wondering why she hadn’t followed Biddy back to the big house with the large fire and the thick walls. She nibbled on a fingernail. She could feel Eadmund glowering at her, as he had been doing since he’d woken up. She couldn’t understand it at all. They had been trying to help him; was he truly that mad at them? ‘Perhaps you need to go back to bed?’ she suggested, glancing at his pale face.

Eadmund frowned. ‘I’ve had enough of that bed for a while.’ He shifted about uncomfortably on his stool, his body aching from lying down for so long. He did feel weak and tired, but nothing was getting him back into that bed in a hurry.

‘Well, perhaps I should go then, leave you alone,’ Jael said irritably, standing up. ‘You look as though you’d rather I left.’ She grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders, her face as moody as his.

Eadmund stood up, too quickly. He felt light headed and swayed for a moment.

‘Are you alright?’ Jael moved towards him, concerned, but he shook his head quickly, and she backed away towards the door. ‘Fine, then I’ll go.’

‘I saw you and Ivaar, in my dreams.’

‘Saw us? Doing what? What does that mean?’

‘Oh, kissing, killing my sister, that sort of thing.’

‘What?’ Jael looked horrified. ‘Killing Eydis? Me?’

‘Well, you were there,’ Eadmund said frostily. ‘You didn’t stop him. You watched while Ivaar had Tarak kill her.’

Jael frowned. ‘But it was a just dream. Eydis is alive. I haven’t seen Ivaar for days. I’ve been here looking after you! It was just a dream.’

‘It didn’t feel like a dream. It felt so real. The way you looked at him, kissed him, wanted him.’ Eadmund came towards her, his eyes full of simmering resentment. ‘Just like her.’

‘Who?’

‘Melaena.’ Eadmund shook his head angrily. ‘I saw her with Ivaar, too. Saw the truth in that. She never loved me at all. She wanted him, not me. She had no choice but to marry me.’

‘They were just dreams, Eadmund,’ Jael said, trying to calm him. ‘You aren’t a dreamer, so they were just dreams. But you’re awake now. You have to let them go. You’re not there now. You came back.’

‘Because of you.’

‘Me?’

Eadmund reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘You made me come back.’ He closed his eyes, remembering when she had reached up to kiss him. ‘You brought me back here. I came back for you.’

‘Good. Because I was trying to bring you back. I wanted you to come back... to me.’

As he stared into her eyes, Eadmund felt his angry tension relax at last. He reached out and traced her sharp cheekbones with his fingers, leaning in until their lips were almost touching. He could feel the tears burning his eyes as he closed them and kissed her. Softly. Slowly. And she came into his arms, pushing herself into his body, her cold skin touching his, her lips so hungry, his tears wet on her face. He grabbed her head and held it tightly in his hands, pulling her towards him, wanting more of her, pushing her cloak off her shoulders, running his hands down her neck, feeling the throbbing of her heart against his.

Jael pulled back and looked at him, fearlessly. She wasn’t going anywhere now. She reached up and kissed him again, running her hands over his chest, feeling the chill of his skin through his worn tunic. She pushed him backwards, towards the bed and they fumbled their way onto the furs, quickly, awkwardly, rushing to remove their clothes.

‘Jael,’ Eadmund breathed into her hair. ‘You saved me.’ He looked at her again, almost smiling. ‘You brought me back.’

Jael stared at him, her eyes not leaving his. She kissed him gently. ‘Stop talking,’ she whispered as she reached her hand underneath his tunic, kissing him again, more quickly now. ‘Before I change my mind.’

IV

Fury

47

Gant looked nervous as he approached Gisila. It was the day before the wedding, and he didn’t imagine she would be in a very stable place.

‘What has Lothar sent you to do now?’ Gisila asked him crossly, spinning around.

Gant was surprised. She had changed since he saw her last; she reminded him of the woman he used to know. Her shoulders were broad again and her face, although cold, did not look self-pitying. If he had dared to come closer, he would have seen the fear and misery lurking in her almond-shaped eyes, but he didn’t, so all he saw was the illusion of confidence she had decided to construct to help her survive Lothar.

‘He, ahhh, he wanted to know if you had everything you needed? If there was anything he could do for you? Anything you wanted?’

Gisila looked around her small cottage and thought on that. Axl had only just left. She noticed his pile of things flung on top of his bed, spilling onto the reeds; he had always been the messiest of her children.

‘You can tell Lothar,’ she said firmly, walking towards Gant, wanting him to see her face, to see that she had come back. ‘You can tell the king, that I wish for Axl to have his old bedchamber in the hall. I will be able to relax and feel much more comfortable if I know Axl is nearby. If I can keep a close eye on him.’

Gant raised one scarred eyebrow at that. ‘Osbert’s room?’

‘Yes, Osbert’s room.’ Gisila didn’t take her eyes off him. ‘Which was Axl’s room.’

‘Well... I can try,’ Gant said slowly, shaking his head. ‘Although I’m not sure what Lothar will think about that. Or Osbert.’

But Gisila wasn’t finished. ‘I would also like a new crown. I have no wish to wear the hand-me-down crown his dead wife stole from me. If he is taking a new queen, then his new queen wishes to have a new crown.’

Gant didn’t know what to say. What had gotten into her? He didn’t dislike it, though, not at all. She looked fierce and reminded him very much of Jael in the fading light of the fire. He smiled. ‘I’ll let him know. Is there anything else?’

‘No, but I shall send Gunni to find you if I have any other ideas,’ she said coolly.

Gant bent his head. ‘Good, well I will be at the hall organising everything for tomorrow.’ He paused, unsure of what to say to fit the moment, but he was desperate to say something. Despite this show of strength, he knew how much she was dreading it. He could see the slightest tremble in her hands now as she held them clasped together in front of her dress. He took two steps forward and spoke quietly. ‘I wish you luck, Gisila. I will be there. I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier, I promise.’

Gant backed away quickly, and without even looking at her, turned and opened the door, closing it quietly behind himself.

Gisila’s shoulders fell into a rounded heap as all the air in her tight chest rushed out of her mouth. Her head drooped, and her eyes burned with tears. Luck? she thought to herself. She didn’t need luck; she needed an intervention from the gods.

* * *

Eadmund was sound asleep. Jael was naked and freezing under the furs next to him, filled with an urgent desire to escape. For all that she had wanted Eadmund, she had spent the night dreaming of Brekka and Aleksander. Her head was muddled with guilt and desire, her body clenched tightly; she just wanted to leave.

Jael crawled out of the uncomfortable bed as it creaked and groaned with every movement, but Eadmund didn’t stir. Quickly glancing back at him, she hoped he had not slipped back into those dreams again; more likely he was completely exhausted, she decided. They had spent the best part of the night awake. She frowned, the memories torturing her. It had been a beautifully strange experience. Eadmund wasn’t Aleksander, though, and she had only ever known Aleksander’s body and Aleksander’s touch. But, as much as she was cursing herself for her disloyalty, for her lack of self-control, part of her was just as eager to crawl back under those furs and do it all again. Jael shook her head, furious with herself. Grabbing her frozen clothes, she hurried them on. She needed to get out of this vile cottage and feel the wind on her face. Perhaps it would whip some sense into her?

Pinning her cloak to one shoulder, Jael eased open the door, and with a last, guilty look towards Eadmund, closed it behind herself.

‘So, that went well then?’ Thorgils wondered, with a lopsided grin as he stood knee-deep in the snow, staring at her. ‘Did you break our prisoner?’

Jael jumped, then frowned. ‘Ssshhh, he’s asleep in there.’

‘And you’re trying to sneak away, are you?’ Thorgils laughed hoarsely. ‘I’ve done that before, many a morning.’

‘Oh, really? Well, don’t feel any need to tell me about it on our ride,’ she grumbled quietly, stalking away from the cottage, and Eadmund, and all those confusing feelings which nagged and poked inside her.

‘Our ride is it?’ Thorgils smiled as he hurried to catch up with her. ‘You’re bringing me back into the fold, then?’

Jael turned to look at him sharply. ‘We have much to do, you and I, if we’re going to get anywhere in this contest.’ She glanced around, lowering her voice. ‘And for us to get anywhere, it means defeating Tarak, and neither one of us is ready for that, are we?’

Thorgils nodded, his face quickly matching the seriousness of hers. ‘We are not at all ready.’

‘So, let’s get going to Fyn’s,’ she said shortly. ‘We need to spend the entire day there, training until we can’t stand. We have a lot to catch up on.’

Thorgils smiled to himself as he trailed after her. ‘You’re a little feisty this morning, Jael, I must say. Are you sure Eadmund was still breathing when you left him?’

Jael wasn’t even listening. She needed to fight, to release the panic that was building inside her. And more than that, she needed to defeat Tarak.

* * *

‘Are you talking to me today?’ Aleksander wondered as he peered at Edela’s troubled face. He no longer took it personally when she went quiet and ignored him – he knew that she was trying to unravel her dreams – but the way she had looked at him yesterday had unsettled him greatly. It felt as though what she was working on in her head was all about him.

‘Of course, of course, I am,’ Edela looked up, smiling. ‘I suppose there is just too much on my mind. Sometimes I disappear. I’m sorry.’

Aleksander grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her towards him as soldiers came riding at speed down the middle of the street, flinging snow and mud at everyone they passed. Aleksander wiped some muck out of his eye. ‘Lovely! This place never fails to irritate me.’

Edela laughed and wiped her own eyes. ‘Well, hopefully, we can leave soon and get back to Andala.’

‘Really? Soon?’ Aleksander was surprised. ‘But do we really know anything much at all? We have a lot of breadcrumbs, but none of them lead anywhere, do they?’

Edela didn’t know what to say to that. It was a clear enough day, but as they walked down Tuura’s main street, she felt a dark cloud hanging over her. And that cloud was Fianna Lehr; she was the biggest breadcrumb of all. If only she could ask Aleksander about her without completely isolating him. He would not take her questioning well. How could he?

‘Have you thought about going to the temple again?’ Aleksander wondered.

‘I’m waiting to be asked,’ Edela mumbled, only half listening. ‘Apparently, I am going to be called back, but who knows when.’

Aleksander bent low to her ear. ‘This place is so odd. No one speaks plainly, do they? They just bustle about, hiding the truth of everything behind their doors. They’re a bunch of cowards really,’ he scoffed. ‘I mean, what could be so bad that telling everyone would make it worse, not better? Surely the more people you tell, the more everyone can help?’

Edela couldn’t help but see the similarities between herself and the elders, then. And that was not a comparison she felt especially proud of. She had failed to find any further clues about Fianna in her dreams. Maybe the gods were telling her that the only way to move forward was with Aleksander’s help. She grabbed his sleeve and stared earnestly into his face. ‘I need to tell you something.’

* * *

Eadmund stood at the railings of the Pit, struggling to locate a smile.

Jael had been gone when he’d woken, and he wasn’t sure why. He was surprised to find that he had not thought of ale or drinking at all; not in the way he once had. But he was constantly thinking of her as he stood there, watching everyone train; everyone but him. He felt so weak, especially after last night. He smiled, remembering the feel of her, the fire in her. It was the most alive he had felt in years, but now, he just felt tired and troubled.

She had saved him, he knew, but now that he was saved, what did he do? He was almost as fat and still as useless as he was before. Still as far away from being any sort of man that his father could believe in. Eadmund bent forward, leaning on the wobbly railings, feeling the heavy ache in his arms and back. He sighed and turned around, thinking that perhaps he would go and find Eydis. She could always help him see the things he couldn’t.

‘So, it’s true then. You do live!’ Ivaar sneered as he walked up to his downcast brother.

Eadmund cringed at the sound of that slippery voice. He pulled himself up, feeling the pain in his shoulders as he pushed them back, raising his head higher than was comfortable. ‘I do, yes,’ he spat angrily. ‘And I’m coming for you, so you’d better watch your back.’

‘Ha! I like your spirit,’ Ivaar said without blinking. ‘Coming for me? I am terrified. Truly, I think I just pissed myself. You have me shaking, Brother!’

Eadmund did nothing but stare. They weren’t just words, he realised. He knew what he had to do now; Jael had told him as much in his dream. He had to kill Ivaar. Ivaar could never be King of Oss. He didn’t need Eydis to help him see that. He stepped forwards, straighter and taller than Ivaar. ‘Good. Shake away, because I will kill you. Has your dreamer seen that? Perhaps she’s too scared to tell you how you’ll die because it will be the longest, slowest, bloodiest death you can imagine.’ And he turned around and walked back towards the Pit, slipping through the railings and heading for the shed.

He was going to find a sword.

* * *

‘What?’ Osbert choked on his porridge, which was not surprising; the thick mulch of oats was so dense, it felt as though he was swallowing dried mud. ‘My room?’

‘Yes, your room,’ his father mumbled calmly, handing him a cup of ale. ‘It makes sense. Axl is young. He needs to be kept in line. And Gisila and I can’t do that if he’s roaming about Andala all night. Better that he’s under our roof, where we can keep him safe.’

Osbert took a quick sip of ale and swilled it round his mouth. ‘And where will I go?’

‘Well...’ Lothar mused as he shovelled porridge into his mouth quite happily. ‘You’re old enough to have a wife and a house of your own now. After Hest, we can think on a suitable marriage for you, but in the meantime, go find somewhere you like. There are plenty of good looking houses in town. Anyone would be honoured to give up their home to the son of the king.’

Osbert glared at his father, wondering if he’d gone mad. This was Gisila’s doing. Or was it Axl’s? Perhaps they were working on a way to remove him? He thought on that. Who could blame them? She was becoming queen again. Why wouldn’t she want to raise her son up to the status he once had.

Osbert frowned. Axl was fast becoming a problem he would have to do something about.

* * *

Ayla had woken late and was only now finishing dressing, in the small cottage Ivaar had found for her in the middle of the fort. It was very small but private, and except for Ivaar’s regular visits, she was able to enjoy the luxury of being unobserved by strangers for the first time in a year.

She had barely slept, tortured by endless dreams. But nothing she saw showed her a way out of the prison Ivaar had so carefully trapped her in, and everything else was just a mess of blood, and death, and darkness. Sleep would help her to find some hope, she knew, but her dreams only served to take it away.

Ivaar burst through the door in a rush of red-faced fury. ‘You and I need to talk!’ he growled, pushing her back towards the bed.

Ayla blinked at him in fear, stumbling backwards. His eyes had narrowed into dangerous slits, which either meant her wanted her clothes off, or he had plans to hurt someone, and right now she couldn’t tell which one he had in mind. ‘What is it?’ she asked nervously as she fell back onto the bed, one strap of her pale blue dress hanging down, still unpinned.

‘Have you seen my death?’

‘What?’ Ayla looked genuinely shocked. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Answer me, Ayla!’ He grabbed her shoulder, his lips twisting angrily. ‘Have you seen my death?!’

‘No,’ she breathed. ‘No, I haven’t. I promise, I haven’t.’

He sat back and looked her over, watching her eyes dart about like fleeing beetles. She looked so surprised that he found himself believing her... just.

He put his hands in her hair, pulling her face towards him, his mind racing with the memory of Eadmund’s words. ‘What about my brother? Tell me, what will happen to him? He seems different. He suddenly wants to kill me.’

‘Oh.’ Ayla swallowed nervously, beginning to understand the cause of Ivaar’s outburst. ‘But hasn’t he always wanted to kill you? After what happened to his first wife? Doesn’t he blame you for her death?’

Ivaar thought about that. She was right; that was not new, so what was, and why did he suddenly feel threatened now? Why now? ‘Tell me about him,’ he urged. ‘What do you see for him?’

Ayla looked away, closing her eyes, hoping that it would give her enough time to clear her face of anything she didn’t want him to see. What Ivaar needed to know was not what she actually saw, but what would make him feel reassured. And it was her job to put him at ease; to stroke his ego, as well as his demanding cock. She shuddered. ‘Your brother, as I’ve told you before, meets his end under your hand, with his wife next to you. I have seen that strongly.’

Ivaar frowned sharply. ‘Yes, you have said that many times, but how do I know it is the truth? How can I trust you? They are just words, and you can pick any you wish to placate me.’

She tried to look insulted. ‘Why would you doubt me? I have no choice but to tell you everything I see. You will find no secrets in my eyes, Ivaar!’ she lied as boldly as she dared. ‘You must remember that dreamers don’t see everything that will happen. We are only shown what is important. That is all. I have seen you as king, and you will destroy your brother, as you want to. I cannot tell you anymore.’

Ivaar stared at her so intensely that she felt her stomach lurch.

‘You have, you have told me that many times, and I want to trust you, believe me. But I promise you, Ayla, if I ever find out you’ve been lying to me, or not telling me everything you see in your dreams... I will cut your husband’s throat myself and make you drink his dying blood.’ And with that he pushed her back onto the bed and tore off the other strap of her dress, ripping it angrily away from her body, pushing his lips onto her chest, down over her breasts, as they shivered in the morning chill. ‘Hear my words, Ayla,’ he breathed into her, ‘and never think you will get away with betraying me.’

* * *

Thankfully, Branwyn had gone to visit Aedan’s family. His wife was heavy with child and Branwyn had started to spend much of her time there, fussing over her daughter-in-law, excited about the birth of her first grandchild.

It meant that the house was empty; even the servant had gone off on an errand.

‘Is this why you were so quiet yesterday?’ Aleksander wondered as he pulled a stool towards Edela’s chair.

She shivered nervously and leaned closer to the fire. ‘Yes. It is.’ Edela was finding it hard to meet his eye. ‘I had a dream...’ she gulped. ‘About your mother.’

Aleksander looked puzzled; he stared at her blankly. ‘What was my mother doing in your dream?’ He shook his head. ‘Is this about that night? The night she died?’

Edela looked at him anxiously, wringing her gloved hands as she tried to think of how to order her words in a way to lessen the hurt she knew would follow. ‘Yes. I dreamed about her writing a note to someone. I don’t know who, and that is part of the problem. It was certainly her. I saw her wedding ring. It was very distinctive. That’s when I suspected, but then I also saw her face in another dream. It was certainly her.’

‘A note? What did it say?’ He suddenly felt odd. Edela looked so serious. This was not a secret he wanted to hear; he knew that now.

‘It was alerting someone about our visit to Tuura,’ Edela sighed, taking a deep breath. ‘The note said that Jael would be going to Tuura and it said when.’

‘It mentioned Jael?’ Aleksander could hear his heartbeat louder than the crackle of the fire now. His breathing had slowed, but his heart was racing. ‘Why?’

She was going to have to lead him there slowly, she realised. ‘The men that came to Tuura that night came looking for Jael. They killed Evva, thinking she was Jael. But no one knew why they had come or what they wanted. But now I know who sent them there...’

‘What?’ Aleksander stood up and glared down at Edela. ‘What do you mean? Ha! My mother?’ he asked incredulously. ‘But she was killed by those men! My father was killed by those men! Are you saying she sent people to murder Jael? And then herself? No! Why would she do that? She treated Jael like a daughter. She adored Jael! I used to be jealous of how much she loved her. Besides,’ he shook his head, walking around the fire, lost in the memories of that night. ‘Besides the fact that she loved Jael, she loved my father too. She would not have sent people to kill either of them. Or anyone. My mother was gentle! Don’t you remember her, Edela? You must remember how she was! She was so kind and...’ He came back to Edela, kneeling before her. ‘No! Don’t do this to me. Please. Don’t take my mother away from me, not the memory I have of her. Go back into your dream. See it again. See the note again. You must!’ He reached out and grabbed her hands. ‘You are wrong. You are so wrong about this, Edela...’ He sat back on his heels, losing his breath. ‘You must be...’

‘Then help me,’ she pleaded, her eyes full of tears and guilt for the pain she was causing. ‘Help me understand what I have seen. Dreams are hard to interpret sometimes, but I have been doing this for so many years now. I know what I saw. I promise you that I would not have told you if I wasn’t certain that what I had seen was real. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t think it was important, if I didn’t think it could help Jael.’

Aleksander looked up. He wanted a drink. He wanted to disappear, far away from all of this. He sighed, staring at her, seeing the sadness on her face. She wanted to help Jael, not destroy him; he could see that, but his mother? He shook his head. ‘I don’t see how I can help you. The woman I knew didn’t write a note to have a little girl killed. Jael was like her daughter.’ He hung his head in his hands. ‘I can’t help you, Edela. I just can’t.’

Edela sighed, rubbing the tears out of her eyes, cursing her dreams for only ever giving her half a story. If Aleksander couldn’t help her, who could?

* * *

Ido and Vella were beside themselves with glee as they jumped up on the weary figure who stumbled in through the door.

Biddy got up to join them and helped Jael off with her cloak. ‘You look ready to fall down,’ she said sternly. ‘What have you been doing all day? Although, perhaps I shouldn’t ask...’

‘I’ve been training with Thorgils,’ Jael yawned as she handed Biddy her sword belt and sat down to take off her boots, her eyes barely open. ‘All day long.’ She yawned again, her eyes watering.

‘Well, the stew will be ready shortly,’ Biddy murmured, coming back to peer into her cauldron. She gave the thick, brown gluck a stir and sat back down with her mending. Jael had a habit of putting holes in her socks quickly, and she’d been working through a pile of them all afternoon.

Jael looked up with little enthusiasm. She bent down to pat the furry faces that were demanding her attention, then yawned again and stood up. ‘I just need to lie down for a moment, just a moment,’ she mumbled, almost to herself, as she headed for bed. Oh, how she had missed her bed.

The puppies followed her and jumped onto the bed before she did. Jael blinked in surprise; surely she hadn’t been gone long enough for them to grow that big? They burrowed under the furs and lay there, waiting for her, taking up a lot more of the bed than they once had. There was still plenty of room for her, though, and she crawled in beside their warm bodies, piling the furs over herself, her eyes closing before her head hit the pillow; her head already full of dreams of Eadmund. And Aleksander.

* * *

‘Torstan tells me you were training today,’ Thorgils began as he sat down with a groan, every limb throbbing after his day with Jael.

‘Ha!’ Eadmund laughed. ‘If you can call holding a sword and swinging it around few times training, then yes, I suppose I was.’

‘You have to start somewhere,’ Thorgils smiled wearily, rubbing his wrist where Jael had caught him with her sword, more than once. She had been in an unforgiving mood, and he was certain he was bruised from head to toe. He had needed it, though, they both had.

‘True,’ he leaned forward and stared into Thorgils’ eyes. ‘I’m going to kill Ivaar. I always thought about killing him, thought about taking revenge on him, but today I decided I was actually going to kill him. So, yes, it was a start, but I’m a long way from being able to kill anything more than an overfed flea right now.’

‘So, what made you decide that, then?’

Eadmund added another log to the fire. ‘I had a lot of dreams while I was stuck in that bed. Confusing dreams,’ he frowned. ‘But one thing I am certain of is that Ivaar has plans to kill us all, including Eydis. So, I’m going to stop him.’

‘And what about Jael?’ Thorgils wondered, noticing the smile that crept its way into Eadmund’s eyes when he said her name. ‘Where was she in all this?’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘In my dreams, she was with Ivaar.’

Thorgils looked surprised.

‘But then she came and got me, brought me back,’ he smiled. ‘So, I’m choosing not to believe that part of my dream.’

‘Sounds good,’ Thorgils agreed. ‘But why are you still here, then? In this pile of shit? Alone? Surely you have warmer options than this now?’

Eadmund laughed, then frowned; that was a good question. What had happened to her today? Was she regretting everything? He was plagued by doubts but trying hard to hold onto the belief that last night had meant something to them both. He hoped it was the start and a way forward, not a mistake. ‘I’m not sure. Jael’s a complicated woman.’

‘She is that,’ Thorgils said, rolling his eyes in agreement. ‘You’re in for a very interesting marriage with that one, I’m sure. Best you keep up your training. Could come in very handy!’

48

Aleksander was cross with himself. He’d drunk more than he could remember in a while and somehow he’d ended up here. In bed. With her. He had forgotten her name, or perhaps he’d never asked it? He closed his eyes and sighed, feeling the pounding intensify, like a hammer between his eyebrows. She was awake, he knew that; awake and naked next to him, just as he was naked next to her. If only his head would stop hurting so much, then he could move, find his clothes, find a way out of wherever he was, and quickly.

‘You can leave,’ she said then, her voice soft. ‘The door is not locked.’

Aleksander opened his eyes, feeling foolish. He turned awkwardly towards her and smiled. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just that, I...’

‘You don’t need to say anything to me,’ she said shortly and got up from the bed, searching for his clothes.

The light in the sparsely furnished room was dim. It was very cold, and Aleksander could see his breath blowing out before him. There were rays of light seeping through the holes in the walls, and the sound of voices filtered in loudly as the town roused itself to life for another day.

She found his cloak, weapons, and clothes on the floor, near his boots. Wrapping them all up in a pile, she brought them back to his side of the bed and left them there before rushing back under the furs, her skin shivering in the icy air.

‘Thank you,’ Aleksander mumbled, unable to even look her in the eye. He felt so much guilt for what he had done but at the same time, wondered why? Jael was married, sleeping with her husband now, perhaps enjoying it too. Why shouldn’t he be doing the same? But it was different, he knew. He had a choice, Jael didn’t. Besides, part of him had wanted to wait for her.

He grimaced as he sat up, trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his head, the acid swirling around his mouth. Still, the room was cold enough to make him move fast, and he dressed quickly, attaching his belt, ready to leave. He looked over to the bed then, at her. She was not Jael; there was no dark hair or mesmerising eyes. No scars. She was softer, and her round face was plainer, plumper, but it was pleasant to look at, he thought to himself; he must have had some idea what he was doing when he ended up with her. Just.

‘Take care of yourself, Aleksander,’ she said in a whisper. ‘Don’t do your drinking in such a public place next time. People are watching you.’

Aleksander’s eyebrows shot up, and that hurt his head. He was puzzled. What had he said? What had he done, last night?

He was here to help Jael, they both were, but how was he going to get past the fact that Edela believed his mother was responsible for sending those men to Tuura. He couldn’t. It was as simple as that. He would have to go back to Andala now, leave her to find her own way home after she had found out what she needed to. He wanted no part in it anymore.

Aleksander headed for the door, then paused, wading through even more guilt. ‘Thank you...’ he mumbled quietly.

‘Hanna’ she said. ‘My name is Hanna.’

He showed her the briefest of smiles, then ducked his head and slipped through the door into the murk of the morning.

Hanna looked after him for a moment, her face troubled. He didn’t realise how much danger he was in. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

* * *

Jael used to like Vesta. All that eating and drinking, celebrating Vesta, Goddess of the Sun; honouring her with gifts and sacrifices, trying to tempt her out of hiding, so that she would bring spring, and warmth, and light to feed the land. But now? Now she just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep. Her mind and body were a twisted heap of brambles. She felt awkward and disloyal; uncomfortable in her own skin.

Jael pulled on the door with a heavy sigh, wishing she was going to Fyn’s instead of having to endure this very public feast.

Her tired eyes widened as she entered the hall. It had been transformed into a magical grove, draped with hanging rows of fir branches, interlaced with white flowers and red berries. It reminded her of the King’s Hall in Andala, and memories of her childhood came rushing back. Her mother would take such pride over its decoration for Vesta, she remembered, just as Eirik had here. Every table was ornamented with fruit and branches, pinecones and leaves. There was so much white; beautiful, snowy white. White linen hung around the walls, with white flowers and green leaves strung across them. Candles, lamps, and torches appeared to have tripled in number. It was warm and fresh smelling; Jael almost felt cheerful.

‘There you are!’ Eirik smiled in relief as he grabbed her hand. ‘I didn’t think you were coming.’

‘Jael!’ Eydis came up beside her father and felt her way to Jael’s waist, eagerly wrapping her arms around her.

‘Well, this is all very nice,’ Jael admitted.

‘It looks better than I’ve seen it in years,’ Eirik said proudly. ‘All thanks to Isaura and Eydis. They did everything. I just grumbled along beside them. Shows why it’s better to let a woman handle this sort of thing.’

‘Where’s Eadmund?’ Eydis wondered. ‘I thought he’d be with you?’

‘Did you?’ Jael looked surprised, noticing the smiles on their faces. ‘No, I haven’t seen him.’

‘Oh.’ Eirik looked disappointed. ‘I thought...’

‘Jael!’ Ivaar came up beside his father, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Happy Vesta to you.’

Jael did her best not to cringe, but she certainly didn’t smile. ‘Ivaar.’ She met his eyes without any warmth as he stood there, right next to the little girl he had plans to kill; if there was any truth in the dreams people had been having lately. And she certainly did believe in the truth of dreams.

‘I hear your duties have ended now? Your patient has made a full recovery?’ It was good to see her. She looked very out of sorts, though; her face was drawn and cross, but he had missed looking at it, more than he’d realised.

‘Well, hopefully,’ Jael murmured, trying not to yawn. ‘Although, I haven’t seen him for a while, so who knows?’ She frowned, realising that she really should have checked on Eadmund. What if he was ill or drinking again? She had just run away without much thought at all; another thing to feel guilty for.

Thorgils wandered up to her with an easy grin, and her shoulders relaxed themselves away from her ears. ‘Are you alright?’ she smiled at him, noticing a bruise that had formed near one eye; that must have been her doing.

‘I can still see, if that’s what you mean?’ Thorgils tried to look annoyed, but he was in a good mood, despite Ivaar’s presence. ‘Enough to find where our good king placed all his best wine!’ He raised his cup, acknowledging Eirik, and took a big gulp, determined not to let Ivaar ruin his favourite time of year.

Thorgils froze as Eadmund walked into the hall. He looked tired and weak; almost half the size he was a few months ago. There was no stumbling this time, though. He was steady on his feet as he raised a hand in acknowledgement and came walking over to the group.

Jael followed Thorgils’ eyes, surprised to see Eadmund. Her whole body responded to him at once with an almighty shiver. She smiled quickly, then glanced away, noticing the intense look on Ivaar’s face. She didn’t want him knowing anything about her feelings towards Eadmund, so she tightened her lips and furrowed her brows, attempting to look as irritable as possible, which wasn’t hard.

Jael was standing with Ivaar. Eadmund clenched his teeth furiously but tried not to let his desire to kill his brother and yell at his wife overwhelm him. He picked up his little sister and gave her a squeeze. ‘Happy Vesta, Little Thing,’ he breathed into her ear. ‘I have a gift for you, but you will have to wait until tomorrow to open it.’

‘Ooohh, really?’ Eydis exclaimed excitedly. ‘You have not remembered a gift for Vesta since I was little! I can’t wait until tomorrow!’

Eirik drunk from his favourite silver cup, enjoying the sensation of the cold wine as it slipped so pleasantly down his throat; enjoying seeing Eadmund and Eydis again, and Jael was there, Thorgils, of course, and he didn’t even mind Ivaar’s company. He admired the festive decorations, listened to the musicians wandering around with their lyres and flutes, smelled the juices of the roasting pigs, and felt a genuine burst of happiness. Life, he decided, was still with him, so he would stop worrying about what the gods had planned for him, and enjoy what he had right now. He smiled contentedly and looked around for a serving girl to refill his cup. ‘Well then, you will be receiving two gifts, as I have one for you too,’ Eirik smiled at Eydis, enjoying the look of happiness on her face, which had been missing for some time.

Eydis clasped her hands together. ‘I knew you would make this Vesta happen, Father,’ she said happily. ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me down!’

‘Come along, then,’ Eirik said. ‘Come and help me find where the serving girls have all gone because if the wine disappears, you’ll be the only one who is happy with me!’

That left four of them.

Thorgils squirmed, ready to rush off but reconsidered as he noticed the simmering tension on Ivaar, Jael, and Eadmund’s faces. Perhaps it was wiser for him to remain?

‘Are you going to get yourself a drink too, Brother?’ Ivaar wondered coolly. ‘It’s so unusual to see you without a cup in your hand.’

Eadmund kept his face impassive; he didn’t even blink. ‘Certainly, if Eirik can find the serving girls, I’m sure I’ll find my way to some wine.’

Jael and Thorgils exchanged a nervous glance, both trying to think of a way to dampen the fire building between the brothers.

‘What sort of Vesta things do you do on Oss?’ Jael tried. ‘Do you play any games?’

‘Well, yes, lots of games, naturally,’ Thorgils smiled. ‘Usually after drinking most of Eirik’s best wine, so they tend to end up very messy. A lot of stumbling about, more drinking, some people piss themselves, take their clothes off, slide around on the ice, that sort of thing. You’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. Maybe even partake yourself?’

Jael looked doubtful, but in truth, she was barely listening. She was consumed by an overwhelming need to talk to Eadmund, or to run away from him entirely; she couldn’t decide which. But one thing she knew for certain was that she wanted to get away from Ivaar. He kept moving towards her, and she could feel his eyes trying to claim her, and Eadmund’s eyes sharpening because of it. ‘Well, the food looks good, so I’m going to eat.’ And, ignoring Thorgils’ pleading eyes, she left.

Eadmund stared after her, disappointed, but his head was clearer now, and despite the weakness in his limbs, he felt more capable than he had in years. He wasn’t about to let her slip away from him as quickly as she seemed to want to. ‘I agree with my wife, that food does look very good,’ he said shortly and disappeared after Jael.

Ivaar looked ready to scream, Thorgils thought, as he stood there awkwardly, wondering how to make his own escape. It was nice to see the twist on Ivaar’s face, but Eadmund wasn’t ready to play games with such a deadly snake. Not yet.

* * *

Gisila had lost her confidence in the night. She’d lain there, unable to sleep, listening to Axl snoring, worrying how she was going to keep him safe. Worrying what Lothar had in mind to do to her, whether Branwyn still lived, how her mother was faring, how Jael was surviving her marriage to that drunken oaf. She didn’t sleep, not once, and now, as she stood there, about to walk to Lothar, she felt ready to fall down, just when she needed all the strength she had to endure the worst day of her entire life.

Gisila had not wanted to marry Ranuf Furyck. She had felt too young and not at all ready to be his queen, but despite her reservations, she had not disliked him; she had never feared him. He was handsome, strong, powerful. Of course, when she knew him better, he was also moody, argumentative, stubborn and sometimes cold. But he had been good to her and treated her with respect. With him, she had felt safe from the very first moment, but with Lothar...

‘I’m so sorry, Mother,’ Axl murmured through gritted teeth, his eyes tense, watching Lothar, who was waiting for them. ‘I promise I will protect you. I won’t let him hurt you. Not ever.’

Gisila tried to shut his words out; she didn’t want to cry. If she had any hope of surviving, and even thriving, she had to show Lothar her strength, hiding away any sign of weakness that either he or Osbert could use against her.

Lothar watched, with barely contained excitement, as Gisila glided towards him on Axl’s arm. He had not loved Rinda, the dead mother of his three children. He had endured her miserable body, her barely-there tits and her lack of any desire, but Gisila? He sighed happily as his eyes roamed over her chest. He couldn’t wait to run his fingers through her long, dark hair, rip that snug fitting dress off her, feel the heat of her perfectly soft flesh beneath his hands. He blinked, trying to shake himself out of that place, realising that he still had some time to wait, and besides, he wanted to make sure she was ready for what he had in mind.

Amma gave Gisila a small, sympathetic smile as she passed by, but Gisila barely noticed. She had hidden herself away now, behind a wall of strength that she would need to keep high if she was going to survive. She had Axl, and her mother, Aleksander, even Gant, and of course, Jael. In the end, somehow, she knew Lothar would meet his end at one of their hands, if she didn’t manage to kill him first.

* * *

Eadmund followed Jael as she approached the high table. He was determined not to let her slip away from him without a word or a look. He didn’t come back for things to be the same as before; he had come back for her.

‘Hello,’ Isaura smiled, grabbing his arm as she stepped in front of him.

Eadmund tried not to appear as annoyed as he felt. He smiled but feared it looked more like an angry grimace. ‘Isaura. Happy Vesta.’

‘And to you,’ she said quietly. ‘You look well. I heard you were very ill. I didn’t know if you were going to be here, but I’m so glad you are.’

Eadmund felt embarrassed. ‘I was, yes, but I’m fine now. Well, almost fine.’

‘You do look much better than when I last saw you. It will be good to have you around again.’ She peered anxiously around the hall, lowering her voice. ‘Ivaar is already acting like a king, collecting himself a loyal band of followers. After the contest, we’re going back to Kalfa to sort everything out and bring our household here. To stay.’

‘What?’ Eadmund felt sick. ‘You’re coming to live here? Now?’

‘I know. It truly is the worst thing for you, and Thorgils,’ she whispered. ‘Eirik is going to appoint a new Lord of Kalfa soon.’

Eadmund shook his head. He had thought there would be time to change his father’s mind while Ivaar was back on Kalfa, but now? ‘Well, perhaps we should swap places? Jael and I could go and live on Kalfa? You and Ivaar could come here,’ he laughed but it was hollow, and they both knew it.

‘How is Jael?’ Isaura wondered quickly. She knew she had to go and make sure everything was flowing smoothly, but she had barely spoken to Eadmund since they arrived; she was filled with so many questions.

Eadmund frowned; he wasn’t sure how to answer that. ‘She is well, I think. Tired from looking after me, no doubt. Looking forward to the contest, I imagine.’

‘You think? You imagine?’ Isaura mused, with one eyebrow raised. ‘I see. So it’s not going well then, your marriage? She seems quite... distant. Angry.’

Eadmund had his mouth open, ready with a defence that still felt muddled on his own tongue, when Ivaar and Tarak joined them.

‘Ahhh, there she is, my wife, the woman responsible for all of this... festivity.’ Ivaar swung his hand about dramatically; he was slightly drunk. ‘She’s going to make a very good queen, don’t you think, Brother? Our hall will always look well dressed!’ His smile was heavy with intent. ‘Here, I brought you a cup of wine, since you still seem to be without one.’

Isaura squirmed uncomfortably next to Ivaar, wanting to leave, but as she turned, she saw Thorgils watching her, so she turned back. Ivaar was drunk and who knew what he would do if he saw her near Thorgils; she didn’t want to find out.

‘That’s very kind of you, Brother,’ Eadmund smiled cheerfully, taking the cup, determined not to let Ivaar win any more games. ‘What a shame I can’t agree with you about Isaura, though. I don’t believe she’ll ever make a queen, not on Oss at least. I already have my queen picked out, and I would not wish to take your wife from you.’ He took a small amount of pleasure in the sour look on Ivaar’s face.

Jael made her way into the fray. She had seen Ivaar hand Eadmund a cup, and that had her up from the table and hurrying towards the huddle by the fire. She wasn’t in time, though. Eadmund poured the wine down his throat, just as she reached him. She looked at him in horror, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.

Now she was mad. She could feel the stir of her temper as it vibrated hot and red in her chest. She didn’t know who she wanted to yell at first, Ivaar or Eadmund? In the end, she decided to ignore both of them and direct her fury towards Tarak. ‘How are you, Tarak?’ she smiled, her green eyes narrowing on him. ‘I haven’t seen you since you pushed me onto the ice that night. Although, I do see your face every time I get a pain in my back.’

Tarak froze, feeling Ivaar’s furious eyes as they snapped towards him. He knew how Ivaar still felt about that woman, and he would not be pleased with him at all.

‘You pushed her over? Why?’ Ivaar wondered crossly, all thoughts of Eadmund momentarily forgotten.

‘Oh... well,’ Tarak tried to laugh, but his thick-skinned face only managed to twist itself into a terrifying grimace. ‘We were just laughing with each other about the contest. A few insults were thrown, that sort of thing. It was not serious, more of an accident. I hadn’t realised how light she was when I pushed her. I didn’t imagine she’d fly through the air like that.’ His eyes bored into Jael’s, and they were triumphant. He was certain he’d played that well.

Jael glanced at Eadmund, waiting for him to rush off and grab another cup but he stood there calmly, his eyes fixed firmly on Tarak. ‘Well, Tarak,’ he grinned. ‘I would advise you to keep your hands off my wife. If you poke a wolf, you only make it more vicious, more likely to attack without mercy. I hate to think what trouble you’ve made for yourself there.’

Tarak couldn’t help but laugh. ‘As you say, but if you’d seen the way she flew, like a piece of cloth, you’d hardly think she was a threat to anyone. It’s hard to be scared of a wolf with no teeth.’

Jael took a deep breath, pushed her feet into the floor, and tried to calm herself, but it wasn’t working; she had to leave. Her eyes darted about quickly, and she spied Thorgils. ‘Well, since Eadmund is doing such a good job of defending my honour, I shall leave him to it.’ She nodded quickly and made her escape, leaving Tarak, Eadmund, and Ivaar staring after her.

Isaura looked around at the three men, who all appeared ready to kill each other, and hurried away, deciding she would be much better off in the safety of the kitchen.

* * *

Edela stood outside the tiny cottage, shivering. The snow was falling at an increasingly heavy rate, and she didn’t know how long she could wait before needing to leave and seek shelter.

At last, the door opened, ever so slowly, and Alaric’s sleepy face peered at her. ‘Oh, Edela!’ he looked horrified at the state of her, covered head to toe in snow as she was. ‘I am so sorry! I didn’t hear you. My hearing is not what it once was, I’m afraid.’

Edela smiled tightly and bustled past him, desperate to get to his fire, and hoping it had some actual flames today. ‘Well, I know how you feel there. Getting old is no fun at all.’ She shivered uncontrollably, shaking the snow off her cloak.

‘I’m surprised to see you without your young friend,’ Alaric noted as he checked the water in the cauldron that hung over his moderately bright fire. He had enough dried dandelions to make tea for two, so he shuffled off into his kitchen and found another cup. ‘I did see him last night, though, stumbling out of the tavern. He looked rather unhappy with his lot.’

‘Did he?’ Edela muttered, her eyebrows pinching together anxiously. ‘Well, that’s hardly surprising... I accused his mother of being evil.’

‘Oh?’ Alaric looked at her in surprise as he brought the cups to the table. ‘Please, take a seat,’ he smiled nervously, trying to make up for his lack of hospitality during her last visit.

She moved the stool closer to the fire and sat down, pulling off her wet gloves. ‘I had a dream about her. Fianna. It made me doubt the sort of woman she was, the woman I remembered,’ she said sadly. ‘I wondered whether you knew of any loyalties she had, that might have caused her to want to hurt Jael?’

Alaric’s eyebrows rose at that. ‘Fianna? She always seemed a nice girl,’ he murmured, shaking his head. ‘It is so long ago, though. My memories of her are faint indeed, but I do remember her mother, of course... Rhea.’

Edela sat back on her stool. ‘Rhea Thorsen.’ It was as if the snow clouds in her head had suddenly shifted and she could see what they had been masking. ‘Rhea. Of course.’

‘There was something slightly strange about her, wasn’t there?’

‘Mmmm, there was. She was thrown out of the temple before she’d really begun her dreamer training. We were friends for a time, as children. I’m not sure what she did, but they never allowed her back into the temple. It made her quite bitter. We were never close again after that. She removed herself from all of us.’

The snow continued to fall outside and down the smoke hole, dropping into Alaric’s cauldron. He peered inside, deciding that the water looked hot enough. ‘She died quite young, didn’t she?’ he murmured, removing the pot and carefully pouring the water into the cups, his arm shaking from the strain.

‘Yes, Fianna was only eight or so, I think. That’s why she spent so much time with my girls and Neva,’ she smiled wistfully. ‘I do remember now. She was a very quiet child, sweet but shy. The pain of losing her mother was always in her eyes.’

Alaric handed Edela a cup and came to sit on the bed. ‘So, what is it that you think she did?’ His curiosity quickly overrode his fear of talking about such secret things. ‘What made Aleksander so upset?’

Edela looked down at her cup, not wanting to meet his eyes until she knew what she wanted to do. But she had to trust someone, for without Aleksander, what hope did she have of finding anything out?

* * *

Amma squeezed Gisila’s arm affectionately and smiled at her. ‘You are braver than I could ever hope to be,’ she whispered as she pushed her finished plate away. ‘But I suppose you’ve had a lot of practice, being a queen and a wife. Perhaps it’s easier this time?’

Gisila had quickly drunk three goblets of wine after the horrible ceremony and was feeling both morose and giddy. She had experienced some terrible days in her 52 years; some days she did not imagine she would recover from. Her two eldest sons had died as boys, she had endured a stillbirth, several miscarriages, not to mention that night in Tuura, but this, somehow this topped them all. Because throughout everything else, there had always been Ranuf beside her, like the biggest tower that she could crawl behind. He would protect her while she healed, built up her strength, and came out again, stronger. But now? Now she was completely exposed. Now it was all up to her.

‘You are right, dearest Amma, and completely wrong too,’ she smiled wistfully. ‘But I have decided to remember how strong I can be when I need to. As you will have to do when your time comes.’

Amma looked terrified. She had watched enough women forced into marriages they didn’t want recently, to know that it was something she could never face. She would rather die than be pushed into such a union, especially, as Osbert had implied, with someone from Hest. For surely, they were monsters behind those mountains?

‘Although,’ Gisila smiled gently, sensing the panic in Amma’s eyes. ‘Now that I am your stepmother, I’m sure I’ll be able to exert more influence over your father than Osbert.’

Amma looked up; that sounded like hope.

‘Perhaps I can even put in a good word for Aleksander?’ Gisila said distractedly. She watched Osbert and Lothar talking with Gant, who smiled her way. She didn’t return the smile but turned back instead to Amma. ‘Just because we are women, we don’t need to be the victims here, do we? When Edela returns, she will be able to help us with your father, I am certain of it.’

49

Jael decided that there were better ways to spend Vesta than knee-deep in insults and worries. She asked Thorgils to keep an eye on Eadmund, then slipped away through the kitchen, making herself a parcel of meat, vegetables, and bread. She even helped herself to a jug of wine before heading off to the stables, where Biddy helped her pack everything securely onto the horses. And together they rode to see Fyn.

It was the first day of Vesta and Jael had no intention of leaving Biddy to sit in the house, alone all day, with just the puppies for company. Biddy wasn’t the surest horsewoman, but she was Brekkan, so she certainly knew her way about a horse, especially in the snow. She had almost been excited to come.

As they rode slowly down the slope towards Fyn’s hut, gentle flurries were falling. Jael dismounted, looking up at the sky, which had darkened considerably on their ride; they wouldn’t be able to stay long.

‘Jael?’ Fyn looked surprised as he emerged from his tiny hole; nervous that she had brought a companion.

‘This is Biddy,’ Jael smiled. ‘I’ve told you about Biddy, haven’t I?’

‘You have, yes,’ Fyn grinned with relief.

‘Happy Vesta,’ Biddy said, looking the gangly boy up and down. He reminded her of Axl, albeit skinnier, and that gave her a sharp pang; how she missed and worried about that boy.

‘Happy Vesta,’ Fyn smiled shyly, grateful to have company on a day which had made him feel lonelier than he could ever have imagined. ‘I‘ll tie up the horses. There’s something cooking in my cauldron that we can all share.’

Jael raised her eyebrows at Biddy, who looked worried; she had heard the story of the claw stew. ‘Well, that’s very kind of you, Fyn, but we’ve brought food from Eirik’s hall. You may want to try that instead?’

Fyn’s stomach flipped with joy at the thought of real food; he had grown tired of his terrible cooking. Jael unpacked their saddle bags, handing him the jug of wine and the cloth wrapped bundle of food, and sent him inside with Biddy to get everything underway while she secured the horses.

‘Oh!’ Biddy cried as she entered the hut, horrified by Fyn’s living conditions. ‘Perhaps we should have brought some furs to keep you warm in here?’

Fyn’s head drooped with embarrassment. He placed the wine and food on the floor, looking anxiously about for a plate and cups. ‘Well, it’s not the warmest of places to live, that’s true. Still, I can always sit by the fire to keep warm.’

Biddy instantly wanted to take care of him. ‘Here, let me do that, she smiled as he fumbled about. ‘You go and add a few logs to that fire. I’m far too old to sit about in this ice bucket!’

Jael opened the door, not surprised to see Biddy already organising everything. Fyn sat by the fire, looking quite put in his place. Jael pulled a long package from behind her back and handed it to him. ‘Here, Happy Vesta!’

Fyn was almost speechless as he stood up to take it. ‘But... but, it’s only the women who get gifts for Vesta.’

‘Well, that’s what they say, but I thought you might need this.’

Fyn looked puzzled as he unwrapped the very long, thin package. He knew what it was, of course, by its shape, but he wouldn’t allow himself to truly believe it until all the cloth had been removed and the sword lay gleaming in his shaking hands. ‘Jael... I...’ he mumbled, tears in his eyes.

Jael could feel tears threatening her own eyes, but she blinked them away. ‘You’ve earned it, Fyn. You deserve to have a sword that isn’t made of wood! You’ve come such a long way from that boy who couldn’t even hold onto one. And, when I get you back to the fort and Eirik sends us all to Hest, I expect you by my side. Understood?’

Fyn’s face went from pure joy to utter fear within a heartbeat. ‘Jael, I’m no warrior. I can’t –’

‘I wouldn’t have had this sword made for you if you were no warrior, Fyn,’ Jael insisted as she took a cup of wine from Biddy and sat down by the fire.

It was a fine sword, Fyn thought to himself, not quite believing it was real. He wrapped his fingers around the cold, leather grip, running his eyes down the well-worked blade. ‘You had it made for me?’

‘I did,’ she said, sipping from her cup of icy wine, which had almost frozen on their ride. ‘You’ve earned it. It’s yours, and you’re allowed to be happy about that! And happy about some wine and good food too. It’s Vesta, and we came to spend it with you!’ She smiled and raised her cup.

Biddy handed Fyn a cup of wine and went back to sorting out the catastrophe of his broken little kitchen. She shook her head, feeling sorry for the poor boy.

Fyn took a quick drink, smiled, and placed the sword carefully against the wall. ‘I have a gift for you, too.’ He disappeared into the corner of his hut, which only took one step, and rustled about under his bed. ‘It’s not much, of course, not like that perfect sword.’ He came back and sat down, suddenly shy. ‘Thank you, Jael. For everything you have done. All of it. I.... you have helped me so much. More than I deserve.’ He ducked his head nervously and handed her a tiny ball of dirty looking cloth.

Jael looked sideways at him as she unwrapped the parcel, then smiled. It was a small, delicately carved, wooden sun, on a thin leather cord. She held it up so Biddy could see. ‘It’s beautiful, Fyn! How did you make something so fine?’ Jael slipped it over her head, smiling. The sun nestled comfortably between her breasts, sitting right alongside the bronze pendant of Furia’s axes that her father had given her.

Well, it’s the symbol of Vesta. She will protect you from the darkness, I hope, when it comes.’ He shuddered to himself and looked towards Biddy, who handed him a plate that was overflowing with an abundance of meat and vegetables; so many things that he hadn’t eaten in a year or more. His eyes bulged, and his stomach growled happily.

Jael laughed as she took her own plate, glancing down at her new pendant. She thought of Eadmund and hoped more than anything that he wasn’t drunk again. She would have to go and speak with him. She couldn’t ignore him forever; as much as she was trying to.

* * *

‘You can’t be afraid of her,’ Thorgils murmured as they made their way to the Pit. There was still enough light, and both of them had been eager to get away from Ivaar. Despite it being Vesta, Eadmund had suggested they try a little training, and even in his slightly merry state, Thorgils thought that sounded better than more wine; for Eadmund at least.

‘I’m not afraid of her!’ Eadmund scoffed as he ducked through the railings and made his way into the shed.

‘Really?’ It was Thorgils’ turn to scoff. ‘She’s quite scary, that one, especially with a sword in her hand!’

‘Ha! Well, hopefully, I won’t have to face her like that,’ Eadmund laughed as he picked up one of the less battered looking training swords. He ached all over from his brief attempt yesterday, but his head was full of revenge. He was desperate to get stronger quickly. All this tension would come to a head somehow, and he couldn’t be a bumbling fool when it did.

‘No, I don’t imagine it’s a good idea to ever bring sword fighting into a marriage,’ Thorgils smiled. ‘Unless you were married to Ivaar, of course, and then I would certainly advise it.’

‘Poor Isaura,’ Eadmund said sympathetically as he followed Thorgils out into the snow-covered Pit. No one had cleared it, as today was a feast day. The games would come tomorrow, and the Pit would be swept clean as soon as the sun was up. ‘Still, once I put my sword through Ivaar’s neck, she’ll be free to marry you.’

Thorgils looked doubtful. He turned and raised an eyebrow. ‘You have it all planned out, don’t you? Does Ivaar know that you’re about to behead him and take his promised crown again?’

‘He does,’ Eadmund frowned, looking up; the sky was darkening so quickly, he doubted they’d have much time to practice. ‘He knows I want to kill him.’

‘But does he care?’

‘Probably not,’ Eadmund admitted as he took a few steps forwards, his hand firm around the grip of his sword, ignoring the blisters that had formed since yesterday. ‘Perhaps he’s forgotten what I can do with a sword. I’m sure everyone has, and who could blame them? But things are different now. I’m not going to sit back and watch Ivaar take another thing from me.’

Thorgils felt a surge of energy then. He remembered this Eadmund; this Eadmund did have a chance of defeating Ivaar. He smiled and stepped forwards. ‘Well then, Eadmund the Almost Bold, why don’t we see how much work you need to do.’ And with a quick lunge, he slashed his sword fiercely into Eadmund’s side.

Eadmund bit his lip as he stumbled backwards, almost tumbling into the snow. ‘I think I’ll need a shield.’

* * *

Kormac peered at Edela with concern. She looked ready to cry, he thought to himself, and it was no easy thing to watch an old woman cry.

‘He took all his things?’

‘He did, yes,’ Kormac said sadly. Something had broken between Edela and Aleksander. He was not sure what but Aleksander had taken everything and gone to stay with Aedan and Aron. It had left him puzzled.

Edela frowned and sighed. It was Vesta, she remembered wistfully, in Brekka though, not in Tuura. There had never been any celebration in Tuura for this time of year. Tuurans didn’t believe in honouring their gods in such an overt way. It was only the elders who spoke to the gods here. Whatever midwinter ceremonies were held in Tuura, they were held in the sanctity of the temple, for the elders alone.

‘Come, I’ve just found a large flagon of mead that I’d forgotten I had. I’m sure a cup of that is just what you need. Aleksander will be fine, and probably much happier with the boys. Gives him a chance to feel like a man again.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Edela sat down by the fire, in her favourite chair, not even removing her cloak. Her visit to Alaric had finished with a dead end. He had no knowledge about what trouble Rhea had gotten herself into, but just the mention of her name had helped Edela. Now she had another breadcrumb, and she knew what path she had to follow to find the next. That would take her to the temple. She shuddered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that, especially now, without Aleksander to lean on.

* * *

Eirik noticed that Ivaar was stalking about the hall in an increasingly irritable state. He had drunk more than usual, and his cool facade was slipping now. Eirik watched him from his place at the high table, yawning slightly from the wine, of which he had drunk far too much. Eadmund had left, Jael too, long ago, and Eydis had made her way to bed, and so he was left with Ivaar for company; Ivaar, his new heir.

Eirik shrugged away the doubts that crowded his mind. Eadmund had walked out of the hall sober; he’d only seen one drink pass his lips. Eadmund sober. He shrugged that away too; it wouldn’t last. Oh, how he wanted it to, but after seven years of watching his son struggle, he knew it wouldn’t. Not without Jael by his side, certainly, and she seemed no closer to Eadmund than before. Ivaar was the right choice. Eirik shook his head. No, Ivaar was the wrong choice, but he was the only choice.

His eyes narrowed as he watched the dark haired woman wind her way up to the table, to him. Ivaar’s dreamer; what was her name? She was effortlessly beautiful, and Tuuran, and that reminded him of Rada, Eydis’ mother, and he suddenly felt morose. She looked up at him quickly as she passed, then her eyes ran away and so did she. He blinked, confused. He’d drunk far too much, of course, but her eyes had pleaded with him, he was certain. She looked fearful.

Was it for him? Or herself?

He turned around quickly, but she had gone, leaving him wondering if she had even been there at all. He blinked and pushed away his cup. Perhaps it was time for him to find his bed before he became as drunk as Ivaar.

* * *

Jael lay under a mountain of furs, happy to feel almost warm for the first time all day. Vella and Ido snored on either side of her, adding extra insulation, which she was grateful for. She stroked Vella’s fluffy mane and sighed, closing her eyes.

It was Aleksander, she realised at last. She had wanted Eadmund; she had felt things for him, of course, but in losing control of herself, by hopping into his bed, she had betrayed Aleksander. Hadn’t she? She shook her head and tried to remember him, but it was only Eadmund’s face that would come now.

Jael rolled over, frustrated, listening to the wind as it picked up outside, howling painfully around the house now; it sounded like a wolf. She smiled, remembering how Eadmund had stood up to Tarak for her. She hoped he wasn’t lying drunk somewhere, or with someone. That thought made her frown intensely. But who could blame him, after his wife had saved him, then left him before he’d even caught his breath?

Jael didn’t know what to think. If both men were standing before her now, who would she choose? She opened her eyes, peering into the emptiness of the night; she was surprised to find that she honestly didn’t know.

* * *

Gisila was completely sober as she stood before him. She’d drunk more than she could remember but nothing had helped quell the ever-increasing panic that flooded her chest. Her knees started shaking.

‘You look cold, wife,’ Lothar smiled, his eyes oozing with lust as they narrowed in on his prey. ‘Come, come stand by the fire. I have more furs over here to warm your feet, or your back, however you feel more comfortable.’ He raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. ‘Come to me, Gisila, and let me warm you through.’

Gisila fought the urge to vomit. This was not her first wedding night; she knew how it would go. Somehow she knew that this would be so much worse than her first night with Ranuf, which had not been particularly pleasant for her either. There was something about Lothar that made her uneasy.

Gisila edged her ways forwards, towards the fire and the furs, of which there were indeed many. She swallowed but tried to keep her head up as she came closer to him. She could almost hear the growl that rose out of his body for her, and she fought against every instinct she had to turn and run.

This had been her bedchamber; hers and Ranuf’s. The memories of their bed were achingly close, sullied now by Lothar and whatever foul things he was about to do to her. She sighed and thought of Arnna then and her advice. She had to make Lothar bend to her, not the other way around. Somehow she had to exert her power over him before he consumed her.

Gisila closed her eyes for a moment, focusing, calming herself. She took a deep breath and looked into her new husband’s burning, bulging eyes and reached for a strap on her night dress, pushing it off her shoulder. Lothar gasped. She chose not to notice the hideous expression that deformed his very pink lips. With a deep breath, and keeping her eyes firmly fixed on his, she pushed the other strap over her shoulder, letting her silk nightdress fall to the furs below her feet.

It was freezing, and not one part of her wanted to give herself to him like this, but if she wanted any control, and she did, then she had to use whatever she could to claim it.

Lothar lunged at her like a rabbit released from a trap, his chubby hands pawing at her breasts, his lips on hers, his hands in her hair. He was beside himself with glee, unbridled desire coursing through every vein. He had her at last; Ranuf’s wife was now his. It was intoxicating. She was breathtaking, and at last, she belonged to him, and her body, that delicious, milky body he had long dreamed about, was now his to do anything he liked with; oh how he had plans for that body.

Gisila gulped, her eyes frozen in terror over Lothar’s shoulder as he pushed her down onto her knees and pulled her face towards his cock, grunting at her, demanding she place her lips on him.

Gisila closed her eyes and prayed to Furia to avenge her, then bent forwards.

* * *

‘You think you’re getting closer, Edela?’ the voice crowed darkly. ‘You think you have even scratched the surface of what this all means?’

The thick echo of that voice rolled over and over, around Edela’s head. There was darkness. A twisting, burning hint of flame lingered near the corner of Edela’s eye, and her breath came in short bursts. She tried to move forwards, to find her way towards the light; turning, turning, but the flames moved with her, and she could never find anything ahead of herself but pure, dense, chilling darkness.

‘Rhea Thorsen? You want to know what she did? Well, that is no secret. You don’t need to go to the temple to find that out. But it won’t help you. Finding out about Fianna Lehr? That won’t help you either,’ she laughed, and it crashed like hollow waves, all around Edela. ‘You can follow that trail, that path of tiny little morsels, and bit by bit you will get somewhere, but by then it will be too late. By then you will be dead.’

Edela gasped. She saw it in the darkness then, the briefest glimpse of her own death; the first time she had ever seen such a thing. There was truth in that vision.

‘You didn’t know, did you?’ the voice hissed coldly. ‘How close you were to the end? And yet you have had your whole life to solve this mystery of mine. I have been in your dreams since you were straining out of your mother’s cunt. I’ve been warning you since the day of your birth, Edela,’ she scoffed. ‘But have you ever remembered your dreams of me? Oh Edela, how disappointed I’ve been. Grandmother to Furia’s daughter? The one they say will save you all? And you can’t even remember a simple dream?’

Edela was numb, her heart pulsing rapidly. She couldn’t catch her breath; she was being swallowed by the voice and the darkness.

‘But if you don’t remember in time, then what will happen to your precious Jael? To your Tuurans? Or your Brekkans? Who will save them if you can’t remember your dreams, Edela? Who will save them from me when you are gone?’

50

Isaura glanced nervously at Eirik. He didn’t look too upset, she thought hopefully; there was still a hint of a smile lurking near his eyes.

He turned to her then, sensing her unease. ‘It’s alright. We have the contest to look forward to in a few days time. And you cannot predict what the weather gods will bring us. Not in the armpit of winter. Not on Oss.’

He was right, Isaura sighed, stroking Annet’s golden hair as she slept on her knee, but still, after all that planning, she was completely devastated to think it had been for nothing. The blizzard that swept through Oss on the first night of Vesta had been vicious, battering them without respite. Only a brave few had ventured into the hall on the second day, and no one had left their homes today; it was too dangerous to go outside. Isaura listened to the screaming wind relentlessly rattling the walls and sighed.

‘Who knows, perhaps it will die down out there, and we might get a few stragglers coming in later, if we’re not all in bed?’ Eirik smiled, trying to coax a smile out of her, but he could see that none was forthcoming. He turned and glanced around the empty hall; it looked like a perfect winter’s day. Everything felt frozen by time, untouched. They would take all the decorations down tomorrow, of course, which would be a shame, but it was bad luck to leave them up when Vesta was over. He wondered if he would live to see another? ‘You will be queen before you know it, Isaura,’ he reassured her. ‘You will make many Vesta’s here which will last the whole three days, I’m sure.’

Isaura frowned. She never wished to think about being queen and what that would mean for Eadmund or Thorgils. She knew that Ivaar was consumed with revenge; he would not rule here without making them suffer, or die.

‘What is it?’ Eirik leaned forward. It was just the four of them by the fire; Isaura with Annet on her knee, and Mads snoring gently on his. Eirik was enjoying the silence of his grandchildren, who usually made more noise than he could remember from any of his own children.

Isaura squirmed uncomfortably. Eirik had certainly been friendlier these past few days, and his face glowed warmly in the firelight now, but still, he was Eirik the Bloody, Ivaar’s father; she hardly felt free to speak her mind, or her heart to him.

‘Isaura, tell me,’ he urged, watching her eyes dart about the room like a deer sensing danger. ‘Is it Ivaar?’

‘You don’t need my opinion on Ivaar,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sure you have made your choice for many reasons that are nothing at all to do with me.’ She ducked her head, not wanting him to see the fear or hate in her eyes.

Eirik was intrigued. It was true; sometimes it did seem as if everyone had an opinion on Ivaar, and as much as he knew he could not, and certainly would not, abandon his decision, the worry he had over it did keep him awake at night. ‘Tell me,’ he insisted, quietly but firmly. ‘Tell me your reasons, Isaura. Why don’t you want to be queen?’

* * *

The knock on the door surprised them all as they sat around the fire. Kormac frowned at Branwyn, and they both watched as Berta opened the door. They couldn’t hear a thing, though, nor see a face.

Berta closed the door quickly and came over to her mistress. ‘It was a messenger from the temple. Marcus wishes to see you, my lady,’ she nodded towards Edela.

Branwyn and Kormac’s pale faces revealed just what they thought of that news. Edela wasn’t as disturbed, though. She knew that the elders needed her because they needed Jael, so she didn’t imagine she could be in any danger from this Marcus. As much as she had tried to search her memory, she had no real picture of who he was, or had been, during her own time in Tuura. But no one said his name without a fearful look on their face.

‘Mother,’ Branwyn said nervously as she placed her bowl on the floor and came over to sit next to her. ‘Mother, you must be careful around Marcus. You must watch your words. He knows everything that happens in Tuura and beyond. The dreamers tell him everything they see. He will catch you out in any lie, be sure of that.’

Kormac studied Edela quietly. ‘I shall walk you there. After that rain last night, I fear it is very icy outside.’ He got up to put on his cloak and gloves.

Edela handed Branwyn her bowl and eased herself out of the chair, grimacing in discomfort. She felt a heaviness in her body that had only intensified over the last few days. The absence of Aleksander was affecting her spirit greatly. She had not seen him since their talk about his mother and was growing increasingly worried about him. She had not had a single dream, nor any further insight into Fianna or Rhea, but perhaps there was more to be found at the temple... if this Marcus would tell her anything, although she doubted that was his intention.

Branwyn held out her cloak, and Edela turned around so that she could slip it over her shoulders. She kissed her mother on her cheek. ‘Be careful. Please.’

* * *

Aleksander knew he had to stop or he was going to turn into everything he despised; a man who had no control over mind or body, who lurched about the streets like a mad fool, causing people to turn away from him in distaste or fear. He had seen men like that, and he had no intention of becoming one. Aleksander pushed the cup away, deciding it was time to leave. He wobbled, his head ringing loudly as his eyes moved in and out of focus. He grabbed the table and tried to steady himself.

She reached out and touched his arm. ‘Aleksander,’ she whispered. ‘Come. Lean on me.’

He peered at her, trying to remember her name. He was happy to see someone he knew, but at the same time, wished she’d go away. He didn’t want her to see him, not like this. He didn’t want a reminder of what they had done; what he had done.

‘No, no!’ he grumbled, pushing her arm away. ‘No!’

But she saw the state he was in and the looks from the men around the dark little tavern. Soon they would throw him out into the snow, she was sure of it; he was a stranger here, alone, and making another fuss. She tried again. ‘Come, just let me help you, back to your house. That’s all. Come on.’

He frowned at her and let go of the table, trying to prove he didn’t need her, but the room moved away from him, and he stumbled again. She reached out and grabbed his arm, placing it around her shoulder. He didn’t argue; he didn’t want to be here anymore.

She led him through the door and into the chill of the night, or was it night? The sky was so dark, but surely it was barely midday? He was confused, confused and disoriented, as she led him away. He wanted to stop her, to make her turn around. He needed to go back to Aedan and Aron’s. He was sure they were going the wrong way. He didn’t want to go back to her cottage again, not that. His shoulders sagged in defeat as his feet slid around beneath him.

Hanna, he remembered as the wind rushed the sweet smell of her over him.

Her name was Hanna.

* * *

‘Ivaar’s not here,’ Eirik assured her. ‘We both saw him leave this morning and he hasn’t been back. You can speak freely, unless you think your children here are spies for him?’ He smiled encouragingly at her, but inside, his stomach was twisting into knots. Why was he asking questions he didn’t want answers to?

Isaura bowed her head and spoke quickly before she changed her mind. ‘I worry for Eadmund and Thorgils, for what Ivaar has planned for them.’

Eirik’s frown was sharp. ‘Planned for them?’

Isaura didn’t flinch. ‘He is driven by revenge, for what Eadmund did to him, what he sees as Eadmund’s fault. He has always insisted he didn’t kill Melaena. He blames Eadmund for his banishment, for turning everyone against him. But of course, it goes so much further back than that, doesn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘He blames Eadmund for all the things that have gone wrong in his life.’ She paused, nervously glancing around again but there wasn’t even a servant in the hall now. ‘Once you are gone, there is nothing to stop him taking his revenge.’ She looked Eirik firmly in the eye. ‘Nothing will stop him. He is determined.’

Eirik chewed on his lip. Isaura was right, he knew, of course. Eydis had said similar things, but in the heat of his anger at Eadmund, he hadn’t wanted to hear any of it. Oss was his priority. Oss had to be protected. But what if they were all right; what if Ivaar’s revenge destroyed everyone he loved? ‘Tell me about Ivaar’s dreamer,’ he whispered. ‘Is she good?’

Isaura looked puzzled. ‘Good?’ She shook her head, trying not to let her distaste show on her face. ‘I don’t know. He doesn’t let anyone speak to her. He treats her like a pet. He takes her advice very seriously, though. He is never without her.’

Eirik scratched his head, suddenly as anxious as Isaura. He remembered the sad eyes of the beautiful dreamer as she had passed him the other night. When the blizzard had done its worst, he would have to seek her out, draw her away from Ivaar; he needed to see if she had any insight on what his son’s plans were.

* * *

Eadmund was going mad. He sat on his bed and stared at the door, tapping his toes impatiently on the floor. The wind was still whipping snow around outside but was it slowing down? He fidgeted with his tunic, readjusted his cloak, stretched his neck, and got up. Again. To open the door and check outside. Again.

The wind whipped the door out of his hands, and he had to step outside to retrieve it as it banged haplessly against his cottage. Part of him was hoping the storm would sweep the cottage up into its fury. He was sick of the sight of its pitiful four walls; sick of the scream of the wind as it raced through the holes in them.

He wandered back inside and sat down by the fire; what was left of the fire. He was almost out of wood and was either going to have to face being blown away and lost in the snow storm, or simply just freeze. He sighed and looked over at his bed, remembering the night Jael had been there with him. Naked. On top of him. Her hair loose and wild about her, as her eyes devoured him. He frowned. Where had she gone? Why had she disappeared?

Eadmund looked down at the parcel that sat on the ground by his feet; a gift that he hadn’t been able to give because of the storm. But perhaps, when the snow and the wind eventually retreated, perhaps he could try?

His head was clear now. He was tired of waiting.

* * *

‘Come in, please Edela, I have a seat waiting for you by the fire.’

Edela shuddered at the sound of his voice. She didn’t know why. There was nothing especially threatening in it, but it was cold, and he spoke slowly, and she feared him instantly. She quickly glanced at his face as she made her way to the seat. She didn’t know him but how was that possible? How had he risen to be elderman here, in Tuura, without her even knowing him?

‘We have not met, you and I,’ he breathed as he walked behind her, the soft thud of his boots barely noticeable on the stone floor. He was a large man but made little sound.

Edela turned and sat down on the small, wooden chair. She was numb with cold and fear in equal measure. ‘No, we have not,’ she croaked, clearing her throat, trying to imagine herself younger, stronger, less vulnerable in front of this powerful man. ‘Which is strange I think, don’t you?’

‘Very,’ he admitted, sitting opposite her, placing his hands on his legs, his amber eyes resting on hers. ‘But I believe our paths may simply have crossed. I come from Helsabor. My mother brought me here when I was a child, after the death of my father. I am Tuuran, on her side.’

Edela was not at ease, and she knew that put her at a disadvantage. Every sense in her aching body was warning her that this man posed a threat that stretched far beyond his polite chatter; this man meant her harm. She could sense it in the tightness of his shoulders and the tension in his thick, black eyebrows; in the way his head barely moved when he spoke. He sat before her like a mountain that wanted to crush her with its force, and her mind was scrambling about helplessly before him.

‘Well, that would explain it, I think,’ she smiled freely, taking a deep breath. She saw Jael standing behind him then, and her jaw clenched, her focus sharpened. ‘But you are so young, and yet you have risen to become elderman,’ she said, stroking his ego. ‘That is a great achievement indeed.’

‘Perhaps,’ he admitted, one eye twitching. ‘But then we are all given gifts. It is how we use them that dictates where we end up, wouldn’t you say?’

Edela sat forward confidently. Life was a game of shadows, she knew. And in the shadows, many things could remain hidden. ‘I would, yes. But of course, not everyone who has a gift uses it wisely, or indeed, to its full potential.’

Marcus stared at her without speaking. There was fire in those old eyes, he noted; that could cause problems. He inhaled sharply and stood up, walking towards a table in the corner of the room. He poured wine into two silver cups and brought them back to the fire. ‘Please, have a drink.’ He didn’t smile as he held out her cup.

‘Thank you,’ Edela said, placing the cup on her knee with absolutely no intention of drinking it.

‘We must speak of your granddaughter,’ Marcus began.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ Edela said sharply. ‘There is much I wish to know.’

‘You? You wish to know?’ Marcus said, surprised. ‘Neva has already informed you of what you need to know. I have brought you here to discuss what you must do when you return to Oss.’

Edela tried not to let her annoyance show. He was curt and arrogant, and it riled her, but he was the most powerful man in Tuura, and she needed to keep on good terms with him, for now. ‘I thought Neva was going to speak with me about that?’ she frowned.

Marcus looked slightly unsettled. ‘Neva is... not well. I thought it best I spoke to you instead. You will need time to study, to ready yourself for Morana.’

‘Who is this Morana? How is she so dangerous and yet still alive?’ Edela wondered, watching Marcus’ face harden with each word she spoke. ‘Why has no one tried to stop her before?’

‘All things happen as the gods wish it, Edela. As the gods lead us, we will always follow.’ He spoke as though reading a prophecy. ‘And Morana’s death will come when it is time. That, however,’ he shook his head, ‘is not your concern. Your concern is to protect Jael from Evaine, her daughter.’ He reached under his seat and brought out a book, a very worn, black, leather-bound book. He gave it to Edela, almost reluctantly.

‘This is for you to see. You alone,’ he said firmly, his fingertips still gripping the edges of the book. ‘You will not show another soul. Do you understand me? Morana has magic of the darkest sort at her disposal,’ he warned. ‘She has her own book, of course, but this is ours. And you must take it and learn how to defend yourself, and Jael, against whatever she is planning. Everything you need to know is in here.’

Edela put down her cup and took the book. It smelled of death, as though it had been buried in a damp, dark hole for centuries. Edela felt the weight of it sink into her knees; she couldn’t breathe. ‘But I....’ she looked up at Marcus, suddenly anxious.

‘Jael must live,’ he said firmly, his eyes probing hers. ‘You will help her to live, Edela. You will learn what the book has to teach, and you will go to Oss, and you will save her. Do I make myself clear?’

Edela shivered and shuddered as she sat there by the intense heat of the fire, her mouth dry, and the stench of the book filling her nostrils. She must have nodded her head, for he looked at her, satisfied, then got up and walked away.

* * *

Jael ran the brush down Tig’s neck, her hand following its smooth, silky path. He hated being shut up in the stables. She would have felt the same, she was certain, if it wasn’t for the fact that she was trying to hide from everyone.

The snow storm had been an unexpected Vesta gift; perhaps for her alone. She had been able to hide away, hibernating in the house with Biddy and the puppies, or the stables, with the horses. They had a wealth of food and wood, and an abundant store of ale and mead, so it had been a thoroughly pleasant few days. She had pushed every thought of Eadmund out of her head as soon as it had arrived, along with every guilty pang and stirring desire. Nothing had existed for her except the howl of the wind and the warmth of the fire.

She kissed Tig on his neck and stroked his mane. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, my friend,’ she promised as she turned around.

‘So, you prefer to kiss your horse rather than your husband?’ Eadmund smiled as he stood in the doorway of the stables, covered in a thick dusting of snow. ‘I see now why you ran away. I must say, it’s unexpected, but I do understand, he’s a handsome creature.’

Jael frowned, unhappy at being caught off guard. She squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Well, we have been together a long time, Tig and I. We’re very close.’ Her eyes did not reflect the smile in his.

‘I see,’ Eadmund said stepping forwards. ‘But then, I’m your husband, and that entitles me to certain rights that your horse can never have.’

Jael wanted to step backwards, but she couldn’t move; she was already hard up against the door to Tig’s stall. He kept getting closer and closer. ‘Rights?’

‘Yes, don’t you remember our vows that day? It was not so long ago, was it?’ He stopped just in front of her, brushing the snow out of his beard, reaching a hand out to touch her face.

Jael flinched, her eyes sharp on his. She pushed his hand away and stared at him coldly. ‘From what I remember of that day, you were so drunk you couldn’t stand, so how you can remember anything that was said, I don’t know.’

‘Well, you forget, I’ve been married before,’ he smiled. ‘I have suffered through those vows, twice now, so I do remember how you promised to love and obey me, to care for me, nourish and nurture me, to share a home with me. So...’ he continued, putting his hand out to grab hers, but she shook it away again. ‘I think it’s time for us to do just that, don’t you? You can either come back to my shit-heap of a cottage, or I can come here. But one thing I know for sure, Jael, is that you are my wife and where you are is where I’m going to be, whether you like it or not.’ His eyes softened, and there was a small flicker of uncertainty in them. ‘I’ve wasted enough time in my life. I’m not going to waste anymore.’

Jael stared at Eadmund with as much fury as she could muster. She hated being told what to do; despised it more than anything. She had been ordered about by Lothar, and Eirik, and now Eadmund decided he would come and claim his husbandly rights. After all this time? She wanted to punch him in the face.

Eadmund’s smile faded as he looked into her angry scowl, his warm, hazel eyes full of sadness. ‘Don’t run away from me, Jael. You didn’t save me to push me away, did you?’

Tig whinnied and banged his head into Jael’s, nudging her closer to Eadmund. She stumbled and lost some of her composure then. Eadmund laughed and reached out to grab her, pulling her reluctant body into his snowy cloak. She didn’t push him away this time but stood stiffly in his arms, rigid beneath his hold; she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

‘You’re not drunk then?’

‘No? Why would I be?’ he wondered to the top of her head. ‘You cured me, didn’t you? You and that evil bitch of a tincture.’ He smiled and stepped back, lifting her chin. ‘And now I’m here to get you.’

Jael’s eyes darted about, and she tried to think of what to do. She tried to think of Aleksander, but all she saw were Eadmund’s eyes and nothing else. And then all she could feel were his lips, as he leaned forward to kiss her, and his hands as they gripped her head, and his body as it pressed against hers. And then there was no time for thinking, as the snow blew like an angry ghost outside, and the horses whinnied impatiently in their stalls, and the hay rustled under their feet, scratching her back, as Eadmund laid her down and smiled.

51

His willpower had most certainly deserted him, or was it something about her in particular that he found so hard to resist? Perhaps he was just desperately lonely and tired of being broken?

‘Why do you drink so much?’ Hanna wondered quietly as she lay her head on his chest.

Aleksander wanted to ask her to move, to lie away from him. He didn’t know her, didn’t want her to be so close; as if they were something more than what had just happened. Again. Why had he let it happen again?

‘I suppose it’s something to do,’ he said distantly, not wishing to reveal anything about himself. He wasn’t looking for a friend; he wanted to leave.

‘Well, seems to me that you should find something else to do,’ she murmured. ‘You’re making yourself known as trouble. They don’t like trouble in the temple, the elders. People who cause trouble don’t stay around here long, especially outsiders.’

Aleksander frowned, pulling the furs up around his naked chest. He was cold to the bone and too thick headed to make much sense of Hanna’s warning. ‘Why do you care so much about what trouble I get into?’

She sat up and looked at him, shyly covering her breasts with one arm. ‘I don’t. I just thought you needed to know,’ she muttered, dropping her head to avoid the scowl in his eyes. ‘You looked very sad. Alone.’ She lay back down, on her side of the bed.

Aleksander was caught between wanting to throw something and needing to cry; his head hurt too much to do either, though. ‘I suppose I am,’ was all he could get out, his voice heavy with pain. He rubbed his head. ‘I should go.’

Hanna looked up at him, worried. ‘Do you have somewhere to go?’

‘Of course.’ He sat up, thinking of Edela. He worried about her and felt disloyal for abandoning her, but he couldn’t go back there and face her. What else had she seen of his mother? He didn’t want to know. He could never believe it; no matter what she said, no matter what she saw.

Aleksander turned around and looked at her. ‘I have some coins in my cloak pocket...’

‘For what?’ Hanna looked insulted. ‘What do you think I am?’

He cringed, caught in the awkwardness of the moment, wishing he was anywhere else. ‘I... I thought –’

‘You should go.’

Aleksander reached for his trousers, which he’d dropped by the bed. ‘I’m sorry. You’ve been very kind to me.’ He slipped his thick, woollen tunic over his head. ‘I’m sorry.’ He didn’t look at her again as he grabbed his cloak and belt, and headed for the door without bothering to finish dressing.

* * *

Ayla opened the door with a heavy sigh. ‘My lord,’ she gasped at the shivering figure who stood knee deep in a large snow drift outside her door. ‘Please, come in.’ Her face burned with the memory of Ivaar’s recent visit, and she struggled to meet Eirik’s eye, wondering why he had come.

‘You are Ayla?’ Eirik murmured as he gave her his wet, fur cloak and took a stool by the fire. ‘Tuuran?’

‘Yes, yes I am.’

‘And how did you find your way to Kalfa, then? A long way for a Tuuran dreamer to go.’ She was incredibly beautiful, he thought to himself. She reminded him so much of Rada, with those large, dark eyes.

‘My husband, he was a merchant from Silura. I left Tuura to be with him.’ She tried to smile, but her lips barely moved as she poured ale into a cup. ‘We stopped at Kalfa once and decided to stay.’

‘In Kalfa?’ Eirik raised an eyebrow. ‘Thank you,’ he nodded, taking the cup of ale.

Ayla came and sat down opposite him, nervously running over all the reasons he may have come. ‘Well, my husband liked its location. Closer to Alekka. He had good trading opportunities there.’ She had told that lie so many times that the words fell off her tongue without much effort.

Eirik took a sip of ale and glanced at the fire. ‘How do you see me dying then?’

Ayla swallowed hard, unsettled by his bluntness. ‘I... I don’t see your death at all, my lord.’

He glared at her coldly. Her curls bounced nervously over her chest. She was shaking, but was it from fear? He couldn’t tell. ‘I am surprised. Was it not you who advised Ivaar that he would be coming back to Oss? Did you not prepare him for that? Warn him? Tell him I would die soon?’

‘Well...’ Ayla felt trapped. ‘I saw that you would send for him. I saw Ivaar as King of Oss. I saw your pyre. I saw all those things, but never your actual death. I’m sorry.’ She hung her head, wanting respite from his piercing, blue eyes. ‘I cannot tell you about that.’

Eirik gritted his teeth impatiently and sighed. ‘It seems as though no one can tell me about that, which is a shame, as it is all I can think about.’ He peered into her eyes, pulling his stool towards hers. ‘My death and what will become of Oss, my children, my legacy. Tell me what you have seen. All of it.’

Ayla squirmed. He was much like Ivaar with those penetrating eyes, which could turn so cold and demanding. They searched her face, desperately seeking answers she didn’t have, and information she couldn’t give.

She couldn’t. Ivaar held the key. She couldn’t help his enemy.

* * *

Where had his father gone?

Ivaar scratched his beard distractedly as he leaned back in the chair that he’d placed beside the fire. Mads sat wailing on the floor next to him, and he kept glancing around for Isaura or any of her countless servants to come and get him. He was trying to think, and that constant whining was not helping.

Ivaar rubbed his head, trying to gain some clarity. He was losing control of himself, losing grip of his plan. Because of her. Jael. She was inside his head more than anyone else these days, and that was a problem. His goal was Oss; becoming king, destroying Eadmund. But trying to play games with Eadmund by playing with his wife had only ended up confusing him, and now he felt like the one being played with.

Ivaar shook his head angrily. ‘Will somebody come and pick up this fucking child!’ he yelled furiously into the quiet of the hall.

Mads stopped grizzling instantly and stared up at his father in shock. Ivaar looked down at his little blonde head, remembering when Eskild had come and taken his father away from him and his mother. She had given Eirik a new son, a better son, her son, and his father had never wanted anything to do with him again. Until now, when Eskild’s son had ruined his chance, finally, and now Ivaar had his again. He wasn’t about to let it slip away from him. No matter what Eadmund did, no matter what Eirik thought or wanted, or what games Jael was playing. Nothing was going to stop him claiming what was rightfully his. Not this time.

A servant rushed over to Mads, but Ivaar shooed her away. He bent down and picked up his son, sitting him on his knee. No one was going to stop the vision he had for Oss and the revenge he had been dreaming of.

* * *

‘Is Ivaar so powerful that you fear what he will do to you if you tell me the truth?’ Eirik was frustrated as he leaned towards Ayla. He could tell that she knew more, despite her insistence that she had told him everything.

‘My lord,’ Ayla said nervously, her eyes shifting about. ‘Ivaar knows all that I have told you, and I have told Ivaar all that I know. There is nothing more. Perhaps Eydis can see things that I can’t?’ she suggested, hoping to distract him.

‘Well, the gods do not seem to think my death very important at all, do they?’ Eirik grumbled as he stood up, shaking his head. ‘I’m sure you think you are doing the right thing, Ayla, choosing the right side. But the choice about Ivaar is mine, entirely mine. Almost no one wants him here. Almost no one wants him for their king because they remember him, and they do not like the things they remember.’ He reached for his cloak, which Ayla had placed to dry by the fire. ‘But I have chosen him to lead my people when I’m gone, to grow my kingdom, to keep my family safe.’ He stared into her eyes. ‘If I had another option, I would choose a different man, but I don’t. That is just the way it has to be. But if there is a chance that my decision will end up destroying everyone that I love, I would not make that choice. Do you understand me?’

Ayla nodded slowly as she stood, her eyes hooded.

‘Perhaps you can dream on that for me? Perhaps you can try and see if I am making the right choice for my people? For Eadmund and Eydis?’

Ayla followed him to the door.

‘Eydis likes you, I hear,’ he turned to her, wishing he was a younger man, as he looked down on that attractive face, her smooth, olive skin glowing in the firelight. ‘You could help her with her dreams. Maybe the answers I need will come to her.’

Ayla blinked, an idea flickering inside the darkness of her mind.

Eydis.

* * *

Thorgils trudged through the deep snow, happy to finally be freed from his mother’s company. What a torturous Vesta that had been! Imprisoned. Forced to listen to her grating nag and endure her tasteless cooking, for two whole days! And it had all started so well. He sighed sadly, remembering how beautiful Isaura had looked as she sat at the high table, next to Ivaar, who had barely even noticed her. But Thorgils had, if only out of the corner of his eye when he had checked to make sure no one was looking. He wondered how he would ever speak to her again, ever snatch a moment when it could be just the two of them alone? As much as he hated the idea, perhaps Jael needed to take Ivaar off on another ride. He laughed to himself; he doubted she would be in a hurry to do that again.

The blizzard had wreaked havoc for two days and nights and then vanished as if it had never been, leaving behind shards of roofing and walls, and a sky so blue that it glinted in the sun with a blinding force.

Thorgils stopped by the Pit and blinked as he watched two figures approaching. Surely not? It was Jael and Eadmund, leading Tig and Leada. He couldn’t help the smile that quickly replaced his grumbling; perhaps Vesta had not been so bad for everyone?

‘Thorgils!’ Eadmund smiled. ‘You’re alive! I thought Odda might have killed you with her tongue!’

He looked well, Thorgils thought. Better than he could remember, and that smile? ‘Well, it is true, I nearly ran out into the blizzard, hoping it would sweep me away!’ he laughed. ‘Thankfully, my mother likes to sleep, so it was not always so bad.’ He nodded towards the horses. ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Of course,’ Jael said quickly. ‘Training!’

Eadmund smiled happily. ‘You should go and get Vili, come with us.’

Jael looked at him sharply. ‘Us?’ She shook her head. ‘No, there’s no us. You can stay here and find Torstan. Thorgils and I are the ones leaving.’

Thorgils’ laughed as he helped himself to Leada’s reins. ‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said tartly. ‘I appreciate it.’

Eadmund glared at Jael. ‘Torstan?’

‘You’re no use to us,’ Jael said shortly as she stuck her foot into a stirrup and threw herself onto Tig’s back. ‘We have to train hard. We don’t have time to be teaching you how to use a sword again. So try Torstan.’ She turned to see that Thorgils had mounted, and clicked her tongue, nudging Tig along through the dense snow; it was going to be a slow ride. ‘We’ll be back later.’

‘Much, much later,’ Thorgils grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. He tapped his heel gently into Leada’s flank, and they fell in behind Jael and Tig.

Eadmund glared after them but neither one of them even looked back. He frowned and turned towards the Pit, his shoulders sinking with disappointment and frustration. Torstan?

* * *

Torstan had him on his knees within minutes. ‘This will go much better if you keep to your feet, Eadmund,’ he laughed, turning around and walking back to his spot.

Eadmund scrambled to his feet with a groan. The ground had been cleared, but slush still lingered, and Eadmund was wet through already. He didn’t feel defeated, though; the memory of his wife leaving with his best friend was enough to have him crouching again, sword ready, determined to do better this time.

‘Don’t say you’re going to enter the contest, Brother,’ Ivaar laughed as he and Tarak approached the Pit. ‘That would make things very interesting. At least for a minute. I think that’s all it would take, don’t you, my friend?’ He looked towards Tarak, who stared at Eadmund with eyes full of scorn.

‘Well, not as interesting as what I plan to do to his wife if I come face to face with her.’

‘Eadmund,’ Torstan warned through gritted teeth as Eadmund straightened up and stalked towards the railings.

‘My wife?’ he frowned. ‘You have met my wife, haven’t you Tarak? The angry, fighting one? The one who knows how to use a sword? That one?’ He smiled and turned back. ‘I wish you luck with your plan, but I fear it will end with a sword stuck up your arse. But then again, perhaps you’d like that?’

Torstan’s mouth hung open as Eadmund crouched before him again, his back to Ivaar and Tarak.

Tarak looked ready to lunge into the Pit, straight through the railings, but Ivaar put a hand out to stop him and shook his head. ‘Cool your anger,’ he warned. ‘They’re only words. Big words from a weak man with a strong wife. Perhaps you can hide behind her when we attack Hest? If you can manage to stay on your feet by then?’ Ivaar was in no mood for games. He had control of himself again. He had slept well and felt much calmer today. Eadmund’s time would come. There was no point in rushing things. He didn’t want to unsettle his father or give him any reason to see him as a problem, especially in light of Eadmund’s sudden turnaround.

* * *

They trained without swords. Thorgils wouldn’t stop grumbling as she wrestled him to the ground, time after time.

Fyn sat watching, laughing, as somehow, every time, Jael managed to twist and turn Thorgils against himself until he was wrapped up in a tangle, lying on the ground.

‘I think it’s time young Fyn here swapped places with you,’ Thorgils growled as he got up and shook the snow from his sleeves. ‘Let’s see if I can wipe that arse-crack of a smile off his hairless face!’

Jael grinned, happy to take a seat. She wondered how Eadmund was faring with Torstan and grinned even more, remembering his jaw-dropping shock as they had left him behind. He might have felt as though he had come so far, but it was a good thing for him to realise how far he still had to go, she thought. He was only at the beginning. He needed her help and Thorgils’ to get better but not now, not when they had the contest to prepare for. They had to do everything they could to defeat Tarak. They had no time for Eadmund; even Fyn was better than him at the moment.

‘Keep your eyes open, Fyn!’ she called. ‘Watch for every movement. Remember what I did, how I took him to the ground. It doesn’t matter how much bigger he is than you if you know how to bring him down. And if you can bring him to the ground, you can control him and finish it.’

‘Will you shut up!’ Thorgils barked at her. ‘We’re trying to concentrate over here!’

Jael laughed and took a drink from the jug of ale she’d brought Fyn. It was cold and refreshing after a long morning of grappling with Thorgils. She watched as Thorgils and Fyn circled one another, but her mind was back at the house with Eadmund. It hadn’t felt as strange as the first time. Aleksander’s face still flickered in and out of her mind constantly, but so did Eadmund’s. And Eadmund was her husband. He was hers. And that thought made her smile. She closed her eyes for a moment and pictured his face as he lay underneath her, looking deep into her eyes, his hands on her body.

‘What?! No! Ha! I don’t believe it! Jael, I did it! I did it!’

Jael blinked herself away from Eadmund and saw that Thorgils was once again pulling himself up from the snow, and it was Fyn this time who was dancing about him like a mad hare, revelling in his victory.

‘I did it! I did it!’

Jael laughed, then gasped as she watched Thorgils come up behind the celebrating hare and take his feet out from under him in one fell swoop. Fyn plummeted into the slush, face first.

‘Ha! Now I did it!’ Thorgils snorted. ‘Best you remember to watch your back, you little turd!’ And he strutted over to Jael, snatching the jug away from her and taking a long drink, the look on his face one of disgruntled triumph. ‘Time for swords, I think. I have a little revenge to dish out.’

* * *

Edela opened the book as soon as Branwyn closed the door. She had thankfully taken Berta with her and left behind a comfortable fire and a plate of fresh hot cakes. Edela sat beside the fire, wrapped in a smoky fur, turning each page with great interest, her mind humming as she scanned the thinly-scrawled words and symbols. The smelly, old book was full of ways to protect herself from the darkest magic. Is that what this Morana was planning to use against Jael? Hoping to kill her or enslave her? Turn her against everyone she loved? Edela frowned. She wished Aleksander were here. She felt far too old to enter a war of magic on her own, if such a terrifying thing did exist.

Edela had until spring to master these symbols and spells, to memorise all that she needed to know from the book; she doubted they would let her take it when she left. Symbols and spells to ward off evil, to keep Jael safe from Morana and her daughter. That was what they told her she was to do. But Edela knew that there was so much more behind all of this. They needed Jael safe. Why? Fianna had sent men to kill Jael. Why? Edela’s head was full of questions as she lay it back against the chair, sighing heavily with the burden of the last few months, as it rested its heavy weight upon her.

There was so much more she needed to find out. What about those headless girls? What about the Book of Darkness? They had not appeared in her dreams without reason. She shook her head in frustration; she had not woken from a dream with any useful information in days.

There was a faint knock at the door. Edela lurched forward in surprise, hurrying out of the chair and slipping the book under her pillow. She smoothed down her dress and ran a hand through her wiry grey hair, before going to open the door.

‘Alaric?’ Edela was surprised by the stooped figure before her. ‘How lovely to see you.’ He looked worried, she thought as she ushered him inside, his eyes quickly sweeping the room.

‘You are alone, then? I saw Branwyn leave.’

‘Did you now? Well, come and sit down and tell me what has happened, because I can see, dear Alaric, that you have much on your mind.’

52

They were in Eydis’ bedchamber, well away from Ivaar’s prying eyes, and hopefully, his little spy’s eavesdropping ears.

‘You must close your eyes and think of a word that describes what you are seeking,’ Ayla explained as she sat next to Eydis on her bed. Her face was strained; she had not slept much since Eirik’s visit. ‘That is the word you will repeat over and over in your mind as you are going to sleep.’

‘And that will help bring dreams to me?’

‘It will help focus them, yes, but in the end, it is the gods who will choose what you see. You can only ask, as clearly as you can,’ Ayla warned her quietly. She watched, as Eydis closed her eyes, wondering if it made any difference to her. ‘The other thing you can do is find an object, something to represent the person or thing you are seeking answers about. For instance, if it were your father, perhaps you would take an arm ring, or an item of his clothing, and hold it in your hand when you went to bed.’

Eydis frowned. ‘And will that help me understand what is real and what is not?’ She turned towards Ayla anxiously. ‘Will I be able to tell the difference between my fears and my visions?’

Ayla sensed the tension in Eydis’ face; she was panicking. She reached out and patted her hand reassuringly. ‘When the clouds of your dreams come, you must concentrate. This is when you will use your word again. Keep it in your mind. See it. Say it. Over and over again. This will help the clouds part, and what you will be left with is a true vision. That is the one you must grab hold of.’

‘But how do I do that?’

Ayla sighed. ‘Well, that is the hard part. The elders in the temple teach us to walk into a dream. By walking into a dream, you become part of it. It becomes part of you. You are there, in it, and so it is easier to hold onto once you wake up. But Eydis, that is the hardest part of all. It may take some time for you to learn that.’

Eydis took a deep breath. Her chest fluttered with nerves, but also some hope that hadn’t been there before. It had all felt so confusing and overwhelming, but now she saw a way forward; a way that perhaps she could help.

Ayla stood up. ‘I should go,’ she said quietly. ‘Ivaar will be looking for me.’

Eydis didn’t need to see her face to know how she felt about that. ‘Will you come again, though? Perhaps we could talk some more? I will try to do as you say, but I’m certain it won’t be as easy as it sounds.’ She smiled shyly and reached out for Ayla’s hand.

‘I will, of course,’ Ayla smiled. ‘But you must not forget that dreamers go to the temple for years to learn how to master their dreams. You cannot expect to have control after one night.’

‘No, but at least I know more than I did before you came. Thank you, Ayla. I hope I will find some answers when I go to sleep tonight.’

Ayla looked down on Eydis as she wrapped her blue, woollen cloak around her shoulders, her forehead creased into a deep frown. ‘I hope you will too.’

* * *

‘Who is that parcel for?’ Jael wondered as she peered at Eadmund over her bowl of soup.

They were eating around the fire, and he had barely spoken to her, much to her amusement. His nose was completely out of joint. He had a black eye and had limped back to the house with her. He was filthy, wet, and in a foul mood.

‘Do you have any other clothes?’ Biddy asked awkwardly as she handed Eadmund a second bowl. ‘I should like to wash those, I think.’

‘Thank you,’ Eadmund mumbled. ‘Clothes? Well, not that I have worn in a long time. I suppose they are shut away in my chest.’

‘Good, I shall have Askel fetch your chest tomorrow then, and we can see what’s in there. I’m sure you have something else you can wear.’

‘You would think so, wouldn’t you?’ Eadmund muttered as he devoured Biddy’s soup. Her cooking was almost reason enough to smile, but not quite; he was still too annoyed with Jael for that.

‘The parcel?’ Jael asked again, nodding towards the large lump Eadmund had brought with him on his first night in the house. He had left it by the door and not mentioned it since. Both Jael and Biddy had been keen to know what it was.

‘That?’ Eadmund didn’t look up. ‘That was something I bought for you. A Vesta gift. But I haven’t made my mind up whether I want to give it to you yet.’

‘Oh, really?’ Jael looked less than impressed.

‘Yes, really.’ Eadmund put his bowl on the floor and ran a hand over his beard. ‘You had me lead my horse out as if we were going riding and training together, and then you just left me there, like a small child, while you rode off with my best friend!’

Jael laughed. ‘Well, what did you expect?’

‘I expected to go riding with you! Not to spend the day having my face pushed into the mud by Torstan! Torstan, who I used to beat every time we fought. Torstan, who couldn’t stop smiling as he ran me around like a little dog!’ Eadmund looked at Jael and there was a hint of humour in his eyes now. He was finding it impossible to stay as angry as he had a mind to be, not when he could see her, not when she was this close to him, and they were sitting around the fire together in their house.

Jael handed her bowl to Biddy and patted Vella who had been sitting next to her patiently. ‘We have to beat Tarak,’ she said seriously. ‘One of us does. It’s more important than you know. To me. When the contest is done, you can be our friend again, I promise,’ she smiled.

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Eadmund snorted. ‘I shall look forward to that, but in the meantime...’

‘In the meantime?’

‘I think I should like to stay here. Or will you be sending me out to stay with Torstan and moving Thorgils in?’

Jael raised one eyebrow. ‘Well, I was honestly quite happy here with just Biddy and the puppies,’ she said with a straight face. ‘We’ve gotten quite used to it being just us, haven’t we Biddy?’

‘Don’t drag me into your game!’ Biddy called from the kitchen. ‘I’ve far too much to do for any of your nonsense!’

‘How about you give me your gift and then we’ll see?’

Eadmund frowned. ‘No, I think I’ll hold onto that a little longer. I want to make sure you’re not going to run away from me again. Perhaps, if you’re still here in the morning, I’ll give it to you then.’

Jael stared at him, and he stared back at her, and she couldn’t look away. It was surely going to be much harder to run away this time.

* * *

Alaric’s eyes flitted nervously around the spacious house. Compared to his tiny cottage, it was truly luxurious, with thick furs scattered over the wooden floor, plastered walls that retained the heat of the room, and beds that actually looked comfortable. There was obviously some reward to be found in blacksmithing, he decided, smiling as Edela handed him a cup of ale and a plate of hotcakes and berries, smothered in honey. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured appreciatively.

‘Something has happened, then?’ she wondered, bringing a stool towards the chair she had forced him into. ‘You seem distressed.’

‘Well,’ he shuddered. ‘Not so much. I just wanted to help. You.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ she smiled. ‘Without Aleksander, I do feel very alone in all of this now.’

‘I’m not sure you should be delving into these things, Edela, but if you are,’ he tried to smile, ‘you can’t do it all by yourself.’

‘No, I expect not,’ she admitted sadly, thinking that she must find Aleksander. She needed to try and get through to him. She shook her head, bringing her attention back to Alaric. ‘So, what can you do to help me?’

‘Well... there is a scribe called Merya. She is very, very old now. Older than even us,’ he smiled. ‘And she was the personal scribe of Fritha, who was elderman when you were in the temple. When Rhea was removed.’

Edela’s eyes widened. ‘I remember her, and of course, I remember Fritha. She was a very fair woman, wasn’t she?’

‘Yes, she was,’ Alaric nodded. ‘Which is why I thought it worth asking about Rhea and what she had done. Fritha would never have removed someone from the temple without a serious reason.’

‘And?’

‘Well, Merya is no longer quite right in the head, it seems,’ he said awkwardly. ‘So, our conversation was rather meandering, to say the least. Much of what she said sounded like the jumbled ravings of a fool, but when I finally got around to mentioning Rhea’s name, she went completely white. Her face froze, and she hurried away into a corner of her cottage and stayed there.’

‘Oh.’

‘It took some time, coaxing her out, calming her down. I told her all about you and how you had returned, trying to help Jael.’ His stomach rumbled impatiently, and he popped a berry into his mouth. ‘She knew all about Jael, and her words suddenly became clearer. I told her about Fianna so that she would understand the importance of finding out what Rhea might have done. And eventually, she told me.’

Edela edged forwards, holding her breath.

‘Apparently, Rhea boasted about the Widow. About knowing her and visiting her,’ Alaric whispered anxiously. ‘She said she had been taken to see her as a child, by her own mother.’

Edela was surprised by that. ‘They threw her out of the temple because she knew the Widow?’

‘Of course,’ Alaric said. ‘They could not have someone in the temple, exposed to all their prophecies and secrets, who had a connection to that witch. Although, I have to say, perhaps it was the fantasy of a young girl? Surely the Widow couldn’t have been alive?’ He took a long sip of ale to try and calm his screeching nerves.

But the Widow was very much alive, according to Aleksander, who had known where to find her because of his mother, who must have known because of her own mother. A terrifying shiver crept up Edela’s spine. Perhaps everything was finally starting to make sense, but what that meant for Aleksander, she didn’t know.

* * *

When Eadmund rolled over the next morning, he found that he was facing Vella, not Jael. She licked his face affectionately, but she was not Jael. He frowned and fumbled about for his clothes, which were missing, convinced that he had placed them over Jael’s chest when he’d gone to bed. He wrapped a fur around himself, groaning at the pain in his arms, not to mention his legs, which were aching and heavy.

There was no Jael when he walked out into the living area either. The fire was burning high, and Biddy was sweeping madly, but there was no Jael.

‘Good morning,’ he mumbled, trying not to sound as irritable as he felt.

‘And to you,’ Biddy smiled, placing her broom against a wall and going to stir the cauldron; she had been keeping his porridge warm while he slept.

‘Where’s my wife?’

‘She left already,’ Biddy mumbled, not wanting to meet his eye.

‘Really?’

‘She went to find Thorgils. They’ve gone training again.’

‘Of course.’ He didn’t look happy. ‘Have you seen my clothes?’

‘I have scrubbed them clean and will be getting your bath ready as soon as you’ve had this.’ She handed him a bowl.

‘So, I have no clothes?’ he wondered, taking the steaming bowl of porridge to his chair and sitting down.

‘None. Not until your chest arrives,’ she muttered, lifting the cauldron off its hook and carrying it into the kitchen. ‘And hopefully that won’t take long, but I expect I’ll have to wash all of those too. So, you may as well get comfortable.’

‘Hmmm,’ Eadmund grumbled at her, unsure whether to be grateful for the food, which tasted better than it looked, or angry because Biddy was treating him like a child. He decided on the former. ‘I need to get training too, though. I can’t sit about naked all day.’

‘Well then, I had better get that bath water ready, hadn’t I?

Eadmund spooned another lump of porridge into his mouth, glancing at the parcel, still sitting by the door. It looked as though it would be sitting there a while yet.

* * *

‘Jael, wait!’ Eydis called as she tapped her stick quickly in front of her, trying to navigate her way across the square with speed, which was not easy in the snow.

‘Eydis?’ Jael turned around and started walking back towards her, holding onto Tig’s reins, Thorgils following not far behind, holding Leada. ‘What’s wrong?’ She had been eager to leave as early as possible, hoping to avoid talking to Eadmund. She still felt completely odd and out of sorts most of the time and the only answers she had found for that were riding and fighting.

Eydis was wrapped up warmly in a thick cloak, with a fur tucked around her neck, woollen arm warmers and gloves as well, but she looked chilled to the bone. ‘I wanted to talk to you,’ she whispered. ‘Hello, Thorgils.’

‘Miss Eydis,’ he smiled. ‘Shall I leave?’

‘No, no, it’s not a secret really. It’s just that I had a dream.’

Jael glanced at Thorgils. ‘Should we go somewhere less public?’

‘Is Tarak around? Or Ivaar?’ Eydis wondered quietly, her head turning from side to side, trying to listen for any clues.

‘No, no one at all really,’ Jael assured her. She looked at Thorgils. ‘Why don’t you come with us? You’re certainly dressed for it.’

Eydis’ eyes lit up.

Thorgils, though, looked less convinced. ‘Well, we are going to be training for most of the day. That won’t be very interesting for you.’ He raised his woolly eyebrows at Jael.

‘But she might find someone to talk to where we’re going, mightn’t she?’ Jael smiled, thinking that it was time Eydis made a friend and she knew the perfect person.

Eydis looked intrigued. ‘I’d like to come,’ she smiled eagerly. ‘I haven’t been riding since Eadmund used to take me and that was many years ago.’

‘Good, I’ll go and tell your father and maybe grab something from his kitchen. I imagine you’ll need feeding before long!’

Thorgils frowned after her, then saw how happy Eydis looked and felt the guilt of his morning moodiness. ‘Well, come on then Eydis, let’s see about getting you and Leada acquainted. How about you give her a carrot. That’s always a good way to impress a lady, I find.’

* * *

Axl couldn’t raise a smile. Suddenly he had finer clothes again; his mother had seen to that. He was sleeping in his old bedchamber, eating at the high table, but it had all left a bitter taste in his mouth. He walked through the snow, kicking it absently with his boots, listening to the crack and squeak of the fresh powder under his feet. His mother was trying to be so brave, but he knew her better than anyone, and he could see how hard this was for her. She didn’t deserve this; somehow, he had to do something about Lothar.

‘It’s freezing this morning!’ Amma shivered as she crept up beside him, slipping her arm through his. She was covered head-to-toe in furry things, and Axl laughed to see it.

‘How can you possibly be cold wearing that many animals?’ he wondered, taken out of his misery for a moment. They had become very close lately, and Amma was the only person who could make him smile these days. He had abandoned most of his other friends at his mother’s insistence, finally. He knew what they wanted, had always known the underlying motives of their friendliness, but he saw now how much danger he had put his family in. He needed to be smarter if he was to survive, and he needed to survive to keep Amma and his mother safe.

‘Well, that may be true,’ Amma laughed. ‘But it is still the coldest morning I can ever remember. Although I’d rather be out here than stuck in the hall, watching your poor mother suffer under my father’s disgusting attentions.’ She cringed, peering around quickly, imagining herself in the same position one day soon. She saw it constantly now, and the worry was making her ill. She tried not to think of Aleksander anymore. Despite what Gisila had promised, she knew there was no hope there.

‘Agreed,’ Axl said sadly. ‘It’s not what she deserves at all.’ He pulled Amma closer to him as they walked down to the pier. ‘There is hope you know. A way we can all get out of this, I’m certain of it. I will find it Amma, I promise.’

* * *

‘Stealing from the king?’ Ivaar purred, stepping in front of her. ‘Dear, oh dear, that crime is punishable by... hmmm, I’m not sure what my father does these days, but I’m sure that whatever it is will be nothing compared to what I have planned.’

‘I shall look forward to it,’ Jael said coolly, holding a bundle of food close to her chest. ‘Luckily, though, the king himself gave me this food, so no punishment is necessary.’ Her skin prickled under his glare. There was no warmth between them anymore. No games to play.

‘I see,’ Ivaar murmured, circling her as she stood by the fire, waiting for him to finish his performance. ‘But what about the punishment for lying? Will you escape from that so easily?’

‘Lying? About what in particular?’ Jael frowned impatiently; she wanted to go.

‘Well, my little spy tells me that you and Eadmund are very much together now.’ Ivaar leaned towards her face. ‘Apparently, his return from the dead has prompted a sudden change of heart from you. You’ve forgotten all the things you told me, it seems. Forgotten Aleksander Lehr. Forgotten Brekka. Forgotten all that I could offer you. Your freedom, for one.’

‘Your little spy?’ Jael bit her lip, trying to stem the fury rushing towards her mouth. Why hadn’t she killed Tiras when she had the chance? ‘Well, he seems to be a spy with only one ear, as he only ever tells you half a story.’ Her eyes were cold and hard, as was the line of her mouth as she spoke. ‘Does he know anything about what happens inside here?’ she asked, pointing to her head. ‘Or here?’ she pointed to her chest. ‘Then how could he tell you everything and how could you suggest that I’m a liar if you only have half a tale? A tale from a spy consumed by the desire to destroy me? How could you possibly believe anything he says?’ she snorted. ‘He knows, what? That Eadmund is in my bed now? Well, do you love everyone you lie with, Ivaar?’ She let that hang in the air, hoping to confuse him a while. She didn’t care what he thought anymore, not really. But it was always better to keep an enemy guessing.

Jael stepped around Ivaar and his pinched, angry face, and made her way to the hall doors. ‘It’s a shame, you know,’ she said sadly, ‘the choice of friends you made. It could all have been very different between you and I. I thought so much better of you when we first met.’

She sent one final, frosty look his way, then pushed the door open, keeping her smile hidden until it had closed behind her.

Ivaar glanced around himself, but he was alone, apart from Annet and Leya who were playing with their dolls on the floor by the fire. He was frozen to the spot, furious but unsure if he was angrier at himself or Jael. He watched the door, his eyes boring through its thick, wooden panels, his hands shaking by his sides. Jael was with Eadmund now, and Eadmund was with Thorgils, and they were all against him. But he had Tarak, and surely Tarak would destroy all of them in the contest. It was time to show Jael what a terrible mistake she had made.

53

There was not much room in Fyn’s hut, with Eydis squeezed in as well, so Thorgils moved to sit on the bed, which heaved beneath his fur-wrapped bulk. Jael shot him a worried look, but he brushed it away as he made himself comfortable, happily ignoring the warning creaks.

Fyn had learned to have his fire high and his cauldron boiling in the morning so that his visitors could thaw out and warm up before training began. He sat around the fire, pouring hot water into the new cups Jael had brought with her. He was nervous around Eydis, who he knew, of course, but she was the king’s daughter; the king who had banished him, and her presence had him on edge.

Eydis had been very upset to learn what had happened to Fyn; he had always been very kind to her, she said, and she couldn’t imagine why he would have been banished. Jael knew Eydis wouldn’t say anything to her father, but she made her promise not to reveal Fyn’s location anyway.

‘So, now that we’re here, you can tell us about your dream,’ Jael said encouragingly. ‘You can trust Fyn. He’s certainly not going to be telling anyone out here!’

Eydis smiled, but her eyes still darted about anxiously. She began quietly. ‘Well, Ayla, Ivaar’s dreamer, has been teaching me how to control my dreams. How to focus on what I want to know.’

Jael raised an eyebrow. ‘Ayla? I thought you didn’t like her?’ She cringed. ‘I was supposed to speak to her, wasn’t I? I’m sorry Eydis. With what happened to Eadmund, I completely forgot.’

‘It’s alright,’ Eydis insisted. ‘She is not what I thought, or at least, she is trying to help me, and I am grateful for that.’

‘You don’t trust her, do you?’ Thorgils grumbled from behind them. ‘She works for Ivaar. You can’t trust her.’

‘No, of course, I don’t,’ Eydis said firmly. ‘But I can take her advice without fear. I am certain of that. And besides, it helped, it really helped, for last night I had the clearest dream I’ve ever had. But it was very bad for you, Jael.’ She turned towards Jael, her eyes filled with panic. ‘I saw Tarak about to kill you.’

* * *

Eadmund dragged the chest forwards and lifted the lid. The stench that drifted out of the box had them both gagging.

‘I think we might need to set fire to everything, rather than wash it?’ Biddy suggested, her nose wrinkling at the fusty dampness emanating from the chest.

‘Mmmm,’ Eadmund agreed as he fingered through his mouldy memories. ‘I doubt there is anything worth keeping in here at all.’

There were tunics, undertunics, a stinking old cloak that, when he held it up, was more holes than fur. He found a belt, a few odd socks, a comb, and then, as he dug deeper, he discovered his battered, iron helmet, which he pulled out with a wistful smile. There were handfuls of rust-stained arm rings that his father had given him, and a mail shirt, which was in a poor way, but, he thought, could be saved. He laid it down next to his helmet and rummaged through the box again, pulling out some arm guards.

‘These could all do with a polish,’ Biddy hummed happily. She looked them over with interest. ‘Most definitely worth keeping.’

Eadmund picked up a white tunic. Well, once it had been a white tunic; now it looked like a yellowish, moth-eaten rag. Eadmund held it up, his face suddenly sad. He had worn it when he married Melaena. ‘This is not one for keeping,’ he said quickly and handed it off to Biddy, who was piling all the rubbish beside her. ‘But this...’ He lifted out his long neglected sword, his face breaking into a smile at last. ‘Hello, old friend,’ he murmured, holding the blade up towards the light. He twisted and turned it, but the rust had consumed its shine entirely.

‘Well, I see you’ll be busy today, then,’ Biddy laughed as she started organising her piles. ‘And I’ll have to go and speak to the tailor. You can’t get about in any of these rags!’

But Eadmund wasn’t listening. He had his sword in his hand again, and he couldn’t stop smiling.

* * *

Aedan’s wife, Kayla, opened the door. ‘Edela! This is a surprise. Please, come in.’

Edela hesitated, happy to see that her pregnant granddaughter-in-law looked in such good health. The baby was due soon, but by the cheerful look on Kayla’s face, she had a while to go yet.

‘No, I won’t, thank you, I just wanted to speak to Aleksander,’ she said hopefully. ‘I thought he might come for a walk with me. We have some matters to discuss.’

Kayla’s face fell. ‘I’m sorry, but he’s not here. We have not seen much of him at all,’ she shivered, wrapping her shawl around her large belly. The wind was blowing fiercely this morning and the air it swept about was bitter. ‘He does come and sleep here sometimes, but not often.’

‘Oh,’ Edela sighed in disappointment. She was desperately worried about him, and despite all her fears over his family’s increasingly dubious past, she needed to know how he was. He had been part of her family for so many years now, and she had always thought of him as another grandchild, but recently, he had become her closest friend. ‘Well, when you next see him, please tell him that I would like to speak to him. Very much.’ She blinked away the tears that had been threatening all day and turned to leave.

* * *

‘Tarak?’ Thorgils looked concerned. ‘Was about to kill Jael?’

‘Yes,’ Eydis said seriously, taking a sip of the hot tea that Fyn had carefully handed her.

‘So, I suppose that means he had already disposed of me, then?’ Thorgils said wryly.

‘But the contest is not a fight to the death,’ Jael insisted, ignoring Thorgils and trying to calm Eydis’ fears.

‘Well, he definitely doesn’t like you,’ Thorgils muttered.

‘No, but he’s not going to try and kill me in front of Eirik, is he? He would be killed for that, surely?’ She looked around, noticing Fyn’s shoulders were up around his ears as he sat there silently; he wouldn’t meet her eye.

‘When I went to sleep, I asked to see who was in danger,’ Eydis said quietly. ‘I wanted to see the truth of it all in my dreams. All the things I have seen lately have been confusing. I wanted to find out what was real, who I needed to help. I saw you and Tarak. It was a true vision, Jael, I’m certain of it.’

‘And he had me on the ground?’ Jael asked for the second time.

‘Yes, he had you pinned there, and you couldn’t breathe.’ Eydis’ eyes bulged in fear. ‘In my dream I was you, and I knew I couldn’t move. He was too heavy, and his hand was across my throat, and I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t move my arms or legs. He had a blade in his hand, and he brought it down, and there was nothing I could do.’ Eydis shuddered, tears springing to her eyes as she relived the memory.

Fyn shook his head angrily. ‘You can’t fight him, Jael! If what Eydis has seen is true, he is going to kill you. You can’t put yourself in that position. You won’t survive!’

Jael stared at his anxious face; she didn’t feel particularly concerned at all. Tarak was huge, and his weight could break her if he managed to get her onto the ground like that, but in front of everyone on Oss? The fight would be stopped if it came to that; she had heard the rules. It was not to be a fight to the death. But still, when she saw Eydis’ troubled face, she knew there might be something in it. ‘Well,’ she said firmly. ‘Now we know what we’re going to work on first this morning.’ She finished off her tea and stood up, reaching over to place her cup on Fyn’s tiny kitchen shelf, which was somehow still attached to the wall. ‘Thorgils, let’s go and lie down in the snow!’

* * *

Aleksander placed the bundle of furs under the shelter he had hastily made from branches and leaves, and a large piece of cloth he had helped himself to from Kayla and Aedan’s cottage. It was not enough to protect everything from a heavy snowfall, he knew, but it would keep much of the bad weather at bay.

He had been coming here on his daily ride since Hanna’s warning, secreting an ever-growing pile of supplies and essentials in his shelter, which lay well hidden off the main road, in a thick knot of trees. He didn’t necessarily think he was in danger, but he was keen to leave Tuura as soon as he had spoken to Edela, and it was better to be prepared. He sighed. He didn’t want to have a conversation with her, but no matter how angry he felt, he wouldn’t just abandon her here without a word. And of course, there was always that nagging question of what if Edela was right? He shook his head. He could never let that thought linger for long; the implications were too unimaginable.

He took one last look at his little store, hidden away under a scattering of leaves, and hoisted himself up onto Sky, the only one who knew his secret hiding place; the only friend he had left now.

* * *

Jael laughed as she walked into the house, which was not the reaction Eadmund had been hoping for.

He stood by the fire, dressed in his mail, helmet, and arm guards, his arm rings pushed up high. He’d even managed to squeeze himself into his padded tunic. In truth, it was all a tight squeeze, but it wasn’t too far off, and although everything looked a little rusty, despite his and Biddy’s concentrated efforts, Eadmund felt more like himself than he could remember in years.

‘Is there a war on that I don’t know about?’ Jael wondered as she bent down to pat the wailing puppies. ‘Are we off to Hest already?’ She straightened up and walked over to Eadmund, trying not to smile. He looked slightly impressive in his armour, she thought to herself. There was a lot less of him than when she’d first arrived, and she was definitely starting to see the shape of a warrior emerge.

‘Well, no,’ Eadmund admitted as he removed his helmet. ‘We were just going through my chest, so I thought it was time to sort all this out, especially if I’m going to be using it.’

‘You’re not entering the contest are you?’ Jael looked horrified.

‘No, but thank you for your confidence,’ he grinned as he walked up to her, intending to exchange some form of affection. Jael walked right past him, though, and headed for the back room.

‘Is there a bath ready?’ she asked Biddy, wearily removing her cloak. Her hair was wet, and she shook from the cold. The thought of hot water had spurred her on during their ride home.

‘Ahhh, well...’ Biddy squirmed. ‘I filled the bath for Eadmund this morning, so there’s nothing there now.’

Jael looked furious, and the triumphant smile on Eadmund’s face only made her fury double. ‘I see,’ she growled, stomping back towards the fire, hoping to get a little warmth from there, her eyebrows pinched together in an angry scowl.

Eadmund tried not to laugh as he squeezed out of his armour, piece by piece. He bent over and shrugged off his mail, which eventually fell to the floor with a loud thump. ‘Come on, grab your cloak,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’

Jael looked at him curiously. ‘Into the cold again? I don’t think so.’

Biddy brought her cloak over as Eadmund slipped his around his shoulders.

‘For once, Jael, don’t argue, just come!’

* * *

She was waiting in the stables when he returned.

Aleksander didn’t know where to look; he certainly didn’t want to look into those eyes again. ‘Edela, I have nothing to say to you. Not about my mother, anyway.’

Edela stepped away from the stall gate as he led Sky in. He closed the gate behind them and started removing her saddle and bridle, not glancing up.

‘I understand, and we don’t need to discuss that again,’ Edela said, her body shaking; she had been waiting in the stables for some time. ‘I am just glad to see you, to see that you haven’t left yet.’

‘But I want to,’ he said coldly, coming towards her now. ‘I can’t help you anymore. I know Aedan or Aron would be happy to take you back to Andala, even Kormac would.’

‘Yes, of course, I understand,’ Edela said. ‘And you should go, whenever you wish. I will be fine here. Alaric has decided to step in as my assistant, it seems.’ She tried to smile, but it was forced. She wanted to cry because Alaric was not Aleksander, and she had come to rely on Aleksander’s strength and friendship.

He hung Sky’s bridle over a peg and grabbed a towel. ‘Well, I hope Alaric knows what he’s getting himself into,’ he muttered as he rubbed the towel briskly over Sky’s back. ‘He doesn’t look the most adventurous man to me.’

Edela smiled. ‘No, but he does know a few people who can help. And there’s always Marcus.’

Aleksander stared at her sharply. ‘I thought you were supposed to stay away from him?’

‘Well, he ordered me to the temple the other day,’ she said quietly. ‘I had no choice but to go.’

‘Oh.’ He looked worried as he continued rubbing. He wanted to know more, but he just nodded his head. ‘Well, I’m sure you know how to look after yourself after all these years.’

‘Yes, I’ll be alright, of course,’ she shivered. ‘Perhaps I will see you back in Andala in the spring then?’

Aleksander hung up the damp towel and came to stand behind the gate. ‘Perhaps.’ His eyes were dark holes in the dim light of the stables; they gave no clue as to his true feelings, which was exactly what he wanted.

‘Well, goodbye then,’ Edela said softly. She tried to smile, but she could feel herself starting to cry, so she simply ducked her head and hurried out of the stables before he could say another word.

Aleksander wanted to call out to her, to warn her about the ice. It had rained during the day, and the streets were deadly. But he said nothing; he just stood there and watched her go. She was wrong, he kept telling himself. It was the only thing he wanted to hear right now, that Edela was wrong. She had grabbed hold of the wrong dream this time, and he simply could not forgive her for it.

* * *

‘Where are we going?’

Eadmund had hold of Jael’s hand and she was not happy about being led along like a goat to milking.

‘Ssshhh,’ he turned and growled at her. ‘Be quiet, woman. Just follow me. Quietly.’

She frowned and hurried along behind him, wanting to rip her hand out of his, despite the fact that it was almost pleasant to be touching him. Almost.

It was dark but early enough that there were still people packing up for the night; bringing in their tools, securing their animals, shooing their red-faced children inside. Eadmund navigated them all with his head bent, slipping down a side alley, away from all eyes, skirting the main streets of Oss.

Jael was getting colder and crosser the further they went, but eventually, he stopped, beneath a high, thickly wattled fence. She looked up to see that they were at the back of the hall. She stared at him, utterly confused, but he ignored her and felt about for the gate, which was mostly hidden. Eadmund had used it many, many times in his life, though, and found it easily enough. He grabbed Jael’s hand tighter and pulled her through the gate, closing it quietly behind them.

The moon was almost at its fullest as they stood there on glistening slabs of stone that led towards... a pool? Jael’s mouth gaped as she stared at Eadmund, who smiled and started ripping off his clothes in a furious burst of freezing cold energy. Quickly naked, he stood there, wearing nothing but a ridiculous smile, before tip-toeing across the slick stones and hopping into Eirik’s very own, private, hot pool.

Jael watched as he slipped into the water, a look of extreme bliss transforming his face. He slid under until the water was up to his beard, then lay his head back on the stones that surrounded the small pool, looking up at the moon.

Jael glanced about. There were no windows in the back of the hall. There was one door, perhaps that came off the kitchen? She wasn’t sure, but it was very secluded here, and the water did look very hot, she noticed as the steam rose all around Eadmund’s head. She quickly stripped off her clothes and raced to join him, as the evening air froze the hair on her arms. Sliding into the warm liquid, her eyes closed and she felt the most wonderful sense of bliss, her sore muscles undoing themselves with every moment.

Jael opened her eyes and came face to face with her very smug-looking husband. ‘You’re a bit close, don’t you think?’ she whispered crossly.

‘I don’t, no, not for what I have in mind,’ he smiled, sliding even further forwards. ‘I’m not close enough at all. And right here, where we are, Wife, there is nowhere for you to run to. Now, you’re my prisoner.’

Jael laughed too loudly and Eadmund quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. Her eyes bulged as they both looked towards the kitchen door. They waited a moment, but no one came out. Eadmund removed his hand just as Jael turned back around to him and replaced it with his lips.

‘You are very annoying,’ Jael said as she moved her head away.

Eadmund had absolutely no intention of letting her move at all. ‘Stop running away from me,’ he breathed into her face. ‘I’m your husband, and if I have to, I will lock you up and keep you prisoner in our house, in our bed, and you will have to stay there with me all day and all night long until you beg for mercy.’ He kissed her again.

‘Beg for mercy?’ Jael said, pushing him away. ‘You don’t know me very well, do you?’

‘No,’ Eadmund whispered into her ear, his hands exploring her body beneath the surface. ‘But I very much want to.’

Jael closed her eyes as his hands rested between her thighs. ‘Well, if you insist,’ she sighed. ‘Just for a moment.’

54

They were not ready.

Jael worried endlessly that they were not ready, and she wanted to be as ready as they could be. She thought of Aleksander for the first time in days. What would he have had done to them? Defeated them, most likely, but he was surely smarter than Tarak, so perhaps they had a chance. If, of course, if, they got through the handfuls of men standing in their way. They had to. They had to defeat Tarak. For Fyn.

Eirik was on to his second speech now. He was starting to sound drunk, and happily so. ‘...and the winner will become Champion of Oss!’ he called over the raucous cheering. ‘And that winner will be gold-rich, fame-rich, and depending on who wins, of course,’ he nodded at Jael, ‘rich in women too!’

‘I’d like to watch that,’ Eadmund winked, squeezing his scowling wife’s knee. He liked it when she scowled; something about the way her nose crinkled made him smile.

Eirik was busy toasting the contenders, but Jael had stopped listening; she was thinking of Fyn. This was their chance to avenge him, to destroy the man who had destroyed his life. She caught Eydis’ eye and remembered her dream. It was hard not to believe in the power of a dreamer’s visions, but she couldn’t, not this time. Still, she would have to ensure she didn’t end up on her back if she wound up fighting Tarak, just in case.

‘If only Ivaar were in the contest,’ Eadmund whispered into Jael’s ear. ‘That would make it much more interesting, don’t you think?’

‘For you, maybe, if you could remember how to use a sword,’ she smirked. ‘Perhaps next time?’

Eirik’s speech was over at last, and the serious drinking was beginning. Jael watched Eadmund as he got up and walked over to his friends, cup in hand. She wasn’t especially worried. He had drunk ale, wine, and mead since Edela’s tincture but no more than a cup here or there, and so far there had been no sign that he craved more. It was impossible to rest easy, though. The Eadmund that was here now was not one she wanted to let slip through her fingers, despite the fact that she was still consumed with the occasional urge to run away. She had yet to wake up next to him, and the parcel continued to sit unopened by the door.

‘Are you nervous? About tomorrow?’ Isaura asked Jael quietly as she sat down beside her. ‘They are all so big and strong.’ She looked at the huddles of large, thick-necked men who stood around the fires, loudly teasing and insulting each other, bragging about the humiliation they would bring down upon the heads of their friends and enemies alike. ‘Do you not feel scared at all?’

‘Not scared, no,’ Jael murmured, almost to herself. ‘I think there’s always some fear going into a fight. Fear of humiliation, or pain, or death. But no, I don’t feel scared. I haven’t felt scared since I was ten-years-old.’

They had not developed a friendship. Jael was far too uninterested in women’s prattle to be bothered fostering such a thing, and Isaura was far too intimidated to have anything much to say to her. But tonight, before the contest, Isaura needed Jael to get a message to Thorgils. Ivaar was head to head with Tarak now, far away from them, so she took her chance. ‘Will you warn Thorgils to be careful,’ she whispered, her eyes remaining on Ivaar. ‘I know how he will feel about trying to defeat Tarak, but I’ve heard Tarak talking to Ivaar, and he says he’s the strongest he has ever felt. I fear he will hurt Thorgils badly, to try and impress Ivaar. And because it’s in the contest, Eirik will let it happen.’

‘I’ll warn him, of course. I doubt he’ll listen, though,’ Jael muttered, turning towards Isaura. ‘But you shouldn’t worry about Thorgils. He has trained hard. He’s prepared for Tarak.’

Isaura didn’t look convinced at all, but she nodded her head and tried to smile, before slipping away.

Eirik came and took her place. ‘I hope you’re ready for them,’ he smiled at her, nodding towards his warriors as they lurched loudly around the hall, full of pre-battle bravado.

‘I hope they’re ready for me,’ Jael said without a hint of a smile. ‘I’m looking forward to winning my prize of gold, and fame, and women.’

Eirik laughed and drained his cup. ‘Well, I’ll have to change the prize if you become my champion, won’t I? I don’t imagine you’re after any of those?’

‘No, not really, but perhaps there is something you could give me...’

Eirik raised a bushy eyebrow and swayed slightly towards her. ‘Tell me. Anything,’ he insisted bullishly.

‘Make Eadmund your heir again,’ she said simply. ‘If I win, I want to be Queen of Oss one day. Eadmund’s queen.’ She wasn’t sure she meant that exactly, but Eirik didn’t need to know that part.

Eirik blinked in surprise. ‘Ha! I can’t do that,’ he laughed, then frowned. ‘You wouldn’t want that, would you? To be stuck here, being queen? I thought you’d ask me to send you back to Brekka, grant you a divorce. Isn’t that what you really want?’ He peered at Jael, shaking his head as a serving girl tried to offer him more ale.

‘Brekka?’ Jael mused as she found Eadmund, standing next to Torstan. He turned and smiled at her. ‘No, my wish is that you make Eadmund your heir. Not Brekka.’

Eirik frowned and followed her eyes. He saw the way Eadmund was smiling at his wife, looking almost like the Eadmund he remembered from so long ago. He had not wanted to falsely raise his hopes again, but so far nothing was bringing them down. But the fall would come, he was certain it would come. ‘I can’t do that, Jael,’ he insisted firmly. ‘I have chosen Ivaar. Ivaar will make a good king.’

Jael could hear the lack of conviction in his voice; she could see that he didn’t believe that. But he wasn’t ready to believe in Eadmund again, not yet. ‘Ivaar will not make a good king,’ she whispered hoarsely, her eyes narrowing. ‘As well you know. But Eadmund will. That tincture cured him. You just have to have faith in him again.’

Eirik shook his head. ‘I don’t need to have faith in him at all, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve chosen Ivaar.’

‘And you can sleep at night knowing he will end up killing Eadmund and Eydis? Knowing that he will destroy everyone here who remains loyal to Eadmund? Me? Any child Eadmund and I might have, if we live long enough under his rule?’ She glared at Eirik. ‘You might not have had a choice once, but you do now. And if you’re worried about Eadmund, then look to me because I will be beside him, whether he’s standing or on the ground. Have faith in me. If I win the contest, have faith in me.’ Jael stared into Eirik’s fading eyes one last time, then got up and walked away. There was nothing more she could say to convince him.

* * *

‘So, he’s still here?’ Edela looked surprised but relieved. ‘I thought he may have gone by now.’

‘No, Kayla said he stayed with them last night,’ Branwyn murmured quietly as she turned down her bed and blew out the lamp. ‘Which is a good thing, I think. He mustn’t be as mad as you imagine.’

Edela smiled as she rolled over again, trying to find a comfortable spot, which was difficult with hips that ached as much as hers did, and a bed that needed more padding. ‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ she sighed. ‘But I’m glad he’s still here.’

Kormac came back from checking on the animals. Another storm was blowing through Tuura, and he had spent much of the evening outside, securing everything for the night. ‘There are soldiers everywhere at the moment,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t understand it. Are we facing an attack? Who is this mysterious enemy we don’t know about?’ He huffed and puffed his way over to the bed, sitting down to remove his damp cloak and mucky boots.

‘Perhaps Marcus just likes to keep order?’ Branwyn suggested. ‘He is not from here, is he, so maybe he just sees everything differently than we do?’

‘Then how did the elders let an outsider become their leader in the first place? Our leader? A leader who wants to change everything we have been and turn us into something we don’t wish to become.’ He slipped under the furs and rustled his feet around, trying to warm them up.

‘Perhaps he is only doing what is necessary?’ Branwyn yawned, moving towards him. ‘The dreamers must have told him that we need protecting.’

‘Mmmm,’ Kormac murmured, his head sinking into the pillow, his arms heavy after another long day at the smithy.

Edela listened as they whispered away to one another. She thought of Marcus and her whole body clenched in fear. She had spent every quiet moment she could find studying the book, trying to absorb its knowledge as quickly as possible, but much of it was confusing and hard to read. True mastery of its texts would take months and much practice; she wasn’t sure if there was time for that. But at least Aleksander was still here, she smiled sleepily. There was some hope after all.

* * *

‘How are your dreams coming along?’ Ayla wondered softly as she sat down next to Eydis. ‘Have you been feeling stronger?’

Eydis frowned; her dreams were still tying her up in knots. ‘No, not stronger at all, just more frustrated,’ she sighed, shaking her head. ‘I keep asking to see one thing, the same thing, but it never comes.’

‘Ahhh, well that is when you must change what it is you are asking for,’ Ayla smiled, sipping on her wine. She watched Ivaar out of the corner of her eye. He had insisted she go and talk to his sister again. He was still desperate to know what she was seeing in her dreams, but so far Eydis had revealed absolutely nothing. ‘As I said before, the gods will only show you what they want you to see. If they don’t believe what you are asking for will help you, or someone else, then you will see nothing.’

Eydis looked ready to cry; her lips quivered. ‘But I need to see what will happen to my father,’ she whispered as loudly as she dared. ‘I need to see how he will die so that I can stop it, so that he can stay king, and then there will be no need for Ivaar.’ She gasped, her head turning about anxiously, suddenly realising that she had no idea where Ivaar might be.

‘It’s alright,’ Ayla assured her quickly, patting her arm. ‘Ivaar is not near us. It’s alright.’

Eydis sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. No doubt you have to tell Ivaar everything I say.’

Ayla felt guilty as she faced those tear-filled eyes. ‘Well, I’m supposed to,’ she whispered. ‘But I don’t have to. Besides, what is there to tell when you are dreaming about nothing but clouds?’

Eydis reached out for Ayla’s hand. ‘Are you sure you have not seen it? My father’s death?’ she asked hoarsely. ‘Truly?’

‘Truly, I have not,’ Ayla promised her. ‘If I had, I would tell you. Your father asked me the same thing. But I’m afraid it remains a secret for the gods alone to keep.’

* * *

Ivaar pulled Tarak into a quiet corner. He’d watched Jael and Eadmund all night; their eyes constantly finding each other, the little touches that seemed insignificant, but were the mark of an intimate couple. He’d watched as they’d laughed with Thorgils, with his father, barely even acknowledging that he was there. The frustration had crawled under his skin until it lay there, hot, and ready to burst. ‘Tomorrow...’ he breathed quietly into Tarak’s ear. ‘Don’t just beat them. Whoever it is you end up against, I want you to destroy them. Crush them into the earth. I want them in little pieces, too broken to stand.’

Tarak couldn’t have been happier as he stood back and smiled; a smile that curled itself high up onto his scarred cheeks, right up into his menacing eyes. He could only hope that the bitch managed to make it through the rounds. He was desperate to lay his hands around her throat.

* * *

It was completely silent. Eirik couldn’t even hear the fire as he lay in his enormous bed. Three wives had lain at his side in this bed, and countless women he had cared little for, but he didn’t remember their names. He lay in the middle these days. Somehow it made him feel less lonely, as though he was filling up more room, and there wasn’t such a large, empty space beside him.

He thought about Ayla. She had often been on his mind of late. Just thinking of her made him feel younger than he had in many years. He sighed wistfully. Perhaps, if he wasn’t about to die, perhaps... he laughed at the thought. Why would a beautiful, young woman want to lie with a shrivelled up old man? Well, because he was the king, of course, and he could get most people to bend to his will. But a woman? No, he’d never tried that, or had he?

The wine was still in his head, making him dizzy, making him feel lighter than he had in a while. He thought of Jael and quickly sobered. Was he so blind that he didn’t see what everyone else did? Ivaar was nobody’s favourite, that was the truth of it. Even Ivaar’s own mother had called him a strange boy. But he was his son; Eadmund and Eydis’ brother, and his son. Eirik could see the fire in his eyes, could understand his bitter anger and resentment of Eadmund, but he wouldn’t kill him, surely?

Eirik closed his eyes and remembered his own father. He was a gaunt, iron-eyed man, much like Ivaar. There had been no warmth in him, not a solitary flicker of it. He was a man who had cared nothing for others.

Grim Skalleson had taken Eirik’s mother by the hair one night and slit her throat in front of the entire hall, in front of 12-year-old Eirik, just because he had looked at him without respect. Eirik pulled his knees up to his chest. What a long time ago that was now, but he still remembered the shock of it; the thin, red, bloody line as crept its way across his mother’s pale throat. The life fading from her eyes as they stared imploringly at him.

Grim had given him a chance. Come and apologise, he’d demanded. Come and lick my boots, he’d laughed. Come and do that or your mother will die. And Eirik hadn’t moved. He had had enough of being humiliated in the hall, in front of everyone on Oss. He stood there, his feet like tree trunks, making a stand, trying to fight back against his father’s never ending tyranny, never believing for one moment what would happen next.

Somehow, despite all his evil, he’d believed his father had been capable of feeling love, and he’d been proven wrong. Could he, would he, take the same risk again?

* * *

‘Are you worried?’ Eadmund asked, looking worried.

‘About what?’ Jael mumbled sleepily.

‘Tomorrow, of course!’ he laughed.

‘If you don’t stop talking and go to sleep, it will never be tomorrow,’ she grumbled. ‘And yes, I will be worried if I have to fight after a sleepless night with you blubbering in my ear until dawn!’

‘So, you tend to get quite angry when you’re worried, then?’

‘Eadmund!’ she punched him in the arm and rolled over, pushing Ido, who had just found a good spot, away with her legs. ‘Go to sleep, or you can go out and lie with Biddy.’

‘Well, perhaps Biddy would be a more agreeable bed companion than you,’ he muttered to himself as he rolled over, appreciating the unbelievable comfort of the bed again. Lying on his side had never even been possible in his old bed, but this... this was worth all the grumbles in the world.

‘I’m sure she would,’ Jael said softly. ‘And no, I’m not worried, not about me. I just hope Thorgils will be alright. Isaura thinks Tarak will try to destroy him.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘I think Tarak is going to try to destroy everyone, and if he gets through Thorgils, that might mean you.’

‘Mmmm, well I have an idea of how that might go, but I’ve faced worse than Tarak. If it comes to that, don’t worry about me.’

‘Perhaps I need to give you your gift in the morning then, just in case I don’t see you again?’

‘Ha! Perhaps... now go to sleep!’ she growled, pulling the furs over her head.

Eadmund smiled to himself but it faded quickly. This feeling, this new sense of being alive, it was like catching the sun inside his chest. It was a warm glow of unexpected happiness, and the fear of losing it too quickly made his throat tight. She could fight, he had no doubt about that, but so could Thorgils, and Tarak had crushed him over and over again. He closed his eyes and hoped that this time Thorgils would get lucky, that he would finally have his victory over Tarak so that Jael would never have to face him.

55

‘So, who will your coin be on today?’ Ivaar smiled cheerfully at his father as he joined him by the fire.

‘Is the weather fair?’ Eirik croaked. He’d drunk more than he’d realised last night and his head and throat were thick because of it.

‘Fair enough, I would say. A few clouds, but nothing that threatens too much. They’re already out clearing the Pit. I think we should be able to get in a full day.’

‘That’s good to hear. Thank you,’ Eirik nodded to the servant who had brought him a cup of ale.

‘I can’t wait,’ Ivaar said, rubbing his hands together.

Eirik glanced at his son’s happy face. ‘I imagine you’re hoping that Tarak will cause some damage?’

‘Well, not hoping,’ Ivaar frowned. ‘He will. We both know that, surely? I don’t see anyone who could stop him. I’ve been watching them all train, and no one has impressed me yet, besides Tarak.’

‘What about Thorgils?’ Eirik moved over to his chair, sitting down with a groan. ‘What about Jael? You don’t think they can offer him a fight?’

Ivaar squeezed his shoulder blades together, uncomfortable at the mention of those names. ‘That I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen Jael fight. Thorgils, I doubt it, but Jael? If I were to put her and Tarak next to each other, I would say that the tale of that defeat is already being sung.’

‘You don’t think a small man can beat a big man? You’ve never seen that?’

‘Of course, but a big man and a woman? That I haven’t seen.’ Ivaar shook his head and came to stand in front of his father. ‘So, my coin is on Tarak. I have complete faith that he will become your champion once more.’

‘Mmmm, and then one day, yours, I suppose?’ Eirik said, leaning forward, studying his son’s face, trying to see beyond what Ivaar wanted to show. ‘You and Tarak will rule Oss. Is that how it will be?’

Ivaar squirmed ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing. ‘Every king needs a champion, Father.’

‘Of course, and Tarak has been a very loyal and effective one for me, but what if Jael were to win, or Thorgils?’ Eirik suggested. ‘Would you keep them as your champion? Have them beside you when this is your hall?’

Ivaar’s smile had gone now. His father was testing him, and it made him irritable. ‘It is hard to say. That might not be for many years yet, and who knows what the future holds for any of us.’

‘How true that is,’ Eirik muttered. ‘As for me, I shall be placing my coin on Jael.’ He stared at Ivaar, challenging his son. ‘It’s time Oss had a new champion.’

* * *

Jael looked around the room again, wiggling her toes impatiently at the end of the bed. She had been awake for awhile, and although she didn’t feel the urge to run away from Eadmund, she was desperate to feel the wind on her face, and Tig beneath her; to blow away all the tension that was festering in her head and her limbs. There was time for a ride before the contest started, she was certain of it.

With one quick look at Eadmund, she slipped out from under the furs, shivering her way to her clothes as silently as possible. She headed for the door, without looking back.

‘You’re not leaving?’ Biddy whispered sternly.

Jael walked quickly towards her pile of armour and weapons, nodding.

‘Not without something to eat, you’re not,’ Biddy grumbled and ladled out a big lump of porridge into a bowl.

Jael cringed; her stomach was in knots. She might not have felt overly worried, but she had no appetite at all. She shook her head, but Biddy walked up to her, pushing the bowl into her chest.

‘Eat, or I’ll wake him up,’ she hissed, nodding towards the bedchamber.

Jael frowned but saw she had no choice. She tried not to inhale the porridge, spooning as much as she could stand into her mouth, before gagging and handing it back. ‘I have to go. I’m going to see Fyn before it starts,’ she said, whispering in Biddy’s ear. ‘I thought he might like to help me get ready.’

Biddy looked into Jael’s eyes, worried. She grabbed hold of her arm. ‘You be careful today. Don’t do anything silly. Look after yourself.’

Jael looked away; she had to go. She nodded and scooped up her pile of armour as quietly as possible, smiling at the gift which was still gathering dust by the door. If she got through the day in one piece, perhaps Eadmund would have a reason to give it to her tomorrow.

* * *

Eadmund rolled over, his eyes still closed. He smiled. He felt almost warm and so completely comfortable. He felt the licking on his cheek, and his eyes flew open. It was Vella, with her familiar morning greeting. He frowned angrily, looking past the furry face to the empty pillow beside him.

* * *

Biddy hurried through her tidying, trying not to let her worry consume her morning. She still had a lot of washing and burning to sort out for Eadmund, which she was glad of; grateful for anything that would take her mind off Jael.

‘That woman!’ came the furious bellow from the bedchamber.

Biddy almost dropped the cup she was carrying to the kitchen. She couldn’t help the laugh that relaxed her anxious face.

* * *

‘Jael!’ Fyn came rushing out of his hut ‘What are you doing here? What about the contest?’ He grabbed Tig’s bridle as Jael dismounted.

‘Well, nothing’s happened to the contest, I just thought I would have a ride first. Clear my mind before it starts,’ she smiled and began to unpack Tig’s saddle bags. She was already wearing her helmet, and took it off, tucking it under one arm. ‘I’ve brought all of my armour. I thought you could help get me ready. Good practice for when we go to Hest together.’

Fyn frowned but put his arms out to take the heavy mail tunic she handed to him. In truth, it wasn’t that heavy. Arnna had worked with the Master Blacksmith of Andala to have it specially made for Jael. It was light enough for her to move easily but dense enough to prevent any weapon from getting through; well, so far, at least.

‘Do you want to put it on now?’ Fyn wondered nervously. He wasn’t sure who he was nervous for, but he had hardly been able to sleep, thinking about Eydis’ dream.

‘Now? No,’ she laughed, walking Tig over to his shelter. ‘There’s plenty of time, and I could use a hot drink after that ride.’ She slipped Tig a stale flatbread and walked towards the door in the hill without waiting for Fyn, who appeared to be in a complete muddle. ‘Well, come on!’ she called to him.

Jael was already sitting in front of the fire when Fyn came through the door.

‘I have some dandelions?’ he muttered sheepishly. ‘That’s all I have.’

‘Sounds fine,’ Jael nodded, her eyes darting around the hut. The ride had done little to ease her tension.

‘The weather is good,’ Fyn said as he prepared the cups.

‘Seems to be,’ Jael said distractedly. ‘It’s a pity you can’t come and watch. It would feel good to witness Tarak’s humiliation, don’t you think?’

Fyn cringed, his shoulders hunching about his ears, his eyes dark with discomfort. ‘I’m not as confident as you about that, so no, I wouldn’t want to watch him hurt you or Thorgils.’

‘Truly?’ Jael looked shocked. ‘You don’t think we have any chance?’

Fyn froze as he reached for the cauldron. He couldn’t meet her eye.

‘Fyn –’ she started.

‘You heard what Eydis said. What happened in her dream.’ He looked at her imploringly. ‘Why don’t you believe her? She’s a dreamer!’

‘She’s a child dreamer,’ Jael said firmly. ‘She’s wrong. I’m not going to let him kill me.’

Fyn poured hot water over his dandelion crumbles. ‘Well, I’ve seen what he does to people. It’s worse than a fight. It’s humiliation.’

‘But I know what he did to you, and I’m going to defeat him, if Thorgils doesn’t. I promise you that, Fyn,’ she insisted. ‘And when I’m done, you’re going to come back to Oss and Tarak is going to be the one who is banished.’

‘No!’ Fyn yelled, hanging the cauldron back over the fire. ‘No, Jael! No!’ He was shaking, his eyes full of fear. ‘I’ve told you before that it won’t happen. Eirik won’t banish Tarak, and he won’t let me return. So please, leave it alone! It won’t happen. He will never lose! He will always win! Just leave it alone, Jael. You don’t understand! You will never understand!’

Jael shook as she sat there, hearing the pain in his voice, feeling the spit from his mouth as it flew through the air; seeing the terror in his eyes. And she remembered. She bit her lip, wishing it away, but it kept coming with such force that she knew she couldn’t ignore it.

‘When I was nine...’ she said quietly, her voice suddenly so far away, it sounded lost in a storm. She cleared her throat and began again. ‘When I was nine, my mother took me to Tuura...’

* * *

‘What’s happened to your wife?’ Thorgils wondered with a tight grin. He was not usually troubled by nerves, but he’d woken up with a dry throat, and a griping belly and both were getting worse. ‘Has she run off already?’

‘Well, yes, of course,’ Eadmund laughed. ‘She always does. Every morning, without fail.’

Thorgils raised an eyebrow but didn’t pursue it any further; Eadmund seemed happy enough. ‘Well, hopefully she’ll be back in time for the start.’

‘She will be. She’s just gone for a ride.’

‘Oh?’ Thorgils wondered if she’d gone to see Fyn. He stared up at the pale blue, early morning sky. ‘Nice day for it, then?’

‘To smash Tarak’s face into the dirt?’ Eadmund wondered quietly, glancing around. ‘A perfect day for that. Whoever does it, I shall enjoy watching.’

‘I still remember when you did it all those years ago’, Thorgils said wistfully as they walked towards the hall. ‘If only it had been a fight to the death, we wouldn’t have had to suffer through eight more years of him.’

‘Well, save a few pieces of him for me,’ Eadmund muttered. ‘I would like to have a go at that bastard when I get back to myself again.’

Thorgils smiled confidently, but his insides felt like slush. ‘Ahhh, here’s the man who stands between Jael and the final battle,’ he laughed as Torstan approached, his face looking much like Thorgils’ insides.

‘Well, I hope not,’ Torstan squirmed uncomfortably. ‘Hopefully, someone will stop her before she gets to me.’

‘For your sake, I hope so,’ Eadmund smiled.

They entered the hall, which was heaving with contestants and their families. Axes and swords were being hastily sharpened by edgy-looking warriors, hiding their tension behind insults and puffed-up chests. The fires were high, and the servants were bustling about with trays overflowing with ale, cold meat, and cheese.

Thorgils took one look at the drink and food on offer and felt ready to vomit. Torstan, however, reached for the first cup to come his way, and after that quickly took another.

‘Is that the best idea?’ Eadmund wondered doubtfully, his own nerves starting to jangle as he looked around the hall. These men were hard. He had fought against and alongside most of them. They were going to rip Jael to pieces, weren’t they?

‘That’s coming from you, is it?’ Torstan said smartly and wandered off in search of food.

Ivaar came striding towards them. Thorgils cringed and farted; this was the last thing he needed.

‘Wishing you were joining your friends today?’ Ivaar asked coldly, his eyes resting on his brother’s face.

‘Me?’ Eadmund had no intention of letting Ivaar have any fun at their expense, Thorgils didn’t need it. ‘No, not in the slightest. I get a nice, warm seat and a good view of everything, maybe a drink of ale. Sounds much better than rolling about on my face, with someone’s arse on top of me.’

Ivaar desperately wanted to reach out and grab his brother by the throat. He looked too well, too healthy, too happy; it made him sick. ‘And what about your wife? Has she changed her mind about the contest? Decided she’d rather stay home and cook something for you?’ he smiled, watching Eadmund’s eyes twitch in irritation.

Eadmund laughed and nudged Thorgils, who stood in great discomfort next to him. Thorgils grimaced, caught between wanting to make sure Eadmund didn’t get into any trouble, and his urgent need to go outside and shit.

‘Well, perhaps after she defeats Tarak, you’d like to come to our house for a meal?’ Eadmund smiled.

‘What a kind offer,’ Ivaar said, his lips set in a thin line. ‘I suppose you must enjoy this time with her before she goes back to Brekka. Back to Aleksander.’

Thorgils froze. Here was the twist in the tail that Ivaar always managed to deliver.

‘Oh, you didn’t know about Aleksander? About how she wants to go back to Brekka, to be with him again?’ Ivaar could barely contain himself. ‘Well, I suppose she didn’t want to break your fragile, little heart. We’ve all seen what happens to you when you get that feeble heart of yours broken.’ And with one final, triumphant look, he turned and strode away, happier than he could remember feeling in some time.

Eadmund didn’t know what to think. He completely ignored the servant who stood, holding out a cup of ale and turned to Thorgils, who suddenly gripped his belly.

‘I need to find the shitter,’ he tried.

Eadmund reached out and snatched at his arm. ‘What is he talking about? Who is Aleksander?’

* * *

Jael had only just begun, but she didn’t know if she could continue. She took a deep breath. ‘My aunt was getting married...’ she said quietly. ‘I was so excited to go... I couldn’t wait to see my cousins. My father stayed behind. I don’t know why,’ she frowned, listening to the crack of the fire as it spat angrily at them. She glanced down at her hands, rubbed them together, then looked up again. ‘We had been there a few nights, all together in a large cottage, all of us children sleeping in the same bed, whispering all night. My brother was a nuisance, though. He was only two, and he would never sit still. That night he was making such a fuss, so my mother took him for a walk, trying to calm him down. I ran after them.’

Fyn sat on a stool, his eyes on Jael’s face. She had drifted far away; her body almost rigid as she sat, lost in the flames.

‘There were a lot of men suddenly. On horses. Carrying torches. Flames everywhere. The sound of swords and screams. My mother screamed. One of my father’s men was there. He pushed us into a cottage, told my mother to bar the door. He stayed outside. She hid us under the bed, but we heard it, the sound of the sword as it killed him. It was wet... stabbing, and then the door was kicked in. Four men.’ She stumbled then, the images were vivid now. ‘Four men burst in, some covered in blood. All had swords. They took my mother, ripping her dress off. She screamed so loudly. I had my hand over Axl’s mouth, but I wanted to rush out and stop them, stop what they were doing to her. They shoved her dress up, forced themselves on her. Laughing. They all took turns raping her. And all I could do was watch. Silently. Not even moving, just watching. I couldn’t close my eyes. I thought they would kill her...’ She looked up into Fyn’s eyes, and he saw the tears in hers. ‘And then my brother banged his head on the bed. He wouldn’t lie still. I’d tried to hold him down, but he kept wriggling. He was so upset. And they found us.’ She started shuddering. ‘They found me...’ And she was there again, in that place, remembering the smell of them, and the pain of it, and her mother’s screams disappearing into the night. Where had she gone? Why didn’t she stop them? Why didn’t she make it stop?

‘My mother had run out. It seemed like forever that she was gone. She came back with Gant, and he sliced all four of them to pieces, right there in front of me. He took all their heads off, one by one. So quickly. There was nothing but blood, everywhere,’ she sighed. ‘And they were dead, but so was part of me. They took a part of me with them. And I can never get it back.’

Jael reached out and grabbed Fyn’s hand, her eyes focusing again. ‘But my revenge was taken. They did not survive what they did to me, what they did to my mother. And if I had been there when Tarak raped you, I would have taken his head for you, Fyn. Because you are wrong... I do know,’ she cried. ‘I do know...’

* * *

‘What do you know, Thorgils?’ Eadmund demanded crossly. ‘Tell me!’

Thorgils grimaced. ‘Can I not tell you after I’ve been for my shit?’

Eadmund grabbed his arm. ‘Tell me, or you can shit in your trousers for all I care!’ He pulled Thorgils towards the doors, dragging him outside, away from Ivaar’s gloating eyes which were following them.

They hurried down the stairs and through the square, Eadmund leading Thorgils towards the latrines before stopping just short.

‘Eadmund, I don’t really know anything,’ Thorgils began. ‘I don’t know this Aleksander, but I assume it’s the name of the man Jael left behind in Brekka.’

‘She told you this?’

‘Sort of,’ Thorgils frowned. ‘There was definitely someone. How could there not have been? She’s a desirable woman. She was bound to have someone warming her bed all these years, wasn’t she?’

Eadmund grumbled crossly. Of course, it made sense, but why hadn’t she told him? Was that why she kept running away? Because she still loved this Aleksander?

Thorgils raced off and squatted behind the wattle fence, unable to hold it in any longer.

* * *

Fyn took one of his stools outside to stand on while he slipped Jael’s mail over her head. It was sleeveless and fell between her hips and knees. She wore a thick, padded, black tunic underneath, which fitted snugly over her chest and arms. Fyn hopped off the stool quickly and rushed to help strap the leather guards around each of Jael’s forearms; they were fringed with mail, to protect her wrists. She took the belt he handed her, wrapping it twice around her waist, making sure it was tight enough to stay up, but loose enough to move comfortably when she did. Jael checked her two knives as she slotted them into her belt. She slipped Toothpick into his scabbard, and lastly took the two, smaller knives Fyn held out to her, tucking one into each of the straps she had tied around her ankles, covered by her socks and boots.

‘You have a lot of weapons,’ Fyn smiled, trying to blink away his worry as he handed over her helmet.

Jael smiled wryly. Her father had given her that helmet after he’d nearly taken her eye with his sword; it was the last time he’d ever fought her. She touched her scar, remembering the horror on his face when he’d seen the mess he’d made of hers. Its prominent nose guard and cheek plates were heavily engraved with wrestling, angry wolves, and there were two axes crossing on the back of the helmet, for Furia. It had saved her life on more than one occasion, and every dent was a reminder of how careful she needed to be. Never overconfident; always looking for that which she couldn’t see coming. ‘One or two,’ she smiled, her eyes swollen now. She placed the helmet over her braids, strapping it firmly under her chin.

‘You should go,’ Fyn urged.

‘I should,’ Jael murmured, walking to where Tig stood, skipping about, desperate to leave. He was in a frisky mood, and despite her additional weight, he would get her back in time, she was certain. She led Tig back to Fyn. ‘If I’m still standing, I’ll be back. I’ll be back for you,’ she said firmly, stepping into the stirrup and reaching for the saddle. ‘Best you get your things together.’

Fyn blinked at her, wanting to believe she could do it, but his stomach fluttered more with nerves than any certainty she could defeat Tarak. ‘Good luck, Jael,’ he wished her, reaching out to take her hand. ‘Just remember, don’t let him get you on your back.’

Jael stared at him sternly, her mind already at the contest now. ‘I’ve worked very hard not to let any bastard get me on my back, believe me, Fyn. I’m not about to start now.’ She let go of his hand and pulled the reins to her waist. ‘Come on, Tig! Let’s go! Go! Go!’

Fyn stood and watched as they flew up the snowy rise as one, wondering if he was ever going to see her again.

56

Eirik was getting nervous; where was she? He frowned, glancing at Eadmund, who looked more angry than worried. ‘She’s taking her time coming back from this ride,’ he muttered crossly, fidgeting with his cloak pin. ‘Are you sure she hasn’t just decided to run away?’

Eadmund peered at his father, in no mood to discuss Jael and her endless desire to run away. ‘She’ll be here soon,’ he said sharply.

Eirik sighed, ignoring Ivaar, who sat gloating on his other side. Isaura perched nervously on the edge of her chair on Ivaar’s right, and Ayla next to her. Eydis shivered beside Eadmund and looked as though she had changed her mind about being there.

The Pit had been thoroughly cleared and divided up into four areas; one for each group of contestants. Eirik wasn’t confident that they were going to fit all of the battles in, though; without Morac’s help, he wasn’t sure he had organised everything properly. But Sevrin and Otto had stepped in, and were out in the Pit, ready to patrol the fights, along with two other men Eirik had selected.

The men in each group stood waiting, looking towards their king for the signal to begin.

Their king ignored them.

Eirik’s eyes skirted the Pit, inhaling the ripe stench of nerves as the misty morning settled around them all. He stared at the gates. Again. They were open, waiting. He looked to the first men who were poised, waiting. He could only give her moments more.

* * *

Tig flew faster than Jael had ever thought possible in so much snow. He must have sensed that she was going to battle, for he rode with a desperation she remembered. His hooves pounded down into the thick snow. He brought them out powerfully, and down, again and again, thundering up the hill towards the fort. Jael heard nothing but the sound of his thudding hooves and the steady beat of her heart. Inside her helmet, her mind was quiet, and focused, and ready. She had never had the chance to hurt those men for what they did to her. She had watched as they bled to death, as hacked up pieces of who they once were, but there had been little satisfaction in that. She had been grateful to Gant, of course, but it had not been his revenge to seek; not for her.

Jael was tired of sitting back and watching, as men in crowns, and men with swords took what they wanted from her, from women, from helpless children, who could not defend themselves. She had had enough. This was no fight to the death, she knew that, but whatever she did today, there would be no mercy. And if the gods favoured her, Tuuran and Oster alike, then they would be with her today while she fought. For she was Furia’s daughter, and she would dispense justice, for herself and Fyn.

She was ready.

* * *

All eyes turned towards the gates, listening to the rumble of hooves in the distance. They got louder as they rushed inside, echoing like drums around the silent fort.

Tig whinnied as Jael yanked hard on his reins, skidding to a stop just before the Pit. She could see that they were waiting on her, and thankfully, so was Askel. She slid off Tig, grabbed her red shield, handed the reins to her stable hand, and strode towards the Pit, one eye on Eirik, not looking for Eadmund; her face hard and ready for battle.

Jael found her group quickly. They had drawn straws, it seemed, and she was first to fight. There were smiles on the men’s faces as they crowded around her, pushing her out into the centre.

There was no smile on hers.

She slid Toothpick from his scabbard, tightened her grip on her shield and took a deep, frosty breath, before striding towards her opponent, a thick-necked man called Niklas. He grinned, almost toothlessly at her, happy to think she had been drawn against him first. There was some fun to be had with her, he knew. Of course, he had seen her fight Thorgils, but Thorgils had beaten her, for all the show she had put on. He didn’t imagine he would have much of a problem, no matter how fancy she had dressed for the occasion.

Jael saw her father’s face in her mind, heard his voice booming in her ears. ‘Don’t rush,’ he called to her. ‘Use that clever head of yours, Jael. See everything. Wait. Wait.’ She pushed her boots into the earth, eased her shoulders down and centred herself, taking in everything about her opponent and the way he carried himself; his axe, his lack of a shield, his bloodshot eyes, his casual stance, his ale-sour breath as it drifted gently towards her.

Eirik blew on a small horn, and they began. Niklas was confident, young, and arrogant as he sauntered around before her. That’s what Jael saw in the brief glimpse she caught of his eyes as she ran at him, slashing her sword straight across his unprotected chest. She brought her leg up quickly, kicking him firmly in the place she’d just hit him, sending him flying; his head banging into the hard ground with a loud crack.

Niklas lay there blinking, a look of horror distorting his face; his ears ringing, his axe well out of reach. Jael dropped down, leaning her weight onto his chest, her arm across his throat, her sword at his eye. There was no show today. Jael wanted Tarak. Only Tarak. Everyone else was in her way and the quicker she disposed of them, the better.

‘Over!’ Sevrin yelled as he stepped into the ring. ‘Jael wins!’

Jael stood up without smiling, nodded her acknowledgement to Sevrin, and walked to the back of the line.

Ivaar blinked in shock; Jael looked ready to kill someone.

‘Well, there’s a fine start for me and my coin,’ Eirik smiled confidently, finally relaxing. ‘Gurin!’ he called to his servant. ‘Bring us something to warm our bellies and some milk for Eydis.’

Eadmund was more worried than cross now as he tried to catch Jael’s eye. She had her back to him, ignoring everyone as she stood there waiting for her next turn.

‘Is Jael alright?’ Eydis asked urgently.

‘She is,’ Eadmund murmured. ‘So far.’ He noticed how worried his sister looked. ‘Are you alright, Little Thing? Here, take some of my furs.’

‘No, no, I’m warm enough.’ Eydis tried to smile, her breath puffing out slowly in front of her. ‘It’s just that...’

‘Just that, what?’

‘I had a dream about Jael, about Tarak fighting her,’ Eydis sighed. ‘Jael couldn’t move. She was lying on the ground. He was about to kill her.’

Eadmund felt the shiver as it charged up his spine. He reached out to grab Eydis’ hand. ‘Do you believe it? That it was a real dream?’

Eydis blinked, her mouth gaping open. She didn’t know what to say, but in the end, there was only the truth. ‘Yes.’ She hoped she was wrong.

Thorgils was not having much luck. His fight had been going for a while now, and he was impatient to move on. He was fighting an energetic man named Povel, who bounced about like an excited dog, swaying this way and that, darting about, making little bursts of attack, then retreating.

Thorgils sighed. He stood back and waited, reminding himself what Jael had taught him about fighting a battle with your mind. He could see what Povel was trying to do: play with him, confuse him, make him doubt himself. But as Thorgils frowned and waited, he could see that the only one with doubts was his opponent. It was time to end things.

He strode forwards, his shield high, his sword extended, his eyes hard-edged. He shunted his shield forward, hard and fast, fighting off the wild blows of Povel’s axe, smashing the rim into his chin, releasing his sword and bringing it down on Povel’s arm guard. Povel scrambled to control his axe and shield at the same time, but the shock and force of the double blow overloaded his senses, and he dropped both, scrambling backwards, blood gushing from his gaping chin.

Otto was stalking around the perimeter of the ring, but he didn’t stop the fight, despite the fact that Povel was weaponless and injured. Thorgils was in no mood to be generous; generous Thorgils would have thrown down his weapons and finished it with fists, but this Thorgils was only thinking of Tarak. He had a chance to meet him today, and he couldn’t wait to get there. He lunged, slamming his shield into Povel’s narrow chest, knocking its iron boss towards his nose. Povel tumbled backwards this time, his face a bloody mess. And as Thorgils jammed his foot down on Povel’s pulsing throat, Otto called it. ‘Over! Thorgils wins!’

There was no smile from him either. Not until Tarak was sucking dirt through his nostrils, would there be any smile on Thorgils’ face.

* * *

Aleksander didn’t know why he was still in Tuura. All of his belongings were now hidden away in the forest, and he had said goodbye to Edela. Nothing was keeping him here, nothing except his own nagging questions. Edela had seen something, and he wanted to find an explanation for it. He knew that if he could find out what his mother had actually been doing, who had really sent the men to Tuura, then Edela would have to see that she had just chosen the wrong dream. He was certain of it.

He had gone to Alaric’s, but there had been no one home. No doubt he was somewhere with Edela, looking for more information to help Jael. There was guilt in that thought. Aleksander sighed; he was supposed to help Jael, supposed to love her, but he’d abandoned her grandmother and then broken his vow to wait for her. The thick clouds that hung around Tuura’s walls matched his morose mood.

Looking up, he suddenly saw Alaric scurrying ahead of him. He was moving much faster than normal, and Aleksander had to hurry to catch up with him, pushing his way through a large throng of people who had gathered near the gates to watch a fight being broken up by a thick swarm of soldiers. Whatever the argument had been over, small or large, the perpetrators were being attacked fiercely with swords. Aleksander grimaced and looked away; he was yet to find anything about this place to like.

‘Alaric!’ He was close enough now to make himself heard, and indeed, Alaric spun around in surprise.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he frowned, his eyes darting up and down the street. ‘What do you want?’

Aleksander laughed. ‘You’re not happy to see me, then?’

Alaric looked embarrassed and dropped his head. He supposed he felt mad on Edela’s behalf, but more than that, he had become increasingly worried about Aleksander’s peculiar family history. Edela might trust him, but perhaps she was blinded by loyalty to her granddaughter? Alaric had no such loyalty and was able to look at Aleksander with open eyes. ‘Well, you have hardly made yourself popular around Tuura, from what I hear,’ he said sharply. ‘And as for Edela... I think you abandoned her quite harshly, when she needed your help and guidance.’

‘I can’t deny any of that,’ Aleksander admitted with a guilty shrug, as aware as Alaric that they were standing in a very public place. ‘But I need to speak with you. Please. I have some questions.’

Alaric shook his head and made to leave. ‘I have no information for you. There’s nothing I can help you with.’

Aleksander snatched at his arm. ‘Please, Alaric. I’m still here for a reason. I don’t know what that reason is, but I need some answers. I’m sure you can help me. For Edela’s sake,’ he tried.

Alaric turned back with a sigh. He could never resist doing anything to help Edela.

* * *

They were all through to the third round, Tarak noticed happily, hardly caring who he was facing next. There were only two people he wanted to break into pieces for Ivaar, and neither of those were within touching distance yet. He smiled as he walked to the back of his dwindling group. His fights had been relatively short, and the wait in between had him bored and thirsty, itching to move things along.

‘We should break before the next round,’ Ivaar suggested. ‘I can’t feel my face, and I think we could all do with something to eat and drink if we’re going to keep sitting out here much longer.’

Eirik was already out of his chair, grabbing hold of Eydis’ hand. He smiled happily, frozen but elated. ‘We take a break!’ he called loudly to the contenders. ‘Go warm yourselves up and get something in your bellies!’

Jael was as numb as anyone, but she just wanted to keep going. It was her turn to fight again, and she was eager to put her sword to the idiot who was waiting for her. He’d watched her send two of his friends off quickly, but his expression hadn’t changed one bit. He still appraised her with the same cocky smile. He still grabbed his crotch and thrust it in her direction. She didn’t even frown as she walked off. She looked right through him, her mind empty of everything but her desire to reach Tarak.

Eadmund watched Jael walking towards him and knew he couldn’t say anything about Aleksander. He had calmed down a little, and as much as he wanted to throw that name in her face and demand she explain her feelings, he could see how focused she was. He couldn’t break into that and distract her, not after what Eydis had revealed to him. The thought of Tarak killing Jael tightened his chest, and when he looked at her, he only saw the fact that he loved her. There was no way he was going to let Tarak try to kill her. They would all be watching the fight. It couldn’t happen.

Jael didn’t smile as she approached him. She removed her helmet and walked beside him into the hall, suddenly noticing how cold she was. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, noticing the tension in his face.

‘Nothing,’ he lied, trying to look less annoyed. ‘You’ve done well so far.’

‘Mmmm,’ she mumbled, grabbing a piece of bread and a slice of meat. She wasn’t hungry at all, but there was a lot more of the day to be had yet. ‘So far doesn’t mean much.’

‘No.’ Eadmund was starving but distracted. He reached for a cup of ale and drank it without thinking. ‘Tarak is looking good. So is Thorgils.’

Jael looked up at him. ‘What’s wrong?’

Eadmund ducked his head, hoping to escape her piercing stare. ‘I’m just... worried about you. Not many men watch their wives fight, do they? And, well... Eydis told me about her dream.’

‘Oh.’ Jael understood now; that made sense of his face. ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall join the long line of men going to piss.’ She walked off without another word, as distant as if she were still in Brekka.

Eadmund watched her go, worried. He wasn’t mad at all now. He just wanted to keep her safe.

‘Eydis thinks a storm is on its way, and by the look of the clouds gathering up there, I think she may be right,’ Eirik frowned as he walked up to his son.

‘So, what do you want to do?’ Eadmund wondered, trying not to look at Ivaar as he joined their discussion.

‘I say we keep going to the end,’ Ivaar suggested.

‘No,’ Eadmund said firmly, turning to his brother. ‘There won’t be enough light. The last two will be fighting in the dark, which won’t make for much of a spectacle, will it?’

Eirik sighed. ‘We shall have to see how we go, but we can’t hold the last battle if we’re reaching the end of the light, Eadmund’s right. Things might have moved along quickly, but now we’re getting down to the better fighters, so I anticipate longer battles. Let’s just take a breath, and see how things unfold after the break.’

Eadmund glared at Ivaar, and Eirik could feel the hate between his two sons. It saddened and worried him. His father had killed his mother. He had killed his father.

Surely that was enough murder for one family?

* * *

‘What is it that you wish to know?’ Alaric sighed as he sat down beside his cold, grim fireplace. He had not wanted to be overheard discussing anything in the street and had led Aleksander back to his bare cottage.

‘I want to know what Edela has found out,’ Aleksander began.

‘You mean about your grandmother?’

‘My grandmother?’ Aleksander shook his head, confused. ‘No, my mother.’ He paused, noticing the look of horror on Alaric’s face at the slip of his tongue. ‘What do I need to know about my grandmother?’

Alaric’s mouth hung open while he thought of what to say. In the end, he knew, Aleksander was not a man about to be brushed aside with flimsy lies. ‘I found a scribe who worked for the elderman at the time your grandmother and Edela entered the temple as dreamers.’

‘My mother’s mother?’

‘Yes.’

‘She was a dreamer?’

‘She was, yes,’ he muttered impatiently. ‘Though she was removed from the temple when she had barely begun to learn about her dreams. This scribe knew the reason why, which is why I sought her out... for Edela.’ Alaric puffed out his sunken chest, feeling the pride of his success.

Aleksander frowned and sat down on Alaric’s solitary stool. ‘Do I want to know the reason why?’

‘I suspect not, but you cannot run from what has happened in your family,’ Alaric warned. ‘Only be informed.’

‘And?’ Aleksander leaned forward reluctantly. ‘What had she done?’

‘She had visited the Widow,’ Alaric breathed, almost silently, his breath freezing in the air. ‘She bragged about it, about how her mother had taken her, how she had consulted with her, learned from her.’

Aleksander’s face froze in horror. ‘The Widow? And she was banished from the temple for that?’

‘Of course!’ Alaric’s eyes popped open. ‘The Widow was a woman of such true evil. Blessed with greater gifts than almost anyone, but she used them all as weapons. She hurt, maimed, injured, killed for gold. She was merciless. A true mercenary of dark magic.’ He shook his head. ‘But how she was still alive when your grandmother was a child, I do not know. The Widow’s name is one from history, from hundreds of years ago. How could she still have been alive? I suppose dark magic has many secrets...’

‘If it was the Widow at all,’ Aleksander suggested carefully. ‘Maybe it was just a woman pretending to be her? Or perhaps it was that my grandmother was a girl filled with stories?’ He felt a desperate need to defend his family, to still cling to the belief that there was goodness there, that their connections to the Widow did not mark them as evil, did not link them back to trying to harm Jael.

‘A possibility, of course,’ Alaric murmured, rubbing his chapped hands together. ‘But according to Merya, the dreamers saw the truth in her tale, which was the reason she was banished.’

Aleksander thought back to his own visit to the Widow. Why had she helped him in the end? If she was so dangerous, so old, so full of dark magic, why had she said nothing to him about his mother or his grandmother? He shuddered, and not just from the frigid chill in Alaric’s cottage. Nothing good was going to come from following this path, he realised, but somehow, there had to be a way to show Edela that his mother had done nothing wrong; nothing to try and hurt Jael. There had to be.

57

Round three.

‘I can’t wait to feel those tits of yours when you’re lying on the ground beneath my giant cock,’ Reinar called to her, to the amusement of the returning crowd.

Jael frowned, ignoring the cheers and jeers, wishing she hadn’t eaten anything; she felt sick now. And... was there any man on this island who wasn’t a complete arse? She didn’t respond to his posturing, except to tighten the line of her lips and sharpen the focus of her eyes. Reinar was the next nothing in line, and she needed him gone, fast.

Eirik blew his horn, and Reinar lunged. He came at her with an axe and a shield, and she could tell that he was very good with both. Jael didn’t move her feet; she just swayed to one side as he sailed past. There was a loud cheer. When Jael was fighting the crowd tended to be much larger than anywhere else. She hadn’t noticed; her attention was only on her opponent.

He turned around, and so did she. Shields up, they came together. Jael lashed out angrily, Toothpick glinting as he flew through a burst of sunlight. She clenched her teeth and stretched forwards, bringing her blade towards Reinar’s arm, away from his shield. He spun out of her reach, his axe high in the air, his shield pushing towards her, his mouth empty of insults now as he grimaced, ready to go again.

Jael had to think. Let him defeat himself or get it done? Get it done sounded better. Defeating Tarak would require a lot of strength and energy; there was no point wasting it now. She turned, exposing her back to Reinar, much to the surprise of the gasping crowd; much to the surprise of Eadmund, who stood up.

‘What is it?’ Eydis asked anxiously.

‘It’s alright,’ he muttered unconvincingly, his eyes fixed on Jael, his stomach tightening into a knot.

Eirik turned to follow his gaze, frowning. What was she doing?

Jael listened. The noise around her hushed as everyone held their breath. She could hear Reinar’s footsteps. He was coming for her but slowly. He was uncertain, not sure how to attack, not sure what she had planned. She waited. One heartbeat, two, three, and then she spun, quickly, snapping around, her right leg slicing through the air like a blade, straight into the side of Reinar’s face. She heard the crack of his jaw as it hit the knife she had strapped to her ankle, inside her boot. He went down and didn’t move.

She was on him quickly, whipping her short knife out of its scabbard, bringing it up to his bleeding jaw, her chest over his face. ‘How do you like my tits now?’ she growled.

‘Over!’ Otto called. ‘Jael wins!’

There was no sound from the crowd as she lifted herself off Reinar’s motionless body and walked back to the line. No one said a thing. They were too stunned by what she had done. Watching from two groups away, Thorgils smiled wryly; he knew how Reinar was feeling.

‘Well, into the fourth round go my two,’ Eirik smiled at Ivaar. ‘My coin is looking in good shape.’

‘Perhaps,’ Ivaar admitted grudgingly. ‘Although, now it will start to get much harder. This is where Jael will struggle, I promise you.’

‘If you say so,’ Eirik said confidently. ‘But she seems to know what she’s doing, I think.’ He smiled, turning towards Eadmund. ‘A good wife you have there, my son.’

‘Well, if you’re looking for someone to protect you, yes, I suppose so. Though, I haven’t tried her cooking.’

* * *

Tarak looked up, pleased to see that both Thorgils and Jael were still standing. He puffed out his chest, flexing his fist, eager to get through this last round before the four groups became two, and then one. He had no doubt he would be in that final battle, not one single doubt, as he looked around at the faces of the two men who were waiting for the signal to begin; both stunk of fear and loose bowels. He had no concerns as he glanced at Ivaar and smiled.

Jael didn’t look Torstan’s way as she stood, gripping Toothpick’s cold hilt. She was left with Torstan and a man named Yari, who looked as though he had drunk too much in the break. He stood, swaying gently next to Torstan. Despite that, she didn’t discount him entirely; he had made it this far. She would have to defeat both of them at once to get through to the next round.

Jael closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for her father’s voice but instead she heard Gant’s. ‘Two opponents,’ came his soft rasping tones in her ear. ‘Easier than you would think. Keep your back clear and get one down to the ground as quickly as possible. No time for dancing about like a lady. Finish it fast.’

She had seen everything Torstan had. It would be easier to take him first. Yari could wait.

Eirik blew his horn and Jael pounced on Torstan. He was in the middle of nervously readjusting his shield grip when she ran at him, lunging with her foot, smashing it into his shield with every bit of strength she had. He lost his balance and stumbled over backwards, falling onto the ground. Through the cheers of the crowd, Jael could hear Yari coming up behind her. She threw herself down onto Torstan, who was busy trying to grab his sword which had slipped out of his grip. She landed on his shield, rested on her forearms, and whipped her right leg around sharply, taking Yari’s legs out from under him. The cheer was booming now but Yari, despite his shock, didn’t stay down long.

Torstan had managed to get his fingers around his sword, but his grip was not strong. Jael raised herself up, smashing her shield into his face, getting up to kick his sword away, her sword tip at his throat.

‘Torstan is out!’ Sevrin yelled to the crowd.

Yari came at her again, his axe slashing at her back as she rose. She spun out of his path, quickly darting around his side. Toothpick twitched in her hand, and she lunged at Yari, slashing his shield repeatedly, swaying back and forth, avoiding his oncoming blade. He had a wild look in his eye; the look of a man who had drunk enough to dull his fear, but killed his good sense at the same time. He was not going to make good decisions. He was just going to slash until he ran out of breath.

Jael stepped back, dropping her head to one side. She smiled, and it was ice-bright; her eyes hard and focused. Yari didn’t wait for the show. He came at her again, his axe in the air, his shield flat to his chest. Jael turned away as he ran past her and slipped Toothpick into his scabbard. She turned back, both hands gripping her shield.

‘What is she doing?!’ Eadmund growled, standing up again, swallowing repeatedly.

‘Eadmund? What is it?’ Eydis was panicked beside him.

‘It’s alright, don’t worry,’ Eirik assured her, blinking furiously, his eyes not leaving the fight. ‘Jael is fine.’

It was Yari’s turn to smile as he swayed slightly and came again, his axe cutting through the cold air, his breath in front of him. He bellowed as he swung the axe down towards Jael. She lifted her shield high and caught the blade next to the iron boss, her hands on the furthest edges of the rim, her head to one side.

The blade stuck.

Jael jerked her shield backwards, as hard and fast as she could, yanking the axe out of Yari’s hand. She threw the shield to the ground and slid Toothpick out of his scabbard before Yari had a chance to think; bringing the glinting, deadly tip towards his face, holding it just before his glazed eyes.

‘Over!’ Sevrin called. ‘Jael wins!’

Eadmund let out a smoky sigh, but he couldn’t sit down; he was too tense. He tried to catch her eye. She was getting closer. He only hoped Thorgils would stop Tarak from getting anywhere near her. She was good, he couldn’t deny that, but he didn’t doubt Eydis’ dream, or the twist in Tarak’s face every time he looked Jael’s way.

* * *

There was a short break before the start of the last two battles, which would determine who would face each other in the final.

Thorgils’ dream had come true. Tarak was standing in the middle of the Pit, chest beating, frothing at the mouth, and waiting for him. Jael had a man called Mikkel, who looked like a challenge. He reminded her of her father: large and brooding, not at all showy, but full of quiet intent and experience. He was not about to be fooled by anything she had produced so far, she knew. But they were fighting after Tarak and Thorgils, and Jael’s focus, for now, was solely on her friend.

‘Are you hurt anywhere?’ Jael asked quickly. There was little time; she needed to get Thorgils ready in a hurry. As much as she wanted Tarak, she didn’t want Tarak to have his fun at Thorgils’ expense.

‘Just a cut on my elbow, that’s all,’ Thorgils grunted. ‘Nothing to trouble me. You?’

‘No, nothing,’ she said as they stood huddled to one side of the Pit. Ivaar and Tarak were talking in the distance and kept looking their way. Ivaar would be instructing Tarak to humiliate Thorgils, she knew. ‘Now listen, the best thing you can do is to get in charge of that bullish head of yours. He’s going to be caught up in trying to play with you, humiliate you, for Ivaar’s enjoyment. He wants to impress Ivaar, so he’ll lure you, and tease you, and taunt you. He’ll want to make it a game, but you can’t play it.’

Thorgils didn’t speak or look at her. He was imagining the feeling of his hands around Tarak’s throat.

‘Don’t let his strength be a factor. Tire him out. Don’t move unless you need to. Let him run around. Don’t talk. Whatever you do, don’t talk! Watch his eyes. And don’t let him get you on the ground,’ she sighed, worried by the look on Thorgils’ face. ‘Eydis’ dream won’t come true if you finish him.’

Thorgils nodded, barely listening. He glanced up at Isaura, not caring if Ivaar saw. He didn’t care if anyone saw. That was his woman up there, and he would look at her if he wanted.

Isaura shivered. She held Thorgils’ stare for a moment, willing him on, wanting him to be alright. Ivaar was with Tarak, perhaps he was watching, but she would suffer any punishment for Thorgils to know that she was with him.

Jael moved towards the railings. ‘If it starts to go wrong, look for me and you’ll remember the things we practised.’ She saw Tarak coming and gripped Thorgils’ arm, staring into his eyes. She saw uncertainty there, but also fire, and that gave her some confidence. ‘Go and shove that bastard’s ugly face into the dirt.’

Thorgils nodded, breathing heavily, beating his sword against his shield, wishing he’d used the break to head for the latrines, then quickly shutting it all of out of his head.

Tarak was coming.

Ivaar took his seat next to Isaura. ‘Are you sure you want to watch this?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘It might get very messy for poor Thorgils.’

‘Well, that’s confident of you,’ Eirik grinned at his son, noticing the terror on Isaura’s face. He frowned. ‘Too confident, I fear. Thorgils has been training with Jael, you know. Everyday. And you’ve seen what she can do.’ He caught Isaura’s eye and smiled reassuringly.

‘Indeed, and I’ve seen what Thorgils has done,’ Ivaar said grudgingly. ‘But neither of them have faced anyone like Tarak. If Jael tried to kick him, he’d snap her leg in two.’

Eadmund frowned, wishing he could snap his brother in two. He hoped more than anything that Thorgils could do it. He didn’t want Tarak anywhere near Jael. Next to him, Eydis shuddered. ‘Here, Little Thing,’ he smiled, handing her his fur. ‘Take this. Go on.’

Eydis didn’t argue this time as he draped it over her shaking arms. ‘Thorgils won’t win,’ she whispered hoarsely, so their father couldn’t hear. ‘Tarak will defeat him. You know that.’

Eadmund tried to smile as he shook his head. ‘I know what you’ve seen, but I know Thorgils, and he is not about to let Tarak get anywhere near Jael. He wants him all to himself.’

They had removed the extra railings from the Pit. There was more room for the contestants now; more room for Tarak to run around and tire himself out, Thorgils decided as he stood there waiting for Eirik’s signal.

Tarak smiled as he strutted into the middle of the Pit, his scuffed, blue shield held firmly to his bare chest, his sword, which was the longest and heaviest on Oss, straight out in front of him. He didn’t wear a helmet and had no use for mail. The only armour he wore was a pair of boiled leather arm guards. His trousers, also leather, were slim fitting, tucked into a pair of long, black boots. He stopped just in front of Thorgils, his eyes barely blinking as he rolled his thick, corded shoulders, waiting to begin.

Jael held her breath, wrapping her cloak tightly around her shoulders; she had suddenly noticed how cold it was. The wind was picking up, and the clouds had started rushing about overhead. She wondered if the gods were coming to watch.

Eirik stood and with a quick smile at Thorgils, blew his horn.

Thorgils panicked and attacked first. He rushed at his opponent, sword flashing, aiming for Tarak’s arms but Tarak was faster, hitting Thorgils back with his shield, meeting every slash of his sword, with double the power Thorgils could manage. Thorgils cursed his rashness and stepped away, imagining the look on Jael’s face. He stopped himself from shaking his head, though; Tarak didn’t need to know he was rattled. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to try and focus on what he was trying to achieve. Tire. Tarak. Out. He nodded to himself and snorted a burst of white smoke out his nostrils.

Time to start again.

Isaura wanted to leave, as much as she wanted to stay. It had not started well. Thorgils looked nervous, she thought, and who could blame him with that naked animal bearing down on him. She turned to Ayla, who had not said a word all day, desperate to ask what she saw, but Ayla’s face looked as terrified as her own; that was not a good sign.

Tarak came hard at Thorgils. He led with his shield, banging it into Thorgils’ chest, slicing his sword towards his face. Tarak’s reach was much longer than Thorgils was used to, and he had to jump back to avoid the sword’s deadly tip as it approached his cheek. He stepped back, time and time again, as Tarak kept coming, focusing on his shield, on defending himself, letting Tarak do all the work.

Tarak smiled, sensing Thorgils’ plan. He swung his arm back as hard as he could, his sword almost touching the clouds in the sky. It took so long that Thorgils had time to slip out of the way and Tarak hit nothing but the dust from his boots. Tarak growled furiously and turned to pursue his opponent. ‘Running away already?’ he laughed as he stalked after Thorgils, who kept moving backwards, sideways, keeping away from Tarak, irritating him further. ‘I suppose when you already know you’re beaten, it’s all you can do!’ he laughed and brought his sword down onto Thorgils’ shield. Hard. The shield jarred sharply against his arm, and Thorgils’ teeth slammed together. Tarak came again, bludgeoning the shield over and over with his massive sword. Thorgils slipped to one side, leaving Tarak fighting the dust again.

‘Have you forgotten where you placed your sword, Thorgils?’ Tarak laughed, enjoying the cheers from the crowd. ‘Or is it that you’re so nervous, fighting in front of your long, lost love? Worried that she’ll see you for the man you truly are?’ He came rushing towards Thorgils again, chasing him. ‘I’m sorry, did I say man? I meant, coward!’

Thorgils turned and stood, then. He wasn’t sure Tarak was tiring at all, and he was tired of running; he couldn’t win like that. His palm was sweaty on his sword’s grip, his eyes narrow, as he lunged at Tarak’s middle, but Tarak was taller than him and elbowed him in the side of the head as he came forwards. Thorgils was knocked sideways, straight into the dirt, his head ringing so loudly that he couldn’t hear a thing except for a high-pitched squeal that pierced his ears. He rolled away quickly from Tarak’s jab and this time it was Tarak scrambling in the dirt. That made him wild. He threw his shield away and ran towards Thorgils, his sword in both hands now, his face twisting into a violent scowl.

‘I wonder how that will work out for your Thorgils,’ Ivaar smiled at Isaura.

‘I imagine it’s Tarak you need to be worried about,’ Eirik said smartly. ‘He’s the fool without a shield.’

Tarak herded Thorgils into the railings, and all Thorgils could do then was defend with his shield. He butted it towards Tarak’s face, catching him on the cheek, which just enraged him more. Tarak smashed his sword on the shield, over and over, striking it as hard as he could until it broke. Thorgils slipped his hand out of the shieldless grip, throwing it away, ducking under Tarak’s arm and coming around behind him with his sword, but Tarak spun and slashed with speed and power, his much heavier sword slicing straight across Thorgils’ shieldless middle.

‘No!’ Jael yelled in horror as Thorgils staggered backwards. He wasn’t wearing mail and Tarak’s sword had sliced straight through his leather armour. Jael’s eyes flashed to Isaura who had grabbed her throat, her face washed of any colour.

Eadmund was on his feet again. ‘Father...’ he urged.

‘I’m watching, don’t worry,’ Eirik said calmly. ‘He’s still standing. Let him fight, Eadmund. This is no fight to the death. Tarak knows that. Give Thorgils a chance.’

Thorgils staggered backwards, shocked by the force of Tarak’s blow. Tarak was after him, the smell of blood in his nostrils now. Thorgils looked to Jael; saw his fear reflected in her eyes. He shook his head, his ringing, pounding head, trying to think of what they had practised; trying, but his head was so thick, and the pain in his middle was hard to ignore.

That was of no concern to Tarak, and he came again, aiming for the same spot. The crowd was cheering loudly now, those who were supporting Tarak, at least. Thorgils’ friends had gone quiet, worried for what was about to happen. Again.

Tarak slashed his sword towards Thorgils’ stomach, but Thorgils jumped back and cut Tarak on the arm as he did. A cheer went up, which infuriated Tarak. He glanced up at Ivaar, whose narrowed eyes urged him to finish it.

Thorgils stood there, gripping his sword desperately now, keeping it close to his body, one arm resting against his wound, hoping to stem the gushing blood. It didn’t seem to be working. His ears were buzzing; he had to blink to clear his vision. Tarak kept coming, though. Thorgils had no choice but to lean forwards to meet him. He swung out with his sword, making contact with Tarak’s but Tarak leaned back and kicked him hard, right in his stomach. Thorgils’ eyes bulged open as the pain hit; white, flashing shards of agony. His sword flew out of his hand as he toppled to the ground.

‘Thorgils!’ The cry went up all around. Jael could see Odda Svanter on the opposite side of the Pit, terror in her eyes. She saw Isaura, out of her chair, and Eadmund rushing down to the railings.

Tarak couldn’t stop smiling as he threw himself onto Thorgils’ bleeding body, shoving his knee into Thorgils’ stomach, throwing his sword away. His arm was bleeding, but he didn’t notice. He pulled it back and punched Thorgils in the face as hard as he could, again and again, until Thorgils’ eyes and nose matched the mess of blood coming out of his stomach.

‘Over!’ Eirik yelled loudly and reluctantly. ‘Tarak wins.’ He didn’t even look at the gloating face of his son as he sat back down.

Isaura couldn’t stop the tears that slid down her face as Ivaar reached out and grabbed her hand.

Ivaar couldn’t stop the smile on his face as he watched Tarak raising his arm in victory.

Eadmund was stunned. He ran into the Pit to help Jael and Torstan lift Thorgils off the ground. His friend was unconscious, his head drooping worryingly; a fleshy, bloody, Tarak-inflicted mess.

Biddy was standing at the railings, waiting for him. Askel had rushed to find her when he saw how things were going for Thorgils. She pressed a rolled up cloth into his stomach wound. ‘Hold onto this,’ she ordered Eadmund. ‘Take him to the house, quickly,’ she said, her face tense. ‘I have everything waiting.’

Jael let go of Thorgils’ arm, watching Torstan and Eadmund carry him away.

58

Tuura’s tavern was nothing more than a poorly lit, stinking hut, hidden down a narrow series of alleyways in the middle of the town, where men came to drink, and women came to tempt them to part with any coins they had left over. That is where he had met Hanna. He wondered if that was why he kept coming back.

Aleksander sat at a table, alone, in the darkest corner he could find, slowly sipping some watery ale that he’d bought with his last silver coin. Alaric’s words wouldn’t leave his head. What was his family’s connection to the Widow? His grandmother had been taken to her by her mother. And his own mother had gone, and even he had been there. Why? How did they know where to find her? And what was it about her that made her so deadly? She killed men, they said, with dark magic. Lived, even when she must have been hundreds of years old. Were they all just tales to scare children? He didn’t think so, but somehow, he had to find out.

He turned around as the door creaked open, and watched as Hanna and another woman entered the room. There were a few cheers at the sight of fresh offerings. Aleksander could hear the clinking sound as hands rustled in pockets. He turned back around, confused.

‘Hello,’ Hanna murmured as she came to sit beside him, ignoring the disappointed calls of the men holding up their coins, who quickly turned their attention towards her friend. ‘I had a feeling you might be here again.’

‘Did you?’ Aleksander stared at his drink, trying to ignore the effect her voice was having on him. He wasn’t drunk enough to be able to blame ale for any choice he made today. ‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked quietly, glancing at her. She looked cold; her round cheeks matching the pink tip of her nose.

‘That would be nice,’ she smiled, surprised at how sober he appeared. She had expected to find him in another messy state.

Aleksander filled his empty cup with the remainder of the jug and passed it to Hanna.

‘Thank you,’ she smiled at him.

His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled back. He was so tired of feeling lonely and sad. It would be nice to forget it all for a while. He waved his hand towards the serving girl, motioning for another cup and turned to Hanna, staring into her kind, blue eyes. He had no urge to run away at all.

* * *

‘How is he?’ Jael ran up to Eadmund, her eyes searching his face.

Eadmund grabbed her arms, looking her over. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine.’ She shook his words away. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You won?’

‘I did.’

Eadmund hung his head. ‘Already? They didn’t wait?’

‘No.’ She looked to the sky, which was darkening ominously. ‘Eirik decided to hold the final fight today. The weather looks as though it will only get worse. They say a storm is coming.’

‘Jael...’ Eadmund looked at her with fear in his eyes. ‘Thorgils is a mess. Biddy has stitched his wounds, and he’s woken up, but he’s a mess. You can’t fight Tarak. As good as you are, you can’t fight him. You’re not as strong as Thorgils, and look at what happened to him!’

‘Do you think I’m going to let what he did to Thorgils be the way it ends?’ Jael growled into his face. ‘That he gets away with hurting more people because no one can beat him? Stand up to him? Destroy him?’ She shook her head, her whole body vibrating with fury. ‘He has more to answer for than you know,’ she spat. ‘Nobody deserves to be defeated more than that fucking bastard.’

‘But Eydis...’ Eadmund tried to remind her. ‘She dreamed about this, about what Tarak would do to you.’

‘So what?’ Jael said coldly, her eyes already focusing on what she was about to do. ‘What do I care about Eydis’ dream? It’s a dream. You can change a dream. The gods can change a dream. I can change this dream!’ She grabbed Eadmund’s arm. ‘If it makes you feel better, stop the fight before he kills me. If it comes to that and I’m on my back, and he’s lowering his sword towards my throat, stop the fight. Easy.’

Eadmund didn’t look as convinced as she did.

‘Contestants to the Pit!’ Sevrin yelled. ‘We need to begin now before we lose the light!’

Eadmund grabbed Jael’s hand, panic in his eyes, wishing he could step into the Pit for her; he felt ashamed that he couldn’t. ‘He will snap your legs. He will shatter your shield. He will keep coming. You have to take him out at his foundations, remember?’

Jael nodded impatiently. She didn’t want to hear anymore; she had to go. She had to lock herself away now and find what she needed to defeat Tarak. She reached up and held Eadmund’s face in her hands, kissing him quickly, then letting go. With one final look, Jael turned and walked away, shutting him out of her head, feeling the thud of her heart as she strode towards the centre of the Pit.

‘Eadmund!’ Eydis called. ‘Eadmund, you have to stop her!’

‘Eydis,’ Eirik soothed as he moved to sit beside his anxious daughter. ‘Come here, come here.’ He reached out and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. ‘I have watched Jael fight all day. She is going to be just fine, I promise. I have all my coin on her now. She promised me she would be my champion, so you have to believe in her.’ He shivered, his eyes following Jael as she walked to meet Tarak, his stomach fluttering with nerves. If she could someone manage to defeat Tarak, then she would be his champion, and he truly would give her anything she wanted.

Jael blinked slowly. Everything now had to be about defeating Tarak. Every movement and breath, every look, everything she did had to be focused on destroying him, undoing his confidence, breaking his belief, beating him any way she could. She let the memory of what he did to Thorgils float out of her mind. She remembered standing in front of Aleksander, preparing to fight him. She knew he could have beaten Tarak and she had beaten Aleksander.

It could be done.

‘Father?’ Ivaar leaned across to interrupt Eirik’s conversation with Eydis. ‘We’re all waiting.’

Eirik sat up, looking into the Pit. He closed his eyes, asking Furia to protect her daughter, in this, surely her toughest test. He glanced at Tarak, whose eyes were trained on Jael, dripping with bloodlust. ‘Otto!’ he called.

Ivaar frowned as Otto turned from the railings and walked up to Eirik’s chair.

‘I will call this fight,’ Eirik said calmly. ‘You may step away.’ He picked up his horn and walked down to the railings. Above his head, he could sense the afternoon light diminishing as the clouds swept in, thicker and more threatening than before. The wind chilled his face, but there was no sign of rain or snow yet.

‘This,’ Eirik began loudly, ‘this is not a fight to the death, and you will both remember that! This is a fight to become my champion, the Champion of Oss. I have already spoken of the prizes on offer to the winner, but let it be known that another prize is waiting to be claimed if Jael is to be victorious. A prize that only she and I know about, but one which I now agree to, if she is to become my champion.’

Jael’s head snapped around in surprise.

Eirik nodded at her briefly. ‘Prepare yourselves now, for victory will offer you everything you have always wanted!’ he called loudly over the excited roar of the crowd.

Eadmund wondered what prize Jael had asked for, but it was a fleeting thought, quickly replaced by a sick feeling of utter dread. The look on Tarak’s face told him that Jael had no chance.

How was she going to do it? She had thought about this moment for weeks, practising many different strategies, but as Thorgils had shown, practice meant nothing when you were facing Tarak in the naked flesh. She thought back to Fyn; remembered what Tarak had done to him. Remembered what those men had done to her. She held onto that feeling of bursting rage as it flew through her body, demanding to be released.

Eirik blew his horn.

This did not need to look good, Jael knew. She also knew that she had to stay off the ground.

She ran straight at Tarak and threw herself to the ground, sliding towards him, kicking out at his ankle as hard as she could. She kept going, rolling, standing up, and moving away. It had only taken a moment, but Tarak was frowning, shaking his ankle, as she stood there in front of him, breathing heavily, crouching, sheathing Toothpick, and grabbing her short knife from its scabbard, ready to begin again.

Eadmund stood, grabbing his face anxiously. The crowd gasped, surprised by that as a beginning.

His foundations were thick, Jael could see. The knife down her boot would have hurt most men, broken an ankle in many, but he had not even stumbled. He was well balanced as he came quickly towards her, a frown digging itself into the small space between his eyebrows.

Jael ran at him, sliding through the dirt again, this time slashing the back of his left leg with her knife. She felt pleasure in the sound of his tearing flesh and the bellow from his naked chest, as she slid past. Rolling away, she was up again, crouching, ready.

Tarak turned on her, furious now. Furious and ready to make her bleed. He didn’t even look down at his leg. He could feel the blood flowing steadily; not deep enough to slow him down, though, and soon the cold would freeze it. He squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white, pulled his shield into his chest and smashed his sword on it in a thunderous burst of fury. He would kill the slippery bitch now.

Tarak rushed at her with all his power, viciously hacking with his giant sword. Jael dropped one shoulder and twisted away, leaving Tarak cursing the dirt as he spun around to look for her. She was dancing about now. Now it was time to dance. He was big, too big for her to defeat with swords or knives alone. The power in his arms was far more than anything she could counter, but she could dance. And she did.

Tarak chased her around the Pit. Jael would come near him, he would lunge, and she would slip and twist away, just out of his reach. The crowd laughed at the sight of the biggest hero of Oss falling about, chasing a woman around the Pit as if she were a little rabbit. Tarak’s face was red; his blood was boiling. He had to change things quickly.

Ivaar glared at Tarak as he got up and walked down to the Pit, his lips tight. He banged his arms onto the railings in frustration.

It was not going well.

‘Worried?’ his father smiled at him. ‘You should be.’

Ivaar looked straight ahead. ‘No, I think it’s Jael who should be worried,’ he said coldly. ‘A fly may buzz about and annoy a man, but eventually, the man will snap and kill the fly.’

Jael wanted to launch herself at Tarak now, but she knew he could hurt her if she didn’t weaken him more first. And the way he was surging towards her, there appeared nothing weak about him yet. She slipped her knife into her belt and slid Toothpick out of his scabbard.

Jael let him come and waited this time. Tarak was surprised, and that lessened the power he put into his swing. His sword was slow as it sliced towards her, giving Jael enough time to duck down, dropping into a crouch as fast as she could, throwing one leg out with speed, smashing her ankle into his once again. She rolled away, listening to his scream of frustration. That was a good sign, she thought to herself as she jumped up and lunged towards him. Pulling her shield up near her chin and swinging back her sword, she aimed to hit him high on the shoulder. Grimacing, he raised his shield to meet her strike, swinging his sword back to counter attack, but as he did so, Jael lashed out with her leg and caught him hard in the balls.

The crowd groaned, feeling Tarak’s pain. His face turned even redder as he screamed, veins pulsing at his temples as his head dropped forward. Jael pounced then, slashing her shield boss into the side of his face, watching the blood as it splattered out of his torn cheek, spinning away before he could recover, going for his legs now. Dropping down to the ground quickly, she slashed the backs of both his legs with Toothpick, lifting her shield up to protect herself from Tarak’s sword as it came clanging down with all his weight behind it. She absorbed the blow, then rolled away and was up, facing him, running at him, ready to finish him. His teeth were bared with pain, his legs bleeding, his balls breaking, and his cheek hanging open; he was weak enough now.

Eirik looked back towards Eadmund. There was nothing but tension on his face as he stood there.

‘Eadmund, please,’ Eydis begged anxiously. ‘Is she alright?’ Eydis could tell by the noise of the crowd that Jael was still going. She could hear jeers and boos at Tarak, but she knew that the fight would not be over, that Jael would not be safe, until her father called an end to it.

Tarak would never give in until the end.

He was still fighting, still slashing at Jael, heaving his giant sword towards her with his giant arm, but pain was on his face now, and blood was leaking out of him. Toothpick’s iron-strong blade held off each blow. Jael’s arm was getting tired, though, and she was struggling to breathe. The sheer weight behind his blows was weakening her. He cut her on the shoulder, just past her mail, and she screamed, much to his amusement. He was not done yet, but nor was she.

Jael pulled away, stepping back with speed, far away, urging the bitter air into her lungs, into her head. She needed to think. Tarak wasn’t going to let her have the time she sought, though, as he came for her again, but as he lunged, his leg gave way, and he stumbled, momentarily losing his balance. She saw the path then and ran towards it with everything she had. Her shield in front of her, her sword back, ready to release, her eyes fixed on him, Jael slid as fast as she could, kicking both her feet into the side of his leg, the one she had cut twice, the one that had given way. She rolled away and was up, crouching as he fell, a giant, bleeding, screaming tower, thudding into the earth.

The gasp that weaved its way through the crowd was almost breathless.

‘Who fell?’ Eydis called to Eadmund. ‘Who’s on the ground?’

‘Tarak.’

Eydis stood up. On the ground, but it wasn’t over. If he was on the ground, so was Jael, surely?

Jael rushed to Tarak before he could roll away. That was a mistake. He lunged for her throat, catching the top of her tunic with one hand, yanking her towards him. She fought against him but he was too strong, and he pulled her on top of him, their faces almost touching.

Jael was on the ground.

Eadmund hurried down towards Eirik. ‘Watch him,’ he croaked to his father. ‘End it if he rolls her over. He will try to kill her. Eydis has seen it. Eydis thinks he’ll kill her.’

Eirik’s eyes popped in surprise. He leaned forward anxiously.

Jael pulled herself backwards, ducking as Tarak threw a fist at her, his other hand still on her tunic. She spat in his face. ‘You fucking rapist! You fucking rapist!’ And she ripped her tunic out of his grasp and smashed her elbow into his nose, feeling the pain as her bone met his. She screamed, then punched him hard in the open wound on his cheek. She hit him again and again until his eyes filled with blood and her hands were numb, and she could hear the gurgle in his throat as he tried to breathe.

No one said a thing as Jael stood up, wiped the blood out of her eyes, and kicked Tarak as hard as she could in the balls.

She stood there, her body heaving as she watched him.

She didn’t move. Tarak didn’t move.

There was no sound at all, from anyone. Every mouth hung open, heads turning towards Eirik, who seemed just as dumbstruck as everyone else.

‘Over!’ he called, his voice thick with relief. ‘Jael wins!’

The cheers started then, dulled by shock at first, but the realisation of what she had done started to sink in, and they grew louder and louder. Eirik watched the faces as shock was replaced by disbelief, and then joy, and they rushed towards Jael as she stood there, breathing heavily, bleeding, her arms aching, vibrating all over, ready to drop to the ground.

Eadmund was the first to her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped himself around her, squeezing her as hard as he could, feeling the pounding of her heart against his chest, closing his eyes in relief.

Jael grimaced as he let her go, as the crowds came to her, patting her on the back, congratulating her. Not Ivaar though; he stayed where he was for a moment, before walking away.

Jael’s mouth was full of blood. She spat it on the ground as Eirik came up to her, his eyes filled with tears. He took her in his arms, his face breaking into a smile so wide his cheeks hurt. ‘I have faith,’ he laughed in her ear. ‘I have faith in you, Jael! It’s yours, all yours!’

59

Thorgils wouldn’t meet her eye.

His face looked much like Tarak’s must have; a bulging, bruised, swollen mess. His lips were too thick to speak clearly, and his heart was too heavy to say much. ‘You did it then.’

‘So they say,’ Jael winced as she sat down on the bed next to him. Every part of her hurt, and she was grateful to be home. She hadn’t wanted to stay long in the hall, but Eirik had insisted. She was his champion now. He had wanted to show her off, and she had endured it for a while, before Eadmund insisted on taking her home, and for once, she hadn’t argued.

‘I wish I’d seen it,’ Thorgils mumbled, wincing. ‘I truly wish I had, Jael. And Fyn. He would have been so proud of you.’

She smiled at him, listening to the blizzard as it battered the house. It had felt better than she could have imagined, finishing Tarak as she had. Jael didn’t care what became of him now. As soon as she could, she would talk to Eirik and bring Fyn back, and then there would be no more Tarak. She sighed, feeling the relief of the day being at an end.

‘How are you?’ she wondered.

Biddy had stitched his stomach and refused to let him leave, despite his mother’s insistence that he belonged with her. In the end, to Thorgils’ relief, Odda been no match for Biddy’s determination. Thorgils was happy to stay in the warmth and quiet of the house, and, when his stomach healed, he was looking forward to enjoying a good meal.

‘I’m embarrassed,’ was all he could say. ‘I’m better than I showed. I lost my head, as you no doubt knew I would. I should have been the one to finish Tarak.’ He closed his eyes, grimacing at the pain in his belly, at the shame of his defeat.

‘Well,’ Jael sighed. ‘One of us did, and in the end, that was all we really wanted, wasn’t it?’ She groaned, standing up. ‘Just get better, and forget everything else. I’m going to my bed, but tomorrow we can talk about all the reasons you have to smile that you don’t even know about yet.’

* * *

‘I’m not sure what my favourite part of the day was,’ Eadmund sighed as he held Jael’s bruised body, warming her with his chest, wanting to keep her close. ‘Tarak’s bloody face when you kicked him in the balls, or Ivaar’s miserable face in the hall tonight,’ he laughed softly.

Jael wasn’t listening. She was lost in the sound of the wind as it howled past the house, lost in the screams of Tarak as she broke him down into bloody little pieces; the screams of her mother as she was raped, her own as a child, and as a woman, bloodied and bruised. She’d survived Tarak, despite Eydis’ dream, but there was nothing to smile about. Not yet. She needed to see Fyn.

‘So,’ Eadmund whispered into her ear. ‘Tell me about Aleksander...’

* * *

They filtered out slowly. It had been a night to remember for many, and none of them had wanted to leave. Most of Tarak’s supporters hadn’t been afraid to show their faces. They were as keen to take part in the feast as any, and their allegiance appeared to shift seamlessly over to Jael, Eirik noticed; that was a good sign for the future.

As for Tarak... he wasn’t sure what had happened to him. Ivaar had arranged for some of his friends to have him taken away, seen to, cared for. Eirik didn’t know or particularly care. He was delirious with hope for Oss again, relieved to have found a way out of the hole he had dug for them all; thrilled to have secured a new future for his people that was better than he could have imagined.

He walked towards the high table where Ivaar sat, gloomily, drinking by himself. There were things Eirik needed to say to his son, things he wouldn’t take well. He wondered if it were better to wait until morning? Then he spied Ayla. He turned and swayed towards her, enjoying the feeling of drunk happiness that still flowed through his sagging limbs.

‘My lord.’ She dropped her eyes.

‘I’m surprised to see you here, still.’

‘I was just leaving,’ she said softly.

‘That’s a shame,’ he said with a smile. ‘I thought perhaps we could have spoken about the future. About what you saw for me.’

Ayla frowned. ‘We have had that talk, my lord.’ She knew that Ivaar was watching and made sure she kept her face emotionless.

‘True, but I wondered if it was all that bad, really?’ he murmured, moving closer. ‘Whether you thought there was any chance I might snatch a last piece of happiness for myself?’ He reached out to brush a loose strand of hair out of her eye.

‘I...’ his meaning was uncomfortably clear. Ayla tried to ease herself away from him, hoping not to offend. ‘I am Ivaar’s, my lord. My loyalty is to him.’

‘Ahhh,’ Eirik sighed, turning to raise an eyebrow towards his sullen son. ‘I had assumed as much, but,’ he smiled, leaning towards her again, his face breaking into a silly grin, ‘it did not hurt to ask, I thought, even at my age and with death stalking me as it does!’

Ayla couldn’t help but smile. For all the dark things she saw coming to Oss, it was hard, in this tiny moment, not to see the smallest amount of joy, especially when she looked at Eirik’s face. But when she turned and saw Ivaar approaching, her smile ran away, out into the storm. ‘I must go,’ she whispered, glancing at the floor. ‘I wish you luck.’

Eirik turned to watch his son approach. Now? Should he do it now?

* * *

The screams were growing louder, more terrifying. Aleksander ran into the night, lost, desperate to find his mother who had raced out after his father. No one had noticed him; there was too much blood, too much screaming.

Flames lit the roofs of some of the houses, horses whinnied in terror, swords clanging loudly. Aleksander panicked, running as fast as he could in the darkness. But where was he going? A riderless horse came charging from out of nowhere, rising up on its hind legs, screeching to the moon. Aleksander ran to the side of the nearest cottage, his back pressed against it, his heart beating so loudly. He didn’t want to die; the screams and sounds he heard meant death was coming. Where had his mother gone?

He heard her scream, then. Frowning, listening again, he started running towards the sound of her voice, the screaming, keening, wailing voice. He ran through a huddle of cottages and out the other side, to a field and there she lay, his mother; her hair blowing around her, as dark as the sky. Lying on the ground, over a body.

Over a body.

Aleksander froze. He recognised the hair, the shape of the back, the tunic. His father! The sobs that rose up in his chest would not come out; his screams caught in his throat, and his mouth fell open as his shoulders rose and fell with every terrifying moment. He couldn’t move.

And then she bent down, over the slain body of her husband and when she lifted herself up again, Aleksander saw the knife in her hand. His eyes grew wider, and his heart beat faster, and he started running, but she didn’t see him. Did she? And he called to her, but nothing came out of his mouth as he ran. Nothing. But she saw him, didn’t she? As she put the blade to her throat, the tears flowing down her face, Aleksander ran, but a man ran in front of him grabbing him, stopping him.

‘Where are you going?’ Gant asked angrily. ‘You’ll get yourself killed!’ Then he turned, following the look of sheer horror on Aleksander’s face and he let go of the small hand and ran. ‘Fianna! No!’

But it was too late.

‘I’m sorry,’ she mouthed towards them. And then she was gone.

Gant kept running, but Aleksander stopped. They were too late. The line across her neck was thick with blood now; red and wet as it glistened under the soulful gaze of the moon.

Fianna Lehr pitched forward onto the dead body of her husband; her eyes filled with despair.

* * *

Jael had told him everything and nothing. Enough to keep him from asking her anymore, at least for now; enough to comfort him, she hoped. She hurt everywhere but most of all inside, where the wounds of Tuura had lain hidden for so long. She needed sleep, needed to go and shut that door again, lock it back up, keep those men where they belonged; in the farthest reaches of her darkest places.

She sighed, and her whole body shuddered, sinking into the bed, soothed by the rise and fall of Eadmund’s chest, so steady and calm. She closed her eyes, at last, seeking peace and sleep, but all she saw was blood, and Tarak, and Aleksander, and those men, and her mother, and everything in between.

And the storm grew louder around them.

* * *

Eirik glanced around the hall. Was this how he would die? Where he would die? He looked towards Ivaar. Would he kill his father as he had killed his own? He had no sword, but he had hands, he could find knives. There were many ways to get it done; he knew better than most.

‘Jael asked me for something else, if she won,’ Eirik started. ‘I have to say, for all my talk, I did not think it possible that she would. I thought she would put on a show, as she did with Thorgils. But with Tarak?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t think it would go that way.’ He paused, scratching his beard. ‘She asked me to make Eadmund my heir again.’

Ivaar’s morbid frown was replaced by sudden, cold shock. ‘What?’ he laughed, shaking his head. ‘Eadmund? Did she now. And you said yes?’

‘No, I did not.’ Eirik smiled. ‘No, Eadmund is better, but that will not last. I don’t believe it will.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Ivaar sighed, relieved.

‘But then she asked me... if I could not believe in Eadmund, that I believe in her. If she were to win, become Champion of Oss, then she wanted me to choose Eadmund and her, as King and Queen of Oss. Together,’ Eirik went on, taking some small amount of satisfaction in Ivaar’s pinched face. ‘And then she won. So I have given her what she asked for.’

‘What?!’ Ivaar looked horrified. ‘But... but you brought me here, after all these years. I am your rightful heir. I’ve always been your heir! Eadmund will make a fool of you, a mess of Oss!’

‘Possibly, but Jael won’t,’ Eirik said, suddenly sober, his face stern. ‘And it is her prize. She earned it.’

‘But I’m your son! Your eldest son!’ Ivaar leaned forward, his lips mean and his eyes hard. ‘You cannot do this to me again, Father! Eydis has seen it, Ayla has seen it! I am to be king here!’ He didn’t care who heard.

‘Oss is important to me, Ivaar,’ Eirik said with feeling. ‘It is mine. I turned it from a prison into a kingdom. It means almost everything to me. But it doesn’t mean everything. Not everything. It could burn and sink into the sea, and I would still have everything I needed if I had Eadmund and Eydis beside me. But you...’ he looked at the angry man in front of him. ‘You would destroy them. Eydis has seen that. She has seen how thirsty you are for your revenge. And I will not go to my pyre leaving them in your desperate hands.’

‘You think that little of me?’ Ivaar’s face twisted painfully. ‘You think I could hurt my own family? Eadmund had you banish me when I did not kill his wife! That I have ill feeling towards him is understandable, but Eydis!?’ he implored. ‘That is too much, Father. That is too hard a thing to hear.’ He looked away, his whole body shaking with rage. ‘Your dreamer is a child who has not learned to master her dreams yet. Mine sees no such thing, but she does see me as king one day. You should believe her, because I certainly do.’

‘You will take your family and leave when the storm is over,’ Eirik said coldly. ‘And you will return in spring with your men, for all of the islands will be going to war against Hest, and I expect to see the men of Kalfa, standing behind their lord, as the men of Oss will stand behind their king.’

Ivaar bit down on his tongue, his face clear of all emotion now. He was seething but not about to make it any worse. Like Tarak, another day would come, and another chance for revenge.

He was certain of it.

* * *

Edela padded across the floor; her socks felt filled with ice. It was dark, early, and the fire had burned down to nothing. She bent over the bed and prodded Kormac. He jerked awake, staring at her, confused, trying to catch his breath.

‘I need your help,’ she whispered.

60

Jael opened her eyes to see Eadmund standing in the doorway. She groaned, squinting at him in the barely there light. She couldn’t hear a thing, apart from Biddy and Thorgils mumbling in the distance. The storm appeared to have blown away, and finally, after having to spend two days snow trapped, she could go to Fyn’s. It was time he knew what had happened.

Jael sat up, grimacing, yawning, thinking that perhaps another day spent in bed wasn’t such a bad idea at all. She could only imagine how Tarak must be feeling. That made her smile. ‘Are you just going to stare at me all morning?’ she grumbled at her husband.

‘No, I’m barring the door to stop you running away,’ Eadmund smiled.

‘Ha! Well, I didn’t run away yesterday, or the day before, did I?’

‘You couldn’t move, so that doesn’t count!’ he grinned, coming forwards, his hands behind his back. ‘Besides, the blizzard meant you couldn’t go anywhere, even if you’d wanted to. But today... today I think you’ve chosen not to run away.’

Jael frowned as he brought the gift out from behind his back and handed it to her. She smiled. ‘Ahhh, the long awaited present. And you think I’ve finally earned it, do you?’

‘Perhaps. Or perhaps Biddy just told me she’d throw it in the fire if I didn’t give it to you!’

Jael laughed, which hurt, as she unwrapped the dust-covered linen sheet the present was wrapped in. She laughed again as she pulled a thick, furry, brown cloak out. ‘A warm cloak! At last!’

‘Well, I thought you might need it if you were going to be staying here a while. Which you seem to be quite keen on.’

‘I seem to be,’ she admitted. ‘Especially since your father has made us both his heirs. I can hardly leave now, can I?’

‘True.’ Eadmund still couldn’t believe that she had convinced Eirik to change his mind. ‘You may as well put it on if you’re going out.’

‘I am,’ she grimaced, easing herself onto the floor. ‘I’m going riding.’

‘Not without me, you’re not,’ Eadmund said, glaring sternly at her.

‘Yes, without you. Go and say goodbye to Isaura and the children or something. I need a ride.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Alone.’

* * *

Eydis woke with a start. There was so much noise in her head. She tried to silence it but still keep hold of the dream. It had been so very clear just then, but now? Now... it was gone. She sighed, feeling annoyed as she sat up. It had felt like an important dream to remember, of that she was certain.

* * *

‘Aleksander! Wake up,’ Hanna hissed in his ear, her hand clamped over his mouth. ‘I have your clothes. You must get dressed and get out of here now. Soldiers are coming!’

Aleksander’s head was rolling with ale as he blinked himself awake. He looked down at his clothes, frowning. Soldiers?

‘Quickly!’ she whispered again, her eyes terrified as she stared at him. ‘Get dressed. Your cousin is waiting outside.’ She took her hand away from his mouth and pointed to his clothes.

Aleksander hurried to put them on, his eyes barely open. It was freezing in the room, and his fingers were so numb that he fumbled endlessly. Eventually, he managed to wrap his cloak around himself, grabbing his weapons and moving quietly to the door. He turned to look at Hanna, feeling an unexpected pang of loss, and, smiling quickly, opened the door and slipped out.

* * *

Jael yawned as she wandered towards the gates, smiling at the warmth of her new cloak, then grimacing at the pain in her elbow, certain that something was broken in there. She wanted to check for ice before heading off. The blizzard had been fierce, but she hadn’t heard any rain. Still, she didn’t want to take any risks with Tig.

The snow looked fresh and soft, the clouds pale and non-threatening as she wandered back to the stables, imagining Fyn’s face when she told him what had happened to Tarak.

Jael saw something out of the corner of her eye, and she spun around, the hairs on her arms prickling.

Tiras.

She lunged and caught the flap of his cloak as it trailed behind his escaping body. He knew she’d seen him and he’d run. Why? Jael yanked him towards her and threw him against the wall of the closest cottage. ‘Hello, worm,’ she spat in his face, then frowned. He was smiling at her so confidently that a shiver ran the length of her spine. ‘What have you done?’ she demanded, her face close to his. He didn’t stop smiling. ‘What have you done! She whipped her short knife out of its scabbard and held it to his throat. ‘Tell me, you fucking bastard!’

‘You won’t kill me, Jael,’ he rasped. ‘You won’t kill me. You’ve shown that already.’

Jael pricked his neck, making him bleed just enough to terrify him, to show him her intent. ‘Tell me or don’t but either way, I’ll find out, and you’ll be too dead to worry. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’

He did look worried suddenly, yelping at the pain, so she pressed the point of the knife in again, harder, twisting it. He screamed this time, feeling his warm blood as it trickled down his cold neck. ‘Wait! No! Jael, wait!’ he hissed desperately.

‘What. Did. You. Do?!’ she screamed at him, leaning on the knife some more.

‘Tarak...’ Tiras managed to get out. ‘I... told him... about your... friend. He’s gone... find him.’

Jael frowned, momentarily confused, then her face fell. Her entire body froze. She brought the knife screaming across Tiras’ throat, dropped his spurting, dying body to the ground, and ran.

* * *

‘Where are we going?’ Aleksander asked quickly as he raced to keep up with Aedan. They were taking the back streets, trying not to be seen.

‘Ssshhh, keep your voice down,’ Aedan whispered, turning around, his eyes only just visible. ‘We have to get you out of here before the alarm is raised. We’re going to get your horse.’ He was wrapped in a thick, black cloak. His hood was up, as was Aleksander’s; they looked almost identical.

‘If we are seen,’ Aedan said hoarsely. ‘I’ll lead them away. It should confuse them. You find your horse.’

‘Is she still in the stables?’ Aleksander tried to keep up but his head was so muddled, he kept stumbling.

‘No, Aron took her nearer the gates. She’s saddled and waiting. You just have to get on her and ride. Don’t let them catch you.’

‘Who?’

‘Ssshhh,’ Aedan whispered, putting his hand up as a group of soldiers ran past the buildings they were slipping between. ‘It may be too late.’ He paused, ducking his head out into the street. The soldiers were running in the opposite direction.

‘Come on! Quick!’ Aedan called and ran, keeping as far to the left of the street as possible, ducking under porches, trying to stay out of sight.

‘There!’ yelled a voice. ‘Those men! Grab them!’

Aleksander looked to see that the soldiers had turned around and were now chasing them.

‘Go!’ Aedan yelled as he peeled away, running down a side street, leading half the soldiers in the opposite direction.

Half stayed to follow Aleksander. And they were running fast, screaming at him to stop. The shadowy streets of Tuura all started to look the same. He glanced around himself desperately.

Which way to the gates?

* * *

‘Tarak’s gone after Fyn!’ Jael yelled as she threw open the door, then instantly disappeared back outside, rushing to the stables. There was no one around, only Biddy. ‘Find Eadmund and Thorgils! Hurry!’

Tig was waiting, saddled and eager, as she threw herself up onto his back; he could sense the tension in her. She knocked her heels into him, hard, and he whinnied, his head flying around angrily. They burst out of the stables together, already galloping by the time they reached the gates. How much of a head start did Tarak have? She had her sword but no shield. She should’ve grabbed a shield.

* * *

Biddy didn’t even stop for her cloak as she raced across the square. Ketil was setting up his stall, but there was no sign of Eadmund or Thorgils anywhere. Surely Thorgils couldn’t have walked too far in his condition? She ran up the steps to the hall and pulled on one of the heavy doors, ignoring the surprised faces that turned in her direction.

Eadmund was already on his way to her. ‘What’s happened?’ he called, his jaw clenching tightly. Something was wrong.

Biddy gasped for breath. ‘Jael... Tarak has gone after Fyn,’ she breathed heavily. ‘Jael said to get you, quickly.’

Eadmund looked confused and turned to Thorgils, who had more understanding, but almost as much confusion.

‘I’ll get Vili,’ Thorgils grimaced and moved as quickly as he could, leaving Eadmund to follow him. ‘You get Leada. Have you got your sword?’

‘Thorgils, you’re in no state –’

‘Eadmund!!’ Eydis raced down the middle of the hall, still in her nightgown. ‘Eadmund! My dream!’ Her face was horror stricken. ‘I had it again. Tarak will kill Jael! It’s not over! It was the same dream. He will kill her!’

Eadmund turned and ran towards the doors, Thorgils hurrying to keep up with him.

* * *

Fyn had heard her coming.

He’d been waiting. His fire was ready, water was heating in the cauldron. But when he’d rushed outside, his face full of hope for Jael, he’d seen Tarak riding down the hill towards him instead. He’d frozen in terror, then raced back inside to grab his sword.

His sword lay broken beside him now, and in his bleeding hand, he held his eating knife, small in comparison to Tarak’s giant sword as he circled him, taunting him, licking his swollen lips, cursing him. Fyn tried to think, but he was 11-years-old again, shuddering in his boots, unable to move. He tried to remember what Jael had trained him to do. Everything was a weapon. Everything. His eyes darted around, and he could see a rock peering up out of the snow, not far from where Tarak stood. If he could get him near it, perhaps there was a chance it could do more damage than his small knife.

Tarak laughed as he watched Fyn’s calculating face. ‘You put that bitch up to it? It was your revenge that she was carrying out? Ha!’ His smile disappeared, and he lurched forwards, baring his large, broken teeth. ‘You. My special, special friend. How I have missed our time together.’ He reached out with his sword, poking it into Fyn’s heaving chest. ‘Don’t say you haven’t missed me? I can see it in your eyes.’ He ran the sword lightly down Fyn’s chest, down to the top of his belt, his eyes narrowing with something more than anger now.

Fyn’s arm was cut in three places. He could only see out of one eye. He was numb everywhere. But he knew those eyes and what that look meant. He turned his head away, gagging. That was not going to happen again. Never. He could get him to the ground, he was certain of it. He kept the rock in one corner of his eye and lunged, trying to push Tarak over, towards the rock, his knife in his hand.

Tarak’s legs were weak after his fight with Jael, and he fell easily, pulling Fyn with him, rolling with him, avoiding Fyn’s knife as it came towards his neck. He bellowed in agony at the pain in his legs as he hit the ground, his giant sword lost in the snow. Tarak was up on his knees quickly, though, smashing his fist into Fyn’s face. Fyn tried to roll away, towards the rock but Tarak grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back.

‘It didn’t have to be this way,’ he hissed into Fyn’s ear, one thick hand stroking his cheek, while the other held him down. ‘But now you’ve made me so angry... I’m going to have to punish you.’

* * *

Jael’s heart thudded in time to Tig’s hooves as he ploughed through the snow. She dug her knees into his sides, urging him to go faster. She saw tracks in the fresh, white powder. Tarak had come this way, but how long ago? Then she heard it, a terrified scream echoing around the silent valley.

Fyn.

Jael swallowed and bent lower. ‘Come on, Tig! Ha! Ha!’

She drove Tig down the slope as fast as she dared. Before he had stopped, Jael slipped out of the saddle, slid Toothpick out of his scabbard and ran. She could hear Fyn shrieking, sobbing, as he lay in the snow, Tarak’s hand on his back. ‘Get off him!’ she screamed, her voice breaking with anger, her teeth clenched. She couldn’t look to Fyn to see if he was alright; there was no time. She went straight for Tarak, lunging at him with her sword.

Tarak ducked and scooped up his own sword, turning to face her.

‘Fyn! Go! Take Tig and go!’

Fyn rolled away, groaning, groggy, sniffing. ‘Jael, no!’ He wanted to stay and help. She couldn’t do it; he needed to help her.

‘Fyn, I need you to save Tig. Take him back to the fort. Now!’

There was nothing else to say. He stumbled to his feet and ran for Tig who was whinnying and dancing about anxiously, the smell of blood in his nostrils. Fyn grabbed hold of the reins and tried to soothe him enough to hop up into the saddle.

Tarak moved to go after them, but Jael blocked his path. ‘No. Not him. Me again, you fucking bastard!’ And she threw her sword at him.

He was thick with cuts and wounds, a broken nose, swollen eyes, and limping, but he looked as capable and menacing as ever as he brought his sword down to meet hers. The vibration of their swords meeting nearly had Toothpick out of Jael’s hand. She shuddered backwards, her foot slipping and sinking into the snow. This was no even dirt surface, carefully cleared and prepared for battle; this was a thick mess of trouble that promised death for someone.

Fyn urged Tig up the slope as fast as he could, turning back as they reached the rise in time to see Tarak lunging for Jael, his face stretched into a maniacal grin. Fyn gritted his teeth, shook his head and rode away.

* * *

‘Where’s the gate? Where’s the gate?’ Aleksander repeated to himself as he raced away from the soldiers.

Then he saw the tower. At last. But where was Aron? Where was he waiting with Sky? His head spun wildly as he ran, but there was barely anyone about and certainly no horses.

Aleksander was running out of breath. The soldiers were getting closer. He shuddered, fearing they would catch him. He imagined what they would do to Aedan and Aron if they did. Aleksander didn’t want to put them in danger; he didn’t want anything to happen to Sky. He ran harder then, harder than he believed he could.

The gates were shut.

He pulled up sharply, his eyes darting around. Where was Aron? What did he do?

‘Here!’ came the hoarse whisper from behind him.

Aleksander turned to see Aron sitting on a horse, holding onto Sky’s reins. Somehow he had squeezed them all into the tight little space between two houses. He was dressed like Aedan. Like Aleksander. He put his hood up.

‘Get ready.’ He handed Sky’s reins to Aleksander.

‘But the gates!’ Aleksander squeezed between Sky and the cottage and somehow managed to get a foot in the stirrup and his leg over the saddle.

‘Wait,’ Aron said calmly, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

The soldiers that had chased Aleksander ran past.

‘Wait.’

Aron watched the gates. Aleksander held the reins tightly in his numb hands, his stomach twisting nervously.

The guards on the tower were talking to someone over the wall. Aleksander held his breath and looked towards Aron, who pulled on his reins.

‘When I go, follow me as fast as you can. Don’t stop.’

One guard walked up to the gates and lifted the wooden beam, grumbling away to himself. He called on his companion to help him, and together they lifted the heavy beam off completely and pulled on the doors.

‘Now!’ Aron called and kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks, urging him forwards.

Aleksander followed on Sky, and together they burst across the street and out through the gates before the guards had a chance to move. Aron didn’t even glance at his mother and father who stood to one side of the gates, waiting to get in.

* * *

‘Aaarrrhhh!’ Jael screamed as Tarak’s sword ripped open the wound on her shoulder. She blinked, trying to focus. Her limbs felt as though they were made of rocks. She spun away from him, gulping in air, blood soaking her tunic. She was not wearing mail.

Tarak ran at her, his sword above his head. She ducked sideways, turning and sweeping her sword across his back. She was slipping, and the cut she made was not as deep as it needed to be. Tarak grunted but barely broke stride as he turned on her again.

Toothpick flew at Tarak’s sword, and the clanging of iron echoed all around Fyn’s tiny valley, as each stroke was met and defended. This was going to tire her out, Jael realised. There was nothing clever in fighting like this, not with an elbow that was barely working. She had to get him to the ground. Eydis’ dream flashed before her eyes, then. She shook it away. That arm of his was going to kill her if she didn’t weaken him somehow.

Jael slipped Toothpick into his scabbard, grabbed her short knife and ran for him.

* * *

They were coming.

In the flat, white meadow there was nothing but the sound of their horse’s hooves, and then the sound of more, coming behind them.

‘We separate here!’ Aron called. ‘Go to your hiding place. Don’t let them follow you. They won’t find you there.’ And he tugged on his reins, turning his horse to the left. ‘Good luck!’

Aleksander had ridden these pastures for weeks now, and he knew where he was. He turned behind him to count how many men had gone with Aron. Four. There were three still following him.

He knew Sky now; she would ride for him. He tapped her firmly with his boots and bent down low over her neck, the wind biting at them both as they flew across the whiteness, three soldiers chasing them down.

* * *

Fyn could tell Thorgils’ bright, red mop of hair anywhere. ‘Come on! Come on, Tig!’ he called, his aching body urging Jael’s horse onwards. The snow was so deep, and they had been riding at such a speed that he could feel the big horse tiring beneath him.

Thorgils was struggling too. His stomach wound had opened, and he could feel the ooze of it as it seeped into his tunic. He looked up and saw a horse and rider coming towards them. He squinted; it looked like Tig, but not Jael. His eyes focused finally. ‘It’s Fyn!’ he called to Eadmund. ‘You go! Hurry! He’ll show you the way!’

Eadmund stared at Thorgils’ pained face, saw the blood on his friend’s hands and nodded. He bent low and raced to reach Fyn, who almost fell off Tig in relief.

‘Jael,’ was all he could croak, his mouth thick with blood as he turned Tig around. ‘We have to help Jael!’

Eadmund slapped the reins onto Leada’s back and followed Fyn. He hadn’t ridden in years, and Leada didn’t know him, but there was no time for any of it to matter now. He heard Eydis’ screams in his ears and clamped his teeth together, hoping he wasn’t too late.

* * *

Aleksander pulled on Sky’s reins and jumped down into the cold snow. He couldn’t outride them, couldn’t lose them, and he couldn’t get to his hideout with them still following him. He slapped Sky on the rump. ‘Go on! You go! Go!’ Thankfully she whinnied loudly and ran off. He pulled out his neglected sword and stood waiting.

It had been a long time. He hoped he still remembered how to use it.

* * *

Jael kicked Tarak in the chest, spun, and smashed him in the groin with her boot. He yelled and stumbled, leaning forwards, the pain of all his wounds starting to take a toll now. Jael didn’t stop. She ran at him again, pulling the knife out of her mouth and stabbing him in the side. She yanked the knife back and ducked, missing his swinging sword, running away. He was wounded. Let him run.

Breaths came in gasps as she stood there, her body heaving. He came lumbering towards her, sword raised, shoulders hunched, and she knew he was weak now. She slipped the knife between her teeth again and ran for him, launching herself up onto his chest, wrapping her arms around his thick neck. She pulled herself up as he bellowed, his sword flying uselessly, unable to reach her. He threw it away as Jael’s hands tightened around his throat, choking him.

Jael released one hand and grabbed her knife. Tarak hit her repeatedly, swinging her about as she tried to hold on and bring the knife to his throat. She was losing her grip, but she lashed out and stuck him in the side of the neck, jerking the blade down through his pulsing veins.

Tarak screamed. ‘You fucking bitch! You’re going to die now!’ He spat, spinning himself around as strongly as he could.

Jael tried to hold on but the blood coursing down his neck was so wet and slippery that she couldn’t grip anything. It slid down his neck like a waterfall, and as he spun, she flew away, landing with a scream on her back, on top of the rock that had been sticking up out of the snow.

He came for her, and she couldn’t move. Her knife had gone in the fall. She looked about quickly, trying to move her legs. The rock was somewhere, lodged into her, and she couldn’t escape its grip. She slid Toothpick out of his scabbard, but Tarak came with all his weight and smashed his knee down onto her wrist.

Her sword fell out of her hand.

‘Aaarrrhhh!’ She heard a snap, the pain blazing up her arm.

Eydis’ dream. No. No.

He lay his weight on her, and her chest was crushed. No breath would come. No weapons in reach. No air. She curled forwards and smashed her head into his broken nose, jerking her body about desperately. It was useless, though; she couldn’t move him.

She couldn’t breathe.

Tarak shook his head, shaking away the pain. He was bleeding all over her, his neck was gaping open, but he was smiling. He had her now. ‘Time to say goodbye, cunt,’ he growled and brought his sword up to her throat.

* * *

Two had gone down quickly; their blood dying the snow red. But the third knew how to use a sword, and he’d shown Aleksander just how long it had been since he’d trained. Since Jael. He shook his head crossly. Jael. He wasn’t going to be able to help her if he joined the two dead men in a bloody heap of nothing.

He rushed at the remaining soldier, his sword ready to swing, then stopped, remembering Jael’s favourite move. He smiled and spun, kicking the soldier in the side of his head. He’d never been quite as good as she was but he had a bigger foot, and the impact of it smashing into an unsuspecting jaw was enough to bring the soldier down. He fell sideways, his senses dulled, his sword gone, and Aleksander rushed to finish him. He stuck his sword through his chest, over and over, until he was certain.

Aleksander checked the other two; both dead. He sheathed his sword and searched their bodies for anything useful. There were a few knives; one had a tinderbox, which would come in handy.

He whistled for Sky, who thankfully came back quickly, and without another thought for the bloody mess he had made, he mounted her, and they raced across the snow, making sure to create confusion with their tracks.

He was certain they would be followed soon.

* * *

Jael saw Eadmund’s face. She heard Eydis’ voice warning her that she was about to die. She couldn’t breathe. Everything was going black. Her ears were buzzing. She remembered her new cloak, remembered Aleksander, the puppies, Biddy, Thorgils. Her father. All within a blink, and then... and then... Tarak fell on top of her, his sword falling harmlessly into the snow, his head lolling lifelessly to one side. And then Eadmund. Eadmund standing there with Toothpick and Toothpick was thick with Tarak’s blood.

Eadmund gritted his teeth and tried to pull Tarak’s dead body off Jael. Her eyes were closing. Moving Tarak was like carrying a horse. He pushed and pulled, and with Fyn’s help, they eventually managed to roll him off her.

Eadmund bent down to her side. Jael’s eyes were closed now, her face pale, her chest wasn’t moving. ‘Jael!’ He shook her. ‘Jael!’ he screamed. ‘No! Please, no!’

Thorgils was there then, stumbling towards her as quickly as he could. ‘Jael!’

Jael gasped, a sharp, desperate, straining sound, her eyes fluttering open. ‘There’s a fucking rock in my back,’ she groaned and closed her eyes again.

* * *

Aleksander felt sick. His throat was full of bile; he’d vomited twice already. He couldn’t stop shaking. Why had they come for him? Where would he go now? He frowned, the clouds in his head parting. Aron, Aedan, Branwyn, Kormac, they had all risked their lives to save him. Why? He thought of his mother and the cold reality of what she’d done lay about his bruised shoulders like a death shroud.

He glanced around himself. It was still just him and Sky. He had made a mess of his tracks, riding all over the valley, every way he could think of to confuse his pursuers, but now he needed food, and warmth, and his supplies. He needed to leave.

Sky whinnied loudly, coming to a stop just before the grove where he had stored everything. Aleksander stilled his breathing, listening. Someone was there. He could hear a horse; so could Sky.

‘Well, you took longer than I imagined,’ Edela grumbled as she emerged from the trees, leading Deya and their pack horse. ‘I thought we would have been away by now, but never mind. I have some dried fish you can nibble on while we’re riding. It’s not very nice, but it will do.’

Aleksander was stunned, his mouth flapping open, his head shaking. ‘But... you...’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Of course. You. You saw it all.’

‘Finally,’ she smiled wearily. ‘Yes, I did. And I wasn’t about to let you ride away without me. You need me, you know. And I need you. We have to save Jael, don’t we? Together.’

Aleksander reached out and grabbed her hand, sliding off Sky, enclosing her shivering body in his weary arms. ‘We do. Yes,’ he sighed. ‘We do.’

* * *

Runa stood next to Fyn, her eyes swollen from sobbing. She couldn’t believe she had her son back again; couldn’t believe Morac had been the one to convince Eirik to send him away. ‘You saved my son,’ she said again, her head bobbing towards the broken figure lying in bed, her bottom lip quivering.

‘Well,’ Jael grinned awkwardly. ‘Not really. But at least now you can give him a proper home again. Feed him a decent meal or two.’ Talking hurt; she was growing tired of visitors now.

Eirik saw Jael’s discomfort and looked towards Runa. ‘Let us leave Jael in peace. She needs to rest.’ He winked at her.

Jael smiled gratefully at him as he ushered Runa outside. Fyn stayed behind for a moment. ‘Thank you, Jael,’ he mumbled, unable to stop the tears from falling down his bruised and swollen face. ‘Thank you for what you did. You nearly died for me. Twice.’

‘Ahhh, well,’ Jael said with a weary smile, ‘I can’t think of many better reasons to die for, Fyn. It would have been worth it.’

‘Fyn!’ Eirik called from the living area. ‘Hurry up, now!’

Fyn gave her a lop-sided smile and disappeared.

Jael closed her eyes, stroking Ido’s soft, black head as he lay wedged firmly into her side.

‘I’m going to go and say goodbye to Isaura,’ Eadmund murmured, poking his head in the doorway. ‘They’re all finally leaving now.’

‘I’m jealous,’ Jael murmured. ‘I would love to watch Ivaar scurry away, back to his little pebble.’

‘For now, at least.’ Eadmund came into the room and put his hand on her head. ‘But he’ll be back.’

‘Yes, he will. And you’ll need to be ready.’

‘Me?’ Eadmund laughed. ‘I’m not the one who’s too broken to move!’ He leaned down and kissed her. ‘We’ll both need to be ready for whatever Ivaar brings.’

‘Mmmm,’ Jael murmured, enjoying his kiss enough to ignore the pain for a moment. ‘Ivaar. And the rest of them.’

THE END

Epilogue

‘They found the book, my lord.’

Jaeger Dragos spun around, his amber eyes sharp with surprise. ‘They found the book?’ His mouth hung open, a smile slowly winding its way around his handsome lips. ‘They found the book! Where is it?’ He came rushing towards his trusted servant, grabbing his hands. ‘Tell me, Egil, where is it?’

‘It is on its way, my lord.’

‘Here? In Hest?’

‘Yes, my lord, they found it hidden, not far from here.’

Jaeger shook his head in disbelief. He had spent years looking for that book. The book, the darkest, most powerful book that had ever been written. The Book of Raemus. The Book of Darkness. And now it was his. Lost for centuries, he was finally going to have its power in his hands.

‘Soon it will be spring, Egil, and they will launch their ships and send their men to try and destroy us,’ Jaeger smiled, his mind wandering, his eyes bright with thoughts of what was to come. ‘And my father thinks he knows how to protect us. But little does he know how ready we will be to destroy them all.’

He walked back to his window and looked out, down onto Hest’s busy harbour.

For he who possessed the book could bring darkness to the entire world.

The Kingdoms of Osterland

Brekka

King Lothar Furyck

Gisila Furyck

Jael Furyck

Axl Furyck

Osbert Furyck

Amma Furyck

Aleksander Lehr

Edela Saeveld

Gant Olborn

Brynna ‘Biddy’ Halvor

* * *

Oss

King Eirik Skalleson

Eadmund Skalleson

Eydis Skalleson

Morac Gallas

Runa Gallas

Fyn Gallas

Evaine Gallas

Thorgils Svanter

Odda Svanter

Torstan Berg

Tarak Soren

Entorp Bray

* * *

Kalfa

Lord Ivaar Skalleson

Lady Isaura Skalleson

Selene Skalleson

Annet Skalleson

Leya Skalleson

Mads Skalleson

Ayla Adea

* * *

Rikka

Morana Gallas

* * *

Tuura

Branwyn Byrn

Kormac Byrn

Aedan Byrn

Kayla Byrn

Aron Byrn

Neva Elgard

Marcus Volsen

Alaric Fraed

Hanna Boelens

Coming soon

THE BURNING SEA

The Furyck Saga: Book Two

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About A.E. Rayne

Upon discovering that her chances for inventing a time machine were rather slim, 8-year-old A.E. Rayne decided to pursue a career as a writer instead. She completed a Bachelor of Communication Studies, majoring in television, then trained as a graphic designer, while dabbling in poetry, and continually plotting her first novel.

A.E. Rayne survives on a happy diet of historical and fantasy fiction and particularly loves a good Viking tale. Her favourite authors are Bernard Cornwell, Giles Kristian, Robert Low, C.J. Sansom, and Patrick O’Brian. She lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband and three children.

Winter’s Fury is the first book in an epic fantasy series.

Ways you can connect with A.E. Rayne

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Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2017

All artwork © Cap & Anchor Design Co. Ltd

A.E. Rayne asserts the moral right to be identified
as the author of this work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places described in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-48-359734-8

Amazon ASIN: BO6XZVBZCB

For more information about A.E. Rayne
and her upcoming books visit:

www.aerayne.com