Fire and Lies Page 12

  “Kallan.”

  Kallan stopped. She knew that voice.

  As she peered up from beneath the hand, her eyes widened with disbelief. Though malformed by flame as seen in her dreams, a warm smile stretched over Daggon’s scarred face. In that instant, the weeks of worry and remorse that burrowed through her chest lifted and she breathed with relief.

  Kallan gasped and Daggon released her.

  “Daggon.” She threw her arms around his neck, buried her face into his red whiskers, and sobbed softly as she had so many times before as a child.

  “Sh. Sh. Sh. It’s alright,” he eased, rubbing her back. “It’s alright. Hush now,” he whispered in a series of rushed words. After a moment, he pried her away. “We must be quick. We have no time.”

  “Time?” she asked.

  “We’re here to get you out,” he said.

  The words she longed to hear rent her insides.

  What if Rune is right?

  Kallan bit her bottom lip as Daggon pulled Kallan to her feet.

  If I leave, I leave behind peace.

  Daggon dragged Kallan to the door of her bedchamber.

  I leave behind answers.

  Daggon led Kallan across the sitting room.

  I leave behind—

  “Rune,” Kallan whispered.

  “What?”

  “Astrid,” Kallan corrected and shook her head.

  “I can’t go. Astrid—”

  “Gudrun has him,” Daggon said.

  “Gudrun?” she asked.

  The room was spinning and she scrambled to stop time altogether.

  “She’s here,” Daggon said. “Come on.”

  Everything was going too fast. Kallan felt her feet give out from under her.

  “Easy now,” Daggon said, and he threw Kallan’s arm over his shoulder.

  “Wait!” she said, pulling back on Daggon. “My dagger—”

  “It’s here,” Daggon waved it with his free hand.

  Kallan’s heart sank back down to her feet and he shuffled her way past the solar to the main door. Quietly, Daggon pulled the door open and peered into the hall.

  “All clear,” he said, but Kallan had slunk down to the floor, weak with hesitation that encouraged her to linger, to stall, to stay.

  “Hurry.”

  But Kallan dawdled a moment too long and Daggon leaned down, scooped her frail frame up from the floor, and gasped.

  “They’ve starved you,” he said with a gruff whisper he barely muted.

  “He didn’t starve me,” she whispered. “He just…couldn’t… He…” Kallan bit her bottom lip to quell the tears. Words failed her as she lost the beginning to her story. “He didn’t…” were all the words Kallan could muster.

  Daggon crinkled his brow.

  “Who’s he?” he asked as questions piled up behind his eyes. “Never mind that now,” he decided and slipped into the hall.

  With ease, Daggon carried Kallan through the corridor and down the steps to the Great Hall, stopping only to confirm their way clear as they dashed down to the kitchens. Daggon pushed past the tables and larder, to the back corner where the garden door waited ajar.

  The cool, night air struck Kallan’s face and trailed up her bare legs as she assessed the ivy growing up the stone battlement that hugged the large garden. Rows of vegetables, herbs, and roots grew out and up against the wall, leaving barely enough space to harvest. At the farthest end of the garden, the wall left an opening where she could see down the motte to the city flooded with houses.

  A sudden sick began to settle. Kallan bit her quivering lip. The rancorous stink of smoke still lingered in the air, leaving behind an acrimonious stench that wafted from the stables. A sob clamped her throat at the sudden sight of Astrid standing alone among the rows of beetroot. Daggon’s grip tightened. Something was wrong. Kallan looked up at Daggon’s face gouged with burns.

  “Daggon?” she asked. “Where’s Gudrun?”

  “Here.”

  Bergen’s cold, baritone sent a series of matching chills down their backs. The blood drained from Daggon’s face, contrasting the red of his hair. Daggon shifted his gaze to Gudrun whose arms Bergen twisted together behind her back.

  With a dagger pushed to her throat, the berserker forced Gudrun’s head up. Behind him, Ottar and a warrior stood armed and ready while above, on the surrounding battlement, archers drew their loaded bows and aimed.

  Daggon tightened his hold on Kallan, who held her attention on Bergen.

  “Daggon. Put me down,” she said.

  “Yes, Daggon,” Bergen said. “Put her down.”

  Daggon’s eyes flicked about for an alternative escape route.

  “Daggon, get out of here,” Gudrun hissed under Bergen’s arm.

  Bergen tightened his grip on Gudrun. “She’ll die, Daggon.”

  “Daggon.” Kallan peered up at the captain. “You must release me.”

  “I can’t do that, Your Majesty,” Daggon said, staring at Bergen’s blade on Gudrun’s throat.

  “Daggon! Get out of here!” Gudrun said.

  “If you move, she dies.” said Bergen.

  “Release me!” Kallan said.

  Bergen slid the flat of the blade along Gudrun’s neck and she inhaled through her teeth.

  “Put her down, Daggon,” said Bergen.

  “Daggon, please!” said Kallan.

  “Put her down!”

  “Get out!” Gudrun shrieked.

  Bergen twisted the point into Gudrun’s neck, Gudrun winced and Kallan screamed. “Bergen, I am your vassal! I order you to release her!”

  Kallan’s cry cut through the berserker as the nerve drained from Bergen’s spine. Kallan’s words seared through the tension, leaving the gardens silent. Bergen eased the grip on his knife and the archers held their draw, awaiting their orders. Ottar and the warrior didn’t move. Remembering Rune’s orders, every Ljosalfar stood, uncertain of what to do next.

  Plagued with bewilderment, Gudrun and Daggon remained still.

  Pushing herself free from Daggon’s arms, Kallan slid to the ground, straightened her skirts, and fluffed her hair as if she were back in her own hall preparing to meet with a diplomat. Throwing back her shoulders, she straightened her neck and stared the Dark One down.

  Although Bergen still held the dagger to Gudrun’s throat, his stance was at ease.

  “Your vassalage is only as good as your loyalty,” Bergen said. “If you leave, you lose your sanctuary.”

  “Alright,” Kallan said, not missing a beat. “I’ll stay.”

  “Kallan!” Daggon shrieked.

  Bergen flinched at the sudden obedience and passed Gudrun to Ottar.

  “You’ve given them Lorlenalin!” Daggon’s voice boomed over the quiet that had fallen over the gardens.

  “I have given them nothing,” Kallan said, gazing over her shoulder. “Trust me.”

  She almost grinned.

  “Ottar. Take them,” Bergen said.

  Dumbfounded, Daggon gawked as Ottar dropped a hand on Daggon’s shoulder. Daggon threw back his arm throwing Ottar off, and Kallan scowled. “Do as he says, Daggon.”

  Daggon’s face flushed red.

  “Your Majesty—”

  “And, Ottar,” Kallan said.

  The Ljosalfr sneered at the queen, who matched Ottar’s glare. “Do not harm my kin.”

  With a muted scoff, Ottar dropped his hand back to Daggon’s shoulder.

  “What of the queen?” Ottar asked before pushing Daggon through the kitchens. Bergen nodded to the archers to ease up. With eyes like pools of ink, Bergen closed the last of the space between himself and Kallan until his bare chest nearly brushed hers.

  Refusing to back down, Kallan stood tall with stubborn conviction, matching his dark glare with eyes like stones, calculating and cold, and very aware of what she wanted. An admirable grin stretched Bergen’s face.

  “Take her,” Bergen muttered, and flashed a glance that ordered his men to apprehend the
queen.

  Kallan’s composure fell.

  “What?”

  “Be sure she has her own cell.”

  “Bergen.”

  A guard took hold of Kallan’s arm.

  “We had a bargain!” Kallan screamed as Bergen’s men bound her hands behind her back, disabling any use of her Seidr. “Bergen!”

  Bergen’s men pulled her toward the kitchens behind Daggon.

  “I am your king’s vassal!” she screamed. “We had a bargain!”

  Her screams carried down the hall, leaving behind a trail of echoes.

  Bergen turned to Gudrun.

  “You’ve fulfilled your side of the bargain,” he said.

  “I have,” Gudrun said with a relieved smile as Bergen’s men bound Gudrun’s hands. “And I am holding you to yours.”

  “Brother.”

  The sword at Bergen’s side clinked quietly against his belt as he stepped into the dark bower of Rune’s sitting room. He found Rune in the bedroom, staring out the window over Gunir. In the time it took Rune to bathe and change into a fresh set of clothes, the servants had restocked the mead and dowsed all the candles. The hearth fire bathed the bower in a muted light. A cool breeze from the windows chilled the room.

  “Did they come?” Rune asked, watching the delta of the Klarelfr.

  “They did.”

  “And you found them?”

  “Right where the woman said they would be,” Bergen said, dropping into the chair in front of the hearth.

  “How many?”

  Bergen took a moment to answer as he dug into his side pocket for a pipe and some dried leaf.

  “Just the two. Her information matched Joren’s.” Bergen stuffed the leaf into the pipe bowl. “Though why, after all these years, that Seidkona would turn over her own kin just like that is beyond me.” He reached into the fire’s embers with a long stick and lit his pipe. Bergen released a steady stream of smoke before continuing. “The exiled captain and the Seidkona… What I can’t figure out is why they would make their way here without an army.”

  “Does Kallan know?”

  “She does,” Bergen said. “She tried to escape with them.”

  “Of course she did.”

  Pushing away from the window, Rune grabbed a new bottle of mead. “It took her longer than I expected.”

  The room filled with the sweet scent of smoke as Rune pulled a chair with him to the fire and sat down beside his brother.

  So,” Rune said, “where did you find the captain and Seidr User?”

  The black embers glowed with streaks of orange as Bergen watched the mouthful of smoke billow into the air.

  “The old woman confessed that she released the horses, took Astrid, and started the fire as a diversion, while the captain grabbed Kallan.”

  Rune furrowed his brow. “Confessed? So easily?”

  “Too easily,” Bergen said. “She put up no fuss, no resistance when questioned. I almost think she was looking forward to the interrogation. As if she had been looking for us.”

  Bergen took a slow draw as he rolled the events around before speaking.

  “Kallan’s captain started in the tower,” Bergen said, looking over the pipe and taking another draw. “It took him awhile to figure out you had Kallan in Mother’s bower, which bought the Seidr User time to find us in the garden.”

  Rune nodded and gulped down more mead.

  As Bergen released a plume of smoke, he stared at the ceiling. His shoulders were painfully taut against his nerves.

  “Rune…” Bergen waited for Rune to swallow his mouthful. “I have to ask. I have to know.”

  Sweat beaded on Bergen’s brow as the fire crackled, filling the silence.

  “I find myself searching every shadow,” Bergen whispered. “Terrified they followed… Terrified they’ve found me.”

  Bergen peered up from the flames. He had no doubt that Rune knew what he was asking. “Did they follow?” he asked, his composure overflowing with fear. “Do they know?”

  Rune handed his flask to his brother, and waited until Bergen threw back a series of gulps before answering.

  “They diverted their path before they made it to Alfheim,” Rune said then shook his head. “They never saw you.”

  Nodding in relief, Bergen passed the mead back to Rune.

  “Why did you do it?” Bergen asked, forgetting his pipe for a moment. “Why did you go?”

  Rune shrugged. “You know the Dvergar better than I,” Rune said. “You know they would have killed her.”

  Bergen forced a smirk, insisting on the lightened joviality to ease his nerves.

  “She pulled rank on me,” Bergen said.

  Rune crunched his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Kallan ordered me not to harm the Dokkalfar.” Bergen leaned toward the mantle and emptied the pipe’s blackened contents onto the stone as he finished. “She pulled rank on me. Reminded me that she is your vassal.”

  Rune grinned. “She pulled rank on you.”

  “How many times have you ordered me to kill that Seidkona yourself? Tonight, I had the chance, but your…” Bergen searched for the word. “…guest…stayed my hand…on your orders.”

  Rune chuckled.

  “Imagine that,” Bergen said. “Trying to bring in prisoners and one of them turns the orders on you.”

  Pocketing the pipe, Bergen shifted himself in the chair and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He fought back the smile as Rune watched with unease.

  “She said you talked in the stables,” Rune said.

  “Daring to breech the subject, are you?” Bergen said, smiling. “We did.”

  Rune tapped his finger on the flask in his hand.

  Bergen glanced at Rune’s finger and smirked.

  “What did you talk about?” Rune asked.

  Bergen stretched and sighed, dropping his arms to the floor and drawing out his answer for as long as he could.

  “She wanted to know if I had killed her captain.”

  “Yeah,” Rune said, exhaling as if with relief. “She fretted about him all the way from Jotunheim.” He shrugged. “Well, he and the children,” Rune added then threw back his head and took a long drink.

  “Do you think they’re lovers?”

  Rune gagged, choked, pulled the bottle away then coughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

  Bergen grinned and waited for Rune to stop hacking.

  “There are times when I look at her…” Bergen mused. “I just want to beat every drop of blood out of her that ever stained her father’s hands. But she is growing on me,” Bergen said. “She doesn’t seem too keen on peace, though,” he added, taking the mead from Rune.

  “My guest is…confused,” Rune said.

  “Are you sure you want her?” Bergen asked, handing back the flask to Rune.

  “I never said I did.” Rune gulped down the last of the mead and dropped the empty bottle to the floor.

  “You promoted the prisoner to vassal. You took my title and gave it to her.” Bergen extended a finger to Kallan’s room. “You demoted me for the wench. Can you at least afford me the decency to admit it was for sex?”

  Rune smirked. “Always a woman with you, isn’t it?”

  “Always,” Bergen said, sitting back in his chair.

  Rune stretched with a groan then pushed himself to his feet.

  “What did we ever do before we drank and smoked together?” Rune asked.

  “I don’t remember back that far. I drank and smoked too much.”

  Rune grinned and poured over the selection of currant meads and ales.

  “What of this thing inside of you?” Bergen asked.

  “What of it?”

  “You could ask the Seidkona.”

  “I did. Kallan didn’t know.”

  “I meant the other one,” Bergen said.

  “The hag?”

  “She may know.”

  “She may.” After a moment, Rune settled on an ale. “Kallan mus
t have given you Hel when you escorted her back to her bower.”

  Bergen shook his head. “I didn’t take her back to the bower.”

  Rune froze. “What?”

  “The old Seidkona insisted I lock her in the keep,” Bergen provided without regret.

  “You— What?” Rune said, suddenly wide awake.

  Bergen shrugged. “We had a deal…and Kallan did try to escape. I wasn’t about to grant her free run of the castle.”

  “You uskit!” Rune shouted, and sprinted for his boots in the sitting room.

  “What?” Bergen called, forcing himself out of his slouch and the chair.

  “She’ll fry my ass for this!”

  “What are you going to tell her?” Bergen asked, suddenly worried.

  “Hel if I know.”

  “Well, you can’t tell her the Seidkona ordered it,” Bergen clarified. “We have a deal. Play it up like you’re there to rescue her. Oh! Tell her you’re there to save her from eternal wrath of the Dark One.” Bergen crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door. “Maybe she’ll swoon. Women are fickle for things like that.”

  “Not likely,” Rune said, pulling on the boots he didn’t bother lacing.

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” Rune said, “as of right now, Kallan Eyolfdottir, Queen of the Dokkalfar, can’t stand the sight of me. If I recall correctly, she had no problems ordering my execution. And sitting in a cell in my keep won’t exactly win her over!”

  “So you finally admit you want to win her over.”

  Rune glared.

  “What are you going to do?” Bergen asked, still steeped in amusement over Rune’s predicament.

  “Do my best to convince her that my brother’s an uskit.”

  Bergen scoffed. “I mean besides that.”

  “What I have to do! March up to her accommodations and release her before she gets too upset and tries to kill me again. If I’m lucky, I can walk away with my manhood intact. Is she with her kin?”

  “She has her own cell,” Bergen said.

  “Well, thank you for that. I have some humiliation to endure and it’s best if it was done without the audience.”

  Rune exhaled as he stared at the large oak door within the west tower’s topmost room. Between each window, torches encircled the room’s circumference, providing light to the circular corridor that wrapped around the handful of cells in the tower’s center. On the other side of the oak door, Kallan’s temper waged as hot as the fires of Muspellsheim.