Fire and Lies (14 page)

“Bergen…” Rune shifted his gaze to his brother, keeping his voice barely above a whisper. “Did you see anything?”

“You were in the stables just before the fire!” Ottar growled over the courtyard, silencing the already surfacing gossip.

With a glower to Kallan, Ottar emerged from the cluster of onlookers and joined Rune’s group.

“Did you see anything?” Rune asked, whipping about to Kallan.

“No,” she said.

“Of course she didn’t see anything!” Ottar said encouraging the murmurs to grow louder as the crowd closed in. “She did it!”

One by one, Kallan searched the crowd of faces, each glaring back at her with a depth of hatred, each condemning her without question.

“I was with her,” Bergen said above the rising uproar. “She couldn’t have started the fire.”

Rune’s stomach clenched as he looked to Bergen.

“You were with her in the stables?” Rune asked. “Why were you with her?”

“She asked to see Astrid,” Bergen lied.

“She’s the only one here who would have cause to do this!” Ottar said, extending a large finger that served as Kallan’s judge and jury.

“I put the fire out!” Kallan retaliated in her defense.

“To win favor!” Ottar argued.

Seidr burst to life in Kallan’s hands, reawakening Rune’s Beast as Ottar grasped the hilt of the sword bound at his waist.

“Enough!” Rune shouted, forcing Kallan to extinguish her Seidr.

The crowd fell silent.

“Gunnar, the horses. Bergen. Geirolf. Look for Astrid. Ottar! Clear the crowd. And Kallan…” Rune turned to Kallan. “Come with me.”

K
allan rounded her bottom lip into a prominent pout as she followed Rune back to the Great Hall where servants bustled about, too alarmed to sleep. Adrenaline kept the stomp in her foot sharp as she marched up the steps behind Rune. Alert and confrontational, her thoughts raced between worry for Astrid and anger for Ottar that left her unable to collapse with exhaustion. They walked past the lone, closed door and down the hall lit with candles.

Kallan stared at her blackened hands, cracked and bleeding from the wood splinters. She rubbed a split thumb over her wet fingertips. Black soot blotched and smeared the white of her soaked chemise. The click of a door alerted her as Rune led her into her bower and closed the door quietly behind them.

Kallan, too exhausted to fight, stood calmly as Rune unfastened the pouch from her waist. After shuffling through packets of spells and small binds of herbs, he pulled out a large, golden apple and taking Kallan’s hand, dropped the fruit into her palm.

“You weren’t ready,” he said with a gentle smirk. Taking her by the arm, he pulled her into a chair beside the window where a water pitcher and basin rested on a table. Obediently, Kallan sat, staring at the apple, breathing deep the smell of black currant mead on Rune’s sweet breath.

“I still did it,” she argued, barely pleased with herself.

Droplets of water dripped from the ends of her hair as she stared at the soot on her hands.

With the scrape of wood on stone, Rune dropped a chair to the floor in front of her and plopped himself down.

“But you shouldn’t have,” he said, pulling a rag from the basin and wringing out the excess water. “Now…” Rune began gently wiping the black soot from her brow. “What happened?”

“I didn’t do it,” she said, closing her eyes at the welcome cool rag against her filthy, hot face.

“I know.” Rune dragged the cloth down her temple, gently over each closed eyelid. “What happened?”

“I saw nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Rune rinsed the rag. Kallan listened to the musical droplets that ran down his fingers into the shallow bowl of water.

“I was in the kitchen,” she said. “You can ask the cat.”

Rune folded the cloth and placed the untouched apple beside the basin.

Taking up her hands one at a time, Rune washed the black and red from her skin, first the back then the palms.

“I found some day old bread,” Kallan said. “I was hungry.”

“Cook locks up the buttery and larder, thanks to Bergen. She’d locked up the serving girls too, if she could.”

“I left the kitchens to go back to bed and I smelled smoke.”

“She tried once,” Rune said. “It didn’t bode well with the serving girls…or Bergen, for that matter.” Rune stared hard at Kallan’s hands.

“At what point…were you and Bergen alone in the stables?”

Kallan watched Rune wipe down the tips of each one of her fingers. The scent of mead was strong.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said truthfully.

“Hm,” he grunted. “Most women don’t when they meet with Bergen in the stables.”

Kallan pulled her hand away with a jerk.

“That hurt,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” Rune muttered, returning the rag to her furrowed brow.

“I went down to the stables to visit Astrid,” she said.

“Visit Astrid.” Rune rinsed the filth from the rag.

“And Bergen was there. We talked.”

“And he escorted you to the kitchens?”

“No,” Kallan sighed, her eyes suddenly heavy with sleep. “He left me in the stables with Astrid. I found the kitchens on my own.”

“With the cat.”

“With the cat.”

“Eat,” Rune said, returning the apple to her hands. He refreshed the water as Kallan bit into the apple, welcoming the Seidr rush through her.

A few moments later, Rune returned from the solar with a fresh bowl and pulled up his chair so close that his knees touched Kallan’s.

“I smelled smoke in the Great Hall,” she finished. Rune rinsed the rag and ran the cloth gently over her arms, not daring to raise his eyes to hers.

“Bergen lied,” Rune said.

“Yes.” Kallan exhaled, pondering the whys and wherefores of Bergen: the Dark One. The Terrible. The Feared.

Rune ran the cloth back to her palms and rested his hands comfortably in hers.

“The flames were too hot and too high to have just been started by the time you got out there,” he said.

“I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t,” Rune cut her off. “But a Seidkona did.”

Gudrun.

“I didn’t do it,” Kallan whispered, refusing to make mention of Gudrun.

Rune looked at her.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here?” she asked. Her clear, blue gaze held the moon’s reflection. Rune brushed a strand of Kallan’s hair from her eyes and gently tucked it behind a tapered ear. Her Dokkalfar skin was far paler in comparison to his Ljosalfar tanned tones.

“Why am I here?” he muttered, keeping his attention fixed on Kallan’s eyes.

The advice of Geirolf and Bergen ran through his head. Before, he had been so bold, so certain, so drunk.

“I have to go,” he said, dropping his hand from her face and standing too quickly as if suddenly realizing he was touching her. The legs of his chair scraped the stone and he was at the door before Kallan could understand what had happened.

“Rune?”

“I’ll have Torunn fix you a bath,” he said at the door, not bothering to look at her. “I’ll send someone the moment Astrid is found.”

“Rune—”

“Good night,” he said and closed the door between them.

* * *

Torunn came and went in a wordless flash, wearing only one scowl that left no room for anything but formalities. She swiftly swept from the room, leaving Kallan rescrubbed and redressed without as much as a greeting, a nod, or a thank you. Unshed tears swelled in place, and only when Kallan was alone for the night did she breathe freely once more.

Exhausted, numb, and driven mad with not knowing where Astrid was, Kallan fell into bed. She had just barely closed her eyes, to welcome sleep and dreams of Dvergar-filled caves and corpses with faces she knew and loved, when a thick hand closed over her mouth, clamping her in place to the bed.

Kallan dug at the hand and clawed her way up an arm. Too inflicted with horror to scream, she kicked and thrashed about on the bed, weighed down by the hand that pinned her.

“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.