Fire and Lies (24 page)

T
he clatter and rumble of a fire poker stirred Rune from his disquieted sleep. He pushed the noise aside, failed, then woke with a grunt, forcing his eyes to focus in the dark.

“Torunn?” he asked through clouded sleep. “What are you doing?”

“Rune!” Torunn exclaimed with forced surprise. She rose beside the grand hearth of Kallan’s bedchamber. “What are you doing in here?”

He dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, forcing the last of the sleep from them. “I needed a place to sleep,” he said.

As if she didn’t know,
he thought.

“What was wrong with your bower?” Torunn asked stupidly.

With a sigh, Rune fell onto his back, too tired to keep himself upright, and spoke to the ceiling. “Kallan was there. I didn’t feel like dealing with the fuss so I came in here seeing as how she took my room for the night.”

“Begging your pardon,” she interjected.

Rune stopped rubbing his face long enough to look at the key keeper.

“Kallan didn’t spend the night in your bower.”

Rune furrowed his brow and dropped his hand.

“Course she did. I saw her,” Rune insisted. “Geirolf told me she’d been there all day.”

“Well, for a couple hours, yes,” Torunn said. “But she and Bergen took dinner together and…” Her voice trailed off. “She didn’t stay there.”

Wide-eyed, Rune leapt from the bed, with no sign that he had been asleep only moments ago.

“Where did she stay, Torunn?”

“I thought you knew,” Torunn said, suddenly looking very mousy. “Kallan wanted to speak to you, and when she left, I thought—”

“Where is she, Torunn?” With every word his shoulders expanded, doubling in size as the black of his eyes swelled like Bergen’s.

“Where she’s been all night,” Torunn said. “In Bergen’s room.”

With a berserker’s precision, Rune flew through the room, taking up
Gramm
as he threw open the door of Kallan’s bower. Still dressed in just his trousers, Rune vaulted down the hall and descended the stairs to the Great Hall.

From behind the screens passage, Geirolf spun to Kallan and Bergen. “Here he comes.”

Displaying no fear, Kallan swept past Bergen, who had moved to grasp his sword, then cursed himself for not bringing one, and stepped out from the staircase with gallant posture that displayed no fear. As if simply descending her chambers for breakfast, Kallan led Bergen into the Great Hall and stopped at the sight of Rune coming toward them.

“Don’t let me die, Princess,” Bergen muttered into Kallan’s ear.

She flaunted a smirk, catching the light in her eye as she beamed affectionately up to Bergen, instigating a red of Rune’s glower that flared with renewed rage.

With a jolt, Rune pulled
Gramm
from its sheath and cast the casing aside. It slid across the floor with a shriek as the blade rang out and gave song to Rune’s roar.

“Bergen!” Rune raised his sword.

The metal struck metal, jarring Rune from his trance as he looked past
Gramm
’s spine to the hilt of Kallan’s dagger.

His gaze rested on her sharpened eyes, hardened on the other side of their blades.

“Get out of my way, Seidkona,” Rune growled with the fire alive in his voice. “I’ll deal with you after.”

“You’ll deal with me now,” Kallan said from behind her dagger.

“I will listen after his head is mounted at the gates of my keep, now move before I add yours alongside him!”

Kallan pushed against their blades. Rune stumbled back before regaining his balance. With a flick of a wrist, Kallan collected a ball of flame in her palm and repositioned herself to fight.

“If it’s my head you want, then you can have it if you can take it,” Kallan said.

Her fire shimmered blue as it grew in Kallan’s hand.

“Rune…” Geirolf said. “Please…heed the lady.”

But the black of Bergen’s eyes caught Rune’s sight. Images, countless images, flashed through his head. Rune shook with a rage that fueled his temper.

“Of all the requests,” Rune shouted. “Of all my orders I’ve given you, you had to break this one!”

Kallan added more flame to the ball of Seidr.

“Rune.” Torunn’s gentle voice called from somewhere behind them. Rune didn’t hear as his gaze fell back to Kallan.

“Out of my way, Dokkalfr!” he barked.

“Not until you’ve heard me,” Kallan spat.

Rune sneered.

“I have never spoken to one of Bergen’s trollops! I’m not about to start now!”

Kallan extinguished her Seidr flame at once, sending a silence through the Hall. With a cool hand, Kallan sheathed her dagger. Calmly, quietly, Kallan strode across the Hall, her head held high, and slammed her hand into Rune’s face.

Rune stumbled against the force. Fire impaled his cheek, leaving him blank for a moment. Before he could recover his balance, Kallan dropped her empty palm to his shoulder and pulled the Seidr from him. The Beast within Rune roared, but Kallan paid its temper no mind.

In an instant, Rune felt his own Seidr drain, and his grip on
Gramm
weakened. Rune lowered the blade. His eyelids ached to close. Heavy with sleep, he struggled to fight. He fell to one knee, too drained of strength to stand.

Kallan leaned down to him until her breath grazed his ear. He could smell the untouched perfumes of soft rose that blinded his senses.

“He did not have me,” she whispered.

Rune forced his eyes to hers despite his apparent exhaustion, desperate for a sign she spoke the truth. Pushing past the pain from where she had slapped him, Rune studied her face.

“I’m to believe that he didn’t touch you although you slept in his bed?”

She tilted her head down with a smirk perched on her lips.

“How else could I get your attention?”

“You seek to gain my affection by warming his bed?” he asked, unamused.

“Affection?” Kallan furrowed her brow. “You think I summoned you to sleep with you?”

Her voice reverberated off the high, stone walls around them.

“Why else?” he asked.

Rune watched her rage implode as the last of her rational composure receded.

“Of all the—”

Kallan released his shoulder and his strength returned as she released his Seidr threads and the Beast settled, pacing angrily on the leash it bore. At once, Kallan’s palms filled with a pair of blue flames that roared.

Rune staggered to his feet,
Gramm
still clutched tightly in his hand. Both monarchs were oblivious to the growing audience as Daggon and Gudrun entered the Hall via the kitchens.

“You can hardly blame me,” Rune bellowed back, taunting Kallan’s riled temper as he caught his breath. “With the number of passes you made—”

“I made!” Kallan barked. “You kissed me!”

Her voice thundered through the keep, adding a sudden jolt of interest to everyone’s attention as they all watched the spectacle before them.

“An act I spend every moment regretting and, I assure you, it won’t happen again!”

Brandishing the depths of her Seidr, unmasked a look that cut through him. Kallan inhaled and screamed, sending a pair of pillared flames that flanked Rune’s sides.

Undaunted, he stood between her columns of Seidr, panting to catch his breath, too exhausted to dodge her onslaught and too lethargic to battle her any longer.

All at once, Kallan ceased her offense and dropped her arms to her side. In that instant, the color drained from her face, widening her eyes like round jewels. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came.

Rune risked a glance to Bergen, who stood as afflicted with dread as Kallan. Realizing they looked at something behind him, Rune turned to the double doors of the Great Hall where the first light of morning spilled into the hall. There, two black silhouettes framed in the sun’s light stood: Joren, the loyal scout, and Borg—the man who bestowed the Fendinn inside him—looking as horror-stricken as the rest of them.

None dared breathe as all eyes met Borg and he, in turn, learned each face: the Dark One, the captain, the Volva, the king, and the queen—

The queen.
An invisible hand twisted Borg’s insides.

—who Aaric had proclaimed dead, standing alive and well and as spirited as ever.

On the ball of his foot, Borg spun through the door and left Joren alone in the light.

As one, they moved, forgetting the quarrel as Rune, Bergen, Joren, and Geirolf sprinted for the door.

“Joren! To the gates!” Rune barked. “Seal the doors! Bergen! Flank the north!”

Enveloped by the morning light that blanketed the open courtyard, the three men stopped and stared, stunned at Ottar, who gripped the back of Borg’s neck and twisted his arm around with ease.

“Is this what you’re after?” Ottar called, giving an sharp yank of Borg’s arm up and around his back as the Dokkalfr attempted to wriggle himself free. His wiry frame buckled beneath Ottar’s firm grip as his hair fell over his face that contorted into a snarl. He peered at Rune with a large, blue eye and one blind eye.

“I see you are not good on your word, Ljosalfr,” Borg said with a profound hate as he stared up at Rune. “You owe me a murder.”

Rune stared down at the sniveling Dokkalfr in Ottar’s grip.

“You should have killed her when you had the chance,” Borg spat, earning himself a pop of his arm as Ottar pulled his shoulder out of place.

Borg screamed sharply, but it quickly became a whimper. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, adding to his overly greasy look.

Disgusted, Rune stared down, remembering too well the deal offered almost two moons ago.

“Take him to the keep,” Rune said.

Ottar obliged with an overexerted shove up the stairs to the keep.

Still battling against Ottar’s large frame, Borg stumbled over his own feet as he fumbled his way ahead of Ottar, through the wide doors to the Great Hall. There, he dug his feet into the floor and for a moment, he hung, unmoving, as he glared across the room at Kallan. Vile contempt twisted his face as Kallan met the familiar eyes too large for his head. Her face white, Kallan stared, unable to move as Ottar gave a hard shove and pushed Borg along.

Outside on the steps of the keep, Rune unclenched his fists and gazed darkly at the scout.

“Joren,” Rune said.

“Borg has never been early before,” Joren said. “There was no time. I didn’t—”

Rune raised a hand, forcing Joren to swallow his words. Joren’s face fell white.

“What did he say?” Rune asked.

“He came to identify the prisoners. He heard they were captured and—”

“I know what he wants,” Rune breathed as enlightenment cleared his face.

“Joren,” Rune said with exercised precision. “You know what I need you to do.”

Joren nodded and started down the steps toward the stables.

“Bergen,” Rune said.

“Yes.”

The berserker stepped in at attention and met Rune’s fist. Bergen stumbled and, clutching his jaw, turned back to Rune. Opening his mouth, Bergen cocked his jaw back into place with a pop. Bergen was still rubbing the point of impact when Rune clamly straightened himself up and rattled off the orders as if Rune hadn’t just punched Bergen in the face.

“I need you to ride north—”

“But there’s no one left.”

“We have to try!” Rune shouted, sounding more strained than he had meant to.

“Aye.” Still stretching his jaw, Bergen started toward the barracks for his horse.

With a heavy sigh, Rune looked back to the keep’s door, dreading the next order of business.

“Hey, Rune!” Bergen called from across the courtyard.

Rune peered over his shoulder at his brother.

“I didn’t touch her!” Bergen shouted and, giving a tip of his hand in farewell, he darted the rest of the way to the barracks.

Unable to ease the sneer that twisted his face, Rune trudged up the steps to the Great Hall. A heavy hand fell affectionately to Rune’s shoulder, lifting his attention from his encumbrance.