How?
Looking at him, it was difficult to believe a year ago, when Captain Njal wrongfully sank the Giddy Madeleine, Sigurd had been the spoils of initiating war with Eisland. He’d been captain of that ship, their nation’s prince, the admiral, on board. And he’d loathed her as much as he loathed their kingdom.
Back then, Bryn believed every word her husband said. That the other ship shot the first cannon and initiated war with them. But Sigurd had told her another tale, that their people sailed in for combat and rained fire and hell down on Prince Joren’s vessel after seemingly seeking them out for the fight.
It had taken her a year of careful prying and investigation to determine the foul little cretin wearing the crown had ordered his best warships to take every foreign vessel suspected of harboring mages, and everyone on the gulf knew the best mages came from Eisland and Samahara.
Bryn had no respect for liars. And were the kingdom not counting on her, were they not in need of her steady head alongside their warmongering king, she would have long since divorced him and moved home to Koldgrun.
Sigurd’s sunny smile dragged Bryn from her morose thoughts. “I received your message, my queen.”
“I’m glad Arden found you. We’ll have snow tonight. I did not want you to be caught far from home when the blizzard came.”
“But the sky is so clear. It’s…it’s the end of summer!”
Grateful to have something else to think about besides her husband, she smiled as Sigurd fell into step beside her. “Sometimes an unusual summer snow storm sweeps in from the east. The frost never lasts beyond morning. Only time will teach you how to watch the skies and read the wind. You’ll see.” She imagined by now the rest of the Epleberg family would be lighting heat lamps and lanterns in the orchards to save the fruit.
“I look forward to such lessons.”
She glanced at him, wondering at his words. There were times she sensed interest in him, though he never acted upon his lust.
Two men couldn’t be more different, Sigurd and Gunnar, in more ways than one. The former Eislander made her laugh, he discussed her interests with genuine curiosity, and rarely, if ever, turned any conversation back to himself. She imagined, were he her husband, he would have mourned beside her each time she lost a child; offered more than fleeting comfort before finding his way into his consort’s bed.
“My queen?”
She blinked, drawn once more from her wandering thoughts, and gave him a quick smile. “Forgive me, I was lost in my own head for a moment.”
“That’s all right. You seem troubled lately, Your Majesty. I was only asking if we should place a wager regarding the snow.”
“You think my weather sense is wrong?”
“I think it’d be an interesting exercise, is all. And a chance for one of us to come out with a prize. Let’s say…loser has to give up their portion of Arden’s apples for the week.”
“Then be prepared to lose, Sigurd, for there will be snow tonight and I will win our bet.”
He smiled and ducked his head, his laughter both a welcome and familiar caress against her senses. She smiled, already more at ease, and when they reached her chambers, she lingered in the doorway.
“Is there anything I can get for you this evening? Tea? Wine?”
Company, she wished to say. Instead she dropped her chin a fraction and shook her head. “No. I think I’ll retire early tonight with a book.”
“Then I’ll bid you goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Sigurd.”
He bowed again and turned to leave. Before he made it more than a few steps, she quickly called out after him, “However, I’d enjoy that tea in the morning. We can share a pot while I enjoy your share of the apple fritters I requested from the kitchen.”
He looked back over his shoulder and grinned. “As you wish, my queen.”
Chapter 2
It had snowed, laying a pristine blanket of diamond glittering from one edge of the horizon to the next. It was during her early brunch with Sigurd, in which she’d generously shared her apple fritters instead of rightfully laying claim to the whole bounty, when a pigeon arrived bearing a message from Lagertha.
Bryn’s growing network of spies served her faithfully, a newly established coalition of shield maidens and thralls bringing her juicy tidbits from the distant corners of the vast kingdom. The former respected Bryn as their queen-sister, while the latter adored her, especially when she treated them like free men and women, paid them well for their service, and doted on them like friends.
Much like the shield maidens serving under her banner, the thralls were her friends. Each one of her servants, although branded, had become someone she trusted, and she saw the brand as little more than a mark of her protection, a symbol of her love for them that safeguarded them from ever coming to harm.
Sigurd’s words crept into her thoughts.
What right do you have to own another man?
At the time, she’d told him it was merely how their world had always worked, a law instituted generations upon generations ago. Sometimes, though, she wondered if he might be right.
Sometimes it gnawed at her and kept her awake at night.
Now those wonderings would at last bear fruit.
“What is it?” Sigurd asked while she deciphered Lagertha’s codework.
“News that I should investigate. I am sorry, Sigurd. I must go.”
He dusted crumbs from his hands and rose from the table. “Do you need me to come with you?”
Bryn shook her head. “No. Stay here.”
“I can fight beside you, if there is trouble.”
Leaving nothing to chance, Bryn held the paper scrap over a candle flame and let it burn to ash in a dish. “I know you can, my friend. But not now. Now I need to speak with someone.” Bryn kissed his brow. Be my eyes and ears in this castle.
Of Bryn’s many shield maidens, she trusted none more than Lagertha. She hadn’t expected the captain of her guard to return so swiftly from overseeing operations in the east and traveling between the two halves of their kingdom as a go-between.
They met at the Epleberg orchard, in the shade of a tree overflowing with unripened emerald fruit. Over the next few weeks, they’d become the best apples in the region. Bryn loved their orchard, she loved the family who owned it, and had their express permission to visit whenever it suited her. As they had varieties of apples ripening from late spring until fall, she rarely went without. During the winter, gallons and gallons of preserves and cider consoled her until the next harvest.
“What is your news, friend?”
“It is bad,” Lagertha said. Her blue gaze darted left, then right. The orchards were empty save for a few furry animals scavenging the occasional fallen fruit and a pair of ravens sitting above them in the branches. “You were right to suspect the king lied to you, Brynhildr. At this very moment, Gunnar provokes war with Samahara. Once again, he has raided one of their villages in the south. He lost two ships during this reckless venture; the world serpent and her new husband sank them to the depths.”
Bryn gasped. “No! How many lives lost?”
“Over two hundred of our sailors gone, for nothing. Jörmungandr shows no leniency. She has no mercy. And her prince is as bloodthirsty as she is. These are not the only losses suffered on the seas this year. There are many more, each of them a lie he has told you.”