Sometimes Bryn rode out herself to hold these meetings.
Such as now, as she sat in the receiving hall of Jarl Ragna with the scent of the sea thick in the air. Bryn hadn’t paid a visit to Havluft Keep since she was a girl and Ragna’s father was the ruler of the region. The impregnable castle overlooked the water, situated on a high cliff.
When Prince Joren and his allies sacked the coast, Ragna had taken much of the blame. But how could she alone protect hundreds of miles of coastline? The other coastal lords had been too occupied with sacking the helpless, raiding the Wai Alei islands, and selling their own people.
“I know what I ask of you is great, Jarl Ragna, but we cannot succeed without your help. We require forces on the water if we’re to reclaim the region.”
Jarl Ragna stared at Bryn over her cup of mead. The woman had the breadth of a fortress wall, the height of a giant, and the temper of a southern valley bulldog. Petitioning her for help had been risky, but necessary if they were to have naval aid on the water in the event of ships interfering from Liang. “You wish to do what?”
“I will not waste your time beating around the bush. I know for a fact you have balked at supplying men—”
“We have given too many!”
“I know. He comes to you first, using your close proximity to the sea and your legion’s knowledge of the waters. He abuses your loyalty. He abuses your people. What do you say to him sacking those villages along the coast and taking what he will of fisherman to fuel his slave quarries?”
“He what? That is nonsense! I would know if the king had done such a thing. No one but pirates did that.”
“No, Ragna. It was not the pirates. It was not James Hook or any other scourge of the sea. It is our king. He ordered a strike against Holmavik merely because he heard there were magical children born to the women there. He wanted them.” She laid down a map across the table. Next, she stretched out a testimony documented and verified by Lawspeaker Calder.
“This has the lawspeaker’s seal.”
“It does. He knows what I seek to do, and he would end these injustices himself if he had the power. But he does not. He is merely the voice of tradition, but we must be the first to see that his words are upheld. Now, will you join us, Ragna? Will you aid us in restoring to this dynasty the honor we once held?”
“What exactly do you ask of me? To command my men to fight their own brothers?”
“No. Unless their enemies are Liangese, I ask them not to fight at all. Rather, I ask them to stand aside and do nothing if allies come to our aid.”
“You wish to allow the Eislanders and those savage…those…filthy beastmen on our soil again?”
“To stop worse? Yes, Ragna. I do. I will let them onto this soil if it means Gunnar is no longer allowed to sacrifice our people in vain. If it means he will not allow these other foreigners from across the ocean to fight our battles for us. It is better to trust the Hel we know than a stranger capable of anything.”
Bryn’s heart thumped in her chest. What she spoke to Ragna, along with the message she had carried to the other jarls of the east, was nothing short of treason. Only one other jarl, a wise old man named Ivar, had turned her away, though he’d sworn on his integrity as a man of the Eastern Veld that word would not return to the king.
She trusted Ivar, as both a jarl of the stronghold neighboring her father’s lands, and as a close friend of her family.
“All right,” Ragna said after a moment. She clasped Bryn’s arm. “If this is what is right, may the gods forgive us.”
Sigurd watched Bryn pace back and forth across her study, tempted to take her by the shoulders and drag her against him in a tight embrace. But if he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t want to stop with a hug. With Lagertha present, it was doubly inappropriate. She’d returned from her journey to the southwestern coast only that evening, exhausted from the ride and dead on her feet.
At a glance, he determined that the cost of securing Jarl Ragna’s allegiance hadn’t been cheap.
“It’s not enough,” she said, finally dropping into a chair. “I won’t get enough jarls or their men to help me.”
“Are you sure? Support appears to be split, my queen.” He stretched out a map on the table and ran his fingers over the various territories. They didn’t dare mark the page, lest it be discovered by Gunnar or one of his thralls, but he had memorized the names of everyone Bryn reached out to in her quest to save the kingdom.
“Maybe, but will they hold true when the time comes?”
“They’ve given their word, haven’t they?”
“Yes, I suppose they have,” she said, but her shoulders sagged.
A fire roared in the hearth, crackling and filling the room with the robust aroma of spices roasting in the tin hanging above the flames. Usually Bryn calmed when she came here, but not today. Sigurd abandoned the map and crossed to the cabinet where Bryn stored her stash of cider. After filling a mug, he brought it to her, crouching down beside her chair.
“Brynhildr, don’t lose hope. What you’re planning is the right thing to do. Don’t lose sight of that.”
“I’m not. I only—”
Liran’s timid knock rapped against the door, announcing him before he entered. “Forgive me, my lady, but King Gunnar requests your presence in the—”
“No,” Bryn barked, tone harsher than he’d ever heard her speak to gentle Liran.
The thrall shrank back a step. “In the great hall, my queen. He wishes to meet with you in the great hall.”
“Ah.” Bryn sighed and raised both hands to her temples. “Forgive me, Liran. That was harsh of me.”
As his initial surprise faded, understanding surfaced on Liran’s face. He knew. All of the thralls knew, as well as Sigurd did, of the king’s failed attempts to bed his wife. “It is all right, my lady. Shall I tell him you are coming?”
“No need, Liran. I’ll head there now. Go and enjoy a warm drink in the kitchen.”
After Liran had gone, Lagertha turned a concerned gaze to the queen. Sigurd hadn’t much chance to get to know the stoic woman aside from the occasional bout in the training ground and now in their schemes to aid Bryn.
But what he knew of her spoke of a deep sisterhood between the two. They were both daughters of Koldgrun, the stronghold ruled by Brynhildr’s father, and loyal to the eastern territories.
“Come, we should go before he seeks us out,” Bryn said, rising. “All of us.”
Sigurd fell into step behind Bryn and Lagertha, silent as they traversed the long corridors. He studied Bryn, noting the tension in her spine and shoulders as she walked, likely wondering what request her husband had. Perhaps worrying that he had found out about their plotting. But if he had, they were strongest together, with enough soldiers loyal to Bryn that they stood a fighting chance of escape.
As it was too late to safely reassure his queen, he followed her inside the great hall and took his place beside Lagertha near the wall. Gunnar sat on his throne, while two of his hunting dogs lay at his feet with meaty steer bones trapped between their enormous paws.
“Ah, there you are,” he called with a grin.
“You asked to see me?” Her jaw clenched as she gazed up at him.