FATE OF THE FURYCKS

AN EPIC FANTASY ADVENTURE BOX SET

BOOKS 1–3

A.E. RAYNE

AUTHOR'S NOTE

As an author, I strive to connect you with my characters so that you feel for them and with them, experience their journey and fight alongside them. I want you to care and love, to hate and laugh, to get as wild and passionate and angry as they do, to feel their joy and despair, so that when the story ends, you feel both its imprint upon you and its loss.

The best kind of stories are the ones you take with you, the ones you can’t wait to get back to.

That’s what I aspire to give to you.

* * *

Connect with me

a.e.rayne@aerayne.com

http://aerayne.com/

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CONTENTS

Map: Alekka

Map: Osterland

Map: The Fire Lands

Map: Sala’ Nis

The Shadow Isle

The Characters

Prologue

I. Long Live the King

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

II. A Tale of Two Dreamers

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

III. Gone

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

IV. Maelstrom

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

V. The Shadow Isle

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Epilogue

Tower of Blood and Flame

The Characters

Prologue

I. Wolves

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

II. Reunions

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

III. Second Chances

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

IV. Return of the King

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

V. Homecoming

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Home of the Hunted

The Characters

Prologue

I. Game of Shadows

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

II. Ripples

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

III. Silver and Gold

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

IV. Revelation

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

V. The Longest Day

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Epilogue

Kings of Fate

The Furyck Saga

Audiobooks

The Lords of Alekka

Audiobooks

Fate of the Furycks

Audiobooks

About the Author

THE CHARACTERS

In Andala

Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands

Eadmund Skalleson, King of the Slave Islands

Thorgils Svanter, their best friend

Fyn Gallas, his cousin

Axl Furyck, King of Brekka

Amma Furyck, Queen of Brekka

Gisila Olborn, Axl and Jael’s mother

Gant Olborn, her husband/Axl’s stepfather

Milla Ulfsson, from Alekka

Biddy Halvor, Sigmund and Bo’s nursemaid

Hal Harbak, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Erling Venberg, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Eren Venberg, Erling’s sister

Kamilla Venberg, their mother

Sigmund Skalleson, Jael and Eadmund’s son

Bo Skalleson, Jael and Eadmund’s daughter

Branwyn Byrn, Gisila’s sister

Joren, Axl’s man/warrior

Gerald Hogen, Axl’s steward

In Saala

Rexon Boas, Lord of Saala

Demaeya Boas, Lady of Saala

In Tuura

Edela Saeveld, dreamer

Ayla Adea, dreamer

Bertel Knutson, elder

Sigfrida ‘Siggy’ Larsen, novice dreamer

Lina Storgard, novice dreamer

Mattie Bilso, dreamer

Alaric Fraed, Edela’s old friend

Milo, helpful boy

In Ollsvik

Raymon Vandaal, King of Iskavall

Getta Vandaal, Queen of Iskavall

Oren Storgard, Lord of Varan

Thora Storgard, his aunt/Lina’s mother

Steffan Storgard, Oren’s brother

Snow, Raymon’s spy

Bareth Lows, useful thug

Oskar Marek, Raymon’s friend

Nik Renfor, Head of Raymon’s army

Arven, Raymon’s steward

On the Island of Oss

Bram Svanter, Thorgils’ uncle/Fyn’s father

On S’ala Nis

Kalina Sardis, Queen of S’ala Nis

Arras Sikari, Commander of the Waves

Nico Sikari, his son

Sunni, translator

Marsa, slave

Anika, slave

Kora, slave

Otho Dimas, soldier

Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree, seer

Ratish Feros, physician

Ademar, the queen’s spy

Torro, soldier

Travellers

Bolder Oysten, Bone Hammer’s helmsman

Kolarov Radic, explorer

Elmer Falson, helmsman

Karam, Siluran warrior

Ared, his right hand man

Iker Rayas, Siluran warrior

Govana, seeress

Olaf, helpful boy

Also mentioned

Karsten Dragos, King of Hest

Herold Valens, King of Helsabor

Freya Valens, his daughter/betrothed to Karsten

Isaura Svanter, Thorgils’ wife

Mutt Storman, outlaw

PROLOGUE

The bodies were swathed in pale linen.

Ten of them.

Jael was surprised by how many were small. Tiny. Barely babes.

She thought fleetingly of her daughter, who had died without ever taking a breath.

Lyra.

That tiny blue baby.

Blinking away the memory, she focused instead on the disturbing sight before her. The bodies, laid out in a row, were each placed on their own pyre. Seeing the ashen faces of her brothers, Jael shuddered, struggling to keep her eyes open, wanting to close them against the grief that swept over her.

Her parents had not named the ones lost like her daughter Lyra, or even earlier, though she recognised her older brothers, Stellan and Magnar, who had both died as boys. She saw Axl, and Raymon Vandaal, too, for though he was her half-brother, he was still a Furyck.

And then, finally, she saw herself.

Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands.

Dead.

She looked no older than she was now: thirty-one years.

And with a shiver that jerked up her legs to her shoulders, Jael finally forced her eyes away from the dead bodies to the man watching them. He perched on a familiar throne, thick black eyebrows knitted together over a pair of grief-stricken eyes. Resting an elbow on his knee, he held up his head with an unsteady hand. His dark hair, streaked with silver, hung down, seeking to avoid that which he did not wish to see.

His offspring. All of them gone.

Ranuf Furyck’s sobs came like waves in ever more wretched crescendos. And now he brought both hands up to his face, burying his tears, coughing out his cries of anguish.

Jael wasn’t sure she had ever seen her father cry, yet here he was before her, completely unmoored by grief. She blinked, thinking of her daughter Bo, who was most certainly a Furyck. She scanned the wrapped bodies again, fearing that one of the smaller ones might be her own child, though their faces were covered. ‘Father?’ she tried, stepping forward.

Ranuf jolted as though struck by lightning. Blinking away his tears, he stared at his daughter. ‘It was supposed to be you, Jael. You were supposed to save us. It was supposed to be you!’

Jael woke up, drenched by an icy wave, spluttering in surprise as she sought to move. Everything hurt, and despite it being summer, she was frozen solid.

Eadmund Skalleson mumbled beside her, tugging his wife’s arm, trying to pull her away from the waves, though he was half asleep, too, and no help. ‘Have to... move.’

‘Ow!’ Jael remembered her broken ribs as she finally wriggled away from where another wave was drowning those who’d curled against Sea Bear’s gunwale to shelter from the cold.

‘What! What’s happening?’ Thorgils Svanter spluttered, popping up his curly red head. ‘Storm?’ He spat out a mouthful of briny seawater and rolled up onto his knees. Dragging his sodden fur away from the gunwale, he followed after his cousin, who had already crawled away to find a drier spot to sleep, for it was still hours till dawn.

A wincing Jael edged towards Eadmund, who seemed to have fallen straight back to sleep.

‘Did you have that dream again?’ he murmured, eyes closed. Thunder clapped overhead, and now he blinked, reaching for his wife, who curled into him, back pressed against his chest, seeking warmth.

She didn’t speak as he draped an arm over her, holding her gently.

She was still half there.

In that dream.

She saw her father’s tear-filled eyes again – the great loss of hope in them – and she felt the truth of the dream as though it had settled inside her.

A chilling certainty.

The end of the Furycks was coming.

PART I

LONG LIVE THE KING

1

Queen Amma Furyck rubbed her belly, waiting patiently as her servants dressed her. She was barely pregnant, and there wasn’t much of a bump, though she felt the strongest desire to hold her unborn child in her hands. He would be so small, she knew, tiny, but after what had happened the last three times, she wanted to keep him safe.

Tears came quickly, despite a desperate attempt to force them away. Her two servants were pleasant enough girls, competent and helpful, though she didn’t trust them not to gossip. Being the Queen of Brekka, she found herself judging everyone in a way she never had before, always trying to guess what they were thinking about her. Some eyed her with scorn they thought they were masking with a smile, though Amma could read their eyes, knowing that they thought little of her. They believed Axl deserved a better queen – one who could deliver him a healthy heir – not the daughter of a disgraced usurper who had suffered three heartbreaking miscarriages.

Her mother-in-law burst into the royal bedchamber with a beaming smile. ‘Jael’s here!’ Seeing that Amma was still being dressed, Gisila frowned, though noticing the pale cast of the queen’s gaunt face, she felt some sympathy. Her eyes snapped to Amma’s belly, saying a silent prayer, for Axl was in desperate need of an heir, and poor Amma had to give him one soon. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt you, my dear. I should have knocked. I thought you would have been... further along. Though it is good to see you out of bed.’

Amma smiled. ‘I sipped the tea Biddy made, though I still ended up gripping the sick bowl. I wanted to get up, though. I can’t keep staying in bed.’ Gisila’s smile was bright, though there was something in her eyes beyond mere sympathy now. Amma saw doubt. Doubt that she would carry this child to term.

A sudden flurry of busy noise rushed into the bedchamber, and Gisila turned to see her black-haired granddaughter, Bo, toddle in with her older brother, Sigmund, a flustered Biddy not far behind them.

‘I’m trying to steer them in the right direction,’ Biddy chuckled apologetically as the children raced in, and then her voice became sterner. ‘If you want to see your mama and papa, then we have to leave the hall behind! My ladies,’ she added with the bob of her curly grey head.

Amma shooed away her servants, deciding that she was dressed enough to head to the harbour, and she knew for certain that her sister-in-law would care little for any adornments. Bo turned towards her, reaching out a tiny hand, and Amma’s heart swelled. She smiled warmly at the little girl, and taking a deep breath, she let her niece lead her out of the chamber.

* * *

King Axl Furyck had been up early, training with his stepfather, Gant. There was a welcome peace in those moments before the sun truly brightened the sky, a quiet solitude that he savoured. A coolness to the air, too, which he’d enjoyed as Gant had run him ragged around the training ring.

They’d argued while they fought, continuing that argument as they made their way to the harbour. Though seeing the incoming ship, Axl had quickly shelved their debate, and sending his steward scurrying away with orders to ready the hall for his guests, he’d turned his attention to himself. Most days, he wore a crown and finely-made clothes, though he’d thrown on an old tunic to train in, and it was sweat-stained and splattered in mud, much like his boots and his face.

Now he felt his sister’s eyes sharpening as she stood before him – those green eyes he knew so well. He wasn’t a dreamer like Jael, though he’d certainly learned to detect displeasure in them over the years.

Displeasure, disapproval, disappointment.

Although studying her closely and inhaling a whiff of her, Axl was surprised to discover that he was in a far more presentable state than the Queen of Oss, who was a bruised and battered mess before him. Her faded blue tunic was torn, her trousers and tall leather boots were muddy. She had braids in her long dark hair, as she always did, though they were mostly undone.

And though one of her eyes was swollen and bruised, the other peered at him with a familiar intensity.

‘What happened to you?’ he wondered, clasping arms with his brother-in-law, Eadmund, who smelled like the sea but looked in far better shape than his wife. Axl touched his eye, inclining his head to Jael.

‘Just a little battle,’ she sniffed, shifting her attention from her brother to Gant, who attempted to hug her. Holding out a hand, she stepped back. ‘Broken ribs.’

‘Ribs?’ Eadmund grinned. ‘Thought it was just the one?’

A frowning Jael shrugged. ‘Rib or ribs, they hurt all the same.’

Gant couldn’t help but agree. He was happy to see his stepdaughter, and the smile that wrinkled his cheeks twinkled brightly in his grey eyes. ‘Your children will be pleased to see you. Biddy too. They seem to enjoy making her run around after them.’

Jael finally smiled, looking down the pier for a glimpse of her two favourite ratbags, though it was her dogs she saw bounding towards her first. And ignoring her broken rib or ribs, she bent down as Ido and Vella came bounding up to her. She ignored her black eye, her bruises and cuts too. Every part of her ached, throbbed, and demanded she lie down while Biddy pressed poultices and smeared balms over her while telling her off, but after a great licking from her furry hounds, she straightened up with only one thought on her mind: ‘I need to see Edela.’

* * *

Despite her seventy-six years, Edela Saeveld liked an early start, so she had headed into the forest long before the sun was up. The deep green Tuuran forest was where she’d spent her youth, and though her memories of Tuura were tainted by the bad experiences she’d since endured, she had enjoyed being back.

Feeling useful again.

The Temple of Tuura had recently been rebuilt, and the new elderman had undertaken the arduous task of rebuilding its reputation, too, seeking to scrub away the dark stain left by The Following. He wanted Tuura and its sacred temple to once again become the home of knowledge and education in the North – a sanctuary for those gifted by the gods. Young dreamers needed guidance to ensure that their powers were not corrupted by those with evil intentions. So it was important that they had a place to come to, where they could be guided through what was often the most challenging time of their lives.

Edela thought about that as she headed for a crown of mushrooms, smiling as the rising sun forced glowing rays through the dark trees. There had been nearly four years of peace. Four years since the horrors at the Vale of the Gods had rippled across Osterland. But though the evil wrought that day had been vanquished, darkness remained in many forms. Every kingdom in Osterland had experienced waves of devastating sickness – a true plague of death and loss. Added to that, the weather had been extreme. After the wettest summer anyone could remember and a ruined harvest, they had experienced an unusually long, bitter winter, and now spring had been wet too.

Edela was a dreamer, and despite the pleasure of the early morning sunshine, she felt despair tugging at her. Often it felt as though a rope was tied around her ankle, and that rope was fixed to an anchor, determined to drown her.

Shivering, she turned to her two miserable-looking companions, both of whom, she could tell, still wanted to be back in their beds. Smiling now, Edela sought to claim the girls’ attention. ‘We must make haste if we’re to get back to the cottage for breakfast. I promised Ayla some nettles for pancakes, and I’m certain I can hear her belly rumbling from here. Likely she’ll be making them all for herself if we don’t hurry!’ And though she could see that the girls weren’t particularly spurred on by the thought of nettle pancakes, she was. Ayla liked to roll them, stuffing them with soft cheese, and they’d become her favourite breakfast since they’d arrived in Tuura.

So, mouth-watering and stomach rumbling, she sought to get on with things.

She’d brought the two girls, Lina and Siggy, along with her, hoping to teach them about gathering plants and nudge them towards a kind of truce. They bickered constantly, neither girl having many friends in the temple. Edela had thought that if she could get them alone, they might discover that they didn’t hate each other as much as they thought. Perhaps, too, they would even start to forge a friendship, for it was obvious to Edela that they both needed one.

‘I need to... relieve myself!’ Siggy called, disappearing behind a tree.

Edela sighed, watching Lina head off after the younger girl. The rising sun disappeared behind puffs of clouds, and the sudden loss of brightness dented her enthusiasm. She felt like sitting in her fur-covered chair, feet soaking in a bucket of warm water and comfrey. A little calendula and lavender, too, she thought wistfully. And then she grinned, imagining what her granddaughter would say about that. ‘You’re getting old, Grandmother,’ she could hear Jael mocking in her ear. ‘Time to be tucked into bed and await the end!’

Turning around, she saw a man emerge from behind a tree.

Seeing her, he pulled up, frowning in annoyance.

‘Bertel?’ Edela felt equally annoyed. She didn’t want any distractions for the girls or herself. They had things to do, and Bertel Knutson, a know-it-all elder, had a way of intervening in every situation he came across, confident that he knew more than everyone else.

Bertel strode towards her, flapping his hands, trying to shoo her away. ‘Edela, I... was hoping for privacy. Silence.’

She blinked at him, holding her ground. ‘And I the same. I have the girls with me. Lina and Siggy. I am teaching them.’

Bertel was a tall man, lean and angular, with a serious face, rarely smiling. He peered down at Edela now with sharp grey eyes. ‘Though here is where I come to find my peace. A place of silence and contemplation. I come here often. And you? There are many places you could go.’

Edela snorted. ‘But I was here first, we were, so if you wish to enjoy the silence, I would advise you to return to the temple. Surely it is the quietest place to go? The forest is for everyone, for all of us, not just for you, Bertel Knutson.’

Bertel became incensed. ‘I’m not sure any dreamer has ever been so insolent. So disrespectful,’ he sniffed. ‘But as elders, we are your betters. You owe us a measure of respect.’

‘Betters?’ Edela laughed. ‘Who taught you that? For whoever did should not be teaching anything! Hmmphh, but you are no one’s better and nor should you aspire to be. My gifts come from the gods. I am a dreamer thanks to their benevolence. And you? You are an elder, from what I hear, solely because of your own!’

Bertel’s sagging cheeks reddened. ‘Well, I... you are quite simply the rudest woman I have ever met!’ And now he clamped his lips together, turning away, though he was soon wheeling back around. ‘You have been welcomed in by the elderman, though I will have a word with him about the wisdom of that decision. I will! Oh, believe me, I will! And you will not send me on my way like an annoying child. As you say, the forest is for everyone, so I shall be over there, behind that oak, carrying out my own ritual in what I can only hope will be total silence!’ He heard girlish giggling in the distance, and rolling his eyes, Bertel stumbled into a hole as he hurried away.

Edela watched him go with a smile, then feeling a sudden chill, she spun around to see dense fog where moments earlier had been a light-filled clearing.

‘Edela, come. We must speak with great urgency.’

Though a surprised Edela couldn’t even move, for before her, she was certain, stood Furia, Goddess of War.

* * *

Jael frowned at Gant as they headed away from the pier towards the open harbour gates leading into Andala’s fort. ‘Tuura? Why has Edela gone to Tuura?’

Axl walked ahead of her with Eadmund, who carried Bo. Jael had been holding her three-year-old stepson, Sigmund, for a time, but he’d wriggled out of her arms and was now riding on Thorgils’ shoulders, ordering him to run like a horse. Becoming distracted, she turned around to frown at them both, and at Fyn, who was walking with an uncertain-looking Milla Ulfsson. They had brought the girl with them from Alekka, though reading her thoughts, Jael realised that Milla was doubting her decision to leave her home behind. She didn’t blame her, but having been sent away from Andala to marry Eadmund, she knew that often what felt like the wrong path initially turned out to be exactly where you were meant to go all along.

Turning back around, she focused again on Gant.

‘Oh, you know your grandmother. Edela can never sit still for long. After the long winter, she was itching for an adventure. Ayla went to keep an eye on her. Gisila insisted.’

A troubled Jael nibbled her swollen lips.

And seeing that, Gant leaned towards her. ‘What happened then? To you? Haven’t seen you looking this bad in a long time,’ he chuckled. ‘Your mother won’t be pleased about your face.’

‘When are they returning then? Edela and Ayla?’

‘Not for some time, I’d say. You could go and visit her?’

‘In Tuura? No, no, I...’ Jael wouldn’t go to Tuura; she simply couldn’t. But if she didn’t speak to Edela...

‘Jael! Whatever has happened to you? Your face!’ Gisila Olborn, former Queen of Brekka, bustled forward in an elegant red dress, long dark hair streaming behind her. She saw Eadmund and Thorgils and the crew of Islanders making their way into the fort, but the mess of her only daughter’s face captured her attention entirely. She made to embrace Jael, who stepped back, hand out.

‘Just a battle, Mother. Nothing to worry about. We won!’ And with that, she strode past an open-armed Gisila towards Amma, and now she smiled warmly, kissing her sister-in-law on the cheek. ‘You look tired.’

Amma was just as horrified by the mess of Jael’s face but far less inclined to mention it. She dropped her eyes to her hands, once again clasped in front of her belly. ‘Well, I don’t seem to be very good at being pregnant.’

Jael had seen the sadness in Amma’s kind brown eyes, and taking one of her hands, she squeezed it. ‘Though they don’t hand out prizes, do they?’

Looking up, a surprised Amma saw the strength in Jael’s eyes. Jael was her cousin as well as her sister-in-law, and she knew how much she had been through herself, and yet, here she was, obviously having survived some new threat, still smiling. It gave her a lift, and she stood up straighter as she walked beside her.

‘It’s been a long few weeks,’ Jael sighed. ‘I think we all need some ale!’

Behind her, Thorgils bent to the ground, depositing his curly-haired passenger. ‘You hurry along to the hall, young Sigmund Skalleson. Tell those in there that we’ll be needing all the ale they have!’ Turning around, he winked at a nervous-looking Milla. ‘A few cups of ale will set us right. Hopefully, something to eat too!’ And turning back with purpose, he lengthened his already long stride.

His cousin, Fyn, smiled shyly at Milla. ‘We won’t be here long. A couple of days, I think Jael said. Then we’ll go home to Oss.’ Seeing the nervous look on her face, he hurried to add: ‘Though if you change your mind, if you want to go back to Alekka, I can take you. Jael will let me have a ship. She wouldn’t force you to stay somewhere you don’t want to be.’

A nodding Milla’s cornflower blue eyes were peeled wide open, both intimidated and entranced by everything Andala had to offer. The harbour itself was larger than anything she’d seen before and certainly bigger than the small fishing village she’d come from in Alekka; she’d already counted at least twenty ships moored at the piers. Crews of noisy men were unloading great swathes of furs and gleaming, glittering trinkets into hand carts and onto the backs of donkeys and oxen, which were then led through the gates. Some were being stopped, their goods inspected by the harbour master’s eagle-eyed assistants. Others, she assumed, had already paid the toll required and were moving about freely, heading, she could see, towards a market.

Passing through the open gates, the noise hit her like a wave, and excitement quickly overcoming any nerves, Milla grabbed Fyn’s hand and pulled him into the crowd.

* * *

Edela shook and shivered before the goddess, feeling no hint of the sun’s warmth now, for Furia rose above her like an ebony-haired raven, blocking it out. She was taller than Jael, and broader, her body appearing to vibrate with intensity. Her dark-green cloak swept behind her, revealing a fine golden swordbelt replete with weapons. They all glowed, as Furia’s green eyes appeared to glow, though despite the demands on her attention, Edela glanced over her shoulder to where Lina and Siggy had gone.

Bertel Knutson too.

‘They will not return until I will it.’ Furia spoke with impatience, jaw clenched. ‘And it is not your companions I wish to speak about, Edela. It is you. I need to know if you are capable of doing what must be done? Or are you too tired, too old, too past your best to be useful to me? Too fearful to save those you love from their doom?’

‘Doom?’ Edela’s mouth hung open. She stared up at Furia in horror, eventually croaking out a simple, ‘me?’

‘Tell me who else?’

But with an open mouth and an empty mind, Edela couldn’t.

‘There is no one I can trust now but you, so hear my words and hear them clearly. You must go. Leave Tuura. Men have come to the fort, enemies to all dreamers, and if you and those girls remain here, you will be killed. And you cannot be killed, Edela, for I need you. You have work to do, so leave here now. Do not go back. Not to Tuura or Brekka, not to your family. Find the boat, Edela, before the men find you. Find the boat and head south. It will lead you to your path. Follow it, and things will become clear. You will see what to do.’ Furia paused, studying the old dreamer, knowing there was little time to impart her message in a way Edela alone would understand. ‘Some paths are treacherous, though necessary, but do not give up. Whatever happens, whatever challenges come, and they will come, dreamer, you must never give up.’

Edela was sure that her heart had stopped. It hurt to breathe.

Now Furia stepped closer. ‘You will be on your own,’ the goddess warned, opening her hands. ‘I cannot guide you.’

Seeing symbols on Furia’s palms, Edela blinked, and hearing a noise behind her, she swung around, once again looking at that tree through the streaming clouds of fog. Lina and Siggy still hadn’t emerged, and she feared for them. Spinning back around, she saw that Furia had gone, though the goddess’ words echoed: ‘Find the boat, Edela, before the men find you. Find the boat and head south.’

A dazed and frightened Edela straightened up, shook her head and started bellowing. ‘Girls! Girls! Hurry! We must go! We must go now!’

* * *

‘When will we go home, Mama?’ a blonde-haired Sigmund Skalleson wanted to know, tugging his mother’s dirty trouser leg. ‘I want to go!’

He was loud, and though Biddy looked embarrassed, glancing around the hall at those who were staring, Jael just laughed. She helped herself to a cup of ale from the tray Axl’s fast-acting steward held out to her. He was red-faced, bustling from one end of the hall to the other, wanting to ensure that the king’s guests were offered refreshments of every variety. ‘Well, I think we can spend a few days visiting, don’t you? They have good food here and nice places to ride. I can take you on Tig, and we can explore the forest.’

Sigmund appeared distracted by that idea, and Jael became distracted by the need to see her horse. Tig would certainly appreciate being back in Andala after a torturous few days at sea, desperate for a ride. She felt like one herself, though there was much demanding her attention, and feeling tired after too many disturbed nights, her mind started to wander.

Andala looked more removed from her memories each time she returned, and each time she returned, she felt less like the woman who had sailed away to start a new life.

It had been nearly five years.

She blinked.

Five years?

Sigmund ran off after the dogs, who’d caught sight of a cat, and seeing Gisila coming her way, Jael quickly sought a word with her husband. ‘I need to decide what to do,’ she said, grabbing Eadmund’s arm and pulling him close. ‘Edela’s in Tuura with Ayla. They’ll be there for some time.’

Eadmund frowned, seeing how disturbed Jael looked. Since she’d first had her strange dream, she’d been acting strange herself, and though she was a dreamer, he knew that Jael desperately needed to hear Edela’s thoughts. ‘Can you do a dreamwalk to her? Perhaps Biddy could help?’

Jael shrugged, draining her cup. Turning to the table, she caught her brother’s eye. Axl had changed his clothes, she saw, noticing the crown upon his head now, his body sheathed in a finely made dark-blue tunic trimmed with gold. He looked more like their father, his hair shorter, darkening since she’d last seen him, and once again, she was drawn back to her dream. ‘Well, I don’t want to go to Tuura, so I may as well try,’ she decided. ‘I’ll talk to Biddy, and she can gather what we need, though I have my doubts. Edela usually carries a symbol stone on her. She knows how to keep herself safe.’

* * *

Edela didn’t usually run. She bustled when she needed to, though mostly she had a steady, waddling kind of walk thanks to her troublesome hips. Now, though, she was truly running, throat burning, sides aching as she clung to Siggy’s hand. Both girls were trying to hurry her along, though she simply couldn’t move any faster. ‘I...’ She had explained about the boat and the danger and the need to escape the fort, though as they reached the bottom of the hill, where it met the River Bole, she saw no boat waiting for them.

Being the older of the two girls, and the bossiest, the blonde-haired Lina Storgard took charge. ‘Stay here, Edela,’ she said, motioning to a boulder. ‘Sit down. We’ll search for the boat.’

Edela nodded, certain that she couldn’t leave the girls behind. If there was danger, she was determined to get them far away from it. ‘Siggy... look beneath that willow! Perhaps it’s not in the... river?’ Not even glancing at the boulder or attempting to sit down, Edela tried to think, though she couldn’t even catch her breath.

Bertel Knutson appeared from behind a tree, and she blinked at him in horror. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Doing? What you said, woman! I was staying far away from you, though now it appears that you are following me! I’m not sure why it’s so hard for us to stay out of each other’s way.’

Edela shook her head, ready to send him away.

Then she heard the screams.

* * *

Ayla Adea sat at the kitchen table, recording her dream. It had been confusing and odd, and she wanted to share it with Edela when the dreamer returned, hopefully with nettles for breakfast. And now she smiled, listening to her empty belly, realising that she wouldn’t last until Edela returned. So, leaving the inky quill on the table and weighting down her piece of vellum with four stones, she headed to the kitchen corner.

When they’d arrived at Tuura, Edela had been adamant that she didn’t want to stay in the temple, so she’d been offered a newly-built cottage on the opposite side of the fort, where both women happily provided for themselves. It was peaceful and warm, and they had started to enjoy the change from Andala, which suddenly seemed so loud and demanding in comparison. Ayla had only meant to stay for a few weeks to ensure that Edela was settled, though she did wonder if she should remain awhile longer. Edela had a new lease on life teaching at the temple, and Ayla, too, was finding ways to be useful.

Though it wasn’t the main reason they had made the journey north.

Lifting a bucket of water, she carried it to the meal fire, trying to decide what she felt like eating. Perhaps she’d only make a tea? Nettle pancakes with soft cheese were what Ayla felt like most of all, but for that, she needed to wait for Edela.

Eyes bulging, she dropped the bucket before the first scream broke the morning silence and was racing to the door when it burst open, two young dreamers running inside, slamming the door closed behind them.

‘Bolt it!’ Ayla ordered, though she feared it wouldn’t be enough. She heard screams of terror, some infused with pain, and glancing at the girls, she headed for the back door. ‘Come with me!’

‘Men are out there!’ one of the girls wailed.

She had only just arrived at Tuura, Ayla knew, barely thirteen. ‘They are, but we’re dreamers, aren’t we? We can see where they can’t!’ Heart thumping, Ayla feared she wouldn’t be able to see a path away from the danger at all. Then she thought of Edela and realised, with trembling limbs, that she had to get out of the fort to warn her. Edela had gone into the forest with those two girls, and Ayla knew that dreamers never saw every danger or threat.

They couldn’t always keep themselves safe.

‘Hurry now!’ she hissed, hearing weapons striking wood.

More screams, coming closer.

‘To me! Here!’ she urged, and nudging aside a pelt with her foot, she revealed a symbol carved into a wooden trapdoor. Lifting the little door in a fluster, she motioned for the girls to come. Those in Tuura had been acutely aware of the threat posed by their enemies, so every new cottage had been built over a cellar. They planned to use them to store root vegetables, though they’d mostly been built as a way to shield themselves from danger.

Ayla ushered the two whimpering girls down the narrow stairs, into the cellar. They would be safe there, and she would go and find Edela. ‘Do not say a word,’ she warned. ‘I’ll come back for you soon. Do not come out.’ Turning around, she hurried to find a knife. She had her eating knife, but she wanted something bigger, sharper.

With a thump and a crack, the door burst open.

Swinging around in horror, Ayla saw an armed man standing before her. His face was mostly in shadow, though she caught the glint of a smile. Snatching a knife off the table, she flung it at him. He swung his shield, catching it on one of its wooden boards. A terrified Ayla closed her eyes, knowing that he would kill her but rape her first. She could hear his hungry, urgent thoughts as he stomped across the creaking floorboards, axe in hand...

2

Siggy found the boat hidden beneath the weeping willow, and she and Lina pushed it into the river.

Watching them, Edela felt caught, suddenly doubting what she was doing. Hearing more screaming, she was reminded of what was unfolding inside the fort.

Ayla was in there. And to just leave her?

Over the past year, Ayla Adea had become her closest companion, one of her dearest friends. She was like another daughter, and she was most certainly a fellow dreamer. So to simply sail away and abandon her to a terrible fate?

Edela struggled to think, soon dragged back into the moment by Bertel Knutson, who was babbling in her face, demanding to know what was happening.

Getting no response from the clearly-dazed dreamer, Bertel turned towards the hill, determined to find out what was happening in the fort, for he, too, could hear the screams.

Edela grabbed his arm. ‘No! You shouldn’t go! It’s too dangerous.’

‘What? What are you saying? You can see what’s happening in there?’

Edela couldn’t, though she nodded, remembering Furia’s warning. ‘Men have come to kill everyone. It’s not safe! We’re leaving. I must get the girls to safety!’

‘Edela?’ Lina called out, having helped Siggy into the boat. ‘You need to come!’

Bertel spluttered, unsteady on the muddy bank. He slid, struggling to keep his balance, both mentally and physically. ‘But... the garrison? They must be doing something? We cannot simply go! We cannot abandon everyone!’

Edela stared at him, wondering if it was all a trick? If perhaps it hadn’t been Furia at all? Edela was Tuuran, therefore she followed Daala and the Tuuran gods, but Furia? Furia was an Oster god, daughter of Vidar, who had long since abandoned his mother, Daala’s, ways.

Maybe it was all a trick?

Closing her eyes, Edela drew in a breath, seeking to still the panic thumping in her breast. After a moment, she opened them, turning to the girls and to Lina’s outstretched hand.

If it was a trick, she decided, whoever it was would not have come as Furia.

That was too odd, too unexpected.

No, it had to have been Furia. And if the goddess was urging her to go, then go she had to. She turned to Bertel. ‘I must leave. We must. If you go back to the fort, you will die.’

Bertel stared at her as she made her way to the riverbank, arms out like fluttering wings as she stepped over slippery rocks, into the reeds and towards Lina’s hand.

‘Where are we going?’ Lina asked, brow furrowed, one eye on Bertel hovering in the distance. She looked as uncertain and vulnerable as Edela had ever seen her.

Edela turned to see Bertel coming now, hesitant in his steps, but the screams were becoming a crescendo in the distance, and they could clearly hear the sound of clashing blades now.

Quickening his pace, Bertel watched as the two girls pulled Edela into the small rowboat, hearing her cry out as her knee buckled beneath her.

Righting herself with Lina’s help, Edela looked around, getting her bearings, seeing sunlight highlighting the undulating ripples of the current. She saw an uncertain Bertel, who ignored Lina’s hand and scrambled into the boat himself, immediately rocking it. An unsteady Edela gripped the bow, making her decision. ‘We head south.’ And with that, she crouched down as the girls sorted themselves out on the solitary bench, taking one oar each, and a silent Bertel balanced them all by sitting down in the stern.

And squeezing her eyes shut, Edela tried to reach Ayla.

* * *

‘Lucky Bram didn’t come,’ Thorgils decided, inclining his head to the ale jug, which Fyn had taken command of, and holding out his empty cup, he sought a refill. ‘No point with Ayla being gone.’

Fyn couldn’t help but agree.

‘Who’s Ayla?’ Milla wanted to know. She was feeling more confident after a hearty breakfast and assurances from Fyn and Thorgils that she had nothing to fear from the King of Brekka, what with him being Jael’s little brother and thoroughly afraid of her.

Milla had laughed at that, not blaming him.

‘Ahhh, Ayla,’ Thorgils grinned, eyeing his cousin. ‘Do you want to explain, or shall I?’

Fyn took the lead. ‘Ayla came to Oss as a prisoner of Eadmund’s brother, his dreamer, but she turned out to be a friend. Her and Bram... they both lost someone, and so they... leaned on each other.’

‘Leaned on?’ Thorgils laughed. ‘Are you sure you know how things work, Cousin?’ Now Thorgils took over, nudging a bright-eyed Milla. ‘Bram and Ayla fell in love. They were sharing a cottage for a time, happy enough, or so we thought. Then Bram took it into his head to propose marriage, and Ayla bolted like a colt. She took a ship and headed for Andala with some story about needing to help Edela.’ Thorgils shook his head, becoming thoughtful. ‘Bram didn’t take it well, did he? Not after what happened to Runa.’

Milla looked confused.

‘My mother,’ Fyn explained. ‘She died before they had a chance to be together. He regretted that, I think.’

‘He certainly did,’ Thorgils put in.

‘So with Ayla, he didn’t want any regrets. All you can ever do is ask, I suppose. Whether the answer is yes or no, at least you know you tried.’

‘Well, isn’t that good advice,’ Thorgils murmured, eyeing Fyn, then Milla. And with a grunt, he stood, heading in search of more food, winking at a moody-looking Jael, who’d been cornered by her mother.

‘I’m not sure what I was expecting when you became a queen, Jael, but it wasn’t this,’ Gisila grumbled, waving her hands in front of her daughter’s face. Though it wasn’t just the black eye and bruises that displeased her. Jael looked like a beggar in her tatty tunic and torn trousers. Her mud-caked boots needed a clean, and as for her hair? She feared there wasn’t a comb in all of Brekka that could get through that long tangle.

Jael peered at her. ‘Truly?’

Gisila sighed, though there was a hint of humour in her eyes now. ‘Well, perhaps it is more that I hoped you would transform, like a caterpillar into a butterfly. That you would blossom into a true queen. Like Amma.’ And now Gisila turned to where the Queen of Brekka perched upon her throne, looking tense.

‘Though Amma is there to give birth to Axl’s heirs. She has to look presentable and smile agreeably and follow her husband around nodding, while servants prod and poke her and braid her hair and make her smell nice. But have you ever known me to be that person? To suffer through that torture?’

Gant approached, sliding an arm around his wife’s waist and kissing her cheek. ‘What are we talking about?’ Though looking at Gisila’s scowl, he didn’t need to ask.

‘About how I’m a constant disappointment,’ Jael grinned.

‘To who?’ Gant wondered. ‘All those whose lives you’ve saved? And that includes both of us, doesn’t it, my sweet?’

‘Hmmphh. Saving lives is worthwhile, of course, and while I don’t deny that you’re very accomplished at it, Jael, surely it doesn’t hurt to have a servant brush that dratted hair or wash those hideous clothes? Someone more than just poor Biddy, who has enough to do looking after your wild children.’ And finally frustrated beyond words, Gisila wriggled out of Gant’s embrace and headed for her son.

‘Ignore your mother,’ Gant said, watching his wife. ‘She’s struggling lately.’

‘With what? Everyone here seems clean and tidy. It’s only us slobby Islanders ruining everything,’ Jael teased, though seeing a shift in Gant’s posture, she frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Why? How long are you here for?’ And now Gant laughed before drawing his stepdaughter away to a quiet corner of the hall where shadows fell over a table, tall chairs creating a wall of privacy.

Not long enough, he thought.

You won’t be here long enough to solve what’s going wrong in Brekka.

* * *

The band of warriors who’d attacked Tuura were after one woman in particular.

‘Edela Saeveld,’ grunted the leader: a bullish man with menacing eyes whose face was disfigured by large brands burned into each cheek. ‘Where is she?’

He had a strange accent, the elderman thought frantically, trying to make sense of the attack. ‘I... I don’t know!’ It was an honest answer but not one the warrior wanted to hear.

He slapped the elderman so hard that he cried out, and when the old man peered up at him again, he was pleased to see that he’d drawn blood; both the elderman’s nose and lip were bleeding. ‘Again,’ he said slowly, bending down now, hardening his voice. Those men who weren’t busy raping and killing and burning had gathered behind him, watching. ‘Tell me again.’

‘She, she is often...’ the elderman began. He was used to telling the truth, but he’d stopped himself, for though he was no dreamer, he could clearly see the horrors that lay ahead for them all. The King of Brekka’s grandmother was here as his guest. He could not serve her up to these foul creatures like a sacrifice. ‘I cannot say. If she is not in her cottage, I cannot say!’

‘Often what?’ Now the scarred warrior grabbed his captive by the hair, lifting him up until his eyes bulged. ‘You may think death will spare you pain, but I can promise you a miserable end before you ever see a glimpse of your gods! A long and slow and painful end for you all!’ He turned now as one of his men returned, carrying a wriggling girl under each arm. With a grunt, he dropped them at his lord’s feet.

The snarling man grabbed the nearest one – a sobbing child with red eyes and a dripping nose. ‘Or perhaps I spare you and just tear up these little ones? How many pieces could I make of them, I wonder? Enough for a stew, I’m sure!’

He was a barbarian, the elderman thought in terror. There were rumours that in some of the more remote kingdoms in the Fire Lands, they consumed human flesh. Shuddering at the thought of it and seeing the great terror in the eyes of the girls before him, the elderman shook his head, resigning himself now. ‘Edela is always up before dawn. She heads into the forest to –’ A sob escaped his quivering lips, eyes filling with tears. He hoped Edela had found a way to see what was coming. ‘She picks plants, herbs. She...’ He shook and shuddered, fear and betrayal making him nauseous. ‘You will find her there!’

* * *

The girls were struggling to row in unison, though Bertel showed no inclination to intervene.

‘Best if we all stay where we are!’ he called down to Edela as Lina and Siggy fought and argued on the bench. ‘We need to get moving with speed, and if we start trying to reorganise ourselves now, we’ll all be taking a bath!’

Edela frowned at him, unhappy with that response. She tried herself. ‘Lina is the strongest rower, Siggy, so let her take the lead. You just need to find a steady rhythm. Imagine yourselves as two arms of one body, and that body has only the one mind. Only the one mouth too!’ She heard Bertel muttering down in the stern, reading his garbled thoughts. Though if he chose to sit on his hands, Edela decided that he could keep his opinions to himself.

‘But she doesn’t listen!’ Lina explained. ‘I’m trying to establish a rhythm. I’ve rowed before. I know how to do it!’

‘My arms aren’t as long!’ Siggy griped. She was usually a quiet, shy girl, hiding beneath a mop of big brown curls, but something about Lina Storgard made her much more vocal. ‘I can’t make the same strokes!’

Still Bertel didn’t intervene, and becoming annoyed, Edela tried again. ‘Lina, you must take that into account. Think of Siggy. You should match her!’

She heard much huffing and puffing, though it was the least of her problems, she realised, seeing Tuura disappearing in the distance, hearing Furia’s words ringing in her ears.

Her mind wandered to Andala and her family, wondering if she would ever see them again.

* * *

‘There are many problems,’ Gant admitted with a sigh. ‘All converging at once, it seems. One of the more troubling ones is something that’s come to our attention only recently. Dreamer problems,’ he added, seeing the confusion in Jael’s eyes before she turned away from him entirely, for Bo had followed them.

‘Hungry, Mama!’

Jael tried to shoo her daughter away. ‘Go and find Biddy, sweetheart. She’ll have something to eat.’

And happy to hear that, Bo Skalleson tottered away.

‘Dreamer problems?’ Jael whispered, turning back.

‘Dead dreamers. Someone is killing them.’

‘Someone? Why?’

Gant leaned across the table. ‘Your brother isn’t as concerned as I fear he should be, so this is just between us, Jael. I can’t make Axl listen to me any more than your mother can make you wear a dress. You’re both stubborn like your father, the pair of you!’ Then seeing something in Jael’s eyes, he frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘Not now. Tell me more about the dreamers.’

And though he was curious, Gant carried on. ‘We’ve heard about ten of them now. Throats cut, hanging from trees like sacrifices.’

Jael blinked. ‘And you let Edela go to Tuura?’

‘Well, it’s why Edela wanted to go. She confided in me. She didn’t want to worry Axl or Gisila, but she was determined to go and find answers.’

‘In Tuura? Where all the dreamers are in one place? If someone wanted to kill dreamers, it’s the perfect place to go.’

Gant feared that himself, though he tried to comfort them both. ‘Tuura has a generous garrison, many trained in Brekka. They’re as safe as I could hope for.’

Jael scratched her neck. ‘Though they’re not here, Gant, and I need to speak to Edela.’ And now she sighed, lowering her voice, eyes sweeping the hall. She saw Amma watching Axl, who was locked in a fierce debate with Eadmund and Thorgils. She looked so pale and thin that Jael felt a tremor of fear for her. Though blinking, she turned her attention back to Gant. ‘I have to speak to Edela. I...’ It felt as though she was sitting on a bed of snakes, as though they were crawling beneath her, under her tunic, up her back, wrapping tight around her neck.

She sought to take a breath, feeling those same tremors of trauma ripple back to her again.

Tuura.

* * *

Despite Edela’s patient advice, the girls’ arguing continued. Bertel Knutson finally offered a few sharp words, quickly retreating back into a disgruntled silence when Lina and Siggy ignored him.

Though the sniping voices were making it impossible to think.

‘Girls!’ Edela snapped in desperation, rubbing her eyes as the still-rising sun glared into them. ‘We are in danger! Danger! I must think to save us. And fast. Those men who attacked Tuura, they...’ Now she trembled, thoughts of Ayla flooding her mind. She’d seen no sign of her when she’d closed her eyes, though she saw other terrors that gave her real concern.

Siggy looked suitably embarrassed, though Lina just pouted.

‘We’re sorry, Edela. Sorry,’ Siggy said. Ducking her chin to her chest, freckly face lost beneath her curls, she focused on keeping her oar in time with Lina’s. Her arms were already aching, for though they were being driven by the current, there was still work to do to keep the boat from being drawn too far away from the riverbank.

‘We are sorry,’ Lina added, looking anything but and still pouting. She was a sullen, dour girl, who struggled to smile, and the tension of the early morning escape had only enhanced her miserable features.

She was too plain to be pretty, though a smile would have given a certain kindness to her face, Edela thought distractedly. Twisting around, she felt further unsettled. From the scant glimpses of Tuura she’d seen, dreamers and elders had been killed, and now she started to wonder if those men would follow them.

Looking at Bertel, she saw fear in his eyes for the first time.

‘Where will we go, Edela?’ Siggy wondered, holding back tears.

Edela’s worried eyes drifted to the riverbank, where she saw a man riding a horse. A dog ran alongside him and spying the boat, it started barking. It sounded happy and curious and made to run towards the river, though the horseman snarled at it, and the noise ceased, the dog cowering now, returning to its owner, almost on its belly.

Looking away, Edela tried to answer Siggy’s question. The truth was that there was no answer yet, though the girls would be harder to manage if they didn’t have a sense that she knew what she was doing.

Bertel too.

And though she had no confidence herself, she had to try and give them some. ‘We will carry on, following the river.’

‘Out to sea?’ Lina was horrified, head snapping this way and that.

Edela chuckled. ‘I don’t think our little boat would like that. No, not out to sea. I think... it should take us to Iskavall, all the way to Ollsvik, shouldn’t it, Bertel?’

‘Of course, yes.’

The girls glanced at each other, Lina’s face noticeably paling.

‘Well, that’s what we’ll do then. We’ll head to Ollsvik,’ Edela decided as the skeleton of a plan started forming. The goddess had warned her away from Tuura and Brekka, but she hadn’t said anything about Iskavall.

And Iskavall’s capital was certainly south.

* * *

King Raymon Vandaal considered his sword in silence. Holding it extended in both hands, he watched the light from his open chamber window fall upon the symbols etched into the inlay.

It had been a gift from Ranuf Furyck – his real father. He’d only discovered it after his mother’s death. Going through her things, he’d found a sealed note, written in her hand, leading him towards the wrapped sword, hidden beneath layers of musty-smelling clothes in one of her many chests. Raymon had left it there, spending the last four years trying to convince his lords and the people of Iskavall that he wasn’t a Furyck at all. Though he’d often thought about that sword, and now, at nearly twenty-one years old, orphaned, his reign under constant threat, he found himself looking for a sign as to what to do.

‘You should leave. We should,’ his wife, Getta, huffed, sweeping into the chamber. ‘Whispers are turning into full-throated demands for your head. For both our heads. Raymon!’ She had hurried down the corridor, looking for her husband, worrying about him. Not out of any love or affection but fear. For if he were to die, what would happen to her?

He didn’t answer, though he slid the sword back into its sheath and the sheath into its woollen wrappings, silently folding it up, once again shutting away the possibility of claiming his true heritage, his real name.

‘Raymon?’

Now he turned to his quivering wife, noting her pale face. ‘Leave Ollsvik? But I have been king for nearly five years, Getta, and you have been queen. Longer than most in this place. We are survivors, we have conquered many of our enemies, so why give up now?’

Getta sighed so dramatically that she feared slumping into a heap on the floor. She was exhausted, tired of the effort it took just to stay alive in the nest of snakes that was Iskavall’s capital. ‘Because it is inevitable. You have to see that? You have eyes as I do. And ears! The vultures circle this fort, servants of those families who will have our heads! The Holsunds, the Storgards. Even the Rosviks! The only reason it hasn’t happened yet is because they keep getting in each other’s way, because they’re all so ambitious that they won’t work together. But eventually... eventually, they’ll unite behind one man. You know they will, Raymon.’

Raymon left the sword on his bed and turned to face his wife. She appeared before him like a beautifully dressed little shrew. Her mousy brown hair was pulled back tightly from her sallow face, arranged in intricate rows of braided loops. From her ears hung giant golden hoops, from which dangled little charms, that clinked together as she shook and shuddered in irritation.

He clenched his jaw, stroking his beard, which had grown thick and dark now, matching his shoulder-length brown hair, which had also darkened over the years.

Some whispered that his resemblance to Ranuf Furyck was becoming more pronounced by the day, and though Raymon feared it himself, he couldn’t hide his face. In order to remain on the throne, he couldn’t hide at all.

Now Getta came forward, taking his hands. ‘We could leave and start again? Somewhere new, away from all of this. Another chance. We could get another chance!’

To do what, Raymon wondered? They disliked and distrusted each other. Their only child had died two days before his second birthday, and Getta hadn’t fallen pregnant again.

So why keep up the pretence?

Why keep going on the same miserable path?

‘But these are our people. The whispers and calls for my head, they’re not coming from farmers and craftsmen. They’re coming from ambitious lords clamouring for power. They call me a Furyck because they want the throne for themselves. They want to turn the people against us. But they won’t. I will hold on, Getta, and so will you.’

Raymon held his ground and his wife’s eye, though he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. Getta was right in every way, though he wouldn’t tell her. She was no longer his friend, not someone he wanted to confide in.

Though she was right.

More than anything, Raymon Vandaal wanted to run away.

* * *

‘Running away?’ Eadmund grinned, finding his wife saddling her beloved horse, Tig, outside the royal stables, a mostly unwanted stable boy hovering nearby, biting his nails.

Jael flashed a brief smile, then sighed. ‘Going to think.’

Eadmund came closer. ‘Alone?’

‘Can’t imagine there’s any other way to do it,’ Jael said, turning towards him now, touching his arm. ‘I might have to go to Tuura, and I... need to think about that.’

Eadmund looked surprised. ‘To find Edela?’

A nodding Jael turned back to Tig, who was already growing restless, flicking his black mane over her hands as she checked the bridle. ‘Gant said someone’s killing dreamers. Hanging them from trees like sacrifices... or warnings.’

‘What? Why?’

Jael shrugged, and grabbing a handful of Tig’s reins, she stuck a muddy boot into the stirrup, hoisting herself into the saddle. ‘I don’t know, but something doesn’t feel right. My dream, and now that? I’m not sure a dreamwalk, even if it worked, is going to be enough.’ She fixed her eyes on the hazy blue sky, seeing little to worry about from the weather. Tig’s nostrils flared as he inhaled everything that had once been so familiar to them both. He pawed the muddy ground, urging Jael on. ‘I won’t be long. Tell Sigmund I’ll take him next time.’

Eadmund nodded, stepping out of her path. ‘I’m sure I’ll find something to do while you’re gone.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ Jael winked, and turning Tig’s head, they walked down the main road into the square, eager to escape the fort. Seeing her brother, she held up a hand, dropping it quickly as she aimed for the gates.

Axl watched Jael go, feeling strange. Part of him was happy to see his sister again, though he mostly just wanted her to hurry back to Oss. It was bad enough having Gant picking apart his decisions and his mother fussing over both him and Amma. He was a king treated like a boy by his family, though no one was as judgemental as Jael.

He saw Eadmund coming towards him and froze, doubting he could leave without appearing rude, but desperately not wanting to get involved in a conversation with the man who loved his sister. ‘Not joining your wife?’ he called instead.

‘Not invited!’ Eadmund laughed. ‘You know Jael. She prefers her own company.’

Axl smiled. ‘She’s always been the same, so I wouldn’t take it personally.’

‘Mmmm, I’m almost starting to think it’s not just me.’

Axl turned for the hall. ‘I’ve got a meeting with my council,’ he explained as Eadmund fell in beside him.

‘Well, maybe the children will want my company!’

‘You’re welcome to come along, though it’s nothing that would interest you. I just have to decide how to deal with the unrest down South. Two bad harvests has everyone in a rebellious mood. Constant sickness hasn’t helped, either. Though it benefits no one to start causing trouble.’

Being an island had helped Oss avoid the worst of the sickness, though not the weather, and Eadmund could certainly sympathise with Axl’s problems. He saw Gant striding impatiently towards them, shoulder-length grey hair whipping around his serious face.

‘Join us if you’ve nothing better to do,’ Axl offered, turning to his brother-in-law. ‘Advice is always welcome, though I imagine you’d have more fun doing anything else!’

Eadmund was inclined to agree, though it made sense to keep informed about what was happening in Brekka. Axl hadn’t been particularly forthcoming on that front over the years, and with Jael distracted by her need to speak to her grandmother, he thought it made sense to find out what was happening himself. ‘I may as well come along.’

‘To the meeting?’ Gant asked, eyeing Axl, and when Eadmund nodded, he smiled. ‘Good. The more, the merrier!’

* * *

The girls rowed and complained while Edela sat with her eyes closed, feeling the sun’s warmth intensifying as it rose in the sky. And when she was certain it had reached its peak, she opened her eyes.

‘We need water,’ Lina croaked miserably.

‘And my arms are sore,’ Siggy added, the girls in total agreement for once.

Edela could see that they would need to take a break soon, for she couldn’t offer much assistance, and, according to Bertel, he couldn’t row at all, having dislocated his shoulder in the winter, insisting that it still made him mostly useless. ‘Let’s aim for shore then. We can look for a stream, perhaps find something to eat?’ She’d kept one bag with her when they’d run and had been handing out a few hazelnuts and slices of dried fruit to keep the girls going, but in this heat, they couldn’t go much longer without water.

Bertel nodded. ‘Though we need to make more progress before stopping for the night. I must get to Ollsvik and speak to the king. He can send men back to Tuura. Oh, I can only imagine what horrors have befallen them!’ Shielding his eyes, he peered at Edela. ‘And tell me, what have you seen?’

The two girls turned back to the dreamer, who was busy making annoyed faces at Bertel; she certainly didn’t want to discuss what she’d seen in front of them. ‘We need to focus on getting to shore!’ she insisted loudly, seeing Bertel’s deepening frown.

Siggy and Lina manoeuvred the boat towards the riverbank, and despite making a great noise about the mud and water, Lina stuck her nose in the air and jumped overboard, helping Edela and Siggy up onto the rocky bank.

Leaving Bertel to get himself out of the boat.

‘We have to help each other,’ Edela warned. ‘So we must work together. And we can’t leave the boat in the water. It will drift away.’

Both girls looked ready to sulk and grumble, but shaking off her tiredness, Siggy took the lead and tentatively stepped back down into the water, throwing the rope attached to the bow up to Lina, who started pulling. And together, with a small measure of help from Bertel, they soon managed to drag the little vessel up onto the grass.

‘We have to conceal it,’ Bertel decided, though the nearest row of trees was some way away.

‘Can’t you just make it invisible, Edela?’ Siggy begged in exhaustion, shoulders throbbing. ‘Put symbols around it so people can’t see it?’

Lina scoffed. ‘You can’t make something invisible. No one can do that. That’s magic, and magic isn’t even real! You know what the elders say.’ She looked triumphantly at Bertel, who blinked.

Siggy’s hands went straight to her hips as she stepped forward, ignoring Bertel entirely. ‘It is. Magic is real. I’ve seen it! It truly is real!’ As the youngest of the two girls, there was an innocence about Siggy that, at seventeen, Lina no longer possessed, and Siggy was growing frustrated with the older girl’s attempts to make her as cynical as she was.

Edela ignored them both, hoping that Bertel would intervene. The intense sunlight was giving her a headache, and she desperately sought the shelter of the dark spruce trees ahead. So, leaving all three of her companions behind, she hitched up her dress and started walking. ‘We’ll look for a stream in the forest, and perhaps I’ll illuminate you on the wonders of dreamer magic?’ Turning back to the girls, she winked, seeing Bertel’s disapproving face and then the dripping boat, and she sighed. ‘We’ve no choice but to leave it there. I can’t imagine you’ll want to carry it with us?’

‘I don’t think we could,’ Siggy said with big eyes.

Lina scoffed. ‘Of course we couldn’t! We have to leave it here, Edela. We’ve no choice.’

But Edela wasn’t listening.

She’d heard something, and peering at the forest, she thought she could see shadows moving.

Fearing that someone was watching them.

3

Jael had ridden until she was lost in the silence of the forest, far from the watchful gaze of the sun. It quickly grew cold, and she thought of Oss and how desperate she was to go home. Though she could no longer ignore her dreams. After what had happened in Alekka, she knew how much her dreams could help her save those she loved, and despite a lifetime of loathing them, she had to invite them in. So, loosely tethering a blowing Tig to the bough of a fresh-smelling pine, Jael sat down, resting her back against its trunk.

She shivered in the breeze, thinking of her children and Eadmund. But closing her eyes, she sought instead to see Edela.

Edela had always been like a star in the sky, guiding her to the right path.

The path that led to safety for them all...

* * *

Edela stumbled, teeth slamming together as she ran for the river. She couldn’t move with speed, not on the uneven, slightly boggy ground, but she was moving much faster than she was comfortable with, soon struggling to breathe.

Bertel turned back for her as Lina and Siggy dragged the little boat into the river. Men were coming on horses, aiming directly at them, and they quickly pushed it away from the bank.

‘Hurry!’ Lina urged, splashing down into the water, and scrambling up into the boat, dress dripping, she reached for the oars.

A terrified Siggy splashed after her, then waited, steadying the boat for Edela, who soon arrived with Bertel. He hoisted her into the boat, remaining behind to help Siggy too.

‘Hurry!’ he called. ‘Help Lina!’ And now he threw himself in after them, turning around to see who was coming. He saw the men, dark-haired and dressed in armour. There were at least ten of them, he thought, hearing hooves striking the ground in an ominous rhythm, each thump a warning of how close they were getting.

Thoughts zig-zagged around Edela’s head as she wondered what was happening. Why were these men charging them? Had they followed them from Tuura, or were they another form of danger entirely?

It didn’t matter, she told herself. They simply had to get to safety. Now!

‘They have bows!’ a frightened Lina warned as the first arrows whipped into the air, soon spearing the swaying grass bordering the river.

More arrows splashed into the water near Siggy, and she screamed, almost dropping her oar, wanting to cower in the boat. ‘Aarrghh! Edela!’

Edela crawled into her place in the bow, and hurrying a trembling hand under her cloak, she found her knife, gasping for air as she sliced across her palm. ‘Turn to me, girls!’ she barked, dropping the knife and dipping a finger into the beading blood. Brushing aside Siggy’s curls, she marked a symbol on her forehead. She did the same to Lina as more arrows speared the water around them. ‘Now turn around and row!’ she spluttered, marking her own forehead. And quickly squeezing her bleeding hand, needing more blood, she dipped her finger into the cut again, painting three symbols on the deck. ‘Bertel, help Lina! Siggy, come here!’

Bertel didn’t argue, though he did look surprised that, upon taking Siggy’s place, Edela hurried to paint a bloody symbol on his forehead too.

Crouching down in the bow, trying not to upend the now unbalanced boat, Siggy grabbed Edela’s shaking hands, blinking at her before turning to glance over her shoulder.

‘No, look at me,’ Edela pleaded. ‘Close your eyes, and I will show you how to make magic!’

* * *

Jael saw Edela.

Her blue eyes twinkled in bright morning sunshine.

She was smiling, dressed in a grey dress, covered by a bright blue apron, her woven belt weighed down with many pouches, her apron straps secured with swirling bronze brooches.

She was talking, though Jael couldn’t hear her.

Instead, she heard whinnying horses and slashing blades. She heard pleading voices and cries of anguish. Doors were slamming, furniture was smashing.

She heard the whistle of arrows.

Screams.

And opening her eyes, she felt like vomiting.

Suddenly hot in the cool forest, she blinked, seeing Tig, who turned his black head towards her, mouth full of grass.

Dropping her head, Jael rested it in her hands. Tuura was everything she dreaded, though she was no longer a child. She had children of her own, and she needed to do whatever it took to keep them safe.

Her people too.

Standing up, she made her way back to Tig, shoulders tight, memories of that night in Tuura still clinging to her. She had been running from that night for more than twenty years now, and yet, she could never escape it. Despite being a queen and a warrior, she could not defeat what those men had done to her. It still lived inside her, haunting her daily.

Even now.

Though she couldn’t keep running forever, and if she wanted Edela’s help, she was going to have to go back to Tuura and face her memories head-on.

* * *

Lina screamed as the first men reached the riverbank, and, throwing themselves off their horses and into the water, they started to swim. ‘Edela! Help! Edela!’ she shrieked, losing her rowing rhythm.

‘Keep going!’ Bertel urged beside her. ‘We must keep going, Lina!’

Edela wondered if Furia was watching.

She feared what she was doing, not wanting to open a door she wouldn’t be able to close, but she had to do whatever it took to save their lives.

Squeezing Siggy’s trembling hands, she started chanting.

Shards of red light exploded before her eyes, and for a moment, she thought she heard that familiar old voice again, taunting her. But that, she decided, was simply her fears voicing the doubts she’d always possessed about her gifts.

That she simply wasn’t skilled enough to make magic.

Not powerful enough. Not brave enough.

But shutting out her nagging doubts, Edela released Siggy’s hands, lifting her own to her mouth. She blew a warm breath onto them. It tingled on her palms and shivered through her body. The shards of red light dancing across her eyes were now white, and they grew denser with every breath, and soon they had formed an opaque mist. Now Edela turned and blew that mist towards the men swimming for them and past them to those still on the riverbank, dismounting their horses.

She blew and blew until all they could see from the boat was a wall of mist.

No trees, no river, no threat.

Nothing at all.

Bertel and Lina went quiet opposite her, and all she could hear was the steady creak of their oars turning and the splash as they entered the water. The whistling arrows threatened again, but they couldn’t penetrate Edela’s magic, and she heard only gentle plops of water far in the distance.

Beside her, Siggy’s mouth had dropped open, blood dribbling down her forehead to her nose. She stared, as Lina and Bertel stared, but Edela had no time for any of it. ‘We must row! Lina! Bertel! Please! Row!’

* * *

A resigned Jael left a happy Tig in the paddocks with his friends and made her way to the hall in search of her husband. Instead, she found Gisila and Biddy consoling her two crying children. ‘What’s happened?’

Biddy chuckled, pushing a tearful Sigmund towards his mother. ‘Oh, nothing to worry about. This one just got knocked over by a dog –’

‘He was big, Mama!’ Sigmund insisted with blinking eyes, wiping away his tears. ‘Like a barsk!’

‘And when have you seen a barsk?’ Jael wondered, looking him over.

‘I... Thorgils said they have red eyes! Maybe they’re in the forest?’

Jael laughed. ‘I don’t think so. Likely it was just a big dog. But what happened to you?’ She peered at Bo, whose nose was running, eyes glittering with tears.

Bo broke away from her grandmother, falling into her mother’s arms. ‘Sigmund got hurt!’

Lifting her into the air, Jael smiled. ‘But he’s alright now, isn’t he? He’s a Skalleson. Made of iron, just like your father.’ She hugged Bo, kissed her nose, then let her go. ‘Sigmund, take your sister to find Ido and Vella. If there’s a great barsk lurking around, we need to make sure they’re safe.’

When they were gone, Gisila shivered. ‘Oh, don’t remind me of those horrible beasts, Jael. Of that horrible time. I don’t want to think of that night.’

Biddy agreed, shivering herself as she headed off after the children. ‘They’ll be up to no good before you know it. Best I keep an eye on the little terrors!’

Jael was pleased to hear it and turned to enter the hall, but grabbing her sleeve, Gisila held her back. ‘We need to talk about Axl.’

Jael rolled her eyes. ‘Now? But I have to speak to Eadmund.’

‘Well, I’m sure that can wait. We don’t have much time together, and there’s so much to say.’

Jael pulled away from her. ‘I can’t fix Axl for you, Mother. It’s not up to me or you. He has to find his own way. I’ve told you that before.’ She eyed the hall again, then feeling the great swell of her mother’s worries, she turned towards her, holding back a sigh. ‘What’s wrong with Axl now?’

Slipping an arm through her daughter’s, Gisila tugged her away. ‘He’s not your father,’ she whispered when they were far from the hall. It didn’t do to speak openly, she knew, well aware of the vociferous appetites of Andala’s gossips, though as they headed into the crowded square, few came near. Gisila smiled wryly, imagining that they were all afraid of her daughter.

Jael snorted, wriggling away from her mother’s clutches once more. ‘And this is only dawning on you now, Mother? But Axl can only be himself. He was never going to be another Ranuf Furyck. He wasn’t as a child, so why would he suddenly transform into him now?’

Gisila struggled to communicate with her daughter at the best of times, and though their patience with each other generally ran out before they got anywhere, she persevered; her worries for Axl were far more important than any nitpicking she felt compelled to partake in. ‘What I am trying to say is that your father reigned until his death. If that terrible illness hadn’t taken him, he’d still be here, like a great lump of stone, sitting on his throne or roaming around Brekka, taking charge. He was always in charge, Jael. He had advisors, councillors, as many as Axl, but he was always the leader. He made the decisions. He ruled. When I looked at him, I felt safe. I had many problems with your father, and we weren’t always happy, but I trusted that he would be there, Jael. Here. In Andala, on that throne. And with Axl, I feel only uncertainty. He...’ Swallowing, Gisila forced back tears, though her lips started quivering.

‘He’s still young,’ Jael tried. ‘And it can’t be easy having to live up to the expectations that he should be like Ranuf. I know I couldn’t have.’

Gisila grabbed her hands. ‘But that’s simply not true. You look like a filthy wreck, and I’ve never been able to change that, though I’ve always seen your father in you, Jael. You have that same certainty he did. The same Furyck sense of righteousness. You were born to lead. You’ve always known it was your sworn duty, your destiny, your path to command your people, but Axl...’

Jael felt odd. It was rare for her mother to say anything nice about her, and she half-doubted she’d heard her correctly. ‘You can’t control Axl or make him into someone else. He was born this way, he’s grown up to be this way, and now, he’s a man and a king. All the choices are his. Every path he walks down is the one he picked. You can’t walk it with him or choose it for him. I’ll talk to him, I’ll try to help, but he’s never listened to me. Never!’ Hearing her name, she turned around, seeing the bushy head of Thorgils Svanter heading her way. Jael returned her attention to her mother, remembering her dream and how many children Gisila had lost. ‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ she smiled. ‘Axl...’ She saw her brother’s face as he lay on that pyre, and her beside him. ‘I’ll talk to him. I will.’ And now, unable to stop the horror of her dream showing on her face, she turned around to Thorgils, who was walking with Fyn and Milla.

‘Want to show these Brekkan shits how we fight on Oss?’ Thorgils grinned. ‘I could do with stretching out my sword arm after all that sailing.’

Jael peered at him. ‘You do remember that I’m Brekkan?’

Thorgils laughed, patting her shoulder and attempting to steer her towards one of Andala’s training rings. ‘So you’ll know all their tricks then. Just pass them on before we get in the ring. Make it more interesting! Perhaps we put a wager on it?’ he mused, nudging Fyn.

But shaking her head, Jael held her ground. ‘I’m not coming. Not today. I need to speak to Eadmund. I can’t go back to Oss with you. I have to go to Tuura.’

* * *

Axl’s council meeting intrigued Eadmund.

He’d been in many meetings run by various kings, but this one surprised him more than any other, for it appeared that Axl Furyck had given up his power.

He saw Gant gnawing a toothpick on the opposite side of the giant map table, flanked by two men, who mostly talked over both Gant and the king.

Axl spoke little, often just prodding the conversation along and then retreating, wanting to hear what everyone else thought.

It was as though he didn’t need to be there at all.

The two men were Axl’s oldest friends – Hal Harbak and Erling Venberg. They showed no deference to the king, their friend, speaking with such freedom that Eadmund found himself doubting who was in charge.

He’d met both men before and hadn’t liked them then. Though in the nearly nine months since he’d last been in Andala, he could see that their influence over the king had become much more pronounced.

Hal and Erling oozed privilege, as though they stood on the shoulders of everyone else, smelling cleaner air, enjoying a better view. At times, it appeared that they thought they stood above the king himself.

It was shocking.

Eadmund struggled to keep his eyebrows fixed in a neutral position, for with every statement, the urge to lift them in surprise and to direct that surprise at Gant grew.

Eventually, he couldn’t contain himself any longer, and against his better judgement, he spoke. ‘We’ve suffered on Oss, on all the islands, and though we’re luckier than most, we all need grain. Empty bellies don’t make us prosperous. If we, as kings and lords, sit at our tables enjoying course after course of meat and bread, fish and vegetables, while parents starve to feed their children, how could we expect anything but unrest?’

It was Gant’s eyebrows rising now as all attention turned Eadmund’s way. He heard the creak of floorboards as Jael entered the hall, and no one spoke as she made her way up to join her husband.

‘What’s happened?’ she wondered, glancing at Gant, quickly realising that everyone was staring at Eadmund. And like a cat sensing danger, she felt her hackles rising, turning to her brother. ‘What are we discussing then? The dreamer killings? It’s certainly troubling. Puzzling too. Are there any clues?’

Axl shook his head. ‘Dreamer killings?’ Now he scratched it. ‘No, we were discussing the unrest in Valso.’ Then seeing Jael’s frown intensify, he wished he hadn’t spoken at all.

‘You need to feed them,’ she said, quickly switching subjects. ‘Hungry people are tired people, and tired people are angry people. Feed them, Axl. Help them. You’re the king. Send them aid and help them recover. Give them a chance to thrive again. Though the unrest isn’t your most pressing problem, whoever is killing those dreamers is.’ A snort claimed her attention, and Jael turned to rest her eyes on a face she knew all too well: Hal Harbak, an ambitious oaf she’d hoped her brother had left in the past, yet, here he was, with his equally odious friend, Erling Venberg, both of them standing beside Axl with an air of importance that quickly rankled. ‘You disagree? I’m sorry, it’s been so long, I’ve... forgotten your name.’

Hal looked surprised and offended, though he didn’t offer it to her.

‘You remember Hal, and Erling. You must? They were my childhood friends,’ Axl said with a forced smile, seeing the tension in his sister’s jaw, the sudden darkness in her green eyes. She had a temper as explosive as sea-fire, and she’d always had a particular hatred of his friends.

‘And now they’re your...?’

‘Counsellors,’ Hal smiled. ‘Your brother has recognised our contribution.’

‘To what? Creating a situation where your people are rising against you? And what advice did you provide to make that happen? Was it to do nothing? Or perhaps you suggested he send more men to quash the violence? To punish those speaking out?’

Hal bristled, squaring narrow shoulders. He was a thin man and conscious of it, particularly when surrounded by powerful-looking men like the King of Oss, whose biceps strained his tunic sleeves as he leaned forward. ‘They were hardly speaking out. They were threatening violence!’

Ignoring him, Jael turned to Axl. ‘And what about the dreamers? What are you doing to protect them?’

‘You don’t think dreamers can protect themselves?’ Hal mused. ‘But surely they should see the danger coming?’

Jael slowly turned to him, eyes flaming. ‘Perhaps I need to wear a crown to remind everyone that I’m a queen?’

An embarrassed-looking Hal bobbed his head. ‘Of course,’ he muttered. ‘Apologies, my lady.’

Axl had hoped that Eadmund might rein in his wife. Or Gant. Though shaking his head, he knew there was little that could stop Jael when she had the bit between her teeth. ‘I have men searching for answers. As it stands, we don’t know what’s happening to the dreamers, but there have only been ten, Jael. Ten deaths. We’re doing what we can, though the threat appears less than the one offered by those creating trouble in the South. They’re not just hungry villagers struggling to feed their children.’ Now he glared at Eadmund, feeling burdened by both his opinionated visitors. ‘They’re likely plotting to overthrow me under the guise of caring about poor harvests and high taxes.’

‘You’re not still collecting taxes?’ Jael was horrified, hearing Gant’s intake of breath.

Axl glared at her. ‘You think I should stop? Because of their complaints? That I should submit to their demands? Weaken myself?’

‘I think you should remember what Father said. He cared about Brekka’s safety, as well as her prosperity. A kingdom cannot thrive when either is under threat. If you place too great a burden on your people, they will break. If you hang a stone anchor around their necks, what do you expect them to do? Choose you or those who offer hope of a different future? A better, fairer one?’

Amma swept into the hall with a nervous smile. ‘I have organised refreshments,’ she said in a small voice, though those at the table had fallen into silence, and everyone heard her perfectly.

‘Thank you,’ Axl mumbled, turning to his wife, who looked so pale. He tried not to become distracted by that. His fears for her, for his kingdom, for his people...

Sometimes it felt as though he was drowning in problems.

He gripped the map table, trying to still his galloping heart.

Jael had no interest in eating. She sensed Eadmund trying to catch her eye, but ignoring him, she aimed for her brother instead.

Amma stepped in between them, offering Jael a plate of something she didn’t want. ‘Will you and Eadmund be attending Karsten Dragos’ wedding?’

Jael’s irritation rose and then immediately subsided, for Amma was having such a difficult time and trying so desperately to smooth things over that she thought she might as well let her. Her shoulders dropped, and she absentmindedly took what appeared to be a dried fig. Turning, she handed it to Eadmund. ‘Karsten’s what?’

‘Wedding. To Freya Valens of Helsabor. You didn’t receive an invitation?’

Jael shook her head. ‘Though we haven’t been home for some time. I imagine it’s there waiting for us.’

‘And will you go?’

Jael blinked at her sister-in-law. ‘Why is Karsten marrying a Helsaboran? What happened to Hanna?’

Amma stared at her as though looking straight through her before shoving the plate at Jael and swinging around, running out of the hall.

Axl grinned. ‘She’s been doing a lot of that lately.’

Hal and Erling laughed, and Jael was once again reminded of what a pair of tits they were. She was pleased that Axl shot them a look of disapproval, though it seemed to have little effect.

Eadmund gobbled down the fig. ‘Want to get out of here?’ he whispered. ‘Or are you still feeling like a fight?’

Jael didn’t answer, though eventually, she handed the plate of figs to him and headed out of the hall.

* * *

Ollsvik’s hall was a gloomy place, and though Raymon had always thought it, he had never done anything to change it. Getta apparently didn’t mind the dour ambience, for she had never mentioned it, but as Raymon sat on his throne on what was a fine spring day, he couldn’t help but feel glum. The fires crackled before him, his quiet servants busy creating new centrepieces on each table with flowers and sprigs of fir. He remembered how his mother had loved to take him down to the shore to collect shells and driftwood. They would come back, and she would spend hours decorating the tables while he played with his dogs, getting in her way.

It had made her happy, and he imagined her smile, bright before him, before it faded and he was left staring at one of the servants.

Raymon’s steward stood beside him, handing his king the messages delivered that morning. He tossed most of the scrolls onto the table beside his throne, though one caught his eye, and after reading it, he passed it to Getta, who sat silently beside him. ‘There’s to be a wedding. Karsten Dragos is marrying.’

Getta’s sharp eyes snapped to the scroll, and taking it from her husband, she devoured its contents with speed. ‘He is marrying a daughter of Helsabor!’ she exclaimed loudly, causing many heads to turn her way.

‘Well, good luck to him. They’ve always been a strange bunch down there. Karsten’s a brave man.’

‘He’s a smart king,’ Getta retorted. ‘Don’t you see? If anything happens to Herold Valens’ son, Freya will have a claim to Helsabor’s throne. And if they unite the two kingdoms against us?’

Raymon dismissed her worries. ‘United with Brekka and Tuura, we’d more than match any threat they posed. Besides, I trust Karsten. We’ve had peace since he took Hest’s throne.’ Raymon’s eyes wandered to two servants who’d entered the hall, one rolling a barrel of ale, another lugging two casks of wine. They were whispering to one another, and Raymon watched their eyes dart to the king and queen before dropping speedily to the reed-covered floorboards as they bobbed their heads, making their way to the kitchen.

‘Why are they coming in here?’ Getta grumbled. ‘Traipsing mud and filth inside?’ She had seen the way the men had looked at them, as though they had been talking about them, and boldly too. It unsettled her further. She was a queen, the most powerful woman in the kingdom, yet she’d never felt more unsafe. Raymon was weak, vulnerable, and worst of all, too stubborn to see his own problems.

‘They’re fixing the kitchen doors, my lady,’ the steward offered with a smile. ‘They’ve got the carpenters and even the wheelwright in there, trying to sort out the problem. Apparently, they won’t hang right.’

Getta didn’t care. She turned back to Raymon, tapping his arm. ‘We must go to the wedding and put ourselves before Karsten Dragos. Remind him of how much we can help each other as allies.’

‘I imagine we will. Of course.’

‘And your brother and sister will likely be there,’ Getta said sweetly, though she could see that that only irritated her husband, who’d made a point of steering clear of both Furycks since the Vale, wanting to assert himself as Iskavall’s chosen ruler and not a Furyck heir seeking to embolden an already powerful Brekka.

Raymon didn’t answer, for behind the two men came a young boy, who hurried inside, looking for his mother – one of the servants laying the high table. Getta ignored him, now speaking to her own servant, though Raymon continued to watch him, and as the white-haired boy reached the tables, he turned and nodded at his king.

4

Jael and Eadmund debated what to do for some time, interrupted by their children, who wanted to go riding, then swimming, then have something to eat. Biddy eventually found Sigmund and Bo and took them away for a nap. That left the King and Queen of Oss with their silent dogs, who curled up on their laps, offering no protests nor issuing any demands as their owners finally came to a decision.

All be it not one either was entirely comfortable with.

‘I’m coming,’ Eadmund insisted, and dropping Ido to the floor, he stood and stretched out his back. Sleeping on the ship from Alekka to Andala had been uncomfortable, and he was looking forward to a night in a real bed. A night in a bed with his wife.

Picking up Vella, he plonked her down next to her brother, and taking Jael’s hand, he pulled her to her feet. ‘I don’t want to lose you. Not now. You’ve just come back to me. You’re finally here... it makes no sense to be apart again.’ Though as he said it, staring into those beautiful eyes, he feared what it would mean to stay away from Oss for longer.

Jael sighed. ‘We need to go home, but I can’t ignore my dreams. Not when my life is under threat. In my dream, I was dead, Axl was dead. Raymon too.’ And remembering that, Jael’s attitude towards her brother softened. ‘If it’s nothing, I’ll feel relieved, but if it’s not and I never pursued it further? Never got Edela’s advice?’

‘I’ll send word to Bram. We can send Sea Bear back to Oss with Beorn. Biddy and the children can wait here for us. We don’t need to take many. If any.’

‘I imagine Fyn will want to come, and he won’t leave Milla behind. Thorgils too.’

Eadmund smiled at his troubled wife, who fidgeted before him. ‘We won’t have to stay in Tuura long,’ he promised. ‘You’ll find Edela, and then we’ll go.’

But Jael wasn’t listening. She stared at the flames, remembering her last time in Tuura and the one before that, and soon she was shivering all over.

* * *

‘I thought marriage might have changed her or motherhood, but your sister still makes her feelings known in that charming way of hers,’ Erling laughed, nudging Axl, who was nursing a mug of ale in a corner of Andala’s newest tavern – The King’s Axe. After the success of The Wren, Axl had decided to build another. It was one of the most profitable ventures he’d undertaken as king, and though it pleased him to know he’d made a wise decision, Jael’s words echoed back to him.

He was safe and warm. He wanted for nothing.

Every night, all he could wish to eat and drink was delivered to his table. He didn’t have to hunt or cook, gather or harvest ingredients. He didn’t need to fill a bucket with water or chop the wood for the fires that cooked his meals and kept him warm. He didn’t need to wash his clothes or make his bed or shovel his snow come winter.

He wanted for nothing.

‘Don’t let Jael get you down,’ Hal urged as the tavern door opened and a flurry of loud customers clattered inside.

Axl had made The King’s Axe twice as large as his first tavern, though somehow it still felt too small, and he shrank away from the newcomers, enjoying the privacy of his circle of friends. Though he was quickly blinking as the last arrival headed their way.

‘Eren!’ Erling called, happy to see his raven-haired sister. ‘Join us!’

‘Well, who else would I be coming here to see?’ Eren Venberg laughed, flashing a smile at the king.

Hal laughed with her, nudging Axl over, hurrying to make room. Eren took his breath away. She had since she was a girl. And now she was a widow, barely twenty-four years old, with a body that tormented his own. She was so voluptuous that, despite knowing she was Erling sister, he couldn’t help but stare.

Eren ignored a gaping Hal, fixing her attention on Axl and Erling instead. ‘Our mothers are looking for you,’ she frowned. ‘Muttering away to each other, tut-tutting about how bad you’ve both been!’ Now she turned to Hal. ‘If you don’t close your mouth soon, you’ll start dribbling down your tunic, and who will want to marry you then?’

Erling laughed with his sister, though Axl remained silent, watching Hal, who finally gathered himself together and closed his mouth. ‘Are they really looking for us? Our mothers?’

‘They are,’ Eren said, fixing her pretty dark blue eyes on the king. ‘You have guests, and Gisila’s not pleased that you’ve disappeared. I offered to come and find you.’

She had magnificent teeth, Hal thought, as she turned around. They were whiter than most, and so straight. Two rows of gleaming white, straight teeth.

Perfect, just like she was.

Once again, he found his mouth hanging open and promptly closed it, fiddling with his short coppery beard.

‘Tell my mother you couldn’t find me,’ Axl pleaded. ‘I’ve had quite enough of my guests today. I’d rather stay here and continue this meeting with my councillors.’ He banged his cup against Erling’s and then Hal’s, attempting to make himself feel joyful. Perhaps he did feel something resembling joy? The ale certainly helped. He had two brewers, and the one servicing The King’s Axe had recently delivered a batch of some of the strongest ale he’d ever tried. After a day of little food, it had gone straight to his head, and he sat amongst his friends feeling giddy.

He knew he needed to return to the hall, to show his face, to preside over the feast Amma and Gisila had organised. He had to honour his guests, speak to his sister...

But the thought of even walking to the hall filled him with dread.

Just seeing Jael was bad enough.

He didn’t want to have to endure her company.

‘Well, I’ll go then,’ Eren sighed with mock sadness. ‘Back to the hall, all on my own.’

Hal was quickly on his feet, wobbling before her. Reaching for his cup, he drained it of every drop of liquid before offering Eren his arm. ‘Though why do that when I can keep you company?’

Eren bobbed her head and took his arm, spinning around to wink at her handsome brother. ‘Don’t be long!’ she warned. ‘Whatever you might say, I doubt you’ll want Mother coming here to find you, Erling Venberg!’

‘She’s right,’ Erling laughed. ‘Nothing can sour a jug of ale more than the sound of my mother’s nagging voice.’

Axl agreed. Kamilla Venberg was one of Gisila’s oldest friends, and he’d often feared his ears would bleed from the grating drone of her voice. Though when she was in the mood, his own mother could be just as bad. ‘We should go,’ he said with some reluctance, and not moving, he reached for the ale jug instead.

‘Hal wants to ask my father’s permission to marry Eren,’ Erling murmured, belching loudly. ‘Hal? Ha! Who knew he possessed such courage?’

Axl’s frown was intense. ‘But she’s never even looked his way. Has she?’

‘He’s an advisor to the king now, a Lord of the King’s Council, thanks to you, old friend, so my parents seem far more open to his advances now. Shows how easily they’re bought!’ He coughed out another laugh and stood. ‘Come on, the sooner we show our faces, the sooner we can come back and forget about them all.’ And wobbling to his feet, Erling Venberg cleared a path for his king to follow him to the door.

* * *

‘Where is Axl?’ Gant grumbled at his wife, who shrugged back. ‘Look at poor Amma. If Axl were here, I imagine she’d feel free to take to her bed.’ He inclined his head to where the queen sat, the chair beside her, where her husband should have been, empty.

‘Perhaps we should have organised the seating differently?’ Gisila muttered, sipping daintily from a silver spoon. The soup was lukewarm but still pleasant – a fresh combination of leeks and peas with a little mint. ‘That might have made it less obvious.’

‘I don’t know how you make it less obvious that the king’s missing,’ Gant said, shaking his head. ‘Where were you going to put him? The king?’

Gisila sighed, giving up on the soup, which she saw that Gant had dripped into his beard. Grabbing her napkin, she started dabbing.

Edging away from her in annoyance, Gant raked a hand through his beard, tidying himself up. He saw Jael watching from further along the high table and shrugged at her before turning back to Gisila. ‘Likely, he’s avoiding his sister. She did try to stick the knife in this afternoon.’

‘Did she?’ Gisila was suddenly all wide-eyed innocence beside him. ‘What did she say?’

Gant turned to his wife with sharp eyebrows. ‘You can’t ask Jael to intervene, my love. She’s the last person Axl wants to hear advice from. When she opens her mouth, he closes his ears. You should know that by now. It’s always been the way with those two. Ever since Tuura.’ He saw his wife shudder and felt bad for mentioning it. Though mentioning it reminded him of Jael, and he patted Gisila’s thigh. ‘Jael’s leaving in the morning, and that’s the best thing. She might be able to find out what’s happening with these dreamers. She said she’ll bring Edela and Ayla back either way.’

Gisila saw her sister, Branwyn, talking to Eadmund, and she laughed. ‘Well, she’ll try, I’ve no doubt about that, but you know how stubborn my mother can be. Almost as stubborn as Jael. Must be where she gets it from?’

‘Oh, and you think it just bypassed you?’ Gant chuckled, kissing Gisila’s cheek, happy to see her beautiful brown eyes full of life again. It had been a difficult few years for them all, and despite the happiness of their marriage, life in Andala had become increasingly challenging.

Looking up as Axl and his friends entered the hall, he frowned, certain it wouldn’t get any easier in the near future either.

Jael saw Axl, too, though she worked to keep her attention on Amma, who wasn’t eating beside her. She appeared to be playing with her food, as though by shovelling it into piles, she could will it away. ‘Being pregnant is no fun. I don’t envy you.’

Amma’s head jerked up and around. She saw Axl coming towards her and felt flustered. He was with Erling and Hal, as he always was, and Erling’s pretty sister too. They were whispering and giggling, their eyes on her, and it made her feel like crying.

A distracted Jael didn’t notice. ‘Though it’s worth it in the end, I suppose.’ Her own children had embarrassed their parents with a tantrum about where they were going to sit and what they were going to eat, so Biddy had shepherded them off to eat supper in their bedchamber instead. She smiled, just thinking about the terrible troublemakers. ‘It is worth it, of course.’

Amma didn’t answer, offering her cheek to Axl, who kissed her before plopping down into his chair with a groan.

‘This looks good!’ he declared loudly, sensing his sister watching him and lifting his drink to Eadmund instead.

He was drunk, Jael could see, and listening to Amma’s fretful thoughts, she realised that his behaviour wasn’t new. In fact, when Jael focused on Amma’s thoughts, she discovered how worried her sister-in-law was. She feared that her husband no longer loved her, that she would never provide him with a living heir and that he would soon abandon her and find a wife who could. Like that pretty Eren Venberg.

Jael remembered the name, following Amma’s sad eyes towards the dark-haired woman being ushered onto a bench by the oily Hal Harbak. She scowled, then shook her head, wondering what she was doing. Andala wasn’t her concern. She couldn’t counsel Amma or Axl about their marriage, and she certainly couldn’t tell Axl what to do as king. She had to focus on being ready to leave in the morning.

Turning away from Amma, she poked Thorgils in the arm.

‘About time,’ he grumbled. ‘I’ve been sitting here talking to myself. Fyn won’t even look my way.’ Now he nudged his cousin. ‘Isn’t that right? Forgotten all about your family now, haven’t you?’

A puzzled Fyn frowned at Thorgils before turning back to Milla.

‘You know she’s coming with us tomorrow,’ Thorgils hissed. ‘Milla. So if you think my doe-eyed cousin will be much use to you, I’d think again.’

Jael wondered about the wisdom of bringing Milla, too, as Fyn did seem smitten, but he was her man, sworn to her, and she knew he would always choose to be by her side. ‘Well, they can do the cooking. I’m sure they could manage that between them.’

‘And you think we’ll come across any trouble on this little journey of ours?’

‘Why? Feeling nervous?’

Thorgils laughed. ‘With Furia’s daughter by my side? The fiercesome Jael Furyck? Never!’

Jael tore a slice of bread in half and aimed one portion at her mouth. She wasn’t particularly hungry, though it was moreish, and she knew that eating on the road wouldn’t offer such culinary delights. ‘You don’t have to come, though. You can go back to Isaura and the children with Beorn.’

‘What? You think I’m going to leave you and Eadmund to fend for yourselves? With only a distracted Fyn Gallas for protection?’

‘Ha! So you’re going to be our minder, then?’

‘Well, you may think you’re tough, but I’ve seen what a big baby you can be!’

Thorgils Svanter could be a complaining pain in the arse, but Jael was glad he was coming along. He would talk endlessly about himself on the journey, which would help take her mind off going to Tuura. Her smile vanished as she pushed away her plate, losing her appetite. ‘We’ll head off early. I don’t feel like any goodbyes.’

‘What? Not even with your mother?’

Jael leaned out to see Gisila talking to Eadmund, occasionally turning to point at her, and she sighed, looking away. ‘No, certainly not with my mother.’ Her attention was drawn back to Thorgils as he scooped another enormous helping of cabbage onto his plate. ‘No more cabbage, Thorgils Svanter! Your queen’s rule for this journey is that there is to be no cabbage. None!’

Thorgils opened his mouth to protest but was soon fighting off Jael’s attempts to spoon his cabbage back into the bowl.

* * *

Dinner was a meagre, quiet affair, for Edela didn’t want to wander far from their fire or the boat. Lina and Siggy were exhausted, silent, as they sat opposite her, nibbling nuts and dried plums.

She was grateful for that too.

Bertel had disappeared to check the trees, armed with a log, wanting to make sure they were safe, though she couldn’t imagine there was anything he could do to stop a band of warriors intent on harming them. Still, it was encouraging to see him finally trying to help.

After their escape, they had thought carefully before attempting to stop again, though their throats had become so parched that it had grown painful to speak. So, as the sun was setting, Edela and Bertel had finally made the decision to once again pull into shore. Lina and Siggy needed to rest their arms, and they all needed food and water. They chose a forested spot, not wanting to be exposed on a field again, though the tall trees and dense foliage kept them alert, fearing that someone might be hiding within, watching them.

‘Who were those men, Edela?’ Bertel yawned as he returned, and placing his wooden weapon on the ground, he crouched down to the fire. After a warm day, he was now shivering, and though he wanted to keep his cloak on while he slept, he also wanted something soft to rest his head upon. But hearing snapping branches and rustling sounds, he spun around, eyes darting this way and that, doubting sleep would come at all.

‘I’ve no idea,’ Edela muttered, prodding the crackling fire with a charred stick. She felt grateful for the girls, who had more energy than either she or Bertel possessed after such a gruelling day. Siggy and Lina had collected branches for their fire and rocks to surround it. Thankfully, Edela had kept hold of her bag as she’d run for the boat, which had her faithful old tinder box inside it, so she’d been able to get a fire going quickly.

And now they were mostly warm, less hungry, but just as afraid.

Edela knew it was up to her to reassure them all, so she swallowed her own worries and patted Siggy’s leg.

‘Did they want to hurt all of us, or were they just after you?’ Lina asked in her typically accusatory voice. Coming from an established Iskavallan family, Lina Storgard considered herself more important than nearly everyone she encountered – even elders and dreamers. At seventeen years of age, she spoke down to them all.

‘Well, I must admit that I’m confused about those men. I’m not sure if two things occurred at once, unrelated to each other, or if they are pieces of the same puzzle.’

‘What do you mean?’ Siggy wondered softly, leaning towards the old dreamer.

Edela frowned. ‘I had a vision. When you left to relieve yourselves, there was a great fog, and I... saw that we must leave. That there was danger.’

‘And the danger was those men by the river?’ Bertel asked, wishing he hadn’t finished the last of the pork crackling he’d found in his pouch. He glanced at Siggy, who appeared to still have some nuts.

‘Perhaps. They may have been some of the same men who were in Tuura,’ Edela said, once again fearing for Ayla.

Lina froze, thinking that through. ‘There must have been a lot of them. To get through the gates?’

That confused Edela, who didn’t think there had been an army. ‘Perhaps they had help?’ She was reminded of The Following, who had worked to destroy Tuura from the inside, soon becoming further confused. ‘Whatever the case, we cannot go back.’

‘Ever?’ Siggy panicked, sitting up straight. ‘But... what will we do?’

The fire was blazing, the river gently flowing behind them. Edela heard hooting owls calling to one another, and for a moment, she wished she was back in Andala. That she had never left.

According to Furia, she could not return there.

But why?

‘We will carry on, all the way to Ollsvik.’

Lina looked miserable. ‘But my arms! Siggy barely helps. It’s all me!’ Now she glared at Bertel, who jerked away from the fire as though he’d heard a noise.

Edela smiled calmly, holding out a hand to quell Siggy’s spluttered protests, seeing that Bertel wasn’t meeting anyone’s eyes. ‘I’m sure we’ll be there in a few days. Just a few. I need to get you safely to your family, Lina, so it seems the right place to head for.’ It was too dark to tell what Lina thought about that, though she sensed the girl wasn’t keen to return home.

Siggy Larsen had no family. Her dying mother had dropped her at Tuura two years ago, hoping the elders would take her in. She had written a note proclaiming that her daughter was a dreamer, though despite having recently turned fifteen, Siggy had never demonstrated any sign that she actually was.

‘We’ll stay there until I can figure out what to do,’ Edela promised. ‘Lina, you’ll be safe with your family, and Siggy and I will... forge a new path together. Bertel...’

He looked up now, meeting her eyes.

‘Can’t we go back to Brekka with you?’ Siggy asked.

‘I... I fear it’s not safe, my dear. Those men appear to be hunting dreamers.’

‘Hunting?’ Lina was certainly a dreamer, and she didn’t like the sound of that.

Edela nodded, realising that at seventeen and fifteen, the girls were old enough not to be treated as children. ‘It’s what made me go to Tuura in the first place. Dreamers are being killed all over Osterland, so I wanted to discover why. Is it one person seeking some form of vengeance, or is it something else entirely?’ Edela still had no answers to that, though the questions were becoming louder in her mind.

It was very unsettling, and though she anticipated some snorting comment from Bertel, he remained silent and thoughtful, watching her over the flames.

‘Why would someone want to hurt a dreamer?’ Siggy wondered.

‘To stop them seeing things, of course!’ Lina snapped, tired, sore and terrified beyond words. The forest noises made her fear that those men were in there, waiting until they fell asleep. And she didn’t trust Bertel Knutson and his log to keep them safe.

Edela blinked at the girl as she started fussing around, trying to get comfortable. That was something she hadn’t thought about, though now it seemed so obvious.

Dreamers could see the future, and if someone didn’t want their plans revealed...

* * *

Raymon Vandaal met the white-haired boy in the shadows masking the passage by the hall’s back door. It led to the kitchen, though the cook and her helpers had long since left for their beds. It was dark and stinking in the alley, and though private, Raymon drew the boy closer, bending down to him.

‘He says soon,’ the boy began.

He was ten years old and had been spying for his king for over a year now. He went by the name of Snow, owing to his sleek blonde hair. He was slight and slippery and silent too. Not one to make a noise, announcing his presence.

‘Soon?’ Raymon’s heart was a beating drum in his chest.

‘Days, I think,’ Snow added. ‘He said he had... shored up support. I think that’s the word, my lord.’

‘Shored up support,’ Raymon repeated dully. And then, in the darkness of that alley, holding onto the sleeve of an innocent boy, something snapped inside him. He had feared for his life since he was Snow’s age. His grandfather had been poisoned, dying before his eyes during a feast to celebrate his birthday. After that, Raymon had felt nothing but terror being in Ollsvik’s hall, waiting for the next assassin to strike. It left him nauseous. It disturbed his sleep. It was a living, breathing, never-ending illness of terror that had consumed him for ten years now.

And he didn’t want to do it anymore. Not for one more day.

To be the king?

Why?

No one wanted him to sit on Iskavall’s throne, except perhaps Getta, though she only cared for herself.

He had no heir. There was no family in Iskavall to fear for now, no child to protect.

His mother was gone, his father too.

‘Bareth Lows. Do you know him?’

Snow nodded, eyes bulging.

‘Can you find him? Bring him to me? I’ll wait here, Snow, and double your allowance. Triple it. I’ll triple it if you bring him to me now.’

The boy was quickly spinning away, nodding again. ‘I won’t be long, my lord,’ he whispered over his shoulder. ‘I won’t!’

Raymon watched him go, barely noticing the gust of wind seeking to deprive him of his cloak. He stood in the darkness like a statue.

Feeling nothing at all.

5

It was always strange to be back in Andala.

Jael had visited regularly in the years since she’d left, though she no longer felt at home. Now she lay in her old bed beside her husband, desperate to head back to Oss.

Eadmund rose up onto an elbow, kissing her. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Feeling?’

‘The bruised ribs, the eye, all the bumps and cuts?’

Jael grinned, reaching up to touch his face. ‘Think it’s just the one rib after all, so I should be fine.’ Though one broken rib was like being stabbed in the chest every time she breathed, coughed, or inhaled. It was thoroughly irritating, and she was desperate for it to hurry up and heal.

Eadmund kissed her slowly now, teasingly, and she closed her eyes. Memories of the battle in Alekka flashed before her, and she remembered Gudrum’s hands on her, the sudden need to breathe, and she pulled away.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Just Alekka... what happened.’

Eadmund moved away to give her some space. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. That you would face that arsehole alone? Just you?’

Jael laughed. ‘After everything we’ve been through, you doubted me?’

‘Doubted you? No. No, I never doubt you, Jael. I never doubt your strength or your determination. I just feared for you. The gods won’t always be on our side, will they? Fate won’t always work in our favour. We found each other, we love each other, but I...’

Jael edged towards him, quickly regretting it. She braced an arm against her ribs and tried not to move. ‘But nothing,’ she breathed. ‘We found each other, we love each other. That’s the end of our story.’

‘Is it? Sometimes I fear it isn’t.’

Jael kissed him. ‘I’m a dreamer. I think we both keep forgetting that. I’m a dreamer, and I –’ Seeing Eadmund grimacing, she frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

He groaned. ‘Think it was the fish. Did you have it?’

She shook her head.

‘Smelled a bit funny.’ He belched, groaning now.

A frowning Jael rolled away from him. ‘Yuck. You’re right about that!’

‘I’d better head outside and find the latrines.’

‘You better had,’ Jael agreed. ‘But find somewhere on the other side of the fort. Don’t go anywhere near the hall. Between you and Thorgils and his stinking cabbage, we’ll never be invited back!’ She smiled through a yawn, watching Eadmund slide out of bed, hurrying to dress by the fire.

‘Don’t fall asleep,’ he warned, creaking open the door. ‘I’ll be right back!’

* * *

Raymon’s hands were numb with cold by the time Snow returned with Bareth Lows. He was a hulking shadow of a man. Middle-aged, he rippled with muscle, all brash brawn and scowls.

‘My lord,’ Bareth sniffed, not bobbing his head. ‘Boy said you had need of me.’

Raymon tried not to appear intimidated by the sinister tone of that voice. He was at least a head taller than Bareth but only half as wide, certain the man could snap him in two.

Word was that Bareth Lows held no loyalty to any of Iskavall’s rival families.

He simply followed a trail of coins from one payday to the next.

And, being the king, Raymon hoped he had enough coins to tempt the man to kill him.

* * *

Siggy started crying, waking Edela up from a fitful sleep.

Despite her many worries and fears, she had forced herself to sleep, knowing that only she could find the path to safety they so desperately needed.

She kept wondering if she’d imagined what Furia had said. Or even imagined Furia herself. Maybe her visions were no longer dreams but the delusions of a doddering old woman?

Reaching the sleeping girl, she pulled Siggy close, relieved when she quickly whimpered back into a deep sleep. And slipping her arm out from under her, seeing that both Lina and Bertel were sleeping soundly, an exhausted Edela closed her eyes, urging her body to release every knot of tension. She imagined her bed in Andala and her cottage. And Ayla. They had become such close friends.

Ayla.

Whatever had happened to her?

* * *

Ayla Adea lay curled in a ball, hidden by the pendulous branches of a weeping willow. She shook with cold, teeth chattering, once again on the verge of tears. It had been a terrifying, long day. She’d managed to stop the man who’d broken into her cottage with the simple enchantment spell Edela had taught her, convincing him that his enemy was elsewhere. And leaving the girls in the safety of the cellar, she’d hurried outside to see what she could do to help, though it was immediately apparent that it was too late. Dreamers were being rounded up and killed, elders struck down, and everyone else was being herded towards the temple.

She’d heard one of the men calling Edela’s name, and fearing for her friend, she had slipped through the fort’s temple gate, hoping to find her in the forest before someone sent men that way. Though there’d been no sign of Edela, Siggy, or Lina. She’d tried bringing images into her mind, but nothing would come. And hearing those men leaving the fort and heading for the forest, Ayla realised that she had to get back to Andala for help. She had to tell Axl what had happened.

He needed to send men to find his grandmother.

Ayla had been back and forth from Andala to Tuura a number of times now, though she was wary of using the main road, not wanting to be seen. Instead, she had kept to the tree cover as much as possible, endeavouring to keep the road in sight.

Thankfully, the weather had stayed dry and mild – during the day, at least. Now, in the complete darkness of a moonless night, she felt chilled to the bone. She had run out of her cottage wearing a summery dress. Her feet were bare, now filthy and bloody, and she was shaking with cold, regretting every decision she had made to get to this point.

The wind picked up, sending hints of pine her way. She hadn’t made a fire, not wanting to be seen, though that was another decision she regretted. She was hungry, too, but most of all, she wanted to know what had happened to Edela.

Had those men found and killed her?

Closing her eyes and shutting out the noises that threatened to distract her entirely, an exhausted Ayla tried once again to find a path to her friend.

* * *

When Eadmund finally returned from the latrines, his wife was lying where he’d left her. Sound asleep.

He was, at first, disappointed, and then enthralled.

Jael was rarely still. She always had somewhere to go, something to do, some problem to solve or plan to dream up.

A smiling Eadmund warmed himself by the fire before slipping off his trousers and sliding under the furs. The bed felt cold, and he shuddered, grabbing his pillow and kneading it into a comfortable shape. Gently kissing his wife on the forehead, he made to roll over, facing the fire, but surprisingly she edged towards him, and finding his body, she snuggled into it.

Eadmund stayed where he was, gingerly wrapping an arm around her, daring to bring her even closer. At times Jael was like a skittish horse, and he didn’t want to spook her into sliding away.

But she didn’t move.

He could feel the warmth of her breath, her chest moving up and down, and his own body tensing, not wanting the moment to end. He held her gently, closing his eyes, trying to ignore his stomach, which was griping again. Though he wanted to stay here, with her.

Forever.

* * *

‘And how will I get my payment?’ Bareth Lows grunted. ‘If this is what you mean to do. My lord,’ he added gruffly.

‘I’ll have half to you in the morning,’ Raymon promised, knowing that he always kept his word but fearing that he couldn’t expect the same from the burly man.

‘And your wife? The queen? What’s she to know?’

Raymon had shooed Snow away, sending him home with heavy pockets. It was just the two of them now, but even so, he looked around, checking that no one had entered the kitchen. When he felt satisfied they were alone, he turned back to Bareth Lows. ‘My wife will know the same as everyone else. The only ones who will be aware of a different story will be you, me, and the two men you pick. And those men must be trustworthy. They will return with the other half of the coins, so they must be men you can rely upon.’

‘Truth is, my lord, the better path is to trust no man. Only ever tell people what they need to know. Conceal the rest. That’s my advice to you... going forward. Hold your secrets close and keep everyone else at a distance. Even those you love.’

Raymon thought to say, ‘there is no one I love,’ but taking Bareth’s advice, he kept his mouth closed. ‘Do we have a deal?’ he asked instead.

Bareth Lows spat on his calloused hand, extending it towards the king. ‘If it’s what you want –’

‘It is.’

‘Then, yes, we have a deal, lord. We have a deal indeed.’

* * *

The man’s hand was covered in blood.

It was the first thing Jael noticed – that bloody hand clasped around a scrawny neck. He was squeezing, and she could see veins popping, writhing like worms under the old man’s skin.

The man with the bloody hand didn’t stop, and Jael thought that if he kept squeezing, his fingers might even meet his thumb.

The old man’s eyes bulged in terror.

He was the Elderman of Tuura, Jael realised in horror, seeing his distinctive white robe. The elders wore grey now. The elderman alone wore a white robe to set him apart.

She watched as he died, quickly tossed away like a carcass by his impatient murderer, whose cheeks were disfigured by dark brands. Beneath those, the man’s skin was the colour of burned wood, and she thought of the witch dreamer, Gysa, who had tried to kill her in Alekka.

‘Anyone else want to die like this sack of shit?’ he bellowed, and straightening up, he wheeled around, scanning the gathered crowd. They were penned in by his armed men, bleating like sheep, confused and afraid. Horrified by what he had done to their elderman.

Hopefully, motivated.

‘Tell me where Edela Saeveld is, and you won’t meet the same fate!’

Jael heard an accent, trying to place it. By the look of him, he was from the Fire Lands, but where?

No one answered.

Many looked at their neighbours, shrugging, tears in their eyes. No one wanted to die, but no one appeared to actually know where Edela was.

His men had scoured the forest, finding no sign of anyone.

Had the elderman been lying? Would he really have gone to his death over one old dreamer?

‘Your dead priest said she went into the forest! But we’ve searched there, and there’s no sign of her! Can she make herself vanish? Is that what you dreamers are capable of? Are you as powerful as gods?’

Jael saw a commotion at the back. She heard chanting and loud stabbing sounds, cries of terror, and eventually, silence.

The man wiped a hand down his leather tunic before drawing his sword. ‘I will ask again! Who will tell me where I can find Edela Saeveld?’

Jael woke with a start, trembling in the darkness.

She saw that the fire had burned down to embers. There was no sign of Eadmund, though she sensed he had been beside her, sleeping for a time.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she winced, bracing one arm against her ribs as she reached for her trousers and hurried to dress.

It was well before dawn, but she had to tell her family what she’d seen.

Edela was in danger.

They had to leave now.

* * *

Getta was surprised by the knock on her chamber door, then further surprised when she opened it to reveal her husband standing before her, fully dressed. It was dark, not even dawn, she guessed, seeing no hint of light. She squinted at him, feeling irritable. Having struggled to fall asleep, she hadn’t imagined being woken this early. ‘What is happening? Why are you here?’

Raymon eased past her into the chamber. They had shared it once, though after his mother’s death and his concerns over Getta’s role in her murder, he’d struggled to be with her. He’d struggled to trust her at all.

Bareth Lows’ words echoed, and he knew he was right not to tell her what was happening.

Well, not everything.

‘My spies warn me that trouble is coming.’

Getta shivered, tremors of fear rippling through her body. ‘Though you didn’t need a spy to tell you that, Raymon. Did you?’

‘I want you to go to Andala to visit your sister.’

‘Amma? But why?’

‘Because you are the queen, my wife, and if there should be trouble, I don’t want you here, in harm’s way.’ Raymon had spoken with his back to her, wondering if he could conjure up a measure of affection. Now he turned around with worry in his eyes. ‘You were right, Getta. Ollsvik has always been a carefully stacked pyre of ambition and vengeance that will soon be set alight. I am certain of it now. The pieces of the puzzle have been slotted into place. Our enemies, finally united.’

Rushing forward, a horrified Getta grabbed Raymon’s arm. ‘But can’t you stop it? Can’t you find whoever is plotting against you and stop them?’

‘I’m trying, but whether I’ll be in time? I won’t risk your life, Getta. What if you’re with child?’

Getta didn’t think she was – they’d barely shared a bed in months – though she knew Amma was, and the thought of being around her pregnant sister and her murderous brother-in-law made her hesitant.

‘You’ll be safe in Andala. Axl will keep you safe.’

Getta bit her tongue, ready with a smart retort, but soon two servants were bustling into the chamber, fully dressed, weighed down with clothes and supplies.

‘I need you to leave before dawn.’

‘In the dark? As though I’m running away?’

Raymon nodded, jaw clenching. ‘You will leave before anyone is alerted to your departure. I will return to say goodbye.’ Now he headed to the door.

Getta’s pouting lips parted, mouth hanging open as she watched him leave. ‘And you won’t be coming?’ She had raised her voice, watching him turn with a frown.

‘No. I won’t be coming with you.’

* * *

‘Perhaps we need more men?’ a sleepy Eadmund suggested, grabbing his wife’s arm, hoping to get her attention.

Though Jael was looking over her shoulder at Thorgils and Fyn, who were checking the horses in silence, both men yawning at the surprisingly early start. The sky was showing signs that dawn wasn’t far away, the deep black now tinged an inky blue.

She heard a rooster, and trying to focus, she tugged her arm away from Eadmund, shaking her head. ‘Axl’s given us thirty men to add to our thirty. From what I saw, there was no army in Tuura. We should be able to match them.’

‘Jael!’ Gisila called, bustling forward with Amma. She wore a woollen blanket draped around her shoulders, clasping it at her throat. ‘After what you saw, shouldn’t you take more men?’ She eyed Eadmund, who rolled his eyes as he left, deciding to hurry Thorgils and Fyn along.

‘We’ve enough men, Mother!’ Jael snapped. ‘We just need to stop all the talking and get on the road. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll find Edela.’

‘And what about Ayla?’ Amma added, looking worried beside her mother-in-law. ‘Did you see any sign of her?’

Jael shook her head, wondering if she heard a rumble of thunder, though looking up, the dark sky seemed reasonably clear. ‘Hopefully, I’ll get more clues on the road.’ She saw Ido and Vella annoying the horses and getting in everyone’s way, and she thought of the children, still sleeping soundly. She wanted to go and say goodbye to them, though it was better if they remained sleeping, she knew. Better for Biddy.

‘I fear something terrible is happening,’ Gisila fretted, turning as Axl joined them. ‘Just like before!’

Jael looked puzzled. ‘Before? Mother, just stop. We don’t know anything about what’s happening. Not yet.’ Axl looked guilty, and reading his thoughts, Jael knew he regretted letting Edela go to Tuura. ‘What you need to understand is that Edela’s an adult. As is Ayla. They went to Tuura because they wanted to, and Tuura was well-defended, from everything I’ve heard. You couldn’t have done any more, except try and find out who’s responsible for killing the dreamers.’ She hadn’t meant to prod Axl, though he looked sheepish, likely remembering what she’d said the day before.

‘But what do they want with Edela?’ Gisila sobbed, fears rushing out of her in a torrent of tears now.

‘I don’t know,’ Jael admitted, and as Axl wrapped a comforting arm around their mother, she slipped away to find a moment with Gant. He had been her father’s best friend for over forty years. He’d carried all his secrets. Perhaps he knew something about her dream?

Leading him around the corner of the hall, she told Gant about the pyres of bodies. Her brothers. And her.

He was stunned but not surprised, Jael could see, and that worried her.

Rubbing his eyes as more roosters joined the morning chorus, Gant sighed. ‘Your father and I went to the Fire Lands as young men. We had a ship and a crew. We were off on an adventure, I suppose, looking for treasure, for women, to make our reputations. I don’t know what you’d call it, but it was the time of our lives.’ Hearing the rising voices in the distance, urgent calls now filling the air, Gant spoke quickly. ‘In Castala, we saw a seeress. She promised visions of the future for a pouch of silver.’

‘Like a dreamer?’

‘I suppose so. We didn’t have a dreamer in Andala then, and your father wanted a look at what the future held. We were giddy on the success of our adventure. We had a ship full of booty, we didn’t want to go home, but what that woman revealed changed your father from that moment on. She told him that the Furyck line would cease. That one day, there would be no more Furycks in Brekka. So, next morning, instead of going further east, Ranuf ordered us to turn around and head back home.’

Jael heard Thorgils bellowing her name, hoping his big mouth hadn’t woken the children. A dog started barking in reply.

‘We never spoke about it again. Your father never did. Perhaps he thought I was too drunk to remember what she’d said? But I often thought about it, especially after Stellan and then Magnar died. I think part of him feared that what the old woman had said would come true. That it was his family who would die off and end the Furyck line.’ And realising what Jael had told him about her dream, perhaps Ranuf’s thinking hadn’t been wrong?

‘Who was this woman?’

Gant shrugged. ‘She simply took the coins and slipped away. And then, so did we. I think it’s why your father was so worried about keeping Raymon a secret. The idea that if anyone found out that he was a Furyck? It wasn’t just about displeasing the lords of Iskavall or hiding the truth from your mother. I imagine he wanted to keep the boy safe. To keep you all safe.’

Jael was thoughtful. ‘I have to leave.’

Gant nodded.

‘Keep a close eye on Axl and send a note to Raymon. I don’t know why I’m dreaming about this now, Gant, but it must mean something. And whatever it is, it can’t be good.’

* * *

Raymon and Getta’s goodbye was brief.

The covered wagon she would be riding in was already packed with confused-looking servants and hastily stuffed bags. She had wanted to take more and had had to be dragged out of her chamber as dawn was breaking.

Now Getta stood beside the wagon in a sour mood, vibrating with nerves, unsure what to say.

So Raymon spoke for them both. ‘You will be safe in Andala,’ he promised. ‘I’ve written a note to Axl. It explains everything.’

Getta’s raised eyebrow wasn’t spotted by a distracted Raymon as he tried to move his wife towards the outstretched hand of one of the drivers.

‘You must leave now, Getta,’ he insisted firmly, wanting to break through her obvious resistance to his plan. The wagon had been harnessed to a pack of four horses, led through the main gates, away from public view, though there was no one to be seen in those hours before dawn. Forcing the issue, Raymon kissed her forehead, and as she turned an anxious, confused face up to him, he kissed her lips too. ‘I am sorry for all you’ve been through, for the loss of our boy, that we never conceived another child. I am sorry, Getta. Truly.’

He was saying goodbye, she thought, feeling more unsettled than ever. ‘I... but you must not perish here, Raymon. You must survive whatever is coming.’

‘I will,’ he lied as she took the driver’s hand. ‘Don’t worry, I will.’

6

The morning was new, mist still hovering above the river like a coating of white fluff, and though the two girls had been arguing for what felt like hours, Edela couldn’t shake off her sleepy yawns.

Bertel had been offering advice since the girls had pushed the boat back into the water, dreading another day at the oars. He had issued instructions, once again lamenting his injured shoulder, ensuring that the girls kept to a steady rhythm before closing his eyes.

Lina was just as bossy.

She often reminded Edela of Biddy, who tended to think that she knew best. And when it came to Siggy, Lina certainly believed that she knew far more than the less confident, younger girl. Though, looking at her closely, Edela was drawn to Lina’s eyes. They were a greenish blue, small and intense, always darting about. And watching those eyes closely, Edela saw fear.

The girl was terrified.

‘We have to start at the same time, Siggy!’ Lina snapped, arms already heavy, shoulders already aching. ‘I’m trying to make smaller motions, see? You have to match mine!’ And once again, Lina demonstrated how she wanted the younger girl to row.

Bertel’s eyes popped open, studying the girls for a moment before closing again.

Feeling relieved about that, Edela turned her attention to the curly-haired Siggy, who had the eyes of a doe just catching sight of a hunter’s bow. She was all fearful blinking and uncertainty, unsure what to say or do.

Eventually, seeing that Lina’s snapping was only sapping Siggy’s confidence, Edela intervened. ‘What matters is that we keep close to shore. That’s all! We’ll find our way to Ollsvik the best we can.’

Neither girl looked confident about that. They tipped back their heads in unison as a thunderous honking broke out overhead.

Bertel jerked awake, frowning at the sky.

‘Where did they come from?’ Siggy exclaimed, big eyes widening as she tilted her head back even further, watching the dark line of honking geese moving above them. They slowly formed the shape of an arrow as they crossed the pale morning sky.

Edela chuckled. ‘Likely they wanted to get an early start too!’

‘And what about those men?’ Lina wondered, turning her attention to Edela. ‘What if they’re following us?’

‘Well, I’ve gathered a few things that will help us, but none more important than what’s up here.’ She tapped her head, attempting to project confidence but fearing that she had only drawn attention to her ageing self.

‘Magic, you mean?’ Lina went on. ‘You did magic, didn’t you? But I thought there was no such thing as magic.’

‘Well, that’s what the elders tell you, I know. It’s what they must tell you at first. At your age, the danger is great, for you are still determining which path to follow. One revealed by light or one shielded by shadows? Not everyone makes the right choice, not when they’re young and dough-headed.’ She grinned, thinking of her grandchildren. Her daughters too. ‘When you’re young, you think you know everything, though you don’t tend to look ahead to see where your choices will lead you. That comes with experience and age. So the elders restrict the use of magic, they restrict even talk of it, and when you’re eighteen –’

‘Eighteen?’ Lina’s eyes rounded, for it would soon be her eighteenth birthday. And then she shrank back, knowing what that meant.

‘Yes, when you’re eighteen, you enter the final year of your training, and only then are you taught about magic. It is not the emphasis of dreamer training in Tuura. At least, it was never supposed to be,’ she added wryly.

Neither girl knew what she meant, though they didn’t care to wonder, for the idea of being able to practice magic was too distracting.

Siggy suddenly looked downcast, remembering that, unlike Lina, she’d never had a real dream. And every day without one made her fear that she wasn’t a dreamer at all.

‘Grab the oar!’ Lina shouted as a distracted Siggy loosened her hold on her oar, which started slipping towards its hole.

Siggy straightened up, strengthening her grip on the wooden pole, blinking herself awake.

‘No more talk of magic, I think,’ Edela decided with a smile. ‘We’ve a long journey ahead of us, and tonight we’ll need to find a good spot to gather more food. A fish would fill our bellies, wouldn’t it?’ She saw that that helped to focus the hungry girls, and even Bertel, whose eyes finally registered some interest.

Though not herself, Edela realised as her thoughts hopped about like fleas.

Her attention needed to be on what lay ahead. She had to see what was happening in Ollsvik, to determine whether it was safe to take the girls there – with Iskavall, it was always a question one needed to ask. But though she kept trying to fix her mind on the future, it kept drifting back to the past and to what she had left behind in Tuura.

* * *

Jael was quiet as she rode through the forest beside Eadmund, who, after trying to start a conversation with his wife, appeared to have given up and was now looking over his shoulder at Thorgils and Fyn.

Despite the glowing sun in the distance, beneath the dense tree canopy, the air was cool. Jael felt Tig’s excitement at being back in the more accommodating landscape Brekka had to offer. Oss was wild and weather-beaten, with vast frozen plains and jagged cliffs. Brekka was all rolling hills and grass-covered mountains, lush forests and bounteous meadows. It was as soft as Oss was harsh, which was likely why Jael considered Oss home. It was the place she wanted to be more than any other. The place where she was queen.

She had left Andala with a lump in her throat, leaving her children sleeping. The dogs had tried to chase after the horses, but Jael had had to say goodbye to them too. Though she had managed to have a word with Hal Harbak. Having seen Amma’s worries, Gisila’s concerns, and even Gant’s disapproval, Jael had felt the need to warn him off.

‘I am concerned about your intentions,’ she’d said in a voice like ice, barely blinking as she’d stared the man down. ‘Your intentions concerning my brother.’ Hal was arrogant and airy, made of nothing of value. During all the years she’d known him, he had simply moulded himself around whichever friend he’d thought would advance his ambitions. For most of his life, that had been Axl, though when Lothar had come to power, he’d sought to make friends with their cousin, Osbert. And now, with Axl as king, he was once again twisting himself into pleasing shapes. He’d always wanted a position and a title, and Axl had given him both.

Hal had choked on his surprise, realising that he’d been cornered by the snarling Queen of Oss. ‘I have... no intentions concerning your brother. We’ve been friends since we were boys, my lady.’

His smile quivered somewhat, Jael saw, and feeling pleased about that, she pushed on. ‘Though Axl has never needed a friend like you. You would cut him adrift if someone offered you a greater prize than being the King of Brekka’s best friend.’

Hal gaped at her, blue eyes bursting with offense. ‘You don’t know me!’

‘I’m a dreamer,’ Jael answered, preparing to walk away, hearing Tig growing impatient in the distance. ‘I’m a dreamer, and I can see what you’re doing wherever I may be. I can watch you from anywhere, and I can certainly warn my brother if you ever seek to move against him.’

‘Axl? But why would I do that?’

‘Your father supported Lothar’s claim to the throne.’

Hal scoffed, stroking his coppery beard. ‘Even Gant did that!’

‘Gant did what he thought was right for Brekka, but you only ever do what is right for you.’ And with that, she turned away.

‘You’re not as important as you think,’ Hal hissed after her. ‘Oss has no real power. You are no threat to anyone, dreamer or not. Axl knows the truth. He would trust Erling and me over you any day. We’re his real friends, his true family. We would never betray him.’ And seeing the queen spin around with venom in her eyes, Hal made a hasty retreat, suddenly regretting opening his mouth.

He was right to regret it, Jael thought bitterly as she nudged Tig ahead of Eadmund, sensing his desire to talk to Thorgils, though she knew in her heart that she’d never been a good sister to Axl. She’d unfairly blamed him for what had happened in Tuura, and they’d struggled to form true bonds of affection in the wake of that tragedy. He saw her as a bossy dictator, and she saw him as a directionless boy.

Turning around, she watched the line of sixty-odd men riding in pairs just behind Thorgils and Eadmund, who rode in front of Fyn and Milla. All of them following her.

To Tuura.

And blowing out a long breath, shoulders dropping, Jael realised that her problem had never been Axl at all.

* * *

Axl was in a foul mood when he returned to his chamber after training. His sister had a way of making him feel like a useless idiot. No matter how old they got or how far they rose, he was convinced that she purposely set out to undermine him.

He was muttering to himself as he flung his muddy tunic onto the bed and hurried on a clean one. Then, realising it was new, something he hadn’t seen before, he looked at Amma, who’d returned to their bed. And seeing the sickly pallor of her face, Axl took a breath. ‘Did you have this made for me?’ he smiled, grabbing his swordbelt as he approached her.

She nodded, too nauseous to even open her mouth.

Sitting on the bed beside her, he saw her wince, jaw clenching. ‘I’m sorry it’s so hard for you, Amma. It’s unfair that it’s so hard. Some women seem to find it easy, but not you.’ Fearing he was making everything worse, he resolved to leave. ‘I’ll send Seena and Laina back in. Perhaps they can make you some of Biddy’s tea?’

Amma looked terrified by the thought of liquid, gripping the bowl on her lap as though holding a small child. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked up at her husband, though he had turned towards the door. She felt a great distance between them now. Axl had so many responsibilities, and she was struggling to be any sort of queen, and certainly no help to him. Her sole focus was on trying to have their child, though she was failing miserably at it.

Dropping her head, she let her tears fall into the bowl.

Axl headed for his crown, waiting upon his dressing table. His steward had purchased a silk pillow, where he insisted upon keeping it. Axl shook his head, deciding that Gerald placed more stock in such things than he did, though he couldn’t deny that placing the crown on his head made him feel stronger. Older. For the first time that day, he felt less like a boy and more like a man. A king. A Furyck king. It didn’t matter what his sister thought, he decided. He was the King of Brekka, and nothing she said would take that away from him. ‘I’ll come and see how you are at midday,’ he promised, turning with a quick smile before disappearing through the door.

Amma stared after him, surprised by his abrupt departure, suddenly aware that she was once again all alone.

* * *

Bertel Knutson did like an argument, Edela thought irritably, wishing she’d left the elder behind. But remembering her haunting visions of those left behind in Tuura, she felt regretful and tried to smile.

Looking up, Bertel was surprised to receive it. He was configuring a fish hook, determined to win the ongoing argument about not stopping until supper, which, he knew, was an unpopular opinion. Though he was keen to make real progress. ‘We’ll come to Skarn soon enough,’ he said, scanning the riverbank, searching for anything that looked familiar. He’d seen the odd landmark, which gave him confidence that they were making good progress towards Ollsvik, and he didn’t want the arguing girls or the bossy dreamer slowing them down.

It was almost peaceful, Edela thought as Siggy and Lina rowed and Bertel fiddled with his hook. Birds flocked to the river’s edge, searching for fish, sharing that day’s gossip in loud bursts of song. Though the silence which had descended on the boat lingered, and eventually, Edela was relaxed enough for her mind to start wandering, her thoughts finally free to roam...

Furia wanted her help, though sending her away made no sense. If she left Brekka and Tuura behind, how could she help anyone?

‘Some paths are treacherous, though necessary,’ the goddess had warned.

Edela shivered, fearing what that meant.

Bertel sneezed, and her attention was once again drawn back to him. He’d taken some threads from her bag, weaving them into a thin rope, which he’d attached to the rudimentary hook he’d made from wire wrapped around the hilt of his eating knife. ‘What do you think?’ he called from the stern, proudly holding it up. ‘Shall I give it a try?’

Edela knew it was a rhetorical question as Bertel tended to do whatever he wanted, though she smiled and nodded, for everyone would feel better after a hearty meal. ‘How are you girls?’ she asked, turning her attention back to their hard-working rowers. ‘Seems like the wind is helping a bit?’ And thinking of the wind, she lifted a hand to her head, brushing wisps of white hair out of her eyes.

Neither girl answered, but Siggy stared at her, offering a crooked smile.

And not minding the continuing silence, Edela’s attention wandered to the riverbank, where she could suddenly see smoke and then a house coming into view.

* * *

‘Sun’s hot,’ Thorgils decided with a grimace, surveying the vast meadows ahead. ‘Why’d we leave the main road again? The one with all the trees?’

Jael peered at him. ‘Because this is a shortcut, according to Joren. Means we can avoid going into the mountains and hopefully shave a day off the journey.’

Thorgils was quiet for a time, considering that. ‘Still, it’s hot,’ he repeated. ‘So we might get there quickly, but we won’t enjoy it much.’

Jael grinned. ‘We’ll be back on the main road soon enough. It’s just a little detour.’

Thorgils nibbled a nail, keeping a loose hold on Vili as he trotted beside Tig. Because of the heat, they couldn’t afford to push the horses too hard, and taking the shortcut through the meadow meant there was no stream or river nearby. Though they weren’t going slowly, and he was soon forced to spread the reins into both hands, shifting his weight in the saddle.

‘And what about these men you saw in Tuura? Don’t you want to get your hands on them?’

‘Course I do, but do you really think men like that are taking the main road? I doubt it. We’re more likely to run into them here.’

Thorgils squinted at his queen, then past her, searching for signs of trouble. ‘How’d they get into the fort then? Must’ve had help. But why didn’t the dreamers have any warning? Why didn’t they save themselves?’

Jael didn’t know. ‘There are ways to stop a dreamer seeing things. We know that.’

‘Mmmm, though it makes you wonder what sort of people we’re up against. The sort that know magic? Perhaps The Following?’

Jael wasn’t keen to start thinking about The Following again. ‘As far as I know, they were wiped out. Every one of them. I’m sure it’s not them.’

Thorgils nudged Vili closer to Jael, who had stiffened suddenly. ‘What?’ They were riding at the front of the column, though Jael had sent two scouts ahead to alert them to any danger.

And looking up, Thorgils saw both men galloping back towards them.

7

Raymon’s mind was whirring. There was so much to prepare, so much to think through. If he was going to die, he had to ensure that everything was organised.

His thoughts tumbled as he walked, oblivious to the swirling wind and the odd jeer in the distance. He assumed they were directed at him, though he didn’t let himself become distracted by it. Soon he would be gone, and what anyone thought would be irrelevant.

He wouldn’t let it bother him now.

Turning around, he saw his steward trailing behind him, surprised to see the man. ‘I thought I instructed you to stay in the hall,’ he grumbled unkindly. ‘I don’t require your help today, Arven.’

Though the balding man barely broke his stride, thin strands of hair flapping behind him. ‘But there’s a message for you, lord. I thought you would like to see. It could be important.’

Raymon no longer cared, inclined to ignore his steward’s entreaties, though he stopped and took the proffered scroll.

‘Important missives, lord king?’ came a sneering voice.

Raymon turned to see the self-important figure of Oren Storgard standing before him. The man’s long face was ghoulishly pale, his hair the colour of hot flames, cascading past his shoulders. He was twelve years older than Raymon, and despite Raymon’s status, he spoke to the king as though he was a boy of no consequence. ‘Oren. I wasn’t aware that you were in Ollsvik,’ he lied, acutely aware of why the man had come.

‘We’ve all been summoned by the old duck. Our uncle is ailing. Won’t last the week according to the urgent note I received. Haven’t seen him yet, but from what I’ve heard, I’ll soon be the new Lord of Varan.’

And happily so, Raymon thought, seeing no grief in the man’s calculating green eyes. ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he offered. ‘I last spoke with your uncle a few nights ago. He seemed hale indeed.’

‘Though at his age, a turn can come out of the blue. Especially in Ollsvik,’ Oren grinned. ‘If anyone knows that, it’s you. My lord,’ he added after a deliberate pause.

Raymon felt his temper sparking at the man’s insolence, though demanding some form of respect would only drag out their conversation, and with so many urgent matters to attend to, he had little time for games. So, scrunching the scroll he was holding, with little thought of reading it, Raymon Vandaal made to continue on his way.

‘Do be careful, my lord!’ came the cheerful warning. ‘There’s been an accident near the cooper’s. A collapsed wagon. There’s fish and water everywhere!’

Raymon didn’t break stride nor offer a nod in reply as he quickened his pace towards the alley, not wanting to be late for his meeting.

* * *

Barracked by a stern-faced Bertel Knutson, Siggy and Lina manoeuvred their little vessel towards the riverbank, where some helpful soul had constructed a short pier. There was much jostling about and panicking as Bertel stood, unbalancing everyone, threatening to tip them all into the river. It was a warm day, though the wind was up, and no one wanted a swim.

‘You’ll have us all under!’ Edela snapped, not understanding the single-minded selfishness of the man, who appeared thoroughly oblivious to others. He thought of himself, acted for himself, everyone else be damned.

It was starting to get on her nerves.

‘I must secure the boat to that pier!’ Bertel shot back. ‘I have to throw out the rope!’

Edela knew that, though he was making such a creaking fuss and mess of doing so, that she wasn’t surprised when Lina simply snatched the rope from his hand, threw it up onto the pier and then jumped out of the boat herself.

A red-faced Bertel swung around to Edela, certain she would have some smart comment to make, though the dreamer’s attention was on a woman emerging from the little cottage. Carrying a basket, which appeared quite heavy, she only briefly looked their way as she headed to where a horse-drawn wagon waited under the command of an old man, who clicked his tongue, wanting to hurry her along.

‘This is new,’ Bertel decided. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

‘It’s not a house,’ Edela realised as another basket-carrying woman came bustling out of the cottage. She had a black eye and quickly ducked her head to avoid the curious onlookers as she made her way down the path, heading for the forest. No wagon was waiting for her.

‘Then what is it?’ Siggy asked.

‘Oh, it’s better than we could have hoped for!’ Bertel said, blinking with excitement. ‘It’s a shop!’

Siggy frowned, turning to Lina, who shrugged.

‘Like a market stall,’ Bertel went on. ‘But it’s a fixed abode. They’re selling things in there. Things we can buy!’ And as he said it, yet another woman emerged with a small child, carrying one basket each.

Edela could see great stalks of kale poking out of the baskets, and her stomach growled loudly in response. ‘I didn’t imagine anyone would have surplus to sell after the last few harvests.’

Bertel shrugged. ‘Well, they obviously do, and lucky for us.’ He took Lina’s offered hand and hauled himself out of the boat, immediately wobbling on the little pier. ‘Though it looks busy. We’d better hurry if we don’t want to miss out.’

Edela winked at a nervous-looking Siggy. ‘He’s right, you know. Let’s get moving.’

But Siggy remained seated. ‘What about the men, Edela? If they’re looking for us, perhaps they’ll know we were here?’

Edela worried about that too. ‘They might, yes, but I think it’s more important that we get some food for the journey, for we can’t rely on Bertel Knutson and his magical hook to provide us with a good meal tonight!’ And with that, she stood, creaking past Siggy, to where Lina was waiting to help her out of the boat.

* * *

The two bodies, stripped of their clothes, were hung up to dry like skins. Their arms were tied high above their heads, their legs spread wide apart, secured to the thin trunks of closely spaced birch trees.

The women appeared reasonably young, Jael thought with a shudder. Symbols had been carved into their flesh, on their foreheads, arms and torsos, on their thighs, too, and the blood from the wounds had run, painting their blue-tinged bodies dark shades of red.

The scouts had come across them at the entrance to the woods and had hurried to alert Jael, who now ordered everyone back, and those scouts to head into the trees to find any clues as to who had done this. She shut out the worried muttering and swallowed her own revulsion as she headed for the bodies. When she touched the first woman, she saw glimpses of her life: she had been a mother with young children.

They lived nearby, Jael realised, seeking to find out more. She saw one of the women arrive at a cottage with empty baskets and two boys, who ran ahead to drag their walking companions outside: the other woman and two more boys.

Jael swallowed, body vibrating now as Eadmund ordered more men into the trees, searching for signs as to who might have done this.

‘We’re not dreamers!’ came the pleading cry in her ears. ‘We’re not!’

Jael saw a man drawing his sword from its leather scabbard, pointing at a group of four men. ‘Strip them! And have someone find those fucking children!’

The women were crying and begging for their lives. ‘We’re not dreamers!’ they repeated over and over again.

And then the vision was gone, the echoes of their terror lingering in the darkness. Jael opened her eyes, staring at the bodies, seeing the wrenched-open mouths, the frantic eyes, frozen, as though seeing something terrifying in the distance.

Had they been dreamers?

‘Cut them down!’ she ordered, turning around, eyes on the long, serious face of Joren, who was in charge of Axl’s men. ‘We’ll give them a pyre, and in the meantime, we need to see about finding their children.’

Fyn approached, struggling to lift his eyes to the heinous sight. ‘Children?’

Jael nodded. ‘Four boys. I think the women sent them away when they were attacked. The man in charge looked similar to the one I saw in my vision of Tuura. Same sort of armour, same accent. This one’s tattooed all the way up his neck. On his hands too.’

Eadmund glanced around before turning back to his wife. ‘How many were there?’

‘Not an army,’ she decided, repeating her earlier claim. ‘I didn’t see an army.’

Fyn followed Jael and Eadmund over to where Thorgils and Milla stood, whispering solemnly to each other.

‘You and Milla help look for the children,’ Jael told Fyn, who nodded, grateful for something useful to do, and he quickly ushered Milla away. When they were gone, Jael pulled Thorgils and Eadmund further into the trees. ‘I don’t think they were dreamers.’

Eadmund looked confused. ‘So these men aren’t the ones killing dreamers?’

‘I’m not sure, but they’re certainly making it look as though they are. Those women mightn’t have been, but perhaps others were? They may have gone to Tuura and killed dreamers there.’ She was thoughtful, rubbing her eye, immediately wincing as she remembered it was still swollen. Thorgils offered her a waterskin, which she took, taking a quick drink. ‘Let’s keep it between us, though.’

‘Why?’ Eadmund asked.

‘It’s unsettling, not knowing why things are happening. Without any certainty or answers, minds tend to wander. I just think it’s better to keep it between us. Let us worry about it.’

Thorgils peered at her. ‘And Fyn?’

Jael turned to watch Fyn slip into the trees after Milla. ‘He’s got enough to think about. Let’s keep this between the three of us.’

Thorgils wasn’t going to argue with that, and taking the waterskin back from Jael, he drained it. ‘We can’t spend all day looking for these children,’ he warned, wondering if he could hear the trickle of a stream nearby. ‘I doubt they managed to escape those men.’

Jael agreed. ‘No, but we should try. You two go, and I’ll sit here for a while, see if I can find any clues.’

* * *

Ayla wasn’t sure if she could trust the man, though his wife looked at her kindly, and their children seemed eager for her company. All five of them had friendly faces as they peered down at her from their comfortable-looking wagon, though nothing she tried would reveal a clue about their intentions.

Perhaps she was simply too tired? Or too scared?

The family were heading south and had offered her a ride.

Ayla felt nervous about accepting their help, though she wasn’t sure how she could carry on alone.

‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile as the father hopped down and helped her up into the wagon.

‘There might be a little bread left back there,’ his hollow-cheeked wife told her as she turned around to check that her three children were showing good manners. ‘Though I imagine all the nuts are long gone. Can’t leave anything around those hungry mites!’

The three children looked guilty, all of them missing teeth, which they revealed every time they smiled. They were as thin as their parents, and though she was offered the remaining hunk of bread, Ayla pushed it back. ‘You have it. I can find something to eat when we stop.’

The woman peered at her. ‘You’ve come from around here?’

Ayla nodded. ‘From Tuura, though there was an attack on the fort. I ran away. Now I must get to Andala and tell the king what happened.’

The woman glanced at her husband, who suddenly spun around.

‘You’re a dreamer? It’s not safe to be around dreamers. Not anymore.’ He yanked the horse’s reins, abruptly stopping the wagon, which had barely lurched forward.

Ayla’s silence fed the man’s suspicions, and soon he was frowning.

‘You’d best get out. We’d help if we could, but...’ He looked back to his wife, who didn’t protest. The children did, though their parents, fearing for their safety, ignored them.

Ayla felt caught, though she couldn’t lie. ‘I’m sorry. I... I will go.’

‘Please take the bread!’ the woman called as a trembling Ayla clambered down from the wagon. ‘Please!’

One of the children threw the bread after her, and feeling obliged, Ayla bent down to pick it up.

‘Best get off the main road,’ the man warned. ‘Outlaws are always roaming these parts. Head east. There’s a shortcut to Andala through there.’

And with that, he snapped the reins, and the wagon, once promising such relief and hope, clattered away.

* * *

Bertel Knutson was a surprising man, Edela realised. She had known him as an elder over the past few years, and he had come across as austere, uptight, and certainly frugal, yet here he was, emptying coins from his pouch like a generous lord.

She didn’t know what to think.

He returned to her with a broad grin, striding with a youthful determination that caught her eye. ‘It’s better to travel on horseback, don’t you agree, Edela?’ She didn’t have a chance to answer before he was repeating his statement to the girls. ‘They don’t usually sell horses, but I’ve convinced them of our dire predicament. We can walk up to the farmstead, through those trees, once we’ve bought what we need here. We’ll exchange payment there.’

‘Horses?’ Lina was thrilled.

‘Well, ponies, but it’s much the same.’

‘Ponies?’ Siggy still looked terrified. ‘I’m not sure I can ride a pony.’

‘Would you rather get back in that dratted boat?’ Lina grumbled, ready to leave for the farm now. ‘Riding will be so much more pleasant.’

Edela wasn’t sure. ‘I...’

But a confident Bertel took her by the elbow, leading her to where they had gathered their purchases. ‘If those men were still following us, we’d have seen them by now. Come on, not everything has to be hard, does it?’

Edela stared up at him. ‘But where did all those coins come from? All that silver? Why did you have it on you?’

Bertel chuckled. ‘I was about to bury it in the forest, truth be told, when you found me. I... inherited a vast fortune, and though it’s never especially interested me, I knew it might come in handy one day. I’ve been burying it bit by bit in different places around Tuura. I even buried some in Brekka and Iskavall. Helps to spread it around!’

Edela was open-mouthed. ‘And you can remember all the places you hid it?’

‘Mostly,’ Bertel laughed. ‘If not, someone’s sure to find a nice helping of treasure. Besides, I don’t need it. Elders are supposed to be free of fortune, to open themselves to the nourishment of the gods and the gods alone.’

‘Well, lucky for us you kept a little behind,’ Edela declared, feeling a lift.

Bertel thought so too. ‘And there’s more! If we keep heading south, I’ll lead us to another stash.’

‘Do you think we’ll need that much?’ Edela’s voice was low as Bertel bent to collect the baskets of food and supplies. He was starving and couldn’t wait to get on the road, already dreaming of what to cook for supper. Straightening up, he peered into Edela’s eyes, seeing the worry creasing her forehead. ‘Well, Edela Saeveld, you tell me. You’re the dreamer, after all. I’m merely here to serve you!’ And with that, he strode away, a shadow of the grumbling creature who had driven them all mad on the boat.

Edela didn’t know what to think, and frowning, she bent down to lift up her own bag, now bulging with cabbage, onions and garlic, and a generous wedge of cheese, turning to smile at the farmer’s wife, who watched her warily from the doorway.

* * *

After an exhaustive search, there was still no sign of the dead women’s children, though Fyn found a bloody shoe, likely belonging to one of them.

It rendered everyone silent as they got back on the road, and even Thorgils kept his thoughts to himself as they headed deep into the forest. Though with sixty-three men and two women on horses, leading more horses, weighed down with supplies, they were a clattering, clopping warning to any who might be waiting ahead.

‘Hope those scouts have their eyes peeled open,’ Thorgils muttered, gnawing a sliver of salt pork. ‘Might see some sign of the poor things.’

Eadmund rode in front of them with Joren, heads together, discussing what lay ahead.

‘I don’t think they’re here,’ Jael decided quietly, seeing images of her own children. She’d rarely been away from them since giving birth to Bo, and she felt a flutter of panic at not being with them now.

‘Are they dead?’

‘I don’t know, but whatever those men are up to, I doubt they’d hesitate to kill a child. After what they did to the poor women? They were collecting pine cones. They were laughing, happy.’

Thorgils stopped eating, losing his appetite. ‘Makes no sense.’

‘Cruelty rarely does.’

‘But let’s get clear here, Jael. What exactly’s going on? Why are we really going to Tuura? Why do you need to speak to Edela? Is it something to do with this? The dreamer thing? I can’t help if you keep me in the dark.’

Fyn watched Jael and Thorgils up ahead. He felt convinced that they were keeping things from him, which was strange. Usually, Jael shared her thoughts with him, not trusting Thorgils’ big mouth.

So what had changed?

‘It’s so horrible,’ Milla said beside him. ‘Those poor women. Have they always hated dreamers here?’

Fyn didn’t think so. ‘No, it’s something new, though I don’t know what.’

‘If they’re killing dreamers, then Jael’s in trouble, too, isn’t she?’ Milla whispered. ‘She’s probably the most famous one of all. Maybe it’s Jael they’re after?’

Turning to Milla, Fyn saw fear in her eyes. She had pretty eyes, he thought, noticing the smattering of freckles over her nose, too, before coughing and trying to focus. ‘If there’s one dreamer we don’t have to worry about, it’s Jael Furyck,’ he promised. ‘Nothing will happen to her.’

* * *

Raymon thought of his sister, Jael, as he returned to the hall. He’d spent a busy day mostly in his own company, organising his affairs. Despite his distracted mind, he’d been acutely aware of the averted eyes and hushed voices as he passed. He’d almost expected an assassin to jump out from an alley and gut him with a knife. It wouldn’t have been the first time an Iskavallan king had been killed like a commoner. And likely not the last, he thought bitterly, surprised to see the hall full of people.

He remembered, belatedly, that Getta had organised a feast to celebrate Justa, Goddess of Summer.

He hadn’t been in the hall all day, and Getta had gone, though he could see that her servants had pulled everything together on their own. The sight that greeted him was one he was sure Getta would have found some fault with, though to his eyes, it was pleasing overall.

Raymon stopped abruptly as the voices silenced, all eyes snapping to him.

He wanted to run away, to turn from them all and just leave. Then, remembering his mother and knowing what she would have advised, he lifted his head and strode through his guests, nodding at some, aiming for the throne.

To many in Iskavall, the old wooden throne in Ollsvik’s hall symbolised the pinnacle of power, the culmination of ambition, a prize of wealth, fortune and fame. To Raymon, it was a deceptive trap, and turning to sit down on the creaking chair, he surveyed the predators arrayed before him, knowing that they had him exactly where they wanted him.

But not for long, he remembered, brightening his smile as Arven hastily delivered a goblet of wine.

Not for long.

He saw the sharp-eyed Storgard twins watching him, their older brothers, Oren and Gregor, standing with their aunt, who looked sad. Distracted for a moment, he wondered if their uncle was dead. They didn’t seem upset, though he doubted the old man’s death would bring them anything more than increased power, wealth, and an excuse to begin. Lord Stein Storgard had been a staunch opponent of everything Raymon sought to do, a harsh critic of his choices and of his recently revealed parentage. Though for all his ambition and his griping, the old man had never sought to move against his king.

His four ambitious nephews, though...

Raymon was tempted to drain the goblet in one mouthful. He wanted to feel nothing at all, though he needed his wits about him for what was coming.

For the vultures had gathered, and soon it would be time to begin.

8

‘Explain to me why a band of hardened warriors is having such a hard time finding dreamers,’ Karam snarled, eyeing the men hunched around his fire. He’d gnawed all the meat off a pork bone, scowling as he washed it down with a cup of insipid ale. He hated the drink on offer in this land. Like watery piss, he thought irritably. After gulping down five cups, he felt nothing but the need to empty his bladder. ‘How many of us are there?’ he grumbled, elbowing the man beside him. ‘Remind me again.’

His right-hand man, Ared, lifted his head, lips glistening with fat in the firelight. ‘Thirty-two last I counted, but finding dreamers isn’t easy. Like mice, they are, scurrying away, hiding themselves with magic.’ He frowned, picking at bits of meat stuck between his yellow teeth. Karam and Ared had been friends for nearly twenty years, so despite Karam’s razor-sharp temper, he wasn’t troubled by his anger.

Karam chuckled. ‘You think so? What? Have your eyes been closed since we arrived here? Have you not seen them cowering before us? Hiding? If they were that powerful, how have we managed to find so many? No, they’re not mice, just stinking old crones and ugly spinsters. We can find them all. Find them and kill them and return home for our reward. A year’s admittance to the harem, that’s what we were offered! A whole year of dipping our fingers into that sweet honeypot.’

Ared smiled. ‘Well, I know what I’d like to dip into that honeypot, and it isn’t my finger!’

Now it was more than just Karam chuckling as his men leaned towards the flames, enjoying the warmth, the food, and the company. It had been a long few weeks, and they were all eager to return home. Despite being spring, Osterland felt cold, and it had rained often. Though they couldn’t leave without completing their mission.

Ared had questions about that, though he didn’t give voice to them. He followed Karam because his friend knew the task they’d been set. So, sitting back, he decided to stop worrying about what came next. Karam would tell him when it was time.

And until then?

The fire popped before them, and Ared grinned, refilling his cup.

Until then, they would just keep hunting the dreamers.

* * *

Bertel, Edela, Lina and Siggy had left their boat in Skarn and carried on towards Ollsvik on their new ponies, riding until dusk had forced them off the road, into the trees.

Bertel had been disappointed by the emaciated state of the ponies he’d just purchased. He had initially thought he’d struck a bargain with the farmer but soon realised that it was the farmer who’d emerged from their deal the victor, for the ponies were on their last legs.

As she warmed her hands over the fire, reading Bertel’s miserable thoughts, Edela laughed. ‘Stop fretting! We’ll feed those ponies up. A little dandelion and milk thistle will give them a lift too. I’m sure we can find that. Not to mention all the food we purchased. Tomorrow we’ll all feel better!’

Bertel eyed her sourly. ‘Is that you speaking as a dreamer?’

‘No, but I refuse to be miserable about something we cannot change. And besides, I’m already growing quite fond of mine. He’s a lovely little creature. I’ve called him Silas.’

Bertel didn’t feel the same. His expression remained thoughtful, inducing a nudge from his companion. ‘I’ll stop fretting. I will,’ he promised, attempting to do just that. ‘Though I fear the half-dead beasts will lose us a day or so.’

Edela doubted that. ‘For an elder, you don’t inspire a lot of confidence. I thought you were supposed to convey an air of optimism and calm amidst the chaos of life.’

‘Is that you mocking me?’ Bertel scowled.

‘Mocking? No,’ Edela replied sweetly. ‘Why would I do that? I’m merely observing that you’re not quite what I expected. A wealthy pessimist! And a fretful one at that. Are you not comforted by the gods, Bertel? Are you not certain in your path?’ Now she was gently mocking him, and realising it, Edela picked up a stick and poked the fire.

The two girls had fallen asleep early, which was a relief. And though she felt equally drained by another tiring day, Edela was alert, enjoying her conversation with an increasingly uptight Bertel.

Bertel felt ready to snap at her, though he sighed instead. ‘Perhaps the truth is that, like most things in my life, I haven’t proven to be a very good elder. I have certainly tried, though I fear my patience is shorter than what is required. My faith too. After what happened with The Following, I’ve struggled to understand my place. At first, I thought it was to be a part of Tuura’s rebirth. We were always taught that Tuura must be protected, that it is a sacred place, Daala’s first home on Varmyr, and yet, I fear that we have failed. That Brekka will simply swallow Tuura whole! Or Iskavall. If Raymon Vandaal should fall, many will clamour to claim it.’

‘Oh, you are a cup of joy tonight, Bertel Knutson!’ Edela chortled. ‘But I can assure you that my grandson has no intention of invading Tuura. None whatsoever! And as for Raymon Vandaal... that boy has clung to his throne through the most trying of circumstances. He won’t give up without a fight. Besides, Tuura will not be defeated by evil. It simply will not.’ Edela felt her shoulders tightening, sharp pains digging into her back, and hearing the ponies snuffling sleepily in the distance, she finally thought about sleeping herself. ‘Well, I must try and dream. Perhaps you can stay up and keep watch for a while?’

Bertel nodded distractedly, turning around to check the pile of branches collected by the girls. They hadn’t thought through their efforts, for some were long enough to use as oars. He started muttering in annoyance, turning back to complain to Edela, though she had quickly rolled away from him.

He watched her, feeling strange.

The last few decades of his life had passed without any real purpose. He had drifted from town to town, from home to home, trying in vain to find where he belonged. And finally, arriving at the new Temple of Tuura, welcomed in as an elder – mostly thanks to a generous donation – he’d thought he had finally found it.

Though perhaps Tuura wasn’t his intended path after all?

Perhaps, he thought, hearing Edela sighing, perhaps he’d been sent to help just this one dreamer...

* * *

Raymon had few allies, and none he completely trusted, though Oskar Marek had always been a good friend. After the revelation that he was Ranuf Furyck’s blood son, Oskar had stuck by him, pushing back on those who insisted that the king’s reign was illegitimate and a threat to Iskavall. And now, as they shared a jug of wine, Raymon’s mind wandered, wondering if he was still loyal.

‘I haven’t seen the queen tonight,’ Oskar said, looking around. ‘Is she unwell?’

Raymon stiffened, attempting a smile. ‘She left to visit her sister. There was word that she was ill,’ he lied, wanting to make sense of Getta’s sudden absence. ‘Though I’m pleased for it. A great distance has grown between them these past few years. It will be good to make it right. Good for Iskavall too.’

Oskar nodded. ‘And you? Will you be visiting your brother soon? Seems like a visit to Andala is long overdue.’

Raymon’s steward subtly refilled his king’s goblet before stepping back out of earshot.

‘I must, I know, there’s just so much to do here. There is a... wedding,’ he remembered, scratching his head. ‘Karsten Dragos is marrying the King of Helsabor’s daughter, if I remember correctly. Getta is keen to go, so I shall be putting together a party to accompany me. Maybe you’d like to come along?’ Raymon needed everything to seem normal, as though the future was laid out before them like a road they would soon travel down.

No one needed to know that he wouldn’t be coming with them.

‘I would,’ Oskar declared with a beaming smile. ‘As would Karla. Do you know where it’s being held?’

Raymon shook his head. ‘Though I’m sure Arven has all the details. I’ll remember to put your name forward.’ He smiled now, lowering his voice. ‘You’ve always been a good friend to me, Oskar. I wanted you to know that. Your loyalty hasn’t gone unnoticed.’ He felt emotional, lowering his head as he swirled his wine. Looking up after a moment, he once again had command of himself. ‘The best wine I’ve ever drunk. The King of Silura certainly saved his finest for last.’

Oskar was puzzled by that statement, though seeing his wife approaching, his attention was quickly on her.

Raymon saw Karla Marek, too, and with the bob of his head, he made a hasty exit, once again aware of the eyes following him. He expected his enemies had become so brazen because they were confident they had the men to overthrow him. Shaking his head, Raymon wondered if they had his men too?

It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, for soon he would be dead.

But dead on his own terms, and that was what he clung to most of all.

Striding towards Oren Storgard and his equally ghoulish-looking brothers with his head held high, shoulders back, he almost felt a sense of freedom now. They would not do it in the hall, he’d been informed. Not while their wives and daughters were inside. Now was all for show, so Raymon was determined to be the star performer of the night.

* * *

The night felt never-ending.

Jael had struggled to sleep, so much so that she’d even applied the balm Biddy had forced upon her around her eye and bruises, hoping the smell would relax her. Though despite the soothing aroma, it hadn’t helped, and now, feeling uncomfortable and out of sorts, she left Eadmund sleeping and decided to keep watch instead.

They’d camped in the forest, making space where they could. It was preferable to stay hidden, though Jael couldn’t stop thinking about what might be lurking in the trees.

She jumped as Thorgils appeared from behind one with an enormous grin, chuckling at the surprised look on her face.

‘What? You were expecting a dragur?’

She glowered at him, exhaling steadily. ‘We killed them all, if you remember.’

‘Oh, I do. I do indeed.’ And now a yawning Thorgils dropped down beside her, stretching out his long legs. ‘Though that’s not something I want to think about here.’

‘Mmmm,’ Jael agreed, remembering her encounters with the terrifying dragur. When she closed her eyes, she was certain she could still smell the decomposing creatures, still feel their stone-like grip around her ankles, pulling her through the forest.

‘Can’t sleep?’ Thorgils wondered with a yawn.

‘Can’t sleep.’

Thorgils leaned back against the tree, its trunk wide enough to accommodate them both. ‘Is it that dream of yours again?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Something’s wrong, but I can’t see what. Whether my eyes are open or closed, I can’t bring anything to me.’

‘But do you actually want to? There was a time when you didn’t want to see.’

‘There was,’ Jael agreed. ‘But now I feel afraid. Afraid for my family.’ She thought back to her conversation with Axl, full of regret. If she’d taken a breath and stopped leading with her anger, she might have given him the space to talk to her.

Thorgils peered at her. ‘But not for yourself? Though you were on that pyre, too, Jael.’

Jael fingered her lips, mulling it over. ‘Oss has Eadmund, so if anything happens to me, you’ll all be fine.’

Thorgils shoved her. ‘You think so? Fine? Without you, our queen?’ He scoffed. ‘You think Eadmund could cope if you weren’t there, telling him what to do? That we’d all know what to do without you?’

Jael turned to him in surprise, then feeling awkward, she looked away.

The fire was further in the distance, and it was cold. They fell silent, looking around as one of their men roused himself and headed into the trees.

‘We must be able to come up with better things to talk about than the dragur and my impending death,’ Jael said eventually. ‘How about that tavern you want me to build?’

Thorgils’ eyes rounded. ‘I do! Yes! Makes sense. Everywhere we sail, every port we moor in, there’s a tavern making coin for whichever lord or king commands it. Or queen,’ he added with a wink.

‘And you’d what, be the taverner?’ Jael laughed.

‘Me?’ Thorgils had considered it, and he stroked his bushy beard. ‘Maybe. Not sure Isaura would be happy about it, though.’

‘Well, if we built a tavern, she wouldn’t see much of you either way.’

Now Thorgils laughed. ‘I’ve got a name for it, you know. The Bloody Spire!’

‘What? We’re not having a tavern named The Bloody Spire on Oss.’

‘So you’re thinking about it then? Sounds like you’re thinking about it!’

Jael shook her head, trying to look stern. ‘Not a chance. None.’

But Thorgils was ready with another list of reasons why a tavern would make sense on Oss, and they went back and forth arguing like that for some time as the fire crackled and the owls cooed above their heads.

And eventually, exhausted and completely distracted from every terrifying thought, Thorgils fell asleep, leaving Jael sitting beside him, staring into the darkness.

* * *

‘She will be mine,’ the woman purred. ‘And you will deliver her to me. Find her, and bring her here in one unharmed piece. Though never forget that she is a dreamer. She may just see you coming...’

Edela didn’t know the voice, she didn’t know the woman.

And looking around, she didn’t know the place.

She stood in a grand chamber with ceilings higher than anything she’d seen before. Its walls were made of marble, its furnishings exotic, dripping with gold and ivory. Sheer curtains, draped over enormous windows, fluttered gently behind a man, who nodded.

He was perhaps forty, she thought. Maybe older. Sharp cheekbones and deep-set dark eyes gave him a slightly hungry, handsome look. A look of desperation too. He was stocky, of average height, dressed as though he was a warrior of great standing. His skin was a deep golden brown, his face clean-shaven, his dark hair cut short, thick and messy.

He was not from Osterland.

She was not in Osterland.

A quivering Edela needed to hear more, though she sensed that everything was slowly becoming hazy. The edges of her vision grew increasingly dark, and though she blinked rapidly, trying to sharpen her focus, it slid away from her, and she was soon somewhere else entirely.

Fire crackled, screams of horror swirling, disorienting her.

She felt the heat of the flames, her heart racing now, wondering what was happening.

And then she saw the temple burning.

It was Tuura.

Clouds of smoke blocked the sun.

Those who weren’t running from the flames were cowering from the men threatening them with swords and fists.

Fears rising, she spun around, hoping for a glimpse of Ayla.

There was no sign of her, though one man caught her eye. He had a face marred by terrible scars; brands, she thought, seeing shapes to them as he came closer. He was staring at her with menacing eyes, striding through ash and flame, stepping over bodies, crunching everything in his path.

Edela tried to turn and run, but she was stuck to the spot, terror like shards of glass stabbing her now, and soon the hulking warrior was before her, bloody-faced, dark eyes shimmering like liquid obsidian.

‘I will find you,’ he growled, reaching for her throat. ‘I will find you, dreamer. Run all you like, but soon you will be mine!’

* * *

Axl woke with a start, horrified to discover that he’d fallen asleep.

Glancing over at Eren Venberg, he saw that she, too, was sleeping, and shaking himself further awake, he turned away from her, sliding across the bed, reaching for his clothes.

She stretched like a cat, rolling towards him in the dim light of dawn. ‘Don’t go.’

‘I must.’ Axl rushed on his pants, tucking them into damp boots that smelled of ale. His head thumped, reminding him that he’d drunk too much again. He felt guilt and regret. Embarrassment too. ‘Someone will see.’

Now Eren smiled, reaching a hand towards him. ‘But you’re the king. What would they do?’

Axl turned to frown at her. ‘Tell my wife.’

A sighing Eren sat up now, wrapping a fur around her naked body. ‘And if they do? What would you do, Axl?’

Axl didn’t have time for games, and focusing on his tunic, then his belt and finally his cloak, he stood, glancing around Eren’s bedchamber. She lived alone, a childless widow at twenty-four. And though her cottage was far from the square, it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be spotted leaving. She generously paid her servants to hold their tongues, though Axl feared that it simply wouldn’t be enough. That soon his risk-taking would have terrible consequences for them both. ‘I have to go, Eren. I shouldn’t have stayed.’

Eren looked disappointed to hear it. ‘Well, I don’t feel bad that you did. It was a memorable night.’

Ignoring her sultry voice, Axl aimed for the door, glancing over his shoulder. ‘I’ll find you later,’ he muttered, feeling both guilty and desperate to kiss her again. Though not wanting to make everything even worse, he turned back around and hurried out of the chamber.

The house was dimly lit by shards of blueish light, helping him navigate a path around the fire pits and tables. He woke up with each step, gradually feeling more like a king and a husband than the man who’d spent another drunken night in Eren Venberg’s bed.

Shaking his head and furious with himself for being so reckless, Axl slipped out of the cottage, quietly closing the door behind him, and with a quick look up and down the dark alley, he took a right turn, aiming for the hall.

Amma was a light sleeper, he knew, wondering what he was going to say.

Perhaps he wouldn’t return to their chamber? He could just say that he’d spent the night at Hal’s. In truth, he often did these days. His friends understood him and were supportive of the challenges he faced.

They didn’t judge him harshly.

He would walk to the stables, he decided, go for a ride. He hadn’t ridden for days, and he knew the stable boys were always up well before dawn, preparing the horses.

He would go for a ride, clear his head, find a stream and have a wash. Wash away the smell of his night. And his regret.

He still loved Amma. Deeply. He wanted to hold her, to protect and care for her, but these days he couldn’t get close enough to even try. Since the three miscarriages, she’d mostly kept him at a distance, and now, being pregnant again, she didn’t want him touching her. She was sick, too, afraid that something would go wrong. In fact, when he thought about it, Axl feared that Amma had already decided that something would go wrong. And she’d convinced him of it too. They had both lost the babies, but though there was a shared grief, he could never feel what she herself had experienced. He couldn’t make it easier on her or safer. He couldn’t guarantee that this child would live. He couldn’t take away her illness or her pain.

And stopping abruptly before the stables, Axl straightened up, realising that he might not be able to make Amma feel any better, but he certainly had a part to play in making her feel worse. Eren was beautiful, desirable, excited for his company and skilled with her body, but being with her?

What if she became pregnant with his child?

He thought of Eadmund and the mess he’d gotten into with Evaine Gallas, and feeling worse by the moment, a guilt-ridden Axl felt a desperate need to clear his head.

He wasn’t surprised to see the stable doors open, though stepping inside, he was surprised to see Gant leading his white horse, Gus, towards him.

He almost bit his tongue, certain that Gant could see directly into his mind. That he could tell what he’d spent his night doing.

Dropping his eyes, he swallowed.

‘Early for you,’ Gant noted quietly. The stables were peaceful at this time of morning. The four boys who worked there were skilled in the art of keeping the horses calm, though smelling the arrival of the king, Axl’s chestnut mare, Eiyo, started shifting around in her stall, and soon she was whinnying in anticipation of a ride.

Axl looked up. ‘It’s hard to be alone when you’re the king.’

Seeing that his stepson was wearing the clothes he’d had on the night before, Gant frowned. He hurried to focus on Gus, who was shaking his head beside him. ‘Well, then, I won’t ask if you want any company.’

Axl felt tempted to argue the opposite, wanting to talk, to get some advice. Instead, he shook his head. ‘Maybe another day.’

Gant smiled. ‘I’ll look forward to that. You’re likely sick of the sight of me, living side by side as we do, but it feels as though we don’t talk anymore.’ And shaking his head, he clicked his tongue, leading Gus outside.

Axl turned to watch him go, reminded of his father.

Ranuf Furyck had fathered a child with another woman; he’d had a secret family. He shook his head, thinking of Amma, knowing he had never wanted to do that to her.

He’d never wanted to, and yet he had betrayed her trust, her loyalty.

Time and time again.

Shoulders heavy, bile swilling in his mouth, Axl turned for his horse, wondering what he was going to do.

* * *

Their breakfast had been tasty but hastily gobbled down, for Bertel wanted to make the most of the day, pleased that the ponies appeared more alert than the day before.

‘Told you,’ Edela had grinned as they’d set off. ‘All they needed was a little pick-me-up!’

‘Don’t we all,’ Bertel had groaned at her, having strained his back in the night. Or perhaps it was from riding? He certainly hadn’t ridden in some time. Though seeing that Edela – who, at seventy-six, was three years older than him – was riding with ease, he clamped his lips together and nudged his dun pony on.

‘Will we get there today?’ Siggy wanted to know. She was riding with Lina, who was a tall girl, struggling to stop her legs from dragging on the ground. Her black and white pony didn’t appear to like her, for he was always turning his head, lips peeled back as though ready to bite her.

And the stink...

She felt nauseous.

Bertel turned back to the girls. ‘Tomorrow’s more likely. Hopefully, tomorrow if we make good progress today. So no stopping!’ He turned back to Edela with a confident grin.

Siggy glanced at Lina, who looked upset. ‘Why don’t you want to get to Ollsvik? I thought you’d be happy to go home?’

Lina’s head snapped around. ‘I never said that! Why do you feel the need to assume things about what I want?’

Siggy slunk back, surprised by her venomous tone, though Lina had never been particularly nice to her. Or anyone at Tuura. They had nothing in common, and Lina had no interest in even being friendly, so Siggy decided to keep quiet.

Though Lina kept talking in hushed annoyance. ‘I can’t wait to get to Ollsvik,’ she lied. ‘To see my family again. I haven’t seen them in so long. They’re powerful, you know. My father is the Lord of Varan. My family knows the king, though...’ she went on, ‘some think he shouldn’t even be the king.’ She looked ahead to where Edela and Bertel were arguing, seeing that the old dreamer couldn’t hear her.

‘Why not?’ Siggy wanted to know, too curious to remember that she hadn’t intended to talk to Lina at all.

‘Because he’s a Brekkan by blood, the son of Ranuf Furyck. His mother hid the truth from everyone, and when it was revealed, he refused to go. He refused to abdicate to a true Iskavallan.’ That was what her father and cousins would say. Even Lina’s mother would repeat the standard family line, though Lina wasn’t sure what she thought. Raymon Vandaal was handsome and kind and strong enough to have fought off the claims to his throne for years now. Perhaps his enemies had simply underestimated him?

Siggy was looking at her with an open mouth, waiting to hear the rest of her thoughts, but Lina didn’t want to share them. ‘You don’t have a family,’ she spat instead. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

Siggy guessed that was true. ‘Though one day I will. I’ll have so many children that none will ever feel alone. No matter how many fall ill and die, there will still be enough so that they won’t ever be left alone.’

Lina sneered at her. ‘But who would want to marry a filthy little orphan like you? You’re nothing, not even a dreamer. You’ll just end up a servant or a slave, and then you’ll have no choices at all. And as for children? How would you even be able to feed them?’

Siggy blinked away the tears she could feel coming, shifting her eyes to her little brown pony, deciding that she needed to give her a name.

* * *

King Raymon Vandaal once again met his ten-year-old spy in the passage behind the kitchen, fearing they wouldn’t be alone for long.

‘You have been a true ally, Snow. Likely I’d be long dead without you.’ The boy grinned so broadly that Raymon could see his gums.

‘And when I’m older, I can be one of your men, my lord. I can ride with you and fight with you. I’m saving up for a sword! That’s what I do with your coins. I hide them ‘neath the floorboards. Sometimes, I give one to my mother, but I save the rest for my sword!’

Raymon blinked at the boy, shocked by how little he knew about him. ‘Your mother will be very proud when she finds out what you’ve been up to. Though best to wait until you have that sword. She might want to take your coins for herself.’

Snow was wide-eyed, fearing that too. ‘But you have to be careful, lord. Tonight will be dangerous.’

‘It will,’ Raymon agreed. ‘If what you and Bareth Lows say is true, then yes, tonight is when they’ll begin the attack.’

‘But shouldn’t you leave, my lord?’

Raymon touseled the boy’s hair. ‘No, I intend to stay and fight. I’m the king, and the king can’t run from danger.’ He blinked, seeing the hope in those big eyes. ‘But I’m sending you away. You and your mother.’

Snow jerked forward in shock. ‘No, my lord! But –’

‘It’s all arranged. Most of the servants are being sent to Solborg, and you will go along. I just wanted to thank you first, to give you a little more towards that sword you want so much.’ He held up a bag of coins. Snow didn’t know it, but they were gold. ‘You mustn’t open it, though. Take it straight to your cottage and hide it in your secret place. Promise me that.’

Snow nodded.

‘Good, then go. Go and know that you’ve served your king well.’

The hesitant boy looked up at Raymon. ‘And will I return?’

‘You will, once everything is... resolved. You’ll return to a new Ollsvik, a new Iskavall. And then you’ll start again.’

9

Ayla was lost.

The cuts on her feet were painful, and she’d become so distracted by her situation that she’d almost forgotten she was a dreamer. But remembering what the man had said as he’d ordered her out of his wagon, she decided to try and act like one.

Dreamers didn’t get lost.

Their minds were maps, every new thought leading to another clue, lighting another torch to illuminate the way.

Dreamers didn’t get lost.

The man had advised her to stay off the main road, and she had, but if she continued to do so, she would be walking all the way to Andala.

If she made it that far.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, letting the sounds of the forest flit around her, enclosing her in a harmonious buzzing noise that blocked out every fear. She saw rays of sunlight pushing through the tree cover, warming her tired body.

Eyes springing open, she realised that there was another way to Andala.

And fixing her attention on the bright beams of sunlight shining a path across the forest floor, she ignored her aching feet, hitched up her dress, and headed towards it.

* * *

They found another body hanging from a tree.

A white-haired old woman trussed up like an animal.

‘This one’s a dreamer,’ Jael told them, feeling incensed, wanting to shut out the images that flooded her mind, though the screams of the dying woman rang loudly in her ears.

She turned around, eyes on Tig, who seemed disturbed behind her, tossing his head in annoyance. And then on Eadmund, who looked just as upset.

For the first time since they’d left Andala, Jael wondered if they’d brought enough men.

‘There’s someone in here!’ a man shouted, and soon everyone was moving towards the trees, where one of the Islanders dragged out the body of an old man hastily buried under a mound of leaves.

‘So they want us to think they’re killing dreamers, but they’re basically killing anyone,’ Fyn decided grimly.

Milla had her hands over her mouth beside him. She took them away to speak. ‘But who would do such a thing?’

‘I’d say we’re about to find out,’ Thorgils said, wiping a cloth across his sweating forehead. As the sun had reached its peak, they’d entered a thin patch of trees, and now it was beating down on them. ‘We appear to be following them.’

‘All the way to Tuura?’ Eadmund frowned.

Axl’s man, Joren, came to join them. ‘Perhaps they’re coming back this way, my lord?’

Jael certainly hoped for the latter. ‘Take down the dreamer and burn them together. We need to move quickly.’

* * *

Returning from his ride, Axl found his hall busy and his wife fretting.

‘Axl!’ Amma rushed towards him, beside herself with worry. ‘Where were you last night? And this morning?’

Gisila joined her, looking equally concerned. Her sister, Branwyn, too. And seeing the three women peering at him with three pairs of worried eyes, Axl felt his heart racing. Lies were like threads of yarn, and if you wove enough of them together, there was always the risk of tripping yourself up. And though he felt desperately worried about his grandmother and Ayla, Axl felt a sense of relief that they weren’t there, peering at him too.

Not to mention Jael.

Nobody was more determined to dig up the truth than his sharp-eyed sister.

‘I went riding.’

‘Gant said,’ Gisila told him. ‘Though we didn’t know where you were last night. Amma’s been ill with worry.’

And Amma did indeed look ill, Axl thought, feeling worse than ever. ‘I was with Hal. Had too much to drink.’ He tried to use as few words as possible, not wanting to sound like a liar working hard at some elaborate story. ‘I thought it best not to disturb your sleep,’ he said, apologetically now, seeing tears in Amma’s puffy eyes.

And then, hand over her mouth, she hurried away from him, unable to speak.

Gisila glared at her son. ‘Your wife needs you, Axl. I certainly know what it felt like to have a husband too busy to tend to my needs, to support me. Your father was a responsible king, but in some of the worst moments of my life, he was entirely absent. Though now, I suppose, we all know where he was.’ She lowered her voice, quaking with anger. ‘I do hope you aren’t choosing that same cruel path, my son, for if you are, I promise you will live to regret it.’

Axl blinked, looking away to his aunt, and then after a disappearing Amma. ‘Thank you for the advice, Mother,’ he said coldly. ‘But I’m not Ranuf, and Amma isn’t you. I’ll thank you to worry about your own marriage.’ And with that, he spun on his heels and headed off after his wife.

Branwyn muttered something Gisila couldn’t hear, and turning to her sister, she leaned in close. ‘What is it?’

Branwyn shook her head, wishing she’d kept her mouth closed. ‘Nothing. I just feel sorry for Amma. We both know how she feels, don’t we? Just wanting to stay in bed, feeling like you’re going to die? If only her husband did. Perhaps he would make different choices?’

Gisila eyed her closely, certain her sister knew more than she was letting on, and then her attention was on her servant, Gunni, who’d entered the hall with an armload of fabric from the tailor’s. ‘Ahhh, just what I’ve been waiting for. Come, come, we must choose what we’re going to wear to that wedding!’

* * *

Edela walked into the woods, away from Bertel, who was bossing the girls about. They’d bought waterskins from the riverside shop, and he was instructing them how to fill them in a clear stream. The ponies needed a drink and a break from their passengers, so Edela had taken the opportunity to find a moment alone.

Furia had come to her in Tuura, and there was a chance she would come again. Edela hoped so. She needed more understanding of what she was supposed to do and what was happening with her family.

It was upsetting to have left Tuura without Ayla; strange to have an elder and two girls for companions.

Edela feared that they were in more danger than ever. After her dream, she felt certain that the men chasing them wouldn’t stop. They hadn’t seen a sign of them since their encounter at the river, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come across them again.

Inhaling the cool air of the forest, she caught hints of pine and the musty aroma of damp earth, missing Biddy, who had been her dear companion for many years. Her favourite friend of all.

After Jael.

Edela hadn’t seen any glimpses of her granddaughter in some time, and confused by that, she closed her eyes, wanting to bring Jael’s face into her mind.

But instead, she saw that exotic woman from her dreams.

‘Bring me the dreamer,’ she purred. ‘She will be my prize.’

The dreamer.

Edela shivered, desperate for answers as to what exactly was going on.

* * *

‘Scouts haven’t returned,’ Thorgils told Jael as the afternoon wore on. He’d eaten through his entire saddlebag and felt unable to concentrate. His thoughts kept jumping around, every one of them popping out his mouth.

A frowning Jael turned to him. ‘Go and see what’s happening down the line.’

‘What? Why?’

‘So we know what’s happening down the line!’ she snapped. ‘Ask Eadmund to send more scouts out when you see him. They can try and find the others.’ She didn’t let her worries near her face, though she felt them fluttering in the pit of her stomach now. The scouts had returned regularly since they’d left Andala, though the two men hadn’t been back since morning.

The air was cooling, and Jael’s attention was already turning to where they would make camp for the night, trying to distract herself from the problems she feared lay ahead. Scratching her head, she inclined it for Thorgils to head off, and after he finally turned Vili around, she called Fyn to her. ‘Eyes open, and keep Milla close.’

Fyn turned around to Milla, whose usually cheerful face appeared tense. ‘I will. You think there’s trouble coming?’

Jael winked at him. ‘I always think that. Perhaps it’s why I’m still alive? Don’t worry, just stay alert. Someone’s busy killing people along this road, and maybe they haven’t finished trying.’

A white dove flew out of the trees ahead, and not expecting that, Jael bit her tongue. Turning around to Fyn, she shrugged. ‘Like I said, eyes open. And mouths closed,’ she added, tasting blood.

* * *

Ollsvik’s square was empty.

The stallholders had packed up early, Raymon saw, looking down from his balcony. As his eyes drifted across the usually busy area, he noticed Oren Storgard standing by the silversmith’s, watching him. Oren lifted a hand in greeting, which Raymon returned, along with a smile. Oren soon turned to where his three brothers had arrived. They were armed, as they usually were. All men in Ollsvik were, some women, too, though from his perch high above, Raymon wondered if the Storgard brothers were already dressed for battle.

He turned his attention east, seeing his men being led out of the training ring by the head of his army, a man he mostly trusted called Nik Renfor. Raymon had warned the man of what would come, though he couldn’t be truly certain of his loyalty, knowing that he’d been let down by his closest allies more than once before.

Scratching his beard, he headed back indoors, returning to his chamber, where Arven was preparing his armour. He wanted to look like a king one last time; for those final glimpses of him to be memorable to those watching. As though he truly intended to defend his throne as he had done every time it had been threatened.

He wanted to put on a show.

‘My lord, will you be needing your arm guards?’

Raymon nodded. ‘Of course. I want to be prepared for every eventuality.’

Arven looked anxious, feeling concerned for his family. ‘And you think there will be an attack?’

‘I fear so, though I’ve survived worse than whatever the Storgards intend to throw at me. My men know what’s coming, and they’re prepared. You’ll be safe.’ Though thinking that through, Raymon added: ‘If you wish to leave while there’s still time, you may go. I won’t require anything after you dress me.’

A frowning Arven nodded. ‘I think I will, my lord. My wife has terrible nerves. After all the trouble these past few years, I’d rather get her to safety.’

‘Good, do it then and don’t delay. Help me on with everything, then get going. Out the back, I’d advise. Best you don’t be seen leaving.’

Though Raymon wanted to be seen, and quickly. He needed to let his enemies think that he wasn’t going quietly. He wanted them to know that he was well aware of their intentions. So, watching as his anxious steward mounted the stool, mail shirt in his arms, he smiled confidently, ready to begin.

* * *

Ayla needed something to eat.

She’d found the secondary road to Tuura, which some referred to as the shortcut. It didn’t look like much of a road, and in some places, it became quite narrow, though she felt convinced that staying close to it would give her a better chance of finding help. She would see who was coming and be able to judge for herself whether they appeared trustworthy. And this time, she certainly wouldn’t announce herself as a dreamer.

Ayla had doubted her ability to kill anything with her eating knife, so when the bread had run out, she’d been forced to eat what she’d come across: chickweed and dandelions, sorrel and wild garlic. It wouldn’t sustain her for long, she knew, wondering what else she could find.

Hearing the jingle of a bridle, she froze.

The forest was darkening around her. At first, in her distracted state, she’d thought it was merely clouds covering the sun, but now she saw that it was far later than she’d realised.

Hurrying off the path, she slipped on leaf litter, falling onto her hands and knees. Unable to stop the cry of surprise escaping her lips, Ayla panicked, seeing glimpses of horses coming.

And then she heard them.

Scrambling to her feet, she started running, though here the forest was dense, and soon she had to fight to find a way through. Great knots of roots crawled amongst the leaves, entwining branches blocking her path, and panic rising, she dropped back down to the ground, deciding that her only option was to hide. Shuffling quietly backwards, she moved deep into the trees, wincing at the pain in her knee, lips clamped together.

The clinking of bridles was joined by the thumping of hooves and men shouting out, horses whinnying. And then boots hitting the forest floor, moving with speed.

Ayla thought quickly, closing her eyes and bringing a symbol into her mind, she sought to hide herself.

* * *

It was nearly dark.

‘But we need to keep going,’ Jael insisted, sensing what Thorgils thought about that. He rode behind her and Eadmund, muttering loudly.

Eadmund was tired and hungry, too, his arse now numb, though he knew Jael wouldn’t be pushing on if she didn’t have a reason. ‘Can you see something?’

Jael didn’t look around, working hard to anticipate every problem or obstacle Tig might encounter in the dark, senses alert to what was happening in the forest. ‘I feel it.’ And she did. The air had cooled, but that wasn’t the reason her skin continued to ripple with goosebumps. ‘Someone’s out there.’

Thorgils almost tipped over Vili’s head in surprise. ‘What? Close to us?’

But Jael didn’t answer, and nudging Tig ahead of Eadmund, she left him to keep Thorgils company, wanting no voices intruding on her thoughts.

* * *

The men sounded as though they were tearing the forest apart around her, though Ayla couldn’t see. She had her eyes closed, trying to focus on the symbol she’d brought into her mind. It was Daala’s symbol, which they’d often used to hide themselves.

It was one she knew well.

‘You think you can hide?’ came a voice, sending chills up Ayla’s spine. ‘That you can run? But it’s so dark and cold! Why run from us? We can give you food. A fire! We can keep you warm!’

Ayla swallowed, knee throbbing, trying to ignore the pain and that threatening voice, working to fix her mind on the symbol, though now she heard twigs snapping around her, the earth vibrating as the men came closer.

They called out, urging one another on.

Ayla inhaled musky sweat. They smelled like the man who’d burst into her cottage in Tuura; sounded like him too. She was too afraid to even breathe, though her body was urging her to move, to slide further back into the trees, to escape.

She tried to strengthen the symbol, seeing it like a clear white light against the darkness of her mind. It would keep her safe.

It would shield her from them.

Though a loud snapping sound broke her out of the trance as one of the men cried out, cursing loudly as he fell on top of her, a hunter’s snare clamped around his ankle.

* * *

Fires glowed in braziers, lighting up Ollsvik’s square.

Now entirely empty.

Raymon stood on the hall steps, flanked by twenty men. He had more inside the hall, more waiting in alleys.

It was dark.

He squinted, wanting to know the moment his enemies started their approach. He kept flinching, twitching, imagining he saw something, though it was only shadows teasing him. A cat skittered across the square, chased by another, and he jerked in surprise.

‘Perhaps they’re not coming, lord?’ Nik Renfor muttered beside him. ‘Maybe your information was unreliable?’

Raymon hoped it wasn’t. ‘Everything about this moment surely tells you the opposite. Don’t you think?’ He turned to glare at Nik, doubts swirling, and when he turned back, he saw the shadows turn into a man: Oren Storgard, the new Lord of Varan, brandishing his sword as he strode into the square.

10

Karam’s golden eyes gleamed at the sight of his pretty prize, ignoring the pained cries of his man, who writhed on his back while two others worked to pry the trap off his leg.

‘You are breathtaking,’ he hummed, running fingers through Ayla’s curling hair as he circled her, inclining his head for one of his men to bring his torch closer. ‘A beautiful woman indeed.’

She tried to wriggle away from his touch, though his tattooed fingers were long and determined, and soon they were stroking her face.

‘A dreamer?’

He laughed as he said it, for they had asked the same question of every woman they’d encountered in Osterland. Though he felt confident that this woman was no dreamer. She had the hair of a goddess, and her figure? He moved his hands down her cheeks, across her throat, cupping her breasts. ‘You are no dreamer!’ he declared loudly. ‘So I will let you live, and you will keep me warm on our travels. Warm and satisfied.’ Kissing her, Karam ignored Ayla’s choked protests as he rolled his tongue around hers, exploring her mouth.

Ayla gagged, coughing as the man finally released her, standing back with a satisfied smile.

‘First, you will cook for me, then you will come to my bed. Or perhaps it should be the other way around?’ he joked to his men, who laughed with him. All except the one who lay whimpering on the ground. ‘Get Iba up, and let’s make camp here! Cyrus! Yasha! Set a perimeter. There’s lighter tree cover on the other side of the road. Maybe a stream?’ Karam continued shouting orders until he could see that he’d focused his men on their tasks, and now, shooing away the two restraining Ayla, he brought her forward, gripping her neck with his enormous hand. ‘There’s nothing to fear, beautiful woman. Not from me. Karam will keep you safe.’

* * *

Oren Storgard wasn’t alone.

Raymon soon saw that his three brothers were there, flanking him. They were expert swordsmen, expert horsemen; tall and lean and capable, all four of them.

Tremors surged up Raymon’s sword arm, stomach fluttering, nerves now hard to control. It was fully dark, and he felt some relief about that, though he feared that the flaming braziers would reveal just how uncertain he was.

There was so much that could go wrong.

Trusting his men to remain loyal? To have the will to stay by his side?

Taking a deep breath, Raymon realised that he’d come too far to change course now. There was no option for retreat, only a locked door, and, fully aware of that, he pushed back his shoulders, thinking of his mother. It was a fleeting thought that made him feel embarrassed for what he was about to do.

Heading down the hall steps, he pointed his sword at Oren Storgard, eyes fixed on the man who had somehow united the might of Iskavall’s squabbling families behind him. Raymon was soon aware of how many men had flooded Ollsvik’s square behind Oren and his three brothers. ‘Your ambition does you a grave disservice, Lord Oren! It relieves you of your senses! A wise man would think twice before making another step towards his king!’

‘Ha! King? You are not even one of us! Nothing you do or say will ever change that, whelp! The blood flowing in your veins isn’t Iskavallan! It’s Brekkan! You will always be a fucking Brekkan! A Furyck bastard!’ Oren spat. Commanding the square with his threatening voice, he sought to claim the loyalty of those who hid in their houses and workshops, peering out windows and looking through cracks in their doors. A curious few had ventured onto their porches, some even into the square, wanting to see the game play out, though most knew it made sense to hide away.

It had happened many times before.

A number of Iskavall’s kings had been challenged in Ollsvik’s square, forced to assert control of their kingdom or relinquish it before a baying mob and its ambitious leader.

‘Yet I have lived my life in Ollsvik, raised by an Iskavallan king and queen! I have been loyal to my people, and they have prospered! And you seek to do what? Kill me and then steal from them? Anyone who knows a Storgard knows they only think about what’s in their own coffers, never anyone else’s! Likely you would steal from your poor widowed aunt given the chance! Perhaps you already have?’

Oren was incensed, not having expected Raymon to mount much of a challenge. And turning to his brothers, he issued a flurry of instructions, watching as they turned to their own men.

Raymon watched too.

The Storgards had a plan, and thanks to Snow, he already knew it.

He could only hope that they didn’t know his.

* * *

Jael was suddenly hot all over, feeling decidedly strange. Stepping away from the fire, she tried to take a breath.

They had stopped some time ago, though her strange feelings hadn’t, and she was desperate to determine what was happening.

‘Is something wrong?’ Eadmund asked, seeing the look on his wife’s face as he turned to offer her a cup of ale.

She didn’t answer, instead shaking her head and turning away. She saw only darkness, and without a word, she walked towards it, leaving the tents and campfires and laughing men behind.

She didn’t hear Eadmund calling after her.

‘You should go with her,’ Thorgils told his friend, who looked hesitant.

‘She wants to be alone.’

Thorgils doubted the wisdom of that, but with a shrug, he turned back to the fire.

‘If there’s no sign of her soon, I’ll go find her,’ Eadmund promised, attempting to reassure them both.

Their voices blended into a hum of noise that now lingered far in the distance.

Jael felt somewhere else entirely.

Her boots crunched down on a path of twigs and leaf litter, and she heard a voice in her ears.

‘You mean to keep her? Take her with us? Why?’

Another man laughed. ‘Are you blind? Or has it been so long since you had a woman that you’ve forgotten what they’re good for? Why? Why do you think, you stupid bastard?’

Jael swallowed, keeping still in the silence, desperate not to lose hold of the voices. She wanted to hear more, to see who was talking, to know what was happening and where they were.

‘And then you’ll kill her?’ the first man asked, sounding unconvinced.

‘If she pleases me, why would I do that? I may even take her home. Why not? A woman like that as a wife?’

The first man grumbled something Jael didn’t understand, but she saw a flicker of light, and before her now, two silhouettes.

They were big and burly, heads together, looking and pointing at something.

Or someone.

‘She’s mine and only mine. Understood?’ It sounded like the final word, and the first man appeared to nod mutely before turning away, revealing the woman they’d been talking about.

Ayla.

* * *

Raymon Vandaal, King of Iskavall, lifted his sword in the air, pointing it at the moon.

It was the signal.

Arrows whipped down into the square from second-floor windows.

He’d placed archers in every upstairs room with a view of the square.

The Storgards and their men were, at first, surprised, then quickly refocusing on their own plans.

‘Archers! Fire at will!’ Oren bellowed, moving his shield up to protect his head. ‘Lars! Left flank! Gregor! Right!’

Screams, thuds, whistling arrows.

Panic.

Ducking an arrow, which speared the hall door behind him, Raymon spun to his men with instructions, ordering them into the square. They would engage the Storgards and push them back, away from the hall.

Despite the braziers bordering the square, it was still hard to see and even harder to think as the shouting noises rose into a din, swirling around until Raymon became disoriented. He wanted to defeat the Storgards. He believed he could. Defeat them, and he would be free, and Iskavall would be free to choose a new king. Hopefully, a better one than he had been. A better one than the new Lord of Varan would certainly be, he thought bitterly.

He saw one of the orange-haired twins charging for him, sword in his right hand, shield in his left. Two of Raymon’s guards moved forward to cut him off, but before he could warn them away, wanting to take on the man himself, Gregor Storgard had hacked one of them down, spinning to finish the other. Though Raymon pulled a knife from its scabbard, flinging it at Gregor, striking him between the eyes.

Oren roared, watching his younger brother tumble backwards, quickly sucked into the crowd. Fearing that Gregor was dead, he elbowed his way forward, not about to let his carefully constructed plans unravel before his eyes. He heard his brothers shouting out, their men panicking behind him as they were struck, speared by the archers. ‘Kill those men in the windows!’ he ordered, scything his way to the king, and upon reaching Raymon, he didn’t hesitate, releasing his blade with all the force of his anger.

Raymon shunted his injured man out of the path of Oren’s arcing blade. He saw his enemy’s green eyes glowing through his helmet slits. ‘You will not rule here!’ he promised thunderously. ‘I will not allow it!’

‘Allow it?’ Oren laughed bitterly, focused solely on the king now, and shuffling his feet, steadying himself amidst the chaos, he swung again, aiming for Raymon’s neck. ‘But the dead have no say in who sits on Iskavall’s throne. None at all!’ His arm jerked as Raymon blocked the shot, following with his shield, attempting to simply knock Oren away.

More men surged into the square.

Raymon felt a lift. ‘You fool!’ he taunted. ‘You thought to come here and claim my throne? As though you had a born right to sit upon it? But how have you earned it? What right do you have?’

He hated Oren Storgard and his entire family with a passion.

An arrow took him in the arm. He felt the lethal tip pierce his armour, burrowing into his skin, and crying out, Raymon Vandaal stumbled.

The reinforcements, he saw as Oren rounded on him, were here for the Storgards and not him. That was a surprise, though it shouldn’t have been. The Storgards wouldn’t have attempted to overthrow him if they weren’t confident in their numbers.

He heard his men calling for guidance.

Nik Renfor was there, issuing orders, sword busy in his right hand, while his left was pointing in every direction. His men in the windows were being targeted by Storgard archers now, some falling onto the dark mass of fighting bodies.

It was chaos.

The pain in Raymon’s shoulder was like a warning bell going off. His reinforcements were supposed to come in behind and quash the Storgards’ attack, supporting his archers, but now the extra men had doubled the Storgards’ forces and were surging forward, pushing back his own men.

Raymon had to act.

If he didn’t do something, his plan would fail entirely.

Steffan and Lars Storgard arrived, flanking their brother, all three intent on killing the king.

Moving with urgency before the brothers could coordinate their plans, Raymon lunged to his right, spearing Lars in the knee, and as he stumbled, Raymon drew back his sword and stabbed him in the throat. Oren and Steffan were too stunned to respond, unsure how it was possible to have lost two brothers in the space of a few moments. Though they soon rallied, calling for reinforcements, and Raymon found himself surrounded. Now he worked his shield with his left arm, sweeping it across his body, deflecting every blow as he waited for his own reinforcements. Stepping back slowly, he called for Nik Renfor again.

Finally, men came from behind, and moving in front of their king, they fought off the two standing Storgards while others shepherded Raymon back to the hall steps.

One of his men snapped the arrow in Raymon’s arm before jerking away, struck by a knife. Another fell to an arrow, for it appeared that the Storgards’ archers had the upper hand now. No one was firing down into the square. The firepower all appeared directed Raymon’s way.

‘Into the hall, my lord!’ croaked one of his men, locked in a fraught battle. ‘Into the hall!’

Death was unavoidable, Raymon reminded himself, for Ollsvik had always been a battleground, though he still felt the guilt of his men’s sacrifices as he turned away, aiming for the hall doors.

They opened a creak.

‘Hurry, lord!’ one of the servants called, ready to bolt the door closed when Raymon was inside.

It wasn’t going entirely to plan, though Raymon had no choice but to continue. So, running into the hall, he heard the clattering thud of the door closing behind him, knowing he had to hurry.

* * *

It took a while for Eadmund and Thorgils to grasp what Jael was talking about, which was understandable, for Jael herself had been confused by what she’d seen.

‘Ayla’s here? Somewhere around here?’ Eadmund frowned, turning from Jael to peer at Thorgils. Axl’s man, Joren, had joined them, too, as Jael sought to formulate a plan.

‘I believe so,’ she said hesitantly. Then realising how dark it was and that her voice was her only means of communicating, she strengthened it. ‘I think the men who’ve captured her are the ones who’ve been killing the dreamers. Though the leader doesn’t seem inclined to kill Ayla. Yet.’

Joren shifted awkwardly. ‘But how many are there, my lady? And you want to attack them tonight?’

‘I do. We’ve got sixty men. More than they have.’ Jael felt sure about that, and she inhaled sharply, suddenly hot again. ‘We need to move quickly, though, if we’re to reach them before dawn.’

There were nods then, though the thought of riding through the forest, unable to see where they were going, was daunting. And dangerous.

Eadmund shrugged. ‘The quicker we get going, the sooner we save Ayla.’

Thorgils agreed, fearing what those men were already doing to her. He turned to Jael. ‘I’ll tell Fyn. He’ll have to bring Milla, but she’ll need to stay far at the back.’

Jael nodded. ‘Once we find them, we’ll leave her with the horses, approach on foot. Come on. We have to get going.’

* * *

Raymon ordered his few remaining servants into the kitchen. ‘Leave!’ he cried through clenched teeth. It wasn’t just the arrow in his arm giving him pain. He also had a cut hand, fearing for one of his fingers. His mouth was bleeding, too, where he’d caught the rim of a shield. He needed to spit. And turning to find a flower display on the high table, he aimed for that. ‘Leave quickly!’ he urged, wiping his bloody mouth on the back of his hand. ‘Head for the stables! All of you! You’ll be safe there! Make sure everyone leaves!’

He felt regret, fearing that Oren Storgard would somehow be victorious. The pain in his arm distracted him, too, and he couldn’t think. Hearing shouts outside the hall doors, he raised his voice. ‘You must go! Now!’

‘But my lord!’ one of the servants panicked. ‘What about you?’

‘I’ll join you soon, just saddle the horses and leave! You must lead everyone to Solborg! Ensure that they’re safe. Please, whatever you do, don’t come back here. I will follow!’

The servant’s instinct was to stay with his master, but realising that it wasn’t possible, he nodded, turning to bark at those who were panicking about what to take. ‘Nothing!’ he insisted. ‘We take nothing but ourselves! Come on!’

Raymon watched them go, hoping every one of them would leave the hall. He heard hammering on the doors and then someone shouting. Then a quiet calm, which worried him most of all.

Running upstairs to his bedchamber, he hurried to drag off his armour, shrugging it onto the bed with an agonised yelp. He didn’t have long. Voices drifted up from the square, the noise of battle lessening now.

He smelled smoke.

There was little time, though between the wound in his shoulder and the one in his hand, Raymon was shaking, his coordination poor, struggling to do anything with ease. Shutting out the pain, he tried to work with speed now. Kicking off his boots and pulling off his socks, he laid everything on one side of the bed, standing before it entirely naked. Then bending under the bed, he pulled out two satchels. One was stuffed with clothes, and feeling the chill of the night air on his exposed flesh, he rushed to dress. The clothes stunk. They were old and tattered, made from the roughest homespun. His trembling fingers kept poking through holes as he hurried them on.

Bareth Lows had done a good job, he thought, wrinkling his nose.

And now he reached back under the bed for what smelled the worst of all: a dead body, sheathed in thick sacking.

Moving quickly to drag it onto the bed, Raymon unwrapped it, stashing the sacking back under the bed. Bareth had ensured that the body was naked, and peering closely, he saw dark shades of bruising on the man’s face and around his neck. Though the entire body had mostly turned the colour of a bruise now.

Shutting out his wandering thoughts and his revulsion, Raymon dressed the man in his own clothes, soon discovering where he was shorter or thinner. Though, overall, he seemed to fit everything. He realised he had the arrow in his arm, which was an inconvenience he didn’t need, so bracing his arm across his belly and gritting his teeth, he used his knife to dig around the arrowhead. It was hard not to bellow, the pain bringing tears to his eyes. He felt like vomiting as blood ran down his arm. And now he did yell out as, finally, the arrowhead released, falling to the floor.

Rushing now, Raymon tore a strip off his tunic, awkwardly tying it around the gushing wound, drying his bloody hands on what was now the dead man’s trousers. Swallowing, bile and blood in his mouth, Raymon gagged at the smell and the sight of what he was doing, doubting he could pull it off.

Though he couldn’t turn back now.

Using his knife, he stabbed a hole in the man’s right arm, trying to replicate his own injury. Then, taking the fully dressed body, he dragged it up to the chamber door, laying it against it, ensuring that it was locked.

Puffs of smoke had him coughing. His eyes stung as the smoke crept under the door, drifting into his throat. He couldn’t stop coughing, bent over now, needing to breathe.

The hall was on fire, he heard people shouting in terror, though Raymon felt only relief. Panic too.

He had to get out in time.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered to the man whose name he’d never know. And turning around to check his chamber, his mind flooded with memories of his wife, his son, his mother. This was the only home he’d ever known, but now, he would disappear and become someone else entirely.

He wouldn’t be a Vandaal or a Furyck.

He wouldn’t be a king.

He would be no one at all.

Scooping up two heavy satchels, Raymon took one last look at the body, dressed in his clothes, and carefully pulling a log from the fire, he threw it onto the bed. Reaching back under the bed for the sacking, he held it in the fire until it caught alight, then threw it at the man. And as both the bed and the body went up in flames, Raymon lifted the bags over his head and settled them across his back, heading for the secret door.

PART II

A TALE OF TWO DREAMERS

11

Bertel confidently announced that they would reach Ollsvik in the morning. Hearing that, Edela felt slightly relieved but mostly out of sorts. Siggy couldn’t imagine another day in the saddle. Her arse was so sore that she spent most of her time frowning miserably. Bertel had pushed them hard, and everyone was tired, even Lina, who was yawning loudly as she set about helping Siggy make a fire. It was late, but they were all looking forward to supper, for Bertel had promised a feast of roasted trout and garlicky greens.

He was very bossy, Siggy thought, not surprised that he’d never married.

‘That’s too much kindling,’ Lina sighed in frustration. ‘How many times do I have to tell you? The flames won’t breathe if you use too much kindling.’

Siggy didn’t remember Lina ever telling her that. ‘I’ve been starting fires since I was five years old!’

Edela lifted her weary head as she walked towards the girls, having given the ponies a generous helping of oats, surprised to hear Siggy say something in her defense. She generally didn’t speak up at all.

‘Well, I expect that’s because you were too poor to have anyone do it for you,’ Lina snapped back.

Edela’s tongue twitched, though it was Bertel who spoke.

‘To judge another by the coins in her purse shows a shocking lack of character, Lina Storgard. A dreamer is chosen by the gods to give hope and help to others. You must not turn away those you consider lowly or unworthy of your time. With such callous behaviour, the gods will not favour you.’ Bertel dumped a pile of branches onto the ground, and bending down, he started ordering them into piles of similarly sized pieces, snapping some in half.

Lina looked dumbstruck, having rarely been reprimanded in her life. She was usually treated with great deference, for everyone knew who her family was and how generous they had been to the temple. ‘I...’

‘Don’t want to help anyone?’ Edela finished her sentence. ‘Well, that is sad to hear, Lina, though I’m not sure it’s entirely true. Perhaps it is what you know, what you have learned, but it isn’t necessarily who you are. You are young, so young, and I can only hope in time that you feel differently, for we need good dreamers. Useful and kind dreamers. Dreamers who fight against the darkness.’ Shivering now, she turned to Siggy. ‘A little less kindling would be better, I think. The quicker we get those flames going, the sooner we can eat!’

* * *

Thorgils’ stomach rumbled as he crouched beside Jael.

She turned to glare at him, jaw pulsing.

He shrugged back at her, feeling bad, though there was little he could do about his empty belly. They’d ridden away from their camp before supper, and now he was suffering.

Jael could tell, and it made her anxious.

Thorgils Svanter was never as focused as he needed to be when he was hungry. And she certainly didn’t want his noisy belly alerting their enemy, who they were attempting to approach in silence.

After hours on the road, they’d finally pulled up, alerted by the two scouts Jael had sent on ahead. Those men had come across a camp further into the forest, away from the road, and after following the scouts on horseback for a while, they’d eventually dismounted and made the remainder of the journey on foot.

On her left, Joren whispered in her ear. ‘From what we can see, there’s no more than fifty, my lady. We should be evenly matched.’

Jael nodded, and though that was encouraging, attacking anyone in the dark was a risk. She had seen men felled by the darkness itself more than once, falling into or over things they hadn’t foreseen. ‘Eadmund, you and Thorgils take the left flank. Fyn and I’ll command the right,’ she whispered, throat dry, kneeling on something sharp. But now, rising to her feet, she grabbed Thorgils. ‘Step carefully,’ she hissed. ‘Do what you can to be quiet.’

Thorgils was ready to snort about that, wondering how on earth anyone could watch their footing in such complete darkness, though remembering what she’d just said, he kept his mouth closed as he turned after Eadmund.

Ahead of them, the camp was faintly lit by a few small fires. They helped identify the contours of where their enemy had positioned themselves, though away from the camp, the darkness was intense, the moon hiding behind banks of clouds.

Jael thought fleetingly of rain, wondering if she felt a spit. Though refocusing quickly, she tapped Fyn’s arm, leading him and their thirty men to the right. Glancing over her shoulder at a rapidly disappearing Eadmund, she asked Furia to watch over him.

* * *

Ayla hadn’t gone into the tent willingly.

Her captors had eaten well, enjoying a feast of smoked pork and stewed venison flavoured with bacon and garlic. The harvests in Brekka and Tuura may have been ruined, though these men had stolen and hunted an impressive bounty, ensuring that they ate like kings every night.

They’d drank too.

They had brought wine with them, though having finished their supply, they’d been forced to rely on whatever local ale they could find. Though it barely touched the sides, so they would spend longer drinking, hoping to experience some sense of release.

Ayla had watched them eating and laughing, telling jokes and making boasts, forced to sit beside the leader. Karam, he’d told her, kissing her cheek. He smelled of bacon and ale, and though he was clean-shaven, his lips were rough and demanding. She feared what was coming, though as he ate and laughed and listened to stories from his men, she half-convinced herself that he would be too drunk or tired to rape her.

She wasn’t bound or restrained in any way, for with a camp of powerful warriors, Karam had no fear of her escaping or causing him any harm. They had been sent to Osterland to kill dreamers, and that kept Ayla further on edge.

In the years since the battle at the Vale of the Gods, she had mostly avoided thinking about magic. She’d used symbols, she had reconnected with her dreams, but magic? The memories of that horrific day were scars she could still feel like raised lumps on her skin. She didn’t trust herself to know what to do, to be that dreamer anymore. Though taking a deep breath, she remembered the cottage in Tuura and the man she’d entranced, deciding to try it again.

Though that had been one man, and here there were many...

Karam had finally stumbled away from the fire, unsteady on his feet and giddy with pleasure, for he would be sharing his bed with a beautiful woman for the first time since he’d left his home. He’d taken many women on his travels, though none he’d thought of as anything more than a warm body to service him. But this woman had captured his attention in a way that left him breathless with desire.

He was mesmerised.

‘What is your name?’ he slurred, pulling Ayla to him, fingering her hair. ‘You have hair like my first wife,’ he laughed, holding strands out to sniff. ‘So soft. The tendrils of a goddess.’

Ayla saw images of a woman cowering in a corner, bleeding from the nose. She saw the woman looking up through a curtain of black curls with terror in her eyes. ‘I... Ayla,’ she croaked, having not spoken aloud in days.

‘Ay-la,’ he repeated slowly, letting the sound of her name play around his tongue. ‘Ay-la.’ And now he smiled, pushing her down to a mound of furs. ‘I know you will be very good to me, Ayla. You wish to live, don’t you? To please me and live?’

Ayla stumbled onto her knees, seeing a glimpse of something that had her mouth dropping open.

Lunging at her, Karam jerked up her chin, suddenly sharp-eyed and angry. ‘You will answer me!’ He dug filthy fingernails into her skin. ‘You will answer!’

‘I... I’m scared!’ Ayla cried loudly. ‘I am scared!’ And she was, though now she saw hope in the form of Jael Furyck and her men approaching the camp.

Heart skipping, she tried to think.

Releasing her, Karam tore off his tunic and started plucking at his swordbelt. It was newly made, and the leather was stiff, as was the buckle, which would not easily submit to his greasy fingers.

Ayla took advantage to wriggle away from him. ‘Help me! Help me! My name is Ayla! You must help me!’

Wild with fury, Karam forgot about his swordbelt and slapped Ayla so hard across the face that she fell back against the tent wall – almost through it. She was slow to move, dazed, and Karam lunged for her, grabbing her by the hair, and after kissing her for a time, he pushed her back down to the furs, flopping on top of her.

‘My lord? Is everything alright?’ came a hesitant voice outside the tent.

‘Fuck off!’ Karam snapped, and finally unbuckling his swordbelt, he threw it away, tearing Ayla’s dress.

* * *

A silent Jael pointed Fyn in the direction of the tent she’d heard Ayla’s voice coming from, reassured that her vision had led her to the right place; even now, there was always the fear that she was just imagining things.

‘I’ll go in through the back of the tent,’ she whispered in Fyn’s ear. ‘Hopefully, I get there before Eadmund sets things off.’

Fyn nodded.

‘You lead the men.’

He blinked in surprise.

Turning back to him, Jael smiled. ‘I trust you.’ And then she was gone, just another shadow soon masked by darkness.

Swallowing down a great lump of uncertainty, Fyn moved towards the nearest man – an Osslander. ‘We move forward, kill silently. Every man you find, cover their mouths, ease them down to the ground. Silent.’ Though hearing the horses already becoming disturbed, he doubted such a strategy would be achievable for long.

* * *

As Karam bore down on her, one hand around her throat, a terrified Ayla closed her eyes, trying to bring a symbol to her in the darkness. She quickly saw two, working to bind them together. ‘I’m a dreamer!’ she croaked as he tugged at her undergarments, tearing them, trying to force himself inside her.

‘What?’ The shock of that paralysed Karam, who pulled back, staring at the woman in horror. And then she started chanting, and he felt a pain in his ears and a noise, loud enough to drown out every thought. He acted on instinct now, fuelled by pure rage. Standing up, he kicked the dreamer, who cried out, rolling away. Feeling around for his swordbelt, Karam unsheathed a knife and grabbing Ayla by the hair, he pulled her to her feet, ears still ringing.

Jael drove her sword through the back of the tent, ripping a great hole in the fabric, and bursting inside, she almost fell over a tree stump. Surprised by that, she stumbled, giving Karam the opportunity to shove Ayla away. Spinning around, he flung his knife at Jael’s face. She jerked to the side, watching it fly through the hole she’d just made in the tent.

Seeing a dishevelled Ayla out of the corner of her eye, Jael threw herself at the tattooed man before he could search for another weapon. His chest was bare, trousers open, and he stunk of ale, though he was still twice as wide as she was, taller, too, and she didn’t doubt he’d prove a challenge.

‘Ayla, stay still!’ Jael warned. ‘Stay in the tent!’

She feinted right, watching as Ayla’s captor moved left, and quickly shifting her weight, she followed him, leading with her sword. Despite seeing that he’d been fooled, Karam couldn’t move in time, and Jael drove her blade into his side. Jerking away with a shout, he stumbled, falling onto his arse. Though he’d landed near his swordbelt and was drawing his sword as Jael leaped over the brazier to finish him off.

* * *

Eadmund heard someone bellowing in the distance, then a whoosh of flames shot up in the air, revealing a man on fire. And shrugging, he realised they had no choice now but to go with speed. Sleeping warriors never had a weapon far from reach, and he didn’t imagine it would take their enemy long to counter the attack. And if they were evenly matched, then the only advantage their men could bring to the fight was speed.

‘Let’s go,’ he said to Thorgils. ‘Kill them all!’ Eadmund roared now, leaping over a smouldering campfire, swinging for a surprised man, who had barely raised his sword before getting sliced across the chest. He howled in pain, sword arm shaking, and Eadmund gutted him with his blade. ‘Move with speed!’ he urged, hearing more shouting now, though not in any language he recognised. ‘Hurry!’

* * *

‘Karam!’ Jael heard someone shout, seeing the spark of acknowledgement in the big man’s yellow eyes.

‘In here!’ he bellowed as Jael sought to keep him down on his knees. He was parrying her blade with skill, and she knew he’d earned his place as lord of these men. Now he released a leg, kicking out at her, though Jael jumped it, and feeling inspired, she kicked him in the chest. Though it was like kicking a wall, and she winced as she moved away, seeking balance on her now vibrating leg.

A man burst in through the tent flap, drawing Jael’s attention towards him, allowing Karam to jump back to his feet. He aimed for Jael’s back.

‘Jael!’ Ayla screamed.

Jael lurched forward, and spinning around, she immediately backed away as the two men joined together. She kept her sword aimed at the bigger man – the one who’d been about to rape Ayla.

That focused her mind again, and worried that Eadmund and Thorgils might need some help, Fyn, too, Jael sought to finish things quickly. She shifted her weight onto her right leg, sword raised, and as Karam sought to fend off her strike, Jael dropped low, swinging her left leg at the newcomer, hitting his elbow and dislodging his sword. Lunging to the left now, she drove her blade into that man’s throat, pushing hard to ensure that she killed him. And seeing Karam coming as his companion gasped and gurgled before her, Jael waited, keeping her sword in the man’s throat. She sensed that he was dying but hopefully still useful.

Tightening her right hand around the hilt, Jael attempted to look panicked.

‘Jael!’ Ayla was panicked.

Dropping her left shoulder, Jael grunted as though trying to drag the sword from the man’s bloody throat, sliding a knife from her swordbelt with her free hand. And as Karam released his blade, swinging for her head, she twisted around, staying low, feeling a rush of air sweep over her face. Releasing the grip on her sword now, she twisted again, knife in hand, jerking the small blade up and into Karam’s groin.

‘Aarrghh!’ he screamed, stumbling back.

Spinning around, Jael turned for her sword, pulling it two-handed from the dying man’s throat. He collapsed to the ground as she swung around, arms high, aiming her sword at Karam’s neck.

Momentum had Karam moving in the opposite direction, and Jael’s speed hadn’t given him enough time to counter her blow. He felt the prick of the blade cutting his neck, the intense searing sting of it bringing tears to his eyes, but still moving, he called out, attempting to turn back to her.

To hurt her.

Jael saw a dark mark spreading across his throat, and she went for him again. Sword turned like a spear, she plunged the bloody tip into his chest, pushing hard, watching his eyes bulge in surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe it had all been so quick. So brutally final.

A wincing Jael dragged out her sword as Karam dropped to the ground, holding out a hand to Ayla. ‘Let’s go! Pick up a weapon, a knife, anything, and follow me!’

Thorgils saw Jael hurrying towards him with Ayla. He felt a rush of relief and then pain as he tripped over a rock, landing in a hole, twisting his ankle.

Yelping loudly, he started hopping around.

Jael came forward, frowning in confusion. ‘You’re supposed to be leading our men! Where’s Eadmund?’ But not waiting for an answer, she handed Ayla to Thorgils and turned away. ‘Look after Ayla!’

Ayla reached for Thorgils’ hand. ‘Are you alright? What happened?’

Thorgils saw that she’d been attacked. In flashes of firelight, he thought her face looked swollen, her nose bleeding. Her dress was torn too. And forgetting about his injured ankle, he wrapped an arm around her. ‘I’m fine. Let’s get you to safety.’

Leaving them behind, Jael saw that Fyn and Joren had worked quickly to finish off any resistance. ‘Where’s the rest of them?’ she called as Fyn dropped his bow back over his shoulder and once again drew his sword.

‘This is all there are,’ Joren told her.

Jael was relieved, though there was no sign of Eadmund. ‘Fyn!’ She saw a man escaping, slipping through the trees. But seeing that Fyn no longer had hold of his bow, Jael drew a knife and flung it after the man. She missed, and annoyed by that, she started running after him. ‘I’ll be back! Find Eadmund and tell him to take prisoners! We need someone to tell us what’s going on!’ Sheathing her sword, Jael drew another knife – her last – and jumping over a rock, only just revealed, she hurried to find her balance, charging through the trees.

The man wasn’t looking to fight. He was seeking to escape, and he moved with speed, weaving through the forest like a snake.

Jael’s ribs ached as she ran, reminding her that she wasn’t at her best, and realising it, she knew the man would soon leave her in his wake.

Watching as the moon finally escaped the storm clouds, she saw a clear shot coming, and stopping abruptly, hoping for luck, Jael released her knife, leaning to one side, unable to see its arc.

She soon heard a grunt, guessing it had taken the man in the back.

He kept running, though, slower now, and Jael quickly caught him. Grabbing him by the tunic, she knocked him to the ground. And when she rolled him over, she saw that he was already wounded, blood leaking from at least two holes in his chest. Rolling him over had pushed her knife deep into his back, and he cried out in agony.

‘Who is your master?’ she demanded breathlessly, tugging his tunic. ‘Who sent you here?’ Though she quickly realised that the man’s eyes had fixed on hers.

He was no longer breathing.

12

Eadmund couldn’t get anything out of those men left alive. There were three. One looked to be dying, the other two were badly injured, though no one could understand them.

A frustrated Eadmund turned to Thorgils. ‘Not sure there’s any point to this.’

Ayla frowned, peering at the three prisoners. ‘I can try,’ she offered, still shaking. The events of the past few days had left her reeling, though they all needed answers to what was going on. Bending down, she touched the head of one of the men. He reared up, trying to get away from her, though his hands were bound behind his back, held onto by one of Eadmund’s men, and he couldn’t escape.

Closing her eyes, Ayla felt terror pulsing at his temples. She assumed that he feared he would die like the rest of Karam’s men, then hearing his thoughts for the first time, she realised that he feared he wouldn’t die. ‘There are worse penalties than death,’ she heard a woman say. ‘Death is a release, an escape, though I assure you I have ways of finding you still. Let me down, let your leaders down, and I will know. I will see your faces, and I will know who betrayed me.’

Opening her eyes, Ayla couldn’t see much; the man’s eyes were lost in the darkness. ‘Who is the woman who sent you here?’ Though she knew he wouldn’t answer her. Nor would his friend.

They couldn’t.

‘Anything?’ Jael asked, coming back into the camp. ‘Have you found out anything?’

Relieved to see her, Eadmund shook his head, though he did glance at Ayla, hoping she’d discovered something.

‘They won’t tell us,’ Ayla said, taking Eadmund’s hand as she stood. ‘Whoever their mistress is, her wrath is greater than anything we could do to them.’

A frowning Jael shook her head. ‘There were more men than this. I saw them in my vision.’

Ayla turned to her. ‘The man you killed? His name was Karam. He was Siluran, as were some of his men.’

‘Well, we could try torturing them? Find out more?’ Thorgils suggested with a grin, though Jael had already turned away to talk to Fyn.

‘Go and get Milla and the horses. We’ll stay here, leave at first light. We can set their horses free, maybe keep a couple. We’ll definitely take their food and weapons, but I don’t want to linger here in case someone knew where they were.’ She turned back to Ayla, who trembled like a leaf, too shocked to cry.

‘You came in time,’ Ayla whispered, reading Jael’s thoughts. ‘You came just in time.’ And now she put her head in her hands and burst into tears as Jael leaned forward, taking the dreamer in her arms.

* * *

Siggy was woken by a nightmare, though reaching up a hand and feeling tears on her cold cheek, she knew it wasn’t a nightmare at all. She truly was an orphan. There was no family to go home to, no one waiting for her. No cottage full of memories or villagers with a warm welcome.

She had somehow managed to escape Tuura in the company of a dreamer, an elder, and a spoiled brat. And soon, they would arrive in Ollsvik, where she would...

Siggy rolled over, trying not to sob. She felt a black hole of despair looming before her, though she didn’t want to fall into it. Her mother had been dead two years come summer, yet sometimes it felt as though Siggy had seen her only yesterday. Some days she could hear her mother’s voice or see her face. She remembered the look of her hands as they clasped hers, the sound of her sweet laughter.

Other times nothing came to her but the invisible emptiness of her loss.

Closing her eyes, Siggy desperately sought a happy memory. A happy memory would lead her out of the darkness until dawn came, she knew.

Hearing a noise, her eyes sprang open, and she sat up. Listening closely, heart racing, Siggy saw that Lina was missing.

The fire had died down, though dawn was on its way, the dark sky lightening ever so slightly, and Siggy could see that Edela and Bertel were still there, lying with their heads together, both of them snoring.

But where was Lina?

Not wanting to wake the old people, Siggy quietly pushed herself up onto her feet, and with a shiver of fear, she made her way towards where they’d tethered the ponies.

It was quickly apparent that the noise she’d heard was Lina trying to escape, though she appeared to be having trouble untying the knots Siggy had secured the ponies with.

Lina only just managed to stop herself screaming as the younger girl approached. ‘What are you doing here?’ she hissed angrily, sweeping strands of blonde hair away from her eyes, feeling anything but happy to see her.

‘Where are you going? Why are you leaving?’ Siggy wanted to know. Lina didn’t want to say, which Siggy could tell, and she carried on. ‘But what about Edela and Bertel? They’ve helped you, saved you, so why are you leaving them behind?’

‘Ssshhh!’ Lina growled. ‘You’ll wake them up with that stupid big mouth of yours.’

Siggy shrank back, wondering why she was bothering. Lina was no use, no help, no fun. She wasn’t a nice person at all.

‘One of us is a dreamer,’ Lina reminded her. ‘Which means that I can read your thoughts, Siggy Larsen.’

Siggy swallowed, looking down at her boots.

‘I’m going to leave, and you’re not going to say a word about it. Understood?’

A puzzled Siggy raised her head. ‘I don’t have to be a dreamer to know that you don’t want to go to Ollsvik. You don’t want to see your family, do you?’

Lina stared at her, seeing blueish shadows on the girl’s round face. ‘What I think or feel is never going to be any concern of yours. You are nothing to me. What you think means nothing to me!’

Lina stayed where she was, though, causing Siggy to ask: ‘But why don’t you want to go home? You’ll be safe there.’

A shivering Lina glowered at her. ‘You know nothing about my family, about Ollsvik. It’s a horrible place, full of dangerous people, all plotting for power. Power and possessions and gold. I...’ She shook her head. ‘When I was sent to Tuura, I thought I was free. That when I was eighteen, and it was time to leave the temple, that I could just disappear. I would know how to be a dreamer, so I’d make my own way in the world.’ Lina didn’t know why she was telling this idiot girl anything, and feeling incensed, she turned away. ‘You will not say anything. Not to Edela or Bertel. Or anyone! I am leaving. Try to stop me, and I’ll... curse you!’

‘Is that so? They’ve been teaching curse-throwing at the temple, have they?’ Edela muttered, coming forward, cloak wrapped around her shoulders. ‘I shall have to have a word with Bertel about that.’

Lina blinked in horror at the old dreamer as Siggy spun around in surprise.

‘You can’t stop me!’ Lina insisted, though as the sky continued to lighten, she felt Edela’s unwavering eyes piercing her resolve.

‘Well, in truth, I could certainly try. You saw how I stopped those men at the river. I know magic, so I could stop you, but why would I? You’re old enough to make your own decisions now, Lina. And if running away from your life is one of them, well, who am I to stand in your way?’

Lina looked relieved, though she didn’t move towards her pony.

And turning back, Siggy wondered what she was waiting for?

‘We can always run,’ Edela went on. ‘We are not trees, so it is an option for most of us. We can run as fast and as far away as we can, but in my many years, I have learned that destiny always finds us in the end.’

‘You don’t understand!’ Lina spat. ‘If I go back to Ollsvik, I’ll have to marry a terrible man! My father will make me!’

‘And yet, if you don’t? I fear that your family won’t let you live in peace wherever you go, Lina. They are powerful enough to seek you out. To hire men to do so.’

Lina knew that Edela was right.

‘I have some experience guiding young women towards their destiny,’ Edela said wryly, thinking of her granddaughter. ‘And what I’ve learned is that what, at first, may seem unimaginable often turns out to be exactly what you were looking for all along.’

Lina shook her head, though she still didn’t move to leave. ‘You don’t understand what they’re like. What he’s like.’

‘Oh, but I have heard of your family, Lina. I may have even met them before. And yes, I see the unpleasantness that lies ahead, though I also see what will happen if you run, and I promise that is a far more treacherous path to follow. One with little chance of happiness.’

Tears flooded Lina’s eyes as she dropped her head, shoulders sagging. ‘But I...’

‘Come now,’ Edela told her, embracing the distressed girl. ‘If we wake Bertel, we can get an early start on the day. Something hot to eat would be good, and a fire. I’m frozen solid!’ She motioned for the girls to head back to camp.

Siggy left immediately, feeling hungry.

Lina remained, torn about what to do, though Edela’s words echoed back to her, and she remembered how ruthless and single-minded her family could be, certain that if she did disappear, her father would send her cousins to hunt her down. So, lifting her head and pushing back her shoulders, Lina Storgard followed Edela and Siggy through the trees, dreading what would come, though slowly becoming resigned to the fact that she had little choice now but to face it head-on.

* * *

Eadmund woke in a state of confusion, unsure where he was. He’d dreamed of Alekka, half thinking he was still there. He was certainly lying on the ground, stiff and uncomfortable. Cold too. Rolling over, he was surprised to see his wife lying beside him, yawning. ‘Morning,’ he breathed, smiling now.

Jael didn’t smile back, instead sitting up and yawning some more. ‘Morning,’ she said eventually, looking around with a frumpled frown. They’d slept in the torn remains of Karam’s tent. It was freezing, and lying back down, Jael shuffled towards her husband, seeking warmth.

‘This is a surprise. You’re not usually one to lie around.’

‘Hardly lying around,’ she mumbled, burying her head in his chest. ‘Just want to feel warm for a moment.’

Eadmund yawned, holding onto her while he worked to keep his eyes open, though after their long night, it took some effort. ‘What now?’

A wriggling Jael tried to get comfortable. ‘Now? We go to Tuura and find out what happened to Edela. Ayla said she couldn’t find her. She just disappeared.’ Nightmares about her grandmother had left Jael exhausted and confused. She’d seen nothing useful or instructive, just terrifying visions about what fate might have befallen her.

‘Do you think those men were in Tuura?’

Jael didn’t know. ‘The man I killed? Karam? He wasn’t the one I saw in Tuura, though they were dressed much the same. I don’t understand what any of them are doing here. What do they want? To come from Silura and start killing our dreamers? It makes no sense.’

‘You need to talk to Ayla,’ Eadmund decided.

Jael agreed, immediately feeling impatient to do so. She pushed out of her husband’s embrace, sitting up with a grimace.

‘Well, I didn’t mean right now!’

Jael turned to him with a wink. ‘The quicker I speak to Ayla, the sooner we’ll know what’s going on. Besides, it’s far too cold lying here. We need a fire.’ And now she gave him a look of great longing. ‘Find me a bed somewhere, and I’ll cuddle you again!’ Scrambling to her feet, Jael snatched one of the furs off the ground, and wrapping it around her shoulders, she grabbed her swordbelt and headed out of the tent.

‘Cuddle? You call that a cuddle?’ Eadmund grumbled after her, though Jael was right, it was too cold to lie down. So, after stretching out his arms and legs, he stood, and tying his swordbelt around his waist, he followed after her.

Fyn and Milla were tending to a fire outside the tent, and Eadmund wasn’t surprised to see that his wife had immediately made her way to the flames. She had abandoned the fur and now hung over the cheerful fire, rubbing her hands together.

‘Restful sleep, was it?’ Thorgils groaned, hobbling towards him, carrying a bucket of water.

‘What happened to you?’

‘What do you mean, what happened to me? I twisted my ankle! Don’t you remember?’

Eadmund laughed. ‘Not sure I’d be announcing that so loudly. Makes you sound like a clumsy idiot who can’t even keep to his feet!’

Thorgils looked offended, though he realised that his friend was right. A twisted ankle was hardly a battle injury to boast about, though looking around, he saw that it had hardly been a battle.

‘We need to look through their supplies,’ Eadmund told him. ‘You organise that, if you’re strong enough. I’ll check with Joren, see if there’s been any word from those scouts overnight. Fyn, you and Milla organise some breakfast. Something quick would be good. We need to get on the road before the sun gets too hot.’

‘Hot, I’d like!’ Jael grinned, turning around to see Ayla emerging through the trees. ‘Maybe I’ll just stay by the fire till then?’

Though nobody thought she was serious, except perhaps Milla, who didn’t know the queen well. And in the next moment, Jael was striding away from them all, seeking a word with Ayla.

‘Come on!’ Eadmund growled as everyone remained frozen in place, staring after her. ‘We’ll not get anywhere today if we don’t get moving!’

* * *

Axl met with his council each week, though recently he’d grown to dread it, for two distinct factions had emerged, and he was now forced to mediate between them. Hal and Erling sat on one side, Gant and Gisila on the other. When Axl had first formed the council, he had included Amma, though she’d quickly begged to leave, hating all the arguing and often feeling too ill to give it her full attention.

That was a year ago, and it had only gotten worse.

Axl’s steward, Gerald, topped up goblets in silence, head bowed, not wishing to intrude, though no one appeared to notice him. They were locked in another heated debate about how to deal with the trouble in Valso.

‘Gant is right,’ Gisila told her son. ‘It will spread. If you don’t find ways to quell the unrest, Axl, it will soon be at our gates.’

Hal agreed. ‘Which is why a show of force is the only option. I could go? Take a few hundred men and finish it?’

‘By killing everyone?’ Gant asked coldly, his dislike for Hal Harbak on full display. ‘That’s your answer to everything, isn’t it? Kill them like they’re troublesome rats. Exterminate them!’

Axl held up a hand. ‘That’s not what he’s saying, Gant,’ he sighed. ‘But it is an option to consider. I seek to be a just king, but I can’t sit here and allow my people to revolt against me.’

‘Though are they truly revolting?’ Gant wondered, ignoring Hal’s raised eyebrows. ‘Or just desperate for help?’

‘Help?’ Erling sneered. ‘Handouts don’t help anyone get back on their feet.’

Gisila disagreed. ‘They help everyone, but mostly they help you, Axl. You will garner great favour from your people if you support them in this difficult time. A king cannot rule without the support of his people. Eventually, they’ll rise against him or seek help to do so.’

Axl turned his entire body towards his mother as she dropped her eyes to her goblet. ‘Seek help from who?’

‘Anyone with ambitions to claim Brekka,’ Gant said, lobbing a nut into his mouth. ‘Ambitious and bold enough to try.’

Axl frowned. ‘Well, Raymon wouldn’t, Tuura can’t, and the Islanders won’t, so that only leaves Karsten in Hest.’

‘Karsten’s unlikely to try anything,’ Gant insisted. ‘We’ve had a strong alliance with him since you took the throne. But Helsabor? That’s an unknown. Herold Valens has been a stranger. We don’t know what he’s capable of. But now, marrying his daughter to the King of Hest? Perhaps he has ambitions far outside his walls? And if that’s the case, Karsten may not be king for long.’

Axl’s attention shifted to his friends, who, he could see, didn’t like the way the meeting was heading.

‘You cannot live in fear of your neighbours,’ Hal insisted. ‘You must show them how capable you are of controlling your own kingdom and its people. If you let these troublemakers dictate to you, you’ll only be signalling how easily you can be manipulated. To give in to their demands, to beg and scrape before them? Your father would never have done so.’

Neither Gisila nor Gant, who had both known Axl’s father better than anyone at the table, spoke.

And seeing that as a harsher judgement of Hal’s words than anything they might say, Axl once again held up a hand. ‘I have other matters to attend to, but I will think on everything we’ve discussed and make my decision soon.’ Draining his goblet, he stood, thoughts sweeping around his head like storm clouds. He thought of Amma, who remained in bed, too ill to move, and Eren, who offered such desirable pleasures; a few hours with her felt like an escape from what had become a burdensome life.

Reaching up, he touched his crown, wondering how his father had managed to rule so effectively for so long. He was amazed that Ranuf Furyck had ever had a nice word to say to anyone. Shaking his head, a silent Axl left the table behind, unaware that all four of his councillors were staring after him.

* * *

Everyone looked at a king.

They looked to him.

A king was easily recognised, sometimes admired, often despised. A king was feared and ridiculed, plotted against and envied.

But a king was never free.

Raymon used his knife to shave off his beard, he hacked at his hair to make it shorter, and as he did so, his mind returned to Ollsvik and what he’d done, leaving as he had. He felt ashamed at first, then just as quickly relieved. He was running away, though there was no one he wanted to stay in Ollsvik for, no one he cared about returning to. Soon Getta would arrive in Andala, and when word filtered through of his death, they would keep her there, safe from whoever had claimed Iskavall’s throne. Raymon wanted that for her: safety, and a chance to start again with a new husband, a new future. Likely she would never be a queen again, but perhaps she could find happiness in something more fulfilling than being miserable on a throne?

He hoped he could.

‘My lord –’

‘I am no lord or king, not anymore, so you will not address me as such,’ a tense Raymon snapped.

Both men nodded, resuming their rowing. He had chosen to take the river to the small town of Esby, where he would leave Iskavall as an ordinary man, setting sail for a new adventure.

He wouldn’t return.

Frowning at the men, he wondered if he should kill them.

They might go back to Ollsvik and reveal what they knew.

As could Bareth Lows, once he received the rest of his gold.

Wiping the hair off his knife, Raymon slid it back into its scabbard, eyeing the two men who rowed with energy before him. They would soon arrive in Esby, which would give him just enough time to decide what to do.

* * *

Back on the path to Tuura, Jael and Ayla rode together, carrying on their conversation from the camp. The morning remained cool, much to Jael’s annoyance, though she smiled at the dreamer as they rode behind Eadmund and Thorgils, who were talking to Joren.

Scouts had already returned with nothing to report, though they remained on edge, eyes on Jael and Ayla, hoping that, between them, the dreamers would receive a warning of any danger heading their way.

Jael hoped so, too, for she felt certain that more men were out there somewhere.

An exhausted Ayla sighed. ‘Some lords or kings seek to claim dreamers, to capture them and make them dream for them, but these men appear to simply want to kill us all.’ She thought of Ivaar Skalleson and felt odd. He had sought to use her gifts to advance his own ambitions, which hadn’t turned out well for either of them.

‘I saw a different man looking for Edela. He appeared to be from the Fire Lands, too, but why do these men even know my grandmother’s name? And what do they want with her?’ Tig flicked his head, growing irritated by the slow pace. Jael was holding the reins tightly, not wanting to get close to the horses ahead, but now she saw that Tig was right. They needed to move from a plodding walk to a brisk trot if they were to find Edela in time. ‘Can we move faster?’ she called.

None of the men turned around, but their horses were soon moving with more speed.

‘It makes little sense,’ Ayla agreed, adjusting her position in the saddle, sitting forward now as her brown mare sought to keep up with an impatient Tig. ‘Killing a dreamer is like tipping a chest of gold into the ocean. And what man would do that? What lord or king?’

‘Whoever they are, they’re no army,’ Jael murmured, seeing glimpses of her visions again. ‘They’re not here to conquer, so is it truly just about dreamers?’ She shook her head, feeling confused and tense. ‘Though whatever the case, we have to find out what they’re doing here before it’s too late.’

13

Edela was the first to spot the smoke.

Bertel couldn’t see it, for the day was cloudy, but soon the girls were as concerned as Edela, and he was forced to concede that, yes, there might indeed be trouble ahead.

‘It’s Ollsvik,’ Lina decided, half hoping for trouble and half fearing it.

‘I agree,’ Bertel said, confirming his bearings. He’d lived in Ollsvik for a time and knew it well.

‘Oh dear, it appears we might be jumping from one boiling cauldron into another,’ Edela fretted, seeking glimpses of what lay ahead, though nothing came to her but that which she could see in the distance: a great drifting pillar of brownish-grey smoke.

Siggy felt scared. ‘Do you think it’s a battle?’

‘I don’t know,’ Edela admitted. ‘Though let’s send Bertel ahead to find out.’ She turned back to Bertel, who rode behind her with Lina, watching how flustered he became.

‘Well, I... surely it’s better if you dreamers see what the danger is rather than me riding towards it? And alone? You’ll certainly need me with you if there’s trouble in Ollsvik.’

Edela nodded, maintaining a serious expression until she turned around and winked at Siggy. ‘Then us dreamers will have to focus hard to push through that smoke and see what it all means. Come on, girls, it shouldn’t be too hard. We must do what we can to keep Bertel safe!’

* * *

The bonfire near the carpenter’s had attracted the attention of Axl’s niece and nephew. They’d come to investigate what was going on with Ido and Vella. Axl stopped on his journey to the tailor’s, watching them playing and laughing, feeling a stirring of grief for his own lost children, imagining what they would have looked like, playing with their cousins.

‘What are you doing?’ Biddy exclaimed, rushing to drag the children away from where men were throwing broken furniture and barrels onto the great bonfire. ‘Do you want your parents coming home to find you burned to ash? Come away now, come away. Oh, and you stink too! Worse than those dogs. Deary me!’

Axl laughed, immediately realising how odd the sensation felt.

‘I remember when Biddy used to scold you like that,’ Eren said behind him.

Axl froze, not turning around, though she was quickly beside him, sleek dark hair flowing down to her waist, shimmering in the sun. ‘She did, it’s true, though I was never as troublesome as Jael.’ Axl’s smile returned when he remembered that.

‘Your sister and Aleksander used to make her wild. They were always up to no good.’

Axl turned to her now. ‘You look beautiful,’ he murmured, admiring Eren’s dark-blue dress. She appeared to have many outfits, though this was easily his favourite. It hugged her body, drawing his eye to her breasts, though realising that his eye should certainly not be drawn to Eren Venberg’s breasts, a blinking Axl looked away.

Eren smiled, enjoying his discomfort. Sometimes it was hard to tell if he wanted to be with her. They’d been spending the occasional night together for months now, though she still wasn’t sure what he thought of her.

One of Axl’s commanders came looking for his king, and much to Eren’s disappointment, he was soon whisked away. Turning to look after him, she was surprised by a tap on the shoulder.

‘You look like a hungry dog following a plate of scraps,’ Hal laughed. ‘Yet I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you hungry before, Eren. Not in all the years I’ve known you, at least. Certainly not when you were married to poor Alek Baro.’

Eren swung around. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘By the flush of those sweet cheeks, I’d say that’s not entirely true. Though do not fret, I won’t tell a soul that you’re pining after our very married king.’

Stepping forward, a furious Eren hissed at him. ‘I am doing no such thing. Erling told me that Axl is struggling, that he isn’t happy, so I wanted to see if I could help, though I suppose he was never going to talk to me.’ She was babbling now, desperate to convince a scoffing Hal that her intentions towards Axl were entirely innocent.

Though Hal laughed, seeing right through her words. ‘If you truly want to convince everyone that you have no interest in our king, then marry me.’ Leaning close, he inhaled a hint of meadowsweet in her shining hair, seeing her eyes spark with anger. ‘It really is your only option.’

Eren stepped back. ‘I hardly think so. Marry you? I’d rather rot in a prison hole with the rats!’ And smiling sweetly, she swung around, feeling tense, fearing that Hal would spread gossip about her and Axl.

It wasn’t part of her plan, for if Amma found out about them, Axl would put a stop to everything. He cared for his wife. Not enough to remain faithful, though enough to protect her from further embarrassment and pain.

If their relationship was discovered, Eren knew it would be over.

* * *

The forest was dappled with golden sunlight when Eadmund finally got his wife alone. She looked pleased to see him, offering him a piece of salt fish. ‘Makes me think of home,’ he said wistfully, taking a bite.

Jael agreed. ‘I think you should go home. Both of us can’t afford to be away from Oss for so long.’

‘Well, let’s wait and see what’s happening in Tuura and make a decision then. I think you’re right, I do,’ he added, sensing his wife preparing for a battle. ‘But I’m not going to turn back now. We don’t know what you’ll be walking into.’

Jael nodded. ‘Then you can leave from Tuura. Perhaps take a ship? It would be faster.’

‘Though think of all the fun I’d miss out on.’

Jael grinned. ‘Safer, though.’

‘You’re worried about those men?’

‘I am. I hate not understanding things, and their presence here is something I don’t understand at all. What did they want with Tuura or Edela or all the dreamers?’ She sighed, becoming silent.

Eadmund ducked under a low-hanging bough, nudging Leada closer to Jael. ‘I know you.’

‘So you think.’

‘If you go down this path, Jael, who knows where it will lead?’

‘Nowhere good, I expect.’

‘Exactly.’

‘But who should do it then? Should I go back to Andala and ask Axl to do something? You’ve seen my brother.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘You’re too harsh on him, Jael. Axl’s young. His father was a legend, his sister too. It will take time to find his own way.’

‘He’s had time. He’s had years.’

‘Hard years. Plagues and sickness, poor harvests, ruinous weather. Watching his wife struggle, losing those babies.’

Jael turned to her husband, eyes softening somewhat. ‘I know, of course, I do, but it doesn’t change how he’s leading Brekka. It’s hard to sit back and watch that. He’s in danger of becoming another Lothar.’

Eadmund snorted. ‘Lothar? Well, don’t ever say that to Axl’s face. I’m not sure there’s a worse insult you could level at him.’

Jael didn’t reply, hearing Thorgils’ booming laughter behind her.

‘Sometimes it takes longer than we want to find ourselves. Longer than the people we love want too,’ Eadmund said quietly. ‘It’s not always easy to find your path, and not everyone has you to drag us out of deep holes.’

Jael’s shoulders dropped. ‘I accept that.’

‘So you’ll give Axl some space? Let him find his own way?’

‘What choice do I have? Brekka’s his, not mine. He gets to find his own way for as long as he wants.’ For as long as the Brekkans put up with him, Jael thought bitterly, unable to let it go. She’d heard everything Eadmund had said. She understood, she sympathised with Axl, though her dream kept coming back to her: all those Furyck pyres, all her dead brothers.

Though she had been there, too, she reminded herself, leaning forward to give Tig a rub.

She had been there too.

* * *

It quickly became apparent that there was no battle in Ollsvik, but Edela had seen that they would soon be riding into the aftermath of one. She felt an immediate worry for the girls, though at the same time, her focus had to be on what dangers lay ahead. So, ordering Lina and Siggy to ride with Bertel, she urged her little pony, Silas, ahead of them.

‘Edela!’ Bertel called. ‘You must keep your wits about you!’

Edela intended to, suddenly fearing that the men who’d attacked Tuura, who were looking for her, might be here. Though needing the peace of her own thoughts to guide her to the next clue, she clicked her tongue, hurrying Silas on, leaving her companions in her wake.

Working to stay calm, she sought to see beyond the trees. They were riding down the main road, which now crossed a meadow piled high with white topped yarrow heads, swaying in a cool breeze. After that lay a final stretch of woodland before they reached Ollsvik’s fort. She remembered the path well, thinking of Raymon. He was a sweet boy who reminded her of Axl, though perhaps a little more determined, she thought, a little more like Ranuf.

Poor Raymon had experienced a tumultuous few years, and now?

She feared for him.

Swallowing down great gulps of worry, she closed her eyes, needing to see exactly what lay beyond the trees.

Behind her, the girls were quiet.

It was Bertel who was fretting. ‘Perhaps I should join her? She’s moving farther ahead.’

‘Dreamers need silence,’ Siggy told him.

‘How would you know?’ Lina sneered, guts swirling. She had sought to run away, never wanting to see her family again, though now she didn’t know how she felt. If something had happened to her mother...

‘Let’s not argue,’ Bertel sighed. ‘It doesn’t help. What we need to do is think of a plan, for Edela won’t have one. She’s too busy trying to dream. We’re the ones who need to be ready to act. With weapons!’

‘What weapons?’ Siggy asked.

‘We’ve got our eating knives,’ Lina told her.

Siggy frowned. ‘But they’re not really weapons, are they, Bertel?’

‘Well,’ he shrugged. ‘They’re better than nothing.’

‘There’s no noise,’ Lina said, closing her eyes, seeing glimpses of familiar buildings in her mind.

‘What is it?’ Bertel wondered, almost lunging at the girl.

‘I saw the hall. It was burned down!’ Shivering now, Lina nudged her pony on, wanting to hurry and tell Edela.

* * *

After his encounter with Eren, a quick fitting at the tailor’s, and a meeting with his garrison commander, Axl took Eiyo for a ride, seeking a moment alone. It was getting harder to think these days. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the time to, for as king, he could always send everyone away. It was more that when he tried to think, he started to panic. The fear that he wouldn’t find answers, that he wouldn’t be able to come up with solutions, often left him breathless. Every thought escaped his head, and he was left staring into an abyss.

Riding in the forest helped. The cool silence was soothing, and he could finally relax enough to think about Valso. The problem had been building for some time, and he’d avoided making a decision either way. His father had appeared outwardly decisive, and that outward appearance was all that had mattered to his people. Axl was sure that Ranuf had lain awake many nights trying to decide what he wanted to do, though it wasn’t something anyone had ever been aware of. They had seen a king who knew his own mind.

So Axl had been determined not to act until he knew his.

It was only when he thought of his grandmother that he finally decided what he wanted to do, and upon returning to the fort, he gathered his council back into the hall, and they headed to the map table, where he announced his decision. ‘I’ve decided to send aid to Valso,’ he said, anticipating how each faction would respond to that decision.

Gant was surprised, Gisila was relieved, and Hal and Erling were livid.

No one spoke.

‘We need to offer help first. I’m here to care for all Brekkans, so I can’t abandon those who are suffering. I’m their king, so I must help them.’

‘By rewarding those causing problems? Reward them?’ A red-cheeked Hal peered at his friend, open-mouthed, not understanding this apparent change of heart.

‘Help them,’ Axl reiterated. ‘As I should have done before now.’ Turning around, he saw Amma entering the hall, pleased to see her out of bed, though she looked unsteady on her feet. ‘Gant, I’m putting you in charge of organising the grain to be delivered to Valso. I will see to its safe delivery personally. It will give me a chance to survey my entire kingdom. Something I should have done long before now. Staying in Andala might be convenient, but it won’t make me a king of all Brekkans.’

Erling shook his head. ‘This is... unexpected.’

Axl nodded. ‘I agree. I’ve struggled to make a decision for too long, so I sought the advice of someone I trust more than any other, and she helped me see the right thing to do. Now I feel confident. I’ll take enough men to Valso, help those who need it, and deal with any trying to cause trouble.’

Gisila squeezed Gant’s hand. ‘Though we do have Karsten Dragos’ wedding to attend. You can’t be roaming around Brekka then.’

Axl smiled at his mother. ‘Of course. I won’t miss that. I promise.’

Hal and Erling exchanged a glance.

‘What can we do to help?’ Hal offered, pivoting quickly, for what mattered most was keeping their influence with the king. If they set up in opposition to Axl, things were likely to go awry.

Erling jerked in surprise beside him but was soon sweeping black hair away from furtive eyes, turning to smile at the king. ‘It will take more than just Gant to sort out supplies for you. Let us do our part.’

Gant didn’t trust either of Axl’s friends.

They’d spent weeks arguing against offering a grain subsidy, not wanting to reduce Andala’s own reserves, which had been dipped into with great frequency as Axl sought to offset the effects of the poor harvests. And now, suddenly, they wanted to help?

Gisila left to share the good news with Amma. Gant, though, continued to stare at Hal and Erling, wondering what their end goal was. They had already been handsomely rewarded, gifted places at Axl’s table, so what were they after now? To simply stay in the king’s good graces as his loyal councillors? Or was it something more nefarious?

Whatever the case, Gant was determined to keep them close, hoping to find out before it was too late. ‘I agree,’ he smiled broadly. ‘Help would be gratefully received.’

* * *

‘Help! Help! Please!’ came the frantic cry of a woman desperately trying to get someone’s attention. ‘I need help for my son!’

All of Ollsvik’s healers, it seemed, were busy, for no one was heeding her call.

And seeing that, Edela took Bertel’s hand and dropped down from her pony, wanting to offer her services. They had ridden through the fort’s main gates into a charred, smoky mess, and seeing the smouldering hall that had stood for centuries, she felt a desperate need to find out if Raymon Vandaal was still alive. Perhaps this poor woman would provide information in return for her help? ‘Do what you can to be useful!’ she called over her shoulder as the stooped woman led her away. She wasn’t especially old, somewhat close to Gisila’s age, Edela thought distractedly, though she appeared to be an invalid. And now, with an injured son? ‘What has happened?’ she wondered. ‘To your son?’

‘He was wounded in the battle,’ the woman told her, breathless with urgency as she pushed down the alley. ‘And you’re a healer? You look familiar.’

Edela wasn’t pleased to hear that, having no idea who was in charge now. ‘I am a healer, yes, just passing through, but I will help your son if I can. Can you tell me why there was a battle? And... where is the king?’

‘No one knows. Oh, it’s terrible, it is. Hall went up in flames with him locked inside.’

Edela’s breath caught in her chest, feelings of terror shivering through her. ‘I... oh. But why? Why?’ She tried to sense if Raymon was dead, though nothing came to her.

‘Same as always,’ the woman said, weaving through Ollsvik’s narrow alleys with the experience of one who had lived in the fort her entire life, soon leading Edela into the poorer section of town, where the buildings suddenly looked smaller and more cramped together. Everything became steadily darker now, the rank smell increasing. ‘There’s always some lord who thinks he deserves to be warming that throne, always plotting and scheming in the shadows. The poor king. Not sure how he survived this long. And after the death of his mother, then his son. Oh, but it’s a tragedy!’

Edela nearly lost her footing, skidding on something slimy. ‘And the queen?’ She took a breath, relieved when the woman abruptly stopped before a narrow door.

‘He’s in here, he is. I got him back here with help, though he’s taken a turn for the worse. Won’t open his eyes now. Fought for the king, he did. All in vain. I just hope the new king won’t take things personally. Perhaps he will?’ She squinted at Edela in horror, lips pulled back from a handful of stained teeth. Turning to her front door, she added: ‘Far as I know, the queen’s not here. They say she was sent away. And just in time.’

* * *

‘I’m not happy about this weather!’ Thorgils grumbled through a heavy shower of rain. Jael didn’t answer, so he turned to Eadmund on his other side. ‘Though it’s not cold!’ And getting no response, he shrugged, deciding to stop moaning altogether. Tuura beckoned, and whatever destruction had occurred, there was still likely to be food and fires, somewhere to sit, and hopefully, some ale.

His mind wandered to Isaura, and he felt a great impatience to see his beautiful wife. He wanted to rub his hands over her pregnant belly and hold her in his arms. She was a strong woman who’d given birth to many children now. Luckier than most, he knew, though he feared that soon her luck would run out.

‘Is that it?’ Jael snorted. ‘The end of your moaning? But surely you’re only just getting started!’

Eadmund smiled, pleased to see Jael working to distract herself from what lay ahead. Tuura was a place of nightmares for her, which was part of the reason he’d wanted to come along. His wife never appeared to need or sometimes even want his company, though he still wanted to support her.

‘Well, we’re nearly there,’ Thorgils decided, grimacing as rain slid down his neck, inside his tunic. ‘May as well shut my trap and keep the water out of it!’

Jael heard him, though she didn’t respond, her thoughts returning to what she soon had to face.

Tuura.

And every horrifying memory she’d spent the last twenty years running from.

14

Lina remained in the main square with Siggy and Bertel, though she could see no danger now. Not to her, at least.

She had lived in Ollsvik for thirteen years, until she was sent to Tuura.

This had been her home, though it didn’t feel like it anymore.

‘We should look for your family,’ Bertel decided, hoping that the wealthy Storgards would offer them accommodation and something to eat. Breakfast hadn’t touched the sides of his empty belly, and though the smell of smoke and burned bodies was stomach churning, he was reminded of his need to eat a filling meal.

They had made themselves useful, helping the injured, though Edela hadn’t returned, and Bertel decided that he needed to take charge.

‘They say the king’s in there,’ Siggy whispered, having washed her sooty hands in a bucket of water. She wiped them down her plain grey dress, considering the mess of the hall. Its stone foundations were still standing, but the great wooden beams holding up the roof had collapsed upon one another. So had the wattle and daub walls. It looked like a midden heap; a great ruin of what had supposedly once been a noble place.

Lina spun around, mouth gaping open in horror. ‘He’s dead?’

‘Well, he must be, mustn’t he? If he was in there.’

Bertel shook his head. ‘How terrible.’ Now he scratched it, turning to a sooty-faced Siggy. ‘And his wife?’

Siggy shrugged, looking back to the smoking hall.

Thinking of Raymon Vandaal, Lina felt strange. It couldn’t be possible, could it? That he was finally dead? Her father would be crowing about that. And her odious cousins.

The noisy chaos of the square became noticeably quieter, and turning around, all three saw a group of well-dressed people making their way through the square, heading towards the hall.

Lina stiffened, suddenly nauseous as the party approached, stopping before her.

‘My dear girl!’ the lone woman exclaimed. ‘Oh, Lina! What are you doing here?’ And pulling a rigid Lina into her arms, the freckle-faced woman started sobbing.

One of the men turned to glare at Bertel. ‘Why are you with my cousin? Why is she here?’

Bertel thought he recognised him as Stein Storgard, Lina’s uncle. Though looking more closely, he saw that this was a far younger man. Perhaps the lord’s nephew?

Reading the questions in his eyes, a straight-backed Oren lunged at him, grabbing Bertel by the tunic. ‘I am Iskavall’s new king, and you will answer my question, old man, before I have you on your knees!’

‘We were attacked in Tuura!’ Siggy blurted out, fearing for Bertel. ‘Men came and raided it. We had to escape!’

Oren turned to peer at the girl, confused by her wild curls and filthy face; she looked like a beggar child. ‘And you are?’

‘Sigfrida Larsen. I’m a dreamer at Tuura, with Lina. We’re... friends.’ She smiled brightly, nerves fluttering. The man standing before her was perhaps thirty, she guessed, hollow-cheeked and sallow-skinned. He stared at her with angry green eyes, as though he would devour her.

Siggy felt afraid, and confidence evaporating, she decided to stop talking altogether.

Released from her mother’s clinging embrace, Lina hurried to intervene. ‘They helped me escape the danger in Tuura,’ she told her cousin, the king.

The king?

It was worse than she could have possibly imagined.

‘How terrifying! Lina!’ her mother bleated in that high-pitched squeal Lina hadn’t missed. ‘But how miraculous that the gods sought to deliver you back to us at this delicate time. Now we can all be together. A family again!’

Oren turned to scowl at her. ‘Hardly a true family, Aunt,’ he snarled. ‘That bastard Vandaal cut down Gregor! And then Lars. Two brothers! I lost two brothers in one night!’

‘Though now Lina is back with us,’ his aunt tittered, oblivious to her nephew’s red-cheeked rage. ‘You will be pleased about that, surely, my lord? Now you will have your queen!’

A horrified Lina froze, unwilling to look her cousin’s way, and feeling more eyes on her, she refused to look towards Siggy and Bertel either.

A stunned Siggy turned to see an equally surprised Bertel gaping at Lina. ‘You’re going to be a... queen?’ Siggy couldn’t close her mouth, too shocked to see that Edela had returned.

Now Oren finally acknowledged his cousin, touching her flushed cheek. ‘Yes, she is. Lina will soon become my queen, mother of my heirs. We will fill our new hall with Storgard sons.’ He frowned at the old woman who had come to join them. ‘And you are?’

‘She is with Bertel and Siggy,’ Lina hurried to explain. ‘One of the... healers from Tuura. She helped bring me home to all of you. I’m so grateful to you... Edwina.’

Edela joined Bertel and Siggy in their frowning, though she nodded at Lina, feeling slightly breathless. ‘It was my pleasure, of course.’

‘This is my cousin, the new king. We are soon to be married.’

Edela coughed, smoke tickling her throat. ‘Married? Oh, yes, Lina told us all about you on the journey. Said she couldn’t wait to get home to you all.’ Now she smiled at Lina’s mother, quickly seeing what a simpering, ambitious fool the woman was. ‘Though your father is not here?’

‘Dead!’ Thora Storgard announced abruptly, not attempting to soften the blow.

Lina didn’t blink, she didn’t care. She hated them all. ‘I’m sorry, Mother,’ she offered, looking miserable, which was no act, though it wasn’t misery over losing her ghastly father. She felt bereft. Oren’s hand had left her face, but he was soon clasping her own hand, and she couldn’t escape.

‘And you are a healer?’ Oren wondered, eyeing Edela. ‘I swear I have seen you before.’

According to the woman whose son Edela had just helped, Raymon Vandaal had likely been killed by this man and his allies. Since his real father had been revealed, many in Ollsvik, including the Storgards, had made a point of going after Raymon’s connection to the Furycks, so Edela knew that Lina was right to try and conceal her true identity.

It wouldn’t do to reveal her connection to the Furycks now.

‘Well, I think all old women look the same,’ she chuckled. ‘Shrinking and creaking with white hair! There’s too many of us to count.’ She hadn’t answered the question, and she sensed that the king realised it, but a handful of warriors soon arrived with questions of their own. They were towing rows of prisoners, some chained at the neck and ankles, many of them bloody-faced. Edela swallowed, looking away. She met Bertel’s eyes and saw fear in them. His panicked thoughts were loud, and nodding encouragingly at him, she sought to extract herself from the Storgards.

Sensing it, Lina turned to clasp Edela’s hands. ‘Thank you for everything.’

There was something more vulnerable about the uptight girl now, and Siggy felt sorry for her. Her family was horrible. Her cousin was obnoxious and rude, terrifying and strange looking. It was as though he had never seen the sun, as though his skin was made of a silken fabric.

She could barely mask her distaste.

‘We must have you all to supper sometime. To thank you,’ Thora said, eyeing both Edela and Bertel. ‘After losing my dear husband, if something had happened to Lina, my only daughter. Our baby!’

‘How lovely, thank you,’ Edela smiled, answering for them all. ‘We would be delighted.’ Her eyes drifted to the ruined hall, wisps of ashy smoke tickling her throat again.

Fearing for Raymon.

* * *

‘Did you ever hear back from Getta?’ Axl wondered, offering Amma a cup of warm goat’s milk and honey. Such a drink would often help with her nausea, though she stared at the cup as though it was filled with poison.

She sat in a comfortable chair by the fire in the quiet of their chamber, unable to face supper in the hall. Axl was being kind, giving her his company instead of carrying out his duties as king, and she was grateful for it. He was always so busy and then occupied with his friends. She didn’t spend enough time with him, so it was nice to be alone. ‘I didn’t, no. Though that’s not surprising. I thought perhaps, after all this time and after she lost her son and we...’

Axl nodded, dropping his eyes. ‘Though Getta will come to you in her own time, I suppose.’

Amma doubted she ever would, though she longed to have a sister again. It had been hard to make friends in Andala. She was close to Axl’s cousin’s wife, Kayla, though she was always busy with her three young children, and they rarely spent time alone together.

‘We may see her and Raymon at Karsten’s wedding,’ Axl added, trying to brighten Amma’s mood. ‘I hope you’ll be well enough to come. Gisila’s already fussing about it.’

Amma nodded. ‘Of course. It would be a welcome change. I’ve never been to Helsabor.’ Tears came, and she tried to blink them away. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to cry.’

‘Amma.’ Standing now, Axl put down the cup and gently wrapped his arms around her.

‘I’m a terrible wife, a terrible queen, a bad mother. I.. you should find someone else. Someone better. A new queen. I...’ Her nose blocked quickly, and she struggled to breathe. ‘I...’

Axl felt terrible, struggling not to cry himself. ‘Amma, no. I’m the one who’s terrible. I’m the one who’s let you down.’

She didn’t understand, though grief came at her again like a towering wave, and she felt herself drowning in despair. It was hard to keep smiling, to have to see people and pretend that she was coping. Sometimes she thought of what it would be like not to be a Furyck, a public figure, instead wanting to be an invisible woman, living in a remote cottage far away from everyone.

Just her and Axl, the two of them together.

Taking his hand, Amma tried to smile. ‘We’ve had a hard time, but we still have each other.’

He could barely hold her gaze, guilt blazing like a fire in his chest. ‘We still have each other,’ he echoed. ‘And we can start again. All three of us,’ he added, placing a hand on Amma’s belly. She flinched, but he held it there, wanting to infuse both her and the child with whatever strength he possessed. ‘We don’t know what the gods have in store for us, but whatever it is, we’ll get through it, Amma. We’ll get through it together.’

* * *

Raymon was entirely alone for the first time in his life. He was no longer the son of a king. He was no longer a king himself. He wasn’t a husband or a father, or even a friend.

He was no one.

And though the thought of it was slightly terrifying, it was also freeing.

He was beholden to no one.

His life was now his to shape with his own two hands.

He could become anyone he wanted.

He’d paid for passage on a merchant ship leaving for Castala in the morning, and now he had to keep to the shadows and wait for dawn. The helmsman and his crew didn’t know him, but many would recognise him here, so he just needed to stay hidden until morning, when he would leave to start his new life.

His arm ached, reminding him that he needed to seek help too. It would be a risk, though he couldn’t afford the wound becoming infected. Being in his right arm made it harder to try and stitch himself. He would have to find a healer, and if he paid her well enough, hopefully she would lose any memory of helping him.

Ducking his head and keeping his hood low, Raymon headed around the back of Esby’s tavern, aiming for a row of workshops where he knew a healer could be found.

* * *

‘And this healer?’ Thora Storgard asked, running her eyes over the table, mostly pleased with her servants’ efforts. The generously-sized table seated twelve, with benches along the sides and a throne-like chair at each end – one more impressive than the other. She felt a rush of grief, knowing that she would never again see her husband sitting at the head of the table. Stein had been a good husband, she thought wistfully. A man who had worked tirelessly for the benefit of his family. He had wanted the best for them all, and now, after all his efforts, his own daughter would be crowned the Queen of Iskavall.

Spinning around with a delighted squeak, she took Lina’s hand. ‘She truly saved your life?’

Lina nodded, wanting to change the subject. ‘They all did. I was lucky.’ Shivering, she tugged her hand out of her mother’s cold grip as her two remaining cousins arrived.

‘It smells better in here!’ Oren declared, bobbing his head at his aunt before resting his eyes on his young cousin. She looked thin, he thought, sharpening his coppery eyebrows. Scrawny. Not as attractive as he remembered. ‘We’ll have to start feeding you up, Lina. To bear me a hall full of princes, you’ll need more meat on those bones.’

Thora squeaked again, leaving her guests behind to issue orders to her hovering servants. She lived in one of the finest houses in Ollsvik, and owing to her former position as the Lady of Varan, she had never been without help or comforts. ‘You must try the wine!’ she declared loudly. ‘I had Petr open your poor uncle’s prized supply. We can toast in his honour!’ Though seeing Oren’s displeasure at that statement, she hastily added: ‘And to yours, of course, my lord. My king!’

‘And your soon-to-be queen,’ Oren told her, handing his cloak to a gaping servant and taking Lina’s hand. Lifting it to his lips, he kissed it.

His hands were warm and moist, and his gaze so intense that Lina felt her toes curling. ‘I... it was both fortunate and unfortunate,’ she spluttered, hoping to be released from his hold, which only seemed to be intensifying.

‘Unfortunate?’ Oren wondered sharply. ‘How so?’ He stepped closer now, still holding Lina’s hand, while his brother, Steffan, moved to the table, where he took a goblet of the promised wine, eager to taste what their greedy uncle had been keeping to himself all these years.

Lina’s eyes darted around, seeking an escape. ‘It’s just... the people who were hurt and killed. I saw it. I had visions of it!’

‘My dreamer queen,’ Oren purred in her ear. ‘What a lucky king I will be to have my queen dreaming for me each night. After we have finished making our sons, that is. For that is where our efforts must be focused soon...’ Feeling Lina flinch, he laughed, finally releasing her as she stumbled away to join her mother. ‘I want you to organise the wedding quickly, Aunt. There is no reason to delay now that Lina is back with us. A king needs his queen!’

Thora nodded with enthusiasm, clapping her small hands in delight.

‘Perhaps you can organise a bride for me too?’ Steffan put in. ‘While you’re at it, Aunt?’

Thora’s delight blossomed further. ‘Well, you can always have Lina’s little friend. What was her name again?’

Lina looked at her mother in horror. ‘Siggy’s a child. Barely fifteen.’

‘Though another dreamer in the family? Imagine that?’ Oren grinned. ‘You should seriously consider it, Brother. I’m sure Aunt Thora could do something with all that hair?’

‘Of course! Oh yes, I certainly could. I was married at fifteen,’ his aunt added. ‘I was so lucky your father picked me, Lina. My parents couldn’t have been happier. What an honour it was to be welcomed into the Storgard family.’

It struck Lina then how ridiculous her mother was. Not just cold and uncaring, not just ambitious and ruthless, but utterly ridiculous. She wondered if Thora experienced any feelings at all or whether her entire existence had been about this moment: making her daughter a queen? ‘Though Siggy won’t want to marry. She’ll return to Tuura with Edela and Bert –’ Lina cut herself off, realising what she’d said, hoping no one else had.

Though Oren was quick to pounce. ‘What’s that? Edela?’

‘I meant Edwina, of course,’ Lina spluttered. ‘I misspoke.’

‘Edela? Edela Saeveld, the old dreamer! That’s who that woman is. She’s a Brekkan. As good as a Furyck!’

Lina’s face burned, body vibrating as she spun towards her cousin. ‘She’s Tuuran. Nothing to do with Brekka!’

Oren grabbed her wrist, twisting it. ‘If that’s the case, Lina, why lie? Why is she hiding her identity?’

‘She’s, she’s not!’ Lina insisted, leaning back as Oren edged closer. She looked to her mother for help, though Thora stood by the table, tutting disapprovingly. ‘It was me. I called her Edwina. I... didn’t want you hurting her!’

Oren laughed now, pushing Lina away. ‘An old woman? But why would you think so little of me? That I would hurt an old woman?’

‘You hate the Furycks!’

‘Ha! What true Iskavallan doesn’t? Apart from our former king, of course, though that says everything about him. But to kill an old woman? I am disappointed in you, Lina. That you don’t trust me?’ He sighed in mock devastation, eyeing the door.

Thora didn’t know what to say, but as the servants ferried bowls of eel broth to the table, she quickly returned to her finely-honed role of hostess, insisting that they focus on the wine and the meal now.

Lina hurried to take her place beside Oren’s younger brother, Steffan, who was the least revolting member of her entire family. Which wasn’t saying much.

Oren remained where he was, though, studying her closely.

Thinking.

* * *

Edela, Bertel, and Siggy ate a hearty meal of cockle pie, cabbage, and peas. It was delicious, and despite the stresses of the day, Bertel and Siggy couldn’t stop talking about each moreish bite.

Edela sat opposite them, feeling distracted.

They had taken a table outside the tavern. Thankfully, the building was still standing, for three of the workshops surrounding it had succumbed to the fire.

‘Iskavall’s brewster is renowned for her fine ale,’ Bertel was saying to Siggy. ‘I haven’t drunk anything this interesting in years. What do you think, Edela?’ Leaning over, though, he saw that the dreamer hadn’t touched her cup.

She turned to him with a puzzled frown. ‘What’s that?’

‘I’m not sure where you’ve been all evening, but certainly not here,’ Bertel said cheerfully. The meal he’d just enjoyed and the ale he was now savouring had alleviated some of his tension, though looking at Edela’s drawn face, he felt it returning.

‘I have a bad feeling,’ Edela murmured, glancing around. ‘As though strangers are no longer welcome here. Lina’s cousin is a troubling sort of man. I fear for the future of Osterland itself with him claiming power here. I don’t think we’re safe.’

As an elder, Bertel knew to take the words of a dreamer seriously. ‘Then I say we head to Andala and tell your grandson what is happening.’ He was whispering his thoughts, but loudly, and Edela held up a hand, trying to shush him.

‘We can’t go to Andala. I can’t,’ she insisted, turning her attention to Siggy, whose eyes were moving back and forth between them. She looked to have eaten too much, and there was a heavy sleepiness in them, Edela thought with a smile. ‘I need to ... think!’ she decided eventually. ‘About where to head next.’

‘We shouldn’t stay here,’ Siggy mumbled. ‘If we’re in danger, if you are, Edela, then we need to go. Maybe tonight?’

Bertel looked horrified, having paid for a room above the tavern, where he’d been assured that there would be beds. He’d been dreaming of a mattress and a pillow since their first night on the run. ‘But... I think that’s... we need to take a moment!’

Edela agreed. ‘I do, yes. I’ll go for a walk. It’s dark now, which will give me a chance to think.’

‘Well, I didn’t mean that!’ Bertel told her. ‘It’s not safe. We’ve just agreed that it’s not safe, woman!’

‘It isn’t safe, Edela,’ Siggy echoed. ‘We should stick together.’

Edela chuckled, pushing her creaking body off the creaking bench. ‘And we will. Don’t worry, I won’t go far. Just around the square and back.’ And with a cheerful smile, she turned away, worry immediately creeping back into her face.

Furia had said that the path would become clear, though she saw nothing but fog. Pulling her hood over her cold head, she moved with speed, not wanting either Bertel or Siggy to join her, hoping that, despite his self-absorbed flightiness, Bertel wouldn’t leave the girl alone.

And then, just as quickly, she wasn’t thinking about Bertel and Siggy at all as she approached the enormous dark ruin of Ollsvik’s hall. She saw glimpses of Raymon and Getta inside, feasting with their lords and ladies, and stopping, she closed her eyes, wanting a deeper understanding of why she had ended up here.

The scene continued in the darkness of her mind.

She saw a typically dour Getta, smiling politely, chatting to no one she knew. Beside her, Raymon’s neighbour had turned away, and the king’s smile had dropped, replaced by a look of pure misery.

She shivered as the image blurred, then sharpened again to reveal Raymon on his own, standing in the shadows, talking to a man. They spoke in mumbles, and she couldn’t pick out any words, wanting to move closer, wishing she had younger ears. She saw Raymon handing the man a bag, which made a noise.

Coins.

Squeezing her eyes shut, an increasingly tense Edela pushed on, slipping deeper into the vision, seeing only darkness.

And then someone was shaking her arm.

‘Edela!’ a panicked Siggy hissed in her ear. ‘We have to leave! Now!’

15

After a tasty first course of smoked salmon served with a dill-flavoured sauce, Oren had excused himself from his aunt’s table. He would return in haste, he’d promised. There was just a little matter to attend to.

Lina had watched him go, the door slapped shut by a gust of wind.

Chilled to the bone.

* * *

Siggy hurried Edela towards where Bertel was hiding in the safety of an alley.

‘What’s happening?’ the dreamer panted when she arrived. ‘Did you see something?’

‘We heard someone asking about you,’ Bertel muttered. ‘By name.’

Edela gulped. ‘Well, that answers my question about where to go next. Anywhere but here!’ She turned to glance down the alley, trying to see where it might lead, though there was only a dark dead end. Turning back, she peered at Bertel, needing to understand his intentions. ‘You wish to stay? Here in Ollsvik?’

‘Well, I...’

‘I’m going with you,’ Siggy insisted. ‘I won’t leave you, Edela. You need help!’

Edela knew she was right, though she wouldn’t force Bertel to come with them.

He didn’t say anything, instead digging into his pouch for a bag of coins. He wore many under his cloak, secured with ropes and belts, though this was the only one he had easy access to. ‘Take this and head to the river. They’ll presume you’ll leave through the gates, on pony or foot, but head to the river instead. Look for a boat, something small. If not, follow the river on foot. You’ll come to Esby by morning. Go now!’ He pushed the bag at Edela and turned to leave. ‘And good luck!’

Siggy was stunned that Bertel would abandon them.

Edela didn’t have time to feel anything; there was little time to even think.

Bertel Knutson felt only terror as he hurried down the alley, back out into the square and now, slowing down, he knew he had work to do.

* * *

As Thorgils and Fyn left the fire to check on the horses, ribbing each other as usual, Jael moved over to join Ayla, who’d seemed quiet throughout supper. Eadmund had sent out a handful of men to catch fish in the nearby stream, and having returned with an impressive haul, they’d all enjoyed a hearty meal of roasted trout and dumplings, swimming in a cheesy nettle sauce. Though Jael could see Ayla’s trencher beside her, and it was still full. ‘I’m surprised you managed to hide that from Thorgils,’ she joked. ‘Though it was a big meal. Perhaps even he was full?’

Ayla shook her head. ‘I... couldn’t face it.’

‘Well, I don’t blame you after what you’ve been through. First Tuura, and then that man?’ She heard Ayla’s screams ringing in her ears, mingling with her own, and she shuddered.

‘I still feel as though I’m back in Tuura,’ Ayla admitted, eyes on the fire. It was a crackling blaze, making her feel warm but tense, as though at any moment it would explode and burn them all. She closed her eyes, concealing her panic. ‘That morning I said goodbye to Edela, the girls had come to the door –’

‘Girls?’ Jael interrupted.

‘Lina and Siggy. Two students from the temple. They didn’t get along, so Edela decided she would try and bring them together, hoping they would get to know each other away from the other girls. You know Edela.’

Jael smiled sadly, wishing that in all the visions and dreams she was having, she could see where her grandmother was.

‘Lina looked as miserable as ever. Siggy was wary and big-eyed. It was early, before dawn, and they yawned by the fire while Edela handed out bags and baskets and knives.’ Ayla shook her head, dropping it, letting curling dark tendrils hide her face. ‘It all seemed so innocent, though in a few short hours, everything had changed and I...’ She started to sob. ‘I didn’t see any of it coming!’

Jael knew she wasn’t the best person to comfort Ayla, but she was the only one. And realising it, she slipped an awkward arm around Ayla’s back.

‘I keep thinking about her. Edela,’ Ayla sighed. ‘If she got away, if she escaped, she’s with two mostly helpless girls. Difficult too. I... what happened to me is... but Jael, what are we going to do about Edela?’

Jael didn’t know.

She had tried to push her fears for Edela into a place where they wouldn’t affect her, and she’d managed it well enough, but now? Seeing how worried Ayla was, and hearing how vulnerable Edela was, and knowing that those men were after her...

She started to fear that she would be too late to help her grandmother at all.

* * *

Bertel Knutson hadn’t seen a sign of his courage in many a year. There were few times when he’d needed to employ it, and now it didn’t come to him naturally, if at all.

Though now, he needed it more than ever.

He’d returned to the table outside the tavern, filling his cup with the tangy ale. It was refreshingly cool, and he drank deeply, needing to steel himself. He could hear the king’s men demanding answers from everyone wandering through the square. Most were handled roughly, yelping in surprise, insisting that they hadn’t seen an old woman dreamer. Some were knocked to the ground, kicked out of the way.

Eventually, the men reached the tavern.

And Bertel’s table.

Pushing back his shoulders, he offered them a wobbly smile. ‘Gentlemen! How may I help?’

‘You were with the dreamer!’ one of the men announced upon seeing Bertel’s face.

‘Dreamer? Which dreamer is that, then? I came from Tuura in the company of three.’ Sitting back now, Bertel stroked his short grey beard. The man inclined his head for his friend to help him hoist Bertel off the bench, and despite having expected it, he still cried out in surprise. ‘But what are you doing? Where is Lina Storgard? She will vouch for me! I’ve done nothing wrong! I escorted her here. The future queen! You must unhand me!’

The two men dragged him to their commander, who considered the gangly old man with an icy glare. ‘Tell me where Edela Saeveld is and you’ll be free to go. The king doesn’t care about you. Just help him find the dreamer, and no harm will come your way.’

The man’s breath was fishy, though Bertel swallowed his distaste. ‘Of course, yes. I lived in Ollsvik for many years, you know. It is one of my favourite places to visit, though I –’ He grimaced as the men tightened their hold on him, now lifting his feet off the ground. ‘Edela was here, yes! But she left with the girl. Siggy. She’s quite an annoying girl, you know. Always complaining. She had a bellyache, was almost sobbing with the pain, said she wouldn’t be able to sleep. Women’s troubles, I expect, so Edela took her to find some herbs. I said I’d wait here till they returned, then we’d go up to our room in the tavern. I...’ he swallowed. ‘I... they should be back soon.’

The commander glanced around. ‘Where did they go? In which direction?’

Bertel winced in discomfort, not answering. And seeing that he was at least attempting to be helpful, the commander ordered his men to release him. Nodding his thanks, a momentarily unsteady Bertel shook his cloak, then his head before turning around. ‘That way,’ he said, pointing to the gates in the distance. ‘I think it was that way. Towards the woods! Edela said she knew it, that she’d be certain to find what they needed there. But what do you want with her?’ Bertel added as the men turned to leave. ‘What has she done?’

They didn’t answer, not looking back as they hurried across the square.

Bertel sagged as though all the air had left him, watching them go before turning back to his ale and draining the cup.

* * *

Edela was out of breath, wondering what she was even doing. It was dark, and surely they had no hope of finding a boat? She kept thinking of Bertel, surprised that he hadn’t wanted to come. That he would simply abandon them.

Siggy stumbled, knocking into her, and Edela nearly fell.

‘I’ll run ahead!’ Siggy called, hurrying to steady the dreamer. ‘Where I used to live, you could always find boats propped up along the river!’ And then she was gone, just a shadow in the distance.

Edela had no words to answer. She felt a sharp pain in her side now. It hurt to breathe, her chest ached, but she kept moving along the gravel path beside the river, hoping Siggy was right.

Though with just the two of them, what good would it do?

She saw glimpses of Raymon Vandaal’s miserable face, wondering what it all meant?

Head down now, focusing on her footsteps as she struggled to see from the moon’s glow alone, she thought of her grandchildren, wishing they were with her. They had always been there to pick her up or to protect her, and now, without them, she couldn’t remember feeling so vulnerable.

The pain in her side intensified, and she feared she would have to stop moving soon.

‘Here!’ Siggy announced gleefully. ‘It’s small, but I can row it! I can, Edela! Come on!’

Looking up, Edela saw the girl dragging something out of the bushes. She heard noises coming from inside the fort, fearing that the men patrolling the ramparts would see them, so gritting her teeth and ignoring her aches and pains, Edela Saeveld started running.

* * *

Lina picked at her fingernails, frantically trying to remove the dirt from her journey. The meal was over, though her cousins had remained in her mother’s house, joined by some of their friends and their friend’s wives. The main chamber was crowded, and Thora appeared delighted, knowing that with the hall needing to be rebuilt, she would spend many evenings entertaining the king and his inner circle.

Lina ignored her mother’s delighted turns around the table as she instructed her servants with fast-moving little hands. She watched her enormous earrings hanging from over-stretched lobes, her sagging bosom sweeping from side to side with each dramatic movement. Thora Storgard was like an ageing ship in need of caulking, she thought, seeing how her mother had pinned a drooping flower arrangement to the side of her head to mask a growing bald patch.

Lina feared that one day she would be the same: an aging husk of a woman whose every waking thought had been about how to look a certain way, to charm and entertain her guests, to please her husband, to bear his sons.

And now, eyes weaving through the crowded room, Lina spied Oren.

She shivered, knowing he had sent men after Edela. She desperately wanted to leave, to warn her. Though likely, it was too late.

And not her problem anymore.

Not her life.

‘Lina!’ her mother squawked like an excited bird. ‘You must come and talk to Anna about the wedding feast! She has the most wonderful ideas!’

Lina didn’t even sigh as she stood, mutely moving through the guests, ignoring the clammy touch of Oren’s hand as she passed, and finally reaching her mother, she did her very best to put on a pleasing smile.

* * *

An exhausted Siggy was shivering before her, and Edela felt guilty that she couldn’t do more to help. Once Siggy had dragged the boat into the river and helped Edela down into it, she had taken command of the oars, working hard to master her fears of the darkness and the water as she’d rowed them away from Ollsvik.

They had stopped to rest for a short time, wet and cold in the rain, then Siggy had pulled the boat back into the dark water and feeling grateful for the moon, she’d once again taken up a steady rhythm.

‘You learned a lot from Lina,’ Edela chuckled. ‘I see how strong a rower you are now.’

‘My arms hurt,’ Siggy admitted, always saying whatever thought popped into her head. ‘But if I keep going, it’s not so bad.’

‘Well, my arms are hurting, and I’ve just been sitting here, so I can only imagine how you’re feeling!’

‘That’s just because you’re old,’ Siggy told her. ‘Everything hurts when you get old. I remember my grandfather saying that. He had to use a walking stick, and he only had one arm. I often had to pick him up!’

Edela shivered, so cold and wet that she was struggling to think about anything useful. Her mind kept returning to her cottage in Andala and her fur-lined chair; her comfortable bed in the corner too. She saw herself crawling into it and bringing up two layers of furs until they touched her nose, then rolling over with a satisfied groan, listening to the fire settling down behind her.

‘Why didn’t Bertel come with us?’ Siggy wanted to know. ‘That was a surprise! Though I doubt anything is a surprise to you.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised by how often a dreamer can be surprised. You see, Siggy dear, dreamers are only shown what we need to see. The gods reveal snatches of this and snippets of that. We hear things, dream things, remember things, too, but not everything. Could you imagine that? To know every event about to take place? Every conversation? And to have to decide what to do about all of it? For everybody?’ She felt exhausted just thinking about it. ‘No, no, that’s not how it works at all, which means that we can certainly be surprised.’

‘So did you know that Bertel would stay behind then?’

Edela shook her head. ‘I didn’t, no. Though it makes perfect sense. Bertel Knutson is loyal to Bertel Knutson, so he sought to take his own path. The far more comfortable one, I imagine!’

A shivering Siggy nodded, though she sensed Edela’s sadness about that. ‘Well, at least we have his coins!’ she grinned, trying to cheer her up.

‘Indeed, so now we can spend our journey trying to think of what we might find to eat in Esby.’

‘Something hot!’ they both said at the same time, laughing as lightning flashed in the sky.

* * *

Hal and Erling rode away from Andala’s fort that morning, leaving their stewards behind. They left their king behind too. There was a steady stream of traffic coming into the fort through the main gates, and feeling impatient to talk alone, they headed into the forest, seeking the privacy offered by its dense tree cover. Though wanting to be discreet and employing a measure of caution, it was some time before either man spoke.

Hal finally pulled his grey mare to a stop, dismounting with a flourish. Erling followed him, and walking into a clearing, they checked the trees, ensuring that they were truly alone.

‘Weather’s holding,’ Erling noted. ‘Perhaps summer won’t be another disaster?’

‘Perhaps,’ Hal said distractedly, leading his horse to an alder tree, where he looped her reins over a leafy bough. ‘Though it’s hardly what we’re here to discuss. The weather?’

‘True.’

‘Axl refused our advice! To our faces! He listened to Gant and Gisila,’ Hal complained irritably. ‘When did that last happen? I thought we had his ear? That we had him on the right path. Our path!’

‘He listens to them more than you realise, just not on important matters. There we’ve mostly had him on our side.’ Erling’s dark-blue eyes never stopped moving as he checked the trees, ensuring that his voice remained low and their conversation private.

‘Until now!’ Hal spun around to face him, not caring to moderate his own voice. ‘And what’s that about then? His sister?’

Erling snorted. ‘He’d hardly listen to Jael.’

‘I’m not sure that’s true. He rails against her, but deep down, I’m sure he wants her approval the way he wanted his father’s.’

Erling wasn’t convinced by that, confident that he knew Axl better than Hal. ‘It may be that he simply decided to help Valso on his own. That that’s the sort of king he wants to be.’

‘A weak one?’ Hal groused. ‘A weak king, bowing to his enemies! Giving them everything they’re demanding!’ His voice rose until he saw Erling wince, and calming down now, he sought to focus. ‘Though the question is, what are we going to do about it? If we lose our influence with the king –’

‘We won’t,’ Erling assured him, stroking his black beard into a point. ‘Axl trusts us. He listens to us. If we truly want to assert our control again, we just need to support his decision. To champion it. To help in any way we can. If not, we’ll quickly push him away.’

‘Then we should go to Valso,’ Hal decided. ‘We leave Gant and Gisila behind to fret and worry, and we go with Axl. That way, we have plenty of time to make him see things through our eyes. The sooner he starts acting like the king we need him to be, the happier we’ll all be. Richer too. Can you imagine what he’ll give away if we don’t stop him? What sort of Brekka he’ll create if this carries on? He’s a Furyck! Does he not remember? Furycks are supposed to have iron spines, not bend like saplings in a gentle breeze. Fuck! What is happening?’

A quiet Erling let Hal rant, occasionally interjecting the odd word of encouragement, sometimes a warning or caution.

He felt just as incensed, worried, too, though he was far less vocal. They would gain control of Axl again, he was certain.

It was just about remaining patient.

* * *

Raymon was losing both his patience and his temper, wondering if he’d inherited them from Ranuf Furyck, for his gentle mother had rarely raised her voice. But, standing in the pouring rain on Esby’s docks, strung out with tiredness, arm throbbing and hot all over, he was struggling to maintain his composure.

‘Weather not good,’ one of the crew offered in a thick accent, struggling past Raymon with a heavy chest. The ship of Silurans had come with wine, spices, and silks, and after selling most of it in Ollsvik, they’d parted with the remainder of their goods in Esby. Now, having spent some of their hard-earned coins on Iskavallan wool and iron, they were eager to head south. Though it wouldn’t do to fight the weather.

Raymon had been waiting for what felt like hours, hidden beneath his dripping cloak, hood over his face, having anticipated leaving at dawn. Now he was standing in the gloom, fearing imminent exposure. He was aware of a couple standing further down the docks, sensing that they, too, were waiting to board the merchant ship, though he didn’t meet their eyes.

Feeling certain the rain was easing, Raymon now sought a word with the helmsman, who, he quickly realised, didn’t understand the common tongue. One of his men came forward, though, offering to translate.

‘I will pay you double,’ Raymon told the translator, eyes shifting to the helmsman, where they remained. ‘To leave now. It’s important that I reach Castala in haste. My family is waiting there for me. My wife, she is with child. Perhaps she will have the baby soon? Today I must leave. Now!’ He flapped his hands, emphasising the urgency as the helmsman kept shaking his head. Though soon he cocked it, surprised by what his man had told him. He frowned, making him ask Raymon something.

‘You can pay triple?’ the translator asked, wiping rain from his eyes.

Raymon hesitated for only a moment. ‘Yes, triple. Though only if we leave now!’ He saw the couple coming forward, wanting to understand what was happening, realising that the woman had a baby strapped to her chest, covered by her wet cloak. He sought to move away, dropping his eyes, though he heard perfectly as the helmsman started ordering his men about in a voice that told him they were preparing to depart.

‘Now,’ the man said, holding out a wet hand. ‘You will pay now.’

16

Oren was in a foul mood when he arrived at his aunt’s house that morning. After being ushered inside by one of the servants, he strode directly to where Lina was sitting by the fire, drinking a cup of small ale. She had been out earlier, hoping to find Edela, Siggy, and Bertel. There had been no sign of them, and she’d returned to the house feeling worried. Though the irate look on Oren’s face gave her hope.

‘Your little friends have disappeared,’ he told her, warming his hands before the fire. The rain had a chill to it, and he felt cold. ‘Vanished. Like magic.’

Putting down her cup, Lina blinked up at her cousin. ‘Why?’

‘Why? But aren’t you the dreamer, sweet Lina? My dreamer? But that’s what I came to ask you.’ Grabbing her hand, Oren tugged her to her feet. ‘Why did they run? What were they really doing here?’

Lina shook her head, desperately wanting her hand back. The flames were hot against her legs, and though she wanted to get away from Oren, she couldn’t move closer to the fire. ‘I told you. They brought me here from Tuura. We escaped, fearing for our lives!’

Oren narrowed his pale-green eyes. ‘It’s hard to trust a dreamer. They aren’t common here. Not since King Ekhard was betrayed by his own dreamer wife all those years ago. Have you heard the story, Lina? The story about that misguided dreamer and her miserable end?’

She nodded.

‘You can see into my mind, yet I can only see into your eyes, and that puts me at a great disadvantage, doesn’t it?’ Seeing that she wasn’t even blinking, he carried on. ‘So we can work together, for Iskavall, for our family, for the family we will have together, or we could end up like King Ekhard and his disloyal queen. He had her hung from a beam in the hall, above her throne. She bled all over it, they say, though in all these years, no one thought to replace that bloody chair. Every queen sat on it till the hall burned down. And now? Now I will build you an impressive throne, and you will sit beside me in purity and honesty and loyalty most of all.’

Lina swallowed, tasting the sourness of her small ale, now burning her throat.

‘There you are!’ Thora chirped, bustling down the stairs, dressed as though heading to a feast. It had taken hours to curl her blonde hair into perfect ringlets, which bounced as she walked, making her look like a child. ‘I was certain I heard voices! Didn’t I tell you I heard voices?’ she muttered to her servant, who wielded an armload of fabric behind her. ‘And here you are! Deary me, but you are wet, my lord. Come, Lina, let our king claim the flames. He must dry himself! You’ve been perfectly toasty, sitting there all morning like a fat cat.’

Lina eagerly stepped away from the fire, hurrying towards her mother.

‘I’ve been going through the samples the tailor dropped off. Oh, we are fortunate he has his workshop far back from the square! Now, come to the table and let us see what will make a suitable dress for a queen.’ Thora spluttered to a stop. ‘We’ll have to send out invitations!’ she realised suddenly, mind darting about as she turned away from the table, clasping her sagging throat. ‘Not to mention that wedding in Helsabor. We can’t clash with that, can we? And who will we invite?’

An irritated Oren turned to the door. ‘I will leave you to conjure up dresses and the like, Aunt, for I must focus on rebuilding my hall. Though it would make me happy if Lina walked me back to the square. We have much to discuss.’

Thora heard rain splashing loudly outside, though seeing the king’s determined eyes, she bobbed her head. ‘Of course! Petr, grab Lina’s cloak. You’ll certainly be needing it this morning!’

* * *

A dripping Siggy sat slumped on the rowing bench, struggling with the slippery oars as Edela sought to lift her spirits. ‘I see a hint of something in the distance!’ she promised cheerfully. ‘Perhaps a pier?’

Siggy didn’t have the energy to turn around, blinking rain from her eyes as she tried to keep to the rhythm she was counting in her head. Her back was entirely numb, her arse, too, and she felt ready for a long sleep.

‘A mast!’ Edela declared, wiping rain from her eyes. ‘I’m sure I can see a ship! Maybe more, Siggy dear. We are nearly there. Just a little longer, I promise! Keep going now. Keep going!’

* * *

Raymon had paid a hefty price for his seat aboard the merchant ship, though he still couldn’t force the stubborn helmsman to get underway with speed. As the rain eased further, he could see more people heading down to the docks and another ship entering the harbour. Becoming increasingly nauseous, he was soon aware of his urgent heartbeat in his ears, hearing the couple’s baby crying. It was cold in the rain, though Raymon suddenly felt unbearably hot, wanting to tear off his cloak and jump into the river.

‘Not long, lord!’ the translator called. ‘Waiting for one more to come!’

Raymon nodded impatiently and turned away, seeing a small boat coming.

* * *

Lina had to walk quickly to keep up with Oren, who took her directly to the ruined hall, pressing her for information about Edela and Bertel. Siggy too. Lina headed off his enquiries at every turn until she could see, with relief, that he grew bored with the conversation. ‘Besides,’ she added, ‘why would Axl Furyck send

someone to spy on you? As far as he’s aware, Raymon Vandaal is the King of Iskavall.’

That silenced Oren, who felt confused by the entire episode, unable to shake off the notion that something was wrong. It didn’t feel right that the old woman had come to Ollsvik.

He had a bad feeling.

‘My lord!’ came the cry as one of his men, ashy-faced and dripping with rain, ran up to him. ‘They’ve found the body, they have. The king’s body!’ Oren glowered at him, and his joy retreated somewhat. ‘The former king, of course, my lord.’

‘You’re sure it’s him?’ Oren wanted to know, moving past Lina to where he could see his men gathered. ‘You will stay back!’ he ordered. And lifting his dark woollen cloak, he chose his path carefully, treading over crumbled posts, nearly slipping on what appeared to be a bowl buried beneath a dusting of ash. His men moved aside to let him through.

‘Only one body, lord,’ a man said dully, looking sad. ‘Servants ushered everyone else to safety.’

There wasn’t much to see, though Oren caught sight of an arrowhead, ordering the man to pick it up and give it to him. Holding it in his hand, he turned it over, seeing the mark of a hawk, knowing it as his own. Slipping it absentmindedly into one of the pouches hanging from his belt, he indicated for the men to carry the remains away. ‘To the midden heap,’ he said with a sneering smile. ‘I’m sure the dogs will find him eventually.’

* * *

‘I need to pee!’ Siggy blurted out. ‘I can’t hold on!’

‘You can,’ Edela assured her. ‘Of course you can. Look!’

And unable to sit still, an aching Siggy swung her head around, seeing a giant ship moving away from the pier, oars splashing in the rain, men calling out to one another.

‘They’re making space for us!’ Edela joked. She stared at the ship, still some distance away, feeling strange. Or perhaps jealous, she thought, wryly now, seeing her boots submerged in water and poor red-faced Siggy about to burst before her.

‘Should we... let them see us?’ Siggy wondered, now aiming the boat towards the riverbank.

‘Well, yes, I think we can,’ Edela decided. ‘I’m not sure what that loathsome Oren Storgard was up to in Ollsvik, but we have no enemies here that I’m aware of. Still, we won’t mark ourselves as dreamers.’ And now she eyed Siggy sternly, though she doubted it would make any difference, for the girl had shown no ability to take stock of a situation before opening her mouth. She smiled anyway. ‘Let’s pull in over there. I’m sure you can haul the boat up under those trees, just in case we need to make another hasty escape!’

Siggy sneezed, eyeing the dreamer through her dripping curls, doubting she could haul a fly out of a bowl of soup.

* * *

Tuura’s gates seemed in fine order, which was the first thing a frowning Jael noticed as they were pulled open, ushering their men inside. Her stomach churned as she nudged Tig into the fort. She had memories of it burning from her visit four years ago, though they weren’t as bad as the memories of what had happened here when she was ten. The whole place was one terrible dark memory, she decided, once again resolving never to come here again. She thought of Aleksander, whose parents had died here. Of Biddy, who they’d pulled out of the fire. The dogs, too, she remembered, her mind wandering back to Andala, hoping they were safe.

‘The place reeks of smoke,’ Eadmund said, turning to his wife. ‘Though nothing looks touched.’

Jael saw wooden paths framing a muddy road, people scurrying along, heads bowed. Others stopped to stare, and one held up a hand, trying to claim her attention.

They had been interrogated at the gates, though only briefly, for it didn’t take long to recognise the Queen of Oss.

‘My lady! My lady!’

Recognising the voice, Jael swung around to see a little old man almost jumping on the spot, waving his hand at her. ‘Alaric?’ Swinging down from Tig, Jael hurried towards him. ‘Are you alright?’ She’d forgotten that Alaric had returned to live in Tuura but was glad for it. ‘I’ll meet you at the temple,’ she told a frowning Eadmund. And turning away before he could argue, she grabbed Tig’s bridle, keeping him close.

Alaric Fraed had memories of Jael’s temperamental horse, and he kept one eye on Tig, one on the queen as he stepped off the wooden boards, down into the mucky road. ‘It’s another terrible tragedy for Tuura. I’m not sure what I was thinking, coming back here. I should have stayed in Andala!’

‘What about Edela?’ Jael wanted to know, hoping to focus him quickly. ‘Do you know what happened to her?’

‘Gone!’ Alaric cried. ‘I’ve no idea where, but there’s no sign of her or those two girls. No bodies either,’ he added, seeing Ayla riding past. ‘Ayla!’ She turned in the saddle to smile at him, and feeling confused, a now entirely bald Alaric looked back to Jael.

‘And these men?’ Jael asked, ignoring the curious stares of those who had stopped in the hope of discovering what was happening. ‘Who were they? How did they get in here? By the look of things, they didn’t break in.’

‘No, there was no siege, no battle. When I was woken by a scream, they were simply inside! I didn’t know what was happening!’

‘Come to the temple with me. We’ll head there first, find an elder to speak to. I saw that the elderman was dead.’

‘Yes, oh yes, he is, but... they killed all the elders too.’

‘What? All of them? And the dreamers?’

‘Those they could find,’ Alaric told her. ‘Those who stayed to try and defend the temple. Some put up a fight, though many were killed in the process. But Edela wasn’t with them, I’m certain of that. I’ve checked all the bodies!’ He was quivering and teary-eyed now, fearing for his old friend. ‘Oh, poor Edela. Whatever can have happened to her?’

* * *

‘We will find somewhere to dry off!’ Edela promised, teeth chattering. The morning sky had lightened considerably, though it still wasn’t warm, and she was wet through and shivering, clinging to Siggy’s arm as they trudged into the town like two drowned rats.

Siggy could barely lift her head to look around, though suddenly reminded of the danger they’d been running from for days now, and worrying about Edela, she pushed back her shoulders and squinted through the drizzle.

They had walked past the harbour, which was small, able to accommodate, at most, six ships, in through a wooden archway of sorts, where two equally sodden men stood inspecting who came and went. Seeing that neither the old woman nor the young girl carried items for trade, they waved them inside with uninterested bobs of their heads.

Edela turned to look over her shoulder, seeing a tall-masted ship departing, hoisting up its red sail. She shuddered, convinced that her feet were moving in the wrong direction. As though her path led not into Esby but away from it.

Still, into Esby she went.

‘There!’ Siggy called with renewed energy. ‘They’re selling food!’ And almost running away from Edela now, she scurried towards where two women were cooking sausages over a brazier. A line had formed, many already brandishing coins in anticipation of a hot breakfast.

Edela inhaled, smelling the promise of a meal amongst the soggy reek of the town and, just like Siggy, feeling a lift because of it. The pull of the harbour remained strong, like a current swirling around her ankles, though she was almost too exhausted to think about what that meant.

Food would help.

She saw benches and tables, and slipping a wet hand into her wet purse, she held out a few coins. ‘Buy us breakfast then. I’ll take a seat over there and try not to simply fall asleep.’

Looking down at the coins, Siggy frowned. ‘We’ll need something to drink, too, Edela. We’re both parched.’

‘That we are,’ Edela agreed, digging back into her purse. ‘Here you go, but mind you don’t go too far. We don’t know who’s here that might want to cause us problems. Hopefully, no one!’ she added quickly, seeing a flash of fear in the girl’s big brown eyes. ‘We’re far away from Tuura now, Ollsvik too. I’m sure we’ll be fine here.’ She closed her eyes as she said it, thinking of Gosta, the Tuuran Goddess of Tricks, whose ears were always open to those foolish enough to profess great certainty in things. And then, blinking, she headed to the nearest table, where she sat down with a loud groan of relief. Her smile, fixed on her face since she’d hurried the girls and Bertel away from Tuura, finally faltered, ripples of terror coursing through her cold body.

Furia wanted her to leave her family behind, to save them from their doom.

To follow a path not yet revealed. To... ?

Edela didn’t know, and now she dropped her head, feeling a sudden desire to cry. Despair as bleak as a grey winter’s day descended upon her, and for a moment, she felt entirely alone. And afraid.

She thought of her strong granddaughter.

When feeling hopeless and vulnerable, she found it helpful to think of Jael – strong, courageous, unstoppable Jael – and then, feeling quickly improved, she blinked away her tears, lifting her head as a happy-looking Siggy hurried back to her with four sausages wrapped in what appeared to be fresh, soft bread. ‘Well, now, doesn’t that look like the finest meal I’ve ever seen!’ she grinned at the girl, who hurried to sit down beside her, licking her lips.

* * *

Wanting an entirely new beginning, the Tuuran elders had built their temple far away from its predecessor. That ancient building had burned down thanks to a group of cultists known as The Following, who, in pursuit of their adoration of the god Raemus, had corrupted dreamers and elders alike.

And not for the first time in Tuura’s chequered history.

Though now the new temple had burned down, too, and all the elders had been killed, their bodies strung up in trees surrounding the temple, just as the dreamers’ had been.

An old woman was talking to Jael.

She was long-haired and trembling, poking a gnarled finger Jael’s way.

‘And what good did those elders do us? Or the dreamers? What help did they provide? Comfort? Sanctuary? No! They simply rolled over and begged to be saved. Cowards!’ she spat. ‘The lot of them. This place has no future. None!’

Eadmund looked around for someone who might have useful information rather than just the need to unleash years of pent-up frustration about everything that was wrong with Tuura.

‘Some of the men spoke Siluran,’ said a young girl in a quiet voice. She was small, though she looked Milla’s age, Jael thought. ‘My grandmother... she was Siluran.’

‘So you could understand them?’

The nervous girl nodded, coming forward now, fiddling with a long braid. ‘Though some spoke the common tongue too.’

‘And what did they say?’ Eadmund wanted to know. ‘These men?’

They had spread out to find information.

Thorgils, Fyn, and Milla had headed towards the rear of the temple ruins, where pyres had been built for those bodies now retrieved from the trees. And upon arriving at the temple, Alaric had led Jael and Eadmund to where a group of women and girls were tending to the dead, cleaning their defiled bodies, wrapping them in linen shrouds.

Most appeared pleased to see the king and queen, though there was a general sense of trepidation and a reluctance to say much.

They were scared.

‘Did these men want something?’ Jael asked. ‘Did they have any demands?’

The girl nodded. ‘They asked for Edela.’

Jael blinked at her. ‘Just Edela?’

‘No, they said they wanted to kill every dreamer. When the elders tried to intervene, to stop them, they killed them too.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘And what did the dreamers do? Anything to help?’

‘It was dark,’ the girl told him. ‘Most were sleeping.’

Alaric nodded at that. ‘I certainly was, and then all that screaming? I thought I was having a nightmare. And then, going outside, I walked straight into one!’

‘So the dreamers had no warning?’ Jael mused, eyeing Eadmund. ‘Surely they would have done something if they had?’

The girl didn’t know what to say about that. ‘Some disappeared, but others tried to fight back. There...’ She swallowed now, feeling strange. ‘There was magic.’

‘What sort of magic?’ Jael asked.

Another woman spoke up now, coming forward. ‘I saw great flashes of light. Gold and fiery light. I couldn’t see who was doing what, but when it stopped, many lay dead.’ She shook her head. ‘Though I couldn’t tell you who did it.’

‘Could it have been the men?’

The woman shrugged. ‘I don’t know, my lady, but they all seemed like warriors to me. Killers, the lot of them!’

Jael stared at her, eventually nodding. And then she raised her voice, lifting it to the small crowd gathered before them. ‘Does anyone know where my grandmother was that morning? Where I can find the place?’

‘I can take you.’ A hand went up, and a reluctant-looking boy emerged from the huddle of women. He was hunched over, hidden behind a fringe of oily hair that covered most of his spotty face. ‘I followed them. I saw everything that happened.’

17

Gisila couldn’t help but laugh, watching Ido and Vella chase her grandchildren around the high table. As a mother, she had been strict, and such behaviour in the hall would not have been tolerated, especially when Ranuf was sitting on the throne. She would have shooed Jael, Aleksander, and Axl outside, and she certainly wouldn’t have had dogs charging about. But she rarely saw Sigmund and Bo, so she felt far less inclined to tell them off.

Biddy didn’t have the same problem, and bustling into the hall, hands on hips, she gaped at the chaotic churn of furry animals and noisy children. ‘This is the King’s Hall, you terrors! Out now! Out!’

Bo ignored her, as she tended to do, carrying on squealing with abandon, turning around to try and catch Ido.

Sigmund pulled up, hearing the sharpened edge of Biddy’s voice. ‘Stop, Bo,’ he urged.

Though Bo shook her head and kept running until she was seized by Biddy, who scooped the protesting little girl into her arms and hauled her outside. ‘Just like your mother, aren’t you?’ she muttered, striding past with Bo Skalleson stuffed under her arm like a squawking chicken. ‘Too stubborn to listen to anyone. Especially those who know best!’ She nodded apologetically at Gisila as she passed, joined now by a smiling Amma, both women listening as Bo started howling in protest.

‘Perhaps you’ll have twins?’ Gisila laughed, squeezing her daughter-in-law’s hand. ‘Imagine that? Soon we might have a little war band of Furycks and Skallesons running around the hall.’

Amma’s face fell.

‘I know it can be hard to see the future sometimes,’ Gisila murmured, leading her towards the open hall doors, wanting Amma to see the sun. She had become reclusive since she’d fallen pregnant again, afraid to stray too far from her bedchamber and sick bowl. ‘Clouds of despair come to hide the sun, and often nothing we try will blow them away. I’ve felt it myself,’ she admitted, nodding at her servant Gunni, who she could see had just returned from the tailor’s with another selection of fabric. But despite her sudden desire to hurry after her, she carried on walking with Amma. ‘I have two children left, just two, and yet I gave birth six times. For two more, I didn’t give birth at all. They were just lost.’ She felt Amma shudder beside her as they emerged into an unfortunately gloomy day. ‘And through all that pain and loss, I learned that the sun does come out again.’ Looking up, she stared at the sky, heavy with murky clouds. ‘Despite the storms, despite the darkness, the sun does come out, Amma, and our hearts become filled with hope again too.’ Walking down the hall steps, she slipped her hand through the crook of her daughter-in-law’s arm.

Amma tried to smile, though she felt a wave of nausea stirring, and becoming anxious, she turned to look back at the hall.

Gisila, though, kept walking, straight-backed and determined, wanting to help Amma in the same way her mother had helped her. Without Edela’s support and Biddy’s, she knew she would have struggled to emerge from her dark storm. ‘It just takes time,’ she soothed. ‘Believe me, it just takes time.’

Seeing Kamilla and Eren Venberg, Amma pulled up, seeking to turn around. ‘I...’ she began, fearing that she couldn’t face a conversation, though a determined Gisila gave her an encouraging wink, urging her on.

* * *

The sullen boy’s name was Milo, and he spoke in mumbles. Quickly too.

He was a friend of one of the girls Edela had been with.

An orphan like she was.

‘Her name is Siggy,’ he muttered. ‘Sigfrida. But she doesn’t like anyone calling her that. Says it makes her sound like an old woman.’

Eadmund had his head cocked to one side, struggling to hear Milo, though Jael wasn’t even looking his way. Her attention was on the forest clearing the boy had brought them to. She felt increasingly tense, wanting to hurry him on. ‘So Edela came here with the girls? Siggy and... Lina?’

Milo nodded. ‘They don’t like each other. Well, Lina Storgard doesn’t like anyone. I don’t think she even likes Edela.’ He frowned then, suddenly remembering that he was talking to a king and queen. ‘Your grandmother, she makes everyone call her Edela,’ he added.

‘She does,’ Jael agreed, leg jiggling. ‘And this is where they came? Here?’

Milo had led them to a stand of trees where mushrooms grew in enormous crowns amidst beds of moss, some creeping up the trunks of nearby trees too.

‘I followed them here.’

‘Why?’ Eadmund wanted to know, frowning now. ‘Weren’t you invited?’

The boy shook his head. ‘I’m no dreamer, but where I stay, it’s... hard to sleep. I went looking for Siggy, and I saw her leaving the temple.’

‘And what did you see next?’ Jael asked.

Milo looked around, eyes on the king and queen, and on Alaric, who peered at him with quivering lips parted in anticipation. ‘I saw a man approach Edela. An elder.’

‘What?’ Alaric blurted out. ‘An elder?’

‘Bertel,’ Milo told him.

Alaric rolled his eyes.

‘Who?’ Jael asked.

‘Bertel Knutson. He’s a strange one. An elder in name only, gifted the position for being rich. A wealthy man, he is. Or was.’ Now he shrugged, looking at the boy. ‘He doesn’t like Edela.’

Milo laughed, showing signs of life. ‘No. They fought.’

Jael frowned. ‘That morning?’

‘Yes, here. They had an argument, and then Bertel disappeared. Edela told him to go away.’

‘Is he dangerous?’ Jael wondered, looking at Milo before turning to Alaric.

Milo shrugged quickly, but Alaric looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t know. It’s hard to believe in anyone these days.’

Eadmund turned back to Milo. ‘And after Edela told this Bertel to go away, did he?’

‘He did, and then a great cloud of smoke came. I saw it!’

‘Smoke?’ Jael was puzzled. ‘From the fort?’

Shaking his head, Milo was confused as to how to describe what he’d seen. ‘It came around Edela. Only around her. I couldn’t see her at all.’

‘In the dark?’ Eadmund asked doubtfully.

‘Dawn was coming by then. The sun was rising, and the smoke appeared from out of nowhere. Like fog! I couldn’t see through it.’

‘What happened next?’ Jael was becoming tense. She heard a bird hammering at a tree. A woodpecker, she thought, remembering how fascinated she’d been with them as a child.

‘Then... I...’ Milo looked sad. ‘Then the screams started, and I... I looked back towards the fort. I didn’t know what was happening. When I turned around to warn Edela and the girls, they were gone. I... didn’t see them again, my lady.’

Jael nodded at the boy as Eadmund rewarded him with a handful of coins that made Milo’s eyes bulge. Alaric’s, too, who thought it an overly generous reward.

And bobbing his head at both the king and queen, Milo hurried through the bushes, up to the fort.

They stood on a slope, looking down to the crown of mushrooms where Milo had last seen Edela.

‘What was the smoke?’ Eadmund wondered. ‘Magic?’

‘Possibly,’ Jael murmured. ‘I think I need to stay here awhile. If this is Edela’s last known location, I need to see what I can uncover about where she went next.’ Turning around, she eyed Alaric. ‘And this Bertel? Did he survive the attack? Is he still here?’

‘There’s been no sign of him,’ Alaric said. ‘Many guessed he ran away. It would be like him. He struts about like a confident man, but I’ve a feeling it’s all for show. That he’s not who he says he is at all.’

There was so much to take in, and Jael felt confused. She had come to Osterland to talk to Edela about her dream, and yet, the bigger, more worrying problem spread before her like a bloody stain. There was now plenty of information but no clarity about any of it.

She turned to Eadmund. ‘Why don’t you go and find the others. Ayla too. She might have seen something. I need to stay here.’

Eadmund nodded, shepherding a still muttering Alaric up the hill towards the fort. And glancing over his shoulder, he saw his wife heading for the trees.

* * *

Gisila held onto Amma, who appeared ready to bolt. Her daughter-in-law had spent so much time hiding recently that she’d lost her confidence, and a smiling Gisila decided that this was the perfect time to reclaim it.

The Venberg family possessed an arrogance that grated, as though their name carried as much weight as the Furycks’ did. They certainly had ambition, Gisila thought, offering a beaming smile to Kamilla Venberg, who clung to her attractive daughter in the same way Gisila was clinging to Amma.

‘My lady,’ Kamilla said sweetly, bobbing her head in Amma’s direction. ‘It is a pleasure to see you out and about. I had thought you were confined to the hall.’

There was always some implied insult in the woman’s words, Gisila knew, though her smile remained firmly in place as she considered her some-time friend. ‘Well, carrying the heir to the Furyck dynasty is no small feat and not one to take lightly. The king insists that his wife rest as much as possible. He is a devoted husband. I do hope your daughter will be lucky enough to find such a man.’ The flash in Eren Venberg’s blue eyes gave her pause, though she continued after a moment. ‘Perhaps in Helsabor? I‘ve heard that King Herold has a few nephews seeking to make a match.’

Kamilla’s smile became tense. ‘Yes, I hear the same, though I doubt Ebert would wish to dilute the Venberg blood. It is pure Brekkan, as ancient as the Furycks’.’

Gisila fought the urge to roll her eyes, unaware of Amma’s growing discomfort beside her. ‘Yes, though my late husband sought to marry a Tuuran, seeking to bring Osterland together, so I wouldn’t worry too much about diluting anything, Kamilla dear. All of Osterland looks to Brekka as neighbours and friends, so the more we reach out in turn, the safer we’ll all be.’

Kamilla sucked in her cheeks as she fought through the thinly-veiled barb. ‘Well, it is something we’ll behold for ourselves at the wedding in Angard. I look forward to all the dresses. What a competition it will be to see who has the finest gown!’

Now Gisila pulled Amma closer, turning to smile at her daughter-in-law, seeing for the first time the distress in her eyes. ‘Oh, I can assure you it will be our beloved queen here who claims that prize. Axl has ensured that the tailors are working on something extraordinary for his wife. I do wish you both luck finding enough fabric for yourselves!’ Gisila laughed, and then, still smiling, she swept past the two women, leading Amma back through the square towards the hall.

* * *

Jael sat in silence for some time, conscious of the distant ripple of noise from the fort seeking to distract her. She inhaled smoke, guessing that pyres had been lit, reminded of the elder who had argued with Edela.

The great cloud of smoke. Had he done that?

Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against the trunk of an ancient oak, escaping into the cool darkness of her mind.

She immediately saw an angry-looking Edela talking to a man.

They were in the forest, near where Jael now sat.

Edela was snorting, pointing at the man. ‘But I was here first, we were, so if you wish to enjoy the silence, I would advise you to return to the temple. Surely it is the quietest place to go? The forest is for everyone, for all of us, not just for you, Bertel Knutson.’

The man looked incensed, bushy grey eyebrows meeting above a long nose. ‘I’m not sure any dreamer has ever been so insolent. So disrespectful,’ he sniffed. ‘But as elders, we are your betters. You owe us a measure of respect.’

‘Betters?’ Edela laughed. ‘Who taught you that? For whoever did should not be teaching anything! Hmmphh, but you are no one’s better and nor should you aspire to be. My gifts come from the gods. I am a dreamer thanks to their benevolence. And you? You are an elder, from what I hear, solely because of your own!’

The man’s sagging cheeks reddened. ‘Well, I... you are quite simply the rudest woman I have ever met!’ And now he clamped his lips together, turning away, though he was soon wheeling back around. ‘You have been welcomed in by the elderman, though I will have a word with him about the wisdom of that decision. I will! Oh, believe me, I will! And you will not send me on my way like an annoying child. As you say, the forest is for everyone, so I shall be over there, behind that oak, carrying out my own ritual in what I can only hope will be total silence!’

Everything went dark, and hard as Jael might try, she saw nothing further.

Eventually, she opened her eyes, feeling a tightness in her chest, a sudden stillness in the air. And now she turned her head, hearing water.

* * *

‘Why are we here?’ Siggy wondered, nudging Edela, who stood on Esby’s pier with her eyes closed.

Edela shushed her. ‘Let me think about that. Let me see.’

‘But if you close your eyes for too long, people might wonder,’ Siggy hissed. ‘About what you are.’

‘Well, they won’t have to wonder with you telling them,’ Edela grumbled, twisting around, eyes now open. ‘See that bench? We’ll sit there for a moment. I’ll close my eyes, and you can wrap an arm around me. You’ll look like my kindly granddaughter.’ She snorted loudly, making herself laugh.

‘What is it?’

‘Nothing, no, it’s nothing.’ Edela continued to chuckle as she made her way to the bench, where she sat down, inhaling intense fishy odours as a crew unloaded its catch. She quickly dropped her head, closing her eyes, knowing there was a reason she had been drawn back to the river.

‘How much longer?’ a man barked in the darkness. She heard rain falling and men shouting, though she didn’t understand what they were saying.

Siggy wrapped an arm around her back, murmuring softly, though Edela felt far away as she now saw the pier, drenched in rain, a man in a hooded cloak calling up to those on board, impatient and unsettled. She could tell that by his voice, though not who he was. The clue remained just out of reach, and as she stepped forward, the cloaked figure and the ship moved further away, quickly lost from sight. Though the pier remained, and she could hear whispers now, someone calling her name.

Edela stood in a fluster, slipping on a trail of fish guts.

A surprised Siggy hurried to stand, grabbing her arm. ‘Edela? Are you alright?’

But Edela had turned away from her, staring at a newly arrived ship, seeing a hint of a path for the first time and where they must go.

* * *

Jael walked down to the river.

She felt no sense of her grandmother, no sign that there had been a boat, though something had led her here; a sense that the fog, the smoke, whatever it had been, had masked Edela’s escape. Had it been a warning? And if so, why hadn’t she returned to the fort for Ayla?

No one had seen anything of Edela, the two girls, or this Bertel.

They were all missing.

Had Bertel kidnapped them? Was he working with the Silurans? Someone must have let them into the fort, so was it him?

Jael didn’t think so.

She kept walking, thoughtful and quiet. Eventually, stopping and bending down, she dipped a hand in the water, watching the flow of the current.

South.

To Iskavall, she thought suddenly.

And straightening up, a blinking Jael headed back to the fort.

* * *

‘I wish to purchase passage on your ship,’ Edela told the man with many earrings. He appeared impatient to leave, not wanting to be held up by this old woman and her curly-haired granddaughter. Shuffling his feet on the wet pier, he sought to move past her. ‘I have coins,’ Edela promised with a confident smile. ‘I can pay you.’

‘I’m sure you can, though I only just arrived,’ the man told her, shaking off the offer of coins. ‘I’ve goods to sell. Won’t be leaving for some time yet.’

He looked like a man from the Fire Lands, spoke like one, too, and Edela now vibrated with the certainty of her path.

‘Springtime is busy, but summer’s busiest of all, so keep your coins, lady. Another ship will arrive soon enough.’

When he left, Siggy was wide-eyed with surprise. ‘You want to go to the Fire Lands? But why?’

Edela shuffled towards the edge of the pier, squeezing in between two tall barrels. ‘I can’t say,’ she confessed, looking this way and that. ‘But I feel certain that that is where my path leads. Away from Osterland and over the sea. You don’t have to come with me, though. You could return to Tuura? I have enough coins to pay for passage by ship or wagon.’

Siggy shook her head. ‘No! I won’t leave you, Edela. You’ll need help. You’re old, very old. You’ll need someone to help you.’

Edela laughed. ‘Well, I can’t deny that, and help would be appreciated, but though I may have found the beginning of this path, my path, I cannot tell where it will lead or how dangerous it may become.’

Siggy dismissed her words. ‘You’ll protect me with magic!’ she said far too loudly. ‘And I’ll look after you. We’ll do it together!’

Edela nodded, holding a finger to her lips. ‘Yes, but quiet now. We don’t know where our enemies are lurking.’ She shivered, remembering how cold she was, eager to find a fire.

And a ship.

And once again, she dug a hand into her purse, grateful for Bertel’s coins.

* * *

The smell of pyres was enough to erase any appetite Jael had worked up walking from one end of Tuura’s fort to the other during the day. She had asked questions of more people than she could count and had come up mostly empty-handed.

She wasn’t alone.

‘Where are we sleeping tonight then?’ Thorgils asked, chomping into a leek and cheese pie. He’d been well-fed by those he’d questioned throughout the day, impressed by how hospitable the Tuurans were, having heard the opposite about their reputation for welcoming strangers. Though after what they’d been through, they were likely hoping to convince them to stay and offer protection. And though he sympathised, Thorgils just wanted to go home and fall asleep in the comforting arms of his wife.

‘Not in here,’ Jael declared, receiving a surprised look from Milla. ‘We’ll sleep outside the fort. There’s no guarantee we can trust anyone in this place. We still don’t know who let those Silurans in, so better not to be penned in here. All the choices remain ours then.’

Eadmund agreed. ‘I’ll get a perimeter going. Fyn, you and Joren bring out the horses. Milla can help. And Thorgils, you can find us some supper!’

Thorgils grinned, happy to be given that task. He gobbled down the remainder of his pie, trying to remember where he’d last seen the rosy-cheeked woman who’d promised him a honey nut cake.

Eadmund walked Jael towards the gates, knocking his arm against hers. ‘Feels strange here. Hard to see how Tuura survives, and I don’t see any way that it thrives.’

Jael had kept her thoughts to herself all day, letting them percolate until she felt certain about what she wanted to do. And now, turning to Eadmund, she stopped him, placing her hands on his arms. ‘I think we should leave tomorrow.’

‘Go back to Andala?’

She nodded, then shook her head. ‘I mean you should go back to Andala. You can get the children and the dogs and Biddy and go home. You need to go home.’

‘And you?’

‘I have to find Edela. I don’t trust anyone else to. I just don’t. She’s disappeared, and I have no sense that she’s dead, but she’s gone. I think she took a boat to Iskavall. Down river.’

Eadmund was surprised. ‘Do you think that elder took her? That he was involved?’

Jael didn’t know. ‘I just have to find her, Eadmund. She needs me.’

‘And you need me,’ Eadmund insisted, not surprised when she pulled away, though he carried on. ‘Bram will have complete control of Oss, you know that, and I trust Biddy with the children. There are no two people I’d trust more. We’ll send Ayla back to Andala with the men. Milla can go along. They’ll go back to Oss, where they’ll be safe. Safe with Bram, with Biddy, under the watchful eye of Ayla. We’ll find Edela together.’

Jael peered at her husband, not sure what she thought about that.

‘You’re my wife, Jael, but I’m your king, and I get to decide what I want to do just as much as you do.’

‘Is that so?’ Now Jael was frowning as Eadmund attempted to kiss her.

‘I’m coming along. It’s up to you whether you want to talk to me, though I’ll have Thorgils for company if not.’ And seeing Jael simmering before him, not at all interested in his peace-making kisses, Eadmund suppressed a smile, and turning away, he headed for Ayla.

Jael watched him go, any feelings of annoyance subsiding quickly. She just felt odd. Odd being back in Tuura. Odd not knowing what had happened to her grandmother.

And remembering her dream, she shuddered, certain that she hadn’t even come close to understanding what was going on yet.

18

‘We saw Kamilla and Eren Venberg today, didn’t we, Amma?’ Gisila said at supper that evening, not noticing Axl’s rapidly blinking eyes. She raised her goblet, taking a sip of wine before returning to her mutton stew. ‘I do wonder why it has taken Kamilla so long to find the girl another husband. Eren’s pleasing enough to look at and always carries herself well. She’d make a perfectly adequate wife for someone who was after that sort of thing.’

Gant burst out laughing. ‘You are vicious, Gisila! Lucky we’re eating alone, though I imagine you wouldn’t hesitate to say it to Kamilla’s face.’

‘I certainly wouldn’t,’ Gisila promised with a raised eyebrow, though she could see that Axl looked uncomfortable, suddenly remembering how close he was to Eren’s brother. ‘We ladies do like to gossip, though it’s nothing more than a bit of harmless fun.’ And turning to Amma, she winked.

Amma had always been intimidated by Eren Venberg, who was elegant and standoffish, striding around Andala as though she was the Queen of Brekka. Amma was convinced that Eren would make a better queen than she ever would, certain, too, that she would be able to carry a child to term. ‘I expect she has her eyes on another husband, probably someone her mother disapproves of. Kamilla will require someone of high standing.’

Gisila laughed. ‘I don’t doubt it!’

‘Or perhaps Eren’s more like Jael?’ Amma mused. ‘Jael never wanted to be married in the first place, did she?’

Gisila snorted. ‘Oh and don’t I know it. She was always too busy rolling around in her ghastly trousers, fighting with Aleksander. Though I don’t see Eren caring about her independence. No, she’s just like her mother, looking to advance herself, much to Hal’s annoyance, I’m sure. From what I’ve seen, Eren hasn’t even looked his way.’

Axl was furious with his gossiping mother, wanting to change the subject. He reached for his goblet, though the pungent aroma of fermented fruit turned his stomach. Feeling his head start to pound, he dropped it, eyeing his mostly still-full bowl of stew. ‘Speaking of Jael, I wonder if she’s reached Tuura yet?’

That certainly stopped Gisila in her tracks. ‘I do hope so. And that there is some good news to report.’

‘She’ll send word,’ Gant promised, squeezing his wife’s hand. ‘As soon as she knows anything, Jael will send word.’

Gisila nodded, knowing that was true but already fearing the news that missive would bring.

There was no further conversation for a time as the servants cleared the table, preparing for the next course.

Axl’s steward entered the hall in a fluster, heading for the table.

And hoping there was something new to discuss, everyone looked up.

‘My lord, there is a... visitor,’ Gerald said in a breathless rasp. ‘The Queen of Iskavall.’ And now he turned to smile at Amma. ‘Your sister is here, my lady. She has come to visit you.’

* * *

Edela turned her head, though the opening tavern door revealed only strangers, none of them looking her way.

Siggy followed her gaze in anticipation. ‘What is it?’

Shaking her head, Edela turned back, happy to see that the girl had nearly finished her meal – their second of the day. ‘Oh, nothing. Sometimes dreamers imagine things that just aren’t there. We can get as muddled as everyone else!’ Then realising what she’d said, she lowered her voice. ‘I was just thinking about Bertel.’

‘What do you think happened to him?’ Siggy wondered. ‘Did you see?’

Edela shook her head. ‘I thought that was him,’ she admitted, and though the man who’d walked in was tall enough to need to bend his head, he wasn’t Bertel Knutson. ‘I’m sure he’s safe, though.’ A frowning Edela wasn’t sure at all, though she did hope so.

‘And Lina,’ Siggy said sadly. ‘She has to marry that horrible man.’ Poking out her tongue, she shuddered, making Edela laugh. ‘He looks like a melting candle!’

‘Oh yes, he does!’ Edela agreed. ‘I bet he has clammy hands.’ They giggled until Siggy became serious again. ‘Though will Lina be alright? With him?’

‘I hope so. They’re family, so I think that gives her a better chance than most. And, of course, she is a dreamer. A good one too. If any danger comes her way, she’s sure to see it. And with Oren Storgard taking the throne, I expect she’ll need to.’ Edela’s thoughts turned to Axl, wondering, once again, if she should send him a note, letting him know what had happened. Though reminded of Furia’s words, she didn’t pursue the thought.

Reaching across the table, she squeezed Siggy’s hand.

‘Ow.’

‘What is it?’

‘Blisters,’ Siggy told her. ‘After all that rowing.’ She turned her hands over, holding them near the little soapstone lamp in the middle of their table.

‘Oh dear, I see. Don’t worry, I’ll find something for that. We’ll need supplies for our journey, won’t we? Someone will be able to point me to a healer, for we certainly don’t have time to boil up salves and tinctures on our own!’ Once again, the door squeaked open, though this time Edela didn’t turn around. ‘We’ll have a good sleep tonight. In real beds! And tomorrow, we’ll set about preparing for our adventure.’ She tried to sound positive, though she felt overcome by terror.

‘But how will we find a ship, Edela?’

‘A ship?’ a voice wondered. ‘A ship to where?’

And spinning around, Siggy and Edela were surprised to see Bertel Knutson peering down at them.

* * *

In the uncomfortable silence, a still-speechless Amma struggled for something to say.

Getta had said little after the formalities were over and she’d been led up to the high table, offered wine and food.

The sisters hadn’t seen each other for going on five years, and after their initial greetings had almost approached warmth and affection, they’d found nothing further to talk about.

So Gisila attempted to help.

‘How is Raymon?’ she asked. ‘Axl is often wondering about him. And Jael was only here the other day, asking after him too.’

Getta looked surprised. ‘Jael was here?’

‘Her children are here,’ Amma explained, feeling pleased to have her sister beside her, though Getta looked miserable and gaunt, and she feared that something was wrong.

‘Jael and Eadmund have gone to Tuura to find Edela. I imagine they’ll be back in a few days,’ Axl said, feeling unsettled by Getta’s sudden appearance. ‘And Raymon, he... didn’t wish to accompany you?’

‘There is trouble in Iskavall. In Ollsvik,’ Getta admitted, barely looking her brother-in-law in the eye. She had thought to keep Raymon’s problems to herself, though she could almost hear the unspoken questions of those seated at the high table; it would be impossible and also tedious to have to keep lying. ‘There often is,’ she added brusquely. ‘Raymon grew worried, though. He thought it best if I left to see you.’ Now she turned to her sister, offering a genuine smile. Amma looked terribly unwell, though she felt stirrings of jealousy seeing her pregnant bump.

‘I wish he’d ask for help,’ Axl muttered. ‘We’re neighbours. He should accept my help.’

‘Though he can’t,’ Getta insisted, finally turning to the king. ‘For the Furycks are the problem. Raymon’s problem. If he even mentions your name, gossip spreads, whispers about plots swirling around the fort. Iskavall’s lords hover around Ollsvik like carrion birds, waiting to swoop down and pick over his carcass. Raymon cannot be seen to align himself with Brekka. It puts him in grave danger.’

A frowning Gant topped up Getta’s goblet from the wine jug. ‘And who is causing this latest bout of trouble then, my lady?’ He wasn’t a Furyck and felt uncomfortable addressing Getta as informally as everyone else.

‘The Lord of Varan,’ she answered wearily. ‘Or, at least, his nephews. Lord Stein was ill, dying, I believe, so all four of his nephews returned from their various holdings, which I imagine Raymon saw as a sign of trouble to come.’

Gant’s frown deepened. ‘Those boys have never demonstrated much self-control between them, especially the eldest.’

‘No,’ Getta agreed. ‘They smile and preen, pretending to show deference in our hall, but behind our backs?’ She shuddered, thinking of Oren Storgard.

‘Well, it sounds as though Raymon did the right thing sending you away,’ Gisila told her. ‘And your company is just what Amma needs.’ Her smile was bright as she looked at the two girls sitting side by side. They were as similar as ever, she thought. Once they’d appeared plump and soft-featured, Getta always plainer than her pretty sister, though now both looked slightly haggard and miserable. Pale too. ‘I shall have Gunni set a fire in a guest chamber. I won’t be long.’

Axl knew that Amma was struggling to do much, though he feared that Gisila continued to overstep. He glanced at Gant, who seemed to understand his concern, and excusing himself, he headed off after his wife.

‘I am happy you’re here,’ Amma told her sister, and feeling tears coming, she reached out, clasping Getta’s hand. ‘It has been so long. I’m very pleased to see you.’

Getta was surprised to discover that she felt exactly the same. And tears in her own eyes, she nodded, holding on.

* * *

‘For a pair of dreamers, you’re rather surprised to see me!’ Bertel chortled, quickly making himself comfortable at the small table.

‘Ssshhh,’ Siggy grumbled. ‘We’re not telling anyone that we’re dreamers. Dreamers aren’t safe. Not with those men hunting us.’

And feeling slightly foolish for not thinking things through, an exhausted Bertel nodded. ‘Are you eating that?’ he asked, pointing at a plate of bread. Edela shook her head, and Bertel immediately folded up a slice and shovelled it into his mouth. ‘Oh, but it’s been a long day!’

‘But how did you get here? And when?’ Edela wanted to know. ‘By horse?’

Bertel nodded, reaching for another slice of bread, and spying a serving girl, he held up a hand, waving her over. ‘A real horse this time. I stole one!’

He was loud, and Edela saw a few heads turn their way. ‘Do you have water in your ears, Bertel Knutson?’ she hissed. ‘You may as well tell the new King of Iskavall where we are.’

Ignoring her, Bertel smiled at the serving girl, quickly ordering a jug of ale and a bowl of mussel soup, with two servings of perch, peas, and turnips. She nodded but stayed where she was, holding out a hand until he paid her.

‘But why? Why did you follow us?’ Siggy asked when the girl had left. ‘I thought you’d abandoned us.’

Bertel scoffed. ‘Abandoned you? Best thing I could do was stay behind and lead Oren Storgard’s men down a dead end. So that’s what I did! It gave you a chance to get away, didn’t it? And then, before they turned back to shake the truth out of me, I got out of there fast. Made it away before the gates closed for the night. Rode straight here. I’m certainly glad you followed my advice. Surprised, of course,’ he said, eyeing Edela. ‘But glad.’

Edela was speechless. ‘You always intended to come?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Bertel mused. ‘In Tuura, I’d have happily let you go off without me. Fear of what those men might do compelled me to follow you in the first instance. Now, though, it feels different. I... want to be here. To come along.’

Bertel Knutson had possessed many a make-shift rudder in his long life, Edela saw, but she wasn’t about to dissuade him from accompanying them. This might be his last chance to make his life about something that mattered. And what was there to go back to Tuura for now? ‘Well then, we’re going to have to prepare and stay alert. As soon as a ship arrives, heading for the Fire Lands, we need to be on it!’

They turned to each other in silence, almost excited, mostly scared, and completely uncertain about what would come next.

* * *

Axl removed his boots, shaking out a tiny pebble. He placed them on the rug by the bed, silent and thoughtful, eyes drifting to the fire. He didn’t feel cold, but watching the bright flames cheered him.

‘I can’t believe Getta came,’ Amma murmured behind him, sitting in bed, brushing her hair.

Turning to her, he smiled, seeing the way the firelight glowed in her pretty eyes. ‘I can’t believe she spoke to me, and even Gant. Do you think she’s finally forgiven us? For what happened to Lothar and Osbert?’

‘I don’t know, but time’s passed, so perhaps Getta has finally come to see things more clearly? I hope she has. I have missed her.’ Axl looked so surprised to hear it that Amma laughed. ‘We were close friends when we were young, before we became women. Everything changed after that. Once Father got his hands on Getta and saw her as a way to get close to Iskavall’s throne, everything changed. She went along with it, of course, but mostly to please him. It was hard to do anything else.’

Slipping under the furs, Axl slid towards his wife. ‘Raymon didn’t want to appear close to the Furycks, so the idea that he sent Getta here is troubling.’

Amma placed her hairbrush on the bedside table and wriggled under the furs. She left her lamp burning, preferring not to sleep in the dark. ‘Is Raymon in real danger then?’

Axl shrugged. ‘He’s been in danger since his father took the throne. It’s all he’s known, but he’s tough. He’s seen off so many threats now that he’ll surely come through this one too.’

A frowning Amma stroked Axl’s face, seeing the worry in his eyes. Worry for a brother he didn’t really know; a brother who didn’t want to know him. ‘I keep hearing about what’s happening in the South. I know you want to keep it from me, Axl, and I know I’ve been ill, but I am aware of our own troubles.’

Taking her hand, Axl squeezed it. ‘Which is why I’m going to Valso in a few days. I’ll head to Saala first and talk to Rexon. I won’t let it fester any longer. I intend to visit every settlement, every town, to see what the people need, to truly understand what their problems are.’

Amma looked worried. ‘But will you be safe?’

‘In my own kingdom?’ he grinned. ‘Of course. I’ll be perfectly safe. I promise.’

* * *

Eadmund Skalleson loved Jael Furyck more than anything in the world.

More intensely than he could have imagined loving anyone.

She was like a burning fire keeping him warm, and without her, he felt a desperate chill.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close, though he knew she’d wriggle away. She was often like that, but especially here, in Tuura, where she’d been hurt all those years ago.

Here, she was more distant than ever.

Sensing Eadmund’s eyes on her, Jael turned to peer at him. ‘What? Why are you staring at me?’

Laughing now, Eadmund passed her the ale jug. ‘Just thinking how much I love you.’

She frowned as she topped up her cup. ‘Why?’ Then, moving closer, she lowered her voice. ‘Why?’

‘Is that not something that happens to you then? Feelings?’

‘Occasionally.’ And now she shrugged. ‘I think so.’

‘There’s so much happening that we don’t understand, and when you can’t even see your enemy, when you don’t know what they want... how can you hope to evade them?’

The fire popped, and they saw Thorgils and Fyn arguing while a bemused Milla looked on.

‘I don’t think we can. Evade them,’ Jael decided. ‘I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to do. If we smell trouble, hear trouble, see trouble, we have to aim straight at it. No hesitation, no delay. Go straight for the source. It’s the only way to stop what’s happening.’

Eadmund sipped his ale. ‘Do you ever feel afraid?’

‘Ha! I’m afraid of everything. Can’t you tell?’

Eadmund wasn’t sure if she was serious. Her eyes were in shadow, and he couldn’t see them, though he could see her lips, and turning to her, he kissed them. ‘How’s the pain?’

‘Much better,’ Jael murmured, kissing him back. ‘In fact, I can barely feel my ribs at all.’ Wincing as she said it, she tried not to laugh. And leaving her cup on the ground, she stood, tugging her husband to his feet. ‘You were going to show me that thing you found? In the trees back there?’

Eadmund nodded, focused entirely on Jael’s eyes, now glowing like emeralds above the fire. He saw a flicker in them that sent ripples of desire through his body. ‘I was. It might be important, that thing.’ And still holding his wife’s hand, he let her lead him away from the camp, where soon they were masked in darkness.

Thorgils sighed from a distance. ‘Must be nice having your wife in reach, even if she’s as prickly as a hedgehog. A nice warm body to cuddle up to. And more...’

Fyn inclined his head towards Milla, who was adding logs to the fire.

‘What? You think Milla doesn’t know what happens between a man and a woman? Ha, course she does. You wouldn’t have your eye on her if she was that much of a child.’

A furious Fyn elbowed his cousin, making Thorgils laugh as Milla turned around.

‘You’re always arguing,’ she decided, looking puzzled. ‘I grew up wishing I had brothers and sisters or even cousins, but you two poke and prod each other from morning till night.’

Thorgils looked bemused. ‘Us? But we’re as close as brothers. I’d do anything for this dimple-cheeked weed.’ And grabbing Fyn around the neck, he brought him close, tousling his auburn hair.

Shaking him off, Fyn grinned. ‘Do anything to me, you mean.’ But he laughed, seeing how puzzled Milla still looked. ‘I had a sister growing up. She wasn’t my real sister, it turned out, but she was horrible to me. She hated me, and I hated her, but Thorgils? I know he’d die for me, and I for him. That’s real family. The rest is just harmless fun.’

‘Exactly!’ Thorgils boomed, eyes on Joren, who approached with a cough.

‘I’ve set men on the perimeter. I’ll ensure the watches keep going throughout the night.’

‘We’ll take a turn, though, won’t we?’ Thorgils said, eyeing his cousin, who nodded. ‘Can’t have you Brekkans taking every shift.’

Joren finally smiled. ‘I’ll let my men know that you’ll be on your way.’

‘Certainly will. Once we’ve finished off our ale!’

Joren left them to it, and Thorgils and Fyn resumed their drinking while Milla made herself comfortable on a fur.

‘Jael and Eadmund will be sleeping here,’ Fyn told her, seeing worry in her eyes. ‘You won’t be alone.’

Milla nodded. ‘I’ll be fine. I just wish we were sleeping inside the fort. Seems safer somehow. Less exposed.’

‘Think you’d have to tie Jael up and knock her on the head to get her to sleep in there,’ Thorgils laughed, filling Fyn’s cup. ‘Best ale I’ve had in Osterland!’ he decided, smacking his lips. ‘Jael can say all she wants about Tuura, but she can’t deny that they’ve got some master brewers up here!’

Though despite their cheerful assurances, Milla turned away, looking through the dark pillars of trees, feeling on edge.

19

‘We should go back to camp,’ a breathless Jael told her husband.

‘Are you alright? Your ribs?’

‘They’re fine.’ Which wasn’t entirely true; she could barely bend down to pull up her trousers.

‘They take a long time to heal from memory.’

‘Hmmm.’ Jael was distracted, and turning around as Eadmund slipped his brown tunic over his head, she frowned. ‘The children may be in danger, especially Bo.’

‘Because of your dream?’

Jael nodded. ‘She’s a Furyck. I spoke to Ayla, and she’ll watch her closely. Both of the children. Even though Sigmund’s not my blood, he may be in danger too...’ She drifted off, becoming tense. It had been nice to be with Eadmund again, to feel his body, to hold him close, though it had brought back to her how much she had to lose.

‘Ayla won’t let anything happen to the children. Nor will Biddy or Bram,’ Eadmund told her. ‘They’d die to protect them, just as I’d die to protect you.’

Reaching for her boots, Jael grimaced. ‘Though let Thorgils do that part. You need to stay alive for me.’

‘Sounds fair,’ Eadmund grinned, then watching her struggling, he asked: ‘Do you need help?’

‘No.’

And knowing there was no point pushing any further, he stood. ‘We could have more children, you know.’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Why not? If you’re worried about the Furyck line dying out, we could have a few more, just to be safe?’

‘Safe? Ha! I’ll let Sigmund and Bo know that we’ll be making a few replacements. Easy!’

Eadmund couldn’t stop smiling. ‘You are a ridiculous woman.’

‘Ridiculous? You must be thinking of my mother. I am anything but ridiculous, I assure you.’

‘Well, you could show me...’

‘I don’t think so. There’s too much sleeping to be had, and fretting, planning, and I have to think about my ribs.’

‘Which are fine, apparently.’

‘Apparently.’ And now a smiling Jael headed off, leaving Eadmund on the ground. ‘And no more children!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Never again!’

Hauling himself to his feet, Eadmund cocked his head to one side, following after her.

Convinced that she didn’t mean it.

* * *

Siggy was woken by a nightmare, wondering if she’d dreamed the creaking noises. Lying perfectly still, she listened, trying to discern what was happening through Edela’s and Bertel’s honking snores. Though it was impossible to hear anything over that terrible noise, and she soon assumed that whatever she’d heard had just been in her nightmare.

Swallowing now, she closed her eyes again before quickly blinking them open, feeling suffocated by the darkness. The room above the tavern was cramped, with only vertical slits for windows, though there were so many that numerous shafts of moonlight brightened the darkness like gleaming spears.

It was cold, and now Siggy reached for the threadbare blanket she’d crawled beneath, pulling it over her chest, tucking it under her chin.

Hearing that creaking noise again.

* * *

Jael had cornered a yawning Thorgils before he started his watch, doubting he’d be much use for long. Likely it would only be Fyn staying awake, and not for the first time. ‘Be suspicious of everyone,’ she warned.

‘Everyone?’ Thorgils was confused, blinking at her. ‘What?’

Jael frowned and grabbing his arm as he swayed sleepily before her, she pinched him.

‘Ow!’

‘Well, wake up when your queen’s talking to you, Thorgils Svanter. This is important.’ Eadmund was already asleep, though she felt restless, knowing they’d be leaving early in the morning, certain that everything she wanted to say would be forgotten in the rush. ‘I trust Eadmund to see what’s before him, though I need you to be my second pair of eyes and ears. You above everyone. You’re his best friend.’ And mine, she thought but didn’t say. ‘You need to see those things he can’t, what’s hidden, what doesn’t make sense... you have to keep Eadmund safe. Please.’

Now Thorgils sat perfectly still, hearing fear in her voice. Never fear for herself, of course, only for those she cared about. ‘I will, Jael. You never have to ask.’

‘But I do because I’m worried about what’s out there. It’s something no one can see. Someone. And if they try to come for me, Eadmund will be in danger too.’

‘Come for you?’

‘Not every enemy wields a blade,’ Jael said ominously. ‘Those men who came to Tuura didn’t get in with weapons, and the dreamers weren’t given any warning of what was coming. I need your help looking out for Eadmund, for those things he won’t see.’

‘And you?’

‘Me?’ Jael leaned toward the flames, feeling strange. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. I have eyes in the back of my head.’

* * *

Somehow, a snoring Edela heard the creak, too, and she sat up blinking, seeing that Siggy was wide awake and watching her. There were two single beds on opposite sides of the narrow room, and though poor Siggy had had to sleep on the floor, Edela didn’t think she’d missed out on much. Standing, and only just managing to muffle a groan of discomfort, she padded across the floor to Bertel, slamming a hand over his mouth.

He woke with a start, fighting her off, though Edela’s hand had kept him quiet long enough to see her hovering over him, finger to her lips. ‘What is it?’ he mouthed when she took her hand away, watching as she pointed at the door, where stripes of moonlight focused Bertel’s attention.

Another creak.

Bertel’s sleepy eyes bulged, and he looked around in haste, seeing his belt on the solitary table in the room, though the only weapon it offered was his eating knife. He felt vulnerable, trying to think how he might protect Edela and Siggy. Sliding out of bed, he moved to stand behind the door, watching as Edela stepped carefully towards her own belt, where she unsheathed a knife. Though instead of brandishing it, she crouched down, dropping her head as the door handle started turning.

Siggy gulped, tiptoeing to Bertel’s side, holding her knife. She handed it to him as he pushed her further behind him, arms trembling. Siggy was trembling, too, and glancing over her shoulder, she tried to see if there was anything she could use as a weapon. In desperation, she snatched her blanket off the floor.

Seeing what she’d done, Bertel nodded, using his hands to show her what to do. A nodding Siggy now moved to stand in front of Bertel, holding up the blanket.

Glancing at Edela, scraping her knife on the floorboards, she wondered what the dreamer was doing.

* * *

Jael didn’t know how long she’d been asleep when Milla touched her shoulder. She jerked up with her mouth open, surprised by how groggy she felt; it was as though she was drunk. Though she still had a knife in her hand, aiming it at the girl.

‘I...’ Milla swallowed, staring at the blade. ‘I heard noises.’

Turning to Eadmund, Jael saw that he was sound asleep beside her. ‘Where?’

‘When I went to pee. In the trees.’

‘What sort of noises?’ Jael asked, rising to her feet now. ‘Where’s Fyn?’

‘He didn’t come back. I think he fell asleep where he was keeping watch.’

Glancing that way, Jael saw two of Axl’s men sitting by the fire now, and inhaling the cold night air, she adjusted her swordbelt and indicated for Milla to lead the way. ‘What sort of noises?’ she asked again.

Milla’s teeth were chattering. ‘I... like bridles, I thought. Not branches. Nothing from the forest. It sounded like metal.’

‘Here.’ Jael offered Milla her knife and drew her sword, following the girl towards the trees. The moon came and went as the clouds washed over its glowing face. Sometimes, she could see a path through the trees. Other times, it was hidden.

She tried to awaken every one of her senses, though she felt so tired. Her body was heavy, her mind ploddingly slow. She could hear, though, and as she walked behind Milla, she thought she heard the sound of bridles, too, realising that where Milla was leading her was in the opposite direction to where they had tethered their horses.

* * *

The door groaned open, and Bertel put a hand on Siggy’s arm, holding her there.

Pale light slithered into the room, and the man standing in the doorway could see someone kneeling on the floor. It stopped him, and he held up a hand for the men behind him, trying to understand what he was seeing.

Edela didn’t look up. She knew the men were there and was busy making symbols to stop them. She’d grabbed her own blanket, throwing it over her head, hoping to carry on her work before they realised what she was doing. She couldn’t see what Bertel and Siggy were about, though she trusted Bertel to try and protect the girl. Which was a strange feeling, she realised distractedly.

She had to hurry.

The man moved into the room, using hand signals, and feeling Bertel release her arm, a terrified Siggy threw the blanket at him. He was tall, though, and it flew up into his face before falling uselessly to the floor.

‘Move!’ Bertel ordered, seeing that his plan hadn’t worked. ‘Get Edela!’ He lunged at the man with Siggy’s knife, missing, and jerking to the side, he roared in annoyance. And as Bertel stumbled down onto his knees, past the man, he allowed another four men into the cramped room. Still clutching the knife, a panting Bertel scrambled back to his feet and backed up to Siggy. ‘What do you want?’ he shouted, hoping to attract help from the tavern. ‘Why are you here? We have nothing! Nothing for you to steal!’

Incensed by the noise, the leader threw a knife at Bertel, striking him in the shoulder.

Siggy screamed in fright. ‘Bertel! Help! Help us!’

Edela threw back her blanket, desperate to intervene. ‘You are after me, I think,’ she said from where she kneeled on the floor. ‘Is that right? Not an old man or a young girl. You came for a dreamer?’

‘Came for you?’ the man laughed. ‘Yes, we came to kill you, Edela Saeveld.’

* * *

‘What use are dreamers?’ Jael spat at her grandmother. ‘If they can’t stop bad things happening, what use are they?’ She was ten-years-old and angry. ‘Tuura is full of useless dreamers! It’s where they live, where they’re taught how to be dreamers, so why couldn’t they see what was coming, Grandmother? What use are they? None! They’re none!’ Tears flowed hotly down red cheeks as she rounded on her grandmother, who, as usual, stood calmly before her, just watching. ‘They killed Fianna! And Harald, and... Evva. And they...’ Dropping her head, Jael heard those men’s voices rumbling in her ears. She wanted to vomit, to run out of Edela’s cottage and vomit in her garden.

‘Everything happens for a reason,’ Edela said quietly, doubting her own words or the resolve that kept her shoulders straight and her eyes fixed on her granddaughter, free of tears. ‘Even the cruel things. We can’t see it at the time, and maybe for some time after, but everything happens for a reason. I promise.’

The shock on Jael’s face mingled with a look of pure disgust.

Holding out a hand, Edela tried to explain, but Jael stepped backwards, nearly tipping into the fire. ‘You did nothing! Your dreamers did nothing! They didn’t save us. Mother and... they didn’t save us! What reason could there be for what those men did? What?’ She shouted so violently that her throat ached. ‘No! I don’t believe you!’

Edela felt the prick of tears now, though she remained calm in the face of that fury. ‘You must trust, Jael. When all seems lost, when the darkness comes for you, you must trust that there is a reason for it. You are training now. It is what you always wanted, who you always wanted to be. And now, because of what happened in Tuura, your father is desperate to teach you. He will let you become a warrior.’

Jael shook with anger. Her outbursts were becoming hard to control. There was so much rage inside her; it blazed like a bonfire. ‘How can you say that to me? You don’t know what they did to me! To Mother! You weren’t there! For me! You didn’t save me!’

Edela’s tears finally spilled down her cheeks, overcome with Jael’s pain. ‘No, I didn’t, that is true, but I wasn’t meant to, Jael, and I hold onto that most of all. I wasn’t meant to save you. Some things, my darling girl, as cruel and unimaginable as they are, as hard to endure... some things are just meant to be.’

* * *

Holding out a hand, Jael indicated for Milla to come closer. ‘Go back and wake Eadmund. Tell him someone’s out there. He needs to alert the camp.’

A nodding Milla turned away, quickly pulling up as a man emerged from the trees, grabbing hold of her arm.

Sensing movement behind her, Jael lunged forward, trying to pull Milla back. She felt a prick in her arm, then in her neck. Her back too. And swinging around, she saw a row of hooded figures holding onto horses.

She felt strange.

Turning back to Milla, she opened her mouth to scream, quickly seeing the man now holding a knife to Milla’s throat.

‘You think we care about this girl?’ he rasped. ‘That we are here for her? You speak one word, I’ll slit her throat.’

Symbols danced before Jael’s eyes as though offering their help, but she didn’t know what to do with any of them, and they soon blurred like a cloud before disappearing.

At least ten men waited behind her.

One threatening Milla before her.

She sought to reach Eadmund. She would draw him to her with her mind. She would...

Her legs wobbled, her vision blurring now too.

The pricks had been darts, she realised belatedly. She’d been shot with something. Her sword arm started shaking violently; she couldn’t hold it up. Turning around, she saw the men stepping away from their horses now, weapons sheathed.

They were here for her.

And determined not to be anyone’s prisoner, Jael tried to speak, to fight back, though no words came, and her sword simply fell from her hand, and then she was falling with it.

The man holding Milla let her go, grinning. ‘That wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. It wasn’t hard at all,’ he told the girl, indicating for her to leave.

Jael looked up, trying to clear her vision, feeling hands on her arms, tugging her back to her feet. She saw Milla, fearing for the girl, then seeing something she didn’t understand.

Milla was smiling.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

Edela shuddered, feeling as though the boards beneath her knees were shaking, as though the entire tavern was about to crumble around her. The men before her didn’t look worried, so she forced herself past those unhelpful feelings of terror back to where she needed to be. ‘You should not come for a dreamer unprepared,’ she warned darkly before starting her chant, running a finger around the symbol she’d hastily carved into the floorboard. ‘Go back to where you came from, and I will let you live. I will stop before the pain becomes too much. Just leave. That is all you have to do. Leave here now. Leave!’

Siggy blinked, hearing Edela’s voice thundering as though she was the Goddess of Death rising up from the Dolma. The sound roared in her ears, shaking her arms. She didn’t know what was happening, turning to Bertel, who’d crawled onto his knees, one hand around the knife in his shoulder.

Despite the dreamer’s warning, the men looked confident, all five of them now stepping forward in unison. ‘Come here, you old bitch!’ the leader barked before jerking to a stop.

Edela used her right index finger, now red with blood, continuing to trace the lines of her symbol. ‘I saw the Darkness, and it touched me. It touched us all. Though only some of us were able to claim a piece of it. Some of us, like me...’

‘Who sent you?’ Bertel called out, wanting to give Edela time to finish whatever she was up to.

Ignoring him, the leader fixed his attention on the old woman, trying to move towards her, though he quickly realised that he couldn’t lift his leg. And soon, he couldn’t move a finger or a toe – not even his head. He was trapped by a force he couldn’t see, though he could see the dreamer’s eyes glowing like shimmering ice, so pale and strange before him now.

One of his men cried out, the sword he’d been brandishing clattering to the floor.

‘Leave them to me!’ Edela warned as more weapons fell from hands. ‘Stay still, Siggy! Bertel, stay back!’ She tried to focus now, hearing a woman’s voice humming in her ears.

The five men started howling as Edela’s chanting became louder until, eventually, she drowned out those hopeless, pleading noises.

In beams of moonlight, Siggy saw that one of the men’s eyes had turned red, blood streaming down his cheeks. Another had dropped to his knees, plucking at his neck as though he couldn’t breathe. She grabbed Bertel’s free hand, feeling scared. He squeezed it, feeling much the same.

One by one, the men who’d burst into the room, planning to kill them, fell to the floor, eyes bleeding, faces drained of all colour. They gasped out pitiful pleas for their lives, though Edela did not stop, nor did she ask any questions. Something was terribly wrong, and she needed to do everything in her power to discover what was happening, and if it took her towards the darkness, then that was exactly where she would go.

For nothing was more important than her family.

Nothing.

‘They’re dead!’ Siggy exclaimed, at last, as Edela slumped forward. ‘You killed them, Edela. You killed them all!’

20

Milla’s sobs woke Eadmund, who immediately rolled towards his wife. Though reaching out to her, he saw that she was gone.

Fyn stumbled away from where he’d fallen asleep, and tripping over a rock, he almost fell.

‘Help!’ Milla cried. ‘Help!’

Eadmund reached her first. ‘What’s happened?’ Glancing around, he didn’t see Jael. Thorgils soon came running, Joren not far behind. ‘Where’s Jael?’

‘I... there were men in the forest!’ Milla wailed.

‘Where?’ Eadmund roared, heart thumping now. ‘Where?’

Seeing Milla pointing, he ran into the trees.

‘Eadmund! Fuck! Eadmund!’ Thorgils ran after him, sword drawn. ‘Secure the camp!’ he called to Joren. ‘Fyn!’

But he didn’t need to call Fyn to him, and his cousin was soon overtaking him in a desperate need to find out what had happened.

‘Who were they?’ Joren asked a distressed Milla, who shivered before him. ‘Who’s here?’

* * *

Siggy wanted to cry, though there was simply too much to do.

Bertel was no use. He’d tried to stand, but already weak from loss of blood, he’d collapsed and needed to be tended to.

‘We must take out that knife,’ Edela said, back on her feet. Glancing around, she pointedly ignored the dead bodies. ‘Siggy, go downstairs and call for help. We need supplies. Ask the taverner’s wife to send for a healer.’ Turning around, she hurried to cover the symbol she’d carved into the floorboards with a worn old pelt.

‘But...’ Siggy hesitated in the doorway, dark curls trembling around a worried face. ‘What do I tell them? About... them?’ She, too, wanted to avoid looking at the dead men, though it was going to be impossible to hide their bodies.

Edela’s mind was stuffed full of worries but ordered. ‘Tell them that robbers tried to steal from us and that Bertel saved us.’ She smiled now, turning to look at the pale-faced elder. ‘Well, he certainly tried. As did you.’

‘But won’t they know?’ Siggy panicked.

Edela didn’t want to think about that now. ‘Best we focus on Bertel. I need to stitch him up quickly, though I don’t have everything I need. You hurry along, and we’ll deal with any other problems afterwards.’ Though Siggy lingered in the doorway, and Edela was forced to strengthen her voice. ‘There are ways to convince people of how they should think,’ she assured the girl as Bertel groaned. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a plan.’

* * *

Eadmund couldn’t find Jael.

Everywhere he turned, there were only trees. Boulders and trees, bushes, bramble, and nowhere to go.

Breath rushing from cold lips, he spun in circles, trying to think of where to go next. ‘Get Milla!’ he told Fyn. ‘And torches! Bring torches! We have to find her!’

Thorgils hadn’t spoken, but now an idea popped into his head. ‘If they took Jael, are they on foot? They can’t have gone far!’

‘I can’t hear anything!’ Eadmund roared. ‘Can’t see in this fucking place! Jael! Jael!’ He needed his dreamer wife – someone who could see in the darkness. ‘Jael!’ Charging through the trees again, he kept calling her name.

Thorgils moved in the opposite direction, echoing him.

Eventually, they came back together as Fyn arrived with Milla.

‘They took Jael,’ Eadmund panted, grabbing her arm. ‘Where?’ His mind was fractured, shock making everything so slow.

‘Who were they?’ Thorgils asked. ‘How many?’

Fyn wanted to know all of that, too, but he remained silent, giving a clearly terrified Milla a chance to answer. He’d brought a flaming torch and handed it to Eadmund, taking another from Joren, who’d brought two. They could see now, though they still didn’t know where to go.

‘I can show you,’ Milla said. ‘Where they were.’ And reaching for Fyn’s torch, she took it in her hands, leading the men through the trees.

* * *

After Siggy had left, Edela thought quickly.

Tearing off a corner of her dress, she’d rolled it into a sausage-like shape, wedging it in a protesting Bertel’s mouth before yanking out the knife. He’d arched his back, screams muffled as she hurried away, working with speed to stab the already-dead men. She needed to make it look less like a dreamer attack and more like something whoever came to help them could understand. She’d closed the men’s eyes, too, disturbed that they were red with blood.

Though it was still a horrifying discovery for the old couple who ran the tavern, and arriving with Siggy, they stared at the heap of bodies in disbelief.

‘But how did you...?’ the taverner asked, mouth gaping open. He saw Bertel on the bed, holding a bloody cloth over his wound, the little old woman standing before him, and the girl who had found them.

Edela’s eyes were grainy, her body numb. ‘We all worked together. And Bertel,’ she added, turning to the elder. ‘He was the bravest of all. He stabbed them! Though he’s been grievously wounded himself. I had thought we’d be safe up here. That we weren’t at risk of being robbed in our beds!’

The stunned couple were mortified, and suddenly aware that their reputation would be damaged if word leaked out, they became apologetic.

‘Men like that have a way of making themselves invisible, at fitting in, not arousing any suspicion,’ the taverner insisted, tugging his white beard. ‘Though I am deeply sorry. We will need to look at what happened. At how they got in.’

‘We are just so thankful they didn’t do more damage,’ his wife added, wringing her hands. ‘Yes, but you are fortunate to have such a skilled husband.’

Edela didn’t laugh as she turned to Bertel, who finally spoke.

‘I was useful with a sword in my day, though it’s been years since I had to use a weapon to defend myself. Though to protect my family? I’m just glad there weren’t more of them. At least, I hope that’s not the case,’ he added sternly.

Edela felt grateful for both Bertel and Siggy. She tried not to look at the pelt where her symbol, now extinguished, had glowed like hot embers as she’d chanted her dark curse upon those men.

Killing them.

It would have been useful to know why they’d wanted to kill her, though she felt certain the men would have revealed little.

‘I need to stitch up my husband,’ Edela said, refocusing now. ‘Could the healer be sent for?’

The taverner’s wife nodded. ‘My grandson’s gone off to bring her. She’s a young woman, so I doubt she’ll be long. I’ll... go down and put on some hot water. And you,’ she said to her still open-mouthed husband. ‘You’ll need to get the boys to help you with those bodies.’

* * *

A torch-wielding Milla led them through the trees to where she’d last seen Jael.

‘Why did she come here?’ Fyn wanted to know. ‘Why were you here with her?’

‘When I went to relieve myself, I heard a noise. You weren’t there, so I went to Jael. I woke her up and led her back here. We heard the noise again, and Jael told me to go, but it was...’ She started crying again. ‘It was too late!’

Fyn took her hand, urging her to go on.

‘A... man grabbed me. He held a knife to my throat!’ Milla lifted the torch to show the mark. ‘He threatened to kill me if Jael didn’t put down her sword. Men were behind her, and something happened.’

‘Happened?’ Eadmund could barely force out a word. Panic had tightened his throat so much that it was painful to speak.

‘She dropped her sword, then she fell. They didn’t touch her until she was on the ground. I... don’t know what happened to her!’

Eadmund couldn’t think; he rubbed his eyes, trying to find a path.

Thorgils was just as worried, though his thoughts moved with speed, darting around the darkened forest. ‘What was the noise? The noise you heard?’

‘It sounded like bridles,’ Milla told him. ‘A clinking noise. I thought it was bridles or something metal. The men behind her, they had horses.’

That was useful information, though it made the situation even more dire.

‘Where did they go?’ Eadmund demanded, swinging around to fix his attention on Milla, his flaming torch highlighting the tears on her cheeks. ‘Which direction?’

Milla looked confused, then moving to where Eadmund stood, she turned around and started pointing. ‘I was here, so Jael was there, the men with horses behind her. The man who took me... he threw me away. I watched them go... that way!’

‘And they didn’t try to take you?’ Joren asked. ‘To kill you?’

Milla shrugged. ‘No.’

Eadmund moved quickly, using his torch to look for tracks as Joren continued his questioning.

‘What about the men themselves? Did they look familiar?’

‘Were they like the ones who kidnapped Ayla?’ Fyn asked, then glancing around, he realised that there was no Ayla. His eyes met Thorgils’.

‘Go back to camp and find Ayla,’ Thorgils told him, quickly resuming his search for tracks.

‘Here!’ Eadmund called, pointing with his torch, and without another word, he turned and ran back to their camp.

* * *

It was some time before they were alone in the tavern room again, though no one felt sleepy now. They sat in the darkness, trying to decide what to do.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Bertel whispered. His shoulder pain had eased, thanks to a cup of strong ale and the salve applied by the healer, which had thankfully numbed his wound. Though every now and then, a sharp sting had him gasping.

‘I agree,’ Edela muttered, feeling exhausted. Thirsty too. They’d drained the ale the taverner had delivered to their room but felt uninclined to request any more. ‘Our room is paid in full, though once we leave, there’s a chance they’ll discover my symbol, and after that, things may take quite a different turn.’

‘I think we separate,’ Bertel said. ‘Act as though we’re still staying here so they don’t enter the room, head down to the pier. We just have to find a ship. It doesn’t matter where it’s going, as long as it’s south. We don’t want to go back to Ollsvik.’

‘Or Tuura,’ Siggy added. ‘But what if we can’t find one?’

Edela winked at her. ‘Well, there’s always that little boat of ours!’

Siggy looked horrified, realising that with his injury, Bertel wouldn’t be able to help her row. Though, remembering their journey from Tuura, she doubted he would have helped much anyway.

‘There will be something,’ Bertel assured them both. ‘Edela, you and Siggy need to head out for supplies at first light. Be discreet, though. I’ll gather what food I can and meet you at the pier.’

‘You’ll need to be discreet too,’ Edela warned, feeling shaky. She recalled the sensation of the floorboards crumbling beneath her and once again feared that something was terribly wrong. Though looking at the stains left by the bodies that had now been dragged out, she realised that, most of all, she had to focus her attention here. On keeping them all safe. For someone was certainly trying to kill her, and she feared that they wouldn’t hesitate to kill Bertel and Siggy too. ‘Dawn isn’t far away,’ she promised, squeezing Siggy’s hand. ‘And let’s hope it brings some dry weather!’

* * *

It had started raining, though Eadmund was oblivious to the steady drizzle as he hurried towards Ayla. ‘Any luck?’ he called upon seeing her sitting beneath a tree, head in hands. ‘Ayla?’

Opening her eyes, she quickly stood, seeing a frantic Eadmund jiggling before her. ‘I can’t see anything,’ she said as Thorgils arrived.

‘We need to get after them,’ Thorgils decided, remembering his conversation with Jael. ‘I do.’

Eadmund spun around. ‘What do you mean, you do? She’s my wife!’

Touching his friend’s arm, Thorgils inclined his head for Ayla to join them. They moved further into the trees, away from the clearing where their men and Joren’s were milling around, returning to the fires to receive their next orders. ‘Jael would want you to go back to Oss. To get the children and go home. To keep them safe.’

Eadmund was incredulous. ‘You think she wants me to leave? Her? What?’ He couldn’t stand still, every part of his body vibrating with a helpless urgency. He needed to do something. He couldn’t stay here.

‘I think Thorgils is right,’ Ayla said quietly. ‘The men who took Jael didn’t take Milla or even try to hurt her. They didn’t hurt any of us either. I’m a dreamer, and if they knew that, they didn’t try to lure me away or kill me. They came for Jael.’

The realisation of that hammered a measure of sense into Eadmund’s muddled mind. ‘But why?’ he asked hopelessly. ‘Why?’

‘I’ll keep trying to find out,’ Ayla assured him. ‘But Thorgils should go after her. Dawn is coming, so he’ll be able to follow the tracks now.’

Eadmund felt afraid for his wife. He tried to think of what Jael would do, how she would try to keep herself safe.

Could she?

He wanted to argue against Thorgils’ plan, but he found himself nodding instead. ‘Take Joren’s men. I’ll...’ Now he shook his head, feeling a rush of nausea. ‘I’ll...’

‘The tracks we found are pointing north. Maybe they’re Alekkan? Some of Gudrum’s men?’ Thorgils was trying to stay alert, though his thoughts had become sluggish.

Eadmund looked to Ayla, struggling to see her eyes, though he saw her shrug. ‘Take Joren’s men,’ he repeated. ‘Ayla and I will go... to Andala.’

Ayla looked confused. ‘I could go with Thorgils? Help him?’

‘No, it’s too dangerous,’ Eadmund decided.

Thorgils agreed. ‘You’ll be more help to Eadmund. He’ll need you.’

Eadmund turned away. ‘I’ll talk to Joren... find Fyn.’

He was gone quickly, leaving Thorgils with Ayla. ‘You can come to me, can’t you? In my dreams? Tell me if you see anything? Point me in the right direction?’

She nodded, holding out a hand. ‘Give me something and I will, I promise.’

Reaching under his cloak, Thorgils pulled off one of his arm rings, handing it to the dreamer. ‘Jael feared for her children, especially Bo. Her dream about the end of the Furycks? What if this is it?’

Ayla blinked, not having considered that. ‘But Axl?’

‘You should tell him, warn him too. Jael never got to speak to Edela, but maybe you can find out what’s happening? We need to do anything, everything we can to find her, to bring her back, but in the meantime, you have to keep those children safe.’

Ayla touched his arm. ‘I will, of course. I’ll do anything I can to keep them safe. We all will. Don’t worry, just hurry. Find Jael fast.’

* * *

Edela walked through Esby’s mostly empty marketplace as dawn was breaking. She heard the odd creak of a door, the rattle of keys, and roosters announcing another day. It was a small town, though she had seen a number of trading stalls the day before, hoping that some of those stallholders were early risers.

She had left Siggy behind with coins and instructions for what supplies to buy, certain there were far too many things for the girl to remember. She could barely remember them herself, though whatever she managed to get would be an improvement on what they had now, which, after their hasty escape from Ollsvik, was only what they were carrying.

A tense Edela headed to the healer’s cottage. She had no directions, just her own instincts, which quickly led her to the woman’s door. It was early, though Edela knew that healers were used to being woken at all times of the day and night.

So she knocked.

The door was quickly pulled open to the familiar young woman who had come to the tavern to help Bertel. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, peering at her intently.

Edela was almost too tired to speak, though she first offered a smile and then an explanation. ‘My husband and I must travel soon. We are off to our son’s wedding, so we cannot stay until he is fully healed. I... hoped to buy some salves from you. A few herbs, too, if you have any to spare? I don’t have time to find where to pick anything myself. We must find a wagon before the day runs away from us.’

‘Of course,’ the healer said. ‘Please, come in. Take a seat by the fire, and I’ll fill a basket. I’ll get what you need.’

* * *

Eadmund was the king, and he needed to think because he had to make all the decisions and tell everyone what to do. His mind was mud, though, and no thoughts came into focus. No words would come from his mouth. He looked from Fyn to Joren to Milla to Thorgils and didn’t speak at all.

Though seeing Thorgils mounting Vili, who stood next to a confused-looking Tig, he finally found his voice. ‘You’ll need to swap horses often. You can’t afford to break them.’ They’d hurried into the fort and taken an extra horse for each man. Extra weapons and some food too. If they didn’t find Jael quickly, they would need to ride all day and long into the night. There’d be little time or energy for hunting.

Thorgils nodded, eyeing Joren, who was readying his men, horses shuffling about in the clearing as the drizzle continued. The sky was lighter, though gloomy, a thin fog weaving through the trees. ‘We’ll go as fast as we can. You can trust me, Eadmund. I’ll bring her back.’ He saw fear in his best friend’s eyes and felt his own, worrying that he couldn’t guarantee it. ‘Tell Isaura and the children that I’ll be home soon.’

Eadmund stared at Thorgils as his friend turned away. His attention drifted back to Tig, who now waited beside Leada, his constant companion, just like Jael had been his constant companion for the last four years.

And he was just going to leave Thorgils to find her?

He was just going to go back to Oss and manage everything else?

He was going to abandon his wife?

Heading for the horses now, he grabbed hold of Leada’s reins, throwing himself up into the saddle. ‘Wait!’ he called out, reaching for Tig’s reins too. ‘I’m coming with you!’

* * *

Siggy found Bertel sitting on a barrel near the end of the pier, being sniffed by a giant dog. He was slumped over, and she panicked, hurrying towards him, shooing the dog away. ‘Bertel? Are you alright?’

He straightened up in surprise, turning as she plonked down a bag filled with cheese and dried meats, salt fish and nuts. ‘Just trying to fix my bandages. They feel loose. I think blood’s seeping through again.’

Siggy didn’t know what to do about that, not especially liking blood. She glanced over her shoulder, back into the town, seeing no sign of Edela. ‘We can fix it once we’re on board.’

Now Bertel became tense. ‘On board what?’ he muttered, pointing at a mid-sized ship. ‘That’s our only contender, and he’s just arrived, apparently. Says he’s staying for a while. He’s got a load of tin and quern stones to sell. And after here? Well, he’s off to Ollsvik to offer his services to the new king. It doesn’t suit us, so all this effort might be for nothing.’

Siggy frowned. ‘But what if they find the symbol?’

Bertel was worried about that too. ‘They very well might, though we can always take that rowboat of yours. I’m sure we could get ourselves out of trouble if we needed to. Though after everything we’ve been through, I think we’re due a morsel of luck.’

‘Do you think the gods want to help us?’ Siggy wondered with a sigh, leaning against another barrel. ‘That they’re on our side, Bertel? Everything’s gone wrong. Every step we take is towards more trouble.’

Bertel agreed. ‘I imagine the gods will let us know soon enough. If a ship turns up heading for the Valgeir Sea, aiming for the Fire Lands, then we’ll know what they think about our little adventure. And if not? All we can do is keep our heads down and pray.’

And seeing Bertel dropping his head, Siggy felt her own mood sinking, hoping that Edela would hurry; the cheerful dreamer could always be guaranteed to drag them out of any wallowing.

Hearing voices in the distance, Siggy turned her head, and hopping onto her feet, she tugged Bertel’s arm. ‘It’s a ship! I see a ship coming!’

PART III

GONE

21

Amma enjoyed having her sister in Andala, though there was an obvious tension between Getta and Axl. Between Getta and Gant too. She was pleasant enough to Gisila – as pleasant as Getta could be, Amma thought wryly – though the visit would be a struggle if they never addressed that underlying tension.

Amma’s nausea had abated, and with the weather being gloriously fine and warm, she had taken Getta for a walk to the cove. She had worked to plant colourful beach roses and peonies along the path, and their fragrant aroma mingled with salt and smoke as the sisters walked off their breakfast, arm in arm.

‘You seem brighter today,’ Getta observed dully. ‘There is colour in your cheeks.’

‘It is your company,’ Amma decided, though turning to her sister, she couldn’t tease a smile out of her. ‘Is something wrong?’

Getta dropped her eyes to the gravel path, spying weeds. ‘I had thought Raymon might send word to let me know he’s safe. That the throne is still in his hands. It has been days, though, and nothing.’

Amma nodded sympathetically. ‘It is challenging being a king, knowing how many are relying on you to provide all the answers, to fix every problem, and when you don’t?’ She shrugged. ‘There’s always someone disgruntled enough or ambitious enough ready to strike, especially in Iskavall. I don’t envy Raymon.’

‘Mmmm, though sometimes those enemies are in your own family.’

Amma jerked to a stop before they reached the little rise in the path. And turning to Getta, she sighed. ‘I have explained what happened so many times now, Sister. When will you find it in your heart to understand? To move on? To forgive?’

Getta pulled away, stepping back, a look of horror blanching her face. ‘I do not know you any longer, Amma Furyck! To say that? That I should merely forget what happened to our father? Our brother? That I should wash all memory of their heinous murders away and smile pleasantly at your husband, at your father-in-law? For what they did to Axl’s own family? To yours!’

Confident that they were still alone, a shocked Amma didn’t look around. She needed Getta to let out her frustrations so that she could hopefully then hear the truth. ‘Father and Osbert were family, of course, but that doesn’t make what they did right. They stole the throne.’ Holding up a hand, she sought to quell Getta’s protests. ‘Uncle Ranuf made it clear that Axl would inherit the throne. It was his wish for Axl to be his heir. It was Lothar who swooped in and took it for himself. Our father is the one who forced Jael to marry Eadmund, and then he threatened the safety of her family if Gisila didn’t marry him. He beat her, raped her, and Axl was well within his rights to defend his mother. A former queen! Surely you would have wanted Osbert to defend our own mother in such a way? I know I would have.’

Getta muttered something Amma couldn’t understand, and turning towards the rise, she strode away.

Amma bustled after her. ‘Lothar knew perfectly well what a monster Jaeger Dragos was, and he happily married me to him!’ She shuddered. It was four years ago now, though the memories of her wedding night were as raw as ever.

Getta stopped, spinning around to her. ‘And Osbert? What had Osbert done? Why did Gant feel compelled to murder him?’

It took some time for Amma to answer, for despite her own loathing of her brother, she had struggled with what Gant had done herself. ‘It wasn’t what Osbert had done, necessarily, but he was the voice in our father’s ear, urging him on. It was what Osbert would do to the kingdom that needed stopping. Gant did it to protect Brekka. They all agreed that Osbert would hurt people, hurt Brekka, if he were allowed to reign. Lothar was bad enough, but Osbert?’

Getta heard the rationale in her sister’s words, but still, it wasn’t enough. It was a betrayal. It was –

They both spun around as Axl came running. Spotting them, he slowed to a stop, eyes fixed on his glowering sister-in-law.

And seeing his face, Getta felt a chill of fear shoot up her spine.

* * *

Jael was cold.

Nauseous too.

Her wrists and ankles were locked into iron fetters, making it impossible to sit or lie comfortably. She was blindfolded, though she saw enough at the corners of the dark cloth to guess where she was at times.

On a ship.

Which was why she felt sick too. Unable to support herself, she rocked with the waves, thoughts darting around, occasionally interrupted by the need to vomit.

No one had spoken to her.

She thought it had been three days since she’d been taken from the camp, maybe four, and not one word had been spoken to her. The ship’s crew had barely spoken to each other. The entire journey made no sense. Though instead of dwelling on what had happened, she kept trying to imagine where she was and where she was heading.

Someone would be following. They must be.

Jael wondered if Eadmund had listened to Thorgils? Thorgils would have told him to go back to Andala.

But Eadmund?

She saw Bo’s face, Sigmund’s, too, though if this was something to do with her dream, then it was certainly Bo who was in danger.

And then she saw Milla.

If the men who had taken her were Siluran, what did Milla have to do with it? She was Alekkan, so maybe she had it all wrong? Perhaps they weren’t heading west or south, but north, back to Alekka?

Someone approached.

She heard his boots over the great whoosh of waves breaking against the ship. She saw them at the corners of her blindfold. The dark-leather boots were wet but in good order, she noticed. In fact, they looked well-made, as though the man wasn’t merely a crew member, grabbing whatever boots he found on his travels, but perhaps a lord? Someone in charge?

The man didn’t speak, but touching a ladle to her cracked lips, he offered her water.

Jael drank, not about to be pig-headed. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she croaked. The water was ice cold, and though she felt ice cold herself, she’d been desperate for it.

The man didn’t answer, and scooping out another mouthful of water, he once again touched the ladle to Jael’s lips, forcing her to stop asking questions. She gulped it down, willing her dreams to come to her. She needed clues, an understanding of what was happening, and how to survive it.

Though closing her eyes, all she saw was the image of her father sitting before the pyres of his dead children.

* * *

Getta hadn’t cried when Axl told her that Raymon was dead. She hadn’t cried when Amma had taken her back to the hall, where she was comforted by Gisila and Branwyn. She hadn’t even cried when Amma led her away, back to her bedchamber, leaving her entirely alone.

Gisila thought she was in shock. The poor woman seemed too stunned to even blink. She didn’t blame her, remembering what it had felt like to receive the shocking news of Ranuf’s death. Though, as queen, such news came hand-in-hand with the realisation that your life was about to be upended, your status quickly erased, your place in society no longer certain. The safety of your children too. Although, Gisila thought sadly, poor Getta no longer had to worry about her son, who had died some years ago. ‘And who exactly is this Oren Storgard?’ she asked Gant, who had brought Hal and Erling to the hall so that they might hold a meeting of the King’s Council.

Axl sat opposite Gant, eyes fixed on his grey-haired stepfather, who knew Iskavall better than any of them.

Gant inhaled sharply, attempting to pick his words with care, though eventually, he just blurted everything out. ‘He’s a real shit. No way around it. He’s part of the Furyck-hating faction in Iskavall. The part that still believes they were treated unfairly.’

‘Treated unfairly?’ Hal laughed. ‘It’s been hundreds of years since Brekka’s borders were determined. They might have long memories, but obviously nothing better to do with their time!’

No one else felt like laughing or eating, though Gerald delivered a tray of barley cakes and cheese to the table before topping up their wine and ale.

‘So as king, Oren will be a problem,’ Gant went on. ‘His uncle fought for the throne when Raymon’s father claimed it. There was a great battle between them at the time. Ranuf put Brekka’s support behind Hugo Vandaal, and it turned things in his favour. I doubt the Storgards have forgotten that.’

Axl frowned. ‘But now he’s dead, and his nephew’s the king?’

Gant nodded. ‘And if Stein Storgard was a determined, unforgiving prick, his nephew is four times worse.’

‘So we have trouble in the South, and now trouble in the West?’ Gisila fretted, sipping her wine. She felt distracted, hearing her grandchildren laughing in their bedchamber where Biddy had taken them for a nap. ‘Soon we’ll be as bad as Alekka!’

A still-frowning Axl made a bridge with his hands, resting his chin upon it. ‘I don’t think I can leave now. Not with things in Iskavall being so uncertain.’

Gant agreed. ‘Until we know what this new king intends to do, it would be wise for you to remain here.’

‘Then you should go in my place,’ Axl decided, seeing the surprise in both Gant’s and Gisila’s eyes. ‘There’s no one I’d trust more to give me a clear report of what’s happening.’

Gant’s lips parted, distracted by the smirk on Hal Harbak’s thin face. ‘Of course,’ he said mutely, fighting back everything he wanted to say about that.

Gisila, however, had no such qualms. ‘But you will need Gant here, Axl. Raymon was killed! Burned alive! And you don’t think this man, this new king, will come for you?’

Axl sat back now, wishing his mother would treat him like a king instead of her youngest child – a boy she still sought to protect. ‘Iskavall and Brekka have been at peace for years now, Mother, so we know all about their capabilities. They are no match for us and never have been. They may try to attack, but they will not get far. I’m sure Gant would tell you the same.’

Though Gant hesitated to do so. ‘I think there is an... uncertainty. When a new king or queen rises to power, nothing remains as it was. Loyalties shift and change, and some can even be bought, so we shouldn’t rely on anything as it currently stands.’

A troubled-looking Amma emerged from behind the thick grey curtain shielding the bedchambers from the main hall. Finding one of her servants, she had a word to the woman before disappearing back behind the curtain.

‘I agree,’ Axl said, feeling unsettled. ‘I’ll send word to Karsten, affirming our alliance.’ He looked to Erling, who nodded, leaning forward.

‘I’d be happy to take the note. It may be better to pass the message along in person.’

‘Good idea,’ Axl agreed. ‘You can ride south with Gant.’

Before Gant could argue about that, Axl turned to him. ‘Go to Saala first. Speak to Rexon Boas. He should have information about who’s causing all the trouble. I can’t leave now, not with Raymon gone. I need to stay here and keep Andala safe.’

Gant could only nod, sensing Gisila growing anxious beside him, and taking her hand, he placed it on his knee.

She felt grateful for his steadiness, fearing that her son didn’t appreciate it as much as she did. ‘And Getta? She must stay here.’

Axl agreed. ‘Yes, I don’t believe any Furycks will be welcome in Iskavall now.’

* * *

Eadmund and Thorgils were locked in another debate, Fyn could see, and rolling his eyes, he wheeled around, turning back to their men.

They had stopped outside a small settlement called Ennan, watering their horses at a stream. The sun was warm enough to have them all sweating and thirsty, and the break gave both men an opportunity to engage in yet another argument about where to head to next. Following the tracks they’d found in Tuura’s forest, they’d headed north, reaching the coast, though there’d been no sign of a band of Siluran warriors with a captured queen. And though both Eadmund and Thorgils burned with an urgency to act, they’d struggled for a firm direction since they’d left the coast behind.

‘They took Jael and only Jael because they knew who she was,’ Eadmund said in exasperation, wiping his brow. ‘They wouldn’t have killed her.’

Thorgils kept his voice low. ‘We don’t know that.’

Eadmund felt sick even discussing the possibilities of what might have happened to his wife. ‘We haven’t found any clear tracks since we left Tuura behind. We lost them, lost the tracks, but where did we go wrong? I think Strana. We go back there and start again.’

And that was part of the problem, as Thorgils felt convinced that they’d gotten it wrong from the very beginning. ‘We need to head back to Tuura.’

Eadmund was against it, and he shook his head. He heard Fyn offering food to their men, and though his belly was achingly empty, he felt too distracted to eat. ‘What? Go back to the start? But we’re already this far along, so why start again?’

‘Because I think that’s where our problem began,’ Thorgils insisted. ‘We started on the wrong foot, headed in the wrong direction.’

‘In Tuura? But we saw the tracks!’

Which had disturbed Thorgils for some time now. ‘We saw tracks. We followed them and ended up nowhere Jael is. Makes sense to go back to the beginning and look around again. Perhaps there was another set of tracks?’

Coming forward now, Fyn peered at him, squinting in the sunshine. ‘You’re saying Milla got it wrong?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘Milla nearly had her throat cut. Poor girl wouldn’t have understood what way she was even facing. And who’s to say they didn’t divide their forces? Headed in different directions to keep us guessing? They rode off with a queen, sister to the kings of Brekka and Iskavall. You don’t think they thought it through? No, they knew what they were doing, who they were taking, believe me.’

‘Alright,’ Eadmund conceded with a sigh. ‘We head back to Tuura and start again. I just... what are they doing to Jael? It’s been days, Thorgils! What are they doing to her?’

Thorgils grabbed him by the neck, bringing him in close. ‘Jael Furyck has never gone quietly, and she never will, so nor can we. Jael will take care of herself. She’ll keep herself alive. We just have to find her.’

* * *

The day passed excruciatingly slowly.

Jael saw glimpses of the sun when she tilted back her head. She saw glimpses of the crew, too, deciding that they were from Silura, like Karam and his men. They were working together, no doubt. Ayla had thought that her kidnappers were Siluran, and she saw no need to argue with that, certain they were taking her there.

Closing her eyes, she tried to drag a clue out of the darkness, but it stood before her like a great wall, and try as she might, she couldn’t penetrate it. She needed a plan, though it was hard to make one blind. Sunlight glinted off her ankle fetters, and she saw what appeared to be a symbol. The surface of the fetters was plain, but that symbol was on the inside. And now she started moving her feet around, trying to see more. She couldn’t see the fetters on her wrists, for they were bound behind her back, reminding her of Gudrum. Though she saw no chance of repeating her success against him here.

This was an entirely different proposition with no simple solution.

Nothing she could solve with sheer determination and skill.

‘What are you doing?’ came a voice, and dropping her head, Jael saw the pair of fine boots again.

He crouched down now.

‘You understand me?’

She took her time to answer, eventually replying: ‘I do.’

‘Then tell me what you are doing,’ the man asked gruffly. He sounded middle-aged, she thought. There was a weariness in his voice, as though he had seen a lot. Survived a lot too.

‘I can’t get comfortable. My legs are numb. My arms, my arse...’ All of that was true, and not wanting to go on, Jael left it there.

‘Enjoy it while it lasts, Queen of Oss,’ the man told her. ‘For soon you will remember this time with longing. I promise that this is the most comfortable you will ever be again.’

* * *

It was a relief to be away from Osterland, Edela decided. They had encountered such perils in Tuura and then Iskavall, that being out at sea felt like a reprieve.

Their helmsman had come down from The Murk, where he had purchased chests of ivory and amber and a giant stack of furs. Siggy had been curious about that, wondering why anyone wanted furs in a place rumoured to be as hot as the Fire Lands. Though Edela had reminded her that the soft comforts of fur extended far beyond merely providing warmth at night.

Their unexpected journey was proving to be a strange one, Edela thought with a yawn. Exhausting too. She had inspected Bertel’s shoulder wound, which appeared to be healing well, fed Siggy a little cheese and salt fish, and settled back in the stern of the ship to enjoy the silence. Blood Fist’s crew were generally temperamental, and she could sense that the helmsman didn’t have complete control of them. That was a concern she let drift away, for now, finally, there was a peace on board that she wanted to use for her own means.

The Valgeir Sea was a noisy distraction, slapping around Blood Fist’s hull, though she soon discovered a soothing rhythm to the waves, and her thoughts unravelled in a helpful way. She saw glimpses of Esby and the symbol burning in the floorboards; visions of Lina in Ollsvik with her odious cousin.

She thought, too, of Ayla, wondering if she had found a way to Andala, feeling terrible about all of it.

‘Do you have any more salt fish?’ Bertel wondered, sitting down beside her, surprised by her scowl. ‘What?’

‘I was...’ Edela began, opening her eyes. ‘Nevermind.’ She rummaged in her bag, unwrapping her dwindling stash of food, and handing over the smallest sliver of salt fish to Bertel, she saw him smile, bobbing his head.

‘You’re very quiet over here. Is something troubling you? Something you’ve... seen?’ he whispered, not wanting anyone to discover that Edela was a dreamer. Knowing the dangers they were now facing, they had chosen to keep that hidden. Some of the crew understood the common tongue, though it wasn’t only words that might give them an impression about Edela, he knew, wondering why she’d been closing her eyes.

‘I’ve been trying to see,’ she hissed back. ‘Though it isn’t easy. There are endless distractions.’ Her eyes were sharp, her tone pointed, though Bertel, as self-absorbed as ever, didn’t even consider that she might be talking about him.

‘I’ve been thinking about what happened back at Esby,’ he murmured. ‘That symbol you made? It was quite unexpected, Edela. To have mastered...’ And now he lowered his voice to a breath. ‘Dark magic.’

She immediately looked away. ‘Not mastered it, no. I merely...’ Her aching body felt suddenly too heavy, the weight of every burden like a barrel of ale balancing on each shoulder, and she sighed loudly. ‘After what happened at the Vale... well, it was my fault. So much of it was. I was fooled, as we all were, but through my mistakes, I led my granddaughter astray. I didn’t see enough, didn’t do enough. I certainly wasn’t skilled enough, and people I loved dearly, they died.’ Tears pricked her eyes, and she looked to where Siggy stood holding a rope in one hand, letting the other flap in the breeze as though she was a great gull. ‘I was a dreamer, but I didn’t save them. So after that, I sought out answers, for if such danger were to come again, I knew I had to be more useful.’

Bertel was thoughtful, eventually turning and patting her shoulder. ‘You saved my life, Siggy’s, too, so I would say you did exactly what you intended to do.’ He hesitated, frowning now. ‘Though in the darkness all paths are perilous, Edela Saeveld. The power to destroy can be as addictive and motivating as the power to help, so I would bid you to remember that. You must keep a firm hold of the dreamer you have always been. And the light. Whatever you do, Edela, do not stray too far from the light.’

22

Gant had left for Saala the day before Joren arrived back with Ayla, Milla, and the Islanders, so it was up to Axl to comfort his shocked mother, left in tears by the dreamer’s news.

Ayla watched the former queen collapse before her, surprised by her tears for her daughter. Jael and Gisila had always had a fraught relationship, though she could see the depth of Gisila’s feelings as she sobbed, clinging to Axl.

‘I don’t understand,’ she kept repeating as Amma and Getta emerged from their chambers to find out what was happening.

Ayla glanced around, wondering where Jael’s children were. There was no sign of the dogs or Biddy either.

‘What has happened? Axl?’ Amma fretted, bustling forward in a pale yellow gown. She felt nauseous and had struggled to leave her bed, though having a grieving Getta to worry about had forced her to focus less on how she was feeling and more on her sister.

‘I’m afraid it’s Jael,’ Axl told her, feeling strange. Clasping his wife’s hand, he brought her close. ‘Something happened in Tuura. Edela has disappeared, and Jael, she was... taken.’

‘What? Jael?’ A horrified Biddy hurried into the hall, followed by Sigmund, Bo, and the dogs. ‘No!’

‘Where’s Mama?’ Sigmund asked, turning to take in the entire hall. ‘Where’s Papa?’

‘They’re still up in Tuura,’ Ayla explained with a smile. ‘Visiting Edela. But they can’t wait to come back and see you soon. We’ll go home to Oss on a ship, and they’ll follow with Thorgils and Fyn. It won’t be long.’ She swallowed as Bo grabbed her dress, bursting into tears.

‘Mama!’ she wailed. ‘Mama!’

Biddy sprang into action, brushing grey curls out of moist eyes. ‘You heard Ayla. She’s having a break from you two wild beasts. And well-deserved too! Come now, give Ayla a wave, and I’ll take you for something to eat. Remember that cake we saw Helvor baking? I’m sure it’s ready now. Can you smell your way to it?’

It wasn’t long before the upset children were distracted, following after a blinking Biddy, though as Ayla took a seat on a bench, Ido and Vella remained. Ido jumped onto her lap, and Vella stared up at her with big moist eyes.

Amma waited until the children were out of sight to speak. ‘But who took Jael? And why?’

‘Do you think it’s Oren Storgard?’ Axl wondered, receiving a confused look from the dreamer.

‘Who?’ Ayla took a cup from Gerald, though she didn’t drink.

‘Much has changed since you’ve been gone,’ Axl said delicately, eyes drifting to Getta. ‘Raymon Vandaal was killed in a fire. His enemy, Oren Storgard, has proclaimed himself the new King of Iskavall, and, according to all accounts, it doesn’t bode well for Brekka.’

Ayla was stunned. She blinked at Axl, seeing pain in his eyes. Worry too. ‘Killed?’ And now her eyes drifted to Getta. ‘I am sorry for you, my lady.’

Getta’s nod was curt, her eyes glassy; it still didn’t feel real.

A frantic Gisila peered down at Ayla. ‘But what about you? Why couldn’t you see what was happening? Or now? Where is my daughter?’ Frowning, she turned back to Axl, once again seeking reassurance. ‘And where is Edela? Please, you have to tell me what is going on. Where are they?’

Ayla realised how much there was to talk about, and glancing around the hall, she saw a steady stream of servants coming through the kitchen doors. ‘We need to speak privately,’ she said, drawing her attention back to Axl now. ‘Somewhere we won’t be overhead.’

* * *

Eadmund, Thorgils, and Fyn made it back to Tuura that afternoon with hot, tired horses, wanting to use every bit of daylight to find answers.

Eadmund had agreed to go back to the beginning to ensure that they were heading in the right direction, and that meant going over everything they could remember. ‘Milla heard a noise,’ he told Thorgils and Fyn as they stood in the welcome shade of the forest, having left their men to enjoy all the fort had to offer. ‘She came to get Jael, leading her back here, then the men appeared, threatened to kill Milla, overcame Jael, and took her away.’ He spoke dispassionately, though his heart was aching.

Thorgils sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘Is that how it happened? Did Milla remember everything correctly?’

‘Well, that’s why we’re here,’ Eadmund reminded him. ‘To see. Weather’s been fine, so we might pick up a new clue.’

Thorgils felt irritable from a constant lack of food, smelling something cooking in the distance. They were reasonably close to the fort here, and the smell soon had his stomach growling. ‘The question we have to answer is where they might be taking her. The why might help us get there, but without a dreamer, I’ve no idea about that.’

‘I think Silura,’ Eadmund decided. ‘It’s what I’ve thought all along. That’s what Ayla told us about those men, the ones who took her. They were Siluran.’

‘Though Milla understood them,’ Fyn put in.

‘Well, to get Jael or Milla to understand them, they would have had to speak the common tongue.’

‘So they could have been anyone, taken her anywhere!’ Thorgils exclaimed in frustration, wishing Ayla had stayed with them. He frowned. ‘We should check the fort, see if there’s any dreamer alive in there. Maybe one crawled out from a hiding hole? We need a clue. Just one. Anything!’

Eadmund agreed, heading after Thorgils towards Tuura’s open gates, hoping the gods would grant them some luck.

* * *

When Axl had closed the door to the meeting room, he signalled for Ayla to speak.

‘Jael had a dream,’ she began as the king took a seat beside his worried-looking mother. ‘Before she left Alekka, she had a troubling dream about her father. It’s why she sought to speak to Edela so urgently. She didn’t want to say anything until she understood the dream. She didn’t want to panic anyone.’

‘Why? What was her dream about?’ Axl wanted to know.

‘Pyres. She saw a row of pyres, with you, Raymon, your older brothers. Her. All of you were dead, wrapped in funeral shrouds, placed on the pyres.’

Gisila’s eyes rounded. ‘All of Ranuf’s children? Dead?’

‘Yes, so you can imagine why she wanted Edela’s help.’

‘Though now they’re both gone,’ Axl said blankly. ‘And you think there’s something to her dream? Was it a dreamer’s dream?’

Ayla nodded, and feeling her dry throat aching, she reached for the cup of ale she’d brought with her, sipping the cool liquid in relief. ‘Jael hoped that Edela would have some insight into what it all meant. But now, with Raymon dying and Jael taken... I fear we cannot wait for Edela. You must do something now, to keep yourself safe, Axl.’

‘Do you think I’m in danger?’

‘I do, and so is Bo. There are no other living heirs to the Furyck dynasty now.’

‘Well, there’s Jael!’ Gisila snapped. ‘We can’t forget that.’

Ayla looked apologetic. ‘I only meant –’

‘Of course, I know, but Jael won’t roll over. Whoever took her... she won’t roll over and let them have their own way. Kidnapping my daughter was the biggest mistake they ever made!’ Gisila had been slow to piece everything together, though now she saw clearly and spoke with certainty. ‘You are in grave danger,’ she said, grabbing her son’s arm. ‘Axl, you are. If Jael’s dream is to be believed, you will be next!’

Axl tried to assuage his mother’s fears, though he felt his own growing. ‘We don’t know if we can even believe Jael’s dream. Not yet. It’s why she didn’t say anything. She wanted to know what Edela thought.’

‘But we need –’ Gisila couldn’t think, looking to the dreamer for answers.

‘Eadmund has asked me to take the children back to Oss. I must leave first thing tomorrow. Biddy will be coming with me.’

Gisila and Axl were shocked.

‘But Axl will need a dreamer here!’ Gisila insisted. ‘Andala has been your home, Ayla. You cannot leave us now. We need you!’ She took her hands off her son, now reaching for the dreamer.

‘Though I must go,’ Ayla said, feeling awkward. ‘I promised Eadmund. He wants me to get the children back to Oss, especially Bo.’

‘And you don’t think Sigmund’s in danger?’ Axl wondered distractedly.

Ayla shook her head. ‘He’s Jael’s stepson, he has no Furyck blood, so no, though I will watch him just as closely.’

The chamber fell silent, and Ayla found her attention wandering to the harbour, feeling torn. She felt an overwhelming need to get the Skalleson children to safety, though she was unable to imagine how she could simply sail away from Osterland and leave Edela and Jael behind.

* * *

The fetters on Jael’s wrists were heavy, and despite her best efforts, they had broken her skin, forming painful sores. It was easier to keep her ankles still, but her arms were behind her back, which made things extremely awkward. Her shoulders had frozen, and the pain was a burning fire, becoming unbearable.

She had been fed and given water, further strengthening the idea that her captors wanted her alive. That gave her some hope, allowing her mind to wander to what they wanted. Gold? Power? Revenge?

Sleeping had been a struggle, and she hadn’t managed much. Lying on her side, she tried to get comfortable, willing herself to find a dream. The fact that she couldn’t brought her back to the symbols she’d seen etched into the fetters. Magical symbols. The sort to prevent a dreamer having visions, she imagined.

So whoever had captured her had not done so on a whim.

That person had sent a shipload of men to Tuura to take her in the night. Those men had known exactly where to find her. They had come prepared with darts, shooting something into her that had quickly rendered her unconscious. They had slipped away, imprisoning her in specially-made fetters.

Because they wanted her.

It was impossible to know all of your enemies, Jael realised, finally letting out a muffled groan. She had tried not to reveal how much pain she was in, not wanting to make any sounds at all, but her shoulders, her neck, her back... she was in agony.

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine what Eadmund was doing.

Had he gone back to Oss with the children and Biddy? With Tig and the dogs? And Ayla? Had he sent Thorgils after her? Or gone himself?

Her thoughts jumped from Eadmund to Thorgils, to Fyn, and then Milla.

Who was the girl? What was she?

That smile still gave her chills. Had she imagined it?

It was the last thing she’d seen, but it wasn’t only the smile she recalled. As she was grabbed from behind, she remembered how the man threatening Milla had suddenly let her go, pointing her away. He’d spoken something to her in a language Jael couldn’t understand, as though instructing her, and she had nodded.

Milla had understood him, and then she’d turned around to leave, smiling at Jael. It wasn’t a reassuring smile.

It was a triumphant one.

* * *

‘You don’t have to come with us,’ Ayla told Milla that evening as they sat down to supper. She didn’t want to eat, though she felt compelled to spend the evening with Jael’s family before she left for Oss, and Axl was the king – a hard man to refuse. Though she felt like heading to Edela’s cottage and sitting there in total silence, wanting to take everything in. ‘After all that’s happened, perhaps you’d prefer to return to Alekka now?’

Milla quickly shook her head. She had changed into a pretty blue dress, gifted to her by Amma, who’d felt sorry for the girl, arriving with nothing but the ragged clothes she’d left Ullaberg in. Ayla had brushed her hair, and Milla had washed her face, and now she looked far more presentable, though still just as troubled. ‘I can’t go back,’ she told her. ‘There’s nothing in Ullaberg for me and too many bad memories to start a new life in Alekka. I want to go to Oss with you, if I may. I told Fyn I would. I promised I’d be there when he returns.’

Ayla nodded, having noticed how fond of the girl Fyn had become. And, according to Jael, Milla had proved helpful during their time in Alekka. ‘Of course. We’ll find something for you to do. Perhaps you can help Biddy with the children? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind a rest from running around after them.’

‘I would like that,’ Milla beamed at the dreamer. ‘I’m very fond of children.’

* * *

It was the night before her wedding, and seventeen-year-old Lina Storgard once again thought about running away. Her mother stood before her, hand over her mouth, hiding her hideous teeth as she chortled away with the new king.

Lina swallowed. Tomorrow, Oren would become her husband.

And what a terrible husband he would make.

She knew that because she was a dreamer, and her nightmares had revealed exactly how things would go.

‘Think of the sons you will have, my darling,’ Thora hummed excitedly. ‘Such tall, strapping sons. The Storgards have always bred healthy boys, haven’t they, my lord? And big!’

Lina stared at her mother, who seemed to have conveniently forgotten her small, sickly brother – Thora’s own son – who had died of an illness when he was eight.

Oren sipped his wine, glancing over to the fire where his remaining brother, Steffan, was locked in a heated debate with one of their men. He thought of their brothers, Gregor and Lars, killed in the brief battle to claim the throne. Though remembering the heap of charred bones dragged out of the ruined hall, he felt slightly cheered. Smiling, his eyes shifted from his freckle-faced aunt to his sullen bride-to-be. ‘And having children is something we will prioritise, for while my brother will be useful as a temporary heir, it is my sons who I wish to inherit Osterland.’

Lina blinked in surprise, glancing at her mother, who appeared untroubled by Oren’s words. ‘Osterland?’

Oren laughed. ‘Of course. You are not marrying a man of small ambition, Lina. I intend to take all of Osterland, one kingdom at a time.’

Lina’s mouth hung open, unable to comprehend how anyone could be so arrogant to aim at such an impossibly large prize. Though reading Oren’s thoughts, she realised that he was certainly determined to try.

‘And you will be by my side. You and our sons. Our family. The Storgard dynasty will rule this land for centuries to come!’

Thora was dizzy with delight, ignoring the horrified look on her daughter’s face. ‘And where will you seat your capital, my lord? I should think Hest has much to offer. A real prize being so close to the Fire Lands. All that trade! Wine and gold and spices. Not to mention the silks...’

Oren smiled, and though he didn’t say, Lina could see that he agreed. It was too much to take in, too horrible for words, and hurrying to excuse herself, she made her way past her cousin and headed for the kitchen. She needed air, and though that steaming hot chamber wouldn’t offer it, she knew the cook’s garden would.

Finally stepping outside, fearing she could already hear her mother calling for her, Lina took a deep breath, inhaling the now familiar charred smell of the burned hall in the distance. Her heart was racing, hands trembling. She kept thinking of Siggy, of Edela and Bertel. There was no sign of them in Ollsvik, and despite Oren’s best efforts, they appeared to have escaped.

For now.

She thought fleetingly about escaping too.

Could she disappear? Run away?

If she could catch up with Siggy, Edela, and Bertel, they could go away together...

The cook raised her voice, ordering her staff to hurry, and Lina’s mind was immediately back in the present. She stepped further into the garden, inhaling hints of something fresher now: dill and mint, some fennel too.

She didn’t want to be the Queen of Iskavall, let alone the Queen of Osterland.

And now tears came. Tears of terror and panic.

‘Though you are a dreamer, Lina Storgard,’ she heard Edela say. ‘What? You don’t think a dreamer can find their way out of a sticky situation? Oh, but I promise you they can!’

‘Lina! What are you doing out here?’ her mother snapped from the doorway. ‘Come, come, the first course is already on the table, and poor Oren is wondering where you are!’ Thora didn’t step outside, but flapping her hands and making tutting noises, she finally convinced her daughter to come back inside.

* * *

‘Destiny cannot be avoided! It will claim us all, despite our best efforts to shy away from it,’ warned the young woman with as much gravity as an old crone.

Thorgils thought she looked a little older than Fyn, though he tried not to laugh as she frowned and groaned before them, clasping Eadmund’s hands, eyes closed, swaying from side to side.

She was like no dreamer Fyn had ever met, and he was thoroughly bemused.

‘You have too many thoughts!’ the woman blurted out, eyes springing open. ‘Still your mind, my lord. Calm yourself, and let me find a path for us to follow.’

Sitting behind Eadmund on a pair of wobbling stools, Fyn glanced at Thorgils, who lifted an eyebrow in his direction, shrugging.

Upon returning to the fort, they’d gone searching for dreamers, hoping there was at least one left alive. And finally, the gods granted them that luck they were so desperate for.

Her name was Mattie Bilso.

Mattie lived in Sonderberg, a few days’ ride away. Having dreamed of what had befallen Tuura, she’d headed to the fort to see if she could help. And upon hearing about the abduction of Jael Furyck, and Edela Saeveld’s disappearance, she’d quickly located King Eadmund Skalleson, offering her services. And now he sat in an abandoned cottage with Thorgils and Fyn, all three men hoping that Mattie could point them in the right direction.

She was a handsome woman with a round, open face, a small nose and a big smile, though she was frowning furiously as she sat before them.

‘There are two paths,’ the blonde-haired dreamer announced after what felt like an endless stretch of silence. ‘I see a fork in the road, but which path to take? For one is just a trick, a ruse, intending to lead you in another direction entirely!’

‘Well, that certainly worked,’ Thorgils muttered. ‘The first path we took led nowhere.’

‘We can’t find another one,’ Fyn added.

Mattie leaned out, peering around Eadmund to his friends. ‘Mmmm,’ she murmured before returning her attention to the pensive king. ‘As they intended. It’s a game of shadows to hide the truth about what’s happening. You see that, don’t you?’

Eadmund looked confused.

‘There’s a dreamer’s hand in this!’ Mattie insisted with bulging eyes. ‘I feel it strongly. Those men who attacked Tuura... how did they enter a fort housing so many dreamers? How did they come inside without a battle? Without an alarm being raised by dreamer or warrior alike?’

‘You mean magic?’ Eadmund wondered with a shiver.

Mattie glanced at the fire. ‘Please add a few logs,’ she said, once again leaning around the king to his friends. ‘I say with certainty that, yes, this is a magical plot. A plot to steal a queen!’

Fyn left his stool, heading to the fire, so distracted by Mattie’s words that he didn’t see the cat curled up in front of it. It hissed and spat, flicking its claws at his leg, digging them in deep. A surprised Fyn shrieked, dropping the log he’d picked up, just missing the cat, who bounded towards Mattie.

‘Otter!’ The horrified dreamer scooped up the brown cat, and holding it in her arms, she rocked it like a baby.

‘I’m... sorry,’ Fyn spluttered, leg stinging. ‘I didn’t see it.’

Pursing her lips, Mattie eyed the tall young man with a hint of mistrust now.

‘You were talking about a plot?’ Eadmund reminded her, frowning at Fyn. ‘You think a dreamer has taken Jael? That everything else was just to cover it up?’

Mattie was still stroking the cat, who was now purring, though slightly wary of the strangers. ‘I hear noises,’ the dreamer told him in hushed tones. ‘In the silence, there is so much noise. A way of shaping what we understand. Understand?’

Eadmund just stared at her.

‘You mean that if there’s a noise or something happens, we go towards it? It distracts us from what’s really happening?’ Fyn suggested as he picked up the log and carefully added it to the fire. Returning to his stool, he saw Mattie watching him, and now she stood, plonking the cat on Fyn’s lap.

‘You’ll need to make things right with Otter, for we’ll be bringing him with us.’

Eadmund looked puzzled. ‘Us?’

‘Of course! You’re going to need help finding your queen. It’s why I found you. I’m meant to help you recover her. The certainty of that fills me like a goblet of wine. Oh yes! The four of us must leave with haste, for they are far ahead of us now, and I fear that we’re running out of time!’

23

A swollen-eyed Biddy joined Ayla in Edela’s cottage, sighing repeatedly. It felt so strange not to see Edela chuckling in her chair by the fire or fussing around her kitchen shelves that she felt on the verge of tears. ‘Did you find everything?’ she asked, pulling a cloth from her sleeve and loudly blowing her nose.

‘Yes,’ Ayla murmured, preparing a circle on the floorboards near the fire. She felt distracted and anxious. Undecided too. Both Jael and Edela were missing, and she didn’t know who to help first, though she had wanted to do a dreamwalk in the hope of reaching at least one of them.

Biddy squatted down beside where Ayla had placed the drum. ‘Who will you search for first?’

‘I think since we’re in Edela’s cottage and I have so many of her things around me, it will be easier to find her. And, of course, she does like to go to sleep early.’

Biddy smiled. ‘She does, that’s true.’

‘Did you bring something of Jael’s?’

A nodding Biddy pulled Jael’s comb from her purse. And laying it down on the floor beside her, she watched Ayla close her eyes, inhaling the strong scent of the mugwort she’d placed in the fire. Jimsonweed too. Biddy suppressed a cough, distracted now and growing nauseous. ‘And if it doesn’t work?’

‘If it doesn’t work, I’ll keep trying,’ Ayla promised calmly. ‘Though I need silence now, Biddy. I have to disappear, and you must help me.’

Biddy nodded, and taking a nervous breath, she picked up the drum.

* * *

There was one small, crowded tavern in Tuura, and though it was late, Eadmund, Thorgils, and Fyn had little interest in sleep. They wanted to discuss the dreamer and her plans to come with them.

‘We don’t know her,’ Fyn insisted. ‘I’m not sure she even knows what she’s doing. I’ve seen dreamers, and this Mattie looks like she’s just pretending to be one.’

Thorgils pulled the half-eaten bowl of nuts towards him, scooping out a handful. ‘Ha! That’s a brave approach. Talking about a dreamer behind her back?’

‘She came to us, offering to help,’ Eadmund mused, unsure how he felt about Mattie himself. She was a contradiction: young and yet old, smiling and yet snappy. ‘I get the sense that she wants to help. She seems genuine enough to me.’

Thorgils didn’t want to think about dreamers. ‘I miss my wife!’ he declared loudly, causing a few heads to turn his way. He felt drunk, a little tired, and mostly worried. ‘Do you think they’ve gone back to the island? Ayla and Biddy?’

Eadmund didn’t know. ‘I hope so. I want the children on Oss with Bram. They’ll be safe with him.’ Though his mind soon returned to Mattie. ‘We need to decide what to do about the dreamer. We could ask Alaric?’

‘Alaric Fraed? Because he knows what?’ Thorgils scoffed. ‘Look, as far as I’m concerned, it’s simple. Mattie’s a dreamer who wants to help us, so we should let her. It’s Jael. We can’t let her down. We have to grab every thread, explore every possibility.’

‘But why would someone want Jael?’ Fyn wondered with a yawn. They hadn’t even thought about where they would sleep, he realised. Eadmund had brought their men into the fort, though would they be camping in tents? There were many empty cottages now; he was certain he could find a bed.

‘Well, if we knew that, we’d be halfway there,’ Eadmund sighed, trying to keep his head above water, though he felt the weight of his despair tugging at his feet.

‘Exactly! And that’s something Mattie can help us with,’ Thorgils told his friend. ‘You want to keep riding around this place, going in circles? A dreamer can find clues we could never hope to see, and that’s what we want, isn’t it? Clues.’

‘She’s bringing her cat,’ Fyn muttered.

‘Mmmm, so she said,’ Thorgils grinned.

Fyn glanced around, eyeing the door. ‘I don’t like cats,’ he added, turning back to finish his ale.

Eadmund stood, barely listening. His mind had wandered to finding somewhere to sleep now. He was eager to be up and on their way again, but sleep would help. He would check the horses, too, especially Tig, who’d been fretting when he’d left him in the stables.

‘Don’t like cats?’ Thorgils laughed, and standing with an almighty belch, he drained his own cup and followed a scowling Fyn through the tavern door.

* * *

The two old women looked identical, Edela thought, studying them closely. They both wore cream-coloured dresses adorned with similar silver jewellery. Their dark-grey hair was coiled into low buns, fixed with pins at the back of their heads.

They had the same stoop, the same shuffling walk.

They lived together, she guessed, eyes shifting to the identical beds pushed against either wall of the small, symmetrically decorated room.

She was transfixed by the exotic nature of the furnishings and those tiny beds, certain she wasn’t in Osterland, for everything that caught her eye looked unusual. Intriguing.

The cottage walls were stone, whitewashed and glowing. The largest quarries in Osterland were in the South, though Edela didn’t think she was in Hest. It was known as the Golden Kingdom, for even its palace shone with a golden hue.

This cottage was almost white.

Like bone, she thought, turning around.

One of the women had walked outside, through what appeared to be a back door, and feeling intrigued, Edela hurried after her.

* * *

Ayla walked in darkness.

She heard the crackling fire in the distance and Biddy’s drumming like a subtle roll of thunder.

And nothing else.

She had expected to see a glimpse of something. Holding one of Edela’s brooches, she’d brought images of the old dreamer into her mind, infusing every breath with the need to see a sign of her.

Though she continued to walk in that chilling darkness.

Until she found a wall.

Her hands hit it first, and stumbling back in surprise, Ayla nearly lost hold of the trance. She felt the cold, rough stone of the wall, shivering.

Had Edela locked her out?

Feeling around, Ayla quickly sensed that there was no way through, and taking a step back, she closed her eyes, trying to understand what was happening.

* * *

The old woman had walked out into what appeared to be her garden, though it was the most breathtaking garden Edela had ever seen. The cottage perched at the edge of a peninsula, commanding a view of a sparkling blue sea. She stared, smiling for a moment, squinting at the glittering water, though soon her attention was drawn to another jaw-dropping sight as she turned to see what the woman had come out to do.

There was a tree, as wide and tall as an ancient oak. Taller, she thought on reflection, tipping back her head, and white, just like the little cottage.

A still-squinting Edela was further dazzled, moving with speed now, trying to understand what was happening. It was no ordinary tree, she saw as she reached out to touch one of its leaves.

She shivered. They weren’t leaves.

Reaching up, Edela tried to pull one to her, more confused by the moment.

They were bones.

Her puzzlement dazed her, and she was slow to realise that the woman had taken one of the bones from the tree and turned back to the cottage.

Her sister appeared at the back door, calling something to her that Edela didn’t understand. The tongue was unfamiliar, she thought, glancing at the sea again, then back to the cottage as the sisters disappeared inside it. Edela made to follow them, though the pull of that strange tree was stronger, so turning back to it, she reached up, hand wavering, moving from one bone to another until it lingered in one place. And feeling something compelling her, Edela tugged the bone from its branch and brought it up to her face.

Seeing odd little symbols etched into it.

* * *

When her last guest had left, Thora Storgard sighed dramatically, hollow cheeks flushed, shoulders slumping. It was a warm night, and the fires had been blazing throughout the meal. ‘What a perfect evening!’ she declared with exhausted satisfaction. ‘The culmination of decades of trials endured by your grandfather, your father, and, of course, dear Oren. A true saga of determination and dedication to a noble cause!’

Ignoring her mother’s blathering, a morose Lina headed for the stairs. She slept in an upstairs chamber, far away from Thora. Once, they’d shared the house with her father and her younger brother, though now they were both gone.

The peace was welcome.

Her mother quickly became just an irritating noise in the distance, and turning back to her, Lina waved. ‘Sleep well, Mother.’

‘And you, my queen! Though with tomorrow only hours away, I doubt you will sleep much at all!’

She carried on tittering, though Lina had mounted the stairs, not looking back.

Oren had killed Raymon Vandaal, and now he was setting his sights on his neighbours. He would burn everyone down to achieve his goals. And though Lina wanted to die rather than spend one night in his bed, she felt certain that she had arrived at what Edela had suggested: a destiny as hideous and unpleasant as she could ever have imagined.

To be a queen and a mother.

Wife of an ambitious, vicious king.

Trapped by his side, imprisoned by their vows.

She retched, tears in her eyes, almost falling to her knees.

Though there had to be a reason, she told herself. A reason that this was happening...

* * *

Ayla repeated the dreamwalk, this time searching for Jael, though despite her best efforts, it, too, ended with the same result.

Another impenetrable wall.

Biddy’s knees hurt as she struggled back to her feet; these days, she was struggling to kneel at all. Sitting on Edela’s bed, she watched as Ayla headed for the door, eager to let out the smoke.

‘They have locked me out,’ she coughed, turning back to Biddy.

‘Both of them?’ Biddy didn’t understand. ‘But why?’

Pulling a stool towards the bed, Ayla sat down, sipping a cup of ale. ‘More likely it’s whoever took them. I feel certain that they know what they’re doing when it comes to dreamers.’

Biddy blinked. ‘So it’s not just a simple band of outlaws then, looking for a ransom?’

‘I don’t think so, though it’s possible Jael and Edela have symbol stones on them. That would explain it, but I imagine they would have worked to get rid of them as soon as something happened.’

‘They would have, of course.’

‘Unless they don’t want to be found,’ Ayla mused, wondering what that meant, but before Biddy could ask, she smiled. ‘I’ll keep trying to dream nonetheless,’ she assured her. ‘You go back to the hall. I’ll get some sleep and see what the night brings.’

A puzzled Biddy nodded, heading for the door, eager for some fresh air. ‘I hope those children haven’t given poor Milla too much to do. Bo can be up and down all night when she sets her mind to it. Doesn’t like to sleep at all. Just like her mother when she was a girl. Oh, doesn’t history like to go on repeating itself!’

Ayla smiled, only half listening. ‘There will be an answer,’ she told Biddy. ‘And if we all keep looking, eventually one of us will find it.’

* * *

Edela rolled over, seeking comfort on the watery deck, which had so far provided none.

‘You can have my fur,’ Siggy whispered nearby. ‘If you’re cold?’

Edela jerked around in surprise. ‘Oh! I thought everyone was asleep.’

‘I don’t like ships,’ Siggy admitted, wriggling closer. Bertel was asleep on one side of her, Edela on the other, seeking to keep the worst of the wind away from the girl, though she was chilled to the bone, the haunting sounds of the ship and the sea drilling deep into her ears until they throbbed.

‘No, Siggy dear, you keep it,’ Edela smiled, hair blowing across her eyes. She tried tucking it behind her ears, though her frozen ears didn’t secure the thin strands for long. ‘What I wouldn’t give for a hat! Biddy was always trying to foist a hat on me, and now I need one more than ever. I should have thought about that in Esby!’

‘Did you have any dreams?’ Siggy asked, having seen Edela twisting and turning as though caught in a nightmare.

‘Dreams? Hmmm, nothing of note,’ Edela told her, not entirely sure what she had seen but determined to keep everything to herself until it made more sense. ‘And you?’

Siggy yelped, reaching for Edela as the ship dropped beneath them. She clung to the dreamer, waiting until it had righted itself before answering. ‘I’ve... never had a dream,’ she admitted. ‘Not like that, so I... don’t think I can be a dreamer, Edela. My mother must have thought I was,’ she added hurriedly. ‘She wouldn’t have taken me to the temple otherwise. I’m sure she wouldn’t! She was an honest woman. She wouldn’t have lied!’

‘Of course she wouldn’t,’ Edela assured the girl, who she could feel had loved her mother as much as anyone could love another person. ‘And maybe she’ll be proven right in the end?’

‘But I’m fifteen.’

‘And what of it?’ Edela yawned. ‘My granddaughter, Jael. Oh!’ She started laughing. ‘Despite anything she may have seen as a child, she never wanted to be a dreamer, and it took her a long time to face the truth about who she really is. She very successfully pushed all her dreams away so she could be a warrior instead. Eventually, though, she discovered how useful her dreams could be, so she let them in. Well, at least for a while...’ Edela continued to feel strange whenever she thought of Jael, and working to distract both herself and Siggy, she kept her mind on the girl. ‘I think the question has to be, do you want to have dreams? To be an actual dreamer? Before you can even hope to draw a dream to you, it’s important to ask yourself that simple question.’

Siggy wrinkled her freckled nose, not answering.

‘Well, there you have it,’ Edela decided. ‘You’re uncertain. And that uncertainty won’t help the dreams come.’

‘I do want to help people,’ Siggy insisted. ‘But I...’ She shrugged.

Seeing her squirming and feeling the heaviness of her eyelids, Edela patted her shoulder. ‘I say we forget all about dreams and just try for some sleep! Before we know it, Bertel will be up, grumbling about breakfast.’ And winking at Siggy, Edela gave her arm a squeeze and closed her eyes, immediately slipping back into her dream of that strange bone tree and the two old women, wondering what it all meant.

* * *

Mattie was waiting by a small wagon when Eadmund, Thorgils, and Fyn arrived at her cottage the next morning.

Eadmund had such a thumping headache that he wondered if he was hungover, though perhaps it was just tiredness, he realised, certain he hadn’t drunk that much. ‘We can’t take a wagon,’ he said abruptly.

Thorgils and Fyn turned Mattie’s way, seeing what the dreamer thought about that.

Eadmund saw the cat sitting in the wagon, and his frown deepened.

‘Everything I need is stored in this wagon!’ Mattie insisted. ‘I can’t be without it. It’s how Otter travels, and he must come along. We’ve never been parted!’

‘The wagon will slow us down.’

Thorgils thought that Eadmund was right, though his smile never faltered as he beamed at the dreamer. ‘Though better to move with purpose than speed, I always say.’

Eadmund eyed him in surprise. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right,’ he decided eventually, having no energy for a fight. Besides, it made no sense to upset the dreamer before they’d even left the fort. ‘Fyn, go and round up the men.’

‘Oh, we won’t be needing those men,’ Mattie said confidently, hands on hips. She was dressed for the road in a blue dress covered by a warm woollen cloak, also in blue. She even wore a blue hat tied beneath her chin. It was a cool morning, and she knew that rain wasn’t far away. ‘If you wish to find something that’s hidden, then you must become hidden yourself. Riding around with an armed band of Brekkans at your back will only draw attention to us. To seek what lies beyond the shadows, we must enter the shadows ourselves!’

Fyn’s doubts about the woman bloomed like summer weeds, and he inclined his head for Thorgils to join him as he walked to the horses. When they were out of earshot, he hissed in his cousin’s ear. ‘You can’t think that makes sense? Leaving the men behind?’

Thorgils shrugged, smiling at Mattie, who was peering at them. ‘Look, Jael’s disappeared. You want her back as much as I do, and the dreamer’s offered to help us. She must have some confidence that she can, and I wager a dreamer and a cat are more use than thirty-odd men with swords.’

‘I don’t trust her.’

‘You’ve made that perfectly clear, Cousin. I’m quite sure even her cat knows that! But trust her or not, I think fate is leading us this way. To come back to Tuura and find a dreamer waiting? We haven’t been able to pick up the path ourselves, so what? You think we just ride and ride until we end up back here again, looking for another way to go?’

Eadmund joined them, wanting to know what was happening, though seeing the furtive glances at the dreamer, now fussing over her cat, he quickly guessed.

‘Let Mattie try and help us,’ Eadmund told them both. ‘Give the woman a chance. I want to believe that she has the answers we need. Someone has to!’ Now he turned away. ‘I’ll go find the men, send them back to Andala. You go and smooth things over with Mattie, Fyn.’

A simmering Fyn looked after his king before turning back to where Mattie was now approaching, holding the cat up to her shoulder as though it was a baby.

‘If you can just hold Otter, I’ll dash back inside for my griddle. I’ll need to keep us well-fed on the journey, for who knows where we’ll end up!’ And dumping the pink-nosed cat in Fyn’s arms, the smiling dreamer scuttled away.

* * *

‘I tried to reach Edela last night,’ Ayla told Gisila and Axl. ‘Though there was a wall, and I couldn’t find a way through, I’m afraid.’

‘And Jael?’ Gisila wondered as they walked Ayla to the ship she would be taking to Oss. Amma had gone ahead with Biddy, Milla, and the children. No one had seen the dogs, but Biddy had wanted to get the children settled on board before trying to find them.

‘It was the same when I looked for Jael, though I will keep trying,’ Ayla assured them both, her attention shifting to Hal Harbak lurking near The King’s Axe, though seeing Axl, he smiled, coming towards him.

‘But what will we do without a dreamer in Andala?’ Gisila fretted, gripping her son’s arm. ‘We must do something, Axl. You cannot be so exposed. Not with that new king in Iskavall. Likely he has his own dreamer plotting beside him!’

‘I still have scouts and spies, Mother. Rest assured that I have eyes on everything happening in Osterland. And yes, I’ll seek another dreamer too. Someone to help us until Edela returns.’ He felt a twinge of fear, worried that he would never see his grandmother or sister again.

‘There you are!’ Biddy sighed, relieved to see the dogs, who bounded down the pier towards her and then past her entirely, aiming for the children.

Watching as Milla shepherded the children and the dogs towards the ship, Biddy turned back to Gisila and Axl, vibrating with tension. It felt wrong to be leaving without Jael and Eadmund. Wrong to leave not knowing whether Edela was safe. She was struggling to fix her mind on the direction she was about to head in. ‘Do send word if you have any news,’ she pleaded. ‘And we’ll do the same.’

Ayla nodded. ‘We will, of course. I’m sure I’ll see something soon.’

Gisila’s smile barely lifted her lips, and she stared at both Biddy and Ayla in a state of almost frozen desperation.

Axl hugged a trembling Biddy, giving her a squeeze. ‘I’ve organised more search parties. They’ll be leaving soon. I promise we won’t stop looking for them both.’

Pulling out of his arms, Biddy remained fretful. ‘I know, but do take care of yourselves too. And be wary of your new neighbour. It sounds as though Osterland’s peace is about to be shattered.’

24

Mattie led them south in her wagon, much to Fyn’s annoyance, and he spent two solid days griping about the bossy dreamer and her cat.

‘It’s a sweet cat,’ Thorgils told his disgruntled cousin. ‘And Mattie’s not a bad cook. What she can do with a rabbit? Her company’s worth it for that alone!’

Fyn looked down at his hands, now covered in scratches. ‘Sweet? It hates me.’

‘Ha! No, an animal’s much like a child. You just need to earn its trust, the way I had to with Mads and the girls. Mostly Mads,’ he added with a grin that quickly fell away. He had been a stepfather for nearly four years now, and all four of Isaura’s children felt like his own. Not to mention the two beautiful daughters he’d had with her. And now his smile returned. ‘Your problem is that you know nothing about children or women. Or cats! If you did, everything would fall into place. Understanding those complicated creatures is the key to a happy life!’

Mattie rode ahead of them in her wagon at snails’ pace, making Eadmund so wild with impatience that he’d taken Leada and Tig to ride beside her, hoping to urge the stubborn woman along. She was certainly bossy, though not quick in that wagon with her plodding horse, who didn’t appear to have much in her.

As they looked on, both men could see Eadmund motioning with his hand and Mattie shaking her head and ignoring him entirely.

Thorgils laughed. ‘She’s got confidence in herself, that dreamer.’

‘What she has is an ego,’ Fyn retorted. ‘I need to piss.’ And tugging Yara’s reins, he turned his horse into the bushes and dismounted.

A shrugging Thorgils nudged Vili ahead, bringing him in line with Eadmund. ‘Looks like another fine day ahead!’

‘Mmmm, though we need to make some progress,’ Eadmund muttered, and turning to Thorgils, he lifted his eyebrows, shifting his attention to Mattie, who appeared cheerfully oblivious to his annoyance. Otter, the cat, rode beside her, eyes just slits in the bright sunshine, tilting back his head to soak up those warm golden rays.

‘And where are we heading then, dreamer?’ Thorgils wondered, for though he wasn’t boiling with impatience like Eadmund and Fyn, he felt the same gnawing fear.

‘We’re following the path of the gods,’ Mattie murmured, hazel eyes rounding as she turned to fix them on Thorgils. ‘For it is their hands guiding me.’

‘Which ones? You see, I don’t think every god likes Jael. I know Darroc doesn’t. Perhaps Ran too? She does tend to rub people the wrong way. And the gods, I expect.’

‘Though she is favoured by them,’ Mattie assured him. ‘She’s a Furyck. One of Furia’s.’

‘You follow the Oster gods?’ Eadmund asked in surprise. ‘Not just the Tuuran ones?’

Mattie laughed. ‘But the gods are all Daala’s children! Vidar may have broken with his mother, but they remain a family. Distance can’t dilute blood. So yes, unlike the Tuuran elders, unlike many of my kind, I follow every god. I believe they all have messages for me. I am a dreamer, after all! So whether it’s Lydea or Selvi, Harda or Eseld, I remain open to them all.’

‘You’re rather young to be so wise,’ Thorgils decided. ‘Most dreamers I’ve met have been older.’

Mattie snorted. ‘I’m twenty-six, so not a girl. No, I’m a grown woman. I’ve been having dreams since I was a babe.’

‘And you weren’t part of The Following?’ Eadmund wondered.

Mattie shook her head. ‘I was not! I follow my own path. The temple wasn’t for me.’

‘You never trained there?’

Spying a giant hole in the road, Mattie nudged Otter back down into the wagon, and tightening her hold on the reins, she guided her old horse around it, leaving Thorgils and Eadmund to go opposite ways.

They met up on the other side, and now Fyn joined them.

‘I trained at the temple when I was younger, though eventually I left and trained myself. And it’s a good thing I did, seeing what those Followers got up to. I would have hated them digging about in my dreams, trying to manipulate me. No, I’m mostly self-taught. Everything I can do has come through my own discoveries.’ She eyed Thorgils and Eadmund before frowning at Fyn. ‘Which doesn’t make me any less of a dreamer, I assure you.’ And flicking the reins, she finally urged her horse to pick up her pace. ‘We need to move with speed if we’re to reach Orking by nightfall.’

That was the first anyone had heard about that.

‘Orking? What’s there?’ Eadmund asked, though Mattie was quickly moving ahead of them, and he received no reply, watching as Otter jumped back onto the bench, taking his place beside her.

* * *

In Oss’ square, Ketil’s had a long line of people waiting to enjoy a hot meat stick. Owing to its popularity, the small enterprise had expanded over the years, and now Ketil’s two sons worked the braziers while Ketil and his sister, Una, prepared flatbreads for their customers.

Ayla inhaled the wonderfully familiar smell as she stood outside the old hall, watching Sigmund and Bo for Biddy, who was busy giving orders to the servants. The children were amusing themselves by chasing their favourite chickens. Bo even had a chick tucked into the crook of her arm like a doll, though it didn’t appear to mind.

Ayla was facing their way, but her thoughts were back in Andala, wondering if she should have left. Shaking her head, she turned to Bram Svanter, who stood silently beside her, struggling for something to say. ‘Things seem under control,’ she said, amused by his efforts to hold down his long white beard. Oss’ wind was always a terror. Being spring, it wasn’t as bitter as a wintry blast, but it played havoc with hair and hats, snapping at cloaks and twisting dresses around legs.

It made it hard to hear, too, though Bram, with his blue eyes fixed on the long-seen dreamer, heard her perfectly. ‘I’m glad you think so. Better now that you’re here.’ Ayla didn’t appear to hear him, or at least, she didn’t react.

‘There’s been no trouble on the horizon then? No reports of any threats?’

‘None that I’m aware of. Seems everyone’s busy enjoying the clear weather. Maybe they’ve all gone raiding?’ Bram grinned, though he felt disappointed to see no smile in her eyes for him anymore.

He loved her.

At thirty-eight, Ayla Adea was some twenty-five years younger than him, though her dead husband had been years older than her, too, so he didn’t believe it was age that had made her walk away from their relationship. Her first husband had been killed at the Vale, and after such a heartbreaking loss, Bram was convinced that Ayla was simply too scared to open herself up to such pain again. And having experienced his own losses more than once now, he didn’t blame her.

Shaking his head, he focused on the thoughtful dreamer. ‘After everything you told me, coming back here makes sense. Protecting the islands and the children is what Jael would have wanted. We all need to keep them safe.’

Ayla nodded, eyes drifting to Bo, who had picked up a stone to throw at her brother, and frowning now, she left Bram behind, seeing the angry little girl with black hair.

Thinking of how much she resembled her mother.

* * *

Jael was surprised and almost grateful when the man with the fine boots sat down beside her. The pain in her ankles and wrists was so great now that she thought of little else. She had no appetite and felt hot instead of cold. Her mind was all over the place, but most of the time, she was simply working to stop herself screaming with madness, hoping the company would be distracting.

The man touched her forehead. ‘You are warm.’

Jael didn’t answer. His hand felt like ice.

He threw another fur over her, which made her frown. She was hot. She didn’t want more layers, though there was little she could do about it. Her arms and legs were so weak that she couldn’t move them anymore.

There had been too many days of silence now, and despite her natural instinct to be prickly and difficult, she wanted him to speak to her again. The man with the boots spoke the common tongue with ease, and to distract herself from the pain, she’d tried to picture him in her mind. She imagined that he was a raider, perhaps the man of a lord? Her mind wandered in circles, and she found herself back in Hest’s noisy marketplace, the most exotic market in Osterland. The sounds and smells came back to her and –

‘We will arrive soon.’

Jael’s head jerked up in surprise, though her throat was so drained of moisture that she could only croak in response. ‘Where? Where are you taking me?’ She needed a plan, though at that moment, she simply felt like dying. She had visions of tipping over the gunwale and plunging headfirst into the icy water. It would freeze her quickly, kill her almost immediately. The shock would give way to a peaceful end and...

Seeing Eadmund’s face before her as she sank into the darkness of her mind, she dropped her head, hearing her children’s laughter.

Seeing Milla’s smile.

She tried to clear her throat, to speak, though as she turned to the man, wishing she could see him, her ears started ringing, and everything went dark.

* * *

Bertel Knutson’s ears rang with the sounds of Karalos’ crowded marketplace.

Siggy had darted ahead of him, weaving through the clamour of people, and Edela was lagging behind him, and he was thoroughly discombobulated by it all. He tried calling for Siggy to slow down, then for Edela to hurry up, but both dreamers ignored him, and eventually, he turned his attention to the dogged merchant, who kept trying to tempt him with a tiny beaker of wine. Bertel’s throat had been dried by five days at sea, and he gulped it down with gusto. He blinked at the man, who was eyeing him enthusiastically, arms flapping before a barrel-like belly. ‘Why, that is quite...’ Bertel was lost for words. The wine had the sweetest, most complex flavours he’d ever savoured. It lingered in his mouth, coating his tongue, awakening his senses. The experience left him almost dazed.

‘Good?’ the merchant asked. ‘Good?’

Bertel nodded. ‘Most excellent, yes.’

A red-faced Edela pushed her way through to him. ‘You left!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought we were talking to that woman?’

‘What woman?’ Bertel was confused, nodding eagerly as the merchant now offered Edela one of the tiny glass beakers.

‘Wine?’ A red-faced Edela looked irritated. The heat was so intense that she was breathless, and if she had a choice, she would not have chosen wine. ‘Where’s Siggy?’ And distractedly sipping the wine, her head jerked around to Bertel in surprise. ‘But this is nectar!’ she declared. ‘Mmmm, quite lovely. No wonder this man has your attention.’ And finishing the wine, she handed the empty beaker back to the pleased merchant with a grateful smile.

‘He does, and he’d have a bag of my coins, too, if I knew where we might roll a barrel of wine to.’ Turning away from the dreamer, Bertel narrowed his eyes, seeing that the merchant had smaller casks on offer too.

Edela laughed. ‘Well, that is what I thought we were speaking to the woman about. She has rooms!’

Bertel looked optimistic. ‘Rooms with beds?’

‘So she says, though it was hard to understand her. But where is Siggy?’

Bertel didn’t know, quickly turning back to the wine merchant to begin negotiations.

‘I will search for her!’ Edela called, heading back into the crowd. Her dress clung to her as though stuck to her skin, which felt clammy from head to toe. She thought wistfully of a cold Brekkan winter or even a bitter Oss wind, wondering how she was going to survive such heat.

Siggy hurried towards her with a beaming smile, oblivious to the heat and the noise and the press of bodies. ‘Edela! They have a tiger!’

‘A what?’ And curious to see what the girl had found, Edela took her hand.

* * *

‘Bo can be a difficult princess,’ Biddy said with a wink at the dark-haired toddler, who was trying to pull down her brother’s trousers. It was their newest game and a rather silly one, Biddy thought, turning back to Milla Ulfsson, who was folding clothes beside her. ‘She will test you most of all. Sigmund may be older, but he tends to follow her lead.’

‘She seems sweet.’

‘Oh, she’s certainly sweet,’ Biddy agreed, lifting a basket of Sigmund’s clothes onto the bed, convinced that the little boy had grown out of his winter things. Though now was the time to prepare for what both children would need for the colder months. ‘Sweet at times, but a little sad too. She’s missing her parents, they both are, though Sigmund won’t say. He keeps things close, but Bo’s like the queen, so it all comes tumbling out her mouth. Try as I might, I could never get Jael to think before speaking. She still won’t!’

Biddy studied Milla, who was a cheerful girl. Bold and bright and unusually forthcoming. Just what a shy Fyn Gallas needed. ‘You’re welcome to choose another task if you like. There’s always help needed with the horses or in the kitchen. You don’t have to look after the children. I’ve been doing it most of my life, and I assure you, they’re easy enough.’

Milla smiled at her. ‘I was an only child, so I’ve always been drawn to children. I like the sound of them. All that noise? I missed it growing up. My father put me to work when I was very young, so I didn’t have much fun. Hopefully, I’ll have my own family one day.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ Biddy grinned. ‘Bo! What are you doing?’ And seeing that the little girl had taken off all her clothes, she hurried over to her. ‘I’m not liking this new game. Oh no, I’m not!’

Milla laughed, watching her try to put Bo’s clothes back on, though the little girl slid out of Biddy’s grasp like a wet dog, soon escaping the chamber. ‘I can get her,’ she offered as Biddy turned around, just in time to catch a naked Sigmund before he charged out after her.

‘Oh, thank you, Milla. Yes, please. Anything to stop the little mite from making more trouble!’

‘Of course. I’ll catch her and be right back.’ And turning for the door, Milla Ulfsson headed out in search of Jael’s daughter.

* * *

‘Do you hear that?’ Mattie called to Eadmund, who rode beside the wagon, eyes on the path ahead.

It disappeared around a corner, and he became more alert, straightening up for the first time in a while, trying to hear anything that might be waiting around that bend.

Riding behind the wagon, Fyn glanced at Thorgils, who shrugged back at him.

No one could hear a thing.

‘The crying! You can’t hear the crying? That great keening sound?’ Mattie was quickly overcome with emotion, tears in her eyes. ‘I...’ Her voice trailed off, and she shifted her attention to Otter, who rubbed against her arm as though trying to comfort the dreamer.

‘You can hear crying?’ Eadmund asked, trying to claim Mattie’s attention. She was sniffing now, forced to wipe away her tears so she could see where she was going.

‘We must hurry!’ And flapping the reins, Mattie urged her grey mare ahead of Eadmund, leading the way around the corner.

Holding out a hand, Fyn kept Thorgils back. ‘She might be leading us into a trap. We go around that corner and –’

Eadmund had turned Leada back for them, sensing their hesitation. ‘And we find out what she’s talking about!’ he snapped, refusing to believe that they’d made another bad decision by putting their faith in Mattie. ‘All I know is that we have to find Jael. We’re not going home without her. We can’t leave her out here, wherever she is. Mattie might be mad, but what of it? If she helps us find Jael, what of it?’ And clicking his tongue, he spun Leada around, spurring her after the wagon, pulling an unhappy Tig behind them.

* * *

Axl had sent men after Jael and Edela, and more to find Gant and inform him about what was happening. He felt on edge, unable to lean on his mother for support or advice, for she was in a permanent state of distress – unreasonable and unstable. Branwyn spent much of her time with her sister now, and Amma was always busy with a newly-widowed Getta.

So Axl turned to Hal for advice.

‘You’d be well within your rights to launch an assault on Iskavall,’ Hal told him as they headed to the training ring, wielding long wooden staffs. ‘That prick killed your brother. I’m surprised you haven’t thought to do so already.’ He winked at his friend. ‘My lord.’

‘Well, there’s been a lot happening,’ Axl offered in his defense. ‘A lot.’

Hal scoffed. ‘You’re the King of Brekka, so I imagine that will always apply, though excuses won’t matter when Oren Storgard’s at your gates. Then you’ll be armed with little more than regret, and that won’t do much.’

Axl stopped, nodding to the wife of one of his men, who bobbed her head as she bustled past. He was swimming in everyone’s sympathy and platitudes, though he couldn’t experience anything himself. And though he feared for his sister and grandmother, his wife and his kingdom, he felt entirely numb. ‘Osterland has many parts,’ he countered. ‘All linked by ancient loyalties. By grievances too. If one moves against another –’

‘What? But Brekka has the most resources of any kingdom! Hest has gold, but we have men. And you really think the Dragos’ pose a threat to us? Ha! But why would they seek to move against us? We’re allies! Surely Karsten Dragos would support you? To eliminate a potential enemy like this Oren Storgard? I’m sure Karsten would rather that you commanded the North than some stranger. Someone he couldn’t trust.’

A thoughtful Axl was tired of talking.

Upon reaching the training ring, he saw nearly every head turn his way. Everyone was looking to him for answers, wondering what he was going to do about Jael and Edela or the new threat in Iskavall or...

Sometimes it was just too much.

‘Think I’ll go for a ride instead,’ he decided, handing his staff to Hal. And without a word of explanation to his spluttering friend, Axl wheeled away, heading to the stables.

* * *

Mattie had gotten herself under control by the time they arrived at the small village of Orking, though it was quickly apparent that there was certainly something to cry about.

A great row of pyres blocked the village thoroughfare, around which groups of women wailed, clinging to each other in grief. Men with torches stood before them, waiting for the signal to light them, though the clattering noise of Mattie’s wagon drew their attention away, and seeing the strangers, two men left the ceremony to find out what they wanted.

‘What’s happening?’ Eadmund called from atop Leada, nudging his white mare towards the men.

‘Who are you?’ the younger man wanted to know with an aggressive jut of his bearded chin.

‘Travelled down from up North. We’re looking for someone,’ Eadmund said gruffly, for they’d all decided that answers would be easier to find if no one knew who they really were. And with both Edela and Jael missing and the dreamers being killed, there were many who might want to know the King of Oss’ whereabouts. Or Mattie’s, Eadmund thought, turning to the dreamer.

‘You don’t sound Iskavallan,’ the older man observed with narrowing eyes. ‘North where?’

‘We’ve come from Tuura,’ Mattie told them, clambering down from her wagon and bustling forward. ‘There was an attack, a terrible tragedy. Elders and dreamers were killed. We... we’re looking for someone who was taken from the fort.’

Her words claimed the attention of both men, who turned to her.

‘You were attacked?’ she prompted.

The younger man nodded, lips quivering now. ‘Most of the men were out in the fields. We heard the screams, but we didn’t get back in time, and they...’ He stifled a sob, turning away.

Thorgils dismounted. ‘Is there anything we can do? Do you need help?’

‘Just to find the bastards,’ the young man snapped, spinning around. ‘To find them and kill them!’

‘Though we won’t,’ his father assured him. ‘They’re long gone now.’

‘What makes you say that?’ Thorgils wondered as Fyn dismounted, keeping hold of Yara’s reins.

‘They weren’t from around here,’ the man told him. ‘They looked different, spoke different.’ He saw the men exchanging glances. ‘Why? Do you know them?’

‘Those men, no,’ Eadmund assured him. ‘But the woman we’re looking for? We believe she was taken by a band of outlaws. Perhaps Silurans?’ He peered intently at the young man, holding his breath.

‘Might have been, though I wasn’t here.’

‘Can you find someone who was?’ Mattie asked sweetly. ‘If we could find out where these men came from, we might discover in which direction they were headed.’

‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ the younger man announced, having pulled himself together. More men were arriving, wanting to know what was happening and who the strangers were. Dusk had turned the sky a heavy grey, and they wanted to light the pyres before the darkness was complete. Ignoring the impatient villagers, though, the younger man kept his eyes on Eadmund, who appeared to be the leader of the party. ‘I saw the tracks, the way they headed out of here.’

Eadmund held his breath, Thorgils was blinking, but it was Mattie who spoke. ‘Can you show us? Can you show us where they went?’

25

After a long ride on Eiyo, Axl had returned to the fort with a clearer head, though he was soon overwhelmed by a series of meetings that he mostly nodded through, tension rising once again. The changing situation in Iskavall demanded his attention, and the one in Valso, too, though his fears for his grandmother and sister pulled at him constantly.

Were they still alive?

Both women were dreamers, and Jael was a warrior.

Though no one was unstoppable.

Leaving the blacksmith’s, he glanced around, suddenly aware that he was late for supper and hungry too. Jael’s dream continued to unsettle him, and he fleetingly thought about employing a food taster. Karsten had one, he knew – his second. At their last meeting, he’d delightedly revealed how his first taster had died, poisoned by someone trying to kill the wealthy King of Hest.

Axl shook his head, unable to imagine what sort of person would take on such a job.

‘Hello,’ came a soft voice.

Spinning around, he saw Eren Venberg emerge from the shadows. His body tingled, and though it was dark, they were in public, and he didn’t move towards her. He wanted to see Amma, he remembered fleetingly, though as Eren drew closer, Axl stopped thinking about his wife entirely.

‘You were going to the hall?’ Eren asked, motioning with her hand for him to carry on.

Axl nodded, walking slowly now, allowing her to match his pace, and feeling awkward, he struggled for something to talk about. ‘I used to think harvest time was the busiest time of year, though now I’m not so sure. In winter, we’re trapped inside, and early spring, we’re emerging from our slumber, but that period just before summer hits? It feels like everyone is on the move, as though anything can happen.’

Eren was confused. ‘You are worried about our neighbours? Erling thinks they’ll attack. My father agrees.’

‘I’m keeping a close eye on Iskavall,’ Axl promised, sensing Eren coming closer, though he didn’t move away. ‘You needn’t worry. We’re safe here.’

Fighting the urge to touch his arm as they walked, Eren nodded, wrapping her fluttering cloak around her chest. ‘Though with everything that’s happening with your family, Axl, I do grow concerned for you.’

In the dark, her voice was both comforting and arousing, causing Axl to abandon all thoughts of supper. Then, turning into the square, he saw the braziers and torches illuminating the hall in the distance, and he imagined Gisila, Amma, and Getta waiting for him at the high table. ‘I will... come and see you soon,’ he promised, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands. Grabbing his belt, he fiddled with his sword hilt. ‘Though now I must go. My family will be wondering where I am.’ He smiled regretfully before striding away.

Eren stared after him for some time, feeling confused. Had she done something to push him away? Or was it simply his pregnant wife tugging at his heartstrings?

‘Have you lost your little puppy?’ Hal wondered snarkily, tapping her shoulder. ‘Has he run back to his wife again?’

Spinning around to him, Eren masked her irritation with a smile. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hal dear. I was merely discussing the king’s family. He is worried about his missing sister and grandmother. Concerned for their safety.’

Hal snorted derisively. ‘Their safety? Perhaps he worries for Edela, for what king doesn’t want a useful dreamer by his side? But his sister? Ha! I promise you, despite any appearances to the contrary, our beloved king couldn’t care less about what happens to that irritating woman.’

Eren felt much the same about Axl’s snarling sister, though she didn’t respond, and hurrying to extract herself from Hal Harbak, she sought to return to her cottage. She would have to come up with a plan, a way back into Axl’s heart.

For she could certainly feel him starting to push her out of it.

* * *

The Orking villagers showed Eadmund, Thorgils, Fyn, and Mattie where the raiders had left from.

‘I followed them!’ called a boy with long, matted hair and a dirty face. ‘They didn’t see me! I followed them!’

Everyone’s attention shifted from the stern-faced adults down to the beaming child, who appeared no older than nine.

‘Why?’ Eadmund wondered, crouching down. ‘Weren’t you scared?’

The boy shook his head. ‘They didn’t see me! I can hide from man or beast!’ Though suddenly aware of how many adults were staring down at him, he grew quieter.

‘How long did you follow them for?’ Eadmund asked, trying to claim the fidgeting boy’s attention.

‘I can show you, but... it’s dark now,’ he said. ‘Better when it’s light.’

‘Did they have anyone with them?’ Thorgils wanted to know. ‘A prisoner?’

Eager to help and hoping for a coin or two, the boy nodded up at the big man. ‘They carried someone over a horse! Like they were an animal!’

Eadmund glanced back at Thorgils before returning his attention to the boy. Heart racing, he was almost too afraid to speak. ‘Was the prisoner... alive?’

The boy shrugged. ‘Their face was hidden, so I don’t know.’

Placing a hand on his shoulder, Eadmund peered at him. ‘In the morning, come and find us. We’ll need you to show us where to go.’

Thorgils was quick with a coin, tousling the boy’s matted hair. ‘There’ll be more of this tomorrow, so you come and find us, you hear?’

The boy nodded enthusiastically, big eyes on the coin he now held in a dirty hand.

‘What’s your name?’ Eadmund asked, barely breaking through that trance of joy.

‘Olaf,’ the boy breathed. ‘My name is Olaf.’

And then he was gone, scampering away to hide his prize.

‘We don’t want to interfere with your grieving,’ Eadmund told the men, body vibrating with the need to get going, though the darkness was now complete, and a rest and some food would serve them better than charging into the night with little sense of where to go.

‘You’re welcome to stay,’ a pock-marked man told him, having seen the flash of coins in Thorgils’ pouch. ‘We’ve food and drink and fires to warm yourselves by, though we must see to our dead first.’

Eadmund nodded as the man handed him his torch and moved away with the rest of the villagers back to the pyres.

An oddly quiet Mattie eyed the men, keeping her thoughts to herself.

Eventually, Thorgils spoke. ‘We need to be up early tomorrow. I don’t want to get stuck here.’

‘We’ll leave them behind at first light,’ Eadmund promised. ‘Poor sods. Can’t imagine such a cruel fate. Who are these people? What do they want?’

‘And what do they want with Jael?’ Thorgils murmured as they headed back to the village.

‘I don’t know,’ Eadmund sighed. ‘But hopefully, something that means they’ll keep her alive.’

* * *

Jael woke up.

She felt as though she’d been trapped in a dream for days. It was hard to discern what was real. Perhaps she was still in that dream, for the dawn light peeking through the sides of her mask was more intense than anything she’d seen before. And then, further surprised when her mask was finally pulled off, she blinked and gaped, trying to see. It was as though the gods had painted the entire sky orange. It glowed, in parts burnished and intense, in other places, luminescent and bright. The great sparkling glare of it blinded her so that it felt as though her eyes were weeping.

Then a man shoved her, and unbalanced, wrists and ankles still locked into fetters, she toppled over, crying out in surprise.

She heard laughter from the crew, and then more. Voices were rising in the distance like a swarm of bees. She heard roosters crowing, bells clanging, a great hive of activity coming to life in the distance.

‘We are here.’

‘Here? Where’s here?’ Jael rasped, desperate for something to drink as she peered up at the dark shadow of a man standing over her. She couldn’t shade her eyes and had to mostly close them against the harsh glare.

‘Home. Your new home.’

* * *

Axl woke to the news that a band of Iskavallans had been spotted on his western border near Rissna, though he didn’t interrupt his breakfast, wanting to convey the impression, however it managed to filter back to Oren Storgard, that the King of Brekka wasn’t troubled by his games.

Hal arrived, quickly helping himself to bacon and flatbreads while Axl finished his smoked eel. It was usually a meal he savoured, though he may as well have been eating his own napkin.

Eventually, they headed to the meeting room where Gisila was waiting with Amma and Getta.

That was a surprise, and Axl pulled up, blinking at his mother.

‘I thought that without Gant and Erling, it made sense to include other members of our family with close ties to Iskavall. And no one understands what is happening there more than Getta. Isn’t that right, my dear?’ Gisila said with an encouraging smile. She had made a point of bringing the now-former Queen of Iskavall under her wing, wanting her to feel comfortable in Andala, knowing that it would be so good for Amma to have an ally. At times, Gisila felt that the poor girl was entirely alone, apart from Axl, and she knew from experience that relying on your husband for company was a futile endeavour.

‘Of... course,’ Axl smiled, indicating for an equally stunned Hal to sit, aware that his steward had hurried in behind them and was busy organising refreshments. ‘It makes perfect sense. We need all the insight we can glean about the Storgards.’

‘Well, I’m not certain I have anything approaching insight,’ Getta muttered in that dour way of hers. Her hazel eyes were lifeless, her face generally free of expression unless she was frowning. ‘The family is hideous, their years of grievance longstanding. They made attempts to claim the throne over the years but so did many others. Oren Storgard, though, is a singular sort of man. I warned Raymon about him.’ Getta couldn’t keep the resentment out of her voice. Her husband had always chosen to listen to his mother over her, and then, when Ravenna died, he turned to other advisors, pushing her away.

‘Why?’ Axl wanted to know.

‘Because he seemed the slipperiest of them all. The most intelligent. Some were skilled with weapons, strutting about making threats, but Oren was polite and pleasing at all times. And knowing his family, it made me suspicious. The Storgards had always championed the idea of reclaiming Brekka –’

‘Reclaiming?’ Gisila looked surprised. ‘When did Brekka ever belong to Iskavall?’

Axl answered as Gerald leaned across the table to fill his goblet. ‘The fact that they’re using words like reclaim tells you everything you need to know about their grievances, Mother. Some Iskavallan families believe they were wrongly sidelined. That their lands were taken by the Furycks when Brekka was formed. They still think they can take them back, as though retrieving a wandering cow.’

Getta nodded. ‘And with Oren Storgard on the throne, things will move quickly. He has been patient for years, though now nothing stands in his way.’

Hal was nodding gravely. ‘Though we have fortified the settlements along the border.’

‘And what about Helsabor?’ Gisila wondered, holding out her silver goblet to Gerald, for though she had only just finished breakfast, fear was drying her throat.

‘Helsabor?’ Axl was confused.

‘Have you sent emissaries to Angard, to King Herold, for I’m sure Oren Storgard has,’ Gisila warned her son. ‘Herold Valens is a strange old man, and we can’t be certain of what he’ll decide to do. He reminds me of Haaron Dragos. A hard, ambitious, single-minded old man, and like Haaron Dragos, he will see his family as pieces on a gaming board. So if Oren Storgard reaches him first, offering something that matches his own ambitions, why wouldn’t he listen?’

‘Karsten’s wedding will be worth attending,’ Axl decided, having thought it an inconvenience before. ‘A chance to meet Iskavall’s new king, to truly judge his intentions for myself. To speak to both Karsten and Herold Valens too.’

A quiet Amma squirmed, having only bad memories of her time in the South.

‘We must go along, Sister,’ Getta told her, squeezing her hand. ‘Your husband will not push the Iskavallans back with weapons alone. Diplomacy is a battle in itself, and we must all be ready to do our part.’

Hal was surprised by Getta’s measured maturity. Last time he’d seen her, she’d been a sneering girl, looking down on all those who weren’t Furycks or potential kings. Now, though, she appeared calmer and far less quick with her tongue. She wasn’t pretty, her face didn’t attract him, her figure was mostly hidden but certainly small-featured. She wore drab clothes and was drab herself, though he was intrigued by her strength, which was a most attractive quality indeed.

‘We must take a worthy gift,’ Amma decided, eyes on her husband, who looked thoughtful opposite her. ‘Something to show ourselves as allies, ones who value the friendship of the Southern kingdoms.’

‘Yes, that is exactly what we must do!’ Gisila exclaimed. ‘The queens and I can help you there, Axl.’

Axl nodded. ‘I would appreciate it. If you can help prepare for the trip, I can focus on our defenses. And speaking of which, Hal, I think I’ll send you out to check the border settlements. I want to know how they fare and what they need, but I must remain here.’

Hal nodded, not minding that assignment, for he certainly wanted to check on Brekka’s defenses himself.

And though they continued to discuss Iskavall, Gisila’s mind wandered, trying to decide on the perfect wedding gift, working hard not to think about her missing mother and her missing daughter and what might have happened to them...

* * *

Jael was hoisted into a wagon, thrown down like a dead body. The pain of her landing had her seeing stars for some time, unable to truly take in any of her surroundings as the wagon lurched over cobblestones, jerking to a stop every now and then.

Men laughed whenever she yelped, though she didn’t care what they thought. She didn’t care about them at all. The only man who appeared to speak the common tongue grabbed her arm, squeezing it as he pulled her up into a sitting position, wedging her between two sacks of what smelled like wheat.

The man with the boots.

‘You are weaker than I thought you’d be,’ he smiled, showing off a gold tooth. ‘More like a woman too.’

Jael hadn’t seen anything for days. She squinted at him, wanting to remember every feature. His eyes were deep-set, almost black, his skin golden-brown, covered in stubble. He looked tired, she thought. Weary. Slightly on edge too. He had no tattoos that she could see, no branding marks on his face or hands, though Jael felt certain that he was like the other men who’d been in Tuura.

Siluran.

She blinked, relieved to be sitting up, though the heat made it hard to breathe. She could smell the ocean and so much more, surprised to feel no cooling breeze on her skin.

It was hot.

The wagon now entered a tunnel, and though the heat lingered, at least the sun was no longer beating down on her. ‘Who are you?’ And licking burning lips, she peered at him, desperately trying to read his thoughts.

‘I’m someone who doesn’t give a shit about you,’ the man grinned. ‘What? You think I can help you?’

Jael’s mind darted about, sensing that danger was imminent, trying to squeeze any information into her exhausted mind. ‘I think you took me, so no, I don’t imagine you can help me. I don’t want your help, don’t need it. I just want to understand...’ Running out of breath, she inhaled deeply.

He laughed. ‘Oh, but I’m no more than a mule, Queen of Oss. A mule transporting you to your final destination.’ Opening his calloused hands, he laughed some more. ‘I do my job, what is asked of me. I have no information you can use to aid the escape I’m certain you’ll attempt to make.’

Jael didn’t need to see into his mind to know that he was lying. ‘But why choose to be a mule when you could be the King of...’ She could only guess. ‘Silura?’

‘Ahhh, so perhaps those fetters do work?’ he laughed. ‘It seems that you’re not as powerful as you thought you were. Not when you are blind.’

‘I’ve been to Silura. Likely you’re a man of the king. The king who wants to ransom me to my husband.’

The man laughed some more. ‘You are more entertaining than I imagined. I should have taken off your mask long ago. Think of all the conversations we could have had!’

‘I can make you rich,’ Jael told him.

‘You think that I am poor?’

‘I think you do another’s bidding. A rich man has no need to do so.’

‘Ha! But this island is no pebble in an icy sea. Not a primitive kingdom like Brekka either. You say you’ve been to the Fire Lands, yet you speak without knowledge, queen. There are more rich men in those desert kingdoms than you could ever imagine, but they all answer to others. It is the way. The only way to survive.’

The wagon jolted again, a wheel dipping down into a rut, and Jael was unable to stop herself falling onto the gold-toothed mule.

‘Do not seek my help,’ he warned, gripping her shoulders and pushing her back. ‘You cannot afford to. There is not enough gold in Osterland to make me betray my mistress.’

‘And who is she?’ Jael wanted to know as the wagon lurched forward again.

The man’s attention shifted to the gates the wagon now stopped outside, and Jael saw that the smile had gone from his eyes.

26

‘I need more sleep,’ Mattie Bilso huffed, disappointed by the early start. ‘How am I supposed to uncover any clues if I’m not asleep?’ Leaning on her wagon, she yawned, well aware that she’d uncovered no answers at all. She had gone to sleep with the cries of the grieving still ringing in her ears, and she’d struggled to bring any dreams to her. It had felt as though the dead were lingering, their distress too demanding for any other thoughts to intrude.

Scratching Otter under the chin and tweaking his white-tipped ears, she sought to brighten her mood.

‘Do you take that cat everywhere?’ a tired Fyn grumbled. He’d slept just as poorly. The smell from the pyres had been overpowering and disturbing, intruding on his own dreams, and he’d woken up feeling strange.

Thorgils farted loudly beside him, earning a laugh from Olaf, the orphan boy, who stood before them, eager to earn another coin.

‘They went this way,’ he told them, wrinkling his nose at the rank odour before scurrying behind a hedge of bracken.

Eadmund frowned. ‘You’re telling me that an army of men on horses went that way?’

Popping out from behind the bracken, Olaf peered up at him. ‘No, my lord,’ he said deliberately, as though explaining things to a child. ‘I went this way, they went that way.’ And now he pointed to where Eadmund could see the contours of a path. Olaf kept moving through the bracken, burrowing like a mole. ‘Keep going down the road, and I’ll show you!’ he called.

Mattie popped Otter into the wagon and mounted her bench. Picking up the reins, she clicked her tongue, urging her equally half-asleep horse after Thorgils, who was eager to see where Olaf was leading them.

A tense Eadmund, mostly silent since he’d woken, shoulders like slags of iron atop an aching body, nudged Leada after them.

‘There!’ Olaf cried when he eventually popped out from behind the great hedge of bracken, pointing west.

The road carried on ahead, though Eadmund could see that where Olaf stood, a narrow path had been carved through the trees. ‘And where does this lead?’ he asked the boy, whose eyes, he could sense, were already dropping to his swordbelt, where his pouch was secured.

‘To the sea!’ Olaf told him. ‘It’s a shortcut. It’s not easy to get through, but they must have known what they were doing. It would’ve saved them time!’

Eadmund glanced back at Mattie’s wagon, which he could see, was too wide to make it through. And judging by the scowl on the dreamer’s face, he was in for an argument about that. Perhaps he’d just leave Fyn to deal with her, he thought with a rare grin, turning around.

‘It will save us days!’ Olaf added, trying to get his attention.

Eadmund turned back with a frown. ‘We won’t be taking you, boy.’

‘But I... I can hunt! I’m an expert with my slingshot. See?’ And Olaf pulled a makeshift weapon from his hole-ridden trousers. ‘And no one will miss me. They won’t even know I’ve gone!’

‘I’m not sure that’s true, but either way, where we’re heading only leads to danger. Of that, I’m certain.’ And not waiting for more protests, Eadmund turned towards Mattie, leaving Thorgils to console the disappointed boy.

Mattie jumped down from her wagon in a fluster, already anticipating what the king would say. ‘I didn’t leave Tuura behind on a whim, and I don’t intend to turn around now! No, I’ll just need to return my wagon to the village, fill my saddlebags and get something for Otter to travel in. He’ll ride with me.’

Eadmund nodded, feeling relieved.

They had a clue, and now they just needed to move with haste.

* * *

The wagon clattered through the now open gates. They were bronze, heavy and secure, and unadorned, giving no hint of what lay beyond them.

And what lay beyond them was another short tunnel, which soon led into a courtyard. There was little to see here but the stone facades of tall buildings. Again, nothing that revealed any clues about where Jael was.

‘Who lives here?’ she asked, though her gold-toothed companion ignored her.

Not a king, she decided. Or at least, no king she knew of.

The King of Silura lived in the Sarsita Gardens, an ancient palace dedicated to the gods. It was a lush oasis in the desert, a heavily-guarded compound. He would not have abandoned such a sacred relic for something shiny and new.

No, she decided, wincing as the fetters rubbed against her sores. No, this was someone else entirely.

The wagon jerked to a stop before another set of bronze gates, and once again, Jael lost her balance, flopping around like a trussed goat.

Her minder snatched her arm, pulling her so close that she could smell his breath, his lips brushing her cheek as he sought to deliver a final message. ‘Know that you cannot escape here. It is a labyrinth. A maze with many layers of security, carefully constructed to keep everyone in. There is no escape for those who live here. Try to leave and you will fail.’ He stared intently into her eyes now, surprised that he had not noticed their beauty before. And distracted for a moment, he softened his voice. ‘Your reputation tells me that you won’t listen to any warnings.’ Now he smirked, shaking his head. ‘Though try to, Jael Furyck, for death will not be offered if you are caught. Not for you. For you, there will be only pain.’

Jael shivered.

And then he was tugging her across the wagon to where a stool had been provided to help them dismount.

Looking up, Jael saw billowing curtains streaming from a window, reminded of clouds, and of Edela, and of what she had gone to Tuura to do.

* * *

Bertel attempted to speak, though he quickly dropped his head, retching into a bucket.

Edela scowled at him, hating the terrible sound. It made her retch herself, and she spun away towards Siggy, who was shuddering with disgust. ‘You could have made it outside, Bertel!’ she spluttered. ‘Perhaps we should leave him to it?’ she whispered to the girl, who nodded eagerly, following Edela through the door.

Bertel turned after them in surprise before his attention was quickly drawn back to the bucket, which he hurled into again.

They had been dropped on the exotic island of Karalos, the largest in an archipelago of fourteen islands known as Illonia. It wasn’t where Edela thought she was meant to be, though until she could map out their next destination, it gave them a chance to rest and think. Though it was taking time to get used to the food offered by their landlady, who laced every meal with spices of pure fire. Only Siggy seemed to be coping with the change in diet. Both Edela and Bertel had spent many hours lingering in the latrine or bent over a bucket.

Heading away from the cottage, perched on the side of a sheer cliff, Edela inhaled breaths of warm, salty air. ‘I think we should cook for ourselves tonight. What do you say? I’m sure you could catch us a fish. We could roast it in the fire, find some leeks or onions, perhaps a radish? We’d have an easier time of things that way. Certainly, poor Bertel would.’

Siggy hopped down the uneven stone steps before her, eyes on the crews shouting at each other below in the cove. The smell of fish wafted up to her, and she turned back to Edela. ‘Or we could just buy one? From them?’

Edela doubted they’d have any coins left if they kept purchasing everything they needed, though perhaps it made sense to focus on matters of more importance than keeping their bellies full? ‘We could, yes. But later, I think. It’s too hot to do so now, and I can’t imagine Bertel would appreciate the smell of fish while he’s hugging that bucket!’ She chuckled as Siggy jumped down onto the ground with a flourish.

‘I like it here,’ the girl declared with a beaming smile. ‘I’ve never been somewhere so pretty. And the sky? It’s the bluest of blues I’ve ever seen!’ She spun around, holding out her arms in delight, curly hair flapping behind her in the breeze.

Edela had ridden steadily rising waves of terror since their escape from Tuura and then Ollsvik, though she sought to project a sense of calm for the girl. Normalcy, too, amongst all that was so strange and new. ‘Well, I think I agree with you there. The view is neck-breaking, and there is so much to see!’ Her smile faltered, though, when Siggy turned towards a stone ledge, running at a flock of gulls, who squawked into the air.

‘Will we stay here long?’ Siggy wanted to know, coming back to take Edela’s arm. Karalos’ narrow streets were paved with uneven stones, some poking up, loose after centuries of wear, and she saw that Edela had become distracted by the need to maintain her balance. ‘And where will we go next?’ Now Siggy released Edela’s arm, nudging the old dreamer ahead of her down a steep flight of steps leading to the beach. ‘Be careful!’ she warned.

Edela closed her mouth, holding out an arm as she moved down the steps, relieved to make it onto the white sand. Turning back to Siggy, she was almost swept away by a sudden gust of wind. ‘Oh! It’s wild down here!’

Siggy took hold of her again, and they headed further down the beach, aiming for a rocky outcrop, where a row of small-sized boulders offered themselves up like benches to sit upon. ‘Did you know we would come here? Is something here?’

Edela smiled. ‘If I were to teach you one thing about being a dreamer, Siggy, it’s that most things don’t make sense! Not at first. Ideas are like sparks bursting before your eyes, and oftentimes you reach for the wrong one. Perhaps it’s the brightest, the most alluring, though it is not necessarily the one meant for you.’ She sunk into the sand, leaning on an angle, and laughing, she reached out for the girl.

A smiling Siggy tugged her towards the boulders. ‘So you think we’ve gone in the wrong direction?’

‘Oh no, I don’t think wrong is the word I’d use. We’ve landed here for a reason, and once we separate Bertel from his bucket, we’ll be able to sniff around and discover why!’

* * *

Jael was surprised to find herself once again inside a tunnel, though this time she was walking, or at least trying to.

‘What is your name?’ she asked the gold-toothed man, who gripped her arm, attempting to hurry her along. The fetters were chained together, and keeping her balance required her to move with speed. In the oppressive heat, it kept her breathless.

Her minder laughed, squeezing her arm, needing to keep pace with the torchbearers ahead of them, for every time they turned a corner, the tunnel was plunged into darkness.

That was odd, Jael thought, seeing no sconces along the stone walls, nowhere to keep a torch to light the path. Perhaps someone didn’t want anyone finding it? Though just as she thought it, she saw armed guards with torches waiting up ahead, and she grew concerned, certain that she was approaching her destination.

‘You want to know my name? For what purpose?’

‘Well, you being my only friend,’ Jael grinned. ‘And besides, you know mine.’ Information was useful, she knew, and so far, this man was the only one she could understand. Knowing who he was could be valuable indeed.

He shrugged, not caring either way. ‘Arras Sikari. Happy?’

‘Happy,’ she declared, wincing as he jerked her around the corner, leading her towards a single door, where, for the first time, she saw decorative swirls and symbols.

She could smell something sweet too.

‘This is where I leave you,’ Arras told her, and releasing his precious cargo, he watched as she wobbled before him, seeking her equilibrium.

Jael blinked at him in surprise.

‘Do not fear, Jael Furyck. You will be well taken care of inside.’

There was always the worry of what lay beyond closed doors, Jael thought.

An enemy for certain. Pain, she assumed. Discomfort and misery.

But this door, in particular, left her feeling afraid.

The door soon groaned open, immediately rendering Jael speechless, for it had welcomed in the most unexpected sight: a lush and verdant garden brimming with people. Though she was quickly torn away from admiring the splendour of the gardens by the sharp tone of a squat middle-aged woman, who tugged her inside, speaking with venomous impatience that had Jael confident she would soon be spat upon.

She turned back to Arras Sikari, wanting him to translate, though he was gone, as were the men with torches, and she was left staring into the darkness of the empty tunnel. She watched the door slam shut as the woman ordered two guards to move her along. And eyeing her sternly, the spitting woman bustled through the gardens, turning right, then left with surprising speed, and soon they were once again at another set of doors, though these were fixed open, and Jael could see that she was being taken into a bathhouse.

Scores of women stood around in various states of undress. Others were submerged in deep pools or having their hair washed.

All of them looked miserable.

The squat woman flapped her hand at the guards to leave, and grabbing Jael’s jaw, she moved her head around, inspecting her face, prying open her lips and peering at her teeth. She lifted Jael’s tunic, pulled down her trousers and turned her around. Jael’s feet tangled, and she nearly fell, resisting the urge to turn back and clobber the woman, though she barely had the strength to lift her own arms. The open sores beneath the fetters pulsed like flames, and the occasional attack of shivers warned her that they were festering.

A girl appeared.

Her shining black hair was straight, cropped short. She had a cheerful face, though gaunt. Her cheeks were sunken, though when she smiled, Jael spotted a dimple. There was an energy about her, confidence, too, and she looked Jael in the eyes, smiling more broadly. ‘You are too old,’ the girl grinned at her. ‘That’s what Marsa says. Too old and ruined by all those scars, though she likes your teeth, and she says your eyes are pleasing. Pleasing but angry.’

Jael was confused. ‘You speak the common tongue?’

The girl nodded. ‘I’m Sunni. I help translate for all the slaves. I’m Marsa’s assistant, though I help everyone. You’ll find me when you need me!’

The woman, Marsa, had turned away, issuing orders as various similarly dressed slaves trundled past with downcast expressions. None wore chains, Jael saw, though they looked imprisoned nonetheless. ‘Why am I too old?’ she asked the girl. ‘For what purpose?’

‘For the harem,’ Sunni said, brown cheeks showing hints of pink. ‘The lords only like pretty young girls. You have to be no more than twenty years. Marsa can tell that you’re older than that.’ Sunni could see Jael’s scars herself. Some shimmered across her back like long white snakes. Others were pink and raised. She saw faded bruises too. It made her curious and confused, then her face brightened again. ‘You are a warrior. Like a man!’

Jael laughed. ‘Well, I am a warrior, that’s true.’ And seeing that Marsa wouldn’t be distracted for long, she hurried to pry Sunni for information. ‘What is this place? Where am I?’

‘You’re in S’ala Nis! It means the Shadow Isle. It’s a hidden place, a secret kingdom. It’s the home of Queen Kalina. She’s the richest woman in the Fire Lands! The most beautiful too!’

‘S’ala... Nis?’ Jael was dazed, not having heard of it before. She turned to the girl with more questions, though Sunni was quickly cuffed around the ears as Marsa turned her attention back to the Queen of Oss. And soon, she was bellowing orders to two men, who grabbed Jael under the armpits and hauled her away.

* * *

Fyn was thoughtful as he rode, distracted and mostly unaware of his surroundings, and before he knew it, he was riding beside Mattie, who didn’t appear comfortable on her horse. Otter, the cat, bounced along happily in a satchel on her back, though the dreamer fidgeted constantly.

Fyn blinked as though seeing them both for the first time. ‘You don’t like riding?’

Mattie peered at him from beneath a thick wheat-coloured fringe. ‘I don’t wish to burden any animal with my weight. They weren’t created by the gods to ferry us around, so we shouldn’t treat them as though they were.’

Fyn’s attention wandered to the brown cat with the white-tipped ears. ‘Though you like cats?’

‘And you don’t?’

Fyn shrugged. ‘I’ve nothing against cats, though I... prefer dogs.’

‘So you have a dog then? On Oss?’

Fyn shook his head.

‘A wife? A sweetheart?’

Now Fyn smiled, thinking of Milla. ‘I...’ Then he shrugged. ‘I live with my father, Bram. It’s just the two of us.’ And not wanting to talk about himself, he hurried on. ‘And you? You have a cat but no one else? Is that because you’re a dreamer?’

Mattie laughed. ‘Dreamers aren’t bound by any decrees. We can do whatever we like! And yes, I live alone with Otter. It suits me. It is... what I have. My life now.’

Fyn heard sadness in her voice, though much like him, she immediately started talking about something else.

‘What are your plans for if we come across the men who’ve stolen your queen? The three of you?’

‘And a dreamer,’ Fyn reminded her. ‘I’ve seen what dreamers can do. Magic,’ he breathed, pleased by the flicker of curiosity in Mattie’s big eyes. ‘I’ve seen both dark and light.’

‘You have?’ Mattie nudged her old mare towards Fyn, lowering her voice. ‘Well, please, tell me more...’

* * *

‘You are better!’ Edela declared, seeing Bertel stretching his legs on the little stone porch outside their cottage when they returned. Siggy hurried around the back to use the latrine while Edela mounted the steep steps, muttering to herself. As much as she appreciated Karalos’ beauty, everywhere she went required great physical exertion, and she was puffing as she stopped before a still pale-faced Bertel.

‘I am somewhat better,’ he clarified with a groan. ‘Though any sudden movement or intense odours and I’m certain to return to that bucket again!’

Edela laughed, taking the nearest stool, shoulders dropping in relief as Bertel took the one opposite, both of them turning their eyes to the sky and then the sea.

‘What are we doing here, Edela?’ Bertel asked, sweeping a hand around the breathtaking view. ‘What is there to find?’

Edela still didn’t know, for though she kept telling herself that the path would soon be revealed, she felt doubts creeping in. Though, seeing how miserable Bertel looked, she conjured up a smile. ‘I have a feeling that we won’t find it until we find it!’ she said, giving a non-answer, which Bertel didn’t appear to hear.

‘Well, I, for one am determined not to eat any more of that woman’s cooking,’ he groused, referring to the woman they were renting the cottage from. She’d been a hospitable hostess, though he couldn’t face another mouthful of her strange food.

‘It’s for the best,’ Edela grinned. ‘And we can certainly feed ourselves.’ She saw Siggy returning, waving at them from the bottom of the steps, and though she was certain a few more hours were needed to feel anywhere near refreshed, Edela patted Bertel’s hand and stood. ‘Come along then. We won’t find any answers sitting around here, staring at the view!’ Glancing down at a non-moving Bertel, she held out a hand. ‘I will need your coins today, I think. If we come across a hat, I must buy it. Oh, wouldn’t Biddy be pleased with me!’ And chuckling to herself, Edela frowned at the steps and started walking back down them.

27

‘You need to take the fetters off!’ Jael growled, trying to make herself understood. She shook her head at the women, who were washing her as ferociously as Biddy scrubbed the dogs after they’d been rolling in horseshit. ‘Ow!’ she yelped, trying to protect her ribs as the women sought to move her arms, becoming as annoyed by the restraints as Jael.

Working to control her temper, she clenched her jaw and bit her teeth together as the two women lathered her hair with fragrant soap. She didn’t recognise any of the scents, though mixed together, they created an aroma more pleasant than anything she’d inhaled in days. And after rinsing her hair in the cool water, they started an argument, which soon had Jael fearing that they were debating whether to cut her hair. ‘Where’s Sunni?’ she asked. ‘Sunni?’

They turned to her then, recognising the name.

‘Can you bring Sunni here? To me?’

Though unable to understand her, the two women carried on arguing.

Jael wasn’t the only one being washed like a dog. She saw scores of women standing around, stripped of their clothes and their dignity, confused by what was happening as they waited in rows like drenched rats.

Slaves.

Prisoners.

As she was, Jael realised. Though she was the only one bound and, therefore, the only one who needed others to wash her.

The round ball called Marsa waddled back, shouting orders, and, to Jael’s relief, Sunni was trotting along beside her. Other women walked behind them, handing out light-grey dresses and strange-looking shoes to each of the new slaves.

She blinked at Marsa, who appeared to only possess the one expression – an irritable sort of scorn – and quickly shifting her attention to Sunni, she tried to explain that she didn’t want the women cutting her hair.

Eager to be helpful, Sunni spoke to the taller woman, who explained that they were simply deciding how to braid Jael’s hair, though the girl was soon hit on the back of the head by Marsa, who spat something at her.

Sunni grimaced, slipping out of reach. ‘Marsa is in charge of the female slaves,’ she explained. ‘It’s her job to keep them clean and tidy, healthy, too, so they can do their jobs.’

‘Marsa,’ Jael repeated.

Sunni smirked. ‘It means witch.’

‘Is that her real name?’

Sunni shook her head. ‘No, it’s my name for her. Yours, too, if you like!’

And quickly cuffed again, Sunni went quiet as Marsa started shouting orders at Jael’s helpers. When she was finished, she spat out more instructions to Sunni, inclining her head towards Jael.

‘They will remove the chains,’ Sunni explained. ‘But you must wear the...’ She didn’t know the word. ‘Things around your arms and legs.’

‘What? No!’ Jael was furious, certain she had no hope of escaping while the fetters remained on. ‘I have wounds,’ she told her. ‘Around my wrists. They’re festering, painful. I might die!’ She had to make it as simple for the girl to understand as possible. ‘See?’ She tried to move the fetters to show her wrist to Marsa, who soon became angrier, waving a hand around. Though Sunni could see the wounds, and she worked to convince the woman of the seriousness of the situation.

Jael held her breath, though Marsa barely lifted an eyebrow at what the girl was saying. Eventually, Sunni finished speaking, and Marsa pushed her away, leaving Jael behind with a few final orders to the bathers.

* * *

‘Could we go for a swim?’ Siggy wondered, turning around to Edela and Bertel with gleaming eyes. ‘It’s so hot!’

Edela had peeled her dress off her back more times than she could count, though it had been so many years since she’d gone swimming that she laughed. ‘Well, you can, of course. We’ll go down to the beach on the way back to the cottage, so I’m sure you can splash around like a duck.’ Her attention was suddenly diverted by the loud honking of an actual duck, a drake, who waddled around in the centre of an alley, demanding everyone’s attention.

‘He’s looking to get eaten,’ a sweating Bertel grumbled. ‘What a horrid noise!’

‘I imagine he’s calling for his wife,’ Edela told him with a gentle prod. ‘That’s love, that is. Wanting to be with your companion.’

‘Mmmm, not sure I ever needed to know about that,’ Bertel assured her. ‘I’m thoroughly content on my own.’ He jerked his head in surprise as Edela made a beeline for the honking duck. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’ve got a feeling!’ the old dreamer called over her shoulder. ‘Come on!’

And seeing Edela almost running after the duck, Siggy skipped past Bertel, hurrying after her.

Eventually, Bertel threw up his hands, and muttering irritably, he followed, urging them both to slow down.

Edela followed the duck, who didn’t appear to want her following him, and he flapped his wings, moving with speed, honking even louder. Eventually, he came to the end of the alley, and after shitting on the step of a narrow, two-storeyed house, he took off into the air, leaving his pursuers behind.

Staring after him in puzzlement, Edela didn’t hear Bertel calling behind her, though she did feel Siggy tugging her sleeve.

‘Look!’ the girl cried, pointing to the door.

Edela squinted, seeing a symbol carved into the blue-painted wood. And shivering with excitement, she hurried forward, leaving Bertel to ask Siggy what was happening. ‘You stay out here!’ Edela told them. ‘I’ll go inside and enquire!’

‘About what? Who’s even in there, Edela? You don’t know!’ Bertel warned, watching as the dreamer stepped around the heap of duck droppings and knocked on the door. ‘Edela!’

She turned around with a wink, breathless with anticipation. ‘Go and take Siggy for a swim. I’ll come and find you!’ The door opened, revealing an incredibly tall woman. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, tipping back her head.

The statuesque woman peered down at Edela with ice-blue eyes. ‘Please,’ she said in a velvety voice, motioning with a beringed hand. ‘Please, come in.’

Edela heard an odd rustling sound, as though leaves were blowing through the house, and feeling slightly unsettled but mostly intrigued, she stepped inside.

* * *

Sunni had a busy job, Jael could see, as the girl rushed back and forth across the bathhouse, translating for the many new slaves, who, like Jael, didn’t know what was going on.

Her eyes soon drifted away from the energetic girl to the lethargic Marsa, who now watched from a chair, eating a juicy piece of orange-coloured fruit. The juice often ran down her chin, small drips falling onto her bosom, though she didn’t appear to notice and rarely wiped them away.

Marsa had other helpers, too, who used hand movements and the odd grunting noise to explain what the women were expected to do.

It was training, Jael realised, taking everything in.

There were guards at the doors to the bathhouse – eight men – who appeared to be enjoying themselves, pointing and laughing as the women were ordered about, some of them still naked.

Jael’s thoughts drifted as she went over everything she had seen since arriving, trying to think of a way out and of what might be possible.

Nothing, she soon realised, feeling dejected. Nothing was possible while the fetters remained around her wrists and ankles.

When Sunni came running back with more of Marsa’s instructions, Jael bent down to her. ‘I’m a queen,’ she whispered, provoking a peel of laughter from the girl.

‘A slave queen?’ Sunni asked with twinkling eyes. ‘Did you come here to be Queen of the Slaves?’

‘I am a slave queen, yes. I’m Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands. Near Osterland. Have you heard of it? Or me?’

Sunni peered at her. ‘I haven’t heard of you. Are you really a queen?’

Marsa barked in the distance, and Jael knew she had to hurry. ‘Yes, and my brother is a king. He’s the King of Brekka. If you help me, we would both be very grateful to you. We would shower you in gold so you didn’t have to be a slave anymore. We would free you, Sunni.’

Sunni had heard of Brekka, for some of the women who came to the isle were from Brekka, and now she became interested. Though seeing that Marsa had stepped down from her chair, she shook her head. ‘You are with the kitchen slaves. Over there. You have to line up over there!’ And now she prodded Jael, barely meeting her eyes as she turned away.

Jael’s body throbbed with the burning frustration of knowing she was someone’s prisoner. It had never happened before, she realised. She had never been captured, never kidnapped, never taken away from her family.

Well, she’d been sent to Oss, she supposed, feeling wistful for the island that had quickly become her home. Though despite her protests, she had gone there freely; she could have left if she’d wanted to. But thinking of Eadmund, she knew there was nowhere else she wanted to be.

Anger simmering, she clenched her fists, walking towards where Sunni had pointed, seeing more women with wet hair dripping over matching grey dresses, shuffling towards the same spot. Another set of doors swung open, and ten armed guards filtered inside. They wore bronze chest plates over red tunics, swordbelts gleaming with an impressive array of weapons, Jael noted with interest, watching from the corner of her eye as she carried on walking, senses tingling.

And soon, over Marsa’s loud protests, she saw that those guards were coming her way.

* * *

Edela decided that the noises inside the woman’s house were the most intriguing thing of all, which was saying a lot as the busy interior of the house itself was jaw-dropping. There wasn’t an uncovered area of stone. The walls were draped in tapestries, baskets, and displays of colourful feathers. From the ceiling hung a series of tiny brass cages, all of them oddly empty. Beneath her feet, the floor was layered with patterned rugs and animal pelts and covered in so much furniture that Edela was forced to follow a narrow path from the doorway into the main chamber, squeezing between tall wooden cabinets as she followed the woman, who finally led her to a round table, draped in white silk.

‘I am a Govana,’ she explained in a heavy accent, her thin lips barely moving as she spoke. ‘A seeress. I saw you coming to Karalos, Edela Saeveld. I have been expecting you.’

A surprised Edela realised that the woman was blind in one eye, reminded of Eydis Skalleson, whose eyes had been covered in the same milky film as Govana’s right. ‘I was led here by a duck,’ she smiled. ‘Perhaps?’

Govana stared at her without blinking, not confirming whether that was true.

And feeling increasingly awkward, Edela carried on. ‘I am searching for a path, an... understanding of my purpose.’ There was still no sign of movement on the woman’s glacial face, and Edela wondered if she was making herself understood, though try as she might, she couldn’t read the seeress’ thoughts.

A bird chirped in the distance, footsteps out in the street, and Edela heard her heartbeat like a drum in her ears. Placing her hands in her lap, she swallowed.

Eventually, Govana whipped away the silk cloth, revealing the most curious sight. And immediately leaning forward, Edela gasped. The round table, made from a dark wood, was decorated extensively with symbols. There were two circles carved into the table, and in between them, four separate quadrants of symbols nesting together. ‘It is quite beautiful,’ she breathed, looking up at Govana with a smile.

The dark-haired woman’s lips had parted, her one good eye now showing signs of life. ‘I can help you find a path,’ she promised, that eye now fixed on Edela.

‘I can... pay you?’ Edela offered, sensing that the seeress didn’t intend to reveal anything out of goodwill alone. Govana nodded, pointing to a little dish made from a shell, placed near Edela’s right hand. And hoping she still had some of Bertel’s coins left, Edela burrowed into her purse, relieved to pull out a silver coin. It wasn’t mere hacksilver, though. It was three times the size of those cheap pieces, and pleased to see the woman nodding, she dropped it into the dish.

‘Now, close your eyes and focus on what you seek to find,’ the seeress began. ‘Once you have fixed that in place, reach out to the table, eyes still closed, and touch the symbol you are most drawn to.’

Edela trembled as she nodded, immediately closing her eyes.

* * *

Jael had been grabbed by two of the ten-man guard, feet trailing behind her as she was pulled down passageway after passageway. At first, the walls were plain, gradually becoming more decorative, until she was finally dragged through an archway into a three-storey-high chamber featuring floor-to-ceiling mosaics – colourful scenes that Jael could have stared at for hours. Sweet spices perfumed the air, a warm breeze wafting into the chamber from three more giant archways. She swung her head, trying to see where they led, though the men pulled her around, towards a wide staircase, and all her attention was soon on trying not to fall up the steps. The guards were either pulling or pushing her, and the weight of the fetters around her ankles unbalanced her so that reaching the third floor felt as though it took forever, and in the suffocating heat, even breathing was a challenge. Eventually, after stumbling through a maze of corridors, the guards stopped outside a pair of shimmering golden doors. One man knocked while the others took up their positions, and soon they were all walking inside.

Jael remained restrained by the two men, and after bowing their heads respectfully, the rest were ordered outside.

By a woman.

She was of average height, slightly built and elegant as she rose from her golden chair, dark hair sweeping over one shoulder, threaded with fine braids and tiny jewels. Jael guessed that she was her age. Perhaps older, she realised as the woman came closer, a shimmering blue dress sweeping the marble floor in her wake.

‘Let her go,’ she said in a deep voice. Then repeating her instructions using the common tongue so that Jael might understand, she stared at her prisoner. ‘You may let her go.’

‘Do you know who I am?’ Jael asked, stumbling as the guards released their hold. She barely kept to her feet on the slippery floor, only sheer determination not to embarrass herself preventing her from falling on her face.

‘I had you brought to my private chamber on my private island,’ the woman smiled, staring at her with intense, almond-shaped brown eyes. ‘I do not introduce myself to every new slave.’

A frowning Jael tried to understand what was happening. ‘So you purchased me?’

‘Purchased? No, I claimed you. Yes, I have finally claimed you, and now you are mine.’ The woman turned away, motioning for her to follow. ‘Come. You are curious, I imagine, to see your new home. It is so unlike anything you are used to in your chilly islands.’

Jael could see open doors leading out onto a balcony. She glowered now, tired of the games. ‘No, I’m not curious at all. Not about this place. I want to know what you’re doing with me! Why I’m here? You think I want to look at the view? The view? My wrists and ankles are bound, I’ve been kidnapped, taken across the sea, and you think I want to look at your fucking view? I don’t know who you are, but you know who I am, and surely you know what trouble you’ve brought down on your head? On this place? When my husband finds you? My brothers? You think they won’t come for you?’

The woman froze, hands clenched by her sides, slowly turning around.

The guards had moved back towards Jael now, but with an irritable look, the woman shooed them away. ‘You were born in Osterland, a Brekkan princess, and you think that gifts you power. Your brothers are kings and allies, and you, a queen yourself, married to a king. But here, I can promise you, Jael Furyck, no one cares. I cannot be bought or bribed or threatened, for I am more powerful than all of your allies combined. So come, come and see what I am sure will make everything so much clearer.’

* * *

Once they’d reached the beach, Siggy was far less inclined to go swimming. ‘Everyone will see,’ she decided, eyeing Bertel, who was distracted, mostly looking over his shoulder. ‘Bertel!’

He turned around in surprise. ‘What is it?’

‘You’re not listening. I can’t go swimming.’

‘Oh, why not?’ And now Bertel noticed the expansive beach himself. They were entirely alone, which struck him as odd in a place as busy as Karalos had proven to be. ‘I think we should go back for Edela anyway. It’s been long enough.’ He turned around, impatient to keep moving, fearing that they might be sprung upon by thieves.

‘It hasn’t been long at all,’ Siggy insisted, trying to hold him back. ‘We could walk along the sand? Put our feet in the water?’

Bertel sighed. ‘I can’t think of anything more unpleasant! I’d rather keep my boots on and you –’ Seeing Siggy’s face, he cut himself off. And spinning around, he saw a familiar-looking group of men up on the road, near the steps leading down to the beach.

‘We have to go,’ Siggy hissed. ‘But don’t run.’

Bertel doubted that would be a problem, for it was hard enough to even walk in the soft, warm sand. ‘Drop your head, and grab my arm then. Let’s not give them a reason to look our way.’

Siggy did as she was told, and they moved steadily in the opposite direction to the men, who, she could sense, had made it down the steps and were now heading across the sand. ‘What do we do, Bertel? We need Edela!’

‘Ssshhh! Stay calm. We can stay calm.’ Though Bertel’s thoughts froze, no quick answers coming to mind. ‘I... think you could run back to that house, find Edela. I... I could distract them.’

Siggy fought the desire to look around, though she heard voices raised behind her now, weapons clattering against armoured bodies. Those men looked eerily similar to the ones who’d followed them from Tuura. Could there really be more of the same? Here? Shivering, despite the glare of the hot sun, she stumbled in the sand. ‘I won’t leave you. You’ll be killed!’

They headed for the next set of stone steps leading back to the road. ‘Once we get up there, we’ll need to hide,’ Bertel decided, fishing out a handful of coins. ‘Someone will open their door to us. They’re sure to. Turn down the first alley you find and t-t-take this,’ he stuttered, handing Siggy the coins. ‘Knock on a door. Offer them this to let us in. You’ll be faster than me. Faster to get up those stairs too.’

They could feel the sand vibrating beneath their feet now as the men started running. There were eight of them, Siggy saw as she turned for the steps, now almost dragging a struggling Bertel with her. ‘It’ll get easier once we’re on the road,’ she promised as she mounted the steps, hearing him panting like a dog behind her. ‘Hurry!’ Glancing to her left, she saw the men charging for them now. ‘Hurry!’

Bertel caught a glimpse of them, too, and chest heaving, he tried to move with speed, though the steps were narrow, and it was hard to gain his footing. Eventually, though, they reached the road, trying to decide where to go.

‘Here!’ Siggy shouted, running across the cobblestones. ‘I’ll find a house. Follow me!’

A struggling Bertel let her go, watching the nimble girl scuttling down the first alley. He was slower, though, fearing the men would catch him.

He didn’t want to lead them to Siggy or Edela.

So, instead of following, he turned right, wishing, for the first time in over thirty years, that he had a sword.

28

‘I am the Queen Kalina,’ the woman told her, turning with a satisfied smile. ‘And this is S’ala Nis.’

The balcony alone was worth Jael’s attention, with its flower-wreathed pillars and the little tiles beneath her feet forming intricate patterns of yellow, white, and blue. She saw marble tables brimming with more flowers, bowls of fruit and platters of food. There were jugs and goblets made from gold and crystal, and trays of tiny glass beakers. In the intense sunlight, everything gleamed and sparkled, and Jael had to squint to see.

From the balcony, she took in a breathtaking vista that reminded her of the kingdoms she had visited in the Fire Lands, and yet, somehow, S’ala Nis appeared grander than all of them combined. Paved roads lined with trees were bordered by white stone buildings that shone beneath the beating sun. Everything appeared perfectly symmetrical, in order, and pristine. There were grander buildings, too, perhaps temples, and arches bearing statues of what might have been gods. And amidst it all, a sea of people moving with an orderly calmness, some of them slaves, wearing the same grey uniform that Jael herself now wore. Others were more elaborately dressed, and there were scores of soldiers, she noticed most keenly of all.

Turning back to the queen, she coughed, the heady aromas from the chamber drifting out onto the balcony, tickling her throat.

Queen Kalina watched her with a smug arrogance, Jael saw, studying the woman closely. She obviously spent a great deal of time on her appearance, for there wasn’t a hair out of place nor a crease in her extravagant gown. Though despite dressing like a girlish princess, Jael felt certain that the Queen of S’ala Nis wielded her power like a warrior.

‘So,’ Kalina purred, ‘you can see why I have no concern for what your family might do. This is my world, and here, within it, I fear no one. Those I bring to the isle do not leave unless I will it. There is no escape for you, Jael Furyck. Even in death, you will belong to me.’

Jael turned to her in surprise. ‘I have never heard of you. Never heard of this place.’

The queen laughed. ‘And you think you are so important, so special that you would be privy to all there is to know? To every morsel of knowledge? But what do you Osterlanders know about anyone else, truly? You seek alliances with kings. You do not take the time to look past palaces and crowns.’ Kalina studied her prisoner closely, seeing weakness where she had expected to find strength. She had heard much about this woman, about her family, and yet, here, before her, Jael Furyck swayed, weary and weak, not appearing capable of any of the great feats she was famous for.

Jael hated being studied, so she sought to quickly return the conversation to the queen, desperate for information. ‘What are you then? Not a real queen.’

An amused Kalina peered at her. ‘Why? You do not think me queen-like, Jael Furyck?’

‘I think you’re the widow of some rich merchant who built this place with the help of his powerful friends. Perhaps he inherited it from his own father? It would have taken centuries to construct something like this.’

The queen laughed, eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘Your guess is not even close. Unlike you, I was my father’s heir. He gave S’ala Nis to me.’

‘And you do what? Collect trinkets? Treasure? How many other queens do you have here?’ Jael moved under a white awning, desperate to escape the sun’s intense glare. There wasn’t a single cloud in the dark-blue sky, no hint of the water either, from where she stood. S’ala Nis might be an island, though it was nothing like Oss.

‘Treasure? Is that what you think you are? A sought-after prize?’ Queen Kalina headed inside, back to her golden chair, laughing. ‘Perhaps they do not have mirrors where you come from, but I can certainly lend you one of mine.’

Jael hurried after her. ‘Then why take me? Why go to so much trouble for something you don’t even want?’

Kalina sat down, smiling at the wet-haired slave as she rearranged her dress, smoothing the slippery silken fabric over her knees. ‘I did so want to take a close look at you,’ she told her. And now she indicated for the guards to remove Jael from her chamber. ‘This will be your home until you die, and I promise you will be a very old former queen, forgotten by everyone, when that happens.’ She turned her head, reaching for a quill next to a pot of ink, and taking a piece of vellum from a stack of identically sized sheets, she dipped it into the ink and started writing.

* * *

Edela was trapped, the folly of following the honking duck revealed in the darkness of her mind.

The seeress continued to talk in the distance, though she couldn’t see the woman or even turn towards her. Once Edela had placed her hand on the table, touching the symbol that had been calling to her, she’d become imprisoned by it.

Govana stood, towering over the frozen old woman. ‘Thank you for your coin,’ she purred, ‘but the price on your head will earn me a far bigger reward than you could ever pay.’ And now she unsheathed a silver knife from the red leather belt wrapped around her waist.

Edela sensed rather than saw the danger, amazed to think how quickly she had failed. Furia herself had asked for help, and she had let her down. Though thinking of Furia, she remembered the symbol the goddess had revealed on her palms. At the time, she had been so stunned by Furia’s sudden arrival that she’d focused on trying to make sense of her words.

But now the symbol returned to her, retrieved from her memory at just the right moment.

‘You will be on your own, Edela,’ the goddess had insisted, opening her hands. ‘I cannot guide you.’

And yet, Edela thought in desperation, perhaps she had?

* * *

Siggy had shoved the entire handful of coins at the toothless woman who had opened her door, barging inside, and quickly begging her to close it. Whatever language the woman spoke, Siggy couldn’t understand her, though she did her best to explain that her friend would be coming. An old man, she told the woman. An old man would be coming soon, and she needed to let him in.

She crouched behind the door, hearing footsteps coming closer. They passed by, though, and she didn’t hear any sign of Bertel. She didn’t dare open the door, certain that he would call out to her, revealing his presence.

She tried to get the woman to peer through her window, though she didn’t understand her and Siggy was forced to remain behind the door, praying that Bertel would hurry.

* * *

Bertel Knutson had been surprised to discover reserves of energy long dormant as he ran, ducking around corners, attempting to lead the men away from wherever Siggy was hiding. He feared they would separate and look for the girl or that she would give her presence away.

Skidding in a puddle of what he soon realised wasn’t a puddle at all, Bertel almost fell as he rounded another corner, seeing the house Edela had disappeared into.

* * *

The true potential of a dreamer was greater than anything taught in Tuura’s temple, Edela knew. With knowledge gained and gifts fully explored, they had the ability to rival the gods in power. Skilled dreamers could employ magic, sow chaos and confusion, and even upend civilisation itself, so most were taught only that which the elders approved of. They were tasked with offering guidance, advising kings and queens, providing knowledge...

But magic?

Edela had been pursuing magical knowledge for over three years now. She had learned how to harness the power of symbols – not just those carved into stone or wood, or even written on vellum.

She had learned how to draw them with her mind.

And now, as she sensed the seeress approaching, feeling the warm breath of the woman beating down on her from above, certain that she was about to die, Edela knew she had to act. Her fears screamed loudly at her, and gripping hold of Furia’s symbol, she drew bold strokes of sparkling light in the darkness of her mind.

Govana jerked her knife at the old woman’s back, surprised when Edela suddenly flung out an arm, and dropping to the side, she fell off her stool and onto the floor.

Edela was disappointed that the lush-looking rugs offered little softness as her shoulder slammed against the stone floor. The shock jolted her, too, and she was slow to move as Govana swung out a leg, attempting to kick her, then swooping down like a long-legged crane, she scythed her knife towards Edela’s throat, chanting angrily.

The room darkened, shutters swinging, banging against the windows as Edela rolled away, shuffling backwards, trying to find an opportunity to stand. Ignoring her aches and pains, and reminded of her granddaughter, she unsheathed her knife and flung it up at Govana’s face.

The gargantuan creature easily swept to the side, and Edela’s knife clattered against a tapestry before falling uselessly to the floor.

Now Govana swung again, aiming at Edela’s throat. Edela had wriggled all the way back to a wooden chest, unable to go any further, though a sudden banging on the door distracted the seeress, and leaning forward, it was Edela who managed to kick her.

‘Edela! We’re in trouble!’ came Bertel’s panicked voice. ‘Get out of there!’

‘I’m... in trouble!’ she shouted back. ‘Help!’ And sensing there was little Bertel could do to even get into the house, Edela brought another symbol into her mind. Eyes wide open, she drew it over the macabre face of her attacker, working to ignore the woman’s growling chants. Whatever magic Govana was making worked, though, for Edela was quickly dragged up to her feet, then onto her tiptoes, soon struggling to keep herself on the ground. Loosening her hold on her own symbol, her eyes bulged as the seeress brought her closer, curling a finger, knife at the ready.

‘I am... a dreamer!’ Edela gasped, listening to Bertel’s continual hammering on the door, wishing he had the strength to break it down.

‘You are a pointless old woman!’ Govana scoffed. ‘A crumpled bag of bones! Though I will earn a fortune for those bones once I’ve carved your flesh from them!’

Edela flung out her arms as the symbol ignited inside her. Her fingers were suddenly hot, her feet dangling above the ground, entirely numb. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, blocking out every other sound, and as the seeress made to stab her, Edela squeezed her right hand into a fist, squeezing and squeezing until Govana started gurgling, eyes bulging in surprise.

Edela remained in the air, hovering there as the seeress tried to move.

Govana’s knife shook in her right hand, her left arm banging against her side. She had to fight to find a breath, and sensing no more were coming while Edela lived, she tried to swing an arm, seeking to kill her. Her arm wouldn’t move, though, and jaw clenching, she started to panic.

Falling to the ground now, Edela struggled up onto her knees, brandishing a clenched fist at Govana as the woman’s knife dropped from her shaking hand. And soon, all of her was shaking, jerking violently, teeth chattering. Feeling torn, eyes on the knife, Edela remained where she was, knees aching, clenching her fist until her knuckles were as white as bone. She felt a tingle at the back of her neck, seeing that the seeress’ one good eye was fixed on her, trying to claim her, desperately working her own magic. And feeling exhausted but more determined than ever, Edela closed her eyes, intensifying her hold on the symbol.

Eventually, Govana uttered a shuddering groan, and opening her eyes, Edela watched as she toppled onto her side.

* * *

A panicked Siggy ran up to Bertel, who was still hammering away at the door. ‘Why didn’t you come? I found a house! Why didn’t you come? It’s not safe out here!’ She didn’t think she’d been followed, though they would soon be found if they didn’t hide.

‘Edela is in trouble, but I can’t get inside!’ Bertel cried, knuckles raw. He’d tried kicking the door in, to no avail, certain that the woman had been some sort of dreamer witch who had lured a gullible Edela inside. No doubt she would have ensured that they couldn’t follow.

A horrified Siggy thought quickly. ‘I’ll try around the back!’ she called, disappearing down the side of the house, head swivelling, hoping that Bertel wouldn’t be discovered.

Praying to Daala that Edela could hang on.

* * *

An aching Edela eventually crawled towards Govana, wanting to ensure that the woman was dead. She heard a bird squawking in another room, as though it was sending a warning, and feeling strange all over and smelling that the seeress was certainly dead, she grabbed hold of the woman’s knife. A spark exploded before her eyes, blinding her, and she heard voices, though nothing she could understand. And now, closing her eyes, she saw a vision of the man with the branded cheeks again. He grinned up at Govana, offering her a scroll secured with a black seal.

And then everything went dark.

* * *

Jael was deposited outside a busy kitchen, where one of the staff was bellowing instructions that, once again, the very helpful Sunni was translating. The guards left Jael behind, more than one of them giving her a wary look before disappearing. Jael heard Sunni bellowing just as loudly as the kitchen servant. Or perhaps a slave, she thought distractedly, trying to make sense of the confusing place. The kitchen worker wore a brown dress and apron, so perhaps that signified a higher, even freer position? Though after her audience with the queen, Jael doubted that anyone was free in this exotic prison.

Her attention wandered to the possibilities of an escape. She needed the fetters off most of all. If they were removed, even for just a moment, perhaps she could be seen by a dreamer? By Edela or Ayla? She could give them a message, a clue. She could warn them about Milla and tell them where she was.

Though she had never heard of an island called S’ala Nis. Never heard of a powerful queen in the Fire Lands, for surely that was where she was?

So how would she lead them to her at all?

Shoved in the back, Jael spun around in anger, only to discover that one of the new slaves had fainted, falling against her before tumbling to the ground. ‘Help!’ she called out, trying to get Sunni’s attention. ‘You need to get help!’ Sunni ran for the soldiers, who, Jael noted, always seemed to be hovering nearby, watching the women, and they carried the unconscious slave away. Jael moved through the crowd, eyes on Sunni. ‘Where are they taking her?’

‘To the physician. He checks all the slaves to see if they’re worth keeping.’

‘And if not?’

Sunni drew a finger across her throat, rolling her eyes.

‘Where is this physician?’ Jael wondered quietly, surprised when the girl laughed.

‘He will not help you,’ Sunni warned. ‘There is no escape. Didn’t Queen Kalina tell you?’

‘You knew I saw her?’

Sunni nodded. ‘They were talking about it, Marsa and some of her women. About what the queen would do to you.’

‘What do you know about her?’ Jael asked, conscious that the fuss over the fainting woman had started to die down.

A suddenly tight-lipped Sunni turned away. ‘I have to go. I’ll be whipped!’ And not letting Jael ask another question, she slipped through the crowd, back to the kitchen helper, who was working to re-establish some control over the nattering slaves.

‘You are from Osterland?’ a woman whispered behind her.

Jael didn’t turn around, though she nodded, pleased to hear a voice she could understand.

‘I am from Iskavall,’ the woman added. ‘Near Esby. I was captured with my sister –’

Jael turned, seeing her sobbing. And she wasn’t the only one. Looking around the crowded space, she saw tear-stained faces and moist eyes as the women clung to each other, seeking comfort and hope, finding nothing but fear and uncertainty.

She turned back around, wrists throbbing, shoulders tense, thinking of Eadmund and their children, wondering how she was going to get home.

* * *

Edela pulled open the door with two hands and a grunt. It was heavy, much taller than a standard-sized door, just as Govana had been much taller than a standard-sized woman.

Bertel almost fell inside, eyes bulging at the sight of the dishevelled dreamer, soon inhaling a terrible stink, but wide-eyed and alert, he grabbed hold of the door. ‘Close it! Quick!’

‘Whatever has happened?’ Edela panted, hair in her eyes, teeth still chattering.

‘Those men from Tuura. They found us on the beach!’

It was only then that a dazed Edela saw that Bertel was alone, and she made to open the door for Siggy.

‘No! Siggy went around back to find a way in.’ Bertel bolted the door and followed Edela down the narrow path of the dark house, certain he should be intrigued by the exotic treasure trove, though he felt too tense to do much more than stare at Edela’s head as she led the way to the back door.

They eventually reached the kitchen – another crowded space – where a cage with a screeching bird hung in one corner, swinging wildly.

Bertel winced at the terrible noise, though he was quickly helping Edela pull open the back door. ‘Careful,’ he warned, hearing no sign of Siggy. And as the door squeaked and groaned, they stood back to see a narrow yard, brimming with plants and barricaded by a stone wall with a gate leading through it.

But no sign of Siggy.

Edela swung around to Bertel. ‘You said she came here?’

He nodded. ‘She did. To try and help you.’

‘I can’t imagine there’s another door,’ Edela fretted, glancing around, wishing that bird would shut up. She didn’t know what type it was, but it was certainly loud. ‘And you said men were chasing you?’ Bertel looked flushed, she thought, reaching up to drag a hand through her hair.

‘They looked like the men from Esby.’

‘Well, if they followed us all the way from Osterland, there must be a vast sum on offer for our capture. That seeress implied as much. She was ready to skin me alive!’

‘And she’s dead?’ Bertel asked, glancing around. He’d seen glimpses of a body as they’d hurried through the main chamber of the house, though it almost hadn’t registered yet.

‘She is. But it’s not her we should be worried about now. Where is poor Siggy?’

And, as if in answer to the question, the blue gate in the white stone wall swung open, and Siggy Larsen bounded through it with a beaming smile.

* * *

The doors opened to reveal a smiling Queen Kalina sitting out on her balcony. ‘Come, come, Arras. Come and join me. I wish to hear all about your journey.’ She motioned to the chair opposite her, where slaves holding trays waited to ply the queen’s guest with a number of tempting treats.

Arras Sikari hesitated in the doorway, revolted by the smell. The incense and oils the queen perfumed every chamber with were so sickly sweet that it turned his stomach. Not to mention the ones she slathered on herself.

He dreaded coming here, unsettled by the queen’s recent interest in him.

Fearing what it meant.

Walking out onto the balcony now, a tired Arras forced a smile. ‘My queen,’ he rasped in a typically hoarse voice, bowing deeply. And upon raising his head, he made his way to the chair, seeing the carafes of wine, the platters of grapes and dates – all so sweet. He felt like none of it, though he continued to smile as the queen’s slaves filled a goblet, offering him the platters of fruit. Arras drank from his jewelled goblet. He took grapes from the platter and ate with enthusiasm, aware that the queen was watching him. In silence. Eventually, taking another sip of wine, he sat forward, eyeing her.

Kalina smiled. ‘You did well, Arras. I am pleased, though not surprised. My father trusted you implicitly, and I, the same. In fact, there isn’t a man on S’ala Nis I trust more.’

Arras bobbed his head. ‘You honour me, my queen, though I was merely doing my duty.’

‘But think of what could have gone wrong!’ Kalina declared. ‘I did fear I had made a mistake sending you, for if anything had happened –’ She looked away, becoming oddly shy.

Arras sought to change the subject. ‘I hear no one else has arrived back yet.’

Kalina returned her gaze to him. ‘No. I imagined you would have something to say about that. Some news about Iker or Karam?’

But Arras shook his head. ‘We did not encounter each other once we left S’ala Nis, my queen. It was better that way. To draw attention to ourselves in number would have caused word to be sent to the kingdoms. They may have feared an invasion, which wouldn’t have helped our cause at all.’

A nodding Kalina urged him to go on.

‘I got the impression that Karam was successful in his mission. There was a palpable fear of something happening to the dreamers. Though Iker...’

Kalina peered at him. ‘You think it was wrong to choose him for such an important mission?’

Arras chose not to remind the queen that he’d advised against it and that she’d chosen not to listen, for he knew that the woman tended to erase anything displeasing from her memory.

As though it had never happened.

‘I think Iker is capable, though I fear he was unsuccessful.’

Kalina was concerned, brow furrowing. ‘You know this?’

‘When I arrived at Tuura, I heard word of what had happened, yes. Edela Saeveld was not captured, though Iker will not return until he is victorious. I am confident of that. He will find the dreamer and kill her.’

* * *

Siggy almost tumbled down the steep stone steps, so busy trying to explain what she’d discovered that she wasn’t concentrating. ‘Careful!’ she called, not daring to look over her shoulder at Edela and Bertel, who were following her. ‘It’s breezy!’ she added, feeling the wind coming at her like a snapping whip.

Edela gulped down everything she wanted to say, just trying to fit her boot on each step. There wasn’t much to them, and she wondered how Bertel was faring with his much bigger feet. Though, just like Siggy, she wasn’t about to turn around.

‘Where are we going?’ Bertel wanted to know, holding out a hand, trying not to tumble onto Edela, though the wind tossed away his words, and Siggy didn’t answer.

Eventually, they reached the bottom of the steps, where a road of uneven rocks met them.

‘You came all the way down here?’ Edela panted. ‘But why?’

‘I...’ Siggy blinked at her. ‘I don’t know.’ Then, spinning around, she picked her way across the rocks, stopping abruptly and pointing. It took Bertel and Edela longer to reach her, but when they did, they stared with open mouths. ‘It’s a cave!’ Siggy said, announcing what was entirely obvious. ‘We can hide!’

Edela turned to Bertel with a slowly forming smile. ‘It is a good idea.’

Though determined not to feel good about anything, Bertel dug his hands into his hips. ‘But the tide?’

And now Siggy’s grin spread until it tickled her ears. ‘Around the corner, I saw a cove! Ships will come and beach there. I’m sure of it. We just have to hide from those men, and then we’ll find a way out of here. A way to escape!’

29

Eadmund, Thorgils, Fyn and Mattie had arrived outside the Iskavallan port town of Oskillen long after its gates had closed for the night. Its lord had constructed wooden palisades to keep outlaws away from his wealthy merchants and their patrons. So, much to Thorgils’ annoyance, there’d been no hope of gathering the information they so desperately sought and no chance of finding a tavern either. Instead, they had to camp some distance away, amongst the trees. Despite griping about that, and being descended on by a swarm of midges, he had quickly fallen asleep. Though Fyn had woken in the night, certain he could hear his cousin grumbling in his sleep.

Mattie was up well before dawn.

Preparing meals for her companions had reawakened her interest in food. And though porridge could be a plain, tasteless meal, she’d chopped dried cranberries and hazelnuts into a bowl of oats, sprinkling over a little of her precious cinnamon. She would have preferred to add milk to her concoction but instead had to rely on just water.

A still half-asleep Fyn sat up, looking around. He saw no sign of Eadmund, though Thorgils was still sleeping beside him, arms and legs outstretched, mouth wide open. And smiling now, Fyn turned back to find a purring Otter staring at him.

Mattie bustled past, scooping up the cat for a morning cuddle. She’d set a pot of water boiling over a small fire, and nearby, she’d prepared four cups with twists of dandelion and fennel. Now, plonking Otter back down next to Fyn, she took the cauldron off its hook and filled the cups with boiling water.

It smelled a little like stewing weeds, Fyn thought, though he didn’t have the heart to tell Mattie that they’d all prefer ale. ‘You’re quite attached to the cat,’ he observed with a yawn as he took one of the cups, and though the tea didn’t smell enticing, the warmth from the cup was welcome.

‘Well, he’s the nicest cat I’ve ever met. The most handsome too. Don’t you agree?’

An uncertain Fyn shrugged, peering critically at the furry creature. ‘Though just a cat.’

Mattie eyed him sharply, dropping her head as she tipped the porridge ingredients into the remainder of the hot water. ‘I used to live nearby. Half a day’s ride from here. Not even that,’ she clarified, becoming tense. ‘My husband was a fisherman.’ She sensed Fyn blinking at her, but she carried on with her eyes averted now, focusing on stirring the porridge. ‘So was his father. Their family had lived around here for generations. Fishing.’

Fyn was curious, though he didn’t say a word, hoping she would carry on. The cat had become still beside him, watching her.

‘One day, he didn’t come back.’

‘Oh. I’m... sorry.’

‘But his boat did, with Otter inside.’ And now Mattie smiled, finally looking up, eyes shining. ‘They would always go fishing together. Otter loved it. He’d be waiting by Theo’s boat, not wanting to be left behind.’ She stumbled to a stop now, certain she would cry.

‘He took the cat fishing?’

‘He did, always rewarding him with a fish supper, but that day, the boat returned with only Otter inside.’

Fyn was confused. ‘The cat made it back to shore? By himself?’

Mattie nodded vigorously as Thorgils spluttered, making strange yelping sounds. ‘Yes! It was a sign, you see, to me! That Theo wasn’t gone. That he came back to me, inside Otter.’ She shook her head, peering at Fyn. ‘His spirit, at least. He’s in there, my husband. Inside Otter. I’m sure of it.’ Bending down, she kissed the cat’s nose, ignoring the doubts she could hear blaring in Fyn’s mind.

‘How long ago did he disappear?’

‘Three years.’

‘And has his spirit... revealed itself?’

‘Not yet, but it will. I know it will. And until then?’ Mattie headed to her saddlebags, where she’d left the stack of small bowls she’d cleaned the night before. When she returned, Eadmund was back from the trees, listening to a complaining Thorgils grumbling about his ankle. ‘Breakfast won’t be far away,’ she promised. ‘Something hot to get us all going. And tea! I’ve made you some tea, my lord.’

Fyn watched her shaking off her grief and her irritation with him. He turned to look at the cat, who appeared to be staring into his eyes.

Wondering if it was possible.

* * *

After two nights of little sleep on a thin pallet, listening to the muffled sobs of her fellow slave women, Jael cornered Sunni, determined to get some relief. ‘I need you to find me the key to these fetters. I have to get them off.’ She had led the girl through the kitchen door, towards where a heap of rotten scraps had attracted a dark cloud of flies. In the heat of an always bright and beating sun, everything spoiled and stank almost immediately, and an exhausted Jael gagged at the ripe smell.

Sunni didn’t appear to notice; she was too busy shaking her head. ‘I can’t do that, my lady. No!’

‘I think you can, Sunni. Or at least you can convince that old witch that I need to be seen by the physician. I have to get these off. No one else wears them.’ The chains connecting the fetters had been removed, so she now had freedom of movement, though the fetters themselves remained, sharp-edged and cumbersome. And though Jael had a fleeting worry about the sores they were causing, it was the idea that they were stopping her dreaming which had her most concerned.

‘I will ask Marsa again,’ Sunni promised, eyeing the midden heap.

‘What? Are you that hungry?’

Sunni shook her head, spinning away, and noticing Jael’s empty bucket, whose scraps she’d tossed onto the pile, she grinned. ‘This kitchen’s a good place to work. It’s small, and there’s not much to do. Not like the palace kitchen. That’s big!’ She saw Jael’s unconvinced scowl and laughed. ‘Or you could be cleaning out the shit holes. Or scooping up the bodies!’

‘Bodies?’

But the girl was already skipping away from her, disappearing around the corner into the extensive herb garden that led back to the kitchen.

* * *

Bertel had snuck back to the seeress’ house, foraging for food and supplies. He’d used leather satchels to store away small jars of what he guessed were tinctures and salves, even odd little packets of powder and bunches of herbs, both fresh and dried, wanting to take everything that Edela might need to help them.

He’d even found a strange book full of symbols and inky scrawls.

He’d thought about taking clothes to alter their appearances, though the woman had been a towering statue, far taller than him, and he knew nothing would fit – especially not Edela and Siggy. Though he did bundle up a pile of blankets, hoping to keep them all warm.

Concealed in the dark cave for two days, Edela had been delighted by his thoughtful haul, quickly sniffing and inspecting everything he’d found. She’d drawn symbols at the mouth of the cave, seeking to conceal their presence, wanting to keep them safe while she focused on discovering what those men were about. And Govana, the giant witch, who’d been so intent on killing her.

Bertel and Siggy mostly left her to it, making their own preparations and the occasional tentative journey down the beach, staying close to the cliffs, peering at the comings and goings in the cove.

Finally standing, and inhaling a deep breath of sea air, Edela gave them each a stone onto which she’d scratched a symbol. ‘No one will find us here,’ she decided, confidence rising. ‘But we don’t want to make the mistake of choosing the wrong crew. Someone wants me dead, and I doubt they’ll think twice about hurting either of you, so we must choose wisely.’

‘About where to go too,’ Bertel added, peering at her. ‘We can’t pick a destination that leads us towards even more danger.’

After so many stumbles and hasty escapes, Edela agreed. ‘I’ll make a fire.’

Siggy looked confused, inclining her head towards the fire they already had.

‘A dreamer’s fire,’ Edela chuckled. ‘With the herbs you brought me, Bertel, I’ll be able to sink into a deep trance.’ And now she thought wistfully of Ayla and Biddy, her home in Andala and her wee cottage, fearing that she might never see it again. It was important to smile for Siggy and to appear confident for Bertel, both of whom were looking for her to provide answers. Though inside, she felt like a trembling flower, wilting under the intense pressure, fearing that she was just an old woman with little to offer.

‘It’s important,’ Siggy said suddenly, turning to clasp her hand. ‘What you are doing is important, Edela. I want to help you.’

Edela blinked tears from her eyes, waving her hand around as though it was the smoke troubling her. ‘Well, I believe you’re right, my dear. It is important. It feels that way to me, at least. As though we’re facing a mighty enemy. Someone who intends great harm to many. And it is up to us to find him or her.’ Edela’s mind wandered to Draguta, feeling strange. That venomous creature had wrought horrific pain and destruction, though she had never been their real enemy.

Not her.

Hearing the hypnotic rush of waves in the distance, she returned to her dream of the bone tree. Had it really been a tree of bones? She blinked, furrowing her brow. Two old sisters and a tree of bones... identical sisters, she remembered, certain that people like that wouldn’t be hard to find. ‘You are a well-travelled man,’ she said to Bertel. ‘At least, according to you! An educated one too.’

Bertel nodded sagely, raking his beard with long fingers. ‘Oh yes, I learned much at The Citadel in Angard. They have the most comprehensive maps you could imagine.’

‘And can you?’ Edela asked. ‘Imagine it for us?’ She picked up a stick, handing it to him. ‘If you make a map here, it will help me find the path we must follow. And while you do that, Siggy and I will work on that fire.’

Bertel peered at her with doubt in his grey eyes, though seeing the determination in Edela’s, he bent down and got to work.

* * *

After an impatient Eadmund hurried everyone through breakfast, they rode away from their campsite towards Oskillen’s gates.

‘Hope they’ve something better to drink in there,’ Thorgils grumbled, inclining his head to where Eadmund and Mattie rode, the morning sun glinting off the speartips of the men waiting outside the open gates. ‘That tea? Might as well have dredged up a latrine and poured it into a cup. What was that?’ He sighed moodily. His sleep had been disturbed, and his belly was mostly empty, thanks to Eadmund’s impatience to hurry them along before Mattie could make another batch of her delicious porridge. ‘And that cat? Why on earth is he riding in a bag? He has legs. Four of them! He could be out there, catching something to eat!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Fyn warned, aware that even if Mattie wasn’t within earshot, she could still read their thoughts. ‘The cat’s important to her.’

‘Important how?’

Fyn nudged Yara against Vili. ‘She thinks he’s her dead husband.’

Thorgils just stared. Eventually, he shook his head. ‘She thinks he’s what?’

‘Mattie’s husband was a fisherman from around here. Three years ago, he didn’t come back, but his cat did.’

‘What? The cat swam back to shore? He took the cat to sea?’

‘No, the cat was in the boat. The boat came back with the cat inside.’

Thorgils looked confused. ‘And somehow her dead husband... entered the cat?’

Fyn nodded. ‘His spirit. She says his spirit did.’

‘And does it come out? Does it come out and visit her?’

‘Not so far.’

‘And it’s been three years?’

‘Mmmm.’

Mattie turned around, frowning at them, and they both rushed to smile at her before she turned back to continue her conversation with Eadmund.

‘She’s crazy then,’ Thorgils muttered to his cousin. ‘Perhaps she’s not even a dreamer? Just a lunatic? That’s probably why she didn’t train at the temple. She’s not even a dreamer!’ His voice had risen, and once again, Mattie turned around.

Eadmund did too.

‘Thorgils,’ Fyn hissed. ‘Shut up. Of course she’s a dreamer. She found that village, didn’t she? She’s helping us.’ And though he’d had his own doubts about Mattie’s abilities, Fyn felt sorry for the woman. ‘Grief does strange things,’ he added, feeling strange himself. He often found himself thinking about his mother, longing to see her again, wishing it was possible that the dead truly could come back to life. There was so much he hadn’t said, so much he’d wanted her to know. And it wasn’t enough to whisper it before he fell asleep, to say it to the silence, fearing that no one was listening.

Thorgils wasn’t listening, still in the mood to grouch about everything, and he carried on muttering as Eadmund and Mattie pulled up outside Oskillen’s gates, waiting for them.

* * *

The First Goddess was Daala, Mother of All.

While her husband, Raemus, had lived contentedly in the Darkness, she had created Varmyr - a world of sea and land, of humans and animals, of growing, thriving plants and trees, of mountains tall enough to touch the clouds. A blooming, hopeful world of wondrous things.

Though seeing that Raemus would not thrive in such a place, she made a compromise with her husband: half a day would belong to his darkness and half to her light.

A compromise, and a path to a future all could enjoy, for Daala knew that without balance, there would be no Varmyr at all, just a void where nothing thrived.

Balance.

Life could only flourish when there was harmony.

Though over time, the battle to tilt that balance in favour of the darkness had destabilised Varmyr, her marriage, and her family.

Daala mostly hid away now, even from her children, seeking to maintain that balance from her Kingdom of Clouds...

As she moved towards the clouds, Edela parted them with her hands, revealing even more clouds, though these were dark grey and intensifying.

‘A storm is coming,’ warned a voice. ‘And you must sail through it if you wish to help your family. Not everyone will survive, but you must, Edela Saeveld. I choose you to live, to help me. To help us all. Raemus and his evil Followers sowed seeds of poison, spreading darkness from one side of Varmyr to the other. Not everyone called themselves a Follower, Edela, so you must look with all three of your eyes, employ every sense, scour every memory for clues. You are as knowledgeable as you choose to be. Remember that. You are as knowledgeable as you choose to be, so open your mind, and the possibilities will flow towards you like a river.’

Silence now as those clouds roiled before her.

Edela stopped, hearing a humming in her ears.

And then her own voice, stronger than she’d heard it in some time. ‘I may be old, but I’m not dead yet.’

And now the clouds finally parted before her, and Edela moved forward, into the light.

* * *

Two guards took Jael to the physician, bringing Sunni along to translate.

It was such an unexpected turn of events that Jael was still scrambling for a plan when she was pushed into the physician’s room.

She was hit by a wave of intense odours, once again recognising few of them. It didn’t smell pleasant, though, and she became further distracted.

The physician was a shrivelled little man with a wrinkled scalp. One side of his face appeared frozen, as though he’d never recovered from some sort of seizure. Turning to her, half his face frowned. ‘You will lie down.’ Pointing to the linen-covered bed pushed against the white-washed wall of his orderly room, he motioned for the guards to leave.

‘We will stay,’ one told him.

‘Why? You think this creature is a threat to me?’ The old man chuckled, eyeing the woman, who he knew nothing about, though seeing her glassy eyes, he thought her ill.

The guard laughed. ‘If she’s smart, she won’t be. Though up to you.’ And nudging his companion, they headed outside, closing the door.

Jael glanced at Sunni, hoping the girl would translate, though Sunni appeared too busy peering at the strange items preserved in the jars stored on the old physician’s shelves. She loved coming here, though her visits were so few and far between that she ignored Jael entirely, and reaching out to touch a jar containing what appeared to be a tiny baby, she was surprised by a tap on the shoulder.

‘You will sit down!’ the physician snapped. ‘My collection is not something to be sifted through by a nosy child. They are precious items. My research!’

Sunni didn’t appear bothered by the reprimand, and turning away with a wink at Jael, she aimed for a wooden stool.

The physician returned to his patient, guiding her towards the bed, where he made her lie down. It was a comfortable bed, much more so than the floor in the slave quarters, Jael thought, losing the thread of what she was planning to do. The physician would unlock the fetters to inspect her wounds, and she would try and get through to...?

She still couldn’t decide who to trust, who would be most able to help her, who she could reach quickly. It had to be about the strength of their connection too. She groaned as the physician started moving the fetter on her left wrist. She arched her back in pain, causing the man to raise an eyebrow before bending to investigate the area around the fetters, sniffing loudly.

He called out to the guards, one of whom returned, offering up a small key.

Jael’s heart started racing, thoughts scattering.

The guard remained, concerned for the physician’s well-being, but Jael had no intention of assaulting the man. She just needed a moment to send a message. He stayed by the bed, watching as the physician unlocked the first fetter, removing it with a gasp, sniffing further.

Sunni came to see, quickly revolted. ‘It looks bad!’ she declared, poking out her tongue in disgust. ‘Sore too.’ Stepping away and seeing that the physician was distracted, she hurried back to those strange jars, soon spying a floating hand.

Jael closed her eyes, shutting out the pain, forcing herself into the darkness.

* * *

Edela had seen little in her dreams, certain that she was looking in the wrong place. Fear and panic rose in her body until she was vibrating, though she saw nothing that made sense of where she was or where she needed to go.

She’d seen hints of Andala and Axl, the burned wreckage of Ollsvik’s hall. There had been glimpses of Ayla and Biddy, both of them on Oss, with a girl she didn’t recognise. She’d seen Eadmund and Fyn and Thorgils, and they were outside Tuura’s gates.

Confused by all of it, Edela was about to close her eyes and force herself to wake up when she saw a silhouette lingering in the smoky shadows. She didn’t recognise it, though her body convulsed with an almighty shudder. Fear rippled up her limbs, urging her to turn back, though instead, she moved towards it.

‘Grandmother!’ came Jael’s urgent voice. ‘Grandmother! You must –’

Bertel pulled Edela out of her trance, and she was suddenly blinking at his face.

‘A new ship’s arrived in the cove!’ he told her with a barking cough, the strange-smelling smoke from the dreamer’s fire immediately trapped in his throat. ‘They don’t look Siluran. Siggy thinks they’re Alekkan. We need to know what you think. I could talk to them, but best to get your opinion first.’

A dazed Edela shook her head, dragging her arm out of his grip, trying to remember everything she’d seen. Everything she’d heard.

Jael.

And blinking, she hurried to her feet.

Jael?

PART IV

MAELSTROM

30

‘He will give you something for the pain,’ Sunni explained, having once again been dragged away from the physician’s shelves, reprimanded until her ears rang.

Jael didn’t understand what had happened. She had decided to reach out to Eadmund, holding his face in her mind, but it was her grandmother who had appeared before her. Though Edela was missing, perhaps dead, so what if she hadn’t even heard her? She had a sinking feeling that she hadn’t. ‘I need to keep the fetters off,’ she told the girl, sitting up, surprised to see bandages around her wrists; surprised, too, by the meaty smell in the room, wondering what the physician was preparing. ‘Tell him that. My wounds won’t heal if they go back on.’

‘He tried telling the guards,’ Sunni said, inclining her head towards the physician. ‘But he’s been told not to trust you.’ She grinned at Jael. ‘What makes you so special? What can you do?’

Jael looked around, watching the physician. ‘I... they want to control me somehow. There are symbols inside the fetters. Look, and you’ll see. They’re magical.’

Sunni’s eyes widened, catching a glimpse of the symbols herself. ‘What do they do?’ She picked up one of the fetters, studying it closely.

The physician had his eye on both the slave and the girl, though there seemed little need to intervene. They were just talking, and Sunni was known for always sniffing around everyone’s business. He bent over Jael’s ankles, smearing a stinking paste over the raw wounds.

Jael winced, trying not to become distracted by the pain. ‘Show me,’ she said. ‘Sunni, let me see those symbols.’ Edela had told her that you could counter dark magic with magic of your own. And seeing the symbol being employed against you certainly helped.

Sunni lifted the fetter, as if making to clasp it back around Jael’s wrist.

‘Not yet, not yet!’ the physician growled, glowering at the girl. ‘I want to check everything again. If they are to remain on her, I must provide more protection. She’ll be back here tomorrow if I don’t. If she’s lucky,’ he grumbled, continuing his muttered complaints.

Jael kept her head still, shifting her eyes to the right, rushing to take in the symbols before Sunni dropped the fetter. She quickly made out three. And now she closed her eyes, working to imprint every shape and stroke into her memory, certain it was the key to her freedom.

* * *

Oskillen was a mid-sized town, pushing to make its name as Iskavall’s most desirable trading port outside Ollsvik. The palisades certainly helped to give it a feel of importance, as well as the presence of a lord.

A lord who was a fervent supporter of the new King of Iskavall.

Raymon Vandaal’s death had come as a surprise to Eadmund, and he was distracted as he headed away from Fyn and Mattie with Thorgils for company. ‘We need to find out if these men came through here with Jael. If they’re from Silura and they came this way, they would’ve left a ship to return to.’

Thorgils nodded. ‘Well, this would be the place to come. You can blend in easily around here.’

Though with a head of bushy red hair towering above most other men, Eadmund doubted Thorgils Svanter could blend in anywhere. And offering a rare smile, he patted his friend on the back. ‘Come on, let’s try the tavern, then head to the docks. Won’t take long to get around this place.’

Though neither the tavern nor the crews moored at Oskillen’s piers had any information for Eadmund and Thorgils, so they left the fort behind, heading for the beach, where a few ships were being repaired on the sand. Upon reaching the first ship, Eadmund spied a hole in its hull, listening as the men debated the different options for repairing it, for it sounded as though this wasn’t their first attempt to fix it. ‘You want to add some strips of cloth to your wool,’ he told them. ‘Wind them together before you soak it in the pitch. It’ll strengthen the caulk.’

The four men turned to him with curious stares.

‘Who are you?’ one asked, shielding his eyes from the sun.

‘Islanders,’ Eadmund told them. ‘We come from Oss.’

Now two of the men were frowning while the other two looked on with interest.

One came forward, straightening up until he was almost Thorgils’ height. He had dark hair, most of it braided, tucked behind his ears. ‘And why are you here? In Iskavall?’

‘I was in Tuura, as it happens,’ Eadmund explained. ‘My wife was taken. I’m searching for her, with my friends. We were led to believe the men came through here. Siluran, from what I’ve heard. A band of outlaws. We’ve been following their path of destruction for days. They tore through Orking.’

‘Orking?’ one of the men exclaimed in horror. ‘What happened?’

‘I’m sorry if you’ve got family back there,’ Thorgils told him. ‘But they were hit hard.’

Without a word, the man excused himself, heading for the stables.

Another man rubbed his eyes with a tattooed hand, considering Eadmund. ‘Why’d they take your wife?’

Eadmund shrugged. ‘Raiders. They take whatever they can get their hands on, don’t they? I just need to get her back before they take to sea.’

‘There are no Silurans around here,’ the eldest man said, tufts of white hair sprouting from drooping ears. ‘Not since I arrived last week.’

The three men shared what they’d heard and what they knew themselves, which amounted to mostly nothing, and Eadmund and Thorgils left them behind, certain they’d imparted more information than they’d received.

Fyn, though, had better news. ‘A party of men came through here!’ he announced as Eadmund and Thorgils returned to the square where he’d been waiting with Mattie.

The dreamer hadn’t spoken since they’d entered the fort, and Eadmund could see that she was barely present as Fyn shared the good news.

‘They bought provisions, but they didn’t sail from here. That’s what the boy said.’

‘You asked a boy?’ Eadmund frowned. ‘What boy?’

‘Said he’s the son of the harbour master. His father collects tolls from those who moor here, but the men didn’t have a ship. They just bought supplies and left. He reckons they went south. There’s a cove nearby where raiders sometimes overnight. Some for much longer.’

‘I know it,’ Mattie said blankly. ‘Fishermen make good use of it. It’s a sheltered spot. Better to keep away from the harbour master too.’

They turned to her, hearing everything she hadn’t said, watching as she dropped her head and turned away.

* * *

Edela remained dazed by the lingering effects of her herb-laced fire, dazzled by the sunshine bouncing off the sparkling white sand and into her eyes. They had hidden in the cave for two days, and the intense brightness of the sky came as a shock. Though she had just enough wits about herself to determine that the crew of the newly arrived ship was indeed Alekkan, and she sent Bertel and Siggy towards them with a good measure of confidence. Though where the ship might be going or how long the crew planned to stay on Karalos, she had no idea.

The fear that those Siluran warriors were still lurking about unsettled a slightly muddled Edela, though her thoughts quickly returned to what she’d seen in her trance.

It had been intense and sudden, rising like a wave threatening to knock her down. She could still feel its vibrations shuddering through her body.

Jael had called out to her as though in trouble or pain.

She felt desperately concerned, wondering again why Furia was so insistent that she leave those she loved behind. And remembering the goddess’ words about her family’s doom, she became emotional. Though seeing Siggy running towards her with waving arms, Edela hurried to wipe away her tears.

‘They’re going around the islands, and then they’re going to the Fire Lands!’ she babbled excitedly. ‘Everywhere! They’re going everywhere, and we can go with them! They seem nice, I think, though there are some spotty boys.’ She poked out her tongue. ‘But their fathers are there, so they won’t be too much trouble, I suppose. The old man in charge is a bit grumpy, but Bertel showed him his coins, and he started to smile well enough.’

‘And what are they?’ Edela wondered. ‘Raiders?’

Siggy shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe traders? They smell a bit, so it looks like they’ve been at sea awhile. You need to come!’ She felt a great urgency, for though there’d been no sign of the Silurans for a few days, the fear of them had its hands on her still. She wanted to leave now.

‘Well...’ Edela felt hesitant. She had no destination in mind, no clear path to follow, though they couldn’t remain on Karalos.

Not with those men hunting them.

And now Edela nodded, seeing the relief in Siggy’s eyes. ‘Yes, I’ll come.’

* * *

‘I’ve just been informed that the King of Iskavall’s new wife is a dreamer,’ Axl told his diminished council. Amma was ill again, offering her apologies, though Getta had taken her sister’s place beside Gisila, and the king now turned to her. ‘Her name is Lina, according to my men. His cousin.’

‘Who knew you had so many spies in Ollsvik?’ Getta said tartly, ignoring Hal Harbak’s smirking face. ‘Though they will certainly come in handy now. Yes, Lina is Oren’s cousin. A sour girl, from memory. Her father had wanted many sons like his brother had, though all his silly wife could squeeze out was one sickly boy, who didn’t live long, and that miserable girl. She turned out to be a dreamer, though, so he sent her to Tuura as soon as she was of age.’

‘So it’s not some ploy then? He’s really married to a dreamer?’ Gisila fretted, seeing Gant’s empty chair and feeling even worse.

‘Yes, if they are indeed married, though she can’t be much more than... seventeen? A girl. I’m not sure what she’d have to offer.’ Though saying it, Getta realised that she’d barely been seventeen herself when she had married Raymon. Her father hadn’t cared to wait until either of them was old enough to know their own minds. She felt a pang of grief, remembering a period of almost happiness when they had been a little family, excited for the future.

‘It depends on the dreamer,’ Gisila told her. ‘According to Edela, many don’t discover how to use their gifts until much later. If at all,’ she added, thinking of Jael. ‘Others, well, they might start dreaming as a child. But whatever the case, you cannot hesitate another day, Axl. You must seek out your own dreamer.’

Axl thought of Ayla with some regret, and though he understood why Eadmund had sought to protect his children, he felt fear for himself and his own unborn child. The memory of Jael’s dream returned again, gnawing at him. He had struggled to see his sister as a dreamer, and after the Vale, he’d heard nothing further of her dreams; nothing to remind him that she ever employed her gifts. So why now, he wondered as conversation flowed around him...

Axl watched mouths moving, hearing no words but the ones in his own head.

His fears.

They blared loudly, and he imagined his father sitting in the empty space where Gant should have been. His stern and gruff father, who’d rarely smiled at him or shown true affection to any of his family. Axl remained convinced that he was his father’s last choice, his only option. He’d always heard how his older brothers had been like their father, and then Jael, too – perhaps Jael most of all. Though when Axl had been mentioned, it was to say how much like Gisila he was. Like her side of the family.

Staring at his mother, he saw how rapidly she was blinking, how quickly she seemed to be talking to Getta. She hadn’t been like that when Ranuf had ruled Brekka. She had trusted him to do what needed to be done, no matter what they’d faced. Her lack of confidence in her son undermined Axl further, and he reached for his goblet with ringing ears, bile swilling in his mouth. His thoughts shifted abruptly from his mother to his pregnant wife and then to Eren. He imagined her smiling at him, holding his face, kissing him. She looked at him with desire in her eyes. He told himself that she saw a man, not a boy.

She put her trust in him because she believed in him.

And blinking, Axl put down his goblet and cleared his throat. ‘We need a weapons’ count. Hal, can you organise that before you leave for the border? Get Ragner to tally up our weapons’ stores here. He should already have an idea about that. But nonetheless, I want everyone called into the square to present their armour and weapons. Send word to every settlement and fort. Those in charge are to provide their own tallies and have them delivered to me. Of fighting men too. It’s time to get a true count of our position. After all the sickness, we’ve no real idea of how things stand or who’s still standing. The threat is rising, and we must be fully informed if we’re to counter it.’ And ignoring his mother’s look of surprise, Axl nodded for Gerald to refill his goblet.

* * *

Staring at the ship as the crew of Alekkans prepared it for their journey, Edela felt distracted. Siggy was excited to leave, Bertel appeared to be getting in everyone’s way, and Edela felt strange about all of it.

Tuura had been attacked, Raymon Vandaal was dead, Silurans were trying to kill her, and murderous dreamers from exotic islands knew her name.

Yet Edela was convinced that none of it was her true purpose.

That, she feared, still remained out of reach.

Shoulders dropping, she inhaled the salty air, seeing Siggy waving, and with an enormous sigh, she started moving towards her. Then stopping abruptly, she wheeled around, almost falling over.

Looking up at the cliffs surrounding the cove, she couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, but Edela felt it strongly.

The Silurans were coming.

* * *

When they reached the cove, Mattie left Thorgils, Fyn, and Eadmund to ask questions, mumbling something about needing to do her own exploring. And taking Otter in her arms, she soon made herself comfortable beneath a fresh-smelling spruce tree, closing her eyes.

Glancing back at her, Fyn feared that she’d become too distracted by grief to discover anything useful, so they would have to.

The cove was surprisingly busy, though summer was just around the corner, and it was undoubtedly the season to take to sea. Two ships were having their hulls caulked, two more further down the sand, drawn up into the grasses bordering the cove. The crews were out in the sun, many with their tunics off, revealing scarred, tattooed bodies. They were generally friendly, some from Osterland, some from Alekka, all of them eager for news. Eadmund didn’t know what to reveal, so he said nothing about their own time in Alekka. These men hadn’t been back in a while; he didn’t know where their loyalties lay.

Many shrugged their answers to his questions – they were the type to keep their heads down. Others avoided answering entirely.

And taking himself away from Eadmund, Thorgils sought to do his own questioning. He peered at Fyn, seeing his cousin’s tension reflected back to him. Nodding genially, though, he inclined his head for Fyn to follow him to the next ship, hoping for answers.

A middle-aged, rugged-looking man, who Thorgils guessed was the helmsman, immediately came to offer them ale, which he took as a good sign and puffing up his chest, he barrelled forward. ‘We’re looking for a ship of Silurans. Might have beached around here recently?’

The helmsman’s dark eyebrows knitted together. ‘You’re after them? For what? Why?’ he wondered, suddenly wary. He wore no tunic, his muscular body mostly hairless, marked by the odd scar. Though he wore a swordbelt, brimming with knives, and a sword, encased in a fine scabbard. In his hand, he carried an axe, and he tightened his grip on that weapon, becoming cautious. ‘Men like that don’t leave anyone behind with a tongue. Eyes either. If you’re aiming for them, you’d better be prepared to kill.’ He eyed Fyn, his attention drifting to Mattie in the distance, then to Eadmund further down the beach before returning to Thorgils. ‘A crew of Silurans against you three? One woman and her kitten? If I were you, I wouldn’t take another step in that direction. Safer to forget about them altogether.’

The man had a friendly enough manner and a friendly enough face, nowhere near as ancient and crotchety as the helmsmen Thorgils knew on Oss, though his words had him frowning. He gulped down the welcome ale, running a hand over his dripping moustache. ‘You know of them?’

‘I had a run-in with them a while back. We did,’ the man added, motioning to his crew, who were ferrying chests and sacks of supplies from the shore into the ship. ‘A standoff, you might say. A few tempers almost got us in trouble. They were heavily armed, most didn’t understand us, but the leader... he called them away, focused them on leaving. If he hadn’t...’

‘So they were here? Beached here?’

The helmsman nodded. ‘Not enjoying the weather, though, nor the view. They just wanted to leave. Had some precious cargo from what I could see.’ He peered at Fyn and then Thorgils, stepping forward to lower his voice. ‘A prisoner.’

‘A woman?’ Fyn asked, heart thumping.

The helmsman frowned. ‘A woman? Not sure about that.’

Which had Thorgils’ heart thumping too. He had a good feeling about the helmsman, and with one look at Fyn, he carried on. ‘Where are you from?’

‘Brekka. All over Brekka. Been a few hard winters, so I’ve been making my own plans. I’m going to take one more run at the Fire Lands, and then, with whatever I make, I’m going to try farming.’

‘Raiding the Fire Lands?’ Thorgils wondered.

‘Trading,’ the man grinned, emphasising the word with a wink. ‘Mostly trading.’

Thorgils laughed. ‘Well, being Islanders, we know all about trading.’

‘Islanders?’ The helmsman’s eyes widened, and so did his smile. ‘We’ll have to help you out then, you having a Furyck as a queen.’

Thorgils nodded. ‘Funny you should say that. We’re actually here because of our queen. You see, it’s her the Silurans have taken.’

* * *

The helmsman barked orders at his men to hurry as the Siluran warriors hurtled down the steps to the cove.

He looked ready to abandon his newly acquired passengers, and Edela could hear him actively considering it. Though after one look at the old woman struggling across the sand towards the ship, he appeared to change his mind.

‘Get on board!’ he barked at her, and swinging around, he unsheathed his sword, pointing it at Bertel. ‘Get them on board and take cover! Do not get in our way!’

Edela glanced over her shoulder, sinking deep into the sand, and now she did fall. Hurrying to her, Bertel and Siggy pulled her out of the hole, almost carrying her towards the ship.

‘What are you doing, woman?’ Bertel snapped. ‘We must get on board. You heard the man!’

Edela nodded, though she feared that the Alekkans weren’t strong enough to hold off the Silurans, and if that was the case, they wouldn’t be leaving the beach at all.

31

Gant felt strange being away from Gisila.

Since their marriage three years ago, they hadn’t often been apart. He wasn’t a young man, though with her, he felt as youthful as a boy in the first flush of love. He thought about her constantly, worrying about her too.

For trouble was brewing everywhere he turned.

His journey from Andala to Saala had revealed just how fractured the Kingdom of Brekka was becoming. People were hungry and sick. Deluges of rain and crop-destroying floods, followed by sicknesses so intense that they’d become plagues, had torn away hope, leaving a haggard desperation in its place.

He’d ridden the length and breadth of the kingdom many times over the years, and never had he seen it in such a state of despair. Axl needed to do more, so he had to do whatever he could to get through to the boy. He wasn’t a boy, Gant reminded himself, though he acted like it more times than not, listening to fools like Hal and Erling, ignoring the wisdom of those who’d helped run the kingdom before. He was being led astray by his own lack of confidence, seeking answers in the wrong places. Though Hal and Erling didn’t care about Brekka. They didn’t care about Axl. They wanted power and wealth for themselves, and their friendship with Axl, carefully plotted by their ambitious mothers when they were boys, had always been their path to achieving it.

Lord Rexon Boas lifted up one of his sons to stand on the railings, watching as the men fought without weapons. They were wrestling, and the little boy was so excited that he hadn’t closed his mouth. He burbled joyfully, eyes bright, stubby legs jiggling.

‘You’ll have a hard time keeping him out of there!’ Gant called, dismounting with a grunt. ‘Just like his father.’

Rexon spun around, a smile creasing his tanned face. ‘This is a surprise! Wasn’t expecting you to grace me with your presence. The king’s stepfather? When did you last leave the comforts of Andala behind?’ And popping his unimpressed son on the ground, he embraced his old friend.

‘Well, with a wife like Gisila, why would I ever want to?’

‘Not to mention you being so old now,’ Rexon laughed, seeing how much greyer Gant had become since his last visit.

‘There’s that,’ Gant grinned, watching the little boy tugging his father’s trousers, demanding to be picked up again.

Instead, Rexon took the boy’s hand, leading him away from the training ring towards the stables. His son wasn’t happy about that, but walking was a demanding task at sixteen months, and he was soon occupied with simply staying on his feet. ‘So are you passing through, or have you come to stay? I’d heard a big wedding’s coming soon, though I don’t imagine you’d leave Gisila behind for that?’

Gant laughed. ‘I’d happily let her leave me behind for that! But no, I’m just checking on the South. I’ll be heading off to Valso tomorrow. From everything we’ve heard up in Andala, things aren’t going well. From everything I’ve seen on my way down here too. I thought it best to come straight here. You’ll tell me what I need to know.’

Rexon was suddenly serious, narrowing his eyes. ‘I sent messages to Andala, though I haven’t heard back. I wasn’t sure anyone was listening. If you hadn’t turned up, I was going to make my way up there soon.’

Gant stopped abruptly, turning to him. ‘That bad?’

‘Feels that way. Looks that way, too, I’m afraid. Pop Gus in the stables. The boys will give him a rub and something to eat. I’ll talk to Demaeya, organise something for us too.’ He nodded towards Gant’s men. ‘There’ll be plenty to go around. Looks like you’ve had a hot journey.’

‘Long, eye-opening, hot. I just need answers to what’s truly going on and ideas about how we’re going to fix it.’

Rexon laughed, though his tension remained. ‘Don’t we all. If only you’d brought me a dreamer. I’m sure everything would become clearer then!’

* * *

Bertel was frantic, vibrating all over. ‘Can you see what will happen?’ he called to Edela, who crouched down on one side of Siggy while he hunched down on the other. ‘Edela? Anything?’

Siggy heard the grunts of fighting men, wanting to pop her head up over the now empty shield rack to see what was happening and who was winning.

‘If the Alekkans are in trouble, we’ll have to get out of here and run!’ Bertel shouted over the intensifying noise. He wasn’t the only one shouting, and the familiar sounds of battle and fighting men stirred up disturbing memories of a time long ago. Blinking, he wondered when he’d become so cowardly that he’d choose to hide rather than face his enemies? When he’d decided that it was acceptable to pick running away over staying to fight? Though, he tried telling himself, he had a mission to protect and help Edela. He needed to keep both her and the girl safe.

Edela closed her eyes, drawing her attention to the sound of water lapping at the shore. The ship remained wedged into the sand, and if the Alekkans didn’t overcome the Silurans, that was where it would stay. So, gripping Siggy’s hand, she squeezed it, pushing her thoughts into the girl’s mind.

A surprised Siggy twisted towards her, seeing Edela wink.

And now the old dreamer slipped her hand out of the girl’s, unsheathing her sharpest knife. Slicing across her palm, she cut through her previous wound, feeling a spark of energy ignite inside her. ‘We won’t have to run,’ she promised, mostly to herself, determined to stop those Silurans here and now.

They had tormented them for too long. It was time to put an end to things.

Dropping her knife, Edela used a finger to draw bloody circles on her palm. She pressed on the cut, feeling a dull ache, a discomfort that lingered, mingling with fear and excitement and an urgency to act. Swirling the blood until her entire palm was red, she clapped her hands together and started chanting.

Bertel’s head snapped around in surprise, and mouth open, he watched as Edela took one hand away, then the other, spreading her arms out on either side of her body like wings. She wobbled up onto her knees, cloak flapping, and then swooped low, her chanting noises becoming softer now. And again, she rose up, her body undulating like a wave, her chanting reaching a crescendo.

Bertel was transfixed, eyes drawn to Edela’s bloody hands.

Siggy lifted her head to see what was happening on the beach, convinced that there was less noise now. And as a chanting Edela swooped towards the deck once more, her voice low and threatening, Siggy saw that, to the surprise of the Alekkans, their enemy had turned around and was running away.

To the surprise of Siggy, too, who poked Bertel, pointing to the beach.

He popped up his own head as Edela rolled her body, chanting beside him, seeing the fleeing warriors. They were panicking, running in terror, some even leaving their weapons behind. And he turned back to the dreamer with a puzzled frown, wondering what she was doing.

* * *

Demaeya Boas, Lady of Saala, had everything under control, Gant saw, happy for Rexon, who appeared a content man. Content in his family life, at least. Content with how things were going in Saala, but elsewhere?

They sat in a darkened corner of the hall, where latticed screens provided privacy. The table between them offered the fishy-tinged glow of soapstone lamps. A brazier was stacked with kindling nearby, though not lit, for it was a mild day, and neither man wore a cloak.

Rexon poured ale for them both before leaning back in his creaking chair. ‘When things get hard, as they often do, disgruntled voices grow louder. So do ambitious ones. That’s not new. A lord or a king knows how to deal with that. And that’s what I heard in the beginning. Things haven’t gotten any better. There’s more suffering, more sickness, less food, but the voices have become quiet recently. Almost silent.’

Gant took his cup, though he didn’t drink.

‘You remember Mutt Storman?’

‘Piece of shit Ranuf outlawed years ago? What? Maybe ten years ago now?’

Rexon nodded. ‘I’ve been hearing his name mentioned, from Vanet to Hendeby. I went up to Borsund recently and heard whispers about him there too. I think he’s behind the trouble, or at least he’s organising it to become more than just a little trouble.’

‘How many are there? With him?’

‘That’s hard to say. Borsund was torched, but no one spoke out about who did it. They were afraid. There wasn’t a weapon left behind. They didn’t take food, just swords and spears. Shields. Took all their arrows, too, so it’s more than a handful, I’d say.’

‘Though not enough to threaten Andala?’

‘For now. Depends how many disgruntled or frightened Brekkans he pulls over to his side. Then again, a man like that? I doubt he’s asking. Some said he was threatening wives and children. He obviously wants more men and more weapons.’

‘For what?’ Gant wondered. ‘I remember him being a hothead and a drunk. He killed Hans Steffen’s daughter. Ranuf outlawed him for that.’

Rexon nodded. ‘Though I don’t know what he wants now. Maybe he’s insane, thinking he can draw enough support to challenge Axl, or maybe he’s bored, just wanting to stir up some trouble?’

‘Which won’t take much. Though once I tell Axl what’s going on, he won’t hesitate to act,’ Gant said with a certainty he didn’t feel, for those idiots Hal and Erling had a way of turning everything on its head, convincing Axl to take the opposite position to whatever he proposed. Though surely they’d see the threat to their own much-vaunted positions if Mutt Storman managed to gather enough support to take his grievances north?

Gant put down his cup. ‘I want you with me tomorrow when I head to Valso. And vellum. I need to send a note to Axl.’

* * *

Edela thought fleetingly of Andala as the Alekkan crew worked the oars to get the ship out into deep water, uncertain how long they’d have before the Silurans realised that they’d been tricked by a dreamer.

The flustered helmsman kept looking over at her, though Edela was busy attempting to stitch a wound in the head of one of his men. It gaped open like a pair of lips, blood coursing down the man’s increasingly ashen face, and she inclined her head for Siggy to once again soak up the gushing blood so she could see what she was doing. The echoes of her chanting were still loud in her ears, the rolling waves were making her nauseous, and she felt all over the place. The plaintive groan from the young man lying with his head upon her knee finally focused her, and smiling at him, Edela raised her voice over the shouting men and creaking oars. ‘Stay still now,’ she soothed. ‘I’ll find something for the pain. Let’s just tidy this up first.’ Unfortunately, the needle was thick and would make big holes in his head, though it was better than leaving the wound open, and certainly the best way to stop all that blood loss.

Bertel was doing his best to keep another man steady while he waited for Edela. This man was the helmsman’s grandson, and he’d taken a blow to his hand, nearly losing two fingers. Bertel had worked quickly to wrap a strip of tunic around them, and finding some ale, he’d attempted to pour the man a cup, losing it all as the ship dipped violently after cresting a wave. He kneeled near the helmsman, who was stern-faced and busy, though worried enough about his only grandson to keep turning towards him.

‘How is he?’

‘As well as can be expected. Edela won’t be long. She’ll work quickly!’

The helmsman frowned. ‘She saved us, that woman? With a spell?’ He hadn’t stopped shaking his head since the Silurans had turned and run away. ‘She’s a dreamer? A witch?’

Bertel could hardly deny it after whatever Edela had done, for those Silurans certainly hadn’t run away of their own volition, but he feared revealing too much about her. Though the helmsman and his crew were taking them to safety at great risk to themselves. He felt he owed the man a morsel of truth. ‘Those men have been killing dreamers in Tuura. We escaped, but they followed us here!’

‘Why? What do they want with her?’

Bertel shrugged, turning to look at Edela. He had no idea. ‘Dreamers are useful,’ he tried. ‘Evil men can use them as weapons. Others fear them and what they can do. They forget that the gods themselves bestow gifts upon a dreamer. They want them to help us.’ Though as the helmsman turned away, muttering to himself, Bertel feared that he’d only made things worse.

* * *

Queen Kalina summoned Arras to her bathhouse, where she stood before him draped in a silk robe.

Eyes darting around, Arras felt strange.

As a commander, his place was not in the palace, not in the queen’s private rooms and certainly not in the queen’s bathhouse, though the queen had begun inviting him into all three.

Leaving him with little doubt as to where things were heading.

Arras Sikari was forty-seven years old. He’d been married once, happily, and was comfortable with women in general, but a queen? Despite her flawless beauty and powerful position, Kalina Sardis made his skin crawl, a feeling he worked hard to keep away from his face. Standing before her, he felt like a child facing a giant ogre. Her power was such that he struggled to command himself around her, knowing how viciously intolerant the woman could be to any look or word she found displeasing. To any hint of disloyalty or betrayal, for which her spies were always searching.

The queen valued and pursued beauty, though behind her many adornments and her pleasing smile, Arras knew how ugly she could be.

‘Iker Rayas’ father has come to me,’ she said, smiling as four slaves prepared her bath in the background. One tipped fragrant oil into the water, while another brought in towels. And yet more slaves arrived with wine and fruit. ‘He seeks word of his son. I passed on your assurances that he would be returning from Osterland soon, though I grow concerned, Arras. You had to capture a warrior queen, a vicious, dangerous beast of a woman, and Iker, an old lady!’ She laughed now, though her brown eyes showed no amusement.

As the entitled son of one of Kalina’s lords, Iker Rayas had grown up with the queen. She considered him a friend and his father a valued adviser, though Arras didn’t like or trust the brutish man. ‘Edela Saeveld is a dreamer, my queen. Old or not, he will not have had an easy time of things.’

Kalina’s eyes sharpened with worry. ‘Perhaps I should send reinforcements?’

She stepped forward now, silken robe hanging open, moving so close that Arras knew she was testing him. He could smell her breath, hear his heart thumping loudly in his ears, like a horse running away. But remaining where he was, he stared at the queen with concern in his eyes. ‘It was your father’s wish never to draw attention to ourselves or the isle. To send more men after the old woman might create problems, so we must trust in Iker, my queen. That he can get the job done.’

Running a finger under Arras’ stubbly chin, Kalina smiled. ‘You have always been so loyal to me. So competent. You give me confidence, and that makes me very happy indeed, though I do wish you would shave. It does not suit you to look so... unkempt.’ Turning around now, she headed to where her slaves waited, heads bowed, not daring to meet their queen’s eye.

Arras held his breath, eager to be dismissed, fearing that Kalina would make him remain while she bathed. And as he thought it, she held out her arms, indicating for her slaves to start undressing her.

Looking over his shoulder, Arras eyed the door.

‘You will send a handful of men after Iker,’ Kalina told him. ‘Only a handful, for I must offer his poor father peace of mind. The men will find Iker, speak to him and return to you with news. And as for you, dear Arras...’ The queen’s robe fell to the floor, and she turned back to him in her silken undergarments. ‘I want you to keep a close eye on my most valuable slave. Ensure that she causes no trouble, that she’s as miserable as it’s possible for a slave to be. I heard she was sent to the mess kitchens, though perhaps you can find something more unpleasant? Be creative, move her around, and then join me tomorrow night. I am hosting a feast, and you will be my special guest. I shall hear all about it then.’

Waving her hand, the queen dismissed Arras, not noticing the relief in his eyes as he turned away.

* * *

After a long talk with the helpful Brekkan helmsman, who’d introduced himself as Bolder Oysten, Eadmund, Thorgils, and Fyn returned to where Mattie sat, watching them.

‘They’re going to Castala,’ Eadmund told her, inclining his head to the ship. ‘We can go with them. The helmsman’s Brekkan. After we explained about Jael, he offered his help. He’s fought with her and her father, he’s even gone to sea with her, but can we trust him?’ A blinking Eadmund felt that he could, but he wanted the dreamer’s assurance.

‘The Fire Lands?’ Mattie’s frown burrowed deep into her forehead as she placed a sleepy Otter on the ground and stood. ‘You might join with that crew, my lord, but that won’t make you an army. And the question you must ask yourself is not who you can trust but what can you do?’ She felt strange, as though she wasn’t really standing before the king. The painful memories stirred up by her return to Oskillen kept her slightly displaced. Though despite her struggles, she was determined to offer as much guidance as possible.

Eadmund didn’t understand. ‘Do?’

‘When you leave here, you’ll be far behind your wife,’ Mattie told him before turning to look at Thorgils and Fyn. ‘Isn’t that right?’

Thorgils nodded. ‘Bolder said he saw the Silurans days ago.’

‘So perhaps they’ve already reached their destination? Or, in the Fire Lands, they’ll find allies. Here, in Osterland, they had none. Well, perhaps some,’ Mattie realised, thinking of what had happened in Tuura, knowing that there was certainly more than one band of Silurans roaming about. ‘But where they’re going they’re sure to link up with more men. Perhaps your wife was captured by the King of Silura himself?’ Mattie ran a hand through her thick hair, brushing it away from her eyes. ‘You don’t know what you’ll be up against once you leave here, my lord. Perhaps a king and his army?’

The thought had crossed Eadmund’s mind, and he nodded gravely.

‘So you must ask yourself which is the best path to take to get your wife back. It may be that you simply need to go home and think of a different kind of plan.’

Eadmund looked ready to argue, Fyn was too confused to speak, but Thorgils held up a hand. ‘Go back to Oss, get a fleet, and go to Silura?’ he posed, eyeing his friends. ‘Eadmund could lead an attack...’

Eadmund’s eyes shifted from Thorgils to Mattie, certain he saw her blink. ‘You came with us. Why?’

‘I wanted to get away,’ she said bluntly. ‘I didn’t trust what had happened in Tuura, how those men had gotten into the fort. It felt wrong and I... I wanted to get away.’

‘You did help lead us here,’ Fyn reminded her.

Mattie stared at him, feeling as though the ground was shifting beneath her feet. She heard voices, though it was a mumbled blur, and she couldn’t make out what they were saying. ‘I think there’s more going on than we realise,’ she whispered, the voices in her head receding now. Clearing her throat, she tried to focus on a squinting Eadmund, who she knew was impatient for her to solve all his problems. ‘And yes, I led you here, and that wasn’t a coincidence, so I think we should keep to this path for now. Those Brekkans are trustworthy. They’re as loyal as they say, so you should make arrangements with them. A time may come when you have to rethink things, though hopefully, I’ll have plenty of warning about that.’ She blinked, feeling as though she’d spun around in a circle and now had no idea what she truly thought. Mattie Bilso had never been cautious by nature, though she’d never been responsible for guiding a king before, and that made her strangely nervous, though she offered the men a broad smile.

Eadmund nodded. ‘We need to find somewhere to keep the horses. Somewhere safe. I’ll send a note to Axl and ask him to organise them to be taken back to Andala, but in the meantime, we’ll have to make sure we offer someone an incentive to care for them. I’ll deal with that. Thorgils, you and Fyn buy provisions for the journey. We need to feed more than just ourselves, so buy what you can find. Ale too. I want to show our gratitude to Bolder and his men.’

Thorgils liked the sound of that, and patting Fyn on the back, he prepared to head back to Oskillen’s fort. ‘And you?’ he asked Mattie, who had picked up Otter and was now trying to stuff him back into his satchel. Grabbing hold of the satchel, Thorgils held it open for her.

Mattie smiled at him. ‘I’ll need supplies too. Who knows what we’ll come across! I must do what I can to be prepared.’

Thorgils was encouraged by the return of the dreamer’s confidence. ‘Hopefully, you can tell Bolder where to aim for.’

Mattie nodded, though her mind was entirely blank.

For though she felt a growing certainty that this was the right path to take, she had little idea about where it would lead.

* * *

Arras Sikari, Commander of the Waves, found Jael Furyck, Queen of Oss, scrubbing the kitchen floor.

She looked up with a moody frown, and surprised to see him, she scrambled onto her feet, earning a shrieking warning from the head cook. Though seeing Arras, the woman backed away with a bobbing head, directing her ire at another slave instead. ‘Come to free me, have you? Seen the error of your ways?’ Jael had been feeling clear-headed since her visit to the physician. He’d soothed her wounds with a salve, bandaging them to offer protection from the heavy fetters. He’d given her a tonic to drink, too, and for the first time since she’d woken up on the ship, her head was almost free of pain. Her body too.

Arras smiled at her, revealing, to her surprise, a pair of dimples.

It seemed so absurd that a hardened warrior had cheeks like a child that Jael laughed.

‘You seem far too happy here,’ he growled. ‘That won’t please Queen Kalina. She intends to keep you as miserable as possible, so I’ll have to move you somewhere less enjoyable.’

‘Enjoyable? You’ve seen that cook. I’m hardly enjoying myself.’

Arras shook his head, glancing around. ‘No, you are far too comfortable. I will find you somewhere else to work.’ He inclined his head to the back door, wedged open to welcome in a breeze, though there was little, and Jael’s dress clung to her, wet through. Dropping her brush into the bucket of dirty water, she adjusted her wrist fetters and, with a sigh, followed him outside.

‘Sunni tells me that you’re a commander. Commander of the Waves! A man of high station indeed, yet your queen sent you to Tuura to kidnap me, and now here you are, following me around like a little dog. Seems curious for a man powerful enough to command the sea to be given such a mundane task.’

A surprised Arras burst out laughing, not looking around as he followed the gravel path through the garden, aiming for a gate. He shook his head, grinning. ‘Well, contrary to what you might think, my queen has shown me great...’ He trailed off, and becoming uncomfortable, he frowned.

Reaching the gate, he opened it, ushering Jael into an alley bordered by a flowering hedge shaded by drooping trees.

Jael immediately headed for the shade offered by those golden-green leaves. She peered at Arras as he joined her, though avoiding her eyes, he started walking again, adjusting his belt, keeping his right hand near his sword.

‘I will take you to the latrines. You can shovel shit.’

Keeping her head straight, eyes on the shaded path, Jael didn’t react, though in the scorching heat she could only imagine what that would smell like. ‘And how does your queen reward you for all your hard work?’ she wondered snarkily. ‘I get the sense that you’re more than just a loyal warrior to her. More than just a man she can rely on.’

Arras spun around with flaming eyes. ‘Why do you ask? Are these not working then?’ And grabbing Jael’s wrist, he tugged hard, seeing her wince.

‘They’re working just fine,’ she promised through gritted teeth. ‘I may not be able to read people’s minds, but I still have eyes and ears.’

‘Perhaps not for long,’ Arras threatened, spinning back around. He moved quickly now, wanting to deposit the annoying woman at the latrines.

‘Help me escape,’ Jael whispered when she caught him. He turned into a wide road lined with more rows of strange trees blooming with yellow flowers. A train of slaves shuffled towards them with baskets of fruit. Some carried the baskets in their arms, others balanced them on their heads. ‘You know how to leave here, so help me escape and free yourself too.’

‘Free myself from what? This is my home!’ Arras laughed, amazed by Jael’s audacity. ‘I’m a free man! Now shut your mouth and come with me,’ he snarled, grabbing her wrist again. ‘I’ll show you to the latrines.’

Though Jael yanked her arm away, holding back her hand as though she would strike him. Being touched made her uncomfortable at the best of times but by a captor? By him? She was quickly trembling with anger, all humour gone. ‘I know where the latrines are.’

Arras eyed her, feeling just as incensed.

A slave talking to him as though she knew anything about him?

Though she wasn’t a slave, he reminded himself. She was a queen, and likely a better one than his own, who pouted and preened and acted more like a spoiled child than a leader. There was nothing special about Kalina Sardis apart from her extraordinary wealth. But that wealth made her powerful and dangerous, and Arras Sikari knew that all too well. ‘Not the kitchen latrines,’ he told Jael with a smile. ‘The soldiers’ latrines. I can assure you that it’s a much more challenging task.’ And now he strode away, not waiting for her to follow.

Jael stared after him for some time, remembering what it had felt like to be dragged from Andala to Oss, forced to marry an Islander. Here, she was once again isolated, desperate to leave and go home. But making allies had made her first weeks on Oss bearable. Here, she’d already found Sunni, who appeared willing to help her, the physician seemed like a decent man, and now she just needed to get more on her side, for to escape this prison, she was going to need help.

And realising it, Jael forced a smile and hurried to catch up with Arras Sikari.

32

The perfection of a meal could be years in the making, King Oren Storgard thought distractedly, eyes on his plate of salted ox tongue, buttered turnips and bitter greens. He’d been coming to his aunt’s house for supper since he was a boy, dragged along by his parents. He’d been eating this meal since he was a hairless young man, and now at thirty-one, he realised that Thora’s old cook had finally mastered the dish. Each mouthful was a delight – salty without being bitter; tart, yet never sour. There was a hint of sweetness, balanced so carefully that it never overwhelmed the flavours. It was simply the best meal he had ever eaten.

Yet how many years had it taken the woman to reach this level of perfection?

Just enough, he thought, patting his wife’s hand. ‘You must learn at your mother’s side now, Lina. How to be the hostess of my hall. When it is built, you will command it like a queen. See how Thora does it? She is rarely still, always watching her guests, seeing how their meals fare, how attentive the servants are. She counts how long it has been since the last course was served, and if the cook is tardy, she excuses herself to deal with matters. She can never enjoy her own meal, for her focus stays on her guests and on them alone. And when my poor uncle was alive, her focus was on him most of all, keeping him happy at all times of the day and night.’

Lina wanted to slide away from Oren’s touch. It reminded her of the terrifying nights since their wedding feast, with her pinned beneath his naked body, his hands squeezing her arms as he shuddered over her. She shuddered herself, knowing what was waiting at the end of every day now.

Feeling nauseous, she looked away, seeing her mother giggling in that childish manner of hers.

‘We are cousins, Lina,’ Oren murmured, leaning so close that the lingering smell of meat wafted from his mouth to hers.

Closing her lips, Lina tried to maintain eye contact, though Oren’s green eyes bored into hers like a nail into wood. And blinking, she saw him on a grand throne, wearing a golden crown studded with jewels.

Her father’s booming voice rang in her ears.

‘A dreamer? A dreamer? Having a daughter is bad enough, but a dreamer? What man will want a dreamer for a wife?’ She had seen her mother’s gaping look of terror as she, too, had been forced to endure her father’s bellowing rage.

Though a quick-thinking Oren had shown his uncle how to see differently. ‘I would,’ he promised. ‘I would be happy to have a dreamer for my wife.’

Lina had noticed something disturbing in his odd eyes even then. As though Oren saw the future fully formed, knowing the role each person would play and how they would serve his needs.

Lina often wondered if a dreamer had drawn a map for him, a path to this very future that he merely had to follow.

And if so, what had it said about her?

‘We are cousins,’ Oren repeated. ‘And our children will carry on the Storgard name. Together, we will strengthen our bloodline and secure our future. I have been assured that you are a fertile creature, though I can only hope your mother was right.’ Reaching beneath the table, Oren hitched up Lina’s dress, running a hand up her thigh.

An embarrassed Lina jerked away, looking pleadingly at her mother, though Thora merely looked on with gleaming eyes. Her cousin, Steffan, sat beside her, eyeing his brother, both of them brimming with ambition. Not just for Iskavall, Lina knew, but for the whole of Osterland too.

And shivering now, she remained perfectly still, knowing that there was no escape from Oren or his exploring hand.

* * *

The soldiers had quickly gotten on Jael’s nerves.

She imagined there were barracks like this all over the isle, though where Arras Sikari had dumped her, cleaning out the stinking latrines from morning till night, they really were arseholes. For though she understood little of what the men said, she could see what they were doing, most of it ignored by their superiors, who seemed just as vile.

Sunni had been surprised to discover that Jael had already been moved, but upon finding her, she’d started visiting regularly, drawing a few looks from some of the soldiers, which had Jael worrying all the more. ‘Do those men ever bother you?’ she asked, inclining her head to where a group of soldiers were exiting the latrines, eyeing the slave women who had returned from washing their clothes and were now heading towards the barracks.

Sunni shrugged, making a face, and then holding her nose, she stepped away.

The smell around the latrines became so intense in the heat that Jael had almost stopped smelling herself now, though she was more concerned by what Sunni hadn’t said. ‘You don’t know if they bother you?’

‘It doesn’t matter if they bother me,’ Sunni insisted, handing Jael a waterskin. ‘It isn’t your problem.’

Jael was pleased to take a break, and grabbing the waterskin, she drank greedily, finally getting a whiff of herself and wanting to vomit. ‘I don’t want them touching you.’

Sunni was confused. ‘But you can’t help me. We’re the same now, my lady.’

The girl acted as though she didn’t care, though Jael was certain she did. ‘I need to go back to the physician for more of that salve. More bandages too. The fetters are still rubbing on my wounds. See? I need to go back.’

Sunni saw that Jael’s bandages were filthy and bloody, and she nodded. ‘I can ask Marsa, though she doesn’t like you. I doubt she’ll care if you drop dead!’

‘Ask Arras Sikari then,’ Jael told her, flapping her hands at a cloud of buzzing flies.

‘The commander?’ Sunni was confused. ‘But he’s not in charge of the slaves. Why would he care about you?’

‘Well, ask him anyway. The queen has him keeping an eye on me, so just ask him, please.’

Sunni shrugged again in that casual way of hers, as though nothing was a problem. As though she was a happy, carefree child with no worries at all.

Jael drank again, sensing eyes on them both. She lowered her voice but didn’t look around. ‘What can you tell me about the commander?’

Sunni frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Just curious. He speaks the common tongue. You and he are the only people I can talk to here, though he doesn’t say much. I just thought if I knew more about him, I could have something... useful to say.’

Sunni wasn’t sure that was true. Jael Furyck had busy eyes, and she feared that she was up to something, though her desire to share what she knew soon overrode her suspicions. ‘Queen Kalina likes him. I’ve seen them together! She smiles at him, touches her hair when she’s near him. I think she loves him!’

‘Oh? I thought she had a husband,’ Jael lied, hoping to lead the girl on, sensing that at any moment, a fidgeting Sunni would simply spin around and skip away.

‘Well, she’s had a lot of husbands,’ Sunni laughed. ‘They always die, though, so she needs to find more! Maybe the commander will be next? Maybe she’ll want to marry him? He’s handsome, I think, but very old.’

Jael nodded, storing away every tidbit of information the girl burbled out. Sunni loved to gossip, and Jael was grateful that she was so eager to share what she picked up on her travels.

Having finally drained the waterskin, she handed it back, blinking in surprise. ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing to a bruise on the girl’s wrist. The glare of the intense sun was suddenly dimmed by a cloud, and she could see clearly. ‘Has someone hurt you?’

Sunni immediately dropped her head, tugging back her arm so that the sleeve of her dress covered the bruise. And taking the empty waterskin, she stepped away. ‘I have to go, my lady. I’m very busy today! I’ll ask about the physician, though!’ And without another word, she twirled around and skipped away.

Jael frowned after her, thinking about the bruise, then her own wrists, knowing that if she was going to escape, she had to return to the physician’s. She hadn’t been able to do anything about the symbols herself. Nothing had come to mind, but if she could get the physician to remove the fetters again...

Sighing, she turned around, picking up her stinking bucket and shovel, and inhaling a shallow breath, she headed back to the latrines, the laughter of the soldiers ringing in her ears.

* * *

Eadmund decided that the Brekkan crew were as friendly as their helmsman. They seemed eager to help, though how much he could rely upon them, he wasn’t entirely sure.

He wasn’t sure about a lot of things.

Nor was Mattie.

Once they’d taken to sea, she’d become further distracted, losing her grip on what was happening, offering no ideas about where Jael’s kidnappers might be heading for. Bolder Oysten, Bone Hammer’s helmsman, suggested they’d be aiming for Castala. It was Silura’s biggest market town, where most ships going to the Fire Lands stopped. He was confident they would find more clues there.

Eadmund took Thorgils and Fyn down to the stern, leaving Mattie alone with her cat. ‘Three more days to Castala,’ Eadmund told them. ‘That’s what Bolder said. They have to be going there, don’t they?’

The wind was fierce, and Eadmund was fighting his cloak, sandy hair flapping in his eyes as he spoke, not even looking Thorgils’ way, which didn’t bother Thorgils, who was lost in his own thoughts.

‘You’re worried about Isaura,’ Eadmund said at last, realising that his friend hadn’t heard him.

Thorgils tried to smile, though the sheer force of the wind and the icy chill of the sea showering over him made him realise exactly how far away he was from Isaura. ‘I am,’ he admitted with a sigh. ‘She’s on her own. The servants help, I know, and Biddy will check on her, Ayla, too, but I should be there. What if something...’

Eadmund placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying them both. ‘She’d want you to be here, doing this, helping me. She’d tell you to go. You know she would. It’s important. And if anyone has a chance of finding Jael, it’s us. All three of us. We have to do it for Jael. For the children and the islands too. We all need her.’ His eyes were watering, though he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold wind or his own desperate worry that they wouldn’t be able to find Jael.

* * *

Jael knew what her father would say.

She imagined him standing over her, muttering under his breath. Or Eadmund. Both men would be urging her to back down, to keep her mouth closed, to walk away. Though as she rose to her feet, temper sparking, she spat on the ground.

The gathered soldiers laughed, jostling each other, some rubbing their hands together, eager to see what would happen next.

The man who’d pushed her over spoke the common tongue, but even if he hadn’t, they understood each other perfectly. He was bullish and arrogant; a man who had the look of someone who believed himself better than everyone else. He swaggered towards Jael, running a hand through his dark-blonde hair, eyes roaming her body.

‘The slaves aren’t your property,’ Jael snarled, fists clenched. ‘They’re the queen’s. You want her finding out what you’re doing to her property? What you take them back there to do?’ She pointed to the barracks, into which she’d watched the slave women being dragged from the moment she’d arrived.

The man’s name was Otho Dimas, the entitled son of one of the queen’s lords, and he burst out laughing, turning to translate for his friends, who quickly echoed his amusement. Turning back to Jael, he stepped forward, jutting out his clean-shaven chin with a sneer. ‘You think the queen gives a fuck what we do to you? But you’re here for us. Something to look at, to touch, to fuck... whatever we want.’ Now he stroked Jael’s simmering face. ‘You’re full of fire, you are. You need someone to cool you down.’

Jael swung up her left wrist, smashing the iron fetter into the side of Otho’s head. And not waiting for the shock to abate, she leaned back and brought her right hand around, cracking her fetter into his jaw.

Otho staggered for a moment, pain contorting his face. Shock too. His jaw throbbed, pain spreading like hot flames, and fearing it was broken, he didn’t speak. Sharpening his focus now, he punched back, but despite the weight of the fetters, Jael was quicker, and jerking to the side, she watched him stumble past her, losing his balance. Though heavily set, he didn’t fall, and he was wheeling around as Jael swung her foot at his neck. She’d been aiming for his jaw, wanting to break it, though the weight of the fetter had made it impossible to lift her leg high enough.

Otho howled, staggering again, and dropping her leg, Jael rushed him, leading with her shoulder, taking him in the chest, and arms wrapped around him, she knocked him to the ground, punching him in the face. She was faintly aware of someone shouting – nothing she could understand – and then the voice changed, now speaking the common tongue, calling her off, and she was quickly hauled away by two of Otho’s friends.

‘Get off me!’ Jael screamed. ‘Get off me!’

The soldiers squeezed her arms, yanking her towards the man who’d been calling out, and Jael could tell that they wanted to hurt her. But holding up a hand, the young man worked to calm them down as more soldiers arrived.

‘You have to stop,’ he told Jael in a strangely familiar voice. ‘Before you are killed!’

‘You think I’d be killed?’ she growled, quickly realising how foolish she sounded. She was surrounded by at least ten soldiers brandishing weapons. It would not go well for her, which she’d known since she’d been taken from Tuura. She had planned to bide her time, to keep her head down and her temper under control, and when she saw an opportunity, she would...

The dark-haired young man turned away, barking at Otho’s friends, who were now moving forward.

Relieved of her restrainers, Jael held up her hands in submission, hearing Otho Dimas groaning behind her.

‘What did he do?’ the young man asked with searching eyes.

Jael was surprised by his question. Surprised by his calm clarity too. ‘He beat one of the slaves. She tried to stop him raping her, but he punched her so hard that he knocked out her front teeth, broke her nose, and then he raped her anyway. I found her bloody and sobbing.’

The young man looked concerned, though not surprised. ‘I’m Nico,’ he told her, taking her arm and moving her towards where he could see his superior striding forward at pace. ‘My father asked me to keep an eye on you. He said you might cause trouble.’

‘Your father?’

‘The commander. Arras Sikari. He’s the one who brought you here.’

‘Oh.’ Jael’s anger was cooling, her fists starting to throb, along with her ankles and wrists.

‘The queen doesn’t want anything happening to you,’ Nico murmured as his superior arrived, pushing him away from Jael, demanding to know what had happened.

Jael took a breath, still feeling that aching rib. She wondered what would happen to her now. Nothing good by the look of Nico’s stern-faced superior. Nico Sikari had a calm head, though, a mature ease that belied his age, and he stood his ground. She guessed him to be around Fyn’s age. He looked like his father, slightly taller but with the same blunt nose and dark, hooded eyes. Handsome, in a gentle sort of way, she thought, unlike his gruff father, who had a more rugged, ruthless edge.

Nico Sikari appeared to be arguing on her behalf, though Jael sensed it was fruitless, and as Otho rose to his feet, cupping his jaw, Nico’s superior ordered her to be taken away for a whipping.

‘No! Wait!’ came a little voice, and Jael was surprised to see Sunni bound into the centre of the angry men. ‘She has to go to the physician. It is ordered!’ Then realising no one had understood her, she tried again in Siluran – the language most commonly spoken on S’ala Nis.

Jael waited, watching as Nico’s superior attempted to shoo Sunni away. Though just then, Arras Sikari arrived with an already familiar bark, eyed his son, grabbed Jael’s arm and led her away.

33

Despite the clear blue water lapping the white sand, Edela felt a growing trepidation. She looked up at the cliffs in the distance, pale and sheer, fearing what danger awaited.

Bertel was arguing with the helmsman, who had decided to abandon them on another island, much to their confusion and horror. Though after their terrifying departure from Karalos, the old man had become worried about the bad luck the dreamer would bring.

Siggy stood alone, buffeted by a warm wind, feeling uncertain about all of it, though after an uncomfortable few nights curled up on the Alekkans’ ship, she was eager to find a bed. ‘Do you have a good feeling?’ she called to Edela. ‘It looks pretty here!’

Turning to her, an exhausted Edela smiled until her blue eyes twinkled. ‘Oh, I agree, it’s paradise, for sure. Though what lurks up there, on the cliffs, I don’t know. Perhaps nothing bad at all?’ she added, seeing the girl blinking. ‘We might finally have been gifted some luck!’ And squinting, she sharpened her eyes on Bertel, who was being forced to hand over his promised coins and grumbling about it.

‘We aren’t getting very far on our mystery journey,’ Siggy decided, trudging through the sand towards the dreamer, which was so warm that it quickly dried her wet boots.

Edela patted her arm, hair whipping around her crumpled face. ‘I am sorry I dragged you here, Siggy. It’s been quite an ordeal, hasn’t it?’

Siggy nodded, though she didn’t look unhappy. ‘Though where will it lead us?’

‘Somewhere we’re meant to be, I hope. And at just the right time too!’ Edela promised with a wink. ‘And between now and then, we may as well do our best to enjoy everything good this strange journey has to offer. Like this magnificent beach, and our generous benefactor with his endless supply of coins!’ she grinned, watching Bertel stumble as he approached, grumbling with even greater intensity. She saw the Alekkan crew moving their ship back to sea in haste and felt a twinge of worry. Being ferried about by a crew of armed men felt much more comforting than relying on Bertel and Siggy.

And herself.

She remembered the illusion of the enormous wave she had conjured up in the cove and trembled, fearing where this path was leading her as a dreamer. She had killed six people since they’d set off from Tuura.

How was that even possible?

Shaking her head, Edela didn’t recognise herself at all.

‘And who knows what enemy is lurking up there?’ Bertel snapped moodily, pointing to the cliff. ‘I can’t understand the thinking of that helmsman. Fearing a little old dreamer?’

‘Well, thank you on both counts!’ Edela snorted. ‘Though I can hardly blame the man. He has to look out for his crew and his ship. Knowing we were being chased by a band of Siluran warriors hardly made us ideal passengers, despite your many coins.’

Bertel’s shoulders slumped, cloak snapping around his legs. ‘I’ll run out of them soon enough, so we can’t start spending here, Edela. We’ll have to make do with what we’ve brought with us.’ And moving past her, he didn’t look over his shoulder, determined not to focus on the past, for it certainly wouldn’t help them find whatever Edela was looking for.

Hearing his worried thoughts, Edela sighed. She felt terrible for leading them on a dangerous, wild hunt that had now taken them across the Valgeir Sea, though her memories of Furia spurred her on.

Something was here, calling to her, and no matter what happened, she had to find it.

* * *

‘I am not sure why I’m running after a slave as though I’m working for her!’ Arras snapped, dragging Jael behind him. Eventually, tired of her tugging against him, he released her arm and spun around. ‘Why are you causing trouble? It doesn’t help either of us!’ They stood beneath a stone arch, almost thick enough to be called a tunnel. It was a brief respite from the intense sun and a moment to speak privately.

Jael laughed bitterly. ‘Why? You have a son, a good man from what I just saw. And you wouldn’t care about finding your way back to him if you were taken? You wouldn’t want to get back to his mother? To your family? You’d just stay here, happily being a mad woman’s prisoner for the rest of your life?’

Arras sighed. ‘Nico’s mother is long dead, he’s all I have now, and of course I wouldn’t give up trying to find him unless I was here. If I was here, a prison with no escape, I would see it as a waste of my energy. I would resign myself to my new life, keep my head down and stay out of fucking trouble!’

Jael brandished an iron fetter in his face. ‘I might not be able to read your thoughts, but I don’t believe that for a moment. Nor do you! You wouldn’t give up on your son. You wouldn’t!’

Arras leaned towards her, hissing now. ‘But I would, Jael, because more than anyone, I know there is no escape from this place. It was designed that way. Who comes in, who goes out... it’s all carefully controlled. I’ve been here for thirty years, and there hasn’t been an escape attempt that even came close to succeeding. Those foolish enough to have tried... they’re all dead.’ He peered at her, desperate to get through. ‘What were you even doing? Fighting Otho Dimas? He’s a shit-headed prick, the son of a powerful lord. He knows his father will protect him, the queen, too, so he’s always causing trouble. So why get involved? Why make things harder for yourself?’

Jael strode away. ‘I need to get to the physician’s!’

Arras scratched his ear in irritation before following after her. ‘Why? Do you plan to beat him up too? Or perhaps stick him with a knife and try to slip away?’ Though shoulders dropping, he snorted, grinning at her now.

‘If you had these on your wrists, your ankles... you might be in a hurry too. The wounds beneath them are starting to stink. The sooner I get them off, the better.’

Arras was thoughtful. ‘And then you’ll go back to your friend Otho. He’ll be thrilled to see you.’

‘Though I smashed his face, so it would be hard to tell.’ And hearing footsteps, Jael spun around, seeing Sunni. ‘You’re coming along?’

‘I forgot I had to, but Nico sent me after you. You wouldn’t be able to understand Ratish.’

Jael looked at her blankly.

‘The physician!’ And now Sunni skipped ahead of them, short dark hair gleaming in the sun.

Jael immediately thought of Bo and felt odd. She wanted to be home on Oss, watching her children crawling onto the bed, telling her how desperately hungry they were, and then forgetting all about being hungry as they burrowed beneath the furs, wanting a cuddle. She had struggled to be touched until Sigmund and Bo came along, and now theirs were her favourite cuddles.

The ones she wanted most of all.

Arras placed a hand on Jael’s back, wanting to keep her moving, and flinching, she swung around with fiery green eyes.

He blinked in surprise, stepping back. ‘Go after the girl,’ he muttered. ‘You’ve caused enough trouble for one day. Go after the girl, and I will see what I can do about Otho and his friends.’

Jael was surprised, watching as he turned away, leaving her with Sunni, who had hurried back.

‘You must come, my lady!’ the girl implored. ‘Supper will be served, and if I’m not there, I’ll miss out. You must hurry!’

* * *

Bertel hurried them across the beach and up a steep, narrow path towards a road, where he was immediately confronted with a busy little market shaded by colourful awnings. Every building and path was constructed from a pale, almost white stone, the intense sun reflecting off it and into his eyes.

He turned with a squint to Edela, who soon arrived, red-faced and panting in front of Siggy, who had mostly pushed her up the steps.

‘Well, this is... pleasant!’ Edela declared brightly, squeezing her eyes up so tightly against the sun that she could barely see. ‘I smell food!’ And turning around to Siggy, she took the girl’s hand. ‘Why don’t you... go and... see what’s on offer?’

Bertel glowered at the dreamer. ‘Didn’t you hear me on the beach? I won’t have much left soon.’

‘I heard you perfectly,’ Edela sighed, trying to catch her breath. ‘Of course, but poor Siggy! I hardly think buying her something to eat will put too much of a dent in your booty, Bertel Knutson. Besides, we don’t have to eat ourselves, do we? I’m sure you could try fishing?’

Bertel’s stomach was profoundly empty, and the aroma of charred fish in the air soon reminded him of just how hungry he was. Eyes on Siggy in the distance, who’d quickly headed to a stall, and was waving her hand in the air, he dug a hand into his pouch. ‘I suppose it doesn’t hurt to pay for one meal. Just the one, mind!’ And striding away imperiously, Bertel left a chortling Edela in his wake.

She made to move forward, then froze, glancing over her shoulder, certain that someone was watching her. It was a feeling so intense that she shivered, and despite craning her neck and remaining there for some time, she saw no one looking her way. Though the unsettling feeling remained as she shook her head, following after Bertel.

* * *

It was surprisingly cool in the corridor outside the physician’s room, and as Jael stood waiting with Sunni, she grabbed the girl’s hand, pulling her close. ‘I need you to distract him. He needs to go outside.’

Sunni blinked up at Jael in surprise. ‘Why?’

‘I have to cut through the symbols inside these fetters,’ Jael told her, doubting the wisdom of revealing her plans, though she sensed that she had little choice. Sunni was helpful, but only to a point; she clearly didn’t want to get in trouble.

‘Why?’ she asked again.

‘The symbols are stopping me dreaming. If I can dream, I’ll see things, hear things. I’ll be able to find a way out of here.’

Sunni’s eyes rounded, and for a time, she didn’t blink. Then suddenly, she was frowning intensely. ‘There is no way out, my lady. You shouldn’t even try.’

Jael snorted. ‘Course there is, and when I cut through these symbols, I’ll find it. I just need you to help me. Just convince him to leave for a short while. I won’t need long.’ She spoke quickly, eyes on the door, wanting to get the girl on side before the physician came out to usher them into his room. Though he opened the door before Sunni had said a word, and Jael was left with the sinking feeling that she hadn’t convinced the girl to help her at all.

* * *

‘You’ll have to be careful in Castala,’ Bolder Oysten told Eadmund, who stood behind him, one hand on Bone Hammer’s shield rack, the other gripping a cup of cold ale. ‘It’s a nest of thieves and cutthroats, a dangerous place to visit, though we usually pay the tollmaster to keep an eye on the ship. It helps.’

Eadmund thought about the local he’d paid to look after their horses, hoping he’d keep them out of the hands of thieves and raiders until Axl could send men for them. He hoped his brother-in-law would; Jael would be livid if anything happened to Tig.

‘And what about the King of Silura? What sort of man is he?’

Bolder laughed. ‘Why? You planning on trying for an audience with him?’ He turned as one of his men approached, though seeing no questions in his eyes, he carried on. ‘The King of Silura’s a recluse. Mostly. A father with no children. They’re all dead now, and he hides away, fearing his enemies!’ Bolder had to shout as the wind whistled and the sea surged. It was becoming choppier, and Eadmund hurried to drain his cup, dropping it to the deck as he secured himself against the gunwale. ‘He’s not wrong! Silura’s a rich kingdom, dripping in wine. Gold and silk too. What man wouldn’t want to take it from him?’

Eadmund frowned. ‘He’s a recluse? A rich king sitting on a mountain of treasure? Then why are his men out roaming Osterland, killing dreamers and taking my wife?’

Bolder shrugged. ‘Doesn’t make a lot of sense!’ He turned away, taking the steering oar in both hands as the waves swelled. The sky was darkening around them, the sound of the wind an eerie howl, and he knew a storm was approaching.

Eadmund picked up his empty cup, swaying back down the ship, past a sodden Fyn, playing dice with two of Bolder’s men, to where Mattie sat cuddling her cat. Thorgils was sound asleep beside her, seemingly oblivious to the wind and the waves, which occasionally splashed over him, dripping into his open mouth.

‘What did the helmsman say?’ Mattie wanted to know, peering up at Eadmund with a shiver. Her thick blonde hair was plastered to her frozen face, and taking one hand away from Otter, she reached up and parted it like curtains, trying to see more of the king.

‘Another three days. Looks like a storm, though. Do you see a storm coming?’

Mattie shrugged. ‘It was my husband who knew about the sea,’ she said sadly. ‘Not me. After what it did, taking him away like that, I try not to think about the sea at all.’

Eadmund dropped down beside her, sensing problems. ‘What’s wrong?’

She stared at him, wondering how to put into words the strange thoughts she was having. ‘I... I don’t think we’re heading in the right direction. I don’t see a busy port or a marketplace. When I think of the queen, I feel as though she’s underground. Nowhere we can find her!’

Eadmund jerked forward in horror. ‘Underground? What? Dead?’

‘No, not necessarily, but she’s hidden away. I feel that someone is hiding her.’

Eadmund couldn’t breathe. ‘But why? Hiding her from who?’

‘Well, if I had the answer to that, I’d be able to plot a course straight to her, my lord. Though as it stands, I’ve nothing more than these feelings. And they’re not going to get us anywhere!’

* * *

The physician felt Jael’s head, and looking down, he saw how red her knuckles were. He asked a question, which Sunni translated.

‘Tell him my hands are fine, but the fetters are rubbing. I don’t think the wounds are healing at all.’ A nervous-looking Sunni relayed her words, eyeing Jael with concern, though Jael ignored her, not wanting to alert the man to any strange going’s on.

The physician sniffed her ankles and wrists, seemingly agreeing with her diagnosis, and after unlocking the fetters around her wrists and unwrapping the now filthy linen cloths he’d used as protective barriers between the wounds and the iron clamps, he frowned.

Sunni said something, which provoked a thoughtful nod and then a series of instructions. A wide-eyed Sunni hurried to tell Jael that the wounds needed time to breathe, to dry out. They were too wet, so she had to lie down. He would unlock her ankles, too, and let some air on them before he applied more salves. She listened as the physician spoke, screwing up her face. ‘He might try maggots.’

Jael blinked. ‘Maggots? It’s not that bad, is it?’ She had just rested her head on the bed but popped it up, trying to see for herself, though the physician immediately placed a hand on her shoulder, pushing her down.

‘Stay,’ he said in the common tongue.

And so a fidgeting Jael lay there with her aching wrists and ankles exposed, listening as he dropped the fetters to the floor. Sunni started chatting away, and soon the man was leading her out of the room. When they reached the door, he relayed something to Sunni, who was barely able to suppress a nervous smile.

‘He will lock you in,’ she told Jael. ‘He needs my help with another patient. We have to go!’ She thought about adding something else, though fearing the physician knew more of the common tongue than he was letting on, she thought better of it. ‘We won’t be long!’

Jael feared that was true, and waiting until she heard the lock click, she bounded off the table, ignoring the pain as she hurried to the physician’s desk, searching for a knife. She found one in the first drawer beneath a stack of vellum notes. Surprised by that, she feared it was all a trap. Surely the fact that the fetters had symbols inside them meant that someone on the isle knew magic? They certainly knew the symbols to stop a dreamer. Then, realising that she was wasting time, Jael hurried back to the bed, and picking up one of the fetters, she scratched the knife across the first symbol in jagged movements. There were three symbols inside each fetter, and Jael knew that she wouldn’t be able to undo their magic unless she crossed out each one.

It was a guess and a hope, for she’d never listened to much that Edela had tried to pass on about dreaming. Ayla either. Though there was little time for regret now.

Hearing voices outside the door, she hurried to pick up the next fetter. The voices weren’t familiar and passed quickly, soon just a drone in the distance. Sunni had said that the physician shared the house with other practitioners, so perhaps that was it? Though part of her feared that a dreamer somewhere had alerted the guards to what she was doing.

Jael worked with speed, scratching marks across each symbol with such force that her swollen knuckles started aching. The knife blunted quickly, and she feared the physician would notice, though there was little time to worry. She soon heard more voices and then Sunni talking loudly.

‘Shouldn’t you give her more time to lie down? To save her having to... come back?’

The physician was muttering, jingling keys, and Jael tried to silently put the fetters back into their pile. Tiptoeing across the room, she creaked open the desk drawer, cringing at the sound, hoping that Sunni’s loud voice had masked the noise. And then, she was leaping back towards the bed as the door swung open.

Sunni waited in the doorway. ‘We’re here!’ she called, blocking the physician from entering. He grumbled loudly, moving her aside, and soon they were both in the room, eyes on Jael, who lay on the bed, watching them.

* * *

As dusk settled over the pretty island of Marinos, Edela, Bertel, and Siggy sat outside a wine merchant’s cave, sampling his wares. He hadn’t asked for any coins, simply offering the samples for free, and after a salty meal of roasted squid, charred octopus, and goat’s cheese, the liquid refreshment was welcome. And delicious, Bertel thought, longingly staring into the little cave, wanting to purchase a cask, though it was more important that they found somewhere to stay before night truly arrived.

‘I think we need to assess our situation,’ he decided with a weary sigh. ‘We’ve done nothing but run from certain death, and I think it’s time to try and determine why. You must have some idea? Something you’re not telling us?’

Edela stared at him with blinking eyes.

Siggy had turned away, watching colourful birds swooping down to where they sat, hoping for crumbs.

Leaning forward, Bertel tapped Edela’s free hand. ‘Something we need to know?’

‘Well, I...’ Edela became flustered. ‘I tell you what I can, Bertel, both of you, though I cannot reveal all that I know or everything I see.’

Bertel sat back as though victorious. ‘I knew it! Knew you saw more than you were letting on!’ Now he jerked forward. ‘But why? Why keep us in the dark, Edela?’ Seeing that Siggy had fully turned around to the birds now, trying to tempt them to land on her hand, he frowned, lowering his voice. ‘And why me? I came to help you.’

‘Which I am yet to understand,’ Edela admitted with a perplexed frown. ‘We barely knew each other, we weren’t even particularly friendly, and yet you decided to upend your life and come along on a dangerous adventure with no destination? And even after escaping Tuura and then Iskavall... you kept coming? It’s never made any sense to me. A man like you?’

Surprised by her tone, Bertel blinked. ‘Well, I...’

And realising how brusque she’d been to a man who had helped them and paid for their comforts and passage on two ships now, Edela shook her head, feeling cross with herself. ‘I didn’t mean it that way, Bertel. It’s just that you and I don’t know each other, not in any meaningful way, so why would you want to stay this course with me? You don’t strike me as a man seeking adventure or excitement. When I look at you, I don’t see a journeyman or a warrior.’ Peering closely, wanting to know more about her mysterious companion, she started, seeing glimpses of surprisingly unexpected images. ‘You are –’

‘I had heard that you were an insightful dreamer,’ a snippy Bertel told her. ‘Your reputation certainly indicated as much. And yet, here you sit before me, entirely blind to the life I have led and to what might make me seek a worthwhile end.’ He stood in a fluster, bushy grey eyebrows trembling. ‘I will find accommodation for the night. The wine merchant mentioned a man letting out rooms on the far side of the island.’ And with that, he wheeled away, striding off down the street.

Siggy turned around in surprise, feeling slightly giddy from the few sips of wine Edela had given her. ‘What happened?’ she asked as Bertel strode up a steep cobblestoned path without looking back.

Edela peered at her, feeling slightly giddy herself. The wine was powerfully strong, and the heat of the late afternoon sun bearing down on her made her nauseous. ‘It appears that I’ve offended Bertel.’

Siggy laughed. ‘I think Bertel is easily offended.’

‘He is, yes, though I have truly hurt his feelings. I shall have to go and make amends. He’s done so much to help me. I really shouldn’t have questioned his motives, for I’m the one with the problem, aren’t I? Not him,’ she joked, trying to lighten her tone, not wanting to burden the girl.

Though Siggy seemed eager to offer advice, turning her entire body towards Edela now. ‘I think Bertel was lonely in Tuura. He didn’t seem to like being an elder.’

‘Didn’t he?’

Siggy shook her head. ‘He didn’t have many friends, if any. He lived alone, and I never saw him laughing or having any fun. When you came along, though, he seemed different.’

‘Different, how?’

Siggy shrugged. ‘He left the temple more, talked more. Before, he kept to himself, but when he saw you, he...’ She shrugged again, not knowing how to explain it.

Edela felt strange. ‘Well, I...’ Taking a deep breath, she worked her way back into the images she’d seen of Bertel’s past. They were nothing she might have imagined, he was nothing she might have imagined, and she began to wonder how he’d ended up in Tuura as an unfulfilled elder with bags of coins.

‘I know how he feels,’ Siggy whispered. ‘I had no friends in Tuura either. The girls didn’t talk to me. Everyone said I wasn’t a dreamer, so they didn’t want anything to do with me.’

‘And how did they know?’ Edela snorted.

Siggy glanced down at her little glass beaker, now empty of its wine. ‘It doesn’t matter if I’m a dreamer. I don’t need to be one to make a life for myself, do I?’

‘Of course not,’ Edela smiled. ‘But don’t give up on anything just yet, Siggy dear. I prefer to keep as many doors open as possible. Life’s more fun that way! So don’t close that door just yet. Hold on, and let your destiny unveil itself when it’s ready. Who knows? One day you might be in for a lovely surprise!’

34

On his way to supper with Queen Kalina, a tense Arras made a detour.

He’d spent nearly every evening in the company of the queen, her stuffy lords and their gossiping ladies, since his return from Osterland, and it was becoming a tedious chore. He had to watch every word he uttered, every expression and mannerism. He had to think of pleasing things to say, to control his temper and hold his tongue. It made him feel like a prisoner for the first time in years.

So, wanting to feel like himself again, he visited his son.

He could see that Nico was intrigued by his new outfit, his shaven face, and his trimmed, clean hair, though he didn’t say. It was another reason to like the boy. Nico worked hard to make people feel comfortable – a skill his quick-tempered father had never mastered.

‘What happened with Otho?’ Arras asked, walking his son to a nearby well, where slaves were winding up the bucket. ‘Is he back?’

‘He is. Back but quiet.’

Arras scratched the deep groove between his dark eyebrows. ‘Though I doubt he’ll remain quiet for long. After what Jael Furyck did, he’ll have his eye on her.’

‘She smashed the shit out of him,’ Nico chuckled. ‘Best thing I’ve seen all year. I hated to stop it.’

‘Hmmm, but while he’s breathing there’s a chance he’ll get the last laugh,’ Arras warned. ‘He won’t let it stand, though he knows nothing about the woman. He thinks he was slapped around by some nameless slave, not a queen. A Brekkan warrior.’ Shaking his head, Arras saw a dark-haired slave heading his way. And sensing her presence, Nico lifted his eyes, sharing a look with the woman. Arras sighed as she passed. ‘Well, that’s not a good idea, my son. You can’t allow yourself to get attached to any of them.’

Nico lifted an eyebrow. ‘Though you seem strangely close to the slave queen. Or am I just imagining things?’

Arras burst out laughing, slapping his thigh. ‘Strangely close? I’ve no choice but to stay close to that woman. The queen wants to keep her alive, yet the annoying creature’s done nothing but try to get herself killed since she arrived. She appears happy to throw her life away.’ And feeling uncomfortable and no longer wanting to talk about Jael Furyck, Arras left the well, urging Nico away from the dark-haired slave with the furtive eyes.

‘So the queen is the reason you’re dressed this way? Again?’

Arras looked further annoyed. ‘I think this is where I leave you to get on with your evening, my son. I trust it will be enjoyable and not spent in that girl’s company. If Otho Dimas or any of his fucked-up friends get a whiff that you like her –’

‘They won’t,’ Nico promised, seeing Sunni coming towards him with Jael Furyck. ‘Sure you don’t want to wait around and welcome back your favourite slave, Father?’

Spinning around to see what he meant, Arras groaned, and with an unimpressed look at his gloating son, he quickly strode away.

* * *

Eadmund’s thoughts jumped around as Bone Hammer rode the waves. Heart in mouth, he waited for the bang as her hull smacked down on the frothing water. Sometimes it took so long that he feared something terrible would happen and that he wouldn’t be able to reach Jael.

Closing his eyes, he attempted to shut out the unsettling creaks and groans and the shriek of the wind swirling angrily around them all. He didn’t want to catch a glimpse of the sea, for sometimes it felt as though it was consuming them, the waves now higher than the walls of Oss’ fort. He felt Thorgils knocking against him as he tried to steady himself on the rocking ship.

He looked like a dripping bear, Eadmund thought with a grin, seeing his friend’s wet hair plastered to his face, his thick fur like a shaggy coat.

Eadmund was barely holding himself together, working to keep them on course while they searched for Jael, though mostly he wanted to scream in frustration that everything was taking so long. He thought of his children back on Oss, his island kingdom he’d left in Bram’s hands, and he knew he had to get back to make sure they were all safe. But not until he had Jael.

His wife had been taken, the mother of his children, the woman he loved.

He couldn’t stop until he found her.

He wouldn’t.

On his other side, feeling himself sliding, Thorgils gripped his arm.

Eadmund turned to his best friend, both of them soaking wet, shaking with cold, worried and anxious, but he saw determination in Thorgils’ eyes, and holding his gaze for a moment, he nodded.

* * *

Kalina Sardis liked to eat supper late.

A tired Arras, who’d had a long day, didn’t show his irritation about that, though he felt impatient and hungry as he watched the slaves dashing back and forth from the table.

The queen’s guests mingled in the dining hall, many eyeing him with curious stares, though Arras’ eyes remained on that enormous table, hoping the first course would be served soon.

‘We are having a roasted pig,’ Kalina told him. ‘You so enjoyed it last time that I asked the cooks to prepare it again tonight.’

Arras smiled to cover his disappointment about that. As extravagant as its presentation had been – the glazed pig had stood on a golden platter, belly stuffed with sausage and prunes, which had tumbled out when the queen had taken a knife to it – he had found it tasteless and dry. ‘I look forward to it,’ he lied as the queen stepped closer.

‘You have an enormous appetite,’ Kalina murmured, touching his arm, barely aware of her other guests, though the dining hall was full, and there would be fifty for supper. ‘I eat little, I think, compared to you. Though what do I have to do all day but perch on my throne and listen to my advisors? Day and night they come to chirp and chatter in my ear. Oh, the decisions I have to make! Not all of them come easily, you know. Not all of them are welcomed by my courtiers.’ Now she turned, eyeing a cluster of pot-bellied old men with some distaste.

Arras frowned, hearing something in her voice that gave him pause. He saw those old men watching them, too, recognising one as Iker Rayas’ father. Turning away, he focused on the queen. ‘If you were not working so hard to manage everything so effectively, we would surely notice. S’ala Nis runs smoothly because of all your hard work, my queen.’

Kalina was so pleased by the compliment that she beamed at him. ‘It is rare to be acknowledged,’ she purred with fluttering eyelashes. ‘My father was lauded as a great ruler. S’ala Nis was his creation, and he has rightly been given credit for its success, though I have spent twelve years here on my own, making it into a true paradise and a fortress besides. Our beloved isle is its own world now.’

‘Yes, for conception is the easy part, especially when it comes to children. It is the raising of them that takes all the work,’ Arras joked. Though seeing the queen blanch, he gulped down the rest of his wine.

‘But conception can be a challenge, too,’ she said, her voice now stilted, eyes on her own goblet. ‘It is no secret that I have had... ill luck with my husbands. My father instructed me not to follow my heart when it came to marriage. He desired me to choose a man of high standing, one who would both complement me and bring a certain gravitas to the throne. He wanted a nobleman to help me maintain my position and provide me with heirs.’ Now, without lifting her head, she shifted her eyes towards Arras. ‘I listened to him, as a daughter should, and I made my choices based upon his advice. Though it has recently occurred to me that love is what has been missing all along. A lack of love in my marriages is what has prevented me conceiving an heir. And I intend to remedy that, Arras Sikari. I intend to remedy that with haste.’

Avoiding her seeking eyes, an increasingly uncomfortable Arras looked around for a wine jug, knowing that he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t interrupt her, he couldn’t say a word. He merely had to be dragged towards what he’d begun to fear was going to happen for months now.

‘You have been a loyal and effective servant for both my father and me. A respected leader, who others wish to follow. A man I have grown to trust more than any other. And love,’ she admitted, demurely now. ‘So it is you I will marry next, you who will provide me with a son, for your Nico shows me what a child with you would look like. He is a fine young man, handsome and strong, and I know that one day soon, he will rise to take your place as Commander of the Waves. And you? When we are married, I will make you my consort. The most powerful man on the isle.’

As a poor boy growing up in Silura’s slums, as a captured slave, digging pits for the queen’s father, Arras had never imagined the strange turns his life would take. And while he may have longed for a meal or his freedom, he had never sought power and prestige. ‘I... I do not come from a noble family, my queen. I have no ancestors of note. I grew up in Silura, stealing to survive. There is nothing to endear me to you, surely? I do not have the...’ He struggled to find the right words, thoughts freezing under Kalina’s suddenly intense gaze. ‘Skills. I do not have the skills to be your consort. To act with etiquette and decorum, to entertain guests and –’

She laughed now, taking his hand. ‘You will call me Kalina. And you needn’t concern yourself with any of that, my heart. All that matters is that I have chosen you, and everything else can be taken care of. I promise.’

* * *

Jael entered the servants’ hall long after the sun had set, feeling optimistic. She saw no sign of Otho Dimas, and though his friends had come and gone, Nico Sikari had kept a close eye on them.

She could only hope that that remained the case.

Enjoying the silence, Jael sipped the thin broth that was the evening staple. She kept her head down, trying to keep the broth down too. Often it tasted fishy, sometimes it had hints of meat, but mostly it smelled like onions. It made her nauseous, and she thought about not eating at all, though now that she’d cut through the symbols, she needed strength. She felt a ripple of excitement coursing through her weary body, a sense of hope for the first time since she’d woken up on Arras’ ship. Eager to get to bed, wanting to have a real dream, she grabbed a slice of stale bread and, attempting to soften it, she dipped it into the broth.

It was some time before she noticed that many of the slaves were looking her way, whispering to each other. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked the woman beside her. Her name was Kora, Jael remembered, from an island called Stillanos. She’d sat mutely beside her, shoulders slumped, greasy blonde hair almost hanging in the broth, though now she looked up.

‘Happened?’

‘Everyone’s staring at me.’

Kora shook her head, amazed that she didn’t know. ‘Because of what you did, of course. To Otho. You would have killed him, wouldn’t you? If you hadn’t been pulled away. I think you could have.’

Jael shrugged. ‘Well, he deserved it. And more.’

Kora turned back to her broth. ‘I’m happy to be ugly.’

‘Ugly? What do you mean?’

‘That’s what they say, Otho and his men. That I’m lucky I’m ugly. They don’t want to touch me. Because of this,’ she said, pointing to the purple birthmark spreading from her forehead down to her right cheek. ‘They think I’m cursed by the gods.’

Jael looked surprised. ‘Well, anything to stop them raping you. Whatever it takes.’

Kora nodded, dipping her spoon back into the cold broth. ‘How did you know what to do? Are you a warrior?’

‘Well, I know how to fight.’ Hearing a hush descend upon the hall, Jael looked up to see Otho Dimas flanked by two of his thick-necked friends, all three of them looking her way. ‘And I know when to fight, and now isn’t it,’ she mumbled, eyes back on her broth, not wanting to get into trouble. She needed to focus on getting to bed, on finding a way to escape.

Kora nudged her, and Jael saw that Otho and his friends weren’t coming towards her. They’d made straight for a table of young slaves, and yanking them up by the hair, they dragged the frightened women away.

Jael’s stomach lurched, heart thumping. ‘Go and find Nico Sikari,’ she told Kora, who didn’t move. She was too scared, she realised, hearing the woman’s bleating thoughts. Then blinking as she realised that she’d actually heard Kora’s thoughts, she squeezed her hand. ‘Go and find him now. He’ll stop them.’

‘But I...’

‘You may think they won’t touch you, but who knows what the future holds? Who knows what man will come along next? Maybe someone who’s not afraid of your mark, so go. Please, Kora.’ She stood with heavy legs, feeling strange. ‘You’re making the wrong choice!’ she called across the hall. And as Kora slid off the bench beside her, Jael stepped away from the tables, heading for Otho and his friends. ‘You can’t take those women! You can’t rape them!’ She just had to delay. Hopefully, all she needed to do was delay.

Otho eyed the fetters around Jael’s wrists. His swollen face pounded like a drum, though he’d wanted to show the bitch that, despite his injuries, she hadn’t won. He could do what he liked with the slaves. They were no more than benches and blankets, mere items to use as he wished. They were to comfort and please him, to keep him warm at night.

He would show her. She would see.

Glancing around, Jael picked up a stool, smashing it against the nearest table, and from the broken pieces, she picked out a long wooden leg, brandishing it at Otho, leaving him and his friends in no doubt of her intentions if they didn’t release the slaves. ‘Leave the women behind and I won’t hurt you! Just let them go and leave!’

Otho was incredulous. ‘What are you talking about, you stupid cunt? You want me to leave? Me?’ It hurt to talk, and now he simply growled.

‘I’ve killed more men than I’ve ever cared to count,’ Jael warned darkly. ‘Bigger men than you, more men than you, and I won’t be stopped now. I’ll leave this place, I promise you that. But you never will. I promise you that too!’

Otho laughed at her, and pushing away the slave he’d been holding onto, he came forward, attempting to look threatening, though his bruised, swollen face only reminded Jael that she’d gotten the better of him already. She thought about simply swinging for his jaw, which would surely break this time, but for once in her life, she didn’t want a fight. She needed to go to sleep.

Glancing at the door, she hoped Nico would hurry.

* * *

Nico had been surprised by another visit from his father.

He’d been about to sit down to supper, hoping to hurry through it and meet up with Anika, the dark-haired slave he was in love with, though his father had arrived in a disturbed state, taking his son for a walk, away from the soldiers’ barracks towards one of the training grounds, now deserted.

‘I am to marry the queen. She told me tonight.’

Nico jerked to a stop and rounding on his father with horror in his eyes, he had no words.

Placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, Arras tried to steady his own thoughts, for it was Nico who mattered now. ‘She will make me her husband soon. I... she is eager to have it done.’

‘But –’

‘I won’t let anything happen to you,’ his father promised. ‘You will be safe. I will find a way to make it so.’

‘Father –’

‘I wanted you to know, to know what will come.’

A distracted Nico heard someone calling his name, and turning around, he saw a slave running down the torchlit street. ‘Father, I...’

‘Life offers twists and turns to keep us alert,’ Arras said with a weary grin, feeling anything but alert. ‘And now we must both be sharp of mind, my son.’

‘It’s that woman again! Jael!’ Kora called between gasps, stopping abruptly, hands on hips. ‘She’s going to fight Otho and his friends!’

An incredulous Arras shook his head, and urging his son after the woman, he hurried them back to the barracks, all thoughts of Kalina Sardis gone from his mind.

* * *

In the end, Jael hadn’t been able to wait for Nico. Otho had lunged for her, and forced to defend herself, she’d swung the chair leg at his arm, relieved when it didn’t simply snap in two.

Otho’s much shorter friend had aimed to punch her next, though spinning around, she’d kicked him in the head, landing her fetter near his ear, which seemed to hurt, she thought, listening to his howls as she swung back, ducking Otho’s right hook.

His other friend came for her, too, this one barely a man, too inexperienced to think before throwing his fist. Spinning around, keeping her head low, Jael struck him in the ribs, wondering how long the chair leg had in it.

She turned quickly, moving away, eyes sweeping the hall.

Two of Otho’s friends were groaning and yelping, leaving him exposed, so he called more soldiers into the fight. The slaves had scattered, gathering at the back of the hall, where they watched with big eyes and open mouths.

One of the newcomers hit Jael in the back and winded, she staggered forward. Kicked by another man, she fell to the ground. Rolling onto her back with a grunt, she swung the chair leg into that man’s shin, hearing a crack. He tipped sideways with a shout, and Jael pushed herself up onto one knee, swinging again, cracking the chair leg into another man’s groin. Doubled over, he stumbled away from her, and now back on both feet, she ducked and weaved, seeing six soldiers heading her way. One of them swung for her, exposing his ribs, and Jael feinted right before landing a powerful blow on his left, certain she heard bones snapping. She’d certainly snapped the chair leg, and throwing away the remaining stump, she knew she had no choice but to use her fists.

Now Otho pushed forward, lunging for her, and the man she’d kicked in the balls was coming, ready for her again too.

‘Stop!’ a furious Arras bellowed from the doorway. He spoke first to Jael, then to the soldiers. ‘Stop! There will be no more fighting, and you –’ he snarled, reaching for Jael, who quickly dropped her arms to her sides. ‘I will have to think about what to do with you!’ He repeated that in Siluran so everyone could understand how furious he was. And telling Nico to get everything in order, he dragged a silent Jael Furyck out of the hall, into the night.

* * *

After Arras had excused himself from her dinner party, Kalina had hurried the rest of her guests away, wanting to speak to the isle’s seer, Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree.

The ancient tree was said to possess magical powers, and a magnificent temple had been built around it, hoping to harness them. Noor was not the first of his name and would not be the last, though in his many years at the temple, his wisdom had been revered like no other.

It was rare for him to leave it, and he did so only upon being compelled by the queen, for her authority was absolute.

Even a wily old sage knew that.

They sat now in the cool darkness of one of her private balconies, covered by various awnings fluttering in a rare breeze. Braziers lined the balcony, setting off the night with an amber glow, and before them, a table replete with refreshments beckoned, though Kalina had already eaten, and Noor was fasting, as he often was.

He perched beside her on a velvet bench, dressed in a plain white robe. He wore no adornments. He had no facial hair and none on his head – not even eyebrows. He was dark-skinned and blue-eyed and always incredibly still.

Kalina, who feared no one, felt oddly nervous in the seer’s presence. He often spoke in riddles that she struggled to comprehend. As the Queen of S’ala Nis, she refused to look or sound foolish or weak, so she had sent her ladies and slaves away, seeking to take this meeting alone. ‘I am the queen,’ she began. ‘And yet I fear that my lords disapprove of my choice of husband.’

Noor appeared like a snail edging across a path as he sought to answer. His lips were dry, and he licked them several times before speaking. ‘Well, my queen, for the first time, you have not chosen from amongst them. I expect that unsettles men used to having influence in the royal court. Their unhappiness should not distress you, for it is in their own interests that they become disturbed.’ Peering at his deeply lined palms, he brought his hands towards his face, wafting the incense over his head. And now, closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply.

Kalina made to smile but frowned instead. ‘Though am I making a mistake?’

Opening his eyes, Noor did not smile. ‘I do not believe it possible, my queen. When one follows one’s heart, they embark upon a journey of truth. It is only by denying our heart that we allow ourselves to become lost. You are following the true path if you have fallen in love.’

Kalina’s heart fluttered just thinking of Arras. ‘I have, yes, and I wish for them to see that. To see what I see in Arras Sikari. He will make a fine consort.’

Noor was silent for some time, closing his eyes and humming. When he opened his eyes, he stared at the queen. ‘You can tell them what to think, for you are all powerful, my queen, though you cannot tell them how to feel. A feeling comes from deep within our body, drawing from the power of our soul. It is something we experience through pain or joy, excitement or love. You cannot tell your lords how to feel, but perhaps the commander can show them?’

A blinking Kalina leaned forward, breathless with curiosity. ‘Show them? What do you mean?’

‘To claim a queen, Arras Sikari must defeat one.’

It took a moment for Kalina to unravel that riddle, but when she did, her mouth dropped open. ‘But my father, he would never...’

Though the seer had closed his eyes.

35

Arras didn’t speak as he led Jael away, past the training ground where he’d just been speaking to Nico, towards the small block of stables where he housed his horses. He wanted to head to a tavern and drink himself into oblivion, though first, he had to do something about this never-ending problem.

When they were inside, and he was confident of being alone, Arras locked the stable doors, pushing Jael against them. ‘The queen does not want you to die, so I shall have to move you again. Again!’ he snapped irritably, feeling pains in his chest. And fists clenched, he spun away from her.

‘Is there a dreamer here?’ Jael asked. ‘On the island? Do you have dreamers here?’

Turning back around, Arras glared at her in confusion. ‘What? Dreamers? Not anymore. Not that I know of. There is a seer, Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. Some believe he is over three hundred years old.’

‘And you?’

‘I don’t believe in anything,’ Arras assured her, becoming distracted. ‘I don’t believe in gods or dreamers or seers or slave queens.’

‘That’s a pity because I could help you escape.’

Arras’ laugh was bitter. ‘Haven’t we played this game already, Jael Furyck? First, there is no escape. Second, I don’t have any intention of escaping from here.’

‘That’s not true,’ she whispered, trying to claim his attention as his eyes darted around the stables.

‘Why? Do you have your magical powers back?’ Arras mocked, moving his hands before her face. ‘Can you read my mind?’ Though seeing her staring at him and not answering, he became annoyed and once again spun away, moving towards the stall where one of his horses had been returned for the night.

Seeing the black horse, who looked so much like Tig, Jael felt a pain in her heart. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Surely you already know,’ Arras sniped, not turning around.

Taking a deep breath, Jael came forward and gently placing a hand on the horse’s black muzzle, she closed her eyes. ‘Tito,’ she said eventually, turning to an open-mouthed Arras. ‘And you do want to escape this place, and if you work with me, I can help you.’

* * *

Bertel had found them a room on the top floor of a house tucked down a narrow back alley. It was more of a cupboard, Edela thought, for the two beds – one on each wall – were too short to fully stretch out on. Siggy had taken one, hunched up as though sitting but perfectly sound asleep, though Edela hadn’t even moved towards her own bed yet. Bertel had offered it to her, knowing she needed to dream, though Edela felt certain that there were too many questions swirling around her mind to allow any dreams in.

They sat on stools on opposite sides of a small fire pit. It wasn’t particularly cold, though the flames were welcome. It was a strange house, made entirely of stone, topped with a thatched roof. It wasn’t breezy, though Edela continued to smell the sea long after they’d locked the door. ‘I can’t help you, can’t understand you, if you don’t tell me anything about yourself. I could go digging, but that wouldn’t feel right. It’s you who must open the door and let me in.’

Bertel dragged up his head, peering at her in surprise. ‘Pardon?’

‘You, getting mad. At me. Though we’re strangers, Bertel Knutson. I... I am glad you’re here, but I do need to understand why. I want to trust you, but it’s hard to trust in the dark. You must light a torch and show me who you are.’

A blinking Bertel peered at her for some time, hands cupped around a small beaker of ale. And then, as though finally dropping a heavy weight, his shoulders gave way, and he slumped towards the fire. ‘I’ve been searching,’ he began, before stopping and taking a moment to gather himself. ‘I have been searching for a purpose for years now. Decades. A way to redeem myself.’ Stroking his short grey beard, he tensed again.

Edela saw images, though she didn’t speak, leaving Bertel to reveal what he wanted her to know.

‘Once I was a warrior, believe it or not,’ he laughed. ‘Not a bad one, according to some. I learned how to kill as a boy, fighting off the raiders who tried to take my mother. My brother was...’ Swallowing, he dropped his head. ‘He was older than me, and with our father gone, he’d taught me how to use an axe and a spear. He told me we had to keep our mother safe. Our village had been raided before, our father killed. He feared it would happen again, and it did, though together we protected her and stopped those men taking her away. The entire village fought back, and we won.’ He drank the remainder of his ale, becoming still. ‘I didn’t stop fighting after that, for the next... thirty years? We went everywhere, my brother and I. Earned treasure, brought it back to our mother. And after she died, we kept it for ourselves. We thought we’d build a hall, a fort, settle land, find women and marry. Though there was always the lure of the sea and the next adventure, so we kept putting it off.’

Siggy whimpered in her sleep, and they both turned towards her, though she merely flopped over to face the wall.

‘Go on,’ Edela urged.

Clearing his throat, Bertel nodded. ‘We had a longstanding rivalry with a warband in Southern Iskavall. We were always getting in each other’s way, and eventually, we were forced to hold our ground and fight them off. They were stronger than us, though, they had more men, and I feared we’d made a mistake. The enemy turned us, and it became a melee. There was no plan at all, just the need to survive it. I was surrounded, at least eight men on me. I didn’t see my brother anywhere, so I called for him. I wanted to know he was safe. Last I’d seen, he’d been on the right flank, nowhere near me.’ His words became stilted, hard to get out. ‘The enemy was on me. I... turned, trying to push my way out. I was stuck in the mud, though, I couldn’t move. I swung around and...’

Edela moved her stool around the fire pit until she was sitting beside Bertel. And now she patted his hand.

‘I couldn’t do anything to stop it,’ Bertel cried. ‘I tried, as soon as I saw my brother’s face, I tried to stop, to pull back my sword, to... but I was moving too quickly, you see, trying to kill so I could escape and find him. I was moving too fast, I hadn’t seen, and...’ Bertel wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘I drove my sword straight through my brother’s armour, into his belly. I... killed him.’ Now he dropped his head, hiding both his tears and his shame.

It was a long time before he said another word.

Finally lifting his head, he rubbed his eyes, blinking at Edela. ‘I wanted to die on that field as my brother had, though my men came and saved me. I’ve spent every day since then trying to make up for it, trying to find a way to repay my debt to him. He saved my life countless times over the years, and I... I took his.’

‘It was an accident,’ Edela assured him. ‘An accident.’

‘Though it doesn’t erase that I did it, that I took my best friend’s life. I killed my own brother. I still did that, Edela.’

She frowned. ‘So you stopped being a warrior after that?’

Bertel nodded. ‘I put down my sword and walked away, took a ship and disappeared. I kept running, at first wanting to die, then eventually, I decided that I needed to do something to atone for what I’d done. Though,’ he laughed bitterly, ‘I’ve never even come close.’

‘Yet,’ Edela told him firmly. ‘You haven’t come close yet. And maybe this is something, this strange journey of ours? A way to make things feel right, in here,’ she said, pressing a hand to his heart. ‘It doesn’t matter what I might say or anyone else. If you don’t feel right in here, then you must make it so. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more.’ She thought for a moment, wondering if that was entirely true. ‘I... I can promise you that this is very important, what we are doing. Vitally so. And it will make sense in time.’ She patted his hand again. ‘Your life will not end without meaning, Bertel Knutson. I know it.’

* * *

Arras took a small pear from his pouch, placing it on his palm for his horse to gobble up. ‘The queen has no heirs,’ he told Jael. ‘She’s had six husbands now, though she has never fallen pregnant once. She killed them all, or at least they all suffered unfortunate accidents, all strangely similar to each other. All leading to their deaths.’

‘And now she wants to marry you?’

‘She will marry me. There’s nothing I can do about it. Anyone who displeases her dies, apart from you, of course. For some reason, she wants to keep you alive.’ Jael didn’t speak, and he went on. ‘But I can’t leave Nico here. I’ve protected him from this place his entire life, and if something happens to me?’

‘So you have to escape before it’s too late. Before she forces you to marry her.’

Arras shook his head, rubbing his hands through his hair. ‘You aren’t hearing me, Jael. There is no escape. You can only leave S’ala Nis with permission, and I don’t have it.’

‘Then get it.’

‘It doesn’t work like that. The queen knows how to keep us compliant. Whenever I leave here, Nico stays. I’ve never been able to take him with me. That way, she ensures I’ll return.’

‘So he didn’t come when you took me?’

‘No. And I can’t leave while he’s still here. She would kill him.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she can. It’s how this place works, a way to keep everyone in line. The threat of death to those you care about, the threat of death in general, it keeps everyone submissive. They fear her power, the power of her lords and her seer. It’s all organised to ensure that no one can break free.’

Jael was quiet, watching as Arras’ horse nudged his hand, wanting another pear. ‘I can help you escape,’ she repeated, ignoring his muffled snorts.

‘Why? How? I command half the island’s army. I can go anywhere I choose in this place, and you? The queen in fetters? A slave? Ha! How are you going to help me when I’ve never been able to help myself?’

Jael wasn’t entirely sure, but Arras was going to need help to escape, and if she could provide it, he would have to take her with him. ‘I’ve done some escaping before.’

‘What? Escaping?’ More snorting and sneering ensued until Arras felt Jael’s fettered arm on his, and he was staring into her eyes. ‘Trust me. I just need to come up with a plan.’

* * *

Bone Hammer had pushed through days of turbulent weather to reach Castala.

Everyone was wet through by the time they arrived, weary from nights spent wide awake, fearing for the ship and themselves, and though they’d been eager to feel the earth beneath their feet, their legs were wobbly, almost hesitant as they walked down the pier.

Castala’s docks were busy in a way Eadmund had never experienced before. As he searched for a place to step, he was jostled, knocked in the head by baskets hefted on shoulders and heads, elbowed in the ribs by merchants trying to reach their customers. Everyone was shouting, for no one appeared to be able to hear. Eadmund certainly couldn’t, and he gripped Mattie’s hand tightly. ‘You stay close,’ he warned the dreamer. ‘You’ll be sucked into that, and we’ll never see you again!’

Penned in next to him, Fyn agreed. He kept turning to a tense-looking Mattie, who tried to keep pace with them both, worried about Otter, who she carried in the satchel slung across her chest. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘They eat cats!’ she fretted, big eyes darting about. ‘I’m sure they eat cats here!’

Turning back around, Fyn was immediately fighting off a blue and yellow bird, which had swooped down, trying to snatch Bolder’s hat.

‘Get off!’ the helmsman snapped, flapping his hands at the squawking creature. Though he continued to move with speed, seemingly unbothered by the intense press of bodies, the noise, and the smell.

‘It’s busier than Oss!’ Eadmund called.

Fyn didn’t answer, feeling Mattie stumble. He took her arm, helping her along, one hand out to keep people back as they hurried after Bolder. Seeing that Fyn had hold of Mattie, Eadmund checked that Thorgils was still behind them before pushing ahead, trying to clear a path.

‘What’s wrong?’ Fyn asked again, sensing that it wasn’t simply Mattie’s fear of Otter being eaten, though she put her head down, stroking the cat, not answering. He tried to dispel a growing sense of unease, not wanting to think that they’d made the wrong decision, wasting time coming somewhere they weren’t supposed to be.

Though they were in the Fire Lands now, so Fyn knew he had no choice but to remain optimistic, hoping that whatever the case, they were one step closer to finding the men who’d taken Jael.

* * *

Since she’d scratched through the symbols inside her fetters, Jael’s dreams had been a swirl of vivid images that left her exhausted day and night. She woke up every morning doubting she’d slept at all, her body heavy and aching, face burned by the sun, wrists and ankles still covered in sores. Though she was too busy trying to piece together the images from her dreams to care.

She had seen herself floating in the sea, staring at the sky. Clouds tumbled above her head, forming shapes. Sucked under the water, she’d felt the weight of her iron fetters pulling her down with speed, her father’s voice ringing in her ears. ‘The end of the Furycks is coming!’ he’d warned. ‘The end of the Furycks!’

Jael was nudged in the back, growled at by one of the soldiers, who saw that her eyes were closed. And nodding, she picked up her shovel, barely aware of what she was doing or those slaves milling around her, moving at twice her speed. She headed around the back of the latrines, seeking shade and privacy, not wanting to let go of the visions.

Closing her eyes, she was immediately in the sea again, feeling the icy water enclosing her body, panic tightening her chest as she realised that she was drowning. Suddenly a burst of sunlight shone into the water, and she saw a hand reaching down to pull her up.

Breaking through the surface, lungs burning, she saw her husband’s face – his hazel eyes and blowing hair. He looked worried and angry and everything in between. She felt the strength in his hand and the love in his eyes as he lifted her up, out of the water.

‘I am coming, Jael. I am coming for you.’

* * *

‘I’m struggling to sleep,’ an exhausted Gisila told her son as they walked through the square towards the hall.

‘You’re not alone in that,’ Axl assured her, nodding at various people as he passed. Many sought to meet his eye, but it was an effort to hold theirs. He feared some would see it as an invitation to come forward and start harping on about a problem that had to be attended to at once.

Shoulders like knotted ropes, Axl slightly dropped his head.

‘I wish there was word. From anyone!’ Gisila fretted. ‘You must keep trying to find a dreamer.’

Axl peered at her. ‘After what’s happened, do you truly imagine a dreamer will reveal herself? That she’ll want to put herself in danger? Besides, we’ve heard nothing from Oss. If Ayla had found out anything, we’d know. So perhaps it’s not a dreamer we need but some luck?’ Though Axl desperately wanted insight. He needed to know what Gant had found on his travels, and what reception Erling had been met with in Hest. He wanted to know where his grandmother and sister had disappeared to, what Edela would make of Jael’s dream, whether his wife and unborn child would live, and what his neighbour, the new King of Iskavall, planned to do. He soon felt nauseous, chest pierced by intense pains, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid, and pulling away from Gisila, he sought to escape the crowds of people.

There were so many people!

‘Axl? Axl!’ Gisila called after him in surprise as her son pushed through the square, leaving her behind.

* * *

They finally made it to a tavern, which was disappointingly just as busy as Castala’s docks. Thorgils wished the roof was higher so he could take a breath; it felt as though it was touching his head. Though despite the sweaty push and pull of the crowded tavern, the smell of ale had him smiling from ear to ear.

‘This is the best place to ask around,’ Bolder told Eadmund. ‘The taverner speaks every language you could imagine. He’ll know if anyone’s been talking about kidnapping a queen.’

It was hard to hear much, but Eadmund nodded, indicating with his head for Thorgils to follow as they pushed past the patrons, through to a door, where Bolder knocked. Soon a little flap was opening, one big eye peering out. Apparently it liked what it saw, for the door was soon opened, and Bolder, Eadmund, and an open-mouthed Thorgils were ushered inside.

Eadmund thought about sending Thorgils to tell Fyn what was happening. He’d remained outside with Mattie, who hadn’t wanted to bring her cat inside. In fact, cat or not, she didn’t appear to want to go into the tavern at all. Though the man who’d opened the door was impatient to close it, so with a shrug, he turned after Bolder Oysten into the dark room.

Waiting outside the tavern, Fyn kept glancing through an open window, blocked by bodies, trying to find Thorgils’ big head amongst the crowd, though it proved impossible. He sighed, feeling uptight as he turned back to Mattie, who had sat down, hunched against the tavern wall, not looking up.

‘You can go after them,’ she muttered.

Not hearing her, Fyn crouched down, trying to see her eyes. ‘What?’

‘You can go after them!’ she yelled in his face.

A surprised Fyn jerked away. ‘No. Not without you.’ He was elbowed in the back and now fell onto Mattie, who was holding onto Otter, and unable to balance herself, she tumbled to the ground. Otter sprang out of her arms and bounded away.

‘No!’ Mattie screamed in horror, fighting off Fyn, who was trying to get off her. ‘Otter! No!’ She finally rolled up onto her knees, heart thumping as she scoured the rows of dresses and trousers before her, seeing no sign of her cat.

Quickly righting himself, Fyn pulled her to her feet. ‘He went that way!’ And tugging Mattie’s hand, he led her into the crowd.

* * *

Gisila found her son in the meeting room, standing alone by an unlit brazier, staring at the wall. ‘Axl! Whatever happened?’ she panted, coming around to face him. ‘What is wrong with you?’

He trembled before her, still struggling to breathe, too embarrassed to meet her eye. It was a feeling he’d experienced before; one that had been coming on with greater frequency of late. It was a panicked feeling, as though he was being pulled beneath the waves, dragged down into the water, and no matter how hard he fought, no matter how desperately he tried to lift up his head, he couldn’t find a breath.

He couldn’t find a way to safety.

His mother’s hand on his arm made him blink, and staring at her now, he shook his head. ‘I... I don’t know. Sometimes I feel this... terror.’ He spoke so softly that she could barely hear him, and seeing that she didn’t understand, he tried again, louder now. ‘I panic, it’s panic. I can’t explain it. Like I can’t breathe. Like before a battle. I don’t know...’

A worried Gisila now placed both hands on Axl’s arms, taking a deep breath, urging him to do the same. ‘It’s understandable,’ she smiled, working hard to project a calm she did not feel. ‘What you are facing is daunting.’

‘But I’m a king, Mother!’ he seethed, unable to stop himself. ‘I’m the fucking king!’ His voice rose until it rang in his ears, and he started shaking. ‘I’m not a boy,’ he said, quieter now, seeing the shock in her eyes. ‘I’m not a child. I shouldn’t be feeling like this now. I’m the king!’

Tears flooded Gisila’s eyes. ‘Though this is not what you wanted, Axl. You are not like Ranuf –’

‘Oh, I’ve heard that enough! To my face, behind my back. I’ve heard that all my life, Mother. I don’t need to hear it from you!’

She shook her head, once again reaching for his arms, desperate to soothe her son, feeling frightened about what was happening to him. ‘Try and listen, Axl. To me. I only meant that your father drove himself hard. I imagine ever since he was a boy. Gant certainly implied that was so. And Jael is the same. Magnar was similar, I think, Stellan was quieter, but you? This is not what you wanted or who you wanted to be. You don’t have that same desire they did or do. It isn’t inside you.’

Axl shook his head, feeling tears coming. He’d been forced onto a throne he knew belonged to him. His father had made him his heir, which was a great honour, and Brekka was his to care for. His responsibility. Yet the weight of it was almost too much to bear. His thoughts jumped to Eren and lying in her arms. She asked nothing of him, made no demands, and with her, he felt a peace and a freedom he knew nowhere else. He didn’t love her, so he didn’t fear losing her the way he feared that Amma would die, or their child. It was easy to spend time with someone like that. He didn’t feel responsible for her safety. She didn’t need him to protect her.

Straightening up, he sniffed. ‘It’s...’ Everything was so hard to explain, though seeing how anxious his mother had become, he brightened his face, the tremors of panic receding now. ‘It’s hard not to worry about Edela and Jael. To wonder if I’ve done enough to secure the borders and the problems in Valso. And Amma isn’t well. I want a child, but I fear for her. She’s become so fragile.’

Gisila saw that he’d returned now, relieved that in the dim light of the chamber, she could see strength and composure in her son once more. ‘Getta will help. She’s a strong woman. Having her here keeps Amma’s mind off things, and she’s even helping with her duties now. It’s a good thing that she’s come.’

Axl was surprised to find that he agreed. ‘And you, Mother,’ he said, holding her hand. ‘It’s good that you’re here too. Everyone talks about Ranuf, about how everything ran so smoothly under his rule, but they never see you and what you did. What you still do. You are the heart of this place, Mother. You are.’ He took her in his arms, wanting to feel her strength and comfort.

Needing it.

And clinging to her, he closed his eyes, trying to stop those waves of panic from rising again.

* * *

Mattie was breathless with panic, tugging her hand out of Fyn’s, jerking to a stop. ‘No! No! Wait! Let me see! I need to see!’

Fyn spun around to face her as Castala’s crowds churned around them. He feared that they wouldn’t be able to find their way back to the tavern. ‘We have to –’

‘Find Otter!’ Mattie snapped, grabbing his arm. ‘Please stop. Just wait and let me see!’ She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the buzzing noise, the hollering, clattering, chiming sounds of Castala’s seething market. Though finding nothing, she opened her eyes, twisting around. ‘We need to go... we need to...!’

Fyn saw that she’d frozen, and he took her hand again, making a decision for them both. ‘This way!’ he called. ‘We’ll find him. Don’t worry!’

‘I can’t lose him,’ Mattie mumbled, tears in her eyes as she turned to follow him. ‘I can’t!’

36

The taverner had no information for Eadmund, though he did have a special drink with a name Thorgils couldn’t get his tongue around and a fiery kick that he wouldn’t forget for a long time. He kept expelling loud breaths, tongue hanging out, winking at Eadmund, who was peering at him with worried eyes.

‘Are you alright?’ Eadmund asked as Thorgils stumbled against him.

Bolder laughed. ‘He’ll be fine. Just takes a bit of getting used to, is all.’

They’d remained in the private room, enjoying the space and quiet. It sounded like a stampede outside the door, and Eadmund felt bad for Fyn, who couldn’t enjoy the brief respite from the chaos, though someone had to keep an eye on the dreamer and her cat. He frowned. ‘You’re sure the Siluran king hasn’t taken Jael? We did sink his ships a few years back. He might have been after revenge.’

Bolder shook his head, throwing back another beaker of the fire water. ‘Well, if he was going to steal a queen, I imagine he’d make a big noise about it. But the likelihood that he took Jael? The king has Hestian grandchildren, and he’s sure to know that Karsten Dragos is friends with you Islanders. No, I think it’s someone else, and if we could figure out who, we’d have an idea of where to aim for.’

‘So who can we ask?’ Eadmund wanted to know, ignoring Thorgils’ attempts to ply him with the fire water. ‘Who would know? Someone with a vendetta against Jael? Someone who wants to make a fortune? How can we find out?’

Leaning forward, Bolder poured another measure of the dark liquid into Thorgils’ tiny glass beaker. ‘Let’s finish this, then we’ll head back into the market and ask around. Once they’ve had a few drinks and something to eat, I’ll send my men out too. This is a stop everyone coming to the Fire Lands makes. They call it The Doorway. Someone will have an answer.’ And tipping back his beaker, Bolder coughed, eyes watering.

Watching him, Eadmund turned to the taverner. ‘How about some ale?’

* * *

Axl took Amma a plate of sliced rye bread. He smiled, shaking his head as he placed it down before her. It was hardly a gift from a husband to his wife, certainly not what a king would give a queen, though her delighted smile lit up her face in a way he was sure no bauble ever would.

‘How did you know?’ Amma asked, reaching for his hand as Getta left the chamber. ‘It’s all I’ve been thinking about!’

Kissing her head, Axl sat on the bed. ‘Because I know you,’ he told her. ‘And I love you.’

‘But you’re so busy, and there’s so much to do. You don’t need to worry about me, to think about me at all. I have Gisila and Getta. She’s been surprisingly thoughtful.’ Clamping a hand over her mouth, Amma glanced at the door, fearing that Getta might be listening.

‘You’re both older now, and things have changed,’ Axl said, watching Amma take a slice of bread with a happy sigh.

‘It’s warm!’

‘It is. A late loaf, cooked especially for you.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. The queen should have what the queen needs, especially the queen carrying the future heir of Brekka.’

Amma’s face fell. ‘I’ve hardly been much of a queen, lying in bed day after day, hiding away.’

‘You’re not hiding, my love. Having children is work. Hard work. Biddy’s told me that enough times over the years. Apparently, it’s why she has so many grey hairs.’

‘It certainly feels that way,’ Amma grinned, seeing her husband eyeing the door. ‘Do you have to leave?’

‘Probably. I just wanted to see you.’

Amma took another slice of bread. ‘I’m so glad. I miss you.’

‘I miss you too. I’d stay here if I could.’

‘I know, though I’d rather you were out there, keeping us all safe. Finding Jael and Edela too. I do wish there was some news. How could they have simply disappeared?’

‘You need to worry about here, not wherever they are,’ Axl insisted, not wanting her becoming upset. ‘I’m sure Jael and Edela would tell you the same. You need to take care of yourself and the baby. Nothing more.’

Amma nodded, feeling a dull ache spreading from her back to her side. ‘Do you think they’re still alive?

‘They’re the dreamers, not me.’ And kissing her cheek, Axl tried to smile, though his worries were impossible to shift. ‘I can only hope so. I can only hope they are.’

* * *

No one had chased or threatened to kill them in days, and Edela didn’t know what to make of it.

Bertel was in a cheerful mood. Their room was so tiny that they struggled to move around it without bumping into each other, though after their sea journey, they’d appreciated having a roof over their heads. They’d bought food and eaten well, for though Bertel worried that they would soon run out of coins, the food on offer was simply too tempting to resist. There was a summery freshness about it all – salty and sweet, dripping with juice. The fish they ate was charred, served with colourful vegetables no one had tasted before. There were fluffy flatbreads and strong-smelling cheeses too.

Though being a practical man, Bertel chose to spend some of his last coins on a spear and a net. A new knife too.

Edela saw him fussing over it as he prepared to leave the cottage with Siggy. They were going fishing, having been told of a good spot by one of their neighbours. ‘I had thought you might come back with a sword,’ she grinned. ‘After what you told me?’ Siggy was in the alley, playing with a litter of kittens, and Edela felt able to speak freely about Bertel’s past.

Bertel felt much lighter, having revealed it, and he turned back to her with a crooked smile. ‘I confess that I thought about it, and the metalworker did have a few swords for sale, but I decided it would be hard to carve up a fish with! Unless you’d like to eat great bony chunks?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind. And it would certainly be amusing to watch you attempt such a thing!’ Chuckling and full of good humour, Edela shooed him away down the alley to where she could see Siggy standing up, waving for him to hurry. Morning was usually the best time for fishing, according to Bertel. Though he’d been convinced that here, on the idyllic island of Marinos, the afternoon was when the fish became sleepy and easier to catch.

‘We won’t be long!’ Bertel called over his shoulder. ‘Make sure you keep the fire going!’

‘I will!’ Edela promised, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand and waving them away with the other. And though it was a warm afternoon and the thought of being stuck in that windowless room with a blazing fire wasn’t appealing, Edela was eager to get back to it. She had sourced a selection of herbs from their neighbour, and now, she was finally going to attempt a dreamwalk.

* * *

Fyn and Mattie walked and pushed and ran through The Doorway’s seething market, searching for Otter but to no avail.

Mattie became so overwrought that she started hyperventilating, prompting Fyn to hurry her towards a bench, where he was forced to plead with two old women to move over so he could sit the dreamer down.

‘Put your head between your legs,’ Fyn told her, getting no response. ‘Mattie!’ And now he pushed on her head, easing it down as she began to slow her breathing, back heaving, eyes fixed on the ground.

‘I –’

‘Don’t speak.’

‘But -’

‘Mattie! Don’t speak. Just breathe.’ Fyn glanced around, absentmindedly stroking her hair.

‘I need him,’ Mattie kept repeating. ‘You don’t understand. You don’t know. I need him!’

‘Look, stay here,’ Fyn muttered, turning to see a man standing on some sort of plinth, rising high above the crowd. Fyn wasn’t sure what he was doing, but seeing him shouting in the middle of the market, he assumed he was selling something. He was certainly waving his arms around, trying to attract customers, though most passed him by without even a glance, for everyone in Castala appeared to be in a desperate hurry. ‘Don’t move!’ Fyn called over his shoulder, heading for the man.

Seeing Fyn, the man bent down to him. ‘You are not from here, my friend! A man of the North, I think? Would you like your future read? To see beyond the veil? To know what your gods have in store for you?’

Fyn hadn’t been expecting to be interested in what the man was selling, having only wanted to ask if he’d seen the cat, though he was suddenly curious. ‘What are you? A dreamer?’

The wild-eyed man crouched down, extending his arms like two bent wings as he started chanting, white teeth gleaming. ‘Not I, friend,’ he hummed with a wink. ‘Not I... though I can take you to The Armless One! The great seeress! She who sees into every realm!’

Twisting around, Fyn couldn’t see Mattie now. He turned back to the man. ‘I’m looking for a cat. Can she help me with that?’

The cheerful man jumped down from the plinth with a flourish, his garish gold tunic flapping behind him. He snatched Fyn’s hand, eyes snapping to the pouch hanging from Fyn’s belt, noting the fine hilt of his sword. And confident that this man was no beggar, he made to hurry him away.

‘No!’ Fyn dug his boots into the dusty gravel. ‘I have to get my friend. She’s just over there!’

The man looked wary, though he was paid to find customers for The Armless One, so he followed Fyn to where a fretting Mattie was back on her feet and looking around.

‘I’ve found someone who can help us,’ Fyn told her, seeing her surprise. ‘He knows a dreamer.’

The man smiled. ‘Please, yes, I do. Come this way!’

* * *

Edela turned her attention to the flames, but immediately distracted, she glanced at the door. She had locked it, not wanting unexpected visitors, though she feared it wouldn’t be long before Bertel and Siggy returned; she couldn’t imagine Bertel as an expert fisherman. And becoming annoyed with herself for her distracted musings, she shook away all thoughts of Bertel Knutson and bent to the fire, adding tiny bundles of herbs, one after the other.

Her response to what had happened at the Vale had mostly been private. She had shared some of it with Ayla, for they were both grieving, though she had kept most things for herself alone.

In that first year, she had made a book documenting everything Dara Teros had told her, everything she had seen and heard in her dreams.

What Draguta had done too.

Much of what she’d recorded had been dark, and she had lost herself in it, at times, fearing she wouldn’t find her way back. Though what had happened at the Vale and in Andala had shaken Edela to the core, and she knew she would spend every last breath working to keep the people she loved safe.

Though sitting on the floor of the tiny room on a foreign island, having run away from her home and family, she wondered what it had all been for.

‘This,’ she heard a voice say as though it was coming from the smoke. ‘This is your path, Edela. War is in your blood. Your ancestors were dreamers, yes, though many were warriors. And one was a Furyck.’

Edela gasped, eyes closed now, wanting to put a face to the voice. ‘A Furyck?’

Though she heard nothing further, and now she focused on the thumping beat of her heart, inhaling the smoky scents of mugwort and wormwood.

And soon she plunged into the darkness, eyes wide open, seeking answers.

* * *

Mattie was reluctant to leave the market square behind. She yanked her hand out of Fyn’s as he led her around a towering plinth carved with what looked like images of gods, though she was too distracted to admire it for long. Shaking her head, she jerked to a stop. ‘Where are we going, Fyn?’

‘He has a dreamer. She can help us.’

‘Dreamer?’ Mattie doubted that was true. ‘He said the word dreamer?’

Impatient now, Fyn turned back to her with a sigh. ‘No, but –’

‘Excuse me! Excuse me, but where are you taking us? Is it to an actual dreamer? A woman who has visions of the future? Who knows herbs and magic? A real dreamer?’

‘This way!’ the man called, ignoring her. ‘We must go this way!’ And then he was gone from view, and Fyn was once again forced to drag Mattie along.

Her head remained fixed over her shoulder, though, feet reluctantly following after him.

Heart aching.

* * *

Eadmund had been surprised and a little disturbed to find no sign of Mattie and Fyn when he emerged from the tavern. He turned his face to the sky, a hazy blue blanket stretched above his head, seeking a breeze, before dropping it as Thorgils stumbled out behind him. ‘Where are they?’

Bolder had left to find his merchant friends, searching for information. They’d agreed to meet back at the ship, where they’d be sleeping, and Eadmund had planned to spend the rest of the afternoon making his own enquiries. Now he saw that he’d have to spend some of that time looking for their travelling companions.

‘Likely they found a clue,’ Thorgils decided, feeling an intense wave of heat sweeping over him. He felt dizzy, and though they were now outside, it was still hard to breathe. And the people? He tried to step into a clear space, though it was quickly swallowed up. ‘Perhaps Mattie finally saw something useful? That’s why we brought her along after all. She needs to pay her way!’ He winked at Eadmund. ‘Let’s aim for that big tower over there. Seems like the first place to look. A thing like that’s sure to have caught their eye.’ And nudging his king, an unsteady Thorgils plunged into the noisy crowd.

* * *

The silence was complete.

Edela felt as though someone had their hands over her ears, preventing her from hearing, though she desperately wanted warning of whatever threat lay in the distance.

She had fixed her mind on danger, seeking to uncover it. Furia had urged her to run, warning that everyone she loved was in danger, and that she needed to help, but if she couldn’t find where that danger was coming from or who was responsible for it, what could she possibly do?

The road she walked was gravelly, crunching noisily beneath her boots, and she blinked, realising that she could hear it. She didn’t look around, though, her attention remaining fixed on what lay ahead: a great tunnel of trees, branches woven together like threads on a loom, inviting her to enter. It was dark and foreboding though Edela didn’t slow down. In her dreams, she was in charge, she reminded herself. An observer. She could choose what to do, and she could certainly decide when to leave. It was only a dream. She was entirely free, back in that tiny room, waiting for Bertel and Siggy to bring back a fish for supper.

So, filling herself with purpose, Edela Saeveld headed into the tunnel, searching for answers.

* * *

The man had led Fyn and Mattie into a tunnel hidden down a steep flight of steps. The smell was musty and cloying, heavy with smoky incense that quickly tickled their throats.

‘You will come!’ he urged, motioning with his hands as he turned around to them. ‘Come!’

Fyn was suddenly aware that he’d led Mattie into what might be a trap, although she appeared more upset about Otter than worried about what was waiting at the end of the tunnel.

Though when they did turn the corner into the main chamber of a cave, they both gasped in shock. A veiled creature sat at a long stone table, illuminated by tiny lamps, enormous shadows dancing across the cave walls. The oddly still creature appeared to have no arms, sitting there rigid, like a narrow plinth someone had draped fabric over.

Mattie pulled up in horror, glancing at Fyn, whose mouth gaped open beside her.

The man slid his hand towards them. ‘For The Armless One,’ he purred, offering up his palm.

Despite his trepidation, Fyn stuck a hand into his pouch, fumbling for coins. He pulled out what he thought a fair price, though the man’s hand, now loaded with silver, didn’t move. So digging back into his pouch, Fyn retrieved another four coins. Now the man smiled, sweeping an arm towards where two stools waited before the table.

Mattie felt the pull of those stools, and hurrying forward, she immediately sat down.

‘Give me your hands.’

Hearing the woman’s voice as though it was inside her head, Mattie blinked, and turning to Fyn, who was only just sitting down, she saw that he hadn’t heard a thing. She placed her hands on the table, palms facing the cave ceiling.

Fyn stared at her, wondering if he should do the same, though he left his on his lap, waiting for The Armless One to speak.

The man disappeared, the busy sounds of the market far in the distance now, and Mattie could only hear that breathy voice in her ears. She was aware that Fyn had questions. He kept turning to her, but she didn’t look his way. All her attention was fixed on the strange creature before her, icy chills rippling up and down her spine.

‘You are searching for a jewel in a desert,’ came the woman’s deep voice. ‘But the Fire Lands is a vast place. It is where one goes to disappear, not to be found. There is much you do not understand. So much unseen by those who are blind.’

‘I am, we are, seeking a queen. She has been kidnapped,’ Mattie told her.

The woman’s laughter was ominous. ‘Kidnapped? No, she has been claimed. Hidden from sight.’

Mattie frowned. ‘Hidden?’

Fyn didn’t understand what was going on. The only person speaking was Mattie. He could only guess that The Armless One was in the dreamer’s head, and hoping that was the case, he now sat on his hands, trying not to fidget.

‘There is a place...’

Mattie leaned forward, lips parted.

‘Impossible to find!’

Staring at the veiled creature, Mattie’s shoulders slumped.

‘Unless you have a guide...’

* * *

Waves of lava flowed towards Edela, yellow flames bursting over red hot liquid, and she pulled up, unable to go any further.

The trees were behind her now, and tilting back her head, she saw great clouds of smoke swirling menacingly, hovering low in the sky. They pushed down towards her, coming closer.

She heard cries of panic.

Turning now, Edela saw ships, different than any she’d seen before. It was dark, but the glowing lava revealed crowds of people surging towards them. They were being pushed away, held back by rows of armoured guards. A few cried out, falling from sight. Others tried to fight back, seeking a way through, though Edela saw that those full ships were now pulling away from shore, leaving the terrified people behind. Voices became frantic, hysterical. Hands in the air waved, hoping to be seen, seeking to break free from the crowd, desperate to be on one of those departing ships.

Seeing an explosion of light, Edela stumbled, and turning again, her attention was drawn to a towering hill in the distance and the great volcano spitting another spray of hot red lava.

She felt the heat, the fear, the sheer panic of those who now gave up trying to board the ships and surged past the guards, throwing themselves into the sea.

* * *

Mattie emerged from The Armless One’s underground cave, blinking in the sunlight, suddenly remembering that she had lost Otter. The satchel slung across her chest was empty, and despite the intriguing meeting with the strange woman, she was immediately focused on finding her cat. ‘We have to go!’ she told a puzzled Fyn, whose mind tumbled with questions she had no time to answer. ‘I have to go!’

He emerged into the market behind her, turning back to look at the steps down to the cave, utterly bemused. ‘But what happened? Mattie? Did it speak to you? Whatever that was?’ He hadn’t seen or heard a thing. The veiled, armless creature hadn’t moved or uttered a word. He wasn’t sure what it was or if it was even human, though a frantic Mattie had already scurried away from him, looking this way and that as she pushed through the crowd. ‘Mattie!’

‘Fyn!’

Twisting around, Fyn was relieved to see Thorgils’ red head rising above the still-busy market. It was now dusk, though the sun retained its beating intensity, and he was desperate for something to drink. He held up a hand to Thorgils, then turned back, lunging into the crowd to snatch Mattie’s sleeve.

‘What? No! I must –’

‘It’s Thorgils! Come on! He might have seen something!’

A reluctant Mattie turned back with slumped shoulders.

‘Where’d you disappear to?’ Thorgils grinned. ‘Thought you’d been kidnapped too!’ Neither Fyn nor Mattie spoke, though seeing the misery on the dreamer’s face and the empty satchel at her chest, he soon understood why. ‘Come on. I’ve got something guaranteed to cheer you up.’ And winking at Fyn and pushing Mattie along, he aimed them at the harbour.

37

Kalina Sardis wanted a quick wedding.

After her meeting with Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree, she’d realised that there were ways to silence her disapproving critics, so she had ordered preparations to proceed at pace. Her slaves were well versed in preparing a royal wedding, and she had no need to wait, for she was a woman who wanted for nothing but a husband who could give her a child. And in Arras Sikari, Kalina knew that she had finally found one. Though looking at him sitting beside her, she saw that she still had work to do. He was no polished gem, more a rough, uncut stone for her to shape into a consort and statesman. Her tailors were busy working on his wedding attire, for he could no longer dress as a commander who spent his day running around, organising his men, solving problems and training.

He had to look like the husband of the queen.

Popping a stuffed date into her mouth, she saw how nervous Arras was beside her. It made her smile. ‘Your son is so handsome,’ she purred. ‘I wonder why he has no wife? He is old enough, yes? At twenty-five?’

Arras froze, knife in the air, though quickly hurrying to cover his surprise, he dropped it to his plate and turned to face Kalina, who was staring at him as though peering into his soul. ‘Nico is focused on his responsibilities. He finds little time for anything else. He has already risen to command men, and it is where his mind must be for now, my queen.’

‘Kalina,’ she reminded him, licking honeyed lips, and placing her hand on his, she stared into his dark eyes.

Everything reeked of incense, the air was warm and heavy with smoke, and Arras became distracted, repeatedly clearing his throat as he worked to get command of himself. ‘I apologise. Kalina. It will take some time to remember.’

‘Of course, and I understand. But your son?’ She pressed on his hand as she pressed the point. ‘He may be busy with his work, but he still needs a wife and sons. He does, Arras. Every man needs a home and a woman to run it, so I will see what I can do. He will be part of our family, and I intend to keep him close.’

To Arras, every word felt like a threat.

The queen smiled, stroking his hand, but Arras felt under attack. He nodded, though, attempting to appear relaxed. ‘You are right, of course. I was married at his age. The next few months will be busy, I imagine, but after our wedding I will speak to him, I promise.’

‘Good.’ And finally getting the answer she’d been seeking, Kalina took her goblet and drank, eyes still fixed on Arras. ‘You are right about how busy things will be. It will be a whirlwind of celebration, and all for us!’ Her brown eyes sparkled with delight, a sense of optimism flooding her veins. She had been unlucky in marriage six times now, though she felt confident that her luck was finally changing. ‘There will be a parade, of course, feasting and games. It is important to show our people how joyful and happy we are. How favoured by the gods too.’ She shifted her head now, eyes on a hovering slave, and with barely a blink, she conveyed her desire to have the table cleared. ‘And then, in six days, we will be married at the Temple of Olera, on what will be the goddess’ sacred day. Noor promises that it will be propitious indeed.’

Arras stared at her in horror. ‘Days? Did you say days?’

Kalina laughed. ‘But surely you know of my reputation, dearest Arras? Like my father before me, when I know what I want, nothing stands in my way. And what I want is you by my side, in my bed. I want to start a family with you, for us to be together. I do not wish to wait one day longer than necessary, so yes, we will marry in six days’ time.’

Scratching his chin, Arras’ thoughts darted to another impatient woman and his urgent need to speak with her. ‘It is sooner than I had imagined,’ he murmured, barely present now. ‘Though I’ve always been quite impatient myself.’

Kalina was pleased to hear it, and leaning forward, she held a hand to his cheek, edging closer until her lips almost touched his. ‘Oh, you have no idea how determined I am to get what I want. How ready I am to have your child. Our child.’

Arras held her gaze, stomach in knots. ‘You do me a great honour... Kalina. As a boy growing up in Silura, I could never have imagined rising so high, to be so favoured by the gods. To have found you.’

Eyes wide open, Kalina kissed him. ‘And this is just the beginning, my heart. This is just the beginning.’

* * *

Seeing Eadmund holding Otter in his arms, Mattie started running, dashing across the street, almost knocked down by a cart.

‘He was waiting. Right here,’ a smiling Eadmund told her when she stopped before him, sobbing with relief. ‘Waiting for you.’

Mattie took the cat in her arms, holding onto him as though holding onto life itself, to the very meaning of her existence. ‘Otter!’ she cried, not noticing the staring passersby. ‘Oh, Otter!’

Arriving with Thorgils, Fyn sighed. ‘Where did you find him?’

‘Here,’ Eadmund said. ‘He was sitting right here. He didn’t move. I think he was waiting for us.’

Fyn was surprised. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because he was staring at that door. He didn’t even turn around when I called his name.’

And indeed, as Fyn and Thorgils turned to look at the cat, they saw him spring out of Mattie’s arms, bounding back to where Eadmund had found him. Sitting down, the cat once again stared at the door.

‘Maybe her husband is trying to send her a message?’ Thorgils whispered to Fyn.

Fyn shrugged as Mattie hurried after Otter. But despite her urgent need to keep the cat safe, she didn’t pick him up. He looked up at her, miaowing as Thorgils, Fyn, and Eadmund joined them, staring at the yellow door of a plain stone house. It was narrow and two-storeyed, like most they’d seen, with no windows facing the street. There was no way in bar that tiny door.

Which opened suddenly to reveal a rotund man wearing a bright red hat.

* * *

Bertel and Siggy chatted away as they prepared the meal together, watched by a smiling Edela.

Bertel had become more relaxed after unburdening himself, and she saw his warmth towards the girl, which had previously been mostly an annoyed impatience. Siggy, for her part, certainly seemed much more comfortable and confident around them both.

Noticing that Edela was sitting by herself, Bertel smiled. ‘Join us. Perhaps you could identify these herbs?’ And lifting the greenish-yellow plant to his nose, he sniffed. ‘This one reminds me of lemon balm. I thought it might go nicely with the fish.’ He skirted the fire, where Siggy was frying their catch on a griddle, bringing it to Edela.

Taking the handful of leaves, she sniffed. ‘Oh yes, it does smell like lemon balm.’ She popped a little into her mouth and chewed. ‘Mmmm, that will work nicely.’

‘Are you quite well, Edela?’ Bertel wondered, eyes darting towards Siggy, worried that she would overcook the fish. ‘You’ve barely uttered a peep since we arrived back.’ He frowned, peering at the dreamer. ‘Did you see something while we were gone?’

Edela shrugged. ‘Nothing useful. Well, at least it didn’t feel that way. I had a vision about a volcano.’

Bertel’s eyes widened. ‘What, here?’ he panicked. ‘Are there volcanoes here?’

Edela chuckled. ‘I would have told you immediately if I thought we were in danger of being swept away by a tide of boiling lava! No, this was somewhere else. Another time.’

‘Osterhaaven?’ Bertel suggested.

‘It very well may have been, though I’m certain other volcanos have erupted since then.’

Bertel took a stool beside her, glancing over his shoulder as Siggy lifted the griddle off the flames, aiming for the table. He needed to go and help her, though Edela’s vision had him intrigued. ‘I read all about what happened during my time at The Citadel. About how Osterhaaven was destroyed.’

‘And without warning,’ Edela mused. ‘It seems odd with Tuura so close. Odd that no dreamer saw what would come.’

‘It was a point of contention,’ Bertel told her. ‘A reason for the friction between the two peoples. From what I read, the King of Osterhaaven had little time for the Tuurans. They welcomed him and his people in their time of need, though it wasn’t long before the king was trying to kill them all.’

‘What do I do now?’ Siggy asked, looking from the fish to the bowl of herbs to the piles of radishes and carrots she’d attempted to cut up.

Bertel frowned at the sight of those hacked vegetables as he stood. ‘It’s an interesting dream to have had, don’t you think? Why would you be shown that now? A dreamer’s visions are rarely random, Edela, so it sounds as though a god is showing you something you need to see.’

* * *

The man in the red hat spoke quickly and loudly, hands waving in constant motion. He was short and round, clean-shaven, with many chins. His girth had slid downhill with age, now only just sucked in by a belt tied around his blue tunic, which hung over a pair of red pantaloons.

He was quite the sight, and as Eadmund, Thorgils, Mattie and Fyn stared, the man suddenly realised that they couldn’t understand him, for they certainly weren’t moving from his doorstep.

He switched to the common tongue, hitching up his belt before waving his hands some more. ‘This is no place for beggars! No place to loiter about! This is my place! Mine alone! I do not offer handouts! I do not want whatever you are selling! Go now and leave here! At once!’ Looking up, he took in the muscular physiques of the three tall men, and now he dropped his shoulders, stepping back. ‘What are you? Alekkans? Men of the North?’ He squinted some more, peering at them with beady brown eyes. ‘No, you are Islanders! Yes, and you...’ He turned his attention to Mattie, who clung to Otter, and now his eyes widened. ‘And you are not,’ he decided, eyes on the cat before lifting them again to consider the dreamer. ‘You are not an Islander. No, there is mystery about you...’ And suddenly clamping his lips together, he wheeled around, aiming for his door.

Eadmund grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back. ‘Who are you?’

‘Who am I?’ the man sniffed indignantly, and spinning around, he flicked Eadmund’s hand away. ‘I am Kolarov Radic, explorer extraordinaire! A man of esteemed reputation. Not to be trifled with,’ he added. ‘And you?’

‘I am the King of Oss, King of the Slave Islands. An Islander, as you so kindly referred to me. Eadmund Skalleson.’

Kolarov’s dark eyes bulged. He stared at Eadmund, then, looking around, he saw the narrowed eyes of the king’s companions. ‘But... what do you want from me, my king?’ And now a flustered Kolarov bobbed his head.

Eadmund didn’t know, and turning to Mattie, he motioned her forward.

‘Are you the man who knows how to find that which is hidden?’ Mattie asked quietly. The evening sun was still warm, though she shivered as she spoke, reminded of her strange encounter with the mysterious Armless One.

Kolarov blinked, though his eyes remained fixed on the handsome king. ‘Indeed! I am the man who knows how to find everything. Everywhere! I am a man of the world, as I said. I have even been to your islands, my king!’ he declared, turning to Eadmund with a beaming smile. ‘Yes, to Turvo and Bara and Rikka, though never to Oss, I admit, with some regret.’

The men had no idea what Mattie was talking about or what she wanted from this odd man, so they remained silent behind her.

‘The Armless One told me that someone could help me find a hidden place, and my cat led me here.’

Kolarov was confused, then suddenly he wasn’t. ‘You are Tuuran!’ he decided. ‘A dreamer. Oh! A dreamer!’ Now he put a hand to his throat, stroking his chins. ‘My my, but it has been years since I’ve encountered one of your kind. I am delighted to be of service.’ Taking the dreamer’s hand, he kissed it. And looking up again at Eadmund, he repeated the process. Then becoming flustered and realising that he had left a king standing on his doorstep, Kolarov Radic removed his red hat, and bowing deeply, he bid them all to enter.

* * *

Jael had had enough of the hot sun and was desperate to head inside. The food would be revolting, the watery ale tasteless, the company mostly silent, though the idea of sitting down in the shade of the servant’s hall was the most appealing thought she’d had in a while.

She reeked, every limb throbbed, her body curling forward with an unimaginable weariness, though her mind remained busy as she tried to think of how to escape the isle.

In her vision, Eadmund had said he was coming for her.

Was that even possible? Could he find a way to S’ala Nis?

If he had a dreamer with him, then yes. A dreamer would find this place.

But how to escape it? That was what Jael needed to know most of all, and eager to search for more answers, she hurried around the corner, carrying what was her last bucket of shit for the day, seeing a hulking impediment to her plans. And she sighed.

Otho Dimas.

‘I’m not in the mood,’ she grumbled. ‘Just leave me alone.’

A surprised Otho laughed. ‘A slave speaks to me as though they are a person, with feelings and demands? A slave?’ He shook his head, brandishing a short wooden staff. And now he brought it into both hands, stepping forward.

Jael thought about simply flinging the bucket of shit at him, though she knew it would only cause more problems, and for once, she simply wanted to keep her head down and slip away. ‘I have no demands,’ she muttered, attempting contrition as she made to move past him.

Lashing out with his staff, he aimed for Jael’s bucket, which didn’t come as a surprise to Jael, who deftly swung it from her left hand to her right, stepping back. ‘This could get messy,’ she warned quietly, and once again, she averted her eyes, attempting to simply walk past Otho.

He lowered the staff, blocking her path before ramming it against Jael’s throat. ‘For you,’ he grinned. ‘It will get messy for you.’

Jael glowered at him. ‘Why? You have your pick of the women, as you say, so why choose me?’

‘Ha, you think I want you? An ugly bitch like you? No, I just want to make you suffer. To bring you pain.’ Pressing the staff against her throat, he forced Jael to keep stepping back.

Jael tried to stay calm. Calm meant drawing no attention to herself. Calm meant focusing on her escape, and if she got injured in some pointless fight, that escape would become even more challenging. Otho was a distraction she didn’t need, and if there was any more trouble, she’d likely get moved again.

Keeping the staff in his right hand, Otho upended Jael’s bucket of shit with his left, tipping it down her dress, over her sandals. It oozed between her toes, the stink flooding her nostrils until she wanted to vomit. Though remaining calm, despite the smell and her sparking anger, she did nothing.

‘Otho!’ Arras barked, striding forward. ‘I don’t care how much you like this slave, there are fifty others in there that need your attention!’ And with a sharp snap of his head, he pointed a seething Otho towards the servants’ hall, leaving Jael standing before him in a shit-stained dress. ‘Seems counterproductive to your plan-making,’ he hissed when Otho had disappeared. ‘Picking fights will hardly help.’

‘I wasn’t picking them!’ Jael snapped back. ‘Just trying to get inside. He’s the one with the problem, not me.’

Arras laughed. ‘You have a way of making people dislike you, Jael Furyck.’

Inhaling the horrible smell, Jael gagged. ‘I’ve heard I can be quite endearing.’

‘From who? Your husband?’

Jael laughed. ‘No, he wouldn’t say that.’ Though thinking about Eadmund made her feel strange, and turning this way and that, she dropped her shoulders. ‘Where can I go to wash? I don’t think a bucket of water will do it.’

Arras agreed, trying not to inhale. ‘We’ll find Sunni. She’s usually around somewhere, popping out of this hole or that. She can take you to the bathhouse.’

Jael remembered the bathhouse, and she smiled, feeling surprisingly grateful to Otho Dimas.

She fell in beside an uptight Arras, who quickly moved away, not wanting to get too close to the stinking woman. ‘What’s the matter?’ Then seeing images of Arras and the queen, she understood. ‘Your marriage is coming soon. Much sooner than you wish.’

Arras peered at her, and though the sun was low, he could still see the intense certainty in those green eyes. ‘You just guessed that, did you? The way you guessed my horse’s name?’

‘Of course. These fetters stop me seeing anything.’ Though noting the suspicion in Arras’ eyes, she laughed. ‘It’s not hard to guess what the queen is planning and that she’s planning it quickly. Her desire for a child is all anyone talks about, and now you... the father-to-be? I imagine there’s a great urgency about it all.’

A shuddering Arras led her around the corner, where it suddenly grew dark, and appreciating the privacy, he pushed Jael further into the shadows, concealing their presence. ‘What about your plan? How is that coming along?’

‘Well...’

‘So you don’t have one?’ Arras threw up his hands in mock horror. ‘What a surprise!’

‘I’m working on it. I just need a little time.’

Arras shook his head, not believing anything she said. ‘I have days of festivities ahead, all of it moving at pace, all of it involving me. Parades, public feasts, endless celebrations. And then, in six days, we will marry.’

Jael was shocked. ‘Six days?’

Arras’ sigh was more of a groan. ‘The queen waits on no one. No one is going to stand in her way now. The plans are all hers.’

‘I...’ Jael was lost for words. She remembered her vision and felt the pull of the ocean, but how to escape the island?

The warm wind swept the stink of her over him, and Arras stepped back. ‘We need to get you to Sunni. Come on, I’ll try and think of something myself.’

‘We need a ship,’ Jael told him.

Arras laughed. ‘You think so? To escape an island? A ship?’

‘And one that doesn’t need a crew.’

‘Which makes no sense. The waters are challenging around S’ala Nis. Deadly. Are you a helmsman as well as a warrior queen?’

Jael ignored him as they carried on down the alley. ‘You know this place. Surely it has secrets?’

As they emerged onto the main road, Arras saw Sunni playing with a dog, though seeing them, the girl soon came running. ‘I’m sure it does, but whether I can uncover them, and in just a few days?’ He shook his head, not sure what he could even do.

‘To get out of here?’ Jael’s eyes shifted from Arras to Sunni. ‘We’re both going to have to do the impossible.’

* * *

‘The Shadow Isle does not exist,’ Kolarov Radic told them. ‘Not to people like you and me,’ he said, fixing his attention on Thorgils and Fyn. He’d brought them into his house, which, he could see, had surprised them all. Even the dreamer. And especially the king, who was wide-eyed as he peered around the cavernous main chamber, decorated with the most exotic, and in many cases, disturbing oddities. ‘Though for you...’ And now he turned to Eadmund with a smile. ‘My king, for you, the isle is a potential ally. Or an enemy.’

Eadmund twisted around, tensing. ‘Why? What happens there?’

Kolarov leaned over the delicate beaker he clasped in a ringed hand. ‘No one knows!’ he declared eventually.

Eadmund didn’t think that was entirely true.

‘You’ve been there,’ Mattie told him. ‘So you know.’

‘Well, true. That is very insightful of you, but then, as I said earlier, I have been everywhere!’

Eadmund saw that when Kolarov got excited, one of his eyes became stuck while the other continued to roam the chamber. It was disconcerting, and he was struggling to choose which eye to focus on. ‘Why were you on this isle then?’

‘Ahhh, well, I have occupied many positions over the years. With such vast knowledge and experience, Kolarov is always in high demand! And yes, I have advised kings, and on one of those occasions, I was taken to S’ala Nis. Though sworn to secrecy, of course! For if word of its location ever got out...’

‘Seems hard to keep a secret like that,’ Thorgils snorted. ‘Unless it’s a pebble! How can you miss an entire island?’

Kolarov wasn’t sure he liked this man, who was too big for his house and uncouth in his manners; everything about him was oversized and clumsy. Glowering now, he turned back to the handsome King of Oss, who though equally large, had a refinement and poise about him. ‘The island itself has the luck of its surrounds. It is far bigger than you would imagine. Densely populated, with armies of slaves and soldiers –’ He cut himself off, becoming flustered. ‘I shouldn’t speak of it. No!’ And now he struggled to his feet, leaving his delicate beaker in a tiny stand. His guests each clasped a different style of drinking vessel, though none had touched the strange-smelling liquid their host had poured for them. ‘The Shadow Isle is a trap. Honey sweet, resplendent with otherworldly delights. It lures you in, and then...’ He clapped his hands together, rings clinking. ‘You can never leave!’

‘Though you did,’ Eadmund reminded him. ‘You went there, left there, and now we need you to show us where it is.’

Kolarov’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he staggered, appearing faint.

‘Are you alright?’ Fyn asked, rushing to help the man, who quickly brushed him aside, moving unsteadily towards Eadmund.

‘But why? For even a king must be invited. To go there without an invitation, it would...’

‘My wife was kidnapped.’ Eadmund almost couldn’t go on. Just saying it out loud brought tears to his eyes. ‘We were in Tuura, looking for someone, and she was taken from our camp.’

‘By a band of Silurans,’ Thorgils added. ‘And we’ve followed them here.’

‘Though they didn’t come here!’ Mattie said, big eyes widening as the path was finally revealed to her. ‘We didn’t follow them here at all. We came here to find The Armless One, who led us to you. You’re the reason we’re here, Kolarov!’

And though flattered by the thought of it, Kolarov himself was still stuck on what Eadmund had said. ‘Your wife was taken? Jael Furyck kidnapped?’ He clutched his throat in horror. ‘Jael? Dear Jael? Oh, why didn’t you say? I knew her father! Spent many years in Osterland as a young man. I visited often, watching Jael and her brothers grow. Yes! Always an entertaining girl, though a little bad-tempered.’

Thorgils snorted. ‘A little?’

Kolarov eyed him sharply before returning his attention to Eadmund, clasping his hands. ‘My dear king, I don’t know what to say.’ Shoulders slumping, he now sagged in despair. ‘One does not enter S’ala Nis without permission. Merchants that come and go from there work for the queen herself, and only a select few, handpicked by her, are allowed into the harbour.’

Fyn was confused. ‘Is she a real queen? Queen of what?’

‘Of the isle,’ Kolarov told him, as though it was obvious. ‘She inherited it from her father. A powerful, mysterious man!’

‘He’s dead?’ Eadmund asked.

‘Apparently, for his daughter has reigned for many years now. I can only assume that he is no longer with us.’

‘We need to leave at first light,’ Eadmund told him. ‘I will pay whatever you require, as much as you want. And if anything happens to me, you can go to Andala for recompense. Her brother would give you anything too.’

‘Oh, but this isn’t about what I might earn,’ Kolarov insisted grimly. ‘As you can see, I am a man who has achieved a more than comfortable existence. I want for little now except adventure, though attempting to enter the Shadow Isle? I am not sure one could call such reckless folly an adventure!’ He shuddered and shook as Eadmund placed his hands on his shoulders.

‘We will leave at first light. Do I need to send for you, or can you meet us at the docks? Our ship is called Bone Hammer, helmed by Bolder Oysten. We’ll be waiting there for you, so bring anything you might need.’

Kolarov’s mouth dropped open, and though his face made many shapes, he didn’t speak.

‘Sounds like a yes to me!’ Thorgils decided with a fart, and ignoring Fyn’s disapproving look, he scooped up Otter, handed him to Mattie and stood. ‘So we may as well go and get something to eat!’

38

Jael was grateful for Sunni’s help, for the useful girl had found a clean dress and a new pair of sandals before taking her to the baths, which were welcomingly cool. And now, after washing her body and soaking in the cold water until she became blissfully numb, Jael didn’t want to leave.

‘But you have to go back,’ an anxious Sunni told her, becoming worried that she would get in trouble, especially if Jael decided to get up to no good again. She held out the clean grey dress, shaking it with impatience.

Jael sighed, and with a reluctant nod, she finally pulled herself out of the pool. The bathhouse had been deserted, and with no Marsa bustling about, spitting and snarling, it had been a pleasant experience, though more of an illusion than reality, Jael knew. She shook the water from her body and grabbed the dress from Sunni. ‘I’d go back to the slave’s hall on my own if I could, though I’ve no idea where we even are. Not in the dark.’

Sunni laughed. ‘I was born here, so I could find my way around with my eyes closed!’

‘Born to a slave?’

A nodding Sunni handed the sandals to Jael, and not waiting for her to put them on, she hurried away. ‘Come, my lady!’

Bare-footed and dripping, Jael followed her, curious to know more. ‘And what happened to your mother then? Or your father?’

‘I don’t know who my father was. It could have been anyone!’

Jael frowned. ‘Anyone?’

‘My mother was a woman of the harem. They don’t clean or cook. They only please the men. When my mother was young, it was the king and his men. Now it’s the queen’s lords and even some of her soldiers. She gives them special passes when they please her.’

‘And what happened to your mother?’ Jael asked, quickly seeing images of a young woman in a bloody heap, eyes closed, mouth wrenched open in agony.

‘I don’t know. She died when I was a child. That’s what they said. Come on, my lady! We have to get back before they lock the doors. Hurry! I don’t want you getting in trouble.’

Jael sighed, glancing over her shoulder for one last look at the baths. ‘Oh, I think it’s a little late for that.’ And with a wry smile, she trudged after Sunni.

* * *

Struggling to sleep on the moored Bone Hammer and woken every hour or so by a creak or a drunken shout, Fyn eventually decided to get up and try walking around, hoping he could trick his mind into becoming tired again. His body was already there, he thought, limbs heavy as he tripped over a coiled rope and tumbled down onto the deck, nearly landing on Mattie. A sleepy Otter hissed in fright, bounding off her lap.

‘I think you need a torch,’ an unimpressed Mattie muttered, watching Otter sitting at a distance, eyeing Fyn. ‘He certainly doesn’t like you. Makes me wonder what sort of man you truly are. Perhaps not an honest one?’

A surprised Fyn picked himself up, crouching before her. ‘I thought you were a dreamer.’

Mattie was equally insulted, though taking a deep breath, she gathered her tired thoughts. ‘I may be a dreamer, though we don’t know each other. I have no clear image of you, just small things I’ve picked up here and there.’

Fyn held out a hand, wanting her to take it. ‘Look harder,’ he told her. ‘We all need to trust each other now. I want you to look harder at me, to see who I really am.’

Surprised by that, Mattie was reluctant to take Fyn’s hand, though when she finally grabbed it and closed her eyes, a deluge of images rushed at her. She saw an unhappy boy, a solitary, lonely child. A boy who loved his mother, a man crying over her dead body, soaked in blood. She saw Fyn standing beside a queen, fighting with her, and she saw how much that queen trusted him. And finally, she saw him playing with two little children, and she heard his thoughts. He feared he would never fall in love, never have his own family.

Never belong.

Opening her eyes and not wanting to pry further, an uncomfortable Mattie dropped Fyn’s hand.

‘And?’ It had been no small thing for Fyn Gallas to open himself up to a dreamer, especially one who didn’t appear to like him.

Mattie shrugged. ‘Well, I saw some things. Nothing to concern me.’

‘Good.’ Though seeing no change in Mattie’s posture towards him, Fyn sighed. ‘I’ll let you and your cat have some peace.’

Now Mattie felt bad. ‘When I was a girl, my mother talked incessantly about marriage. My marriage. She’d married poorly and had suffered because of it. She hadn’t loved my father, and he’d never provided for us or been a particularly devoted husband. When he died, she was left with nothing, so the moment I could understand her, she started telling me how important a good marriage was. How I should be looking for a husband as soon as I was old enough.’ Mattie shook her head, remembering her mother’s obsession. ‘Even when I told her I was having dreams, it didn’t deter her from her path. At first, she refused to let me go to Tuura. She didn’t want me learning anything. She just wanted me married.’

Fyn looked surprised, and sitting down now, he pushed himself back against the gunwale, sheltering from icy drops of sea spray. Otter seemed of the same mind and soon crept in between them.

‘I tried to please her, to be a good daughter, though I knew that marriage without love wasn’t a path I wanted to take. So I waited. Far too long for her. I think she died of a broken heart.’ Mattie was quiet then, lost in the past. ‘I didn’t meet my husband until I was twenty-one, but I never tired of the waiting, for I knew he would eventually come along.’

‘Because you dreamed it?’

A smiling Mattie shook her head. ‘No, I felt it. As though I had a sense of love coming towards me. At times, I doubted it. I almost reached for something I knew wasn’t love because I was lonely or sad or I just wanted to feel things. My mother died unloved by anyone but me. Her own parents had left her out, exposed her as a baby, and she’d been adopted by a couple who’d simply been looking for another pair of hands. And desperate for love and a family, she’d chosen the first man who came along. But me? I chose to wait for the right man.’

Fyn wanted to ask why she was telling this to a man she seemingly didn’t even like, though he guessed that when she’d held his hand, she’d felt things.

Things he himself felt.

‘Love is powerful and heartbreaking and worth every tear, and you will find it at the right time. Just trust, and don’t snatch at something that isn’t real. That’s my advice to you.’ Otter padded onto her lap now, rubbing against her, and Mattie’s lips quivered. ‘I lost my love and nearly you, too, didn’t I, Otter?’ she scolded gently, stroking the cat’s wet head. ‘But I don’t regret a moment, for I’ll hold that feeling in my heart forever.’

Fyn peered at the dreamer as she fussed over her cat.

Thinking of Milla Ulfsson.

* * *

Before she’d cut through the symbols inside the fetters, Jael’s only glimpses of her husband had been from memories. She had seen their first inauspicious meeting on Oss, their fraught reunion at the Vale. She had seen him holding Bo for the first time, tears in his eyes, and she’d seen him lying beside her, reaching for her with desire.

But now, as she closed her eyes, attempting to find a dream, she saw entirely new things: Eadmund was on a ship with Thorgils and Fyn, all three drenched and worried. They were at sea, in a storm.

Coming after her.

Rolling onto her side, she struggled to get comfortable, wanting to see more. Her body was aching, and the thin mattress offered little support for joints that had been lifting and digging all day. Despite her unexpected bath, for which she felt oddly grateful to Otho, she still stunk. And now, as she listened, she was certain she could hear a woman crying in the distance. Locked into the sleeping quarters with the rest of the exhausted slaves, Jael knew there was nothing she could do, though the desperate pleas of the woman had her shaking with anger.

Narrowing her tired eyes, she saw images that quickly had her seething, realising that it wasn’t a woman crying out.

It was Sunni.

* * *

‘I worry about Jael’s children,’ Amma told her husband as he dressed the next morning. ‘I wish Eadmund had left them here.’

Axl looked up from where he was fastening his belt. ‘He did what he thought was safer.’

‘So he thinks it’s unsafe here? In Andala?’ Amma was puzzled, perching on the bed in her nightgown, cradling a cup of fennel and licorice tea. Despite the taste, she did think it was helping with her never-ending nausea. It was rare for her to even be able to carry out a conversation before breakfast, but she was bright-eyed as she watched her husband.

Axl yawned, having tossed and turned all night. ‘I think it made sense for him to have them at home. Their home. And they have Ayla.’ Now he straightened his black tunic and turned to Amma. ‘With a dreamer, they’re likely safer than us.’

She looked horrified. ‘You don’t think that, do you? Axl?’

‘Course not,’ he promised, kissing her. ‘Now, will you get dressed and join me for breakfast? I’m sure Getta would like to see you.’

‘Hal won’t be there, will he?’

Axl frowned. ‘Why would you ask that?’

Amma’s good mood had carried her away, and now she shook her head in regret, seeing the hurt in his eyes. ‘No, nothing. I...’

A concerned Axl sat down beside his wife. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s nothing. I’m just being silly.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It’s just that... they... Hal and Erling look at me as though I’m not good enough for you!’ Amma eventually blurted out. ‘That I cannot give you an heir, I...’ Now she broke down, hunched over her tea, soon seeing tears splashing into it. ‘I think they’re right. I have a terrible feeling, Axl. I’m scared. I’m very scared!’

Taking away the cup, Axl placed it on the bedside table, bringing her into his arms. ‘Stop, ssshhh, Amma, stop. Come now, you’re just upset because you’re pregnant. The baby takes so much from you, and you’re trying so hard, but you can’t force things to be different. They are what they are, so we have to adjust and take things slowly. Hal and Erling have never said anything to me. And even if they did, they don’t matter. You do. You matter to me, Amma.’

She shuddered against him, wanting to believe his words, but the voice in her head soon drowned them out. That loud, demanding voice promised that she would never be a worthy queen, never make Axl happy.

That she would never be a mother.

And closing her eyes, she clung to her husband, afraid to let go.

* * *

Kolarov was late, and no one knew what to make of that.

Mattie seemed confident that he would come. Thorgils was far less so, unsure what to make of the self-important man in the red hat.

Eadmund was determined not to waste a moment, and having told Bolder to prepare the crew, he disembarked, deciding to go directly to Kolarov’s house – if he could find it, he thought irritably. And muttering to himself, he pushed past a shouting man with a strange creature clinging to his arm. Distracted by that, he was almost knocked over, and reaching out to steady himself, Eadmund grabbed hold of Kolarov.

‘Oh, my king!’ Kolarov announced loudly, much to Eadmund’s horror, for he hadn’t wanted to alert anyone to who he was or to why he was here. Seeing the shock on the king’s face, Kolarov, who wasn’t used to waking at such a frightfully early hour, lowered his voice. ‘I do apologise, though rest assured, my dear king, there is hardly a soul around. It is only the birds we have to worry about!’

Eadmund peered down at him in confusion, for the docks were becoming more crowded by the moment. He could barely move.

‘And your ship is?’

Eadmund hurried Kolarov towards where he could see Thorgils standing in the bow, clinging to Bone Hammer’s curling prow, relaying information back to Bolder.

Seeing Eadmund coming with their missing passenger, Thorgils waved. ‘About time!’ he barked moodily. ‘Had a lie-in, did we?’

Kolarov acted as though he didn’t understand, and flapping a hand as though wafting away a fly, he continued alongside Eadmund. Upon reaching the ship, he staggered to a stop. ‘But, what is this? This...’ He was seemingly lost for words and proceeded to switch from one dialect to another before returning to the common tongue they all understood. ‘This heap is not sturdy! Barely sea-worthy!’

Bolder Oysten, who’d arrived to join Thorgils, had a few things to say about that, and a back and forth ensued that Eadmund had no time for and no interest in either. ‘This is the ship we have, Kolarov. This ship, which brought us all the way from Iskavall, through a storm, no less, so I can assure you that she is sea-worthy, and Bolder here’s an experienced helmsman. You have nothing to worry about.’

But worry, Kolarov did, muttering as he was hoisted into the ship. ‘You have no idea!’ he kept repeating as Thorgils and Bolder huffed and puffed, red-faced on either side of him. ‘You simply have no idea!’ And now he turned away, seeing Bolder’s men approaching his baggage. ‘Take care down there! You must take care!’

A frowning Thorgils pulled Eadmund aside. ‘He feels like a liability.’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘He knows where this isle is. If there’s a chance they took Jael there? We need him, Thorgils, no matter how much noise he makes.’

Thorgils didn’t blink. ‘We need him to get to this secret island prison, and then what? Like he said, no one gets in without an invitation. So what are we going to do once we get there?’

Eadmund turned, eyes on the dreamer, who was trying to help Fyn with the fussing explorer. ‘Well, that’s where Mattie comes in. What we need is for Kolarov to give her some clues and for her to do the rest.’

‘Sounds easy. We’ll leave it to them then!’ And too tense to stay still, an uptight Thorgils stomped down the deck.

Eadmund watched him leave, following after Bolder, who was barking at his men to stow their weapons and gather the oars.

Nausea swilled around him like ale in a cup.

This had to be the right path.

This had to be the path to Jael.

* * *

Kalina had requested that Arras join her for breakfast at the Arena, much to his surprise, and he was struggling to find his appetite as he sat beneath a silk awning, where a spread of exotic fruit and delicacies awaited.

He filled his plate and didn’t look at it again as he waited for Kalina to tell him what she wanted. Her silent slave poured tea into dainty cups, its sweet aroma perfuming the humid air.

Eventually, Kalina turned to him. ‘This is where you first came to my attention. As a girl, sitting here beside my father, I watched you claim your freedom. The crowd was against you, I remember, dutifully supporting your opponent, for Lazaro had been my father’s champion for decades. And then, you?’ Turning now, she placed her plate on the table and took Arras’ hand. ‘It didn’t take long for you to have them eating out of your palm. They spurred you on and raised you up, and you gave them the most memorable victory this arena has ever seen.’

Arras had different, less romantic memories of the battle that had nearly killed him. Though his victory had freed him, giving him a chance to become a soldier rather than the plaything of one. He rose quickly after that, making a life for himself, though he wasn’t sure if he’d ever stopped feeling like a slave. He could marry and have children, buy a house and ride a horse, though he knew he could never leave, and that made him just as much of a prisoner as the slave he used to be. ‘I left a few teeth down there,’ he grinned, remembering the day as though it had only just happened. Yet how many years had passed? Twenty? Twenty-five? He was no longer sure.

Kalina smiled. ‘Though you left with a new reputation and the greatest prize of all. You earned your freedom down there, Arras. And now, I want to see you prove yourself again. To me. To every slave and soldier on this island, who will soon be your subjects as well as mine. I want you to prove to them how worthy you are of my love, of my hand in marriage. Of the life I will give to you.’

Arras stared at Kalina, though he could no longer see her. Before his eyes, everything was just a blur of dust and dirt. Eventually, he shook his head, clearing his vision. ‘You want me to fight in the tournament? Against who? A slave?’

‘Yes, against Jael Furyck. She has caused nothing but problems since she’s been here. The woman appears unwilling or unable to accept her new position. She continues to act like a warrior and a queen rather than the slave she now is, and who better to put her in her place? So here, before all of S’ala Nis, before my lords and their ladies, and before me, you will prove yourself worthy and Jael Furyck weak. That is the wedding gift you will give to me, my heart.’

Arras struggled to understand what the queen was asking. ‘You want me to hurt her but not kill her? To humiliate her?’

‘Exactly! I want you to remind her of how far she has fallen, to show her that there is no escape. This will be her home now, the only one she will ever know. You will not kill her, Arras. No. Though I will happily watch you bleed and break her. After what her family has done? It is no more than she deserves.’

PART V

THE SHADOW ISLE

39

Eadmund wanted to know how long it would take to reach the isle, though Kolarov was initially too ill to even open his mouth, which was surprising given how far and wide he’d supposedly travelled.

It took a while for him to regain his composure, and his hat, which tumbled down the deck, eventually stopped by a scowling Thorgils, who stood on it before handing it back.

Placing the crumpled hat on his bald head and holding it there, a red-nosed Kolarov turned to Eadmund and Bolder, who had handed over the steering oar and moved to the more sheltered stern, where they gathered close to talk. ‘S’ala Nis is masked by shards of volcanic rock. Like tall walls! As though they fell from the sky!’ Kolarov told them. ‘They are enormous, hiding it from sight. There are ways to enter, of course, to approach the isle, but once you pass those walls, there is a chance of being seen.’

‘Do they have dreamers?’ Bolder asked, not having been at the initial meeting with the explorer.

‘Not unless they have captured some,’ Kolarov told him, buffeted by the strong gale until he was leaning sideways. ‘There is a temple on the island, home to a seer called Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. I never saw the man, if he is a man. It was implied that he was too busy divining the fates to leave his temple behind.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘Will he see us coming?’

‘You have a dreamer!’ Kolarov reminded the king. ‘She must be of some use? I will speak to her. I must... we can....’ He couldn’t catch his breath, and soon he couldn’t keep his balance. Then, as Bolder grabbed hold of him, he remembered something. Eyes bulging, Kolarov dug into his pouch, buried beneath layers of thick woollen garments. Eventually, he pulled out a scrap of what looked like vellum, which immediately threatened to fly away – much like his beloved red hat, which kept lifting off his head. ‘From memory, and to the best of my knowledge, this is where the isle can be found!’

Sensing that an unsteady Kolarov wouldn’t keep hold of the vellum for long, Bolder snatched it from his hand, holding it tightly, taking in the shaky drawing with speed. Bracing himself against the gunwale, he studied it more closely. ‘I’ve never been there,’ he admitted, pointing to where Kolarov had marked the passage into the isle. ‘I don’t recognise it.’

‘These are dangerous waters!’ Kolarov warned, bumping against Bolder, trying to reclaim his little map. ‘And this, here... it is the Arc of Herash!’

They looked at him blankly.

‘The God of Death in these parts,’ Kolarov explained with a shiver, running his finger around a series of circular marks. ‘So I’m sure you can imagine how that might go!’

‘It’s going to be challenging!’ Bolder shouted at Eadmund, dark hair whipping around a concerned face. ‘And if we emerge here? If we make it this far? We won’t have time to avoid whatever they’re launching from their cliffs.’

‘Ballistas!’ Kolarov boomed. ‘Enormous ballistas! Like being speared by a mast! We’d be drowned before we could blink!’

‘Then talk to Mattie! She has to find a way to protect us!’ Eadmund insisted.

‘Protect us?’ Kolarov shook his head. ‘She has to shield us from view entirely!’ He felt only uncertainty, wondering why he’d agreed to go along, though his life had been devoid of any form of adventure for going on three years now, and he hadn’t been able to resist the emotional plea of the King of Oss. To save Jael Furyck? Ranuf Furyck’s beloved daughter? Oh no, he had to do what he could, no matter the cost, for what was living if you were not living boldly?

So, steeling himself for the adventure of his life, Kolarov Radic took his leave, heading for the dreamer.

* * *

Queen Kalina ordered Jael brought to her throne room, where she peered down at her from atop an ornately decorated golden chair. ‘I continue to receive reports of your disruption,’ she muttered, jaw jutting forward, emphasising her razor-sharp cheekbones. ‘Which is undesirable when I am planning my wedding.’

Jael kept perfectly still, staring with only the occasional blink at the extravagantly dressed woman. It was as though she was already at her wedding. Her straight black hair shone like polished obsidian. Her makeup was excessive, enhancing her intense brown eyes. Enormous emeralds hung from her ears and around her neck, draped over a lavish green gown stitched with silver thread.

A frowning Jael was sure that Gisila would have approved.

‘You seem unable or unwilling to accept your fate, but you are no longer on your pointless little island with your mucky little people. You have been brought here to live under my rules, to follow my orders. You are now a slave like any other, and you will behave as such. You are no longer a queen, no longer free. No longer a mother or a wife. You are nothing!’

Every word struck a blow, and Jael wanted to scream in response. Pain and anger surged through her body until her legs started vibrating, and she feared that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from lunging at the woman.

The queen now slid forward to the edge of her throne, smiling. ‘And to encourage you to learn this lesson, I have arranged for you to fight in my tournament.’

Jael was stunned.

‘My betrothed will be your opponent.’

Now Jael’s mouth dropped open.

‘You see, this world is so much bigger than you, Jael Furyck and I intend to show you just how small and insignificant you truly are.’ Kalina did not wait for Jael to speak, nor did she want to hear anything the woman had to say. She sought to deliver her message, not engage in a conversation. ‘Arras brought you here for me, and it is he who will bring you to your knees before my people. And on your knees you will remain until your death. That is my promise to you, slave.’

Jael barely heard her.

The opportunity to fight was always welcome, though she was in no fit state to fight anyone and certainly not Arras Sikari. They needed to be working together, to find a way out together. Though, she realised, ideas suddenly rushing towards her, perhaps it was an opportunity? For if everyone was going to be watching the tournament, it would be so much easier to slip away.

She didn’t hear the queen ordering the palace guards to remove her, but Jael soon found herself dragged out of the throne room.

Though she didn’t feel disappointed about that.

She had to find Arras so they could plan what to do.

* * *

Axl had been engaged in a discussion about Andala’s main gates for much of the morning. He’d grown concerned about their ability to withstand a real assault. The only attacks they’d suffered in the past few years had come from magical creatures: dragur, barsk, dragon and serpent.

Though shaking his head with a wry smile, he wondered why he was worrying about an army of Iskavallans at all. The new king would need time to mount a challenge, and Iskavall certainly didn’t have the resources Brekka did. Not in men or weapons.

Walking with purpose now, Axl felt a confidence not usually present. Perhaps it was because Gant had left Andala? He loved Gant like a father, and his help had been invaluable, but somehow, with him there, watching him, judging him, Axl had never been fully able to think for himself. Gisila fretted and worried about him, though now she was also flitting around Amma and Getta, especially with Jael and Edela missing. Hal had left to check the Iskavallan border settlements, Erling had gone to Hest, and for the first time, Axl realised that he could actually breathe.

His head was clear, a sense of purpose strengthening his spine, so that when he saw Eren Venberg heading to the market, he hurried to catch her.

* * *

Jael was returned to the slaves’ hall, barely aware of Otho’s insults or the unpleasant tasks that lay ahead. The queen’s words continued to ring in her ears, and looking at the slop on offer, she doubted she could eat any breakfast.

What she wanted was to speak to Arras.

‘Though you must eat before a battle,’ she heard her father say. ‘You need both a strong body and a strong mind. Being hungry won’t help you.’

So a nauseous Jael joined the line of identically dressed, similarly miserable slaves, holding out small bowls, waiting for food no one wanted to eat. She had no issue with fighting, and despite being out of shape, she felt a familiar confidence stirring. But to fight Arras?

She saw his son, Nico, enter the hall, immediately fixing his attention on a dark-haired slave called Anika. She was from Iskavall, Jael remembered. A shy young woman who certainly seemed to like Nico back.

He would struggle to leave her behind.

Sighing as the line trudged forward, Jael felt as though every thread was dangling out of reach before her. As if there were simply too many to weave together into a plan that would actually work.

Eadmund was on his way to find her, though she hadn’t seen him leading a fleet.

There had been just the one ship.

Just the one crew.

Arras pushed into the line behind her. ‘We need to talk.’ And grabbing her by the arm, he ignored the surprised looks of Nico and his men as he led Jael outside.

The morning sun was already intense, and Jael blinked into it, shielding her eyes as soon as Arras released her.

‘You’ve heard that you’ll get to fight in the Arena, Queen of Oss?’

Jael nodded, glancing around, happy to see that they were alone.

‘The queen wants me to prove my worth before her lords. To prove my worth to her.’ A livid Arras shook his head, hissing now. ‘By fighting you?’

‘She wants you to humiliate me. For you to show me my place.’

‘Though if you killed me?’

Jael looked confused. ‘I have no reason to kill you. It doesn’t help me. It doesn’t help us.’

‘None of it helps! Everyone on the isle will have their eyes on us.’

‘Exactly! And then we’ll leave, and their eyes will be on another fight. We could slip out of the Arena and then...’

‘Then?’

Jael stared at him, seeing nothing but a thick stone wall. ‘We have time to figure it out. I do, and I will.’

‘An escape route, a ship... you think you can figure that out on your own? That you can find a way out of this place?’

‘Your son is in love with a slave,’ Jael told him. ‘That’s what you have to figure out, Arras. If you’re going to bring him along, you’ll have problems unless you decide what to do about her.’

Arras’ frown intensified. ‘We have four days before the tournament,’ he snarled, eyes darting around. ‘Four days!’ And now he turned away. ‘I’ll find you tomorrow. See what you can come up with, dreamer queen. I will deal with Nico.’ He didn’t look at her again as he spun away, sword arm vibrating as he thought about what was to come.

His decision had been made: he would leave the isle.

But how?

That was all that mattered now.

How?

* * *

Eren’s eyes sparkled with pleasure as Axl walked beside her, though she didn’t turn them his way, keeping a good distance between them. He’d been stopped by his steward, who had a question from the cook, and Eren had waited patiently until the king returned to her, walking in silence for some time.

‘I have made mistakes,’ Axl told her in a discreet voice, eyes sweeping the square. The market was busy, a great influx of traders and customers coming through Andala’s gates, he was pleased to see. He felt a real sense of belonging, watching the swelling crowds, the vibrancy of the market, the buildings under construction, the taverns down at the docks. He saw the guards up on the ramparts, his hall in the distance, and he realised that this was his home. It had always been his home, though often he’d felt like an imposter living here, not a real Furyck. Not his father’s heir.

But today, for the first time, he saw it all so differently.

‘I lost my father, then my throne. My sister was sent away, then Amma too. Aleksander died, and my children were lost, born before their time. And amidst it all, I became a king, a position I never thought I deserved or had earned or even wanted. So I made mistakes, Eren. I’ve been so desperate to disappear and hide. I’ve not wanted to face any of it. It was weak of me to just try and avoid everything, to avoid making decisions. I’ve been incredibly weak.’

Eren’s smile faltered now, and lifting up her dress, she stepped over a puddle. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

Axl saw Getta approaching and stiffened, scanning his sister-in-law’s sour face to see if something was wrong, though she had a basket over one arm, and nodding at him, she headed into the market.

He continued walking.

‘Because I need to end things between us. For good, Eren. I want to be a better husband, a stronger man. Amma deserves that for what she’s going through, for the trust she’s put in me. I... I’m sorry.’ Eren pulled up, and Axl was forced to turn back to her. ‘I am sorry.’

‘I understand,’ she told him quickly, masking most of her displeasure. ‘You are a loyal man. I do understand.’

Looking at her, Axl could see that wasn’t true. Her eyes had flooded with tears, making him uncomfortable. So did the public nature of their conversation, though he hadn’t wanted to meet alone with her again. Not because he didn’t trust himself, but because he didn’t want to risk one more chance of being discovered together. ‘You will find happiness, Eren, with a man who deserves you. A free man who can marry you. I should never have –’

She moved her right hand as if to touch him, though seeing the horror in his eyes, she quickly brought it back to her left, clasping them before her dress. ‘You owe me no explanation, Axl. You don’t.’ And leaving before he could utter another word, Eren walked stiffly into the crowded square, leaving Axl staring after her.

* * *

Thorgils joined Eadmund, who hung over Bone Hammer’s stern, deep in thought. ‘Any ideas?’

Eadmund’s eyes remained on the surging waves foaming in their wake. ‘Not so far. How’s Mattie coming along?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘Still sitting there with her eyes closed. Maybe she’s asleep? I know I’d like to be!’

Turning to him, Eadmund sighed. ‘We’ve no idea if Jael’s even on the island! I just... I just want her back, Thorgils. I want to take her home!’

Placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, seeing the pain in his eyes, Thorgils nodded. ‘Course you do, and you will. We will. Soon. We’ve been led here for a reason. I keep holding onto that. We found Mattie, and then Bolder, and now Kolarov. The gods are helping us, Eadmund. They are! So don’t lose faith now. Jael needs us to be strong, to keep going. To find her.’

Eadmund turned to see Mattie huddled against the gunwale beside Fyn. Kolarov appeared to have gained his sea legs and was striding up and down the deck, muttering to himself, one hand on his red hat. ‘I just hope that between Jael and Mattie, we have some help. We need the dreamers to start dreaming! To show us what to do! They must be able to see what’s possible? To plot a way out of this?’

The noise of the ship and the shouting men was a barely discernible hum in the distance to Mattie. She was a bird, feathery wings extended; as impressive as a gull, she thought, feeling powerful. Her sight was sharper than a hawk’s, and she was flying over the Shadow Isle.

At first, she saw little.

Lost in a bright blur of glaring sunshine, she caught the odd glimpse of walls, seeing little figures patrolling them. She saw what looked like a temple with a strange tree protruding from it. And flying further and higher now, she saw the towers Kolarov had mentioned, their giant weapons aimed at the entrance to the island.

Was it the only way in?

Mattie focused on that churning sea now, white-capped waves smashing against rocks that rose up like stone creatures, aiming to stop whoever dared enter.

Thinking of her husband, she became distracted.

The sea was deadly, a burial ground for many.

She was suddenly cold, so intensely cold, as though she was being pulled into the water herself. Everything darkened, and she was falling, spiralling, twisting around and around until she felt nauseous, until she saw nothing at all.

She hit the water with such force that she couldn’t breathe.

Falling further.

She wasn’t flying now but sinking.

Opening her eyes wide, Mattie looked up, wanting to push herself back to the surface, needing to breathe. Everything started going black, limbs freezing, suddenly so heavy. She wanted to kick her legs, to propel herself up, but they wouldn’t respond.

She was sinking!

Eyes closing, she saw something strange.

Despite her panicked thoughts and dire situation, Mattie saw something that caught her eye.

The last thing she saw as she sank into the darkness.

* * *

Sunni approached Jael in an uncharacteristically quiet manner. She was usually boisterous and loud, with sparkling eyes and an inability to stay still. She appeared a confident child, helpful and willing, and despite being a slave, she seemed to take an overly positive view of life. So it was noticeable that when Sunni accompanied Marsa on her weekly inspection of the slave women, she wouldn’t even meet her eyes. Though when the old woman grabbed Sunni by the chin, lifting it in annoyance, Jael saw a glimpse of the girl’s bruised face.

Immediately furious, she had no choice but to stand her ground and hold her place in line until she reached Sunni.

‘What happened?’ Jael asked, speaking over a snapping Marsa. ‘Sunni?’

The girl turned towards Marsa, ignoring her.

‘Sunni?’

Marsa kept snapping and spitting orders.

‘You must take off your dress,’ Sunni told Jael.

‘But what happened? Who did this to you?’ Jael demanded to know.

Becoming frustrated, Marsa grabbed Jael’s sleeve and yanked it, trying to encourage her to take it off before shouting again at Sunni.

‘Take it off,’ Sunni begged. ‘Please, my lady.’

Jael hurried to undress, not appreciating being examined like a horse as Marsa lifted up her arms and made her turn around, inspecting every part of her, once again fixated on her many scars.

‘Marsa wants to know what your scars mean. What happened to you?’

‘Tell her I had a cruel husband,’ Jael muttered, not caring what the witch thought of her.

Now Sunni turned to peer at Jael, revealing the true extent of her bruises.

A seething Jael inhaled sharply. ‘Who did that to you?’

Sunni ignored her, relaying Jael’s message to Marsa, who raised an eyebrow, then indicated for Jael to open her mouth so that she might inspect her teeth. And finally, after poking around with a stinking finger, Jael was allowed to put her dress back on and move ahead in the line, forced to leave Sunni behind. She glanced over her shoulder, though, seeing the pained look in the girl’s eyes before she turned away.

* * *

Fyn shook Mattie by the shoulders, trying to wake her up. She’d been making strange gagging sounds, as though she was struggling to breathe before collapsing onto her side. Kolarov, who’d been hovering nearby, rushed to help him, immediately slapping Mattie, trying to provoke a reaction.

Thorgils and Eadmund hurried over to see what was happening.

‘What are you doing?’ Thorgils barked, then seeing Mattie, he became concerned. ‘What is she doing?’

‘She is trapped in a dream!’ Kolarov warned. ‘I’ve seen it before! When a dream becomes too intense, it can kill a dreamer! We must hurry!’

‘Kill her?’ Fyn was horrified, glancing up at Thorgils and Eadmund.

‘We need to bring her back! She has to hear our voices! To remember what is real!’ Kolarov insisted, dropping down to his knees with a grunt. He bent to Mattie’s ear, shouting.

Fyn tried to think of something to say, something that would make Mattie want to return.

And then he saw a worried-looking Otter.

Grabbing the cat, he brought him close to Mattie’s face, until the cat’s wet fur touched her cold cheek. ‘Otter is here! You can’t leave him! You can’t abandon him, Mattie! He needs you!’

She convulsed on the deck for a moment, then became very still.

Kolarov and Fyn blinked at each other as the cat fought to escape Fyn’s hold, miaowing loudly. But Fyn clung to him, wanting Mattie to hear his complaints for herself.

Eyes bursting open, the dreamer spluttered, trying to move her arms. ‘Help!’ she coughed. ‘Help me! I...’ She blinked up at Otter, and bringing him into her arms, she burst into tears. ‘Theo,’ she sobbed. ‘Oh, Theo!’

It wasn’t the cat’s name, and Fyn suddenly understood where Mattie had been. He sat back on his haunches, giving her some space.

Eadmund helped a stuck Kolarov back to his feet, and Thorgils simply stared, breathing out an enormous sigh of relief.

For if they had lost their dreamer now...

‘I saw something!’ Mattie called, clinging to Otter, tears glittering in her eyes. ‘I saw something in my dream!’

40

Arras’ neck was giving him grief. It always did when he became tense.

He had loved his wife – the gentlest, loveliest soul he’d ever laid eyes upon. Nico was like her, with a measure of his own toughness.

He had his mother’s big heart too.

Arras knew he didn’t have much of a heart. Not since his wife’s death...

He found his son supervising the hasty repair of a road before the wedding parade.

‘I haven’t seen so much of you in years!’ Nico joked, clapping his father on the back, though noticing Arras’ intense frown, he was soon frowning himself. ‘Is something wrong, Father?’

‘It’s just this wedding. I’m struggling with it. The idea of becoming a husband again? I was your mother’s husband. I never wanted to be anyone else’s.’ Arras worked his jaw, frowning ever more intensely. ‘I accept that what happens on S’ala Nis is not my choice, that even as a free man, I am still bound to obey the queen. But still...’

Nico knew what had happened to Queen Kalina’s previous husbands – they all did – though no one gave voice to the speculation that still swirled around the sudden, gruesome deaths of those six men. Queen Kalina wanted a child, though much like his father, Nico was convinced that the problem was with the queen herself.

If only she could see that.

‘She has asked me to fight in the Arena, in the tournament. I am to... fight.’

‘You? But why?’

‘I will be fighting Jael Furyck, to prove myself worthy of my place by the queen’s side. I think she wants to show her lords...’ Arras trailed off, not sure what he thought at all.

It was such a surprise that Nico just stared.

Moving his son away from his working men, Arras lowered his voice, eyes darting up and down the road. ‘We are planning an escape, Jael Furyck and I.’

‘Escape?’ Nico was incredulous, hissing at his father. ‘Escape? But there is no escape from here. You’ve always told me that.’

Arras grabbed his son’s arm, pulling him close. ‘I don’t intend to be murdered by a queen who cannot and will not face the truth about herself. She is barren, and before long, if I don’t try and leave, I’ll be murdered like the rest of her husbands. She can’t see what is real, Nico, can’t accept the truth, so I am going to escape, and you are coming with me.’

Nico shook his head. ‘It’s impossible, and I... will not leave. I can’t.’

‘Because of the slave woman?’

Nico blinked.

‘People aren’t as blind as you want to believe,’ his father warned. ‘If I’ve noticed the way you look at that woman, if Jael Furyck has noticed, be sure that others will have as well. You place her in grave danger, yet you offer her no hope. Marriage between the free and the enslaved is forbidden. You know that.’

Nico looked heartbroken, knowing it all too well.

‘So you will come with us and bring her and start a new life together.’

The thought was appealing, though Nico frowned, eyes drifting to his men, some of whom appeared to be arguing. He felt tense, jiggling a leg, knowing he had to leave. ‘But why do you need Jael Furyck to help you? What can she possibly do?’

‘I don’t know,’ Arras admitted. ‘At this moment, I don’t know, but she’s determined to help us, and she’s a dreamer. I want to believe that she can find a way out.’

‘Though you have to fight her? But what will that mean?’

Arras didn’t know. ‘What is your woman’s name?’

‘Anika.’

‘And will she want to go?’

‘To freedom?’ Nico nodded, feeling certain of it. He was anxious and worried, but seeing what lay ahead if they did not escape, he knew his father had made the only decision possible. ‘When do we leave?’

Arras smiled, seeing two of Nico’s men signalling for him. ‘That, my son, is an excellent question.’

* * *

Kolarov had brought along an upright chest stacked with shelves full of curiosities, one being a tiny carafe of jara that he’d purchased in Tavuli. And though he was reluctant to share even a drop, the situation called for a sacrifice, so he plied Mattie’s trembling lips with a little of the amber-coloured liquid, watching her eyes widen in shock.

And then she was coughing, nearly throwing up.

‘What... what was that?’ She gagged and spat, her face turning purple, and soon everyone was staring at Kolarov.

‘Are you trying to revive her or kill her?’ Thorgils wanted to know, receiving mutters in a language he couldn’t understand.

‘It is jara!’ Kolarov insisted haughtily. ‘A delicacy from Tavuli! A place you have obviously never visited, so I think you should refrain from insulting me, the one who saved the dreamer!’

It was true, and realising it, Eadmund placed a hand on Thorgils’ back, glowering at him before turning to Mattie. ‘You said you saw something?’ He crouched down beside her now, nearly losing his balance as Bone Hammer kicked up, smashed by a wave.

Mattie hugged a purring Otter, nodding. ‘I was high above the isle. I saw many things.’

Kolarov almost tumbled down to the deck too. And reaching for Fyn’s arm, he eased himself down beside the dreamer, not wanting to miss a word.

‘There was a great palace and a temple with a tree growing inside it.’

Kolarov nodded excitedly. ‘Yes, yes, the Dragon Blood Tree! It is where the seer resides. You saw that sacred place? And what else?’

Mattie didn’t know. ‘It was hard to see. There was so much sunlight. I was blinded by it.’ She closed her eyes, seeking to return to her dream. ‘I saw many buildings, towers, statues. There was a great ring.’

‘The Arena!’ Kolarov exclaimed. ‘Where the queen’s soldiers are tested against her bravest slaves for a chance to win their freedom!’

Mattie nodded, eyes still closed. ‘There were many trees and paths and roads and... then I wasn’t there at all. I was in the sea!’ Eyes springing open, she experienced that same terror, as though the icy water had her in its grip again. Shuddering, she tightened her hold on Otter. ‘I... I couldn’t swim higher. I couldn’t breathe. I fought to reach the surface, but my dress wrapped around me, pulling me down like an anchor. I sank. I was dying...’

Eadmund scratched his head, wanting more. ‘And the thing you saw? What was it?’

Mattie blinked up at him, seawater in her eyes. They stung, and she blinked some more. ‘A hole. I saw a hole under the water.’

Everyone leaned towards the dreamer.

Even Bolder, who had just joined them. ‘A hole? In the rocks?’

Mattie nodded. ‘A tunnel. I think I saw a tunnel!’

* * *

Jael was struggling to focus.

What had happened to Sunni distracted her, though the girl’s injuries weren’t what she needed to be thinking about. She had to fix her mind on a plan, which would now be complicated by some ridiculous performance in front of the queen. That worried her too. There was Arras, his son, and, she was certain, the slave woman. They would all be relying on her.

But then there was Sunni.

The girl reminded her of Bo for some reason. Bo was often sullen and demanding, but then she would catch a spark of joy and become an entirely different creature. There was a hopeful vulnerability about her then. Jael knew she’d had it herself. She knew, too, that she’d lost it that night in Tuura.

She was never a child again after that.

All joy had left her, and it rarely returned.

Shoved to the ground, Jael cried out, landing on her forearms, fetters cracking against bones, teeth banging together. She whipped around, seeing Otho Dimas looming over her with a sadistic grim. ‘Fuck off!’ she shouted. ‘Just... fuck off!’ And scrambling back to her feet, furious about everything, she turned and strode away.

Otho stared after her, too surprised to move, and soon Nico was back, demanding to know what he was doing. But doubting that anything Otho told him would be the truth, Nico soon sent him away. Feeling tense, he watched Jael disappear around a corner. He knew he should go after her or send someone to bring her back, though he wanted to give her a chance to find answers.

Thinking of his father, he hoped she could.

Jael didn’t know where she was going, though she guessed that, eventually, someone would track her down. Until then, she would keep walking. Her mind raced, her heart keeping pace, images bursting before her eyes.

She saw glimpses of Fyn on a ship, talking to a woman holding a cat.

A tempestuous sea frothing around them.

And an island.

She nearly ran into a wall, and turning sharply, she hurried into a colonnade of trees. She wasn’t running away, for there was nowhere to run to. There was no escape, she heard Arras say over and over in her ears.

There was no way off S’ala Nis except by sea.

Thinking of the sea took her back to Oss, and she remembered Eirik Skalleson, who had been clever enough to formulate a secret way off his island. For what smart king wouldn’t ensure another route to safety?

She turned again, seeing a pair of bronze gates, heavily guarded and bolted closed. It reminded her of her journey into the city. There had been so many gates and doors, all locked and guarded. Arras had warned that the tunnels formed a labyrinth offering no escape. Jael had doubted his words at the time, and even now, she felt hope stirring.

She slowed down, eyes lowered as two soldiers marched past without stopping, her certainty growing with every step.

There was another way off the isle. A secret way.

And someone knew where it was.

* * *

Thorgils was incredulous. ‘A tunnel under the water?’

Mattie nodded, wet hair slapping her face. Desperate to see, she tried tucking it behind her ears, rubbing her eyes. ‘I... it was natural, the hole I saw. It hadn’t been made. I’m sure of it.’

‘A way into the isle!’ Kolarov announced triumphantly, and patting the dreamer’s hand, he looked surprised. ‘And you found it!’

Eadmund vibrated with urgency. ‘We have to find where it is and what it means. If we swim to it, will there be a way in? Or is it a trap? I don’t want to risk any lives.’ Though saying it, he knew he’d happily risk his own.

‘And where does it lead?’ Thorgils asked. ‘Maybe it is a trap?’

Mattie had nothing else to offer. ‘I can’t tell you anything more. I’m sorry.’

Kolarov blinked at her. ‘Except where it is, I hope.’

But Mattie only shrugged.

Bolder looked intrigued, hovering above her. ‘The tunnel you saw, Mattie, it will have clues. You just need to find them, and while you do, I’ll see what I can come up with. We will,’ he said to Kolarov. ‘You’ve been there, you’ve got memories of the place, so let’s think about where else a ship might moor if that ship were waiting for someone to escape from a tunnel.’

Kolarov’s eyes bulged as he was once again helped back to his feet. ‘That map I made, yes, that map. Let us go and see!’ And assisted by Bolder, an unsteady Kolarov waddled away.

Fyn turned back to where a sodden and still stunned Mattie sat. He wanted to tell her that she’d done well, that he was glad she’d made it back, though instead he said: ‘You need to look for more clues. Maybe something about the rocks around the tunnel? Anything you might have seen?’

She blinked as he stood, leaving to follow Kolarov and Bolder. And nodding at her, Eadmund and Thorgils turned after them.

Mattie shuddered, once again clinging to Otter. ‘I won’t leave you,’ she promised, whispering in his ear. ‘I won’t ever leave you again.’

* * *

Edela walked behind Bertel and Siggy, who appeared deep in conversation as they hurried ahead of her. It was another clear day, and they were making more plans for fishing. But first, they were going to find some worms to use as bait.

Edela had thought about remaining behind, though their tiny room was so stuffy and dark that she felt desperate to escape its cloying confines. So, deciding to free both her mind and body, she had joined the two aspiring fisherfolk.

‘Don’t fall too far behind!’ Siggy called. ‘You won’t know where to go! It’s hard to get there!’

Bertel turned around, looking like he might come back for her, but Edela quickly flapped a hand at them both. ‘I am perfectly fine with getting lost!’ she loudly assured them. ‘In fact, a dreamer often needs to wander off and get lost. The answers we seek aren’t always where we expect to find them. You go! I’ll find my own way!’

Bertel hesitated, looking uncertain, though a few more barking instructions from Edela had him turning away, and once again, he started talking to Siggy.

Edela let them go, sensing that she had her own path to follow. They were her mostly willing companions, but she had to find the next fork in the road. Until then, they were stuck here, fishing and sleeping and wandering about.

Memories of her dreams flittered back to her, and she thought of that enormous tree and the strange sisters. Though soon she became aware of a woman picking flowers in the distance and forgetting about Siggy and Bertel, Edela headed towards her.

* * *

Having been tracked down by two of Nico Sikari’s men, Jael was dragged back to the soldiers’ barracks and returned to her task of cleaning out the latrines. The flies buzzed around her in the scorching sun, the ripe smell making her retch, and she struggled to focus. Though eventually, after being harangued by some of the soldiers, she settled down to the task before her. And working silently and steadily with three slave women to fill and then ferry buckets of turds into a cart, she found herself digging into their thoughts.

The red-haired woman beside her had been torn away from her new husband. She feared he was dead, that he’d been killed trying to save her. Her last glimpse of him was watching a man strike him with a sword.

Another woman had only recently given birth. She worried about what had happened to her baby. Who would feed and care for her? Her husband had been away trading.

Who had cared for her baby?

Their stories were so hopeless that Jael soon became distracted from her own. How could she simply think about escaping and leaving these poor women behind? And Sunni? The girl was being abused, raped by Otho and his friends.

And she was just going to run away and leave her to them?

Though, she reminded herself, there was no army behind her and no way to help any of them if she didn’t escape herself.

Jael was suddenly yanked up by the arm, and shouted at in a language she didn’t understand. She looked at the wild-eyed soldier in confusion, shrugging, though he merely shoved her after another slave, trying to hurry her along. The cart was nearly full and reeking so intensely that Jael’s eyes were watering.

Though maybe it wasn’t from the smell alone, she realised, thinking of her own family and how hard it was to be separated from them.

How much she worried about them. Especially Bo.

She had to find a way out, a way to Eadmund and their men. A way to find Edela and what had happened to her. And then she would come back. She would come back and defeat the queen, destroy the whole place and set everyone free.

* * *

Fyn returned to Mattie with a trencher of dried cod and hard cheese, though sitting down beside her, he wondered if she was asleep. Otter miaowed, stepping onto his lap and pawing it with just the hint of claws, he quickly looked to make a comfortable spot to lie down.

‘Mattie?’ Fyn asked, caught between wanting to let her dream and needing to know what she’d found. ‘I brought you something to eat.’

Mattie opened her eyes, turning to him in confusion. ‘Eat? Why would I need to eat? I need to dream! Don’t you understand? No one here is going to find the answers. No one but me! Only I can. But I can’t. I can’t see anything!’

She was panicking, and realising it, Fyn immediately made everything worse. Patting her arm, he tried to calm her down, seeing fire spark in her eyes as she shoved him.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she snapped, jerking away.

Every head on the ship turned Fyn’s way. He saw a raised eyebrow from Thorgils, a disapproving look from Eadmund, and scratching his head, he left the trencher on the deck and headed back to the stern.

‘She doesn’t like you,’ Thorgils told his cousin. ‘Hate to say it, but I think it’s plain enough for all to see now. And hear. That dreamer simply doesn’t like you.’

Fyn looked confused, though he didn’t particularly like Mattie either. She was arrogant and rude, and he rarely enjoyed her company. Though he failed to understand why, that when it came to women, he seemed to do everything wrong. ‘I don’t need her to like me. Just to find where that tunnel is.’

‘Mmmm, well a sweet dish goes down quicker than a tart one,’ Thorgils warned. ‘That’s something my father used to say to Odda. Mind, she usually served him up a good walloping after he said it, so what do I know?’

‘I’ll have a word with her,’ Eadmund decided, not wanting Mattie’s dislike of Fyn to impede their progress. ‘You two try and see if you can get Kolarov to remember anything. I can’t understand a word he’s saying.’

Thorgils nodded, though he doubted they’d fare any better. Kolarov had an obvious affection for Eadmund and quite the opposite feelings towards him. Still, he headed back to the muttering explorer, hoping to prod him along.

Mattie looked up as Eadmund approached, seeing his worries long before he spoke.

Moving the trencher away from the hungry cat, Eadmund sat down. ‘There’s a lot of pressure on you,’ he began. ‘Though I’m grateful you’re here, Mattie. My wife needs you to help us, and so do I.’

‘And I want to, I do, my lord,’ Mattie insisted with big eyes. ‘Though sometimes it’s impossible to find the right thread. Everything I tug on reveals nothing. And every thread looks just the same. I’m... we’re... running out of time!’

Seeing her panic and hoping not to reveal his own, Eadmund took a deep breath. ‘You saw the tunnel, which means that we’re on the right path. You and Kolarov have led us here, so Jael must be here. She must. And you saw a way in. A way to evade their towers and their weapons. We can get onto the isle without being seen if you show us where the tunnel is.’

‘Though I can’t see what lies beyond that tunnel opening,’ Mattie warned. ‘I’ve tried to go inside it, though there’s only endless darkness. I can’t promise you it’s safe or that it will lead to your wife.’

‘No, but we’ll try anyway. If we can find that tunnel, we’ll try.’

A fidgeting Mattie scratched her chin. ‘Can I hold your hand?’ she asked, seeing the king’s surprise. ‘I need to connect with your wife. I want to reach her, and love is the most powerful feeling. It’s the strength I need to pierce the darkness. Your love for the queen and hers for you.’ She blinked, fearing tears would come and dropping her head now, she tried to pull herself together.

Eadmund gave her his hand, closing his eyes, and feeling Mattie take hold of it, he thought of Jael.

* * *

There was no sign of Arras Sikari that afternoon, and Jael was forced to keep her ideas to herself. She had questions, though, hoping that Arras might be able to answer them.

The scorching heat eventually forced the guards to give the women a break, and wanting to take a moment to sit in silence and close her eyes, Jael carried her cup of water to a bench, where a hint of shade covered her face so that she could finally stop squinting.

Sipping the warm water, she immediately thought of Oss, the coldest place she’d ever been. Everything had been frozen when she’d arrived, including her heart.

Noise buzzed around her, and though Oss wasn’t what she needed to be thinking about, in her mind she was sitting before Eadmund, and he was holding her hand, telling her how much he loved her. She would usually be squirming, edging just out of reach, poking fun at him, but seeing his hand lifting towards her face, she felt herself leaning towards it, wanting to feel his touch.

The hand was warm and gentle, and she remembered that she was loved. Loved by a man who wanted to hold her and keep her safe; loved by children who were loud and naughty and funny and cuddly; by furry dogs who liked to play; and by a temperamental horse who knew her best of all.

By a missing grandmother, a fretting mother, and a struggling brother.

She was loved.

She saw her father’s face as he stared at her over the row of pyres, and turning to look at the bodies of her dead brothers, she remembered what she had to do.

She had to get home.

She had to fight for her family.

41

Edela had never seen the tiny fruit or tasted it before, and she popped it into her mouth and bit down, nearly breaking a tooth.

‘There’s a stone inside,’ the woman said with a grin. ‘A pit.’

Wincing, Edela pulled it out, and watching as the woman took her own, squeezing out the stone, she attempted to copy her.

‘It’s an olive,’ the young woman laughed. ‘You don’t have them where you come from?’

Edela shook her head and now endeavoured to truly taste the olive. Her nose twitched as she chewed and swallowed. ‘I... well, it’s... unusual.’

‘They’re better in salty brine. You’re welcome to take some. I sell them at the market, but I can give you a pot.’

Edela shook her head. ‘Not give, but I would purchase some, I think. It should go nicely with our fish supper.’

The woman agreed, leading Edela through her cottage and outside to where her pots of olives were stored in a chest under a little shelter. Though Edela was soon more enamoured with the incredible view than the olives.

‘I am Greta,’ the woman said, watching Edela’s mouth gape open. ‘And as you can see, I have the best view on Marinos.’

Edela was mesmerised, seeing outlines of various coastlines in the distance. ‘There are so many islands to see. More than I realised.’

‘Yes, we are one of fourteen.’

‘That many?’ Edela was entranced, her eyes drawn to one place in particular. And as though struck by lightning, she shuddered explosively.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘That island there,’ Edela breathed, pointing with a shaking arm. ‘What is it called?’

‘Aggralaia,’ Greta told her. ‘It’s an... odd place.’

‘Odd? Why is that?’

‘Some are drawn to it, entranced by its many secrets. Others are more cautious. The women who live there are unusual.’

‘Sisters?’ Edela wondered lightly.

Greta blinked. ‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘Oh, just a feeling.’

They heard the cottage door opening in the distance and a male voice calling out.

Greta looked pleased. ‘My husband. No doubt he’ll be hungry.’

‘Well, let me find you a coin for these... what did you call them?’

‘Olives.’

‘Yes, olives. And the island?’

‘Aggralaia.’

‘Indeed.’ Edela handed over a silver coin. ‘You have been very kind,’ she told Greta. ‘Perhaps we will meet again? I may see you at the market. If your olives make an impression, I will have to purchase more.’

‘I do hope so...’

‘Edela. My name is Edela, and I hope so too.’ She hurried to take her leave, offering rushed greetings to Greta’s husband as she backed outside, and seeing the door close, her smile faded, urgency overwhelming her.

Aggralaia.

The home of the sisters with the bone tree.

* * *

Nico Sikari found Jael late in the afternoon, where she had been given the unpleasant new task of collecting urine for the tanners from various cesspits around the city. The stench made her eyes water, and lowering her buckets, she blinked at him, blinking some more when he inclined his head for her to follow him.

‘My father has spoken of your plans,’ he told her when they were alone. ‘And I am in agreement.’ It was hard not to look around in fear, for Queen Kalina’s spies were everywhere. It was impossible to trust anyone, even members of your own family. Disloyalty was punished by death. Plotting and scheming just as severely.

‘You’ll wish to take your woman.’

Nico nodded. ‘Anika is frightened but eager to go.’

‘I need to speak to your father. I have questions about how to find a way out. I need his help.’

Glancing around, Nico made a decision, and taking Jael’s arm, he led her back to the cesspit, where one of his men was in charge. ‘This slave is to fight my father at the queen’s tournament. Soon he will come and take her to the Arena to show her around.’

The soldier was confused. ‘Fight your father? Why, who is she?’

Nico turned to Jael. ‘She is the Queen of Oss. Jael Furyck.’

The man’s long face seemed to lengthen further, his scowl lessening as surprise smoothed his features. ‘A queen?’

‘Yes, once Queen of the Slave Islands, now just a slave queen.’ Nico said it dismissively, eyeing Jael with a sneer. ‘My father will humiliate her, so until the fight, you must keep her safe, Torro. No harm should come to her, for the queen herself has chosen this match. We must not let her down.’

Torro’s mouth had barely closed, though he managed to splutter out an assurance that he would indeed watch over the special slave.

A mostly satisfied Nico turned to leave.

Jael grabbed his arm, not having understood most of what had been said. ‘And your father will come?’

Nico shook her off. ‘He’ll come,’ he assured her, and without making eye contact, he strode away.

* * *

The day passed in muttered conversations as everyone’s tension increased.

After trying to help Mattie find a way back to the tunnel, Eadmund had left her to it, returning to where Kolarov and Thorgils were arguing about what to do while Fyn tried to mediate. Eadmund’s presence quickly calmed things down, and Kolarov soon found himself agreeing with the king’s assessment of how things stood.

Which, being similar to Thorgils’ previously stated assessment, had the red-headed man shaking his head. ‘But I –’

‘Leave it,’ Eadmund warned. ‘We just need to be going in the same direction now. Doesn’t matter how we got there, so let it go.’ Thorgils didn’t answer, and turning to a smirking Kolarov, Eadmund sighed. ‘Our best chance is to approach in the dark, though it is the riskiest. Unless you can remember anywhere we might conceal ourselves?’

Bolder came to join them. ‘I’ve been thinking about that, and unless there is somewhere to hide, we’ll need to take the sail down as we approach, use the crew to row. We can’t afford to draw any attention to ourselves.’

Kolarov had delved deep into his memories of S’ala Nis, seeing only sheer walls of volcanic rock that masked the hidden city. He didn’t know what to advise. ‘No, nothing, I’m afraid. It is all on the shoulders of that dreamer now,’ he muttered, turning as Mattie rose to her feet in a fluster and, hand in the air, she started swaying towards them.

A sudden rush of waves drove Bone Hammer down, knocking Mattie onto her backside. Though barely noticing, she was up and moving forward with urgency. ‘I’ve seen the tunnel! I’ve seen it!’ she announced breathlessly, hair swirling around her face. ‘It’s beneath a great statue! It’s almost pointing to it!’

Fyn grabbed hold of her wrist as Bone Hammer dipped again, and they all shuffled towards the gunwale, Bolder glancing over his shoulder to ensure his man had a good hold of the steering oar.

‘A statue?’ Kolarov was curious. ‘What did it look like?’

‘Like a woman! A goddess with a flowing dress. And pointing. She was pointing out to sea!’

Kolarov was delirious with happiness. ‘But I remember seeing that! It is to the south of the island. The Maiden’s Reach!’

‘Anything else?’ Eadmund wanted to know. ‘Did you see any sign of Jael?’

Mattie couldn’t be sure. ‘I saw a woman.’

The men before her froze.

‘A woman?’ Eadmund was wide-eyed and breathless. ‘Where?’

‘In the water, swimming, though it was far away. She had dark hair, but I can’t tell you any more. It... may have been your wife.’

Eadmund turned to Kolarov. ‘You have to take us to that statue. We have to get there now!’

Kolarov clasped Eadmund’s hand. ‘Of course, my king. Yes, I will do whatever I can to help you reclaim your wife!’

* * *

Darkness had fallen when Arras came for Jael, walking her to the Arena. And though they had much to discuss, they were initially silent, for the streets were still busy, and Arras had become increasingly fearful of Kalina’s spies, worried that he was being followed.

In fact, he was certain of it.

The moment she had chosen him, Arras knew she would be watching closely, for loyalty was everything to the queen.

As they entered the Arena, walking into the centre of the massive oval-shaped ground, he finally released Jael, dropping his shoulders. ‘Do you have your plan then? Or perhaps you simply intend to kill me here? Kill me and claim your freedom?’ He shook his head, laughing bitterly. ‘Though the queen has sworn that she will never set you free. You are to be a slave for life.’

Jael continued to wonder why and what it all meant, though they had more pressing matters to discuss and little time. ‘You say the queen’s father built this place and that there is no escape? But that doesn’t make sense. To have planned this island so meticulously, to have been so particular about who came here, to control every aspect of it and hide it away? And then not to have devised an escape route? No, I’m sure he made a secret way out. I’ve seen hints of it in my dreams.’

Arras blinked. ‘Your dreams?’ Glancing down at the fetters around Jael’s wrist, he lifted one up. ‘So these do not work? All this time, they haven’t worked?’

‘They don’t work now, but that’s not what we should be talking about. I’m certain there’s a secret way out of here. A way to escape.’

‘But something like that would have been found or known about,’ Arras insisted, dropping Jael’s arm. ‘Someone would have seen it. Coming to the island, they would have seen the way in. Surely?’

‘Not necessarily. There are ways to mask an entrance. But what we need to find is where it starts here. Who would know that?’

‘Well, if you’re right, then perhaps only the queen herself?’ Arras mused. ‘If her father built it, he must have shared its location with her, but who else?’

‘Someone close to him? The men who built it?’

Arras scratched his chin, thinking. ‘There is one man, the king’s best friend. He’s old now, long since lost his mind. He started running around the isle naked, so his children locked him away. He’s been here since the beginning, though. He helped build S’ala Nis.’

‘And can you find him?’

‘He won’t make any sense, Jael. Weren’t you listening? He’s lost his mind.’

‘Perhaps, though his memories will still be in there.’

Arras frowned. ‘I’ll attract attention by going there and digging around. I barely know the man, so there’s no reason to visit.’

‘What about a slave?’

Arras’ frown deepened.

‘Sunni could go. She goes everywhere, and no one thinks anything of it. She could fill in for whichever slave usually tends to his needs. She could take something of his and bring it back to me.’ It was a bold suggestion, for Jael didn’t know if she could simply bring information to her on demand. Her grandmother certainly could. And thinking of her grandmother and how desperately she needed to find her, a determined Jael took Arras’ hand. ‘Find the old man and get Sunni to steal something of his. And quickly. We have to know if he can help, if he has any knowledge that can help us. If not, our only option will be the queen, though it will be far more dangerous trying to steal something from her. Unless you know of anything yourself? Anything that could help us?’

Arras didn’t. ‘I’ve been coming and going from the isle for years, and I’ve seen nowhere that made me curious or that I wondered where it led. Nowhere blocked off or hidden away.’

Jael felt doubts rising, though she had no other ideas. ‘Then this is our only option.’

Tilting back his head, Arras peered at the moon. ‘They say you are Furia’s daughter, but what does that even mean?’ he wondered. ‘Does the goddess protect you? Would she come and save you?’

Jael smiled. ‘She did once. She did come and warn me of danger once, though I don’t believe she’s coming now, so we have to get out of here together, and we will. Just get Sunni to bring me something from the old man.’

‘And the tournament?’

‘Well, that isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us, I’m afraid. Though we should talk about it. About how we’re going to make it out alive...’

* * *

Kalina was surprised by the interruption.

She had slipped into an ice-cold bath. The intense chill of the water, cooled by great lumps of ice, initially had her teeth chattering, but now, she felt almost comfortable. Her mother had used ice baths to enhance her beauty, revealing to her only daughter that it was the secret to her youthful appearance. And even though she was marrying an older man, Kalina had become just as obsessed with recapturing her youth.

Though now, just as she was starting to relax, here was a problem to attend to. ‘What is it?’ she snapped as a slave poked her head around the door, then entered the bathhouse in a crouched manner, blinking eyes sweeping the marble floor.

‘One of your... spies has arrived, my queen. They wish to speak with you. Most urgently, they said.’

Kalina was intrigued, though uninclined to leave the bath. It took such an effort to get into the icy water that she was reluctant to go through the performance again. ‘Bring him in here,’ she ordered with an impatient groan.

The slave nodded, backing out of the bathhouse until she spun around and disappeared through the door, soon returning with a small boy, who hurried forward.

‘My queen!’ he shouted, and then, hearing his voice echoing around the great chamber, he lowered it dramatically, along with his head. ‘I bring you the information you asked for.’

‘Asked for?’ A confused Kalina shook her head. ‘When did I ask you for anything, boy?’

‘Well, not you, my queen, but your man, Ademar, he came to us, told us to look out for the commander and if he was acting strangely.’

Kalina lurched out of the water, and standing quickly, she flapped a dripping hand at a slave, wanting to get dressed. ‘And?’ she demanded. ‘What are you here to tell me, boy? What have you discovered?’

The boy was quickly distracted by the naked queen, her long dark hair slithering over bronzed flesh like snakes. Though the queen’s sharp-eyed frown helped him find his voice, and as her slaves patted her dry, he began. ‘I’ve seen him with a slave, spending time with a slave. All alone!’

‘Alone? In his house?’

The boy shook his head. ‘Walking and talking. They do it often.’

‘A woman?’

The boy nodded. ‘A slave woman with long dark hair. Like yours!’ Then realising that that wasn’t a flattering comparison to make, he backed up and started again. ‘He is always hiding around corners, talking to her. Away from everyone else!’

Kalina shivered with anger, then blinked. ‘Did this slave have manacles on her arms and legs? Fetters? Made of iron?’ The boy’s eager nodding gave her some relief. ‘Well, you have been very alert, and you have my gratitude for that, though that slave is one I asked the commander to keep a close eye on. He is watching her for me.’

The boy seemed to think that was a good idea, for he nodded. ‘She’s always fighting! Always getting picked on by the guards. And she fights back. I’ve seen her hitting them!’

Holding up a hand, Kalina spun to the doorway. ‘Mali!’ she called sharply, watching as a young woman hurried towards her. ‘My young friend here is leaving. Please escort him out through the kitchens, and ensure he is well fed as a reward for his efforts.’

The boy was pleased to hear that, and bobbing his curly head, he hurried towards the slave.

‘And Mali! Send your brother to me. I have a task for him.’

* * *

‘Who was the woman you were speaking with today?’ Getta asked Axl as they sat alone at the high table.

Amma had taken to her bed, and Gisila had left to organise a cup of hot milk, hoping it would soothe her daughter-in-law to sleep.

Axl turned away to hide his surprise, quickly reaching for his ale. ‘Woman?’

‘A dark-haired woman. There was something familiar about her. I wondered if I knew her.’

Axl maintained a look of confusion as he turned back around. ‘I... perhaps you’re thinking of Erling’s sister? Eren Venberg? I did have a brief conversation with her.’

Getta’s smile was glacial. ‘Of course. I thought I knew her. We were friendly when I was here with my father.’

And not looking away now, Axl sighed. ‘I don’t regret killing Lothar,’ he told her. ‘Though I am sorry you no longer have a father, Getta. I know how that feels.’

‘Yes, though I also have no mother and no brother.’

‘No.’

‘I lost my son and then my husband, so apart from my sister, I am entirely alone.’ Getta felt disconnected from the words coming from her mouth. They evoked no pain, merely an expression of her situation. ‘So I do not want anything to happen to Amma,’ she said, shuffling along the bench until she was within breathing distance of her brother-in-law. ‘And if she were to find out what you’ve been doing with that pretty Eren Venberg, she might just die of a broken heart.’

Axl stared into those plain hazel eyes, which had suddenly ignited with venom.

‘I could ruin your life,’ Getta hissed. ‘Destroy it as you destroyed mine. Take your family as you and Gant so carelessly took mine. But Amma is all I have to care for, the only person who cares for me, so for now, I will hold my tongue and you... you will never see that woman again.’

Axl’s first instinct was to protest and argue, though he did neither, staying perfectly still, mouth closed. He would not give Getta any power over him. He would not say a word about Eren. ‘Amma is lucky to have you here,’ he said instead. ‘You’re such a loyal sister, and from everything I’ve heard, you were so loyal to Raymon too.’ His words wiped the satisfied smile from Getta’s face. ‘We are both pleased you are here, Getta, for you wouldn’t be able to return to Ollsvik now. Not as Raymon’s widow. Not as a Furyck. And without any other family, where would you go?’ He didn’t smile, he didn’t want to play games, but he did want Getta to know that she couldn’t play any with him.

Pushing back the bench, Getta stood. ‘I am grateful to be here, of course. Grateful to you and to my sister, who is carrying your heir. Likely, your son.’ She bent to him now, keeping her voice low. ‘If I could go back and do things differently, I would, though death makes regret pointless. I am learning that the hard way. It’s what we do while the people we love are alive that matters.’ And dropping her eyes, she raised her head, sweeping out of the hall.

Watching her go, Axl shuddered, shocked by how quickly Getta had sensed that something was going on between him and Eren.

And if she had discovered it, who else knew?

* * *

Despite the late hour, Siggy was talkative and giggly and not at all inclined to sit in her bed and attempt sleep. Though after their fishing excursions and another delicious and filling meal, Bertel was, so Edela took the girl for a walk.

‘You seem so much happier than when we were in Tuura,’ she said, clinging to Siggy in the mostly dark streets. They were narrow and ancient, the cobblestones so uneven that she feared breaking an ankle. ‘More confident, I think.’

Siggy shrugged. ‘There are no girls to make fun of me,’ she decided eventually. ‘And no elders telling me off. No dreamers either.’

Edela shook her head. ‘But Bertel is an elder, and I’m a dreamer. Have you forgotten?’

Siggy laughed. ‘Bertel’s not really an elder, is he? He just tried to be one, and you’re a dreamer, but not like the ones at the temple. They looked at me differently. When I couldn’t do the things they wanted, they looked down at me. They didn’t like me at all.’

Edela squeezed Siggy’s arm, hearing a shout in the distance. She shivered, suddenly cold. ‘I still remember that feeling myself, and that was many years ago now. Many!’ she promised with a chuckle. ‘Though our differences make us special, and you are special, Sigfrida Larsen. I can feel that. All you need is a little time. Losing your mother, well, that is a pain like no other. It takes time to recover from such a loss, and here, you’re finally getting it.’

‘Will we stay here?’ Siggy wondered, for though she wasn’t enamoured with their room or her bed, she did love the pretty little island. There was so much to explore, and the food was the tastiest she’d ever eaten.

‘It is an intriguing place,’ Edela agreed. ‘Though I fear we must move on if we’re to continue our journey.’

Siggy was disappointed to hear it. They came to a crossroads, and without thinking, she led Edela to the right. ‘But where will we go next? And when? What about those men? Will they find us?’

Edela laughed. ‘That’s far too many questions for me to remember! But as to where we might go next... well, I have my eyes on another island. Nearby, in fact. We can start looking for a ship tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’

Edela saw a glimpse of that island again, feeling a painful tension in her belly. The sisters lived there, Greta had said. The strange sisters and their tree. ‘Yes,’ she said, yawning now. ‘Tomorrow. Though don’t worry, it might be days till we find one. Likely you’ll have plenty of time with those kittens yet!’

42

Jael saw the slender man watching her.

Her eyes were closed, though she knew where he was.

Though suddenly hit on the back of the head, she tumbled forward, spilling her bucket of urine. The soldier, Torro, yelled something at her that she couldn’t understand, though his urgent flailing hands, pointing at her and the spilled urine, gave a clear indication of his displeasure.

Sighing, Jael turned around, now seeing the man watching her. He had curly brown hair, a clean-shaven face, a well-made dark tunic. Her attention shifted away from the man to where Sunni was charging towards her.

Torro stopped the girl, asking a question, which she relayed to Jael. ‘He wants to know why your eyes are always closed. How can you work when your eyes are closed?’

‘Tell him I’m working on ways to defeat the commander.’ Which Jael knew to be the opposite of what must happen, for if they were to escape, she could not be victorious; both Arras and Jael had agreed to that.

Sunni relayed the message to Torro, who was still laughing as he walked away.

‘I’m being watched,’ Jael told the girl, resisting the urge to look around. ‘A man in a black tunic. Short curly hair, up on the hill. He looks young, not a soldier.’

Sunni was surprisingly subtle as she glanced around. ‘No one’s there now, though it sounds like Ademar. He’s usually in the palace, but sometimes the queen sends him out when her spies need help.’

Jael frowned. ‘You need to tell the commander to stay away from me. And his son. We must keep our distance now.’ Which was the last thing Jael wanted to say, for there was so much more she needed to discuss with Arras about the Arena and their escape and...

‘You must behave!’ Sunni told Jael with worried eyes. ‘The queen is always watching, and if you displease her?’ Now she shuddered, turning away, but Jael grabbed her arm.

‘If you displease her?’

Leaning forward, Sunni dared to whisper: ‘There are pits. Great pits. They dig them where no one sees, but I’ve heard of them. The queen throws her prisoners into them, and they’re buried alive! Sacrifices to Venusta! She feeds the goddess those who disobey her!’

Jael blinked at the girl, who shuddered again before swinging around.

Then turning back, Sunni’s eyes became furtive. ‘I won’t see you for a few days, my lady. I’m being sent to work at Lord Pero’s house. He’s very old, you know. He needs a lot of help.’ And not waiting for Jael to react to that news, she swung back around and scuttled away.

* * *

Bertel had picked a bowl of bright yellow quinces for breakfast.

They sat on stools, knees touching, making great crunching noises as they ate, watching each other’s expressions.

Eventually, Edela made a face. ‘I’m not sure I like it.’

Bertel agreed. The tartness of the fruit became too much after a while, and he was tempted to spit out the remainder of his mouthful, though seeing that Edela and Siggy were staring at him, he continued to chew and swallow until it was all gone. ‘It’s rather bitter.’

‘I don’t mind it!’ Siggy declared cheerfully. ‘It’s another reason not to leave. There are so many things we haven’t tried!’

Bertel looked from Siggy to Edela, who shrugged at him.

‘I think we need to leave,’ she explained. ‘There is an island nearby, and I need to... explore it.’

‘Explore it?’ Bertel had become as fond of Marinos as Siggy. ‘Why?’

‘I had an odd dream about two women. They were twins, actually. Identical. There was something very peculiar about them, something I still can’t put my finger on. Well, the woman who gave me the olives, her home has a view of an island called Aggralaia, and I’m certain they live there. The sisters and their tree.’

‘Tree?’ Bertel’s frown deepened, and picking up his little beaker, he tipped some wine into his mouth, swilling it around in a desperate attempt to remove the taste of the quince. ‘You’re sure? That they’re the same women?’

‘Well, no, not sure, but I have a tingling sort of feeling. And the sisters in my dream did have a very strange tree.’

‘And how far away is this island?’ Bertel wondered, taking another sip.

‘Not far,’ Edela assured him. ‘It might only take a day to get there. Perhaps less?’

‘Then we should stay here, keep our things here and simply travel for the day. We are settled, Edela. It does no good to uproot the girl.’

‘And the kittens need me,’ Siggy reminded them both. ‘I give them milk three times a day.’

‘What? Three times? But there’s hardly enough milk for us,’ Bertel grumbled. ‘I had thought you were drinking it!’

Ignoring him, Siggy turned to Edela. ‘We can go for just the day, can’t we?’

Edela didn’t want to disappoint either of them, though she needed to remind them of their purpose, which was to find and then follow a path, not to sample local delicacies and befriend sweet little kittens. ‘I could go on my own,’ she suggested. ‘The two of you are happy enough here. I could find a ship and take the trip myself.’

Bertel stood. ‘Not at all. No. Certainly not! With those men lurking about?’

‘Those men haven’t been lurking about for some time,’ Edela reminded him as she rose to her feet, knees aching. ‘I will be perfectly fine.’

Siggy joined them now, all three standing in a cramped huddle. ‘Bertel’s right, we need to go with you, but... maybe we can come back here?’

‘Perhaps,’ Edela told her. ‘We can pay Milos to keep the cottage for us, and yes, if the path returns, we can come back here. And I’m sure we can find someone to feed those kittens!’

* * *

When a dreamer woke up, everyone tended to look her way, curious about what dreams she’d had and what clues she’d uncovered. And knowing to expect it, when Mattie woke that morning, she kept her attention on her cat.

Fyn brought over a small fish that had been flung into the ship. He’d killed and filleted it and now offered it to Otter.

Mattie hid her appreciation behind a sleepy scowl.

‘Did you have a bad dream?’ Fyn wondered, staring down at her as a ravenous Otter chomped into the fish as if nothing had ever been quite as delicious.

Mattie shrugged. ‘Nothing useful, if that’s your question. Just dreams of the sea again. I often dream of it. Of drowning.’

‘Because of your husband?’

‘My father drowned too,’ Mattie revealed. ‘He was travelling with a fleet, his ship lost in a storm. I’ve always imagined drowning since that moment. Always seen it and feared it, as though that is how I will die too.’ And suddenly aware that she was on board a ship, a disturbed Mattie struggled up to her feet, resisting Fyn’s attempts to help her.

‘I dreamed about Milla, the girl I met in Alekka.’

And eager to take her mind off drowning, Mattie turned to him with a frown. ‘What about her?’

‘I’m worried that something might be wrong. She’s on Oss, with my father. If something’s wrong... I’m just worried. I don’t want anything to happen to him. Or her.’

Mattie softened her gaze, finally relaxing her shoulders, and looking down at Otter enjoying his breakfast, she almost smiled. ‘Thank you for the fish. And as for this girl, I’ll tell you if I see something. For now, my attention must be on what comes next here.’

Fyn knew that, and he wanted to keep his attention here too. Between Kolarov and Bolder, they anticipated arriving at The Maiden’s Reach in three days. Once they arrived, they had to swim to the tunnel, then creep onto the island unseen, and find Jael and... Fyn peered at Mattie. ‘Have you ever dreamwalked?’

Mattie’s hazel eyes widened. ‘What do you know of dreamwalking, Fyn Gallas? Hmmm? Are you a dreamer then?’

‘No, but I know about dreamwalking. Jael’s done it, and Edela. Ayla too. They all have. It’s a way to –’

‘I know what a dreamwalk is!’ Mattie snapped, not wanting to reveal that she’d never attempted one herself. ‘Though it is shunned as a practice. Certainly not taught at the temple.’

‘Though if you could reach Jael and explain what’s happening, that we’re coming... you could lead her to us, couldn’t you?’

Mattie stared at him, and despite the chill of the wind, she felt her cheeks heating up. ‘I...’ Abruptly turning away, she reached for the gunwale. ‘I might not know... how to... do that.’

Her words were whipped away by the wind and Fyn frowned, leaning towards her. ‘What did you say?’

‘I don’t know how to dreamwalk!’ Mattie yelled. ‘I...’

Fyn peered at her.

‘I was asked to leave the temple before my education was complete,’ she confessed. ‘The elders didn’t like my... attitude, so I never learned how to dreamwalk.’

‘It wasn’t taught there,’ Fyn told her. ‘I think it’s more like a secret, passed around, passed on. I don’t think Edela, Jael’s grandmother, even tried one herself until recently, and she’s ancient.’

‘Oh.’ Mattie’s shoulders remained tense, though she felt slightly better. ‘Well, it would be useful, helpful, I’m sure, but I can’t just do one. Here?’

‘Mugwort, wormwood, and jimsonweed. Those are some of the herbs you need. The ones I remember, at least. They take you into a trance while you sit in a circle of symbols.’ Now he frowned. ‘I can’t tell you about those, but you put things around the circle. Stones, other magical things. And then you go into a trance and find who you’re looking for.’

Mattie burst out laughing. ‘Well, why don’t you do it then? You can use my herbs. I have some of those. You can make your circle and fall into a trance. I’m sure it will work!’

Fyn sighed. ‘If you wanted to help us so much, if you wanted to come along, why are you holding back now?’

‘Holding back?’ Mattie was incredulous, clinging to the shield rack as Bone Hammer tipped towards the sea. Her stomach lurched up into her mouth, and she thought about taking a hand off the rack to cover it. ‘I found the tunnel, and Otter found Kolarov! I’m hardly holding back!’ Shaking her head, she looked away.

‘Jael’s a dreamer, though not a willing one,’ Fyn explained. ‘She didn’t know how to dreamwalk either, but when she had to, she found a way. It’s in her, just like it’s in you.’

‘What are you to her then? Jael?’

Fyn smiled. ‘I’m her friend, and she’s mine, and we’ve been through a lot together. And through it all, she’s trusted me to do more than I thought I could. She pushed me when I wanted to back away. Jael stood by my side, and I stood by hers, and together, we did things I didn’t think possible. And so can you, Mattie. If you can find a way to Jael, to saving her, it would mean so much to so many. Please. Please think about it. Please try.’

* * *

Jael hadn’t seen Sunni for days, and she was starting to fear that something had gone wrong, so it was a relief when the girl finally turned up at the cesspit, where she was once again scooping urine into buckets.

Dropping her bucket and hurrying to her, Jael pulled her aside. ‘Do you have something for me?’

A smiling Sunni nodded. ‘It took some time to get it. It wasn’t easy. The old man’s daughter watches him closely!’ The experience of creeping around Lord Pero’s house had been both frightening and exhilarating, and Sunni vibrated with pride that she had succeeded. ‘I left it under your pillow and a clean dress on top of it. I was delivering them, so I thought it the best thing to do.’

Jael blinked in surprise. ‘You are crafty.’

Sunni didn’t know the word.

‘It means smart and tricky. You know how to get things done.’ Sunni beamed at her, and Jael’s attention was drawn to her bruises, which, though faded, were still noticeable. ‘And the man who did this?’

The girl’s expression changed, and she jerked away as though stung. ‘You have to be careful,’ she warned, eyes darting away from Jael. ‘If Ademar is watching you, the queen is watching you. Maybe she can see? She’s powerful enough to!’

‘I thought you said she wasn’t a seeress?’

Sunni shrugged, once again stepping back. ‘I have to return to Marsa. I hope you find what you’re looking for, my lady. Luck to you!’ And swinging around in haste, the girl bounded away.

Jael watched her go, confident that she was being followed by the queen’s spy, though she intended to bore the man to tears. So, picking up her bucket to a mocking cheer from Torro, Jael proceeded to once again fill it with the stinking urine.

* * *

‘What is this?’ Arras had joined Kalina at the sight of a great pit being dug by an army of slaves. ‘Something for the wedding?’

She turned to him with a beaming smile, quickly taking his hand and bringing him close. He looked handsome, she thought, thrilled that his new clothes fit so well. ‘Yes! A sacrifice. I intend to sacrifice a hundred slaves to Olera. A generous offering to a benevolent goddess. The Goddess of Fertility! We need her favour for our union, don’t we?’

Arras, who had spent many years as a slave, was so horrified that he struggled not to show it. Clenching his right hand into a fist, he pressed it to his side. ‘One hundred? I fear it is more than we can afford to lose, my queen. Kalina,’ he amended quickly. ‘We need to finish the new tower at the temple. The work is laborious and draining. We’ve already lost scores in the heat.’

Kalina turned to him, staring intently into his deep brown eyes. ‘Can I trust you, Arras? Are you loyal to me?’

Arras forced himself to remain perfectly still, though he feared his lips had twitched. ‘I have given you no reason not to trust me, Kalina. In all my time on the isle, I have caused no trouble. There has never been a question asked about my loyalty or commitment before. Not once, so why now? Has something happened?’

Kalina stepped closer, until she could smell the smoke in his beard. ‘My former husbands were disappointments, all six of them. Unlucky, too, dying as they did. It would sadden me greatly to see something terrible happen to you, for I have such hopes for our union and the many children I will give you. Family matters to me and to you, for I know how close you are to your own son. Dear Nico. Such a handsome, ambitious young man. I would hate for something to happen to either of you.’

Arras felt fear but projected arrogance. ‘You have spies? Little rats scurrying around corners, hiding under beds, listening out for tidbits of gossip? Well, let them try their hardest to find anything about me. I fought for your father. I claimed great wealth for him, slaves too. He trusted me, lifted me up to become Commander of the Waves. It saddens me to think you wish to marry a man you cannot trust.’

His formidable anger excited and confused Kalina, who stepped back now. ‘Though you do not love me, Arras.’

‘I have never pretended to. I am honoured to be chosen by you, though it is nothing I was prepared for. Raised in Siluran slums to become a powerful warrior, loyal man to a king and now husband to his beautiful, intelligent daughter? No, I never expected this. If you see anything in my eyes or feel any doubts in your heart, take comfort in knowing that this is so unexpected that I often doubt it is even real.’

‘Though when you fight Jael Furyck in the Arena, it will become real,’ Kalina purred. ‘You will remember how you fought and bled for your freedom and how, once again, you must prove your worth to all of S’ala Nis. Though the woman has been hefting buckets of shit for weeks, so I hardly think she will pose much of a challenge to a man like you.’

Arras laughed, daring to stroke Kalina’s cheek, needing to quell any suspicions she was harbouring. ‘To me? With the future I hope to build with you? The life I have worked so hard to claim?’ He shook his head, holding that intense gaze. ‘No, I don’t intend to let anyone stand in my way.’

* * *

Bertel was in Edela’s way, and she was growing annoyed.

She had been eager to get on and, after breakfast, had led them on a journey around the island, gathering what they needed, speaking to the landlord about their room and paying him more silver. They had collected a few herbs and picked a variety of fruit, left a bowl of milk and some fish bones for the kittens, packed their bags and headed down to the harbour.

It was hardly a harbour, Bertel thought with a sneer, though they had finally found a Hestian trader ready to depart. His ship was loaded with honey, spices, olive oil, and stacks of carefully packed pottery bowls. And thanks to Edela’s twinkling smile, he’d offered to take them as far as Aggralaia.

Bertel had taken an immediate dislike to the trader. It was his ship, and he’d kept a firm command of the steering oar initially, though as they drew further away from shore, he’d handed it to his cousin and joined Edela instead.

Much to Bertel’s annoyance.

So every time Edela tried to point out certain landmarks she had questions about or to ask about the island itself, there was Bertel, popping up with some irrelevant question or complaint. Eventually, she told him that Siggy needed help, sending him on his way.

‘Your husband is –’

‘Oh, he’s not my husband,’ Edela assured Elmer Falson, the friendly old helmsman. ‘I’m a widow of many years now. Bertel’s a travelling companion. An accidental one. We are on a journey together.’

‘To where?’

A shrugging Edela laughed. ‘Well, I’m still searching for a destination, but hopefully, the island will provide some answers.’

Elmer shuddered. He was a pink-cheeked, gregarious man, round and jolly, so unlike stuffy and serious Bertel that Edela was surprised by his sudden change in posture. ‘Is there something I should know?’

‘About Aggralaia? Depends on why you’re going, I suppose.’

‘Why I’m going?’

‘Well, if you’re hoping for hospitality, you’ll be sadly disappointed. If you’re looking for answers... maybe it’s worth heading for. Depends on what questions you’re asking.’

‘Who are these sisters?’ Edela wanted to know, turning away from the island in the distance now, searching Elmer’s eyes.

‘Some call them the Bone Sisters. They collect bones, as obvious as that sounds.’

‘I heard they have a tree made of them.’

‘So they say, but it sounds a bit peculiar to me. Wouldn’t go there myself. From what I’ve heard, they live outside the gods.’

Edela’s eyebrows rose to touch her hair. ‘Outside the gods?’

Elmer nodded. ‘No one knows what they are, but they’ve been there longer than anyone can remember. The same two sisters.’

‘Older than you?’

Elmer chuckled, relaxing slightly. ‘Oh, I’d say so. Older than my father’s father and even his grandfather’s grandfather. No one knows much about them, though. Just whispers. I don’t know the truth myself. Not sure anyone does.’

‘You think it’s a dangerous place?’

‘I do, yes. Any time you go against the gods, it’s dangerous,’ Elmer insisted, the whites of his eyes glowing brightly. ‘I’ve heard tales about those who set out to visit Aggralaia and never came back.’

Edela smiled, continuing to project confidence, though for the first time, she felt a tremor of fear. She needed to move forward, to find the reason Furia had sent her away, though she couldn’t be reckless. She couldn’t endanger Bertel and Siggy, and she couldn’t let the goddess down.

For if something happened to her, who would help her family?

* * *

Fyn’s words stayed with Mattie as the seas became rougher, and an argument broke out around the steering oar, where Kolarov and Bolder had to be pulled apart. Eventually, Bolder handed control of the ship to one of his men and took the conversation into the stern, where the dreamer joined them, wanting to know what was going on.

An uptight Kolarov swung around to her with bulging eyes. ‘Ahhh! Perhaps the dreamer can settle this matter with some wondrous insight? Or at least an instinct? A gut feeling? A vision?’

Mattie looked from Kolarov to Fyn. ‘About what?’

Eadmund answered by turning to point at the rocks ahead. ‘Kolarov wants us to shift course and head east, around the rocks. Bolder says that according to Kolarov’s own map, that’s impossible, impractical –’

‘It makes no sense!’ Bolder cut in. ‘None! We can see the way in, and it leads west!’

‘But you don’t know these waters!’ Kolarov insisted, stumbling as he waved both hands at the helmsman. His little red hat, which had survived the journey so far, suddenly blew into the air, away from every grasping hand. Even Thorgils was unable to stop it as it was picked up by the wind and carried away.

They turned to follow its path as Kolarov cried out imploringly, hands in the air, though the wind wasn’t bringing back his hat. It was pulling it east.

‘I think that’s your answer,’ Mattie said, turning to an open-mouthed Bolder. ‘We go east.’

* * *

Jael needed to stay focused on the tournament and on finding a way to escape, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her grandmother. Despite her diminutive frame and advancing years, there had always been a strength about Edela, a welcome certainty. At the worst times in her life, Jael had turned to her, and though she hadn’t necessarily liked everything her grandmother had said, she had put her faith in her.

And Edela had never let her down.

Over the years, she had often come into her dreams.

She had even worked to overcome her fear of drowning by taking a ship across the treacherous Nebbar Straights to visit her granddaughter and her great-grandchildren.

And now something had happened to her, and despite her own precarious situation, Jael felt a gnawing worry that whatever Edela was facing, she wasn’t strong enough to overcome it.

She heard a familiar snort, imagining those sweet blue eyes suddenly sharpening. ‘I’m not dead yet, Jael.’

Leaning over her bowl of broth, trying to ignore the strong smell of onions, Jael hid a smile beneath a curtain of long, unbraided hair.

Though it quickly faltered, for the tournament was tomorrow, and she was running out of time to find an answer, a way to escape and find her grandmother, to see her husband and children again.

To make her family safe.

And remembering that Sunni had hidden something under her pillow, Jael couldn’t wait to get to bed.

43

Arras and Nico were brought to the palace for their final fitting with the queen’s tailor. Just being in the palace was disconcerting enough, but having the tailor and his sullen assistants poking and pulling at them while they stood perfectly still and half-dressed kept both men on edge.

They were offered wine, which Arras refused and Nico gratefully received, drinking while making meaningless conversation with his father. ‘You haven’t fought in the Arena for over twenty years,’ he grinned, the effects of the wine starting to take hold now. ‘I was a toddler when you won your freedom.’

‘And yours,’ Arras reminded him. ‘Your mother’s too. Though she didn’t live long enough to enjoy it.’

Aware that the tailor, though appearing busy, had likely been ordered to eavesdrop, both men endeavoured to keep their conversation free of anything they didn’t want the queen to hear.

‘Will you remember what to do?’ Nico joked. ‘Jael Furyck is what? Fifteen years younger than you? Maybe twenty?’

‘Not that much younger,’ Arras insisted, holding out his arm as the tailor pinned his sleeve. ‘And what? Did I teach you nothing? That you would underestimate an opponent based upon their age?’ He shook his head, wriggling his left arm, which was going to sleep, promptly receiving a grumble from the tailor.

‘Well, age seems like a burden from where I stand,’ Nico decided. ‘You’re always groaning and complaining. So stiff and sore.’

‘Ha. Try having as many scars as me, as many healed bones. Though I could still beat you today, tomorrow, next year. So enjoy your youth, Nico, but I’d take my creaking old bones any day. Creaking old bones, failing memory, grey hairs... I would take it all and whip your arse with it.’

Nico laughed. ‘But what about Jael Furyck? She’s a slave now, but she won’t have forgotten how to fight. She’ll want to defeat you.’

Arras shook his head.

‘You’re the man who kidnapped her, who took her from her family. She’ll do anything to hurt you.’ Nico looked at his father, wondering if that was true. Was Jael Furyck really going to help them escape, or was it just a ploy to exact revenge? Escaping the isle seemed implausible, impossible, though when he thought of Anika, the idea of being with her, of being free, was too tempting to resist.

‘I imagine she’ll try. She’ll have no choice but to,’ Arras said dismissively, wishing he’d been able to speak to Jael in greater detail about how they should approach the tournament. He had grave doubts about it and about her promise of an escape in general. She seemed convinced that she could uncover some long-buried secret that only a handful of people might know, and perhaps, as a dreamer, she could?

Arras had little faith that such a secret existed.

But if it did?

If Jael could lead them to it?

Though first, they had to fight and try not to kill each other in the process.

‘She’ll certainly try,’ he repeated. ‘Though I will not be defeated. I won my freedom, Nico, and I won’t surrender it to that woman.’

* * *

They reached the shores of Aggralaia as dusk approached.

‘Nothing to do here,’ Elmer told them, eyes sweeping the beach, searching for problems. ‘No one lives here but those sisters.’

‘Do you trade with them?’ Bertel asked, offering a hand to Edela, only to be beaten to it by a sprightly Elmer, who helped the dreamer down onto the sand.

‘Not me,’ Elmer told him, righting Edela as she sunk into the soft, warm sand. ‘But many do. I choose not to. I keep my gods close, I do.’ And pulling an iron amulet from his woollen cloak, Elmer showed it to them.

‘Harda!’ Edela said with a twinkling smile. ‘How lovely to see a familiar face when I’m so far away from home.’ And thinking of the Tuuran God of Travellers, she hoped he would gift her some luck.

A snitty Bertel turned away to where Siggy was already exploring the beach. ‘Don’t go far!’ he called out, getting no response, and leaving Edela with an attentive Elmer, he stomped off after the girl.

‘You should stay here with us tonight,’ Elmer suggested. ‘We’ll sleep on the beach. There’s shelter from the trees over there, behind the bushes. It will be dark soon enough, and you don’t know the place. You can go exploring when it’s light.’

‘Is it easy to explore?’ Edela asked. ‘Does it have paths?’

‘You can see some from here,’ Elmer said, using one arm to help her across the beach and the other to point the way up the cliffs. ‘There you go. Yes, up there, east a bit. See it now?’

Edela wasn’t sure, but she nodded anyway. ‘Well, it looks as though my legs will need a good rest tonight!’

‘Aye, it’s steep,’ Elmer chortled. ‘A good rest and a tasty meal will set you right. But I’d still advise a measure of caution, Edela. Those witches will likely be expecting you. And what do you hope to get out of them anyway? With empty hands? You’ll have to offer them something. That’s how it works. A trade. You’ll have to think of something to trade. Something they might want.’

Edela was grateful for his insight, realising that she had come mostly empty-handed, though there was always Bertel. So leaving Elmer behind with a cheery nod, she waded through the sand after her companions.

* * *

Mattie and Fyn had been tasked with trying to cheer up a miserable Kolarov, who’d done nothing but tell the tale of his red hat and how many journeys he had worn it on. His lucky hat, he’d called it, certain that their mission was now doomed. Eventually, everyone started to fear that he was right, his dark mood quieting the entire crew, so Eadmund had passed him off to the dreamer, and as he’d become such a nuisance, he sent Fyn to help her.

‘I’m going to try a dreamwalk,’ Mattie told Kolarov. She felt nauseous even talking about attempting it, though with Kolarov’s disappearing hat unsettling them all, she knew she had no choice but to try reaching Jael Furyck.

‘What’s that?’ Kolarov wanted to know, and when it was explained to him, he finally stopped fretting about his lost hat. ‘I shall help!’ he declared. ‘Though is it safe to light a fire on board? In this wind?’ And once again, he was back to thinking about his hat.

Seeing that, Fyn hurried to change the subject. ‘Bolder has a brazier. We can try and burn a few herbs in there.’

‘Though I have a root you could chew if it’s merely a trance you wish to enter?’ Kolarov offered, pleased to know something they didn’t. ‘Yes, it’s from a place called Yashin. They have a tribe of naked men who chew the stuff. And those men swear by it. I was able to source a number of them.’

‘You’ve used it?’ Mattie asked.

Kolarov shook his head. ‘I’ve sold a few, but me? No, I’m no dreamer. It does me no favours to unlock the doors inside this very full mind! It would be like leaving a block of ice out in the sun. I’d be a mess for months!’

Fyn frowned. ‘But you know how much to use? That it’s safe?’

‘Oh, yes. I was given careful guidance on it. It’s called usha. Quite exotic! You’re lucky I’m here, saving your dreamwalk. Now it will simply be down to you. A magical circle, a little chant, and then... off to find Jael Furyck!’

Mattie blew out a long breath. ‘She needs to be asleep.’

Fyn nodded. ‘She needs to be dreaming. I’ll get something of hers from Eadmund. If he doesn’t have anything, I do, but it’s better if it comes from him. They have the strongest connection.’

And though Mattie had never met Jael, she could feel that herself.

Fyn got up to leave, and Otter padded gingerly towards the little circle, receiving a pat from Kolarov.

‘I do like cats, and this one, in particular, is quite a surprise.’

‘Surprise?’ Mattie pulled Otter onto her lap. The ship creaked, tipping to starboard, and she shoved out a hand, keeping them both steady.

‘Yes, he’s a ghost cat,’ Kolarov told her. ‘Otherwise known as a sorli. You didn’t know? They’re mainly found in The Murk. They are a rare breed indeed, said to be used by dead dreamers to carry their spirits. You can tell by the white tips of his ears.’

Mattie’s frozen lips parted in surprise. ‘Carry their spirits?’

Kolarov leaned towards her, nearly losing his balance. ‘Have you not heard of spirit dreamers? But it’s how they get around!’

An open-mouthed Mattie clung to Otter, feeling strange all over.

‘There’s this!’ Fyn announced, coming back to join them, handing over a ring. ‘Eadmund’s wedding band. That might work.’

‘I hope so,’ Mattie mumbled, securing it in her purse. ‘I need some time alone, though. I have to plan out how to do it. I don’t have the right words or symbols or...’

‘I’ll get you that root!’ Kolarov promised. ‘Yes, once you nibble that, the answers will flood your mind like a high tide in spring!’ And pulling himself up on Fyn, he stumbled away.

Fyn remained, peering down at a dazed Mattie. ‘I don’t think everything has to be learned,’ he told her. ‘Jael taught me how to fight.’ He smiled at the memory, which now felt like a lifetime ago. ‘I was useless when we met, couldn’t even keep hold of my sword. She showed me techniques, ways to think and how to position myself, but in the end, she insisted that I just needed to believe in myself. When we do that, we let go of fear, and then anything’s possible.’ And smiling at the dreamer, he headed after Kolarov, leaving Mattie staring after him.

* * *

Jael entered the female slave’s sleeping quarters, horrified to discover that someone new had taken her bed. She was a big woman with a surly look and no comprehension of the common tongue. ‘That’s my bed,’ Jael told her more than once, getting no response as the woman made herself comfortable, untying her sandals. Looking around and wishing Sunni was there to translate, she saw no one to help her. ‘You’re sitting on my bed,’ she tried again, pointing to her chest and then the mattress. ‘Mine.’ She needed whatever Sunni had slipped under the pillow.

Now the flat-cheeked woman looked up with dull eyes, staring silently for a moment before snarling and flapping a hand, trying to swat Jael away. Having seen Jael attack a few of the guards now, some of the women gathered at a distance, curious to see what would happen.

A now-fuming Jael swung around to them. ‘Can someone tell this soon-to-be unconscious woman that she’s sitting on my bed and that if she doesn’t move quickly, I will knock her out!’

No one answered. No one offered to help. And peering at her fellow slaves, certain that one of them could speak the annoying woman’s language, Jael growled. ‘Get up!’ she snapped, grabbing the woman’s wrist. ‘Get up! That’s my bed! Go and find your own!’ She hoped to make enough noise to draw one of the soldiers’ attention, desperate to slip her hand under the pillow the woman had her enormous rump on.

The squatter yanked her arm away from Jael, and with a loud fart, she turned to lie on the bed, resting her head on the pillow. Leaning down, Jael seized her by the hair and tugged, immediately jumping back as the woman creaked upright and swung for her. The slaves tittered with amusement, irritating Jael further. ‘I don’t want to hurt you!’ she lied. ‘Just get off my bed!’

‘Why do you care so much about that bed?’ came a familiar voice behind her, and Jael turned to see Otho Dimas planted nearby, hands tucked in his belt, eyes narrowed in her direction. ‘Why do you need to fight about a bed, hmmm? Is there something special about it?’ He stepped forward now, eyes sliding away from Jael towards the mattress.

Jael wasn’t pleased to see him, nor did she like the look in his eye. ‘It’s far away from the snorers, if you must know. Quieter. Though let her have it. What do I need sleep for? According to your friends, the commander will kill me tomorrow. I may as well enjoy my last moments of freedom!’ She laughed loudly, fearing that she sounded deranged. And looking at the squatter on her bed and Otho eyeing her, she certainly felt it.

‘So you’re a queen,’ Otho grinned, stroking his chin. ‘Or you were. Now you’re just a soon-to-be-dead bitch no one cares about.’

‘Then why do you follow me everywhere I go?’

Otho bent his head until his hooked nose touched hers, surprised when she didn’t flinch. ‘I want to make sure you turn up in that arena,’ he purred. ‘I plan to watch, we all do, to see what the commander will do to you. And if he doesn’t? If he fails to pull you apart and leave you in a bloody heap of broken bones? Well, we may just have to jump in and finish the job.’

Jael didn’t blink. Otho’s breath was ripe, and he stepped closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her so close that she could feel his bulging crotch pressing against her. Now she did flinch, and Otho laughed, squeezing her.

‘You think you’re someone special, but like every slave here who was once a merchant or a lady or some daughter of who gives a fuck, you’ll soon find out that you don’t matter anymore. Here, on the isle, our isle, you’re just property.’

Now he spoke to the woman, telling her that the bed was hers and that if Jael gave her any trouble, she was to send for him. He repeated it in the common tongue so everyone could understand. And licking his lips, eyes on Jael’s, Otho headed out of the hall.

The squatter cackled triumphantly as Jael turned away, simmering with rage. She hoped the woman was a deep sleeper, for she was going to have to go digging for whatever Sunni had hidden beneath the pillow as soon as she fell asleep.

* * *

After their fitting with the tailor, Nico and his father joined Kalina and her guests, sitting down to supper at a table resplendent with the most curious sights. Her slaves worked tirelessly to produce jaw-dropping displays for their demanding mistress, and this was no exception. In the centre of the table, two swans had been posed with their necks entwined as though kissing. Smaller birds – nightingales, Nico thought – were arranged as though flying around them. There were miniature trees, where some nested with babies, and even tiny eggs. Though they were like no eggs Nico had ever seen. Some were golden, others sparkled as though made from crystal.

The queen’s many guests were loud, dressed extravagantly, perfumed liberally, eyeing both him and his father as if they were part of the curiosities on display too.

Everything was so ostentatious and removed from his own life that Nico became self-conscious, unable to contribute much to the conversation. He thought of Anika, longing to be alone with her in the quiet of the night with just the singing nightjars for company.

For his part, Arras didn’t want the queen’s attention on his son or for Nico to nervously blurt out something they’d both prefer to keep private, so he became unusually verbose, surprising even himself with his ability to sustain a conversation.

Kalina was enthralled, pleased to discover that her future husband was such an accomplished storyteller. She applauded when he was done retelling one of his many adventures with her father. Those were her favourite stories of all, and Arras told them with such affection and respect for her father that she found herself forgetting her earlier suspicions.

Nico mostly looked on, just as surprised by how talkative his father had become, wondering if it was nerves. He certainly felt his own under the steely gaze of the queen, who sat so perfectly erect that it made him conscious of his own posture. He tried not to slouch as he shovelled a thin wedge of sesame cake into his mouth, aware of how many of the queen’s lords and their wives were looking his way.

‘You must be excited to watch your father command the Arena again?’ Kalina smiled, inclining her head for an attentive slave to serve more wine. ‘You were too young to watch his last performance, I believe.’

‘Yes, I was only two,’ Nico told her. ‘I stayed with my mother.’

‘And I was nine, though I remember every moment of that magnificent show as if it were yesterday. It feels rehearsed, I think, when you watch. As though it is merely a performance, but then you see the blood, and you know there is no pretence at all. Lives hang in the balance, as we shall soon see. Though not my betrothed’s. You will not let that woman lay a finger on you, will you, Arras?’

Arras laughed. ‘Well, I certainly don’t intend to. I am getting married, after all. I don’t want to be afraid to show my face!’

Kalina beamed, thinking how handsome both men were. There was a ruggedness about them that she didn’t see in her preening courtiers. Her lords, in their expensive clothes and their oiled hair, looked on with a jealous tension in their eyes, which made her smile all the more. ‘Well, as soon as you have finished crushing that beastly woman, you will join me, and we will watch the rest of the matches together. And Nico, you will sit with me to watch your father. I would be pleased for the company. I will surely need someone to hold my hand!’

Both men froze.

‘Is something wrong?’

Arras shook his head. ‘The offer is a generous one, Kalina, though I have asked Nico to ready my armour and weapons. I need him beside me. There’s no one I’d trust more to ensure I go into the Arena at my best.’

Kalina looked caught between feeling annoyed by the slight and wanting her betrothed to have everything he needed. She held her crystal beaker in the air, pinched between two trembling fingers, jaw pulsing.

Eventually, she smiled.

‘Of course, though you will both join me when you are done. It is meant to be a celebration of our union, so I cannot sit there all alone!’

Arras felt nauseous, though he kept smiling and nodding with all the enthusiasm he could muster, as did Nico, who sat on the other side of the queen, blinking nervously.

Two days.

In two days, he would be married.

* * *

Jael’s triumphant bed squatter made little noise after Otho left, settling down quickly. The days were long and exhausting on the isle, and the heat was draining, and despite her worries and discomfort, Jael had rarely slept so soundly. Though tonight she knew that she couldn’t fall asleep until she’d extracted whatever object Sunni had slid under her pillow.

The woman didn’t appear to have found it or been disturbed by it, so it was small enough, Jael thought. Focusing her mind, she saw what looked like a key, grateful that Sunni hadn’t pushed it too far under the pillow, for she would need to try and remove it without touching the woman’s head.

Listening to the now familiar rumble of snores, Jael felt confident that everyone was asleep, and pushing herself out of bed, she tiptoed across the hall. Thankfully, there were no creaking floorboards, just dust and stone, and her bare feet made no sound.

It was pitch black in the servants’ quarters, and though Jael knew the layout well enough not to be tripped up by any unexpected objects, she moved slowly, hands out, feet cautious.

Eventually, reaching the bed, she squatted down, careful not to clink her fetters together, for they would make the loudest noise of all.

The woman had her back to her, Jael could see, as slivers of moonlight pushed through holes in the roof. She crouched lower, holding still for a moment before pressing one hand down on the thin mattress as she slipped the other under the pillow, gently feeling around.

It didn’t take long for Jael to reach the curve of the woman’s head.

And nothing else.

Panic flaring, she froze. Then, hearing someone coming, she silently stretched out until she was lying next to the bed, hoping those beams of moonlight wouldn’t shine brightly again.

Footsteps that threatened to come closer moved away, and she heard someone cry out in their sleep, soon mumbling incoherently.

She stayed there for some time, wanting to be sure that everyone had settled down, and when she felt confident they had, she sat up and slid her hand back under the pillow. This time she tried in a different place. There wasn’t much space or many options, but finally, she touched metal. And wrapping her fingers around it, she brought a small key out from under the pillow.

The squatter grunted and flopped over as Jael drew out her arm, holding her position, waiting until she’d settled back to sleep.

But instead, the woman opened her eyes.

* * *

The ship quickly settled down for the night, leaving Mattie to prepare for her dreamwalk in silence.

Knowing that she hadn’t tried a dreamwalk before, Eadmund came to speak to her. He saw a circle where she had roughly carved symbols into Bone Hammer’s deck, much to Bolder’s annoyance. Though Eadmund would have happily bought ten new ships to have his wife back. ‘Jael had to dreamwalk when she didn’t know what she was doing, when she had no experience as a dreamer. But more than once, she simply had no choice but to try.’

Mattie nodded, feeling the king’s fear wash over her as she added dried mugwort to the brazier. The wind whirled the smoke around, sending most of it far away from her, though there was nothing she could do about that, hoping that Kolarov’s usha root would be more effective. ‘I’ll do what I can, though I can’t promise I’ll find her, my lord. I’m grateful for this, though. It will help.’

Eadmund saw the wedding band she offered up, and he smiled sadly. ‘My wife is strong, and she doesn’t give up. All you have to do, Mattie, is show her where to go, and she’ll do the rest.’

* * *

Seeing Jael sitting before her, the squatter opened her mouth to shout, though no sound came out. She looked surprised by that, staring at the angry-looking woman who had wanted her bed. She had strange eyes, she thought, peering into them. It was like looking at two black stones and then one. And that stone kept drawing her closer, making her feel afraid. She wanted to lash out, to hit the woman, to push her away, though her limbs were locked in place. She couldn’t even twist her head to look away.

Those eyes...

Those dark eyes were terrifying.

Her own eyes soon became heavy, and she heard the sound of crashing waves and then nothing.

Jael held her breath, watching as the woman’s eyes closed. She seemed to slump in the bed, all tension leaving her body, and Jael, too, slumped where she crouched. Eventually, releasing a silent breath and hoping that whatever she’d done would keep the woman asleep until morning, she crept back to her bed, clasping the old man’s key.

44

Bertel crept over to where Edela was sleeping, so tense with worry that he hadn’t been able to fall asleep himself. He was usually hesitant to wake the dreamer, but he felt such a need to speak to her that he shook her shoulder with real force.

Edela jerked awake, panting and then coughing. ‘What?’ she managed to rasp. ‘What is it?’

‘Ssshhh,’ Bertel warned, kneeling beside her. ‘Don’t raise your voice.’

‘What are you... I –’

‘I wanted to talk about these sisters, Edela. I fear that you have lost your mind!’

Edela pushed herself up, shoving Bertel away. He had a tendency to get too close, as though he didn’t know his own space or how to respect that of others. ‘Lost my mind? I’m losing sleep with you prodding and poking me. What do you want, Bertel Knutson?’ Looking around, she saw one of Elmer’s men sitting by the fire in the distance, sharpening his axe. Everyone else appeared asleep, including a snuffling Siggy, who was curled up nearby. It was cold on the beach, the sand chilly beneath her, and Edela grabbed the blanket she’d covered herself with, bringing it up to her chin.

‘I think we’re walking into a trap. You are! To come to this island we know so little about? That so little is known about? And these men, they’re going to just leave us here? It makes no sense! You think these women can help you, that they can shine a light on whatever path you seek, but from everything we’ve been told, they’re dangerous.’

Edela was groggy with tiredness, grumpy, too, though she did share Bertel’s concern. ‘We can’t ask Elmer and his crew to stay and wait while we sort ourselves out,’ she sighed. ‘What we’re here to do is nothing to bring them into. Or even you. Perhaps you and Siggy should leave with them? I could carry on by myself?’

Bertel looked incredulous. ‘What a ridiculous notion, Edela. To think that I would leave you after everything we’ve been through together? No, you need me. You know you do!’

‘Then what are you suggesting?’

‘That we ask them to stay. I have little to offer now, though that helmsman fellow... he appears to like you well enough, so ask him to wait for us. We can make it worth his while.’

Edela yawned, longing to fall back to sleep. ‘Can we?’ Her eyes shifted past Bertel to the blazing fire, where she saw Elmer lying nearby.

‘Well, you could offer them something useful, dig out something they might want to know.’

‘Tell their fortunes, you mean?’ Edela snorted. ‘Though I’ve never been a fortune teller, and I don’t intend to start now.’

‘Not even to save our lives? To save poor Siggy’s?’

Rolling her eyes, Edela yawned again. ‘I’ll think about it, and if you go away, I’ll dream about it. Though I can’t do either with you there, breathing all over me. It’s like swimming in a barrel of fish!’ And further pulling the blanket over her, Edela collapsed back to the sand, closing her eyes.

* * *

Jael saw two men with their heads together. They were mostly silhouettes, disappearing ahead of her, and she ran towards them, bare feet splashing through water. There wasn’t much to see but those two men. One was a king, the other his most trusted advisor. His closest friend.

She needed to hear what they were saying, to know where they were going.

Though the water rose steadily, and soon she was wading through it, slowing down. Stopping suddenly, the men turned to each other and continued talking.

‘If what that old witch said comes true, I must do something.’

‘Do what? The woman saw a king she wanted to twist into knots. Tie him up until he lost all confidence, all direction. Don’t put much stock in anything she said, Ranuf.’

‘But my family?’

Jael shook her head, realising that she’d followed the wrong path. Her father wasn’t the king she needed to find, and despite an overwhelming desire to see and hear him, she squeezed the key in her hand and sought to move away.

‘Swim? What do you mean swim?’ came a voice.

‘There is a natural tunnel under the sea. My men found it. We just bring it further into the city, use it as an escape route if trouble comes. I have to keep my family safe, Pero. I have enemies, and I intend to make more. And if they learn of this place? If they seek to ruin me?’

‘Though you have built an invisible fortress here, my friend. S’ala Nis... it cannot be found.’

The king laughed, and though Jael saw only a silhouette, the sound of his voice left her chilled. That and the water, she realised, as it continued to rise higher, now nearing her waist.

‘I am not naive enough to believe that,’ the king said. ‘Not found? Despite any threats I may make, my guests, my merchants... they do not always hold their tongues. My enemies will come one day, I am certain of that. So is Noor. It was his suggestion to look for another way out. He led me here, and you will see to it, Pero. Working here, you will draw little attention, and few will enquire about what you are doing. Handpick a crew, and when the tunnel is complete, ensure that those who know about it are killed. Their families, too, just to be safe. I’ll have no word of this pass from anyone’s lips. Understood?’

‘As you wish, my king.’

‘When I am gone this will be Kalina’s legacy, and I will do anything to protect her, as will you, my friend. As will you.’

The silhouettes merged into the darkness, and now Jael panicked as the water, noisy and churning, rushed up to her armpits. She was forced to swim, though it was mostly impossible, as she spun around in the darkness, needing light.

She saw no landmarks.

Nothing at all.

And then the water rose over Jael’s head, and she was pulled down into a black abyss.

* * *

Mattie wasn’t in the right place.

She had gone searching for Jael Furyck on the Shadow Isle, though she knew for certain that she was somewhere else.

Shivering with cold, she saw snow on the ground and two men fighting.

It wasn’t S’ala Nis. It was...

Peering closely, she thought she recognised one of the men. One was giant-like, heavy-set and bulking, the other gangly and tall, his floppy auburn hair bright against the snow.

Fyn.

Moving on instinct now, Mattie saw that he was in trouble. The bigger man had cut him, blood streaking across the snow. Mattie sank into it as she waded towards them, calling Fyn’s name.

Neither man turned to her, but she moved through the snow with urgency, fearing that something terrible was about to happen.

Fyn was on the ground, lying face first in the snow, and now the big man, whose face Mattie could see was heavily stitched, started unfastening his belt.

‘Fyn!’

Mattie had opened her mouth to shout, though it was another voice she heard, and twisting around, she saw a black horse and a dark-haired woman vaulting off it, sinking into the snow, running, almost tumbling down the hill. Drawing her sword, she screamed orders, urging Fyn to take her horse to safety, sending them both away. Mattie could see Fyn’s wounds, she could feel his reluctance to leave the woman behind, but eventually, she watched as he drove the black horse up the snowy incline.

Distracted by that, it was some time before Mattie turned back to the giant man and the woman, who were now locked in a furious battle. She watched the woman grab the man around his bloody neck, though as the man spun around, she flew away, landing in the snow with a scream.

And then she didn’t move at all.

The man looked ready to kill her, but hearing voices, he was soon spinning away, sword in hand.

Mattie didn’t follow him, though. She crouched down to the woman, seeing her still face, her dark hair splayed across the snow. This was Jael Furyck, she realised, and bending down, she placed a hand on her head.

* * *

‘You can never love fully until you let go. If you are not willing to be unsafe, you can never feel deep love, never give it. You must let go, Jael. Let go!’

Jael felt a sudden release as though the fetters had fallen from her ankles and wrists, as though all the tension had left her body, and she was standing now, breathing air. There was no water drilling into her ears or being forced down her throat.

She was inside a tunnel, standing, completely dry.

And a woman was walking towards her.

* * *

Watching Mattie sitting perfectly still before them, Fyn and Eadmund held their breaths.

Kolarov sat nearby, leaning against the gunwale, and hands resting on his barrel of a belly, his eyes had finally closed.

Otter was curled up on Mattie’s lap, purring loudly, and Fyn distractedly wondered if the dreamer was right about him? Was her dead husband’s spirit really inside that cat? Mind wandering, he tried to draw it back to Jael.

Jael, who had done so much for him.

Jael, who they were here to rescue.

If only Mattie could find a way to her.

* * *

Jael didn’t know the woman who stood dripping before her, staring with an open mouth.

Eventually, she spoke. ‘I’m Mattie.’

Peering at her, Jael thought she looked familiar. ‘You’ve come into my dream, Mattie, so does that make you a dreamer, here to help? Or here to hurt me?’ She was wary, right hand flexing, missing her sword.

‘You’re Jael Furyck. I saw you with Fyn. A big man tried to kill you in the snow. I touched you and... then I was in the water.’

‘You were in the water? Who are you?’

‘Mattie. I’m a dreamer. I’ve been with Fyn and your husband.’

Jael lunged at her. ‘Eadmund? You’re with Eadmund?’

Mattie shivered with cold, teeth chattering now. She started nodding. ‘We, we, we’re on a ship, coming to the island.’

‘There’s a tunnel!’ they exclaimed at the same time.

‘Where are you from?’ Jael wondered. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘I went to Tuura, after hearing what had happened. I...’ Shaking her head, Mattie felt dizzy, and toppling forward, she fell into Jael’s arms. ‘I’ve never done this before.’

Jael thought quickly now, shaking the dreamer. ‘I have to get to the tunnel, but when?’

‘I’m told we’ll be there tomorrow before the sun’s peak. Eadmund and Fyn, they’ll come and find you. And Thorgils.’

‘Thorgils?’ Jael almost cried, feeling so far away from them all. ‘I... need to go!’ she said suddenly. ‘I don’t know how to reach the tunnel. I have to find where it is. Go! Go!’ And pushing Mattie away, Jael plunged back into the darkness.

* * *

Arras walked Nico back to his quarters. ‘Early start tomorrow,’ he told his son. ‘Ensure that Anika is ready, just in case.’

‘I had her moved to the Arena kitchen,’ Nico whispered. ‘I’ll be able to reach her quickly if I need to.’

Being a commander, Arras was used to feeling in control. Not over everything, but enough to give him certainty in his path. Now, though, he saw only confusion and doubt ahead.

What would happen in the Arena?

Was Jael really an ally or simply out for herself?

And most of all, could she find a way to escape the isle?

Realising that his son was looking to him for answers, Arras winked at him. ‘In Osterland, Jael Furyck is famous. She became a hero to many because when everything seemed impossible, she found a path to victory, so we have to have faith, Nico. In her. If we’re destined to leave this island tomorrow, her gods will see to it. They will help her, and so will we.’

* * *

Mattie gulped down panicked breaths, hanging over the brazier, now absent most of its flames. The wind blew acrid smoke up her nose, and she started coughing.

Kolarov woke with a start, glancing around. ‘That was quick!’ he announced, staring at Mattie with his right eye while his left remained on Fyn.

‘Did you find her?’ Eadmund wanted to know. ‘Did you see Jael?’

Mattie’s explosive coughing fit didn’t stop her from nodding, though for a moment, Eadmund couldn’t tell what she was doing. ‘Yes!’ she eventually spat out. ‘I spoke to her!’

Eadmund squeezed his hands into fists, heart thumping. Relief surged through his cold body, though he knew it was only the beginning. ‘You told her about the tunnel?’

Thorgils hurried over with a jug of ale, wanting to know what was happening. He’d been asking too many questions and distracting the dreamer as she prepared for her dreamwalk, so Eadmund had made him sit far away. Now he tripped as he arrived, splashing ale over Kolarov. ‘What did you see? Jael?’

‘Yes,’ Mattie said, feeling a sense of accomplishment but mostly confusion. ‘She was in a tunnel.’ Now she was coughing again, and Thorgils shoved the ale jug at her, not waiting to find a cup. Mattie took it in both hands and drank, sensing everyone’s desperate need for answers, hearing Kolarov’s indignant splutters of annoyance as he wiped ale from his eyes. ‘I...’ She cradled the jug, eyes on the king. ‘I told her we would be there by midday tomorrow. I hope that was right?’

‘It will have to be,’ Eadmund said, needing to have a word with Bolder. ‘But what else? What was she doing?’

Mattie didn’t know, then thinking more clearly, she straightened up. ‘She was looking for the tunnel! She knew about it. She said she had to go and find it, she... shoved me away.’

Thorgils laughed. ‘Sounds like Jael.’

‘She was looking for the tunnel herself?’ Kolarov muttered. ‘So she doesn’t know how to enter it yet? Well, that will be a problem!’

‘We never expected her to know about the tunnel,’ Eadmund reminded him. ‘We sent Mattie to tell her about it. Jael still needed to do the work. We just have to hope she can find some way to it, that she’ll find a way out. But whatever the case, we’ll certainly find a way in.’

* * *

A soldier kicked Jael in the ribs, and she cried out, rolling away.

The man shouted something familiar and made to kick her again, but then Sunni arrived, barking at him, and hurrying to try and help Jael up, she turned around and barked at him some more.

‘We have to get you ready to fight!’ Sunni told the dazed queen, who blinked at her as though she was half asleep.

And then Jael was wide awake, remembering her strange dreams and the abject failure of them. Reaching under her pillow, she pulled out the key, and as she clasped Sunni’s hand, she passed it to her. ‘Keep it. I still need it,’ she warned.

Sunni attempted to hide her surprise, though she was blinking as a swollen-eyed Jael rose to her feet.

Otho Dimas entered the sleeping quarters, clapping his hands. ‘The commander will be shitting himself! Look at this formidable beast that awaits!’ His eyes shifted to Sunni, and now his expression changed.

He stared at the girl as a starving man would eye a bowl of food.

And even though her mind was elsewhere and her thoughts were scattered, Jael saw Sunni’s sinking head, and she bristled with anger.

‘We must go,’ Sunni muttered into her dress. ‘She is needed at the Arena. The competitors are getting ready.’

‘Competitors?’ Otho laughed, biceps threatening the sleeves of his blue tunic. ‘Is that what he calls them? Well, certainly entertainment!’ And as Sunni sought to get past with an uncooperative Jael, Otho brushed an arm against her shoulder.

Jael grabbed hold of the girl’s hand, pulling her close. ‘Whatever I am is nothing to do with you. If you have a problem with any of it, go tell the queen. We’re leaving.’

But Otho wasn’t done, and swinging up his short staff, he lifted Jael’s chin. ‘I look forward to pissing on your spilled guts.’ Leaning forward, he pinched her cheeks together, forcing open her lips. ‘And right into that smart mouth of yours. Bitch!’ he spat, removing his staff and pushing her away.

Sunni didn’t dare turn around, and despite every vibrating limb urging her to do so, Jael let the girl lead her out of the sleeping quarters, through the servants’ hall and into the street.

* * *

Edela woke that morning in a strange mood, troubled by Bertel’s midnight mutterings. He continued to eye her as he helped Siggy gather driftwood for the fire.

Having given orders to his men and disappearing for a long time to relieve himself, Elmer Falson returned with a frown. ‘I’ve been thinking, Edela, about simply dumping you here like an empty bucket. I’m old, and most things have fallen by the wayside or gotten lost over the years, but not my sense of what’s right. Here’s not a safe place to be, and though I’m confident another ship will call in soon enough, I can’t tell you when. It may be a day, or it might be a month. So better if we stay here a few nights, let you find out what you need to, and then we’ll all carry on together. What say you?’

Edela’s mouth had opened as soon as he’d started speaking, and she was beaming by the time he’d finished. ‘Well, that is an offer I gladly accept! Bertel was getting fretful himself, worried about how long it would take for the next ship to come along. As you say, there’s not much here.’

‘There was once,’ Elmer told Edela, helping her to her feet. ‘Steady now. This sand will have you back on your rump in no time. It’s a real ankle twister.’

‘Once? There was a settlement here?’

Elmer nodded, holding Edela’s arm as he aimed her at the fire newly refreshed in the giant circle of stones his men had made in a sheltered part of the beach. ‘Mmmm, much the same as on Marinos, from what I understand. No one knows what happened to it, though many buildings remain. Abandoned. Like an island of spirits!’

He was grinning, though Edela saw discomfort in his eyes, and she sought to reassure him. ‘Seeing these women is very important to me, though we certainly don’t want to linger, so I do appreciate your offer. I’m sure Bertel will too. He does worry.’

‘Well, he’s not wrong to. Going to see those women? You couldn’t pay me a shipload of gold to go up there and face them. Though we’ll be here, down on the beach, if you need us.’

* * *

When Sunni and Jael had left the servants’ hall far behind, Jael took back the key.

‘I still need it,’ she repeated, and hearing nothing from an oddly quiet Sunni, she edged closer. ‘You can tell me about Otho. He’s the one who did that to your face, isn’t he? He’s been hurting you.’

Sunni reacted as though touched by a hot spark, jumping away and twisting her head to avoid the queen’s eyes. ‘He can do what he wants. They all can. You shouldn’t worry, it doesn’t bother me.’ And now, having gathered herself together, Sunni dared to look at her from a distance. ‘He’ll grow bored, or someone will kill him, and then someone else will come along, they always do, so you don’t need to hurt him, my lady. It won’t make any difference to me.’

She strode ahead now, leaving Jael staring after her, gripping the key, knowing that she was quickly running out of time.

45

The wind pushed them back, and Bolder became anxious. It wasn’t his usual state of mind. He’d been travelling rough waters since he was nine-years-old. Held up to look over the gunwale by his father, he’d gone on so many expeditions as a child that he’d barely known where home was.

Trouble wasn’t new at sea. A sailor knew to expect trouble, no matter how many offerings he gave to Ran, that hungry goddess of the deep.

Trouble wasn’t new, but fighting against what had previously not even been possible was. And Bolder was having to battle himself to believe that Kolarov’s plan would work. He saw Eadmund approaching with an edgy frown. Dawn had broken, and he’d been seeing a lot of the king, who appeared to be keeping one eye on him and one on the sun, now starting its slow ascent into the murky sky.

‘Will we make it by midday?’ Eadmund wanted to know, not even seeing a hint of this mysterious island through the murky fog.

Bolder hoped so, and he was certainly trying to make it happen, but all he could offer the king was a shrug.

Kolarov belched his way towards them. ‘Oh, I think that pork was past its best! The pain, right here,’ he said to Eadmund. ‘Like someone has jammed a little knife between my ribs. Oh!’ He tottered unsteadily, needing to be supported by the king, which didn’t trouble Kolarov, who smiled warmly at him. ‘We are on course!’ he announced, belching again. ‘Yes. Oh... argh. Yes, we’ll surely be there on time!’

‘But will the tunnel?’ Eadmund wondered. ‘We haven’t even seen that it’s there, Jael didn’t know how to enter it, and we don’t know if –’ He felt hands on his shoulders and spun around to Thorgils.

‘Why don’t we talk about who’s going into the tunnel? Leave Bolder and Kolarov to plot the course. You, me, and Fyn need to prepare for our part.’

Eadmund stared at him, too tense to even nod.

‘If you don’t think you’re calm enough to manage this –’

‘No, I’m calm. Calm enough to swim.’

‘It’s going to be deep.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘What? You don’t like deep water?’

‘Me? I don’t care either way. Just remember that you’re not the best swimmer.’

‘What?’ Eadmund shook his head. ‘Maybe when we were six years old!’

‘I still remember you crying for your mother to come and save you.’ And winking at Eadmund, Thorgils stepped away, laughing. ‘More than once!’

Eadmund rolled his eyes, following after him. ‘You’re good at this, you know. Taking my mind off my worries by reminding me of what a shit you are.’

Fyn watched, though he had no desire to follow them yet. He was waiting for Mattie to say something. She’d woken up in a quiet place, so groggy that she’d fallen back to sleep a handful of times. He’d brought her a cup of ale, which seemed to have helped, but though she was sitting up, blinking, she’d barely spoken.

Otter sat nearby, focused on cleaning himself.

And finally, unable to stand the silence, Fyn blurted out all his questions, leaving Mattie staring at him, open-mouthed.

‘What did I see?’ she frowned. ‘I told you, didn’t I?’

‘You said Jael was in a tunnel and that she needed to find an entrance. But was she alright? Were there any other clues?’

‘About the tunnel?’

Fyn nodded. ‘Or Jael?’

Mattie closed her eyes, hearing the wind like a howl inside her mind now. ‘There was a smell,’ she remembered suddenly. ‘A terrible smell.’

* * *

‘Where are you taking me?’ Jael asked, not recognising the alley Sunni was leading her down, which was oddly absent of trees. Her thoughts turned to Arras, who she was on her way to fight, and she feared that they had run out of time. She’d tried talking to Sunni about Otho again, though the girl had clamped her lips together, refusing to speak, leaving Jael with no choice but to change the subject.

‘I’m taking you to the Arena, of course. They have a big area where you get changed. You can eat there too. There’s even a bathhouse. Though maybe that’s just for the queen’s warriors? I don’t know what happens to the slaves.’

Jael could see the imposing stone structure in the distance, feeling the first flutter of nerves. ‘It stinks around here,’ she muttered, wrinkling her nose.

Sunni laughed. ‘It’s all the warriors, fearing what the slaves will do!’

Trying to smile with her, Jael felt terrible. She’d seen so many horrors since she’d been on the island, but looking into those shining eyes, none had affected her as much as this. ‘Do you ever imagine running away?’ she asked quietly. ‘To start a new life?’

Sunni poked her. ‘You can’t run away from an island! And I can’t swim!’ Now she ran ahead, reminding Jael of what a child she truly was. She hadn’t even developed breasts. There was nothing womanly about her at all, and yet she saw images of Otho fondling the girl, hurting her, making her do things Sunni would never forget.

Jael knew that.

She would never forget.

It was hard to keep walking and maintain her focus. As the sky lightened and the sun rose and the air warmed, the noise hummed around her, and she watched groups of slaves trotting towards the Arena, where they were no doubt preparing for what would soon come.

Walking behind Sunni, she remembered the woman from her dream.

Mattie.

She had spoken of Eadmund, of Thorgils and Fyn. It wasn’t a trick, Jael was certain. What she’d seen had been real.

Eadmund really was coming.

Tears sprang in her eyes, and blinking them away, that smell caught her attention again. Turning her head to the wall that bordered the alley, she pulled up, and as Sunni came running back to her with an annoyed face, Jael opened her hand to reveal the key.

‘You’ll be late!’ Sunni warned. ‘They won’t be happy!’ Though Jael didn’t move her feet or even look her way. ‘What are you doing, my lady?’

Jael showed her, pointing to a symbol etched into the wall. It appeared as though part of the decorative pattern carved around the stone panel, though Jael soon saw that the other parts of the wall were missing the symbol. It had only been marked in this one place. ‘It’s the same. The same symbol as on the key.’

An impatient Sunni was surprised to discover that Jael was right. ‘But what does it mean?’

Jael ignored her, mind whirring. ‘What’s behind this wall? Do you know?’

Sunni didn’t, though she had a guess. ‘Maybe the sewers?’

* * *

Arras was surprised to be visited by the queen as he was changing in the bowels of the Arena. She had sent every slave away, every helper too. Even Nico, who had been fastening his father’s arm guards.

Everyone except Noor, who had accompanied her.

Arras stared at the old seer in surprise, fearing that he’d been discovered. ‘Is something... wrong?’

Kalina smiled nervously, clasping his hands, staring into Arras’ eyes, and for a moment, she couldn’t speak. ‘Noor has come to bless you, of course, and I with him.’

Arras licked dry lips as the seer came to take the queen’s place before him. ‘I fear you think I’m too old for this,’ he joked, trying to reassure them all of a confidence he was struggling to locate. ‘I don’t remember receiving a blessing before my last match here.’

His thoughts darted around as Kalina and Noor stared at him.

Was Jael Furyck an ally or an enemy?

He still felt unsure, though their destinies had been woven together now, and soon he would find out for certain.

Blinking and uncomfortable under the gaze of the old seer, Arras rested his right hand on his sword hilt, watching as a murmuring Noor moved his hands over his head as though wafting invisible smoke. Or perhaps it was luck, he wondered distractedly, hearing cheering coming from the Arena.

Eventually, Noor stepped back, eyes returning to the queen, who wasn’t satisfied with his efforts. She had developed intense feelings for Arras Sikari, imagining a happy future with him, and she didn’t want it threatened by Jael Furyck. ‘But will he live? You have blessed him, but will he be victorious?’

Noor nodded sagely. ‘Yes, Arras Sikari will make his queen proud.’

It was everything Kalina wanted to hear, and brushing away a strand of hair from her angular face, she pushed past the seer and once again stood before Arras. ‘Your strength is nectar to me, and I long to drink it. When I have watched you conquer that woman, when you are sitting beside me, the day before our wedding, there will be no one happier in S’ala Nis. No one happier in all of Varmyr.’

Feeling compelled by her long pause and unblinking eyes, a rigid Arras kissed her. He’d packed nothing, planned nothing. It was an escape like no other, he thought ruefully, feeling like an old fool. And now, as the queen pried open his lips with her eager, searching tongue, he found himself wondering if he even wanted to go through with it.

* * *

The sun was rising quickly, the noise from the Arena becoming louder as the crowds started filtering in.

The slaves were being allowed to watch the tournament, for according to Sunni, Queen Kalina wanted to remind them of how weak they truly were. Of how unworthy of freedom. She wanted them to know that the gods did not favour them at all.

And certain that the queen would be furious if her prize slave wasn’t at the Arena on time, Sunni grabbed Jael’s sleeve. ‘You must come, my lady!’

‘I need to see where it leads,’ Jael told the confused girl, eyes fixed on that symbol.

‘The wall?’ Shaking her head, Sunni tugged Jael’s sleeve. ‘But it’s a wall!’

Pulling away from her, Jael checked the alley, seeing that they were alone, and stepping closer to the wall, she held up the key. Closing her eyes, she immediately saw a flash of images.

‘And we will each have a key,’ a man said. ‘For if there is trouble, I will want you with me, Pero. I will not leave you behind.’

‘Nor I, you, my king.’

‘Good, then keep it on you at all times. Hang it from your neck, sleep with it. No one should ever lay their hands on it but you. Not even your wife.’

Pero nodded solemnly.

‘And the tunnel is finished? It connects all the way to the sea?’

‘Yes, my king. To the sea and to the cove too. The key unlocks both doors. There is no way through without it.’

Sunni jumped up and down. ‘Oh, you will be late! Please, my lady. Please!’ She looked at Jael in despair, watching as she dropped down suddenly, feeling around for a loose cobblestone, and quickly finding one, she slipped the key under it, pushing the stone back down. Sunni blinked at her, further surprised when Jael spun around and hurried off down the alley, heading for the Arena.

‘Come on!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I don’t want to be late!’

* * *

Edela had been ready to head up the steep path since she’d woken, and knowing that Elmer and his crew would stay and wait for them had her even more impatient to leave. Though things were never that simple with Bertel, who did tend to fuss, she thought, rolling her eyes.

‘I will go behind you, Edela!’ he announced as she stood on the bottom step, waiting for him as he muttered about what he should remove from his bags, not wanting Elmer’s crew to steal any of his precious possessions. ‘Siggy, you have the youngest legs. You should take the lead!’

Siggy bolted up the steps, leaving Edela’s shoulders heaving. It would be impossible to reach the top, she thought bleakly, seeing the zig-zagging rows of white stone steps continuing far above her, almost touching the low-lying clouds.

‘Hurry along now,’ Bertel told her with a gentle shove. ‘This is your journey, Edela, and you’ve brought us all this way. There’s no point delaying now. Not if you wish to return to your admirer!’

Edela twisted around. ‘Admirer? Who, Elmer?’ And turning back, she chuckled. ‘I never thought you the jealous type, Bertel Knutson.’ He spluttered behind her as she started up the first step, wishing there was a handrail to pull herself up on. ‘Well, hurry along. We don’t want to keep my admirer waiting!’

Bertel muttered under his breath, and swinging his satchel around so that it rested on his back, he followed Siggy and Edela up the side of the cliff, fearing what lay waiting for them.

* * *

Nico became so anxious that he couldn’t keep still, jiggling his right leg as though it was teaming with fleas. His father had no new information from Jael Furyck. He’d seen no sign of her and likely wouldn’t until they were facing each other in the Arena. ‘What if she has no answers?’ he whispered, walking his father towards the enclosure where the queen’s best warriors were gathering. ‘What if she has no plan? We have to know before we decide to go.’

‘Well, if she has no answers and no plan, there’ll be nowhere to go to,’ Arras told his son. ‘She’ll tell me in the Arena, and I’ll signal you if we’re going.’

‘What signal?’

Arras tried to think, though his mind was becoming a tangle of worries. ‘I’ll beat my chest, point my sword up to the sky, and I’ll find you,’ he promised.

The idea of entering the Arena again as a contestant had unsettled Arras, taking him back to the dark time before he’d claimed his freedom. As a slave, he would never have been allowed to walk where he wanted with his son. Once slave children reached six years of age, they were taken from their parents and put to work.

They rarely saw their parents or siblings again.

‘When you receive the signal, you’ll need to find Anika,’ Arras added. ‘Meet me at the physician’s room. Head down and stay –’ He closed his mouth as Otho Dimas headed towards them, leading a group of twenty soldiers up to the royal platform, where they would be protecting the queen.

Otho bobbed his head, shouting orders at his men to hurry.

Barely acknowledging him, Arras repeated his warning. ‘Head down and stay out of trouble. We don’t need to worry yet. Just have some faith.’

A nodding Nico dropped his eyes and followed after his father, heading towards the enclosure.

* * *

‘In your dream, what did this tunnel look like?’ Thorgils wondered, worried eyes fixed on Mattie. He squeezed water from his dripping beard, becoming tense. ‘Big enough for someone like me?’ After much effort from Bolder and his crew and many words of advice from Kolarov, they were finally approaching what looked like the enormous landmark the dreamer had seen.

Otter curled around Mattie’s legs, wanting something to eat. She nodded. ‘I think so. I was standing with ease. So was the queen.’

The thought of standing before Jael had Eadmund shivering with impatience. He wanted to reach out and snatch her hand, to simply pull her to him, away from this place and all those who’d tried to hurt her. Though things were never that simple, he knew, eyes shifting to Bolder, who was motioning him over. ‘What is it?’

Bolder took a hand off the steering oar, pointing to the cliffs, still some way in the distance. ‘We need to be out of range! We’re bucking the current, and I have to keep a good hold on her, so can you take charge? Try for the range? As soon as we’re even close, I’ll need to drop anchor.’

Eadmund thought that was a good idea, surprised that it hadn’t occurred to him. He knew what it was like to perch upon a cliff and wait for ships to approach Oss’ harbour. And once they were fed in through that narrow passage, around the threatening stone spires, they had no choice but to carry on, showered in arrows. ‘I need bows!’ he called to one of Bolder’s men. ‘Give me three and three men to aim them. Let’s test out the range!’

‘Current’s strong,’ Thorgils muttered to Fyn, whose eyes were fixed on the enormous statue of a woman perched on the edge of the cliff, hoping they were in the right place. ‘We may as well be a piddly little leaf, the way we’re getting tossed around.’ He didn’t want to worry Eadmund, though he had little confidence that this would even work.

‘Imagine what Jael would say to that?’ Fyn snorted. ‘Nothing sympathetic.’

A grinning Thorgils clapped his cousin on the back. ‘No, nothing sympathetic!’ Then his face dropped. ‘I want you to tell Isaura... if I don’t come back –’

Fyn grabbed his arm. ‘What?’

‘I want you to tell Isaura that I died thinking of her. I know that’ll be true. Whenever something goes wrong, whenever I’m worried, it’s only her I see. For as long as I can remember, that sweet face has been my home. I need you to tell her.’

Fyn frowned. ‘You’ll tell her, and I’ll be right beside you.’

And though Thorgils certainly thought of a clever retort, he didn’t utter it.

‘And you’ll tell Bram?’

‘I will. And Milla?’ Thorgils elbowed his cousin, hints of amusement coming back into his eyes now. ‘What shall I tell her?’

Fyn looked embarrassed. ‘Milla is a girl I... don’t even know.’

‘But you want to know her? Perhaps?’

‘Perhaps.’

Thorgils whooped loudly. ‘About time! She seems to like you, surprisingly enough. And she’ll be waiting for you on Oss, no doubt pining away.’

Fyn doubted that was true. ‘We shouldn’t be thinking about Oss at all. We’ve too much to do here to worry about Oss.’ Looking up, he saw three arrows arcing into the now clear blue sky. The cries of gulls could be heard, shrieking in the distance, and looking down, he saw those arrows diving into the sea, far from the cliffs.

‘We need to find the tunnel!’ Thorgils told him. ‘We need to be ready for Jael, so the closer we can get, the better.’ And turning to Bolder, he watched as the helmsman fixed his eyes on those cliffs, pushing Bone Hammer on.

46

A muddled Jael was pushed into an enclosure on the opposite side of the Arena from where Arras was. She was unsurprisingly the only woman fighting, and the twenty-odd men making their last-minute preparations turned to her in confusion.

A couple spoke the common tongue, asking questions while a soldier unlocked her fetters, wondering if she was in the wrong place. One asked if she had any ale. Though quickly handed a pile of clothes, Jael was ordered to change. The slaves had no weapons to sharpen or practice with. They weren’t even allowed a knife. Those would be handed to them on their way into the Arena. They wouldn’t have a chance to familiarise themselves with the weapons they needed to use to save their own lives.

Barely aware that her arms and ankles were finally free of their bonds, Jael dressed quickly, moving into a corner where she knew most eyes would be on her anyway. Throwing her stinking slaves’ dress to the floor, she hurried on a dark tunic, long enough to be a dress. The trousers were matching and just as big, though grabbing a thin leather belt, Jael wrapped it around her waist, cinching everything together. There were no boots, though she was grateful for that, certain that they wouldn’t have fit her either.

A shaven-headed man approached. ‘You’re Jael Furyck? The queen?’

Jael nodded. ‘Used to be. Now I’m nobody, just like you. Though if you’re victorious today, you’ll be free.’

‘I’m from Hest. We were enemies with you Brekkans for years. What Haaron Dragos would’ve given to see you like this.’ The man laughed wryly, shaking his head. ‘Never thought we’d be on the same side.’

Jael tore little strips off her tunic, working to make them thinner and thinner until she was happy. Placing them on a stone ledge, she started braiding her hair. ‘If you want to survive, cut their ankles. Spear them through their boots and stab their knees. Stop them moving, then they’re all yours. Be fast, though. They won’t expect you to have a plan. Likely they think this is all for show, but if you know what you’re doing, you can get ahead of them up here.’ She didn’t have a free hand, instead motioning with her eyes to the man’s head. ‘Be fast, aggressive, don’t sit back and wait for your opponent to decide how it goes. Don’t be daunted by your clothes or your armour or his clothes or his armour. You aren’t a slave any more than I am. Not in your mind and not in your memories, so don’t act like one. Win your match, and you’ll be free.’ She turned to grab one of the thin strips of linen, tying it around her tight braid, knotting it securely. And now she grabbed another section of hair, and with nimble fingers, she braided some more, inhaling the familiar scent of fear wafting around the enclosure.

Reminded of the tunnel.

* * *

When Eadmund and two of Bolder’s men nearly hit the clifftops by The Maiden’s Reach, Bolder ordered the anchor dropped.

‘We’re early,’ he informed the men, who didn’t need to be told that, for the sun was in their eyes, shining off the water. Blinding them.

‘Can you see anything?’ Eadmund called to Mattie, who was trying to get away from a constantly chattering Kolarov. Seeing the dreamer shake her head, he frowned.

‘I’ll sit down and close my eyes!’ Mattie called back, wanting to offer some support. She felt a great weight upon her, fearing that what she’d seen and heard hadn’t been anything more than some muddled thoughts she’d conjured up herself. The scathing words of one of Tuura’s elders came rushing back, and she swallowed, feeling fifteen again.

Fifteen and not good enough.

Kolarov almost fell on her as Bone Hammer, now held in place, reared up into a rolling wave.

‘You must hold on!’ she snapped. ‘I won’t be able to see anything with you on top of me!’

He looked at her in surprise, then turning away as Mattie made herself comfortable in her circle once more, he dug into his velvet pouch. ‘Would you like more of the usha root? It seemed to help.’

And hearing the hurt in his unusually quiet voice, Mattie looked up at him. ‘Thank you, yes,’ she said. ‘I need something. It’s hard to push myself into the dark depths of my mind in all this sunshine.’

Kolarov nodded, feeling equally on edge. After living an adventurous life in bold, vivid strokes, where every corner he turned revealed a new door leading to the unknown, he’d slowly become more sedentary. No new experiences had beckoned, and he’d begun to wonder if they ever would. Never in his wildest imaginings had he thought something of this magnitude would come along and upend everything. Something so risky, so seemingly impossible.

He feared that their chances of rescuing Jael Furyck and escaping with their lives were almost nil.

Fumbling in his pouch, he found a date, which he popped into his mouth, then turning to Mattie, he handed her another section of the usha root. ‘Good luck to us all, but especially good luck to Jael Furyck,’ he muttered, teeth chattering.

Mattie took the root, remembering the woman she’d met in the tunnel, the woman who had risked her life to save Fyn, and nodding her head, she closed her eyes.

* * *

Queen Kalina took up her position on a shaded chair, smiling at the lords and ladies arrayed in rows beside her. Two slaves stood behind her chair, wielding fans made of feathers, waving them in slow, rhythmic movements, generating a cool breeze that made their queen shiver.

She was resplendent in an ivory silk, her newly oiled hair glistening in the sun. The announcer, busy stirring up the crowd, strutted around the Arena, waving his hands, and though he was loudly demanding his audience’s attention, Kalina was distracted by her own doubts.

Her attraction to Arras wasn’t new. She had admired him from afar since the day she’d seen him claim his freedom in the Arena. She had watched his rise under her father. He was strong, determined, and capable, not easily swayed like those who would say whatever it took to advance. Those men sought to please. Arras Sikari, though, spoke his mind, unafraid of who he would offend. And though he’d certainly offended many, her father had admired him, promoting him until he’d finally become Commander of the Waves, one of the two highest positions in S’ala Nis’ army.

Taking a goblet of wine, Kalina held it in an unsteady hand, craning her neck to see any sign of the competitors. Arras and Jael Furyck would be first. She had designed it that way, eager to start with a statement to those who had looked down on her choice. It was her judgement, her wisdom being questioned, and she wanted Arras to remind them of all the reasons her father had elevated him to such an esteemed position. She felt confident that he would, remembering the wreck of a woman he would be facing.

Jael Furyck might once have had a reputation as a fiercesome warrior, but Kalina knew that against Arras Sikari, she would stand no chance.

* * *

The announcer didn’t have to work hard to stoke the crowd’s hungry enthusiasm for the tournament, an event that, owing to repairs on the Arena, had not been experienced for nearly a year.

Arras had watched many tournaments in the years following his own victory, never expecting to be called upon to fight again. It wasn’t really fighting, he knew, but a dance of death, a dramatic performance meant to enthral and entertain and, ultimately, to revolt and revile.

‘Are you ready?’ Nico asked behind him.

His father was peering through an iron grating, watching slave children hoisting blue and yellow flags embroidered with the royal crest, waving them around as ordered. Most looked confused by the noise of the baying crowd, daunted by the vast arena that dwarfed them all, though they waved those flags as though their lives depended on it, which, Arras feared, they likely did.

Twisting around, he smiled brightly at his son. ‘You’ve nothing to fear. I just need to please the queen, and then...’

Nico clasped his arm. ‘Nothing to fear,’ he repeated, nodding. ‘But take care, Father. Please.’

Arras didn’t speak as he stared into his son’s eyes, seeing a glimpse of his wife for the first time in months. It had been twenty years since she had died, and though her face was mostly lost to him now, his love for her remained warm, like a burning ember nestled in his heart.

Hearing his name called and seeing his fellow competitors making a path for him, Arras Sikari, Commander of the Waves, betrothed to the Queen Kalina, made his way into the Arena.

* * *

Jael had to be dragged into the Arena.

She was impatient for everything to begin, so it wasn’t that. She simply hadn’t understood a word the announcer had uttered, or perhaps she wasn’t listening, for she certainly hadn’t heard her name being called. And now, two soldiers grabbed her by the arms and jostled her towards the entrance.

‘You will wait until the commander has his honours announced!’ a one-eyed man snarled, looking Jael over as though he’d just dug her out of a latrine.

Jael thought that was likely a fair assessment, and if she was going into a battle needing to save her life, she might have even been worried, for she felt physically strange. The heavy fetters had been clamped around her wrists and ankles for so long, and she’d had to work to compensate for the extra weight so that now, with them removed, she felt unbalanced and weak. ‘I need weapons,’ she told the man.

He laughed. ‘You think I’ll arm you in here?’ And shaking his head, he pointed. ‘They’re in the Arena. See? On that plinth.’

Jael didn’t see a plinth, though shifting from side to side, she finally saw what the man was referring to as the announcer waved to the crowd and started shooing the slave children away.

Seeing those children, Jael was reminded of Sunni. The girl had risked her life for her. She had the key because of her – a chance to escape.

She couldn’t leave her behind.

She wouldn’t.

Receiving a shove in the back, she stumbled out onto the gravelly surface of the Arena, turning as she did so to the worried faces of the men awaiting their turn. ‘You will be victorious!’ she called over the cheers and jeers of the crowd. ‘If you believe! You will earn your freedom today!’

‘Get going!’ the one-eyed man shouted, preparing to kick her. Though with the queen watching, he thought twice about that and simply backed up into the enclosure again, leaving Jael entirely alone, hearing the door clanging behind her, the roars of the crowd whirling like an angry wind.

* * *

Eadmund shielded his eyes from the sun as it popped out from behind a solitary cloud. Before him, Thorgils and Fyn were stripping off swordbelts and armour.

‘I don’t want you to go, Thorgils,’ Eadmund belatedly decided.

Thorgils looked up in surprise. ‘Why not?’

‘Because Isaura needs you. So does Oss. If anything happens, you need to get back. Between you and Bram, the islands will be in safe hands.’

Thorgils stared at his king – his best friend – preparing to argue, though he couldn’t deny that not leaving his pregnant wife a widow with six children to care for was a good argument. ‘But Jael?’

‘I’ll have enough men with me,’ Eadmund promised. ‘I’d feel better if you stayed here. I know she would too.’

It took Thorgils a while, but he eventually nodded, red curls bouncing furiously in the wind. ‘I will then. You just bring Jael back.’

Eadmund sat on a chest, bending forward to pull off his boots. ‘Well, I think that’s going to be more about Jael than me. It usually is.’ Looking up, he winked at his friend. ‘I just need to get there. She’ll do the rest.’ His confidence ebbed and flowed, bile flooding his mouth, knowing that his wife was many things, but in her heart, she was a fighter.

* * *

Kalina slid forward on her seat, watching Jael Furyck stride into the Arena, wondering fleetingly if it had been wise to remove her fetters, though she had been assured that they would be more dangerous to Arras if left on.

And not wanting to ruin his handsome face, she had assented.

The fanning slaves moved with their queen, ensuring that she remained cool at all times, though Kalina was barely aware of them. She was, however, acutely aware of those murmuring lords and ladies sitting at a distance, enjoying their view from the royal platform. They whispered and tittered and gossiped as though her ears were blocked.

Though they weren’t.

Kalina knew exactly what they thought of Arras, though she felt confident that he would soon silence them all.

And now she smiled.

* * *

Jael’s eyes were everywhere.

She saw Arras walking towards her, though she quickly skimmed past him, wanting to seek out any threats, any hidden dangers. There were many different doors leading into the Arena, and she feared that the queen was planning something else. Jael certainly got the sense that the woman was cruel enough to envision other forms of torture and pain, though hopefully, she wouldn’t want to risk her precious Arras.

‘You are smiling?’ he called as she approached.

Jael reached the weapons’ plinth, seeing a sword and shield waiting for her.

Neither looked in good condition.

Scooping them up, she kept smiling, scraping her right foot in the gravel and then her left, noting the shining plate armour worn by her opponent, the impressive sword in his right hand and those fine leather boots. ‘I’m confident of beating you!’ she joked, squeezing her hand around the leather sword grip, sensing it was too heavy for her. ‘With these mighty weapons, in this mighty arena!’

Now they came together, both wanting it done, and though they had briefly discussed a strategy for their fight, neither truly knew how it would happen.

‘Do you have the tunnel?’ Arras whispered, eyes bulging when Jael nodded.

‘I have a ship too,’ she promised, and skipping forward, leading with her shield, Jael aimed beneath it, trying to spear a stunned Arras’ legs.

‘A ship?’ He jumped back in surprise. ‘Are we trying to kill each other?’

‘We’re certainly trying to make it look that way!’ Swinging up her sword to block Arras’ strike, Jael was reminded of how weak her wrists had become. The shudders up her arm were particularly painful where the fetters had left sores and scars. And now, sweeping backwards, dropping the shield down to her side, she used the old blade like a spear. As well as being heavy, it wasn’t especially sharp. ‘I have to wound you!’ she called, lunging at Arras. He jerked to the side, and Jael skidded past him, fighting to keep her balance. Turning quickly, she swung her shield again, feeling the hammer blow of Arras’ blade striking it. She hadn’t used a bronze shield in years; the sound of metal on metal was deafening. ‘I’ll try not to hit anything important!’

‘Oh, you’ll try?’ Arras wasn’t smiling, though he was starting to enjoy himself in an anxious sort of way. Seeing Jael like this opened his eyes. Her hair, braided and tied back, revealed so much more of her face. She was attractive, he saw for the first time, strong and agile, her green eyes flaming with energy.

Releasing his sword, he was once again stopped by her shield. The noise of the crowd was oppressive, like walls of sound pushing in on him. Arras imagined the queen’s face, knowing he had to please her. He had to impress her and those lords whose opinions she was so conscious of.

Everything was so finely balanced. One move in the wrong direction, and they wouldn’t be able to escape at all.

Jael held herself back. Despite seeing opportunities, she didn’t take most of them. She remained surprisingly disciplined, forcing herself to imagine that she was fighting her father. With him, training had been all about control. Her explosive temper and violent impulses had tended to overwhelm her in the ring, so her father had been determined to teach her by stepping into the ring himself.

It hadn’t ended well, Jael remembered, thinking of the scar under her eye.

Arras broke through her defenses, cutting her right arm. She wore no armour, and the pain was immediate. Sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, she jerked her bleeding arm away. That pleased the crowd, she could hear, knowing she had to do more.

‘Sorry!’ she called.

‘Sorry?’ Arras was confused as Jael bobbed and weaved before him. He couldn’t reach her with his sword or his shield. She moved with such speed that he found himself flat-footed, surprised when Jael threw away her shield and swung up her right leg, kicking him in the neck.

He stumbled, imagining the queen’s sharp intake of breath from the royal platform. Jael was quickly at him again, though with all that armour, she had to work to find a vulnerable spot.

She’d certainly found his neck, Arras thought, regretting that he hadn’t worn a helmet. Before him, Jael jabbed and stabbed, her bare feet stirring up dust that made everything much harder.

Arras lunged, just missing Jael’s arm as she skipped away from him.

Hearing a collective groan, he knew he had to land another blow soon.

Ears ringing with the demanding cries of the crowd, he pushed onto the front foot, swinging his shield.

* * *

Kalina watched, wringing her hands, fearing she’d made a grave error. Arras looked slow and lumbering, the slave queen dancing around him as though he was an old man.

She felt tense. Arras had cut Jael Furyck, but the woman had landed the far crueller blow, and Kalina feared that it had affected his senses. His reactions appeared delayed, his intensity wasn’t there in the same way as the slave queen’s. She felt sick, flinging out a hand at an offered tray of grapes, sending it flying. And though she wanted to shout, she held her tongue, hoping that Arras could turn things around.

She would not be humiliated.

And despite her feelings for him, she would not tolerate failure.

* * *

Eadmund dove into the water, shocked by how cold it was. Coming from Oss, he shouldn’t have been, though it was like being smacked in the face with a log. His eyes burst wide open, eyelids peeled back as he fought up to the surface, inhaling a freezing breath. Looking around, he saw an equally wide-eyed Fyn beside him, wet hair slicked back from his freckled face.

Turning back to the ship, Eadmund lifted a hand, seeing Kolarov waving. Thorgils stood beside him, nodding, urging them on. But despite having four of his men in the water, Bolder wasn’t even looking their way. His eyes were up on the cliffs, sweeping constantly from side to side. He had men at the oars, two waiting by the anchor.

If they needed to leave in a hurry, he wanted to be prepared.

Eadmund bobbed in the water, getting his bearings and shaking hair out of his eyes. He’d strapped a sword onto his back – not his own; he didn’t want to soak that in seawater – and now he just had to swim towards the rocks at the bottom of the cliff and hope that Mattie had been right in what she’d seen.

That there really was a tunnel lying beneath the sea.

* * *

Seeing how enthusiastically Jael Furyck was throwing herself into the fight, Arras woke up. He sensed that the crowd was against him. They hungered to see an improbable victory against the odds, to witness an epic encounter. They had no patience for weakness and failure.

And wanting to turn things in his favour, Arras threw away his shield, too, hearing a hissed intake of breath.

Now he charged at Jael with real anger pulsing through his body.

Not anger at Jael, but at who he had become. He’d merely fooled himself into thinking he was a free man. On S’ala Nis, he had always been a slave, at the mercy of either the queen or her father. And if he wanted a future that belonged solely to him, to taste real freedom, he was going to have to grab hold of this moment with everything he had.

Lunging at Jael, he swung back his sword, growling now.

‘Your queen will like that!’ she taunted, and veering back as Arras’ blade skimmed her chest, Jael quickly regained her balance and kicked him in the balls.

The crowd sucked in horrified breaths, becoming quieter now as a surprised Arras froze, face turning red. Seeing the pain in his eyes, Jael aimed for his chest. She had to hurt him in a way that would require the physician; he couldn’t return to the queen for some time. But where? He wore so much armour that it was hard to see. He had a handsome enough face, and she felt hesitant to ruin it, though a cut to the face wouldn’t hamper his ability to escape.

Sensing what Jael was planning, Arras dropped to the ground, avoiding her intended blow to his chest, and flicking his leg, he tripped her. She fell with a grunt, wishing she had a knife – the ground was no place to fight with a sword. Which Arras knew, and still gasping for breath, balls aching, he sheathed his sword, and scrambling towards Jael, he drew his knife.

Jael still had her sword, and pushing onto her knees, she swung for Arras’ forehead, hearing shouts from the crowd, a shout from Arras, too, who immediately fell back to the ground, blood streaming down his face.

* * *

Queen Kalina now rose, tension cracking her composure. Pointing at one of her guards, she ordered him to her. ‘Go down there! If Jael Furyck looks like she might kill him, if there is even a chance, you will send men out to capture her and put her down.’ She wanted to issue different orders, to have the woman killed, but despite her growing anger, she couldn’t.

Whatever happened, she had to keep her promise not to let Jael Furyck die.

47

Fyn bobbed in the water, trying to keep up with Eadmund, who was a surprisingly fast swimmer. For some reason, he hadn’t known that about his king. The water felt slightly warmer now, which made swimming easier, but it was still an effort, loaded down with weapons as they were. He kept fearing that his sword would merely float away and that he’d arrive at the tunnel unarmed, and then soon, he found himself fearing that they wouldn’t find the tunnel at all.

Turning around, he saw Bolder’s four men fanning out behind him, and looking back to Eadmund, he saw the king waving.

‘We go here!’ Eadmund called, tilting back his wet face to the cliffs. ‘Come on!’

* * *

‘My face?’ Arras shouted at Jael, rubbing blood from his eyes, trying to see her. ‘You cut my face?’

‘I didn’t know you were so attached to your face! There was nothing special about it, I –’

‘What?’ Arras carved his knife towards Jael’s face. ‘And what about yours? Do you want to lose an eye?’

‘Rather that than a leg!’ Jael grinned, rolling away, mouth full of dust. She spat, swaying back onto her knees as Arras jerked his knife at her face. ‘You’ll have to cut my arm again. Go for my left! We may need to fight our way out of here!’

‘That won’t be enough!’ Arras warned, aiming for her left arm, seeing Jael holding it still for him, not noticing that leg again. And this time, she cracked her bare foot into his nose. He spluttered, unable to even speak and too slow to react, Jael was over him quickly, grabbing the knife, trying to ply it from his hand. They had to keep performing, to entertain the crowd, though they needed to speak too.

‘I’m bringing Sunni!’

‘What? No! Aarrghh!’ Arras groaned as she now punched him in the face. ‘Jael! Will you stop!’

‘I won’t leave her. She’s in danger. She helped me!’

Arras used his left hand to pull out another knife, and while Jael was occupied trying to steal the one in his right, he swept his left arm around and stabbed her.

She screamed, pulling back, releasing her hold on Arras’ knife, and now he came at her with two, trying to decide where to cut her next.

* * *

Eadmund pushed down into the water, eyes wide open and stinging. Holding his breath, water surging into his ears and streaming up his nose, he focused on remaining calm. In all things, remaining calm helped, he heard his wife say.

She was so capable, always ready with an answer, a plan, advice, and suggestions, that generally weren’t suggestions at all.

She had fought off dragur and serpents and evil dreamers.

She had even fought off him.

And through it all, nothing had stopped her. Not grief or fear, betrayal or heartache. She had picked herself up at the Vale when she’d wanted to fall down and die from the pain of a broken heart.

He kept kicking his legs, urging his body to move with speed, knowing that Jael would be there, waiting for him.

She wouldn’t let anything stand in her way.

* * *

Arms bleeding, mouth full of dust, Jael kicked out at Arras. ‘We need to finish this!’ she panted, sensing Eadmund for the first time. She wasn’t sure why, though her heart was suddenly throbbing in her chest, bleeding arms vibrating by her sides as Arras once again fell onto his back, still brandishing those two knives. ‘You have to...!’

It was against every instinct to tackle him with that threat looming. She didn’t fear for her face, she feared that he would knick something important. Something she needed to get them off the island. Something she needed to live.

She made to knee him again, feeling the sting of one of Arras’ blades scraping her forearm. And though it left little more than a scratch, Jael fell as though struck by an axe. The crowd reacted as intended, and now she pushed on, eyes back on those glinting knives. ‘Go for my ribs,’ she hissed. ‘I’ll get up. Hit me in the face. I’ll fall as though I’m knocked out. Do what you can to make it look....’ she grunted as he aimed a punch at her ribs. ‘Ohhh, aarrghh, authentic.’

Arras winked at her through bloody eyes. ‘I’ll try.’

‘It’s all you now,’ she told him, working to slow herself down, though still allowing herself a kick to knock one of the knives out of Arras’ hands.

The crowd roared again, and up on his feet, Arras roared back, punching Jael in the face. Anticipating it, she fell just before he made any real impact, his knuckles barely kissing her cheek.

It was the queen crying out in pleasure now, and Arras’ fellow warriors, whose tension finally melted, erupting with cries to finish the bitch.

Jael worked to focus on her senses, using her dreamer gifts to see where he would aim his next blow, then moving just in time. They needed her defeat to appear brutal and decisive. Arras had to emerge a hero, and she had to be carried from the Arena a bloody mess.

Slaves in the crowd, who’d thought the former Queen of Oss had the upper hand, now became quiet, as defeated as they soon feared she would be.

No one was cheering her on.

Jael writhed on the ground, avoiding Arras’ fists, barely trying to grab his arms. He slipped out of her grip, driving his knife towards her belly. She jerked away, onto her side, and sitting up, he aimed a kick at the back of her head. Anticipating it, Jael fell as Arras landed on top of her, rolling, jabbing his knife as though stabbing her in the leg. Jael didn’t move, and up on his feet, he kicked out at her. Her body, now limp, eyes closed, was covered in blood. Most of it was his, he realised, seeing the sense in her cutting his head now; nothing bled so much as a head wound. And now, wiping more blood from his eyes, Arras lifted an arm in the air, ignoring the chants to finish her from his men. They urged him to take her head. Instead, he turned to where he knew his son was watching, and beating his chest, he pointed his knife at him, smiling broadly.

* * *

It took a few attempts, but eventually, Eadmund found the entrance to the undersea tunnel. It was dark, and he had to shut out his fears, knowing that panic wouldn’t help him now. His thoughts returned to Mattie, doubting her once more, worrying that the tunnel led to nowhere, that there would be nowhere to take a breath. Nowhere to stand.

He hoped Fyn and Bolder’s men were behind him, though he wouldn’t allow himself to turn and check. His lungs burned, panic consuming him now, almost freezing his limbs entirely. He pushed with his hands, holding them together like an arrow, and kicking with his legs, he propelled himself upwards, into the darkness. Fear came like crashes of lightning, voices in his head warning that he would die.

He couldn’t breathe!

He wouldn’t make it!

There was no exit; he’d entered a tomb.

He would die in it!

He would die, and his wife would die, and back on Oss, his children would die too.

Eadmund saw a glimpse of his father’s face, and his father was urging him on.

‘Hold your breath!’ he yelled at his son. ‘You can do it, Eadmund! Don’t let Thorgils claim victory! Keep holding your breath, my son!’

And Eadmund was back on Oss, locked in a desperate battle with his best friend over who could hold their breath the longest.

Thorgils had a big mouth, insisting it gave him an advantage. A big head, too, Eirik had suggested to Thorgils’ father and uncle, asserting his confidence that his son had the bigger lungs and that they would take him to victory.

The three men had wagered on the contest, watching as the boys took to the water, sinking from view. It had been a bitterly cold day, Eadmund remembered, suddenly feeling tired.

He feared he wasn’t kicking his legs, that he wasn’t moving upwards at all.

There was still no light.

Where was the light?

The tunnel had to come out somewhere.

There had to be somewhere he could breathe!

* * *

Kalina was limp with relief, finally returning to her chair. She was plied with wine and offered various platters of food. She didn’t answer any questions. She didn’t feel ready to voice a single word. The realisation that she had nearly lost Arras had rendered her silent, and she was struggling to come to terms with how deadly her little game might have become.

For if Jael Furyck had managed to overcome him?

She was still trembling when a breathless Nico Sikari arrived, quickly bowing before her.

Kalina rose to her feet. ‘Your father?’

‘He has been sent to the physician, my queen. His wounds must be stitched, but he wanted me to tell you that he was victorious for you and that Jael Furyck lives. Though he imagines she will be in pain for some time.’ Nico was nervous, seeing that Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree perched near the queen, fearing that the seer could see into his mind.

‘She will live? And your father? Tell me about his wounds.’

‘His forehead was cut open, though his eyes are saved. He wanted me to assure you of his health. He will return as soon as he is able.’ Nico glanced at the empty chair beside the queen, nerves jangling. ‘To sit by your side.’

Kalina’s fears for Arras had left her trembling, though Nico’s reassurances had been timely, and she felt her worries receding. ‘Go back to him then, Nico. Tell him how I long to have him here. He did well. That woman, that thing, she appeared determined to kill him. Surprisingly capable of it too,’ she realised with a sneer. ‘Though he managed to put her down so effectively in the end. He has my deep affection and admiration for that. Go now. I want him reassured that my love for him will only deepen upon seeing his wounds, for I will always remember how he fought for me.’ She raised her voice, eyes sweeping her lords and ladies, who turned their faces to her, showing off their best smiles.

Nico was all politeness, bobbing his head, offering the platitudes his father had taught him as he backed away from the royal platform, certain that the old seer was following his every step.

* * *

Lying back on a stretcher, Jael kept her eyes closed, listening to the footsteps of the slaves carrying her to the physician’s chamber. Arras walked behind her, wrapping a strip from his tunic around his head.

There were other physicians on the isle, though he had personally requested Ratish’s presence at the Arena, and the old man was waiting for them outside an open door. Seeing Arras coming, he waved him forward, ushering the slaves to bring the stretcher inside. When the two men placed it on the ground, offering to lift Jael onto the bed, an impatient Ratish shooed them away. ‘I will see her on the floor,’ he insisted brusquely. ‘I do not know her injuries yet, and I would not wish to disturb her body without determining them.’ He hadn’t needed to add that, he knew, though it was in his nature to try and impart knowledge, to share what he knew with others. Especially the poor slaves, who were offered no opportunities to better themselves.

After the slaves left, Arras remained by the door, relieved to see his son coming.

‘Father!’ Nico called loudly. ‘I have a message from the queen!’

Arras forced a smile, quickly ushering his son into the chamber and bolting the door.

‘We are leaving!’ Arras hurried to tell the horrified physician. ‘I know you won’t try to stop us, Ratish. I know, too, that you are aware the queen is barren. When she fails to fall pregnant again, she will kill me, then I fear she will attempt to marry my son. We have found a way out, and we are leaving. Come with us or stay here, but know that if you choose to remain, I shall have to knock you out.’

Ratish appeared to crumble before them, gasping as Jael rose to her feet, unsteady, unbalanced, and gritting her teeth. He blinked at her in horror as she shook herself, trying to determine exactly what was injured and what was still working.

Ignoring the physician’s gaping mouth, Nico worked with speed, opening the rear door and ushering Anika inside, while Arras handed Jael a soldier’s uniform that he’d hidden earlier. The men turned around while Jael hurried it on, tucking her hair up into a helmet and sitting down to pull on a pair of boots that almost fit her.

‘I have to find Sunni,’ she said impatiently, spitting out a gob of blood.

Arras turned around, translating for Ratish, who finally found his voice. ‘She is waiting down the alley,’ he told him. ‘She came to see if the woman was alive, but I sent her out. And you are escaping?’ Shaking his head, he fixed his attention on Arras. ‘It is a risk.’

‘One I must take.’

Inhaling slowly, Ratish nodded. ‘I fear you must, though I cannot come with you. I am far too old for such an adventure. Here is where I must die.’

Arras explained what he’d said to Jael, nodding his thanks to the old man. ‘You have always been good to me, Ratish, so I am loath to do this.’ But bringing back his fist, he hit the old man in the face, watching as he fell to the floor with a crash.

They all glanced at the door, fearing the noise would attract attention, though the next match was underway, and the roar of the crowd likely masked the physician’s fall.

Jael took the sword Arras had hidden in the chamber, sheathing it in her belt and adding knives. They had to leave the Arena without drawing attention to themselves and without anyone realising that Jael had gone.

Though it wouldn’t be long before someone came looking for her.

Arras tore off another strip of cloth from his tunic, dipping it into a bowl of water, trying to clean his face. His wounds immediately started leaking again, though he couldn’t help that.

It was time to go.

* * *

Eadmund reached out a hand, finally feeling air, not water. He saw hints of light now, merging with the black patches in front of his eyes, and with a final push, he flung his head out of the water, inhaling a desperate breath. He was still gasping and rasping when Fyn popped up beside him, turning to his king with bulging eyes. Neither man spoke as Bolder’s men burst out of the water around them. Eadmund was quickly swimming towards the entrance to another tunnel. This one, thankfully, on land.

Shoulders heaving, he turned to his men. ‘No... time. Have to... get moving.’

The tunnel beckoned, and though it offered more light than the bleak and black underwater tunnel, he guessed there would be little to see for some time yet.

Inhaling short, sharp breaths, lungs still burning, Eadmund shook wet hair out of his eyes, unsheathed the sword from his back, and motioned for everyone to follow.

* * *

Sunni nearly screamed when Jael rushed through the door into the back alley. ‘What are you...?’ Despite being disguised as a soldier, Sunni quickly recognised her, though she didn’t understand what was happening.

She was further confused when Anika appeared with Nico Sikari and then the commander.

‘Which way?’ Arras whispered. ‘Jael?’

‘Left,’ she told him before turning back to Sunni. ‘We’re escaping, and you’re coming with us.’ A shocked Sunni held her ground, though Jael grabbed her hand, pulling the girl along. ‘I won’t leave you here. I’m taking you away, Sunni. To a place where no one will hurt you again.’

The girl had no words, merely stumbling along

‘We’re going to that place where I hid the key. Come on!’

* * *

The queen ate purple grapes, eyes on the match in the Arena, though her attention was scattered. This fight certainly didn’t hold the same interest as Arras’ had, though it pleased her to see how much the crowds were enjoying the event.

For her part, she wanted her betrothed beside her, seeking to be soothed by his presence. He was a calm man, and his age, more than ten years older than any of her previous husbands, gave her a sense of stability. As though, just like her father, she could lean on him.

Lost in her musings, she was surprised when Ademar appeared, requesting to speak with her. She was pleased when her guards urged the spy away, for she wanted nothing to detract from her special day. She sought no trouble, no matters of urgency to attend to. Then blinking and remembering what she had tasked Ademar to do, she called off the guards. ‘Come now, and tell me what is so important that you must interrupt me here. Now? What news do you have?’ Her interest was piqued, her attention no longer on the tournament.

* * *

After Jael explained what they were looking for, Arras and Nico took charge, leading the way down the narrow cobblestoned alley as Anika, Jael, and Sunni followed behind.

Sunni started protesting, becoming frightened. ‘But... we’ll be caught. We’ll be caught! I have to go!’

Glancing over his shoulder, Arras glowered at Jael, who tried to calm the girl down. ‘We won’t be caught, Sunni. And if anyone tries to stop us, we won’t let them,’ she promised with a smile. Though neither her smile nor her words helped to assuage Sunni’s fears, and she moved with great reluctance now, almost pulled off her feet, head twisting around, certain that someone would find them.

* * *

‘I saw the slave girl Sunni this morning, with Jael Furyck,’ Ademar told the queen.

‘What of it? She’s a translator. The woman doesn’t understand our language, so I imagine she is often with her. It is her job.’

‘Of course, my queen, though they appeared to be acting suspiciously, so I followed them –’

‘To where?’ Kalina interrupted, sliding forward until she was almost off her chair, senses tingling. ‘Where did you follow them to?’

* * *

They reached the stone wall, where it was marked by the symbol, and Jael hurried to dig up the key she’d hidden earlier before turning back to a fretting Sunni. ‘If you stay here, Otho and his men will hurt you. I know what he does to you, Sunni. I’ve seen it in my dreams.’

Sunni looked mortified, and dropping her head in embarrassment, she tried to pull away. Jael had hold of her hand, though, and she couldn’t move. ‘I don’t care! I don’t want to go! I don’t!’

She was being loud, and once again, Arras glowered at Jael. Nico had hold of Anika’s hand, waiting behind his father. They both turned to look at her.

‘Sunni,’ Jael pleaded, finally releasing the girl’s hand. ‘I don’t want to force you or hurt you. I just want to help you.’

‘Go!’ Sunni told her, turning away. ‘You go, my lady. I won’t tell anyone. I will never reveal it. I won’t, I promise. Just go!’

Jael stood before her, unwilling to even move towards the wall. ‘But I –’

‘You can’t save me!’

‘I can! I can save you, Sunni. I will!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Arras growled. ‘Jael, hurry.’

Jael turned away, and holding her hand against the symbol, she gave it a light push, hoping upon hope that what she’d seen was real. She felt the wall give, and now using both hands, she pushed with force, hearing a groan as the stone panel opened like a door.

Nico and Anika blinked at Jael in surprise, though Arras was soon on the move, pushing them into the tunnel. ‘We have to go!’

Sunni hesitated, seeing that they really were leaving, and looking over her shoulder, thinking of Otho Dimas, she nodded. ‘I’ll come!’ And grabbing Jael’s hand, she urged her towards the tunnel. ‘But we have to hurry!’

* * *

The queen called Otho Dimas to her, ordering him to take his men down to the back of the Arena. She wanted him to search for the slave girl Sunni, and for Jael Furyck. Then she sent Ademar to the physician’s, wanting to see if the woman was still there.

They would both report back to her in haste.

And sitting back on her chair, aware of every pair of eyes seeking to know what was wrong, she felt a rush of nausea.

* * *

Eadmund pulled up, needing a breath.

He turned to his men, who’d been forced to stop behind him. ‘We don’t know what’s coming or who’s out there, so we need to move quietly now. Carefully. Sheath your swords, but be prepared to use them.’

Fyn pointed into the distance. ‘I see light. It’s faint, but maybe it’s a door?’

A squinting Eadmund could barely make it out, though he thought that Fyn might be right. But who was waiting on the other side of that door? ‘Behind me,’ he hissed. ‘We don’t know what’s coming. Hopefully, my wife. But she may not be alone.’

* * *

Arras was relieved that Jael had finally quietened Sunni down, pleased that she was coming with them. Suspicion would likely fall on the girl if she was left behind.

They had shut the secret door behind them, hoping it was secure, before plunging into the dark tunnel. There were hints of light coming from somewhere, just enough to make out where they were heading, and they moved with speed.

Arras led the way, followed by Nico and Anika, with Jael and Sunni bringing up the rear.

Jael held Sunni’s hand in her right, the key in her left, suddenly aware that she had no idea what awaited them at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

Otho Dimas had been charged with bringing answers back to the queen, and feeling both surprised and thrilled by the opportunity to earn her favour, he hurried his men out of the Arena, down into the alley leading to the sewers. Stopping along the way, he asked about Jael Furyck. No one had seen the slave woman lurking about, but one of the men told her that he should ask Sunni.

He’d seen her.

And grabbing the old slave, Otho had kicked him down the alley, wanting him to point out exactly where he’d seen the girl and who he’d seen her with.

Reaching the wall, he gagged, failing to understand what was happening. The queen was suspicious of Jael Furyck, and with good reason, though what did she imagine the woman was doing? Perhaps Sunni had simply taken her for a shit, he thought with a laugh.

But fearing that he’d have nothing to return to Queen Kalina with, he ordered his men to look around. ‘See what you can find. Anything out of the ordinary, anything that might attract a little thief’s attention. Or a slave’s!’

* * *

Having hurried down into the bowels of the Arena, Ademar hadn’t been able to get into the physician’s chamber. The door was locked, though after banging on it a couple of times, it was finally opened by a groggy-looking Ratish, who fell to his knees, bleeding from the nose.

‘Where are they?’ Ademar demanded, bursting into the chamber. Though seeing that the dazed old man couldn’t even speak, he hurried to search the room, finding bloody clothes in a heap on the floor and a trail of blood leading to the back door.

And hurrying through it, Queen Kalina’s spy disappeared into the alley.

48

A frustrated Otho had found nothing but a dead bird, certain he’d find no sign of Jael Furyck. The woman had been carried from the Arena on a stretcher, so he hadn’t expected to find her strolling around. Why would she be? The queen had implied that she might be trying to escape, but how was that even possible? Every way off the isle was guarded by scores of men, reinforced by bronze gates, bolted closed.

There was, they had all been warned, no escape from S’ala Nis.

He felt disappointed but impatient, wanting to return to the Arena for the rest of the matches, though he motioned for his men to keep searching. ‘One more look around for the queen, then we’ll head back.’

* * *

Ademar barrelled down the alley, adept at moving quickly, seeking to avoid every loose cobblestone. Time and rain had lifted many, and though the slaves were always at work replacing them, numerous cobblestones were poking up at strange angles. He ran, shifting his weight, sliding from one side of the alley to the other, and finally, swinging around a corner, he saw a group of soldiers poking around a wall.

Pulling up, he shouted. ‘Jael Furyck!’

Otho spun around to the red-cheeked man, recognising him as the queen’s spy. ‘What about her?’

‘She knocked out the physician! She’s gone!’ Though seeing no sign of the woman, a breathless Ademar started to fear that he’d chosen the wrong path.

‘Someone saw Sunni lurking around here earlier, but we haven’t found anything,’ Otho told him, seeking to take command of the situation. ‘Certainly no sign of the slave woman.’

Ademar ignored Otho, not trusting the man to see an elephant standing in front of him, and moving up to the wall, he started feeling around.

* * *

In the darkness of the tunnel, Anika fell, almost pulling Nico down with her. She cried out, twisting her ankle, and Arras had to turn around and run back to see what had happened. Jael let go of Sunni, and now, taking off her helmet, she hurried forward to help the woman.

‘I’ve got her!’ Arras called, realising that he could see more clearly now. ‘We’ll take a side each.’ And sheathing his sword, he lifted Anika’s right arm over his shoulder, waiting for his son to prop her up on the other side, and once again, they headed off into the darkness.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jael held out a hand to Sunni, feeling strange.

Sunni turned to look over her shoulder too. ‘I hear voices!’

* * *

Seeing hints of blood on the wall, it hadn’t taken Ademar long to find the hidden door, and pushing it open, he’d charged into the tunnel, Otho Dimas and his twenty-odd men soon at his heels. He felt certain that Jael Furyck had come this way, for as soon as the door had swung open, welcoming in the sun, he’d seen drips of blood.

‘Hurry!’ he shouted over his shoulder, quickly seeing only shadows, and those shadows, laden with armour and weapons, were running far too slowly for his liking. Sweeping forward, Ademar drew his knife, plunging into the darkness, followed closely by Otho Dimas, who moved with real speed, letting his men fall far behind.

* * *

Jael saw the soldiers coming in her mind. ‘Men are coming! Run!’

Holding up Anika, Arras was trying to, and turning a corner, he squinted, seeing a barricade in the distance. A wall? Heart thumping, he moved with hesitation now, realising that there was more than one wall, soon seeing that they weren’t walls at all. They’d reached a crossroads and now had to choose which path to take, for both were blocked by doors.

‘What do we do?’ Nico cried, staggering to a stop.

‘The key!’ Arras exclaimed, and handing Anika to his son, he turned back for Jael. ‘We need the key!’

Nico knew that, but they still had to choose which door to go through. ‘Which way? Father?’

Arras didn’t know, but he saw Jael coming, yelling something at him.

‘Left! The left door!’ she bellowed.

‘Jael?’

Hearing Eadmund’s voice, a running Jael almost fell over. ‘Left!’ she shouted again as she reached Arras, handing him the key. ‘Open the left door!’

* * *

Eadmund could see the outline of the door getting closer now.

He could hear his wife’s voice.

‘Jael!’ Eadmund ran faster, reminding himself to stay calm. His wife was on the other side of that door, though, and he wanted to reach it and break it down. She sounded anxious, certain he’d heard panic in her voice, and realising it, he unsheathed his sword. ‘Be ready!’ he called to his men. ‘And hurry!’

* * *

Sunni pulled away from Jael, turning around.

‘No! Sunni!’

‘I...’ the girl panicked. ‘I can stop them! Go, my lady! I’ll run back and stop them!’

‘What? No!’

Behind her, Jael heard Arras opening the door and then her heart thumping loud in her ears as Sunni disappeared back around the tunnel corner. ‘Sunni!’ Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a glimpse of Eadmund and Fyn running, and staring at her husband, she felt tears coming.

She heard Sunni cry out, footsteps coming closer.

Jael’s eyes shifted to Arras, who had run back to help his son with Anika.

Looking at Jael, he saw that she wasn’t moving. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Give me the key!’ Jael shouted as Arras swept past Nico towards her, and taking the key, she pushed him back. ‘You have to go!’

Not understanding, Arras shook his head.

‘Go!’ she yelled, shoving him towards his son. ‘Get out of here!’

There were many things Arras wanted to say, though he could only nod as he hurried a confused Nico and Anika through the door.

‘Jael!’ Eadmund ran towards them. ‘Jael!’

She held his gaze, heart breaking, eyes flooding with tears. ‘I’m sorry!’ she called, slamming the door and quickly locking it. And now she whispered, holding her hand against that cold bronze surface. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Then, turning away, she ran back up the tunnel, around the corner after Sunni.

* * *

Ademar was surprised to see Sunni running up to him. She didn’t stop, didn’t move out of the way. Instead, she barrelled straight into him, pushing with her hands. He was so surprised that he almost fell over.

Behind him, Otho shouted at his men to hurry, though glancing over his shoulder, he couldn’t see them.

‘Sunni!’ Jael screamed, charging up the tunnel, sword in hand.

Arriving quickly, Otho Dimas pulled Sunni away from Ademar, and with a growl, he threw her at the wall. The girl’s surprised cry was cut off as she hit the rock with force.

Jerking to a stop, all the air rushed from Jael’s lungs. ‘No!’ She launched herself at Otho, releasing her blade, swinging for his head. Out of breath and reacting on instinct alone, Otho jerked his sword up to block her strike. Arras had chosen a fine sword for her, Jael realised, mind becoming detached. The weight was perfect, the blade sharpened, and now, as she brought it back, away from Otho, she struck Ademar, taking him in the neck.

His hand was outstretched, his knife aiming for her back, though it was Jael’s blade that killed him instead.

Leaning backwards as though she would snap in two, Jael felt a breeze as Otho’s blade skimmed her face, though as it passed, she swung around, taking the hilt in two hands. All of Otho’s momentum took his sword, his arm, and his balance away from her, and he couldn’t turn back in time to parry her strike. He couldn’t push himself away from that blade coming for his neck, and it hit him hard enough and sharp enough to nearly take his head from his shoulders.

Jael’s roar of pain echoed through the tunnel as she ran to Sunni, who was lifeless on the floor, neck twisted to one side, face bloody.

Eyes wide open.

* * *

Eadmund tried to push past Arras. ‘Open the fucking door!’ he demanded. ‘Open the door!’ Though soon he was quiet, hearing Jael’s voice in his ears. ‘You have to leave, Eadmund! You have to leave now!’ Shaking his head and ignoring it, he again tried to get past the bloody-faced man.

Handing Anika off to Nico, Arras peered at the dripping men, led by the one he could only guess was Jael’s husband. ‘She wants us to go!’

‘What do you know about what she wants?’

‘Because she locked the fucking door!’ Arras cried. ‘She took the key and she locked the door!’

Eadmund was bereft, unable to think or move. He stared past Arras to the door, knowing his wife was so close. Just through there.

If he could...

‘Eadmund!’ Fyn called, grabbing his king’s arm, struggling to think himself. ‘You have to trust Jael.’

Eadmund flung around, almost hitting him. ‘Trust Jael?’ He stared at Fyn’s pained face. ‘No! No!’

They heard vibrations in the tunnel.

‘Men are coming!’ Arras warned. ‘Your wife wants to save you! They won’t hurt her, but they will kill you! We have to leave!’

Eadmund didn’t know this man, but if he was with Jael, he likely knew what he was talking about.

He held his ground but closed his mouth, and despite trembling hands and the gut-wrenching knowledge that he was leaving his wife behind, eventually he allowed a quiet Fyn Gallas to pull him away.

* * *

Jael hid the key.

She could barely think, though she had enough wits about herself to hide the key in a little hole in the wall. She covered it up with gravel, throwing a few stones over it, and then she turned back to Sunni and held the girl’s hand as Otho’s men arrived, quickly surrounding her.

Seeing the bodies of the two dead men and the dead girl, they yanked the slave queen up to her feet and dragged her away.

* * *

Fyn had to pull Eadmund down the tunnel, back to where it met the water and where they would once again be forced to endure a terrifyingly dark and long swim back to the surface. And despite knowing that they could find their way back to the ship, Fyn feared that neither he nor Eadmund would make it. Numb with grief, both men were barely present, continuing to doubt what they were doing.

It had taken so long to get here, and now to just swim away?

To leave Jael?

When they reached the entrance to the water, Eadmund turned back to Arras. ‘Tell me why I’m leaving my wife behind. Tell me where she went!’

Arras was anxious, fearing for Jael, worrying that those men had found her key and might soon be opening the door. He saw his son and knew they had to leave, which wasn’t going to happen if the King of Oss didn’t hear what he needed to. ‘She befriended a slave girl. The girl, Sunni, she turned back to try and stop those men, to give us time to escape, I expect. Jael worried about her. She thought she was being abused, raped by one of the guards. She... went back to save her.’

Fyn blinked at Eadmund, who stared at him. ‘She won’t come back, Eadmund. If he’s right, Jael won’t come back. Not yet. Not like this. We have to leave. She shut the door so we could. You know she did.’

Eadmund did know it, though his heart was heavy, painful in his chest. ‘I...’ He blinked and swallowed, running a hand through his wet hair, knowing what Jael needed from him. It wasn’t to rescue her. She had made that choice.

It was to rescue them.

‘Go,’ he said to Fyn. ‘Lead the way. It’s long,’ he told Arras. ‘You’ll need a big breath, but don’t panic.’ And now he turned to the terrified young woman. ‘There’s a... ship waiting. It will take you to safety.’

Fyn had turned to the water, but hearing Eadmund’s voice, he swung back around. ‘You are coming? Eadmund?’

Eadmund wanted to say no. He thought about it.

About charging back up the tunnel and hammering on that door.

But his wife was the one who’d locked it.

She had seen him coming for her, and she’d locked the door.

And now, he realised, eyes closed, tears flowing...

Now he had to go.

* * *

Kolarov bobbed up and down before Mattie, who was pacing the deck with Otter. The cat turned with her, making her smile at his cleverness. He didn’t lose pace with her. Every time she turned, he turned, too, rubbing against her legs. And then, realising that perhaps he was trying to tell her something, she bent down and picked him up.

He immediately nuzzled her neck, purring in a comforting way. It was how he made her feel better, she realised, blinking suddenly as images came rushing at her. Swaying on the deck, Otter in her arms, she started to tremble.

‘I see someone!’ Kolarov announced joyfully. ‘Mattie, my dear, I see someone!’

Thorgils rushed to his side, hands shielding his eyes as he, too, saw a dark head emerge from the water. And then more. ‘He’s right, Mattie! They’re here! They made it! There’s a woman! Ha! It’s Jael!’

The dreamer turned to the excited men, who clung to each other, shaking her head. ‘No, it’s not. Jael didn’t come. She didn’t come.’

* * *

Jael was dragged back up the tunnel. She was pulled down one alley after another. The guards knew, as every man in uniform did, that she wasn’t to be killed, though that didn’t stop them hurting her. She was shoved, kicked in the back, knocked down, shouted at to move faster.

For her part, Jael didn’t feel as though she was moving at all.

She was back in the tunnel, kneeling over Sunni’s body.

She was there, seeing Eadmund’s face.

Arras had turned to her, she remembered, seeing gratitude in his eyes.

Sadness too.

She hoped they had made it. That they were safe.

The soldiers shouted at her, and though she understood nothing they said, she could see where they were taking her, and her spirits sank, eyes drifting to the slaves carrying buckets and pushing handcarts, to the ones being yelled at and replacing loose cobblestones.

And to the little slave children running in the street with big smiles on their faces.

* * *

One by one, the swimmers were hauled up on ropes that had been tied to the shield rack and dropped over Bone Hammer’s starboard gunwale. Anika was sobbing, the journey through the tunnel so terrifying and dark that she’d feared she wouldn’t survive it.

Eadmund and Fyn were quiet, slumped over and dripping as Thorgils barked at them, demanding answers. He saw the young woman with the dark hair collapse onto the deck. ‘But where is she? And you left her there? Jael?’

Eadmund didn’t have the words. He didn’t know what he was even doing.

‘We have to leave!’ Arras tried, though no one listened to him.

Kolarov was fretting, wringing his hands, and Mattie was watching Fyn, who tried to calm everyone down.

‘Jael wanted us to leave!’ Fyn called over the confusion. ‘Jael wanted us to leave, so we have to fucking leave!’ He burst into tears, not wanting to believe he was saying that. And hand over his mouth, he turned away.

Realising that Fyn had said what he couldn’t bring himself to say, Eadmund pulled himself to his feet. ‘Set sail, Bolder,’ he said in a halting voice. ‘We head back to Castala. We.... head back to Castala.’

Kolarov looked on with bulging eyes, shaking his head in disbelief, but it was Mattie’s head Eadmund noticed most of all.

For the dreamer was nodding.

THE END

EPILOGUE

‘Well, I wouldn’t choose to walk up the side of a mountain only to turn around and go back down!’ Eyeing Siggy, Edela smiled, still trying to catch her breath. ‘You and Bertel go and... find somewhere to sit. I may be some time. You’ve got that little bit of cheese and some water. Go on, find a boulder or even some grass and have a rest.’ She fixed her eyes on Bertel, and with a wink, she turned around and knocked on the door.

It didn’t open immediately.

It was a tiny door, Edela realised suddenly, sensing that even she would be forced to stoop to enter the cottage. Nerves fluttering, she glanced over her shoulder, flapping her hand at her waiting audience. ‘Go now. Go –’ she urged, cutting off abruptly as a bolt slid on the opposite side of the door, the handle moving, and soon it was opening to reveal a diminutive young woman.

Young.

Edela had imagined the sisters to be old, certain that in her dream, they had been. She was momentarily confused, knocked off course, though reaching out, the woman took her hand. ‘Edela. You have been expected. Please, do come in.’

THE CHARACTERS

In Andala

Axl Furyck, King of Brekka

Amma Furyck, Queen of Brekka

Getta Vandaal, former Queen of Iskavall

Gisila Olborn, Axl and Jael’s mother

Hal Harbak, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Erling Venberg, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Eren Venberg, Erling’s sister

Gerald Hogen, Axl’s steward

Ragnar Olveggen, garrison commander

Helga Brugen, dreamer

Linas Brugen, her grandson

Gully, the dog

At Sea

Eadmund Skalleson, King of the Slave Islands

Thorgils Svanter, his best friend

Fyn Gallas, warrior

Mattie Bilso, dreamer

Bolder Oysten, Bone Hammer’s helmsman

Kolarov Radic, explorer

Arras Sikari, Commander of the Waves

Nico Sikari, his son

Anika Edlem, former slave

Otter, the cat

On the Road

Rexon Boas, Lord of Saala

Gant Olborn, Axl’s stepfather

Travellers

Edela Saeveld, dreamer

Bertel Knutson, elder

Sigfrida ‘Siggy’ Larsen, novice dreamer

Katalyne, the bone sister

Korri Torluffson, Alekkan trader

Zen O’yun, taverner’s grandson

Raymon Vandaal, former King of Iskavall

On S’ala Nis

Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands

Kalina Sardis, Queen of S’ala Nis

King Ronin Sardis, her father

Dessalene Sardis, his wife

Pye, her man servant

Alek Orlan, slave foreman

Quint Gillum, overseer

Krissia, his wife

Argo Kosta, Commander of the Rocks

Rigg Alred, slave

Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree, seer

Inesh Seppo, seer

Ratish Feros, physician

Gardi, stone mason

In Hest

Karsten Dragos, King of Hest

Bayla Dragos, his mother

Berard Dragos, his brother

Meena Dragos, Berard’s wife/dreamer

Ulf Rutgar, Master of the Fleet

Also mentioned

Iker Rayas, Siluran warrior

Oren Storgard, King of Iskavall

Lina Storgard, Queen of Iskavall/dreamer

Herold Valens, King of Helsabor

Freya Valens, his daughter/betrothed to Karsten

Isaura Svanter, Thorgils’ wife

Milla Ulfsson, Alekkan girl

Mutt Storman, outlaw

Edd Arnsten, Lord of Borsund

Henk Layborg, Lord of Rosby

Ayla Adea, dreamer

PROLOGUE

‘You were gone when I woke,’ the man frowned, touching his wife’s face. ‘Is something wrong?’ Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over her cheek, kissing her soft skin until he found her mouth. Now, he took her in his arms, pulling her close. ‘Some reason you left our bed?’

The woman laughed, playfully pushing him away. ‘How desperate you are for me, dearest one. So needy. But no, I merely had matters to attend to.’

‘Problems?’

The woman turned towards the balcony, where the sun was rising, curtains fluttering like golden wings across the open doors. ‘But you can never rise as high as you desire without encountering the odd problem.’ She spun back to her husband with a gleaming smile. ‘Though nothing that can’t be fixed. I will just... leave ahead of you.’

‘Leave? Why?’

Now the woman slipped back into his embrace, nuzzling him. ‘You haven’t set foot on the isle in twelve years, my love. I think your daughter deserves a little notice. Besides, I wish to spend some time with her before you arrive and send her into a spin. Let me go, and we will be reunited in no time at all.’ She kissed him, wanting him distracted and pliant.

She couldn’t let him know there were problems on the isle.

Problems of his foolish daughter’s making.

She simply had to placate her curious husband and leave in haste, hoping to arrive at S’ala Nis in time...

PART I

WOLVES

1

The noise on board Bone Hammer consumed Eadmund’s every thought.

Bolder had turned them around, away from The Maiden’s Reach, though everyone was still arguing, no one truly able to comprehend why they were leaving without Jael.

Without Jael?

Looking up, Eadmund saw the dripping figures of the two men and the woman he had helped escape.

Leaving his wife behind.

She had wanted him to rescue them but not herself?

Bile flooded his mouth, and turning away, he stumbled towards the stern, the chill wind freezing his wet body. Drops of water fell from his hair, into his eyes, blurring his vision.

And in that great blur, he saw Jael.

Frowning, he spat, numb hands gripping the stern, fingers tightening, wanting to tear the wooden strakes in two. He spat again, hearing Kolarov sneezing, Thorgils barking, and Bolder yelling orders. The wind groaned, and his wife’s pleading voice rang in his ears.

‘Leave!’ she urged. ‘You have to leave now!’

Looking up, Eadmund Skalleson, King of Oss, stared at the island of S’ala Nis – its sheer cliffs like walls, keeping his wife imprisoned. The great statue of the maiden had her arm raised, pointing them home. Though he wouldn’t leave Jael here. He couldn’t.

Bolder would take them back to Castala. They would get more ships and –

A shout from Mattie rose above the rumbling din, and Eadmund turned to see her swaying towards him before she tripped, lost from view.

‘Ships!’ she kept calling, drawing everyone’s attention out to sea. ‘I see ships!’

Bolder had threaded Bone Hammer through the stone spires surrounding The Maiden’s Reach into the Valgeir Sea, which would take them back to the Fire Lands and Castala. That had been the helmsman’s hastily formed plan.

But ships?

He looked around, as confused as everyone else.

Mattie was soon on her feet, refusing Kolarov’s offer of assistance as she bustled towards the king, wheat-coloured hair whirling around a worried face. ‘I counted at least nine! Nine ships!’

The dripping man arrived in haste; Eadmund couldn’t remember his name. He felt no warmth towards him, only resentment that he was here and Jael was not. Frowning at Mattie, he took her arm, steadying her swaying body, which threatened to fall again.

‘What ships?’ Bolder called, wanting to know more, though he couldn’t give up his steering oar now; the swirling currents heading away from the isle demanded his full attention. ‘Where?’

Mattie kept her eyes on Eadmund. ‘From the south. They’ll soon be behind us!’

An alert Arras Sikari tried to claim the dreamer’s attention. ‘What did they look like? Sails? Flags? Anything?’

Mattie’s lips parted, staring blankly at him before closing her eyes. She seized Arras’ sodden arm as Bone Hammer was hit by an enormous wave. Sea spray showered over them, but no one moved.

‘What’s happening?’ Thorgils demanded, desperate to shake more words out of the dreamer. ‘Where are these ships? Mattie?’

Fyn glowered at him, Eadmund ignored him, Kolarov nibbled a nail.

And eventually, Mattie’s eyes sprang open. ‘They have prows... like nothing I’ve seen. The ships are nothing I’ve seen before. Dark wood. Painted heads in gold. Heads of... wolves. They’re wolves!’ She blinked at Arras, who appeared ashen-faced before her.

‘The king’s ships,’ he breathed. ‘It’s the king. The king is coming.’

* * *

Kalina Sardis, Queen of S’ala Nis, paced her golden throne room, seething with anger.

Her body was rigid, a great throbbing knot of tension.

Guards stood silently by the golden doors, slaves flanking the throne. Her ladies hovered pensively near the open balcony doors, sheer curtains threaded with silver billowing around them like clouds. And standing like a plinth in the middle of the gilded chamber, eyes closed, was the old seer, Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. There was a calmness in his still body, a peace in his expressionless face, as though he was immune from all that roiled the chamber.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Kalina swung around, clenching her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She felt the pain of it and dug them in deeper, wanting to pierce her flesh, to feel the warm ooze of her blood.

Anger and pain blended in a seething miasma, pain pulsing at her temples. ‘Open the doors!’ she screamed, sensing Noor stiffen as she strode past him, eyes trained on those opening doors.

Four guards marched inside, dragging Jael Furyck between them, depositing her on the shining marble floor. She was dressed in a soldier’s uniform, the sight of which was so unexpected, so at odds with everything Kalina had been anticipating, that she pulled up in confusion.

Heart galloping like an escaping horse, she turned her attention away from the dark-haired slave towards one of her guards. ‘Give me a knife.’ His hesitation angered her. ‘Give me a knife!’ she roared so loudly that her voice crackled in her ears, throat aching.

Jael looked up, watching the guard unsheathing his knife, offering its leather haft to his queen. Her focus, blurred since her capture in the tunnel, suddenly sharpened.

Four men had brought her in.

She had passed two more manning the doors.

An old man in a white robe was peering at her.

Two finely dressed slaves were staring at her from the doors.

Two slaves stood by the queen’s throne.

She kept seeing Sunni lying dead on the tunnel floor, the girl’s blood staining her hands. Guilt had claimed her. Guilt and grief. They had claimed her as their prisoner, and she felt almost compelled to submit to the queen and her knife.

Worthy of her retribution. Almost seeking it.

Hopelessness swept over her, joining in the great churn of despair, and once again, her thoughts fractured.

‘Whose ships?’ she heard someone splutter. ‘Who’s after us?’

It was Thorgils, she realised, suddenly no longer in the queen’s throne room. She stood on a ship amongst a circle of panicking men, towering over a woman.

The dreamer. Mattie?

Eadmund was there, those familiar hazel eyes stricken with pain, wet curls buffeted by the wind, blowing back from a tense face. Arras was trying to get his attention, she saw, wet through and frowning as ferociously as ever.

Turning to look between them, Jael saw a line of ships pointing directly at them, and she shivered.

The queen screamed at her, and the vision was gone.

‘Where is he? What did you do to Arras? What did you do?’ Kalina snarled, teeth bared, eyes ablaze. ‘Where is he?’ Jabbing with the knife, she threatened Jael with its sharpened tip, aiming at her eye.

Jael didn’t flinch.

Everything slowed around her.

She saw the old man approaching, her eyes drifting to him as he held out a hand.

‘My queen,’ he murmured. ‘Your father –’

‘My father!’ Kalina spat. ‘My father? But this has nothing to do with my father!’ Ignoring the old seer, she kept her eyes on Jael. ‘Get her up!’ The guards’ hesitation irritated her further. ‘You will get her up! She will stand before me! She will confess everything!’ She glowered at the guards, who hurried to drag Jael up to her feet, holding her there as the queen stepped forward with her knife. ‘Tell me what you did with Arras! To him! Where is he?’

Jael saw that ship in her mind again.

She saw Milla Ulfsson on Oss with Bo in her arms, Axl in Andala, and her grandmother walking into a great fog. Images charged at her, worrying her, taunting her.

Seeking to reach her.

To wake her out of this stupor.

To pull her back from the pit she was slowly sinking into.

‘He...’

Kalina lunged at her.

‘He... took... me,’ Jael said in a halting, quiet voice, so unlike her own. ‘He... kidnapped me.’ Lifting her head, she stared into the queen’s eyes, seeing her rage but also her pain.

‘Kidnapped you?’ Kalina’s shock made her still. Knife trembling in her hand, she simply stared. ‘But... why would he do such a thing? What are you talking about?’

Jael sensed the old man watching her with narrowing eyes.

He was Noor, she realised. The seer. Arras had told her about him.

‘After the tournament, I was... in the physician’s room, on a stretcher. The commander burst in. He... hit the physician, made me put on this uniform,’ Jael explained, standing straighter, strengthening her voice now, finding her path. She had as good as killed Sunni, but she couldn’t abandon her family. They needed her. ‘His son was there, and they threatened me. He said he would ransom me to my husband. That I would earn them a great prize.’

Kalina shook her head, incredulous. ‘You are lying!’ she spat, spinning to Noor. ‘She is lying! Tell me you see that! You must!’ Now the knife was pointed at the old seer’s face, though he remained as serene as ever.

And taking his time, aware of the queen’s shuddering arm and that jerking hand wielding its blade, he closed his eyes, making gentle humming sounds.

Inciting the queen to even more fury.

Opening his eyes, Noor stared into Jael’s, and stepping forward, he placed his right hand on her shoulder, reaching down to touch her hand with his left.

A surprised Jael heard his voice in her ears. He spoke rapidly and certainly, words that confused and shocked her. Her eyes remained open, her expression neutral.

His lips never moved.

‘Aleksander is waiting for you. He will show you what to do. Trust him.’

Releasing his hold, Noor turned to Kalina with a long sigh. ‘She speaks the truth, my queen. The commander took her. He had been making plans to escape for some time, believing the slave queen would bring him the gold he needed to start a new life with his son.’

Kalina stumbled backwards, the shock of Noor’s words striking her like a bolt of lightning. Her heart, once so full of hope for the future, shattered. ‘No, no,’ she mumbled, eyes sweeping the marble floor. ‘No, it is impossible.’ And now she looked around, first at Jael and then at Noor. ‘I do not believe you.’ Shaking her head, she repeated herself. ‘I do not believe you!’

Jael’s eyes widened, watching the queen bring up her knife. ‘No!’ she shouted, lunging at the seer. ‘No!’

The guards dragged Jael back, holding her tight.

Though her eyes remained on Noor, who held his ground, maintaining his stoic expression as the queen plunged her knife into his heart.

* * *

Nico Sikari sensed that no one on the ship trusted anything his father was saying. He hovered near Arras’ right elbow, wanting to show his support, though he doubted he’d be able to get a word in.

A bustling Kolarov Radic had pushed into the centre of the panicked huddle, equipped with decades of knowledge that he was attempting to share with Arras, who kept shaking his head.

‘The king left S’ala Nis twelve years ago,’ Arras explained, holding up a hand to try and stem Kolarov’s babble. ‘Though those ships you described?’ he said, eyeing Mattie. ‘Those are certainly his. Golden wolves? It’s what he called himself. The Golden Wolf of S’ala Nis.’

Kolarov had heard that, and he became quiet.

‘What are we doing?’ Bolder shouted from the steering oar, needing direction from someone. ‘What are we doing?’

‘The king had a dreamer when he left the isle,’ Arras warned. ‘A powerful woman by his side.’

The information floated around Eadmund like specks of dust that soon merged into a dense cloud, revealing no clear answers. He needed more information, though, and blinking, he stared at Arras. ‘But how do we know those ships are after us? Perhaps the king is simply going to visit his daughter?’

It was a possibility they clung to for a few moments until Mattie dropped a hammer and shattered all hope.

‘I have seen it. They will chase us!’

Kolarov fell against Arras, who grabbed his arm, pushing him upright. ‘We cannot go to Castala now!’ the explorer fretted. ‘We cannot!’

‘Why?’ Thorgils wanted to know.

‘The King of S’ala Nis has powerful friends among the merchant class. He was no ally to Silura’s king, though he always held great sway with the wealthy lords,’ Arras explained. ‘We’ll be walking into a trap if we go there. We must turn north. We have to turn!’ Panic vibrated at the edge of reason, for he didn’t want to imagine what danger he’d brought upon his son by escaping and upon Jael’s husband and friends, whose lives were now at risk too.

Finally, Eadmund’s vision cleared, a path emerging. ‘We’ll go to Hest. It’s closest. Karsten will help us.’

Thorgils thought so, too, though glancing over his shoulder, he saw that the line of wolf ships was edging closer.

Fearing that soon, they would hunt them down.

* * *

Kalina didn’t look at the dead seer, whose blood spread over the marble floor, pooling around him. His eyes stared up at her, wide open in death, yet somehow still serene.

Still brandishing her knife, now wet with Noor’s blood, she jerked it at Jael’s face. ‘You are lying,’ she hissed. ‘As he was lying.’ She stepped closer, one deliberate, slow step. ‘I am no seer, but I can smell it! Arras would never betray me. You did something to him. You bewitched him!’ Glancing down, she saw that her prisoner no longer wore the iron fetters. ‘Yes, of course, when your bonds were removed, your powers returned. Your powers returned, and you entrapped him. Made him a tool to help you escape. Him and his son! And now you will tell me where they are! What have you done with them?’

Jael didn’t move her gaze from the queen’s frantic face, though her attention remained on that shuddering knife, on the guards behind her and the slaves hovering nearby. Every threat now came into view.

Clarity returned.

In that moment, she knew she had to survive.

‘I did not trick or trap them. I swear to you,’ she said calmly.

Kalina twitched the blade near Jael’s right eye.

Though Jael didn’t blink. ‘I could help you. I can search for them. They were taking a ship, though I don’t know to where. But I can look for them.’

Kalina laughed. ‘You want to help me? You? You who took everything from me? You want to help?’ She released her grip on the knife, letting it fall into the bloody puddle, splattering the hem of her gown. Oblivious, she spun away, shoulders knotted, heart throbbing. ‘Take her to the pits!’ she ordered. ‘Bury her alive!’

Jael’s eyes bulged. ‘But I can help you! You can’t kill me. You said it yourself. You can’t kill me!’

Though her words had no impact on the queen, who swept out of the chamber, leaving the dead seer and the bellowing slave in her wake.

* * *

Since her escape from Tuura, Edela had been having visions of the two sisters and their mysterious bone tree, bursting with questions. Though now that she was here, sitting before one of the women, those questions were nowhere to be found.

She remembered Elmer and his crew down on Aggralaia’s beach. The old helmsman had been so fearful of these women that he had called them outside the gods.

She still didn’t understand what that meant.

What were you if you existed outside the gods?

Edela watched as the pretty young woman calmly moved around her cauldron, occasionally dropping in pinches of herbs before stirring with a long wooden spoon.

Lifting her eyes from the cauldron to the woman, Edela wondered how old she was. No more than thirty, she decided, seeing few lines on her pleasant face and no grey in her chestnut hair. It surprised her, for after her conversation with Elmer and her own dreams, she had been expecting a much older woman.

‘The thought of a hot drink may not seem appealing at first, not in the heat,’ the woman smiled, turning her heart-shaped face towards Edela. ‘Though this is my favourite tonic for a warm day. It is especially reviving for one who has experienced a journey as trying as yours.’

A nodding Edela brightened her smile. ‘Well, I can’t deny that I’m in need of some reviving. It has been quite an ordeal.’

‘And yet, here you are,’ the woman said, silent again as she finally unhooked the small cauldron, and using a striped cloth, carried it to a table where two pottery cups waited. Edela saw the intricate blue patterns encircling the cups, inhaling a delightful aroma that had her salivating.

‘I call it pira,’ the woman told her, and after pouring equal amounts of the boiling liquid into each cup, she left the cauldron on the table and topped up the cups with water from a jug. ‘My sister’s creation, I confess, though I have made it my own over the years.’ She brought the cups towards where Edela sat perched on the edge of a simple wooden chair, nervously fiddling with her fingers. ‘I do apologise for taking so long. After your journey, you must be eager to begin.’

Edela nodded, feeling parched, though she took the cup with trepidation. She wasn’t sure she could trust the woman, who hadn’t even provided her name. She had been welcomed into the tiny cottage, shown to the uncomfortable chair, which could certainly use a fur, and left in silence while her hostess prepared the sweet-smelling tonic.

And now, she wasn’t even sure she should drink it.

‘My name is Katalyne,’ the woman said, taking the chair opposite Edela and cradling her own cup in two elegant hands. ‘I should have introduced myself earlier. Do forgive my rudeness.’

A slightly more reassured Edela bobbed her head. ‘You know me, knew I would come here, so does that make you a dreamer?’

Katalyne stared at her, eyes sharpening. ‘Dreamer? No, I am something else entirely.’

A shiver shot up Edela’s spine, her smile faltering. ‘Something else?’

‘Do drink up,’ Katalyne urged. ‘I assure you it is quite delicious.’

* * *

Siggy was bored.

She decided to move out of the sun, heading to join Bertel, who had long since decamped for the shade. There were no boulders in the leafy spot he had chosen after careful consideration and much grumbling, though he had finally made himself comfortable on a log, where he’d set about sharpening his knives. He had collected three on his travels, wanting to feel useful, more like the man he had once been. That man had made a terrible mistake with life-changing consequences, but he was still in there somewhere, so surely he could be of some use?

‘I can help,’ Siggy offered, sitting down beside him. ‘Do you have another whetstone?’

Bertel shook his head. ‘But why not rest? Or see if you can find something to eat? I fear Edela will be all day in there.’ He frowned now, eyeing the tiny stone cottage in the distance. He couldn’t smell any smoke or see any rising from its thatched roof. He had hoped Edela’s hosts might bring out refreshments, though the door hadn’t opened.

Siggy shrugged, heading away from him. ‘What could they be talking about?’

‘Who knows? Some illuminating wonder! Some explanation for why we’ve ended up here, so far from Tuura.’

Siggy turned back. ‘Do you think you’ll ever go back? To Tuura?’

Laying his sharpened knife on the log beside him, Bertel felt weary. ‘I’m not sure there’s anything to go back to. Not now.’

‘Though the dreamers will still need help,’ Siggy reminded him, tipping back her head to take in the vast landscape of clouds. White and grey and fluffy, they surged across the sky like horses. She watched them bleed into each other, changing shapes, remembering how the elders had instructed her in the ways to bring dreams to her.

The clouds, they would say. It was all about the clouds.

Clouds hid the truth, they revealed the truth, and it was up to a dreamer to choose which path to follow. Which secret to uncover.

Closing her eyes, feeling the sun on her face, Siggy slowly turned around, twigs snapping beneath her boots. Bertel was quiet now, though she heard birds in the distance squawking loudly, as though they were screaming at each other. Wrinkling her nose, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

The trees appeared to part like curtains, and keeping perfectly still, Siggy watched as they revealed the most horrifying scene.

* * *

Edela finished the delicious tonic, leaving her empty cup on the low table between the two chairs where Katalyne’s cup was already waiting. ‘That was lovely,’ she smiled, feeling energised. ‘Most refreshing.’ The young woman looked pleased to hear it. She had busy eyes, though Edela couldn’t tell what colour they were. Dark blue, she thought, though sometimes they appeared almost black.

‘It is the lemon myrtle,’ Katalyne revealed. ‘There is something so deeply restorative about it. It calms the chaos and relaxes the mind. It grows like weeds in my garden.’

Edela clasped her hands in her lap, eyeing her. ‘I imagine my companions would like to try some themselves. Perhaps when I go, I may take them a cup?’

‘Of course! Yes. There will certainly be enough, though I fear they may be waiting some time yet, for we have much to discuss. Why you are here, why you have come, and how we can help one another. We must discuss it all before you go.’

Edela felt a sharp pain in her chest, another in her belly, and she blinked, eyes on her empty cup, belatedly remembering the seeress Govana. On Karalos, she had been a fool, walking into a trap so deadly it had nearly killed her.

And now?

Katalyne smiled at her, those busy eyes suddenly still, and Edela couldn’t stop shivering.

* * *

‘Why are you standing there? What are you doing?’ Bertel called, seeing a rigid Siggy staring into the trees. She hadn’t spoken in some time, and unused to such a prolonged silence from the girl, Bertel drew his full attention towards her.

She didn’t respond – not even a twitch to indicate that she’d heard him.

And feeling concerned, he placed his whetstone on the log and stood, heading towards her. ‘Siggy?’ he asked, touching her arm.

She jerked around, big eyes wide open, mouth ajar.

She looked terrified.

Grabbing her arms, Bertel tried to focus her. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Siggy? Siggy, look at me,’ he demanded. Then, getting no response, he shook her. ‘Can you hear me?’

She swallowed suddenly, the visions retreating, seeing Bertel’s worried face come into focus before her. ‘I... I... I had a dream, Bertel. I... I had a real dream! But it, it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a nightmare!’

2

A bruised and battered Jael had been hauled into a wagon, where she sat, restrained by two guards, while two more stood behind the driver, issuing orders.

The clattering noise as the wagon rumbled over cobblestones was so invasive that she was struggling to think.

What had Sunni said about the pits?

Sunni...

Dropping her head, Jael felt ripples of grief rising into great waves again. Why had she forced Sunni to leave the isle? She rubbed her eyes before remembering the blood. And turning over her hands, she saw her palms – dirty and blood-stained. Those hands had killed Otho Dimas and the queen’s spy, though they couldn’t save Sunni.

She had cradled the dead girl with her hands.

Dead because of her.

The wagon struck a rut, and Jael fell against one of the guards, who shoved her upright. Reminded of Arras, her mind drifted away from S’ala Nis, seeking the ship she had seen him on, though now she saw only water: a great empty sea, dark and cold. Fears rising for her husband and her friends, her attention drifted far away from her own precarious situation.

Her fetters were still off, though perhaps when they were returned someone would discover that she’d scratched through the symbols? Perhaps there wasn’t much time left to communicate with Eadmund? To warn him?

Waking herself up, she remembered what the queen had said.

Bury her alive.

And if that was the case, there wasn’t much time at all.

* * *

‘We have to go faster!’ a tense Eadmund growled, shoulders hunched, prowling behind Bolder Oysten, who ignored the king, shifting his eyes right, seeing the clouds rolling in.

The sky was rapidly darkening, just to add to the mountain of things that had gone wrong since Eadmund had swum into the tunnel to rescue his wife. Then, remembering that Eadmund had returned without his wife, Bolder blew out a frustrated breath. ‘I’m pushing her, the wind’s pushing her! She won’t let us down!’ he promised. Bone Hammer was like a loyal, big-hearted horse, though oftentimes, he knew you were simply no match for a faster horse.

He blinked stinging eyes, trying to shut away his fear that Eadmund was right.

That they were gradually being hauled in by the wolf ships.

Further down the deck, Kolarov and Thorgils had cornered Arras, desperate for more insight.

‘What will the queen do to Jael?’ Thorgils wanted to know.

‘And if that is the king, what will he do to us?’ Kolarov added, wiping a trembling hand over his wet scalp. He wasn’t sure if it was sea spray or light rain falling, but without any hair to mop it up, every drop of liquid landing on his head tended to trail into his worried eyes.

Arras feared for Jael, though he also feared what would happen when Jael’s husband found out that he was the one who had taken her from Tuura in the first place. He didn’t answer the two men, his eyes drifting towards the dreamer, who stood with a tall young man, watching him.

‘What is it?’ Fyn wondered, nudging Mattie. ‘Don’t you trust them? That man and his son?’ There was a woman too. Anika, he remembered. She had barely left the bow, where she’d remained alone, occasionally on her feet, vomiting into the ocean.

Mattie shrugged, hair in her eyes, blue dress and blue cloak tangling around her legs, though she didn’t have enough hands to counter the determined wind. ‘I can’t say! I’ve barely spoken to them!’

Fyn frowned at her, frustrated that she couldn’t tell him more. ‘Jael helped them. We need to remember that. She wouldn’t have saved them unless she’d wanted to.’

Mattie thought so, too, though that didn’t necessarily make sense of everything she’d seen and what she’d seen Arras do.

Arras turned away from the dreamer’s intense stare, trying to put Thorgils’ mind at ease. ‘The queen cannot kill Jael. I’ve never known why, but she told me so herself. That she had sworn an oath never to kill her. Hurt her, yes, but never kill her. The intention was that Jael would remain on the isle as a slave, die a slave. A very old slave. She will be safe.’ Though despite his assurances, doubt blossomed, for Kalina was not her father. Ronin Sardis was a man of singular vision and uncompromising discipline. He had never let emotion cloud his judgement as his daughter was certainly wont to do.

Arras’ words took the edge off Thorgils’ rising fears, though there was still their own safety to worry about. ‘And this king? What will he do to us?’

Arras stared at the big man with the wild red curls, choosing his words with care. ‘The king created S’ala Nis as a paradise for his friends and allies, for the wealthy. He intended to keep it private, secret, a hidden oasis. He forbade anyone from escaping. Anyone. What he will do...’ Guilt flashed in Arras’ eyes, and perhaps if he’d been alone, he would have jumped overboard and sacrificed himself, leaving Jael’s husband and friends to escape. But he couldn’t let anything happen to Nico and Anika.

He wouldn’t.

An unhappy Thorgils muttered under his breath, and with a final look at Kolarov, he turned away. ‘Well, we’d better hope that Bolder can get us out of here fast.’

* * *

‘We, I... we can’t stay, we, we... I saw!’

Siggy blurted out a flurry of words that made no sense to Bertel. Feeling panic rising and glancing over his shoulder at the little cottage in the distance, fearing that Edela had once again made a grave error of judgement, Bertel tried to coax some sense out of the girl. ‘You had a dream,’ he soothed, distractedly patting her shoulder, wishing he had more than a few old knives to hand. ‘And it showed you something. Something we must... escape from? We must escape here?’

Siggy started nodding, brown curls trembling around a noticeably paler face. Shaking off Bertel’s hand, she stumbled back, spinning around. And without a word, she hurried towards the edge of the cliff they had recently climbed.

‘Careful!’ Bertel warned, following close behind. ‘Siggy! You must be careful.’ Stopping beside her, he kept back from the cliff edge, and craning his neck, he tried to see what she might be looking at, though they were so far up that nothing registered. ‘What is it? What did you see?’

Siggy jerked around, body ablaze with a fiery terror that surged up her legs and arms, burning painfully in her chest. ‘I saw Elmer!’

‘Elmer?’ Bertel swallowed. ‘What about him?’

‘Down on the beach! They’re dead, Bertel! Elmer and his men... they’re all dead!’

* * *

‘It was our tree that drew you here, wasn’t it?’ Katalyne smiled warmly, though seeing the distress in Edela’s eyes, she frowned. ‘Is something wrong?’

Edela gulped down strange feelings. The pain in her chest felt as though it was coming from her heart. There was an increased rhythm, a discomfort that, once it had made itself known, had been swiftly aided by a sense of panic that told Edela something was wrong.

She tried to ignore it, for what could she do here? Now?

‘Oh, it’s nothing but a sudden weariness. I think I am simply old and tired,’ she admitted with a chuckle. ‘The climb to your cottage was certainly a challenge for someone of my advanced years.’

Katalyne laughed. ‘We ask a lot of our visitors, that is true. Though they always find the effort worthwhile. Especially when they see the tree.’

Edela’s eyes brightened. ‘Yes, I do long to see it myself. The glimpses I had in my dreams were enticing. A tree of... bones?’

‘It is a tree of history,’ Katalyne said as she stood. ‘The story of Varmyr from its very inception. Each bone records an important event in our history, and we are the keepers of them. From the very beginning, we have kept them safe here.’

Edela shuddered, Elmer’s words echoing back to her. ‘The very beginning?’

Katalyne headed through the modest kitchen area, aiming for another door. This was even smaller than the front door, painted a cheerful yellow. ‘You have waited a long time to see the tree, Edela, so please, come.’

That sharp pain in her heart returned and Edela gasped, turning away from Katalyne, remembering Bertel and Siggy. ‘I...’

‘Edela?’

And feeling herself turning towards the woman, almost against her will, all thoughts of her companions drifted away as Edela stood and followed Katalyne towards that yellow door.

* * *

‘Elmer? Is dead?’ Bertel’s eyes returned to the cottage. ‘Dead how?’ he asked, turning back to the terrified girl. ‘What exactly did you see? Raiders? A battle?’

Siggy shook her head, anxiously nibbling her lips before clamping them together.

Bertel frowned at her. ‘We have to stay safe and warn Edela, so you must tell me what you saw.’

‘Creatures!’ Siggy eventually blurted out. ‘There were these... creatures! They... tore the men with claws. They pulled them apart. They were just... pieces!’

A shocked Bertel hadn’t been expecting that, and clutching his throat, he swung around, squinting eyes taking in their rocky surrounds. Atop Aggralaia’s great cliff, there was no easy escape and no other visible path down to the beach except the one they had only recently climbed.

Trying to ignore the images Siggy’s words brought to mind, Bertel posed a more practical question. ‘And the ship?’

‘It was still there.’

‘Then we have to get Edela. We have to leave this place at once!’

Siggy trembled before him. ‘We can’t fly, Bertel! And we can’t go down to the beach. What if they’re still there?’

What if they’re coming up here, Bertel wondered, but didn’t say. ‘Go grab my knives! I’ll get Edela. She’ll know what to do!’

* * *

Jael didn’t know what she was going to do or what was even possible now.

Standing beside the wagon, restrained and waiting while the guards talked to a man, she surveyed the great rows of pits before her, unable to shoo a swarm of flies away from her face.

The graveyard of offerings to Venusta, Goddess of Souls, was a wasteland – dirt and gravel and dust. She saw freshly dug troughs and sweat-soaked slaves digging more. Enormous stone plinths were positioned to mark each row. There were mounds in the distance, beneath which lingered skeletons, stripped of every vestige of life.

The smell of death and decay hung over the pits like a foul blanket – a promise of what was to come.

Fear swelled in Jael’s chest, mingling with grief and guilt now.

Fear for herself.

She saw her father staring at the row of pyres – the loss of hope in his eyes.

The devastation.

Was this it?

The guard who’d been talking to the man in charge signalled for Jael to be brought forward.

She pulled back, eyes flaring. ‘No! You... I’m not supposed to be killed! The queen isn’t in her right mind! I am not supposed to be killed!’

No one appeared to understand her.

They started dragging her now.

Fighting back, Jael tried yanking her wrists out of their grip. One man hit her on the back of the head and she staggered, unbalanced, making it easier for them to pull her along. At least for a while.

Arching her back, she screamed, writhing and kicking, but with little purpose. She had no weapons; there were too many men.

More soldiers came; she counted at least twelve now.

Her head pounded, thoughts blaring like warning bells, seeking her attention.

The curly-haired man in charge was pointing to a tower in the distance, laughing, and suddenly, she could understand what he was saying. His lips moved with different words, though she heard his meaning. The tower under construction by the temple was proving so challenging that his men were having to dig faster. Soon he feared they would need to find a new island to bury all the dead slaves. He thought they should just toss them into the sea for Herash’s serpents to chew on.

He kept laughing, some of the guards with him.

She realised she could understand them too.

‘This is the bitch who killed Otho.’

‘Otho? Why? How?’

‘She was a queen. A warrior. She fought in the Arena, though the commander defeated her. Defeated her, then tried to escape with her. And after he could’ve been a consort? Husband to the queen?’

The foreman laughed. ‘You know how many of her husbands I’ve thrown in here? Arras Sikari wasn’t wrong to see where that path would lead.’

And though it was unwise to joke about the queen, a few of the guards smirked, one chuckling.

Fear started freezing Jael’s thoughts.

There was a path out of here. She just had to find it.

The heat of the afternoon sun was oppressive. Squinting, she couldn’t see, couldn’t think.

‘Buried alive, you say?’ the foreman grinned, turning to look at Jael. ‘She looks half-dead already, but if the queen commands it...’ He motioned towards a series of wooden hatches sitting atop the ground.

The smell intensified, dark clouds of flies hovering above them.

‘No!’ Jael dug her boots in the dirt, seeking purchase, though she was soon overpowered, pinched and squeezed, and eventually, kicked forward. One of the guards pulled her hair, wrapping it around his hand, bringing her close as he hissed in her ear. She headbutted him, kicking him in the balls, though she was quickly dragged away.

Laughing now, the ever-jovial foreman chose a hatch, and holding a hand over his mouth and nose, he slid an iron bar out of the locking mechanism. Slotting it into a hook, he pulled it open. Looking down, he scanned the small barrel-like hole and nodded. ‘This will do. Just cleared it out. He must’ve died overnight.’ Winking at Jael, he motioned with a dirty hand. ‘Drop her in then!’

Jael’s eyes widened; she was surrounded.

The man she’d spat at stepped forward, grabbing her by the tunic. ‘You will suffocate. You will end your life in this small hole. A dead queen tossed away like rubbish.’ He spoke the common tongue to her, knowing she was Brekkan. ‘Not even your gods can save you now, bitch.’

Jael feared he was right, though as she was hauled towards the open hole, she remembered the old seer and what he’d told her. He had died with acceptance, with dignity. He had saved his last words for her.

But now?

Was it too late?

Jael tried to turn, to hold her ground.

But it was hopeless.

And soon, she was falling.

* * *

In his panic, Bertel didn’t see the hole in the ground, and falling into it, he sprawled in front of the cottage door. Scrambling back to his feet, he hammered away at the little door, glancing over his shoulder at Siggy, who had scooped up his knives and whetstone and was running towards him.

Turning back to the door, Bertel remembered the giant seeress on Karalos, and his heart raced. ‘Edela!’ he called, banging again, then too impatient to wait another moment, he grabbed the old iron handle in the centre of the door. It squeaked and groaned but eventually turned. Pushing open the door, confronted with an eerie silence, he immediately felt on edge. ‘Edela?’

The cottage was almost bare.

There was scant furniture to be seen: a small table with two chairs, a wooden bench pushed against a row of shelves, two beds, and two more chairs.

Two fire pits scraped clean.

And no Edela.

Siggy pushed past a stunned Bertel, and eyes bulging, she turned around in horror. ‘But... but... where are they? Where’s Edela? They didn’t come out, did they? We were watching.’

Bertel nodded. ‘We were, and no, they didn’t.’ His thoughts slowed, sinking into thick, unctuous mud. He could find no clarity of thought. No sense at all. ‘There’s only one door.’

Siggy spun around again, surveying the cottage. ‘Look!’ And moving to the table, she ran a finger over it, scooping up a thick line of dust. ‘No one’s been here in a long time.’

Bertel’s shiver was explosive. ‘Edela’s gone! She’s... gone. But where?’

* * *

‘Where have they gone? Can you see them?’ Bolder called, wanting to know where the wolf ships were. He was thirsty, throat strained from constant yelling. He was starting to lose his voice too. ‘Thorgils! Where the fuck are they?’

Clouds had dropped from the sky like leaden curtains, masking their pursuers, though everyone crowded the stern, trying to catch a glimpse of them.

‘Still there!’ Thorgils told him. ‘Getting closer!’

Bolder cursed, eyes snapping to Eadmund, who had taken to striding up and down the ship, as though by moving himself, he could push Bone Hammer on. He shook his head, needing to see, shoulders burning, hands locked around the steering oar. ‘Talk to the dreamer!’ he urged. ‘What can she see? What will happen?’

Eadmund nodded, cloak snapping as he turned, heading for where Mattie sat, backed into the starboard gunwale, clutching Otter. Fyn and Kolarov stood over her, the explorer clinging to the younger man as the wind intensified, though they were both swaying.

Otter miaowed and Mattie opened her eyes, immediately plonking the cat on the deck and hurrying to her feet. Bone Hammer tilted, and she fell against Fyn. ‘My lord?’ she said, sensing Eadmund’s need of her.

‘Bolder wants to know what you’ve seen. Anything?’

Mattie had been sitting with her eyes closed for some time, trying to find a path to safety, though nothing had emerged from the darkness of her mind. She hadn’t been able to shut out the keening wind, the muttering crew and the bellowing helmsman, or her fear that she was destined to die at sea. Glancing at Otter, she shook her head. ‘Nothing at all. Which isn’t as bad as it sounds,’ she added with a measure of reassurance. ‘I see no threat.’

A frantic Kolarov snorted. ‘You hardly need to see what is already apparent to those of us riding this doomed coffin! Oh no, for despite those murderous-looking clouds, the threat is painted all too vividly!’

Eadmund grabbed his arm. ‘Get hold of yourself, man! We don’t survive this unless we’re united and calm, so keep your fears to yourself, Kolarov. If you want to see your home again, then help. Do what you can to help!’

‘There!’ someone shouted over the roaring wind, and every head turned, seeing a row of ships surging through the clouds.

‘They’re closer!’ Thorgils warned, heading for Bolder with a shaking head.

‘Arrows! Bows!’ Eadmund ordered. ‘Let’s prepare!’ He hadn’t thought it would come to this, or at least, he’d certainly hoped it wouldn’t. Though it was obvious now that the wolf ships would catch them before long. They were faster, sleeker. They cut through the waves like blades – a different class of ship altogether – and Eadmund feared there was nothing Bolder could do to make Bone Hammer outrun them.

‘How many days away is Hest?’ Fyn wondered.

‘Too many,’ Kolarov muttered. ‘Far too many to help us. We could try for Zagora, though I fear that fickle queen’s loyalties. Her family has never been a friend to Osterland.’ He turned to the dreamer. ‘But you, my dear. You have the power to save us!’

No one spoke as Bolder’s crew ran to uncover their store of bows and arrows, bringing them back to the mast.

‘Me?’ A confused Mattie shook her head, ears throbbing with cold, buzzing with fear. ‘I can’t make us go faster! I’m not the wind!’ Hazel eyes bulging indignantly, she glared at Kolarov.

‘But dreamers are chosen by the gods!’ Kolarov declared. ‘They have gifted you powers almost as great as their own. Not merely to see and hear the unspoken, the unlived, but to do. You can do a great many things, Mattie. It is in you, waiting for moments such as this, where all your hopes and dreams, your very life is on the line!’

Mattie squirmed, not wanting this put on her. Not the survival of an entire crew. Not the life of Jael Furyck, who needed them to mount another rescue attempt. Quickly nauseous, she shook her head. ‘I’m not that sort of dreamer!’ she insisted angrily. ‘I haven’t, I didn’t... I didn’t train to be that sort of dreamer! You can’t simply do what you don’t know! It’s impossible!’

Eadmund stared at the dreamer, seeing fear and doubt shining in her big eyes. ‘You’re wrong, Mattie. Those gifts you have are like weapons. You were born with a belt full of them and the talent to wield them too. You just need to believe in yourself. Trust that you will know what to do at the right time.’ And then he was gone, turning to organise Bolder’s men – his men now. They were all his men to care for. He saw the two men they’d rescued coming to join him. ‘Soon they’ll be in range.’

Arras picked up two bows, handing one to Nico. ‘You’re risking your lives for us. Least we can do is risk ours for you.’

Eadmund nodded, resisting the urge to pick up a bow himself; it was better if he took charge of the archers. He inclined his head for Fyn to grab one himself.

Thorgils joined them. ‘I’ll test the range,’ he decided, selecting one of the remaining two bows.

‘Just the one,’ Eadmund warned, seeing the meagre pile of arrows the crew had collected. ‘We can’t afford to waste any.’

Thorgils turned for the stern.

‘Eyes open!’ Eadmund called after him. ‘Go with him,’ he told Fyn. ‘Keep a watch. If we’re trying for the range, you can be sure they’ll be trying too.’

A sneezing Mattie bent down to pick up Otter, seeing Kolarov holding out his arms.

‘Let me take him, my dear. I will look after him for you.’ She backed away, holding Otter tightly. ‘I’ve seen what dreamers can do, how powerful they can be. Their minds! Your mind, Mattie. You just have to open it up and the impossible will quickly become possible!’ He stared imploringly at the dreamer clutching her cat until, eventually, she loosened her hold on Otter, and he scooped him into his arms. ‘We’ll head to the bow, out of the way, for I fear things are about to get rather messy!’

Mattie’s lips parted, moving, though she couldn’t find any words. She stared at Otter, remembering the last morning she’d seen her husband. She could still feel his cold lips on hers; the soft bristles of his beard brushing her cheek; the look in his eyes that silently conveyed how much he regretted leaving their warm cottage for the bitter sea.

He would return, he’d promised.

To her.

He would return, and they would be together again.

They would have a child, a house of children and animals and laughter. She would not be alone for long.

Tears stung her eyes, the wind tormenting her, and she blinked, turning away from Kolarov towards Eadmund Skalleson, who was trying to save them all.

Taking a deep breath, she realised that it was time to stop thinking, to stop fretting and worrying and doubting.

There was no time for any of it.

If they were going to escape the wolf ships and return to save Jael Furyck, she was going to have to become the dreamer the gods had chosen her to be.

3

Katalyne led Edela into the most wondrous garden.

Fenced by pale stone walls taller than either woman, it was dominated by the magnificent bone tree, whose ivory boughs reached from one side of the garden to the other, shimmering in the sun.

She heard bees buzzing and birds singing in smaller trees dotted around the garden, though she saw none in the bone tree itself. Sweet scents of rose and jasmine wafted towards her, the verdant greenery soothing her as she stepped on spongy grass with bright eyes, taking everything in.

Though despite the wonders of Katalyne’s garden and the many questions flooding Edela’s mind, she continued to look over her shoulder, worrying about Bertel and Siggy.

‘Is something wrong?’ Katalyne wondered as she watched the old woman’s eyes dart towards the cottage again.

‘It is my... companions,’ Edela explained, not wanting to draw attention to her discomfort, though she still felt physically strange. ‘They’ll be so hot and tired out there. I don’t wish to keep them long.’

‘Though there is a shaded copse and a well nearby. I’m sure they’ll enjoy the rest and peace after such an arduous time.’

Edela’s shoulders dropped as she released her hold on that worry. ‘Of course. I’m being silly. Bertel’s certainly old enough to look after them both.’

‘As long as you are sure? We can go back at any time.’

‘No, no, I came to see the tree. And to meet you, of course. It would be rather foolish to give up now.’

‘Good, then come, and we will continue,’ Katalyne purred, holding out a hand.

Touching it, Edela felt an odd chill in that flesh, though she smiled as she followed the woman towards the tree.

Upon reaching it, she tipped back her head to take in the breathtaking sight. Its trunk was as tall as a mast, its leaves made of glistening bone. It was exactly as she had seen it in her dreams.

‘The tree led us here,’ Katalyne explained, stroking its smooth alabaster trunk. ‘To Aggralaia. My sister and I. We shared a dream of what it was, of what it could one day be and what we were born to do. We are twins, you see. Two bodies but one mind.’

An intrigued Edela wondered where Katalyne’s sister was, though she didn’t want to interrupt.

‘Please, don’t be shy. You may touch her.’

‘Her?’

‘Lystora. She is a tree of bones to some but a living creature to those of us who can see beyond the shells we hide in.’

Edela didn’t hesitate. She had been drawn to the tree like a bee to pollen, and now that she was here, before it, eyes on its towering majesty, she felt a powerful compulsion to touch its trunk. Reaching for it with both hands, she soon lifted one higher, aiming for a leaf.

‘No!’ Katalyne snapped, moving towards her. ‘Not the bones! Forgive me, I should have explained. Some are thousands of years old. Please, there is time for that.’ Turning, she inclined her head to a circle of stools carved from the familiar white stone Edela had seen on her travels around the archipelago. ‘Let us sit, and when you have answered my questions, I shall allow you to retrieve a bone.’

* * *

Standing in the empty cottage, a panicked Bertel Knutson was dripping with sweat. He felt it trickling down his back, beading across his forehead, and mopping it out of his rapidly blinking eyes, he tried to compose himself for Siggy, who trembled before him.

Taking hold of her shoulders, he sought to focus them both. ‘We can’t help Edela. Not yet.’

It was true but shocking to hear, and Siggy gulped.

‘She would tell us the same. We have to save ourselves first. We cannot think to rescue her while we are in danger, so tell me about these creatures. I... you’ve never had a dream before. Is that right? And now, you think this vision was real? I’m not sure we should tie ourselves in knots without some proof.’

Siggy took no offence, for she was beginning to fear she’d imagined everything she’d seen. That it had simply been boredom leading her mind on an adventure, the way it had as a child, conjuring up all sorts of fantasies that would eventually lead to terrifying nightmares. She glanced around the cottage, eyes on that tiny front door. ‘We have to go back to the beach.’

A nodding Bertel scoured the cottage, peeking under a bed. He pulled out a small wooden box, hoping to find something useful, though it was empty. It was as though the occupants had packed up and moved away.

‘We’ll go to the beach,’ he echoed, standing up with a grimace, tension tightening every muscle. ‘See for ourselves.’

Siggy waited for him to lead the way out of the cottage, and glancing over her shoulder, wondering what had happened to Edela, she headed through the door, quietly closing it behind her.

* * *

Rain came down in big icy drops; it felt like being struck by stones.

The noise was thunderous, though sheltering under a fur, a grimacing Kolarov did wonder if he heard thunder too. It was hard to make out much. Eadmund was shouting at Bolder, who was rasping back, both men starting to lose their voices. Clutching Otter and sitting next to the terrified woman they’d rescued from S’ala Nis, Kolarov tried offering some reassurance. ‘We have a king protecting us. A king! And he won’t let us falter now. His wife is back on the isle. He must survive to return to her!’

A tearful Anika nibbled wet lips, hunched under her own fur, trying to keep out the worst of the pounding rain. She kept searching for a glimpse of Nico, though in the darkening gloom, it was hard to make him out. Those with bows had made a wall across the stern in preparation for what might come, and from the raised voices of the crew and helmsman, Anika feared that what might come was nearly here.

‘And you are from Brekka?’ Kolarov asked as though they had encountered one another in a market, chatting over twists of spice and pots of honey. ‘Where in Brekka?’

‘North. Past Andala. A village called Folen.’

Kolarov nodded blankly, not knowing it. ‘And you were taken from there? By slavers?’

Anika shook her head. ‘I left with my father. He carved ivory figurines and combs. Drinking cups too. He thought to trade in the Fire Lands. He’d tried it once and brought back many wonderful things, so I begged him to take me with him. I wanted an... adventure.’

Her body was soon heaving with sobs, leaving Kolarov regretting that he’d asked. ‘Well, I –’

The first arrow struck one of the archers, flinging him backwards, head slamming on the deck with a sickening crack.

Arras jerked around, seeing Nico staring at the man in horror. The man who, only moments ago, had been standing next to him.

‘Fire!’ Eadmund shouted, unable to offer any guidance, for their enemy was once again masked by the rumbling storm clouds. ‘Someone else grab that bow!’

The fallen man had been hit in the chest.

He wasn’t moving.

Bone Hammer’s archers silently released a volley of arrows, listening, hoping they might land true. Though over the rush of waves and the drumming rain, it was impossible to tell whether the arrows had landed in the sea or hit a target.

Then a shout.

Eadmund turned, catching Thorgils’ eye. ‘Shields!’ he called, turning further to find Bolder. ‘We need to move! Push into the clouds!’

Bolder leaned on the steering oar, hoping the wind would drive Bone Hammer out of the range of those archers.

The enormous raindrops soon turned into hail, pummelling the sodden crew and hitting the deck with real force.

More arrows scythed through the sinking clouds, one striking the mast, another hitting one of Bolder’s men. He cried out in surprise, dropping his bow and grabbing his shoulder. Staggering, he backed out of the wall.

Eadmund thought about the little wooden houses Jael had built on their ships in Oss. She’d been so bullish about her plan, ignoring the derisive looks and muttered doubts, especially from the resistant old helmsmen. But those wooden houses had saved their lives and those of countless men.

Here on Bone Hammer, they only had shields.

‘Mattie! Grab a shield!’ he snapped, seeing the dreamer rising unsteadily to her feet. ‘Take a shield and head to the bow!’ Spinning back to the archers, he sent another man to pick up the dropped bow.

Bending down in search of a shield, the crew’s fears flooded Mattie’s mind. She heard them praying to their gods. They wanted to live. To see their homes and families and live.

‘Arrows!’ she called, an intense whistle drilling into her ears. It didn’t seem as though anyone on board had heard the warning. And reaching for the shield rack, she tugged out a round wooden shield made of faded blue boards, and crouching down, she swung it over her head.

One of the arrows struck it. The rest hit the deck, a few splashing into the sea.

Taking down the shield, Mattie stared at the arrow in horror.

Dropping his own shield, Eadmund looked back at her in surprise. ‘You can hear the arrows?’

She nodded, feeling equally shocked. ‘Yes, I can hear them coming.’

* * *

The more time she spent in the walled garden, the more Edela’s thoughts raced around her mind like panicking children.

She didn’t trust Katalyne, she didn’t know what to make of her, so what could she offer that wouldn’t reveal something she needed to keep to herself?

‘Perhaps begin by telling me why you left Tuura behind? To have come so far without your family? You must have been driven by a purpose? A reason?’

Edela nodded. ‘I was... sent away.’ Katalyne twitched, and though it was barely perceptible, Edela became even more reticent, seeking to clarify her words. ‘I... had a vision. I saw trouble coming to Tuura, I saw the danger, so I took the girls and Bertel, and I... escaped.’

Katalyne leaned forward. ‘You had a vision?’

‘I did. The urgency of our departure made sense, but then? Well, I soon discovered that I couldn’t simply return to Tuura, to Osterland at all, for I was being hunted. Perhaps I still am?’

‘And you seek to uncover your enemy? Is that why you came here? Someone told you to come?’

Edela glanced over her shoulder at the little stone cottage, neck tingling. She looked back at Katalyne, who remained a statue before her.

‘I can help you, Edela. Lystora can help you. We will, but only if you open yourself to us. A closed door reveals no secrets, and perhaps that is your intention, though it also prevents insight. Lystora’s leaves are yours for the taking, but first, you must tell me the truth.’

Edela sensed that Katalyne was fishing for one answer in particular. She readjusted herself on the stool, slipping her right hand under her leg.

Sitting on it.

‘I do want to help you,’ Katalyne promised, reaching out to touch Edela’s left hand. ‘I have helped many...’ Her words trailed off as she stared intently into the dreamer’s blue eyes.

So sharp and wary.

She squeezed that old hand, seeing inky veins bulge beneath thin, pale skin.

Edela remained perfectly still, holding her breath. ‘For a price?’

‘Well, yes, dear Edela. Here? On this little island with just my sister for company? There are things we need for our very survival. Important things. Knowledge...’

The pressure on her hand became so intensely painful it brought tears to Edela’s eyes.

The grip wasn’t human.

Icy and stone-like, it wasn’t human at all.

Panic rising, she eyed the tree.

‘Though the price is merely a simple answer to a simple question. Tell me what I need to know, and you may avail yourself of Lystora’s wisdom and then return to your friends.’

‘And what do you wish to know?’

‘Oh, it is nothing to fear!’ Katalyne tittered, though her strange eyes were unblinking, her pressure on Edela’s hand unflinching. ‘Nothing that would grieve you to reveal, I’m sure. I only want to know who sent you away from Tuura. Who that vision was from?’

Edela sought to look bemused rather than concerned.

Though she was desperately concerned.

She kept her eyes on Katalyne, resisting the urge to peer over her shoulder at the door.

Where was Katalyne’s sister?

The tree seemed to shudder, or perhaps it was a shimmer of light escaping a bank of clouds, now tinged with red.

Edela swallowed a great lump of tension, sweat beading along her upper lip. ‘Who sent me? But I told you, I had a vision, I saw the danger in the fort. It was me.’

Flinging away the old woman’s hand, Katalyne stood with a snarl, towering over her.

Edela saw strange things as she stared up at the woman now: hints of age on that previously flawless young face, as though her skin was rippling like waves in the sand.

And rage.

The woman’s eyes had darkened further, now seething like a stormy sea.

‘That is untrue!’ Katalyne growled, teeth bared. ‘You lie!’

‘If you are so certain I’m lying, please, read my thoughts,’ Edela dared, rising to her own feet, holding her ground against this woman or creature, who appeared to have grown in size. The pain in her heart returned in force, accompanied now by a tightness in her throat that threatened to steal her breath. Though pushing back her shoulders, she revealed no outward sign of discomfort.

‘You were sent from Tuura, from Osterland, by someone who knew what was planned! Someone who knew what would unfold! Someone who sought to save the Furycks!’

Edela couldn’t hide her surprise, though she quickly recovered, strengthening the protections around her mind, sensing Katalyne trying to pry open those defenses now. Pain throbbed at her temples, sweat trailing down her forehead, settling in her eyebrows.

‘You will tell me who it was! Who warned you of what would come!’

The woman’s voice roared around the garden like a storm, the reddish clouds hovering above it sweeping low, whirling around the tree, which shuddered again, its ivory trunk turning a dull ashy colour.

‘I have told you!’ Edela roared back. ‘I had a vision! In the forest, I had a vision. I saw the danger coming. I did! It was me!’ She sensed Katalyne’s magic coming like a vibration in the air, like a flap of wings, and swaying back, she flung out both hands as sparks from the woman’s palms struck her own.

And crying out in agony, Edela dropped to her knees.

* * *

Bertel was breathless, his tunic stuck to his back as he finally reached the bottom of the long trail of steps carved into the cliff.

A hesitant Siggy waited for him, holding her breath.

She wasn’t sure how she felt.

If she’d had a real vision, a dream, then she truly was a dreamer.

But if what she’d seen was real, then Elmer Falson and his crew were dead.

Bertel peered at her, seeing the terror in her blinking eyes. Unsheathing one of his knives, he offered her the plain wooden haft. ‘It’s not much, it won’t do much, but it’s always better to have an option. You get behind me, though. And stay close. I’ll lead the way.’

Siggy stumbled into a shallow hole as she stepped down onto the sand.

‘Ship’s still there!’ Bertel called, moving ahead. Then, lowering his voice, he turned back to her. ‘That’s something.’

‘I saw it was still there. I told you,’ she reminded him.

‘I can’t hear anyone,’ Bertel murmured. Eyeing the trees where they’d collected wood for the fire, he motioned for Siggy to head that way. ‘Let’s get under cover. Out of the sun would be good too.’ He attempted to sound calm, though he feared the girl’s gift had finally announced itself and that an arrogant Edela had led them into certain danger once more. The foolish woman, he scolded, muttering to himself.

What had she done?

* * *

Edela’s teeth were gritted as she struggled back to her feet, knowing she was better suited to making teas than battling malevolent creatures.

Surely such things were Jael’s job?

Her tingling hands reminded her of Furia and the symbols she had discreetly marked on her palms before she’d ventured up that long chain of steps. And now she pushed her hands forward again, straightening her spine.

Katalyne blinked in horror at those symbols. ‘What are you?’ she hissed, her face distorting more obviously now.

Edela saw gums where once there had been teeth. Small ears became great drooping lobes, a delicate snub nose thickened into a hooked beak and hair that had been lush and chestnut turned wiry and grey.

There was no time to wonder what was going on. With the sky darkening and lightning tearing through those odd red clouds, Edela knew she had to act.

Katalyne tried again to break through.

Edela felt a burst of heat strike her ankles, her elbows burned, though she focused on her own symbols, weaving them together like threads on a tapestry. And hastily making a new symbol, she strengthened it with a powerful chant. It was like flint to tinder, and soon, she felt the symbol ignite inside her.

Katalyne lashed out with an arm and a curse, sending the old woman flying, crashing into the tree. It shook, bony leaves knocking together. It reminded a dazed Edela of wind chimes, and she felt wistful for her home and family.

They were in danger.

She had been sent away to help them because they were in danger.

And somewhere on the island, she feared that Bertel and Siggy were in danger too.

Edela felt the icy tree trunk behind her as she struggled back to her feet, watching Katalyne striding towards her, long arms sweeping from side to side. Edela’s heart stuttered, strained breaths burning her lungs. She tasted blood and spitting on a hand, she pressed her palms together before lifting them to her mouth and blowing out a powerful breath. Flinging out her arms, she sent a shower of blood spraying over Katalyne.

The woman screamed, raising her hands in vain, unable to prevent the great wave of it striking her. Edela had infused her blood with a dark curse, and now it struck Katalyne, binding to her.

She could not escape it.

Moving forward, hands extended once again, ignoring every ache and pain, the red storm howling above her head, Edela now chanted her curse upon the creature. For now, she truly was a creature, she saw, as Katalyne’s human form degraded further until she was little more than a fleshy, bent skeleton. Like a dragur. As though she had been raised from the dead.

‘No!’ Katalyne pleaded, falling onto her side and curling into a ball. ‘No! You... you cannot kill me –’

‘Kill you? I have trapped you, and you will give me answers! Why did you bring me here? What are you?’ Edela could barely see the creature now. The red sky was darkening to night, her dress snapping around her ankles, wisps of hair in her eyes, her mouth. ‘Who are you?’ she repeated as the angry wind swirled, nearly knocking her over.

Though Katalyne didn’t answer.

She lay in that ball, trapped by Edela’s binding spell, eyes closed tight.

And despite the noise and the effort it took to remain on her feet, Edela soon realised that Katalyne was chanting, gripping an amulet around her neck. She closed her own eyes, doubling down on the binding spell. Then, hearing a shriek and seeing a flash of white light, she was blown off her feet, tumbling back across the garden all the way to the cottage.

4

Crashing over swelling waves, Bone Hammer’s crew became nauseous, quickly running low on arrows.

‘Hold fire!’ Eadmund ordered, gripping the shield rack.

Bolder was working the steering oar, trying to keep their enemies guessing, though it mostly kept his own crew guessing. More than one man had lost his balance, ending up red-faced on his knees in the bilge water.

Another two men had been injured by arrows, helped to the bow, where Anika worked to stitch them up with Kolarov’s clumsy assistance.

Mattie had been shouting warnings, which had saved many more injuries. As soon as she heard the whistle in her ears, she would call out, and the men would raise their shields, holding a defensive position. And when the danger had passed, they would resume their own attack.

Though they were one ship against nine.

Or seven.

They hadn’t counted nine wolf ships in some time.

Eadmund was growing tired. It had been only hours, yet it felt like days since the terrifying swim into the tunnel and the heartbreaking departure without Jael. He saw glimpses of her in their bed, cuddling their children and dogs. She was laughing, smiling.

She was his.

He had to keep alert, he had to keep everyone alive.

He had to get back to her.

‘Arrows!’ Mattie called, raising her shield. A stream of arrows burst through the storm clouds, two piercing Bone Hammer’s sail, another striking the bow near Kolarov, who had been bending over an injured man.

He yelped in surprise, throwing himself on top of the man.

‘They’re close!’ Arras warned, eyes sweeping past a worried-looking Nico to where Eadmund Skalleson emerged from behind his shield. ‘We need a plan!’

Eadmund was all ears. He moved towards the man. ‘You have one?’

Arras nodded. ‘No more arrows. We just defend.’

‘Against nine ships?’

‘Seven. I only see seven now.’

Fyn left them arguing, returning to Mattie, who looked unsteady on her feet. ‘Are you alright?’

She was working hard not to vomit. The deck kept tilting; every lurch as the waves rolled beneath Bone Hammer’s hull felt like a mirror of what was happening in her stomach. Wrinkling her nose, she shifted her eyes, willing Fyn Gallas on his way. Though he remained, watching as those eyes now widened in horror.

‘What?’

‘Move!’ Mattie stumbled away from him, pushing past those men, all taller and bigger than she was, though just as wet and scared. She slipped, heart thumping an urgent rhythm in her ears.

Thump, thump, thump.

Otter miaowed.

Whistle.

Thump, thump, thump.

Pulling herself to her feet, Mattie slid past Eadmund, who turned to her, expecting her to speak. Though lips clamped shut, she hurried on, running past Arras and Nico to where Thorgils stood in the first row of archers, and now she ducked under his arm, eyes on the stern. Head up, neck extended, she flung her arms towards the sky.

There were no voices, no noises, no words.

She saw a symbol. Unblinking eyes blurring with rain, wind searing her face, Mattie Bilso took in every aspect of that symbol. And now, arms pushing so high that she thought they would separate from her shoulders, face tilted back, washed in rain, she saw a dark wave of arrows coming.

And then nothing.

Mattie held those arrows in the sky. Hands splayed and trembling, she stopped them midair.

They didn’t move.

Fingers stiff as iron nails, hands burning, bile swilling in her mouth, Mattie felt her legs shaking as though the weight of the arrows was bearing down upon her, pushing her back.

Heart skipping wildly now, her vision darkened.

Otter miaowed. She focused again.

Tightening her grip.

Her fingers became claws, folding in towards her palms.

Every arrow. She wanted every single arrow. She would draw them all to her. Not just those hovering in the air, threatening Bone Hammer and her crew. She wanted every arrow on every one of those wolf ships.

Closing her eyes, she sought them out, lifting them into the air, joining that great storm cloud of arrows.

And now, limbs strengthening, balance steady, eyes clearing again, she threw down her arms, sending every single arrow into the sea.

* * *

Bertel and Siggy crept into the trees, forcing their way through until they were stopped by a dense tangle of branches. The trees were similar to the pines of Osterland, with a fresh scent and bristly leaves, poking them as they tried to move further.

‘There!’ Siggy hissed in horror. ‘See!’

Bertel squinted through the branches, unsure of what he was seeing. The sand rose ahead of them, tiny grains swept around by a light breeze. He saw no men standing as he had hoped, though there certainly appeared to be something scattered across the sand.

‘People,’ Siggy told him, clasping his arm. ‘Bits of people!’

Bertel didn’t want to believe her. ‘Keep a firm hold of that knife,’ he whispered. ‘And quiet. You’re too loud.’ He crept closer, pushing branches out of his path, wanting confirmation of Siggy’s fears. And his own.

Seeing a head, he jerked to a stop, recognising the face of Elmer Falson lying in the sand: mouth wrenched open, a bloody hole where his ear should have been. There was no sign of the rest of his body. Not anywhere Bertel could see.

Hand over his mouth, he turned to Siggy, urging her back into the trees.

‘What? What did you see?’

Bertel didn’t answer. He kept pushing Siggy, head swivelling, searching for threats. They needed to be somewhere less exposed. The trees were hardly that, but he wanted a solid surface at his back. Somewhere to defend from.

Spotting a pair of enormous boulders, Bertel hurried Siggy towards them. And when they arrived, he pushed her down behind them. ‘It was Elmer,’ he panted. ‘I saw Elmer. Or, at least, his head.’

Siggy covered her mouth, eyes bulging over her hand.

‘You had a dream,’ he whispered breathlessly. ‘Which means that you’re a real dreamer, Siggy, so I need your help. We all do. You have to tell me everything you saw. What it was that did this. And Edela. What can you see of Edela?’

Siggy was too stunned to speak. A real dreamer?

Tears flooded her eyes as she shuddered before him.

Lifting her chin, Bertel peered at her, trying to focus the girl. ‘We’ve all done brave things on this journey, haven’t we? To keep alive, to stay together? But we can’t stop now. We must get back up that cliff and find a way to Edela. So tell me, what were these creatures, and where did they go?’

* * *

Fyn had hold of Mattie’s arm, though he didn’t know what to do with her.

She wasn’t moving, wasn’t speaking.

After she’d drawn those arrows from the sky and the wolf ships, sending them into the sea, she’d collapsed to the deck in a heap. He’d pulled her to her feet, and now she leaned against him, limp and quiet, eyes fluttering.

‘Bring her here, Fyn! Bring her here!’ Kolarov was bellowing, heading for his cabinet for more of his precious jara, hoping to revive the dreamer once again.

Thorgils took Mattie’s other side, leaving Eadmund to try and wrap his head around what had just happened.

A stunned-looking Arras arrived with Nico. He was as confused as everyone else, though his mind soon surged ahead. ‘I’ll talk to your helmsman. We must try to lose them.’ Hearing thunder surging closer, seeing the clouds turning black, he knew it wouldn’t be long before the storm was upon them.

Eadmund nodded, turning away from the two men as they moved down the watery deck towards Bolder. He saw a ship in the distance, just making out its wolf head prow, fearing they had gained on them.

‘Here, here,’ Kolarov fussed, urging Fyn and Thorgils to ease the dreamer down onto a chest he had just covered in a damp fur. ‘Sit down, Mattie, and I’ll give you a little of this.’

Having finished stitching the two wounded men, Anika helpfully brought over Otter, who seemed to awaken a flicker of interest in Mattie. Sitting on the chest, she wrapped a trembling arm around her cat. Her eyes had no focus, though, until Kolarov tipped a few drops of jara into her mouth. And suddenly, everything sharpened, and she cried out, rising off the chest with a gasp.

‘What is that stuff?’ Thorgils wondered with a scowl. ‘Sounds like you’re poisoning the woman!’

Ignoring him, Kolarov tucked the bottle of jara into his pouch and patted Mattie’s hand. ‘You are here again, my dear. And we are all so glad of it! Aren’t we?’ he asked of his audience: Fyn, Thorgils, Otter and Anika.

Fyn stared at the dreamer. ‘You... stopped those arrows?’

Mattie’s head was clearer, though what had happened was hard to describe. She hadn’t been herself at all. She wasn’t sure if she’d even been the one to do it.

That she could suddenly make magic?

How was it even possible?

‘I saw...’ She struggled to speak, but coughing, she tried again. ‘I saw what would happen,’ she remembered. ‘The arrows, the wolf ships... there were so many arrows. I knew we’d be finished. The sail, the archers, and Otter. I saw that they would kill Otter and...’ She glanced at Fyn, then quickly looked away, back to Kolarov.

Thunder clapped overhead.

Anika shuddered, eyes on Nico, who motioned for her to join him, though she remained where she was, wanting to hear the rest of the dreamer’s story.

‘I can’t remember much of what happened after that,’ Mattie admitted, avoiding Fyn’s searching gaze. ‘I just tried to stop it. I just... tried.’ Tears stung her eyes now, shoulders sinking as lightning flashed over Bone Hammer’s bow.

‘You did more than just try,’ Kolarov assured her. ‘You did save us, Mattie. You did!’

Mattie didn’t look pleased or relieved. She simply felt exhausted.

‘We’re not out of danger,’ she added with a frown. ‘Not yet. But they are out of arrows.’

* * *

Jael wanted a knife.

She had nothing. No weapon. Not even those dratted fetters.

She laughed hysterically before coughing, gasping for air.

The dark hole she’d been dropped into was oppressively hot, barely a breath of air creeping in.

She needed a knife to scrape at the walls, to dig a hole she could crawl through. To escape.

The hole.

How long had she been in this hole?

Fine shafts of light filtered through the trapdoor, shining on her hands.

It was still daylight. Only hours then.

It was still daylight!

The hole was barely tall enough for her to stand, not wide enough to lie down in; she could easily touch the sides. It was small, airless. Dark.

Sweat poured down her back, soaking the soldier’s uniform, reminding her of her failed escape. What a mess she’d made of things. And Sunni?

Not just a mess, a tragedy.

Leaning back, Jael heard shouting coming from above.

She was underground. Panic sparked again, her chest rising and falling at speed. She didn’t like tight spaces. It felt as though the dirt walls were coming closer; that they would collapse upon her, burying her alive.

‘Panic won’t help you survive. And you must survive!’ her father bellowed in her ears. Turning her head, she imagined him sitting in the cramped space beside her.

‘Do you think you are meant to die here, Daughter? And not just my daughter, but Furia’s daughter too. And you think this is your end? That such a nothing fate has been woven for you?’

Jael snorted, mind unspooling now. ‘I think you died in your bed, Father, soiled by sickness and decay. The great Furyck king! You died on your back like a wasted wreck. We are Furycks, not gods, not heroes. We are just people.’ Ranuf laughed bitterly, then her vision of him was gone, and she saw Sunni smiling at her, running and skipping away. Tears came like a deluge, and lifting her hand to her head, Jael sobbed. ‘Oh, Sunni, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

* * *

Siggy’s description of the creatures she’d seen tearing apart Elmer and his crew left Bertel more confused than ever. ‘But how many were there? How many did you see?’ He swallowed, inhaling foul odours for the first time, noticing that the breeze had strengthened.

The afternoon sky was darkening.

‘I...’ As much as she tried, Siggy could only recall fleeting glimpses of what she’d seen: fur and teeth and claws; blood and bone and terror. They were glaring, colourful images that heightened her fears but gave her little ability to describe the threat they were facing. ‘I’m not sure. I’m sorry, Bertel.’

‘That’s alright. It’s alright,’ he assured her, feeling grit in his eyes. He scrubbed them, quickly making everything worse. ‘I think we’d better stay here for now and see what happens. Keep alert, though, and if you see anything, if you have another vision, tell me straight away.’

Siggy nodded, and immediately feeling the hairs on her arms rising, she dragged up her knife. ‘Now! I think something’s coming now!’

* * *

Pulling herself back to her feet in the garden, a panting Edela saw that Katalyne had disappeared.

Glancing at the cottage door, she knew she had to leave, fearing for Bertel and Siggy, though she couldn’t go without seeing what the tree might reveal. All their efforts to get here surely couldn’t be for nothing? So, taking a breath, she headed for the tree, which now appeared dimmed, as though it was no longer illuminated from within. Perhaps it was just that strange sky, Edela thought, eyes on the red clouds sinking overhead.

Turning back to the tree, she placed her hands on Lystora’s trunk and closing her eyes, she sought an answer to her most burning questions: to where did her path lead, and for what purpose had she been sent away?

Opening her eyes, she reached up a still-trembling hand, aiming for one bone in particular. Plucking it from the tree, she turned it over, expecting to see something carved there – symbols, words, a message.

Though it was entirely blank.

Confused by that, Edela tried again, numerous times, though every bone was the same. There was no message to be found on any of them.

Placing her hands on the tree, she tried drawing its power to her, but opening her eyes, Edela soon discovered that the tree was just like Katalyne.

An illusion.

Just a way to lure her here.

And realising it, she hurried away from the whole mess, heading for the cottage door, eager to find Bertel and Siggy.

* * *

What Siggy had seen coming turned out to be a ship.

And having discovered that, Bertel debated what to do for some time.

Though ultimately, they had to get off the island. And if Elmer Falson and his crew were now pieces of meat roasting in the sun, there was little choice but to try and attract the ship’s attention. He certainly couldn’t attempt to sail a ship with a crew of Siggy and, hopefully, Edela.

‘We must go,’ he decided with a sigh. ‘There’s no sign of whatever was here, whatever did... that. But perhaps that ship won’t linger? We need it to moor here. To wait for us so we can find Edela.’

Siggy nodded, agreeing in theory, and though the prospect of heading across the sand terrified her, she straightened up, following Bertel down a stony path, through the trees, and up onto the sand.

Bertel carried two knives, one in each hand, though he felt unprepared and vulnerable, certain he stood no chance of defending them against whatever had killed Elmer and his crew. ‘Don’t look,’ he urged, fixing his eyes on the ship, avoiding the horrors scattered across their path.

Siggy shrieked, seeing a foot, an arm, a head. ‘But that’s –’

‘No time!’ Bertel snapped, turning back to glower at the girl. ‘And move!’ He started waving at the ship as he waded through the warm sand. ‘Hello!’

Seeing Bertel brandishing his knives and the body parts scattered in the sand, Siggy hurried forward. ‘They might think you did it!’ she warned. ‘That you killed them all!’

Stumbling to a stop, Bertel lowered his arms and sheathed his knives. ‘You go ahead, Siggy. You’re faster! Try to attract their attention. I’ll be right behind you.’ He pushed her ahead, glancing over his shoulder, quickly becoming aware of an unsettling noise.

* * *

Edela couldn’t find a way out of Katalyne’s garden.

The reddish clouds hovered above her, the tree still and pale behind her, though try as she might, Edela couldn’t pry open the cottage door. Tension tightening her aching limbs, exhausted beyond measure, she turned to stare up at the clouds again, starting to wonder where she actually was. So, abandoning the door, she began exploring the little garden.

Her eyes went to the walls, almost touching those strange clouds.

She couldn’t smell the sea or feel a breeze.

And becoming more disturbed by the moment, Edela knocked over one of the stone stools, rolling it across the grass until she reached the wall. And carefully clambering onto it, she grabbed hold of the top of the wall.

She almost fell off the stool.

There was nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing on the other side of the wall but a dark void.

She was nowhere at all.

* * *

Armed men had jumped down from the ship, landing in the shallows. The sky was now seething with clouds, though it remained just as hot.

A running Siggy felt twinges of fear as she moved across the sand, gagging at the sight of a headless torso and quickly lifting her eyes once more. She waved at the new arrivals, trying to attract their attention, though they were far away and didn’t appear to see her or Bertel.

Turning around, she realised that Bertel had stopped. ‘What’s wrong?’

The sky darkened, her twinges of fear becoming great shudders.

‘It’s... a... bear!’ Bertel shouted. ‘Run for the ship, Siggy! Run!’

Siggy turned back, immediately falling into a dip in the sand, landing on her knees, hands resting on the arm of one of Elmer’s men. Screaming, she was hauled to her feet by Bertel, whose panic she could hear loud in her ears.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the enormous creature: a great brown bear charging towards them.

The sand vibrated beneath their feet as they ran, trying not to fall or trip over the remains of Elmer’s men. Gulls and ravens squawked in annoyance, not wanting company. Then, seeing the bear, they took off, black and white wings flapping in a flurry of panicked noise.

‘Run!’ Siggy screamed, digging her boots into the warm sand, her speed soon taking her away from Bertel.

He let her go, unsheathing one of his knives, flinging it at the rapidly gaining bear, who pounded across the sand towards him. He’d had little time to steady himself, no time to consider his aim, but Bertel’s knife struck the bear in the shoulder. It growled in surprise, breaking its momentum.

The men wading through the shallows had seen the bear and its running prey and were calling out now, hands in the air, urging them to hurry.

The bear roared in anger, a strange, almost human sound. Stopping, it stood on its hind legs, and then dropping down to all fours again, it dug its lethal claws into the sand and charged.

‘Get down!’ one of the ship’s crew ordered, running towards them, spear in hand. More men trailed behind him, carrying weapons. ‘Get down!’

Siggy glanced at Bertel, who had caught her up. She couldn’t breathe, a stinging pain in her side making her eyes water.

Spinning around, Bertel released his last knife, striking the charging bear again before throwing himself forward. Siggy landed beside him with a grunt, swallowing a mouthful of sand. They kept moving, wriggling forward like snakes, feeling the thumping vibrations beneath them.

The spear flew past the bear, missing.

The bear kept coming, wounded by Bertel’s two knives, though otherwise unimpeded.

Siggy heard the ship’s crew calling for more spears; she didn’t think they would be in time. And head swivelling, she saw that Bertel had wriggled away from her. ‘Bertel!’

The bear was nearly on them.

Injured, angry, and growling, it swung for Bertel’s trailing leg, but smelling the creature almost on top of him, Bertel dragged it away. And grabbing the sword he’d seen glinting in the sand, he swung it up into the air, rising onto his knees with a pained cry, spreading them apart for balance. ‘Aarrghh!’ he roared, thrusting the sword into the bear’s chest as it rose over him. Pushing harder, he drove that blade into its heart.

The bear bellowed, jaws prised open, saliva dripping from vicious-looking teeth. It tried to swipe at Bertel, who released his hold on the sword and fell back to the sand, quickly rolling away.

‘Run!’ he rasped at Siggy, who was on her feet again, staring at the bear. ‘Get to the... ship!’ He couldn’t breathe. He doubted he could even lift a leg.

The sand made everything impossible.

The crew was coming again, armed with bows. Bertel didn’t think the bear had much left in it. And then, as he started moving, breathless with terror, he felt an enormous thud ripple beneath his feet as the bear dropped to the sand.

Dead.

5

The only enemy coming for Bone Hammer now was the storm, though there was little to do but hunker down and try to plan for what would come next.

Eadmund decided that if he was going to die in a storm, he wanted his last thoughts to be of Jael. He kept hearing her voice in his ears, seeing that brief glimpse of her before the door had closed. Before she had locked it.

What was happening to her?

It was all he could think about as he sank further under his cloak, knees pulled to his chest.

What was happening to his wife now?

* * *

Breathing was becoming more challenging.

There wasn’t enough air.

The heat drained Jael – the late afternoon sun at its most intense. She was thirsty, breathless, throat like sand.

Her head pounded, arms too heavy to wipe away the sweat dripping into her eyes. Her wet hair clung to her, her sweat-soaked clothes too.

Dropping her head, she tried to think, though no thoughts would form.

She had no power, no strength.

The prison hole was winning the battle.

Without any weapons to fight it, it squeezed the life from her body, the breath from her lungs, the hope from her heart.

There was no escape, no air, and soon, she guessed, no light.

And no way out.

‘It is what you deserve,’ snarled a woman. ‘For who you are, for what you have done. You will die, your family will die, and the Furycks will cease to exist. The end of Furia’s corrupt, evil line finally at an end. Ha! What? You thought because you sprang from the womb of a goddess, that you were immortal? All of you? Is that really what you think, Jael Furyck, soon to be the last of her name...’

* * *

Aggralaia’s sky was heavy, dark and foreboding, though Bertel and Siggy felt lighter beneath it, gifted a reprieve from certain death.

‘One bear did all this?’ a man asked, staring at the carnage spread across the sand like a battlefield. He stroked his coppery beard, tied into two long braided ropes.

Staring at him as though he was an apparition, Bertel was still breathless, shaking his head.

‘There must be more,’ Siggy panted, realising that the creatures she’d seen in her vision were bears. ‘I thought I saw more.’

The man glanced around, seeing the dark mass of trees. ‘Then I don’t think we should linger. It’s the first time we’ve stopped here, but it’ll certainly be the last.’ He looked from Siggy to Bertel. ‘We’re on our way to the Fire Lands. We can take you with us, if you like?’

Bertel glanced over his shoulder up to the cliff. ‘Yes, yes, please, but our friend is up there. Perhaps in trouble? She’s old. If you can get the girl on board, I’ll go and try to find her.’

The man nodded. ‘I’m Korri Torluffson. I’ve come down from Tingor, in Alekka.’

‘Bertel Knutson, and this is Siggy,’ Bertel said, pushing the girl towards the friendly-looking man. ‘From Tuura.’

‘And you’re on your way to?’

Bertel shrugged. ‘Well, that remains a mystery, to be honest. It’s our companion who is leading us.’

‘The old lady?’ Korri laughed. ‘What? Is she a dreamer?’ The looks on Bertel’s and Siggy’s faces mostly answered his question.

‘Well, no, I...’ Bertel spluttered, not wanting to be abandoned now.

‘I’ve no problem with dreamers,’ Korri assured him with an easy smile. ‘The ship’s mine. The crew’s mine too. Friends and kin. You’ve nothing to fear from us. Dagmar! Get the girl on board, find her something to eat and drink. I’ll come and help you find your friend.’

* * *

After checking on Nico and Anika, Arras searched for somewhere to sit. His previous place had been taken, and in the darkness of the howling storm, it was almost impossible to see. He nearly fell on the dreamer, who looked up at him with a frown. Then, staring at him with searching eyes, she quickly frowned some more.

Arras stepped past her, one hand out, water sloshing over his boots, waves crashing over the shield rack. Shaking wet hair out of his eyes, he finally spied a space to sit and moving quickly, he dropped down, seeing the bowed head of the King of Oss beside him, immediately regretting his choice.

Eadmund moved over, making room. ‘Everything alright?’

Arras nodded. ‘My son’s woman... she’s ill.’

‘She’s not the only one.’

The towering waves had Bone Hammer bucking and diving, under attack from the crashing thunder and howling wind. Arras could hear the retching sounds of those vomiting up their stomach contents. He felt sick himself, though more with worry than anything else. The storm was one thing, but if it didn’t blow away their chasers, he was certain they’d be hunted down again soon enough.

Was it really the king on board one of those ships? Ronin Sardis?

Eadmund leaned towards him. ‘Tell me about my wife.’

Arras flinched, searching for something to say. ‘Jael? Well, I... she did this,’ he said, motioning to the cut across his forehead. Anika had stitched it, though the rain often sent rivulets of bloody water trickling into his eyes.

Eadmund stared at him, smiling for the first time since he’d left Jael behind. ‘Does that mean you’re her enemy or her friend?’

Arras looked down at his hands, squeezing them into fists. ‘You’d have to ask her. I’m the one who captured her in the first place. I took her to S’ala Nis. She’s there because of me, though I also helped her try to escape. We worked together to leave.’

‘You took her? You?’ Eadmund sat perfectly still, though every muscle in his body burned with the need to lunge at this man, to grab him by the throat and shake him until his heart stopped beating. Anger throbbed at his temples. He slid his hands under his legs, sitting down hard.

‘I had no choice. I’m not a king or a queen. I follow orders or I die. My son dies too. That’s how it is on the isle. I followed my queen’s orders, and she sent me to Osterland to find Jael. To bring her back.’

‘Why? For what purpose?’

Arras shrugged, sliding into one of Bolder’s men, who pushed him back. Righting himself, he swept wet hair out of his eyes, ran a hand over his dripping beard and frowned. ‘As I said, I’m no king or queen. Not privy to their thinking either. She’s just there, on the isle. For life.’

‘What?’ Eadmund hadn’t heard him. ‘For what?’

‘Life! She’s there for life! I told you. They won’t kill her!’

‘But they will hurt her.’

‘I imagine so, though she seems like a woman who can handle the pain,’ Arras decided. ‘She’s not afraid of it, at least. She won’t shy away from it. I saw that first hand.’

Eadmund swallowed, not wanting to even imagine what Jael was going through. ‘Why did she cut you?’

‘We were forced to fight! In a tournament. I was supposed to defeat her, and she let me.’

‘Defeat her?’ Eadmund grinned. ‘That was generous of my wife.’ Despite his smile, he felt tears coming now, blinking the unwelcome sting of them away.

‘She wanted to escape. Badly.’ Arras couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the dogged woman who had obviously sensed his own long-held desire to leave the isle. ‘She hounded me from the moment she arrived, wanting my help.’

‘And why did you help her? Why did you want to leave?’

Arras looked down the deck to where he’d left Nico and Anika, though he couldn’t make them out now. ‘I was to marry the queen, a petulant child of a woman. A dangerous woman! She killed six husbands because they couldn’t give her an heir, and I knew that if I became her seventh, I wouldn’t live long. Nor would Nico.’

‘So Jael helped you escape?’

It was true, Arras realised. He was only here because the Queen of Oss had helped him – not the other way around. He had wanted to leave for years but had never actually tried to take the next step. Never been brave enough to attempt an escape on his own.

‘She sacrificed herself for you and your son?’

‘She did.’

Eadmund leaned his head back against the gunwale. ‘Sounds like my wife.’

He shivered, closing his eyes, not wanting to talk anymore.

* * *

‘Sky’s strange,’ the coppery-headed Korri noted, tipping back his head. ‘Still hot, though.’

There had been many strange occurrences since he’d met Edela, and Bertel didn’t want to think about what terrible portent that moody sky signalled. He simply had to focus on trying not to faint from exhaustion. Climbing the cliff once had been bad enough, but on his second journey up to Aggralaia’s peak, his legs trembled so violently he feared they would snap at the knees before long.

Eventually, they reached the top of the cliff, and after a short break, which helped Bertel catch his breath, they were soon approaching the little cottage.

Korri looked to be no more than thirty, lean and energetic, and he turned around to Bertel with a sweaty grin, revealing teeth marked with tiny symbols. That surprised Bertel, who staggered to a stop, bending over to suck in another breath.

‘How about you find a perch, and I’ll go get your friend?’

Bertel quickly straightened up, shaking his head. ‘No, no. I... no. There’s a problem, see. We can’t... we can’t –’

The cottage door opened, and a blinking Edela tottered out. ‘Ahhh, there you are, Bertel. I wasn’t too long, was I? I do hope you and Siggy weren’t bored without me? Oh, it’s rather dark now, isn’t it? You must be ready for supper!’ Her eyes shifted to the man with the extravagantly long beard. ‘I’m not sure I know you. Are you one of Elmer’s men?’ She frowned, gripping her throat in horror. ‘Oh.’ Her eyes shifted to Bertel, and now they shone with tears. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Yes, I’m afraid there’s been an... accident, Edela. Down on the beach.’ A breathless Bertel glanced at the cottage in confusion, remembering how he had searched it with Siggy, finding no sign it had been recently occupied. ‘This is Korri Torluffson. He’s got a ship to take us to the Fire Lands. And there’s Elmer’s ship too,’ he added, realising that there was no point leaving the unmanned vessel behind.

Korri smiled, offering an arm to Edela. ‘If that’s where you’re heading?’

‘And Siggy?’ Edela turned from Korri to Bertel, who nodded reassuringly at her.

‘She’s safe, down on the beach, and...’ Bertel sucked in some air. ‘She’ll have a story to tell you. As you, I hope, have a story to tell us?’

A disturbed Edela stared at him, too upset to speak, though she managed to choke out a handful of words. ‘Yes, I do. I most certainly do.’

* * *

Between listening to Bone Hammer’s unsettling creaking sounds and the howl of the wind drilling into his ears, Fyn couldn’t sleep. He yawned, stroking Otter, who had crawled onto his knee when Mattie had fallen asleep beside him.

She appeared to be having a bad dream, for she was making whimpering sounds, occasionally shifting around as though trying to escape it.

Kolarov sneezed on his other side, and Fyn turned to him.

‘If the storm doesn’t drown us, I’m sure to die of an illness!’ the explorer fretted, huddled beneath a dripping fur. He shook with cold, feeling unsettled.

‘Do you want to hold the cat?’ Fyn offered. ‘He’s warm.’

Kolarov’s eyes bulged, and he nodded greedily, opening up his fur as Fyn handed Otter over. ‘That’s very kind of you.’

A sleepy Otter seemed eager for the protection of the fur and soon curled up beneath it, making himself comfortable next to Kolarov’s big belly. Adjusting himself, Kolarov wrapped the fur tightly back around his chest, feeling slightly more content.

Fyn turned back to a whimpering Mattie, but Kolarov tapped his arm.

‘Let her sleep. Her dreams are her work and perhaps our salvation. We need her seeing what will come, what dangers lurk in the distance, and those still behind us. We need her looking for answers.’

Turning back to him, Fyn saw the sense in that.

‘You saw what she did today, didn’t you?’ A blinking Kolarov was still dazed by it himself. He had witnessed magic before and was no stranger to it, though such other-worldly experiences always took his breath away. That something so implausible could be conjured by the hands and minds of dreamers? It was exhilarating. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s capable of, though I have tried to encourage her, of course. But I didn’t anticipate that. Those arrows? I didn’t expect her to rise to the occasion so majestically!’

A shivering Fyn remembered the sight of Mattie holding her hands up to the clouds as though seeking to bend them to her will. She had certainly bent those arrows to her will, saving them all. And now, because of her, they still had a chance.

A chance to get help and return to the Shadow Isle.

For Jael was still there, and she needed their help.

* * *

In the darkness, Jael’s fears hopped about like hungry fleas.

Being stuck in the hole was like being stuffed into a barrel. The struggle to breathe and the awareness of the tight space overwhelmed her thoughts.

She had gone into battles facing enemies threatening her with arrows and knives, spears and fire. She had walked forward with a confident swagger, partly, she realised, because she hadn’t cared if she lived.

Once.

The flashing images of her children, her husband, and her home tormented her.

Without her, what would they do? Who would keep them safe?

Who would...

The darkness was swallowing her whole!

She was light-headed now, and curling forward, she slumped towards the wall. It was exhausting to sit up, to hold up her head, which felt like a lump of stone upon her weak body.

She needed air, though the urge to reach her face up to the trapdoor to try and steal some breaths of warm night air was not as demanding as the desire to close her eyes. To simply rest her head on the dirt wall.

Her body hurt. Her lungs ached.

She would just close her eyes and think of something.

There had to be something she could do...

* * *

Siggy had burst into tears upon seeing Edela, hugging her as though she would never let go, though no one had wanted to linger on the beach, so Korri had divided his men, sending half to crew Elmer’s ship, urging his helmsmen to get them going.

Once night had fallen, and Siggy had been fed a welcome meal of smoked sausages, nuts and cheese, she curled against Edela, wanting to hear what had happened in the cottage, though it wasn’t long before she was sound asleep, causing Edela to pause her tale.

‘Start again,’ Bertel grumbled when Edela had finished covering the girl with a fur provided by their agreeable host. ‘I didn’t understand a word of your mumbles.’

Edela sighed. ‘I’m not surprised. I feel turned inside out. I can barely keep my own eyes open.’

Bertel edged closer, clasping her arm. ‘I killed a bear!’

‘Yes, yes, so you said.’

‘I killed a bear, Edela. I climbed up and down those maddening steps, fearing for our lives. And you were simply gone. Not to mention poor Elmer and his crew. I could sleep till winter, but not until I hear where you were, for you weren’t in that cottage! I know because we looked. Nothing was there at all!’

Korri Torluffson seemed perfectly comfortable having a dreamer on board his ship, Sea Queen. In fact, he’d almost welcomed it, so Bertel didn’t feel the need to lower his voice, though he saw Edela flinching.

‘As always, you are far too loud, Bertel Knutson,’ she scolded with a hiss.

He frowned at her. ‘You weren’t in that cottage, Edela. No one was. There wasn’t even another door! No other way out. So where did you go? And what happened with the sisters and their tree? Did you see them?’

Edela shuddered, wanting to tell him everything but not wishing to relive it. She ached where she’d hit the ground, her head still pounding. Despite facing death more than once recently, she certainly wasn’t getting used to it. ‘It was all a trick.’

‘Again?’ Bertel was aghast, though he had suspected it. ‘What sort of trick?’

‘I’m not entirely sure, but there were no sisters, just a woman... thing.’

‘Thing?’

‘Well, when she welcomed me into her cottage, she was a pleasant young woman, attractive and hospitable. Though by the end of our... encounter, she was a haggard old crone. Perhaps not even human?’

Bertel’s eyes bulged.

‘At first, she tried kindness to get what she wanted, seeking to make me reveal something I had no intention of revealing. Then she tried to kill me.’

Bertel was shocked. ‘Reveal what?’

Edela clamped her lips together. ‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Is that so? After all of this? This... this!’ Bertel’s hands were busy, pointing at Siggy, at the ship, and at Edela herself. ‘And you won’t tell me, even after all we’ve been through together?’

Edela took his hand, surprising him into silence. ‘That creature wanted to know something only I know. Only me. The world, Varmyr, it’s full of dreamers, Bertel. Dreamers and gods. They’re not all friends and allies, and not all possess good intentions. In fact, I fear that many don’t. I can’t share it with you because someone may be listening, waiting to hear my answer, to use it as a weapon they can wield.’ Voice lowered to a whisper, she stared into Bertel’s eyes. ‘Do you understand? It isn’t that I don’t trust you. It is because I fear the damage it might do if I speak it.’

A quiet Bertel nodded, noticing that Edela still had hold of his hand.

She smiled at him, finally releasing it. And sitting back now, she sighed. ‘The woman’s name was Katalyne. If it really was her name. She took me through a door into her garden to show me her tree. Though none of it even existed. It was all magic, created to lure me there, assuming my curiosity would render me a willing participant. And when I refused and she... left, I was marooned in this strange void. The door to the cottage wouldn’t open. It took some time to figure out how to escape.’

‘But you did?’

Edela chuckled, blue eyes twinkling. ‘Oh, yes. Eventually. I might not remember what I did two minutes ago, but I can almost see every page of my book back in Andala. I found a way through that door and into the cottage. And there you were, my rescuer once more!’

Bertel stared at her, thinking of Siggy’s vision and the horrors they’d left behind on that beach. ‘I am sorry about Elmer,’ he said quietly. ‘You seemed fond of him.’

Edela looked surprised, then sad. ‘He stayed on that beach for me. I may as well have killed him with my own two hands, the poor, poor man.’

‘But you’re not to blame for a bear attack, Edela. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘Do you think so? Truly?’ Edela shook her head, not wanting to reveal anything further or to lead Bertel down the dark path she herself had embarked upon. Now was the time for sleep. She turned away from him towards Siggy. ‘I must close my eyes before my eyeballs drop out from exhaustion. Sleep if you can, Bertel Knutson, and I will see you in the morning.’

* * *

In the early hours before dawn, no one was asleep on Bone Hammer, whose creaking noises had become steadily louder and more foreboding.

Bolder had been forced to take a break from the steering oar, seeking to keep them on course through the crashing storm, for now there was no course and nothing to see but a dark, watery wasteland. He could only imagine that they were still heading north, though they could just as easily be heading for the Fire Lands or further south.

Squeezing some life back into his stiff hands, he strode up and down the deck, urging everyone to hold on. Everything had been secured, tied down, though he feared tying down his crew. If they were going to lose their battle with the ocean and the gods of the deep, he wanted his men free to swim.

Buffeted by a gust of wind, Bolder tumbled down the deck past Thorgils, who flung out a hand, grabbing his arm.

‘Abandoning ship?’ he joked, gulping down big drops of rain.

Bolder pulled himself up on Thorgils, deciding it was time to sit down. He squeezed in beside the big man, wedging himself between Thorgils and Eadmund.

‘Not quite the journey you promised,’ Thorgils winked at him, sweeping wet curls out of his eyes.

‘Oh, really? I promised, did I? I could say the same! We’ll just go rescue the queen and be back before you know it, you said!’

Thorgils’ smile faltered, though he knew that Jael had an unfailing ability to make a joke in the direst of situations. So, keeping thoughts of his queen firmly in the front of his mind, he nodded. ‘And we will! We’re just taking a longer route. Makes it more interesting, don’t you think?’

Bolder peered at him. ‘And you think the King of Hest will help us? Give us some ships and men?’

‘I like your optimism, thinking we’ll make it that far!’ Thorgils laughed, sliding against Fyn. He felt like vomiting, though he kept smiling, not wanting the gods to hear his fears, certain it would only make them determined to torture them some more. ‘If we’re still afloat by morning, talk to me of Karsten Dragos. For now, how about some dice?’

Bolder eyed him with a scowl, though realising there was nothing to do but twiddle his thumbs, he dug an aching hand into his pouch and pulled out his dice.

Beside him, Eadmund closed his eyes, wanting to keep to himself. He wondered if they were doing the right thing by aiming at Hest. He felt mostly confident that Karsten would help them, but how long would it take? He could only imagine the back and forth, the interference of Karsten’s mother, perhaps his brother, Berard. And what about the wedding? Maybe the King of Hest was in Helsabor already, preparing to marry Freya Valens?

Thoughts tangling in knots that quickly made him nauseous, Eadmund leaned his head back against the gunwale, seeking Jael’s face in the darkness, imagining he was holding her hand.

6

The elegant woman walked with purpose, in through the open doors of the queen’s throne room.

Though there was no queen sitting upon S’ala Nis’ throne now.

The woman was extravagantly dressed in a green silk gown embroidered with swirls of fine golden thread, a mane of flaming auburn hair cascading in waves down her straight back. She turned to snap at a slave hovering by a table of refreshments. ‘Where is your mistress? It is long since dawn, and she is?’

‘Asleep,’ the surprised slave said. ‘My lady.’ She bobbed her head, fixing nervous eyes on the marble flagstones.

‘Asleep?’ The woman’s anger was palpable, her sharp cheekbones seeming to lift higher as she sucked in her cheeks, narrowing unimpressed blue eyes. ‘She. Is. Asleep?’

Lifting her eyes, the timid slave now shrugged. ‘She took to her bed yesterday, my lady. She has... not emerged.’

‘Hmmph.’ And spinning on her heels, the woman swept her dress behind her, leaving the throne room and aiming for the stairs. Various slaves approached, though not acknowledging them, she walked with purpose and pace, her green gown slithering along the flagstones behind her. She was nearing fifty, a handsome woman with a steely gaze and a frightening reputation, long since seen on S’ala Nis.

Dessalene Sardis.

The queen’s stepmother.

Reaching Kalina’s bedchamber, Dessalene paused, resettling her garments and sweeping away a stray hair. And with a determined breath, she pushed open the door, striding into the dark fug of the room. Wrinkling her thin nose, she turned to see the sleeping queen sprawled in her giant bed like a drunken lord. Further irritated, she aimed for the curtains, dragging them open and quickly pushing open the balcony doors, she welcomed in both air and light.

Turning back to the bed, Dessalene stared, tapping a soft-soled shoe.

Kalina croaked, struggling up into a sitting position with her eyes closed. She had drunk so much wine that her throat was stripped of all moisture, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, head pounding like a drum being struck over and over again. Swaying, she immediately became aware of the need to vomit. Her body flamed with heat, and lurching over the edge of the lavish bed, she threw up on the floor.

‘Well, aren’t you the picture of a perfect queen!’

Kalina blinked, retching, and quickly wiping her mouth, she turned to peer at the woman. ‘Dessalene?’

‘Your father would be so proud. And pleased. To have gifted his precious isle to you, his only child, and to see how well you are carrying on in his absence. I’m sure none of the slaves are gossiping about this unfortunate situation. I’m sure they’re not at all!’

Kalina vomited again.

‘Girl!’ Dessalene called, spying Mali lurking outside the bedchamber.

And soon, the young slave woman hurried in.

‘Your queen appears in need of a bowl. And I would suggest you find something to clean up the floor. Something to freshen the air too. That smell...’

The slave nodded, nostrils flaring, quickly disappearing.

Revolted by the smell and by the sight of the dishevelled queen, Dessalene headed for the welcome respite of the balcony. It was an oddly dull day, the sky heavy with clouds, still lingering from the previous day’s storm. She had sailed through that storm herself and still felt nauseous. Though perhaps that had less to do with the weather and more to do with why she had come to S’ala Nis.

Eventually, wrapped in a robe, a squinting Kalina joined her on the balcony. ‘Why are you here? Why have you come? Is it my father?’ she croaked, running fingers through her messy hair.

‘Your father?’ Dessalene’s laugh was more of a snarl as she swung around to her stepdaughter. ‘You care about your father? Care for him and his wishes?’

‘I –’

A seething Dessalene clamped a beringed hand over the queen’s mouth. ‘Do not speak to me of excuses, Kalina. Excuses?’ Removing her hand, she spun away, eyes on the sun, now pushing out of those clouds, reminded of how unforgiving it could be. ‘After what you have done? What poor judgement you have exercised? You can only pray now that Jael Furyck lives. For if she doesn’t...’

* * *

In her dream, Jael was dead, sitting next to Aleksander.

They had known each other since they could talk. They had been best friends and lovers and in love... once.

The loss of him had cast a spell over her for years, and she still grieved for him. It never felt real. Even now.

She loved Eadmund, she wanted to be with Eadmund, but she felt certain that only Aleksander truly understood her. They had gone through so much together – failed, succeeded, and learned together – and then been torn apart.

‘What happened in Tuura –’ Aleksander said.

They had shared in that trauma; that one night had shaped both their lives.

‘I don’t want to talk about Tuura.’

Ignoring her, Aleksander nudged her arm. ‘And nor do I because what happened in Tuura is done, Jael. Over. It doesn’t define you. It isn’t you, and you aren’t it.’

‘Though it made me.’

‘No, it broke you. You made yourself, you fixed yourself. Tuura is nothing, nothing you can’t defeat, so let it go. Free yourself from its yoke. It cannot control you anymore. You are free if you believe you are.’

‘Why? Because I’m dead?’

‘Do you want to be dead?’

‘I want my husband.’

Aleksander didn’t blink. ‘And he wants you. He needs you. So do your children. And Axl. He’s in grave danger, Jael. Your family needs you, they need you, but how can you help them if you’re dead? If you give up and simply die here?’

Jael drew in an unsteady breath. ‘I am... not...giving up, but I...’

‘Killed that girl? Sunni?’ Taking Jael’s hand, Aleksander dragged her attention towards him. ‘And what would your father say about that?’

Jael’s shoulders sank. She felt dizzy.

She couldn’t feel Aleksander’s hand anymore.

He squeezed harder, and her eyes sprang open. ‘Jael? What would Ranuf say about that? To you? If we were in Andala, what would he say?’

‘That I should... that I...’ Jael dropped her head, seeing tiny pinpricks of light on the dirt.

Daylight.

She slumped against the wall, drifting in and out of consciousness, clutching her knees to her chest. And then, not clutching them at all, her body going limp.

Seeing Sunni’s face.

The trapdoor opened with a creak that drilled deep into Jael’s unconscious mind, though she didn’t stir, and even when the ladder came down and a slave was sent to prod her, she didn’t move.

‘Is she dead?’ the foreman called. ‘She’d better not be dead!’

The slave dropped to his knees, squeezing in between the woman and the wall. The airless hole was suffocating, and he was struggling to draw in a breath himself, even with the trapdoor wide open. Leaning over, resting his head on the woman’s chest, he listened closely, unable to hear a heartbeat.

* * *

A swollen-eyed, soaked to the skin Bolder Oysten swigged from his cup of ale like a man who had claimed a great victory.

And it was.

For though the sea was still a choppy, angry swell around them, the storm had blown away overnight, and Bone Hammer had survived.

‘We made it!’ Thorgils declared happily, banging his cup against the helmsman’s. ‘Told you we would!’

‘And when did you become such an optimist?’ a yawning Eadmund wondered, wanting a cup of ale himself. He thought he may have snatched an hour’s sleep overall, but no more than that. His eyes hurt, his back ached, but he was soon up and moving.

‘Well, I figure the gods need us to save Jael, so they’d hardly drown us now!’

Eadmund shoved him. ‘Ever heard of the God of Tricks?’

A bashful-looking Thorgils took another drink, keeping his eyes down.

‘No sign of the wolf ships,’ Arras announced as he joined them.

Eadmund eyed him sourly, though as much as he wanted to hate the man for causing all this trouble in the first place, the less tired, less worried version of himself knew it wasn’t Arras’ fault. ‘What do you think happened to them? Will we see them again?’

Arras could only shrug, though Bolder offered his thoughts. ‘I’m guessing we’ve been blown off course, but we’ll need to stay alert. They may have lost a ship or two, but likely they’ll still be after us. We just have to put our heads down and get going.’

‘To Hest,’ Eadmund told him.

Kolarov stumbled into him, a yawning, sneezing mess. ‘Or Castala!’ he suggested, thinking of his house and his bed, desperate for a pillow and thick walls to block out the bitter wind.

‘Though Hest is safer,’ Eadmund said firmly, turning to place his hands on the explorer’s arms. ‘You don’t have to return to S’ala Nis with us. Once we reach Hest, you can take a ship back to Castala, but I must go there. I need a fleet, and Karsten Dragos owes Jael one.’

‘Owes?’ Arras was confused, taking a cup of ale from Thorgils.

Eadmund nodded. ‘Jael saved Karsten’s life. His brother would have killed him, likely would’ve kept Hest’s throne, too, if not for her. Karsten knows it, so he’ll give us a fleet to save her. He will.’

A newly arrived Fyn blinked at Thorgils, who lifted his coppery eyebrows in surprise.

‘Karsten Dragos?’ Thorgils spluttered. ‘But that family has always talked out both sides of their mouths. And their arses. I’d hardly wager all your silver on that man.’ For though Thorgils now called Karsten a friend, he knew the Dragos’ ambition knew no bounds.

‘Yes,’ Kolarov agreed, nodding vigorously. ‘The son of Haaron Dragos must have learned something at his father’s knee. That man was wily. Dangerous too. I agree with Thorgils. There’s no guarantee of what help we’ll find in Hest. No guarantee at all!’

* * *

Dessalene Sardis ordered Kalina to dress in haste and meet her in the throne room, where they would discover Jael Furyck’s fate.

She strode up and down the long, gilded chamber, pursing her lips and sneering at the garish additions her stepdaughter had made to the once tastefully decorated room. Knowing Kalina as she did, she wasn’t surprised that everything screamed loudly of need, of wanting to be seen.

Ronin Sardis had ruled here with silent power.

A confident, secure man, he had never needed to raise his voice to achieve his ambitions. Though Kalina was like her highly-strung, childish mother, and despite his wisdom and insight, Ronin remained blind to her weaknesses.

The queen arrived looking unusually unkempt and dull-eyed, her skin oddly grey, Dessalene noticed, nostrils flaring. For despite lathering herself in perfumed oils, she stunk like a drunk.

‘What news?’

Dessalene cocked her head as her stepdaughter approached. ‘Oh, you are interested? Now you are interested?’ Once again, she tapped her shoe, eyeing the marble flagstones. ‘And here is where you killed your seer. Why, haven’t you been busy, dearest queen! The stain of Noor’s blood will never be removed. You have cursed it. This room, this palace, your line. You have cursed S’ala Nis itself with your desperate recklessness!’

‘I am still the queen here,’ Kalina hissed, head thumping; Dessalene’s voice attacked her like a hammer, and she sought a reprieve. ‘Get me some wine,’ she snapped at Mali, who had followed her down from her bedchamber.

‘Well, that will surely help! More wine! Yes, why not? More wine for the queen!’

Kalina’s face flamed. She could not abide being mocked, and in her own palace? In front of her slaves? Though there was nothing she could do or say.

Nothing.

Arms hugging the sides of her golden gown, she sighed.

Dessalene approached, holding her tongue until she was within whispering distance. ‘To kill a seer? One chosen by Eyshar? The god responsible for your father’s rise? For bringing him to this isle? And what will you do now, Kalina? To have insulted that noble god so grievously, a great payment must be made, or he will surely have his brother Herash send his serpents to drag S’ala Nis to the bottom of the ocean!’

Kalina held Dessalene’s wild-eyed gaze, though it took some effort. At times, she feared the dreamer was reading her thoughts, aware of every feeling.

They heard footsteps, and turning, the two women saw guards entering the throne room, carrying what appeared to be a dust-covered body.

Kalina’s horrified eyes widened, though Dessalene was quickly striding away from her, shaking her head.

‘Leave her on the floor,’ the older woman ordered. ‘And go, back to the doors. Remain there until you are called for.’

The four guards deposited Jael on the flagstones, backing up to the golden doors which had closed behind them.

‘Is she dead?’ Kalina wanted to know, hand clasping her throat. She thought of Arras and half hoped she was. Though her father...

Kneeling beside the still body, Dessalene placed her hands on Jael’s head, closing her eyes. Breathing out, she bent lower, chanting in Jael’s ear. Rocking back on her heels, she saw that there were no fetters clamped around the woman’s ankles and wrists, and she frowned.

‘If you had let this Furyck woman die, I wouldn’t have been able to stop your father from throwing you into the pits, Kalina. In fact, I would have helped him! After all he’s done for you? All he’s sought these years? And you would take that from him now?’ She stood, kicking Jael, who groaned. ‘No, she is not dead. Of course not. Though a few hours longer, a day more, and she would have been a corpse, Kalina. And then, so would you!’

Kalina sought to regain her footing, indicating for one of her slaves to bring water to revive the prisoner. More slaves came, propping Jael up into a sitting position. Her eyes rolled around the room, focusing nowhere, mostly closed. Soon water was forced into her mouth, and though it dribbled down her tunic, some made it in, and she gulped, quickly retching.

‘There,’ Dessalene smiled, turning to Kalina with cold blue eyes. ‘All better! And lucky for you, my dear. Lucky for you that I came when I did.’ Heading to the table, she felt ravenous. She saw pretty little sweetmeats – a treat she hadn’t seen in years – pomegranates and pastries. Though perhaps a slice of the honey cheesecake was what she felt like most of all?

Ignoring her stepmother, Kalina’s eyes remained on Jael Furyck, gagging in a dusty, dripping heap before her. Dessalene’s voice was just a whisper in the distance now; she heard no words. Her anger bloomed again when she thought of Arras, surging through her body like hot liquid, pulsing at her already throbbing temples. Hands in fists, she thought about kicking the woman herself. Though thinking better of it, she pointed to the guards flanking the golden doors. ‘Take her away,’ she ordered. ‘To Ratish. He will revive her and send me word. And you will retrieve her fetters! I want this woman unable to help herself!’

The four guards hurried forward, each man taking an arm or a leg, and moving with ease and silence, they removed the slave from the queen’s throne room.

Kalina watched them go before spinning around to Dessalene, now licking her lips, cheesecake in hand.

‘You have far more pressing matters to attend to than which task to assign Jael Furyck, dear queen. For what are we going to do about the seer you murdered?’

* * *

Korri Torluffson had a menagerie on board his ship, Sea Queen. The animals kept Siggy occupied, and she happily milked his black goat, Nellie, before searching for eggs from his caged chickens. There were six, and they’d produced five eggs between them for breakfast.

Korri had a brazier, and a griddle and a cook, who took the eggs and milk and proceeded to whip up a batch of hot cakes that soon had everyone salivating. Apart from Edela and Bertel, who sat elbow to elbow in the stern, furs draped over their knees and around their shoulders. After the whirlwind of the previous day, they were too nauseous to be tempted by food.

‘In my dreams, I saw more about what happened on Aggralaia. In that garden,’ Edela murmured. ‘At the time, it was so terrifying. I was focused on trying to survive, to escape and find my way back to you. But now I think I understand more. When I peered over the garden wall, the void there felt reminiscent of something I’d seen before. I’m sure I was in the Dolma.’

An exhausted Bertel was gobsmacked. ‘The Dolma? Prison of the gods? But what was that creature?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps some sort of shape-shifter?’ A confused Edela had slept fitfully, reliving every moment of what had happened, slowly forming a clearer picture. ‘It took the form of a young woman seeking to put me at ease, though it ended up looking much like a dragur. It lured me there with the promise of the bone tree and the sisters, though everything felt wrong from the moment she opened the door. If I’d been thinking clearly, I wouldn’t have stepped inside.’

‘Well, you were desperate for answers. For an understanding.’

Edela smiled at Siggy, who motioned to a trencher of hot cakes. Shaking her head at the girl, she returned her attention to Bertel. ‘Mmmm, though it was the creature who wanted answers from me. She wanted me to help her!’ Edela snorted, feeling oddly irritable. Regretful too. Her folly had nearly gotten them all killed.

It had certainly gotten poor Elmer and his crew killed.

She dropped her head, sniffing.

‘Did she say anything to you? Anything about why she’d lured you there? About what she wanted to know?’

‘I’ve already told you. She wanted me to reveal something that only I know. Well, it appears that only I know it, or why else would she have gone to so much trouble to draw it out of me? And –’ Edela blinked, sitting up.

‘Yes?’ Bertel’s empty belly growled, overriding his intention not to eat. ‘What is it?’

Realising that she couldn’t say anything to him, Edela shook her head, worry like a wet cloak draped across her shoulders. ‘It’s nothing. I... I’m just very tired now. I don’t want to talk anymore.’ And with that, she turned away.

An open-mouthed Bertel peered at her, certain, once again, that Edela was keeping things from him. Though if she never let him in, never shared her secrets, how was he ever going to truly help her?

* * *

The physician had a black eye, his cheek was swollen and bruised, but he was smiling as he raised Jael’s head, plying her with a tonic. ‘This will help,’ he promised kindly.

Jael stared at him in confusion. ‘You... speak the common tongue?’

‘A little. Yes. Well, more than a little,’ Ratish admitted eventually. ‘I am a private man. I do not wish all of S’ala Nis to know my secrets.’

Jael closed her eyes, feeling the sweet, warm liquid flowing down her throat, seeking to revive her. Though it would take more than a cup of Ratish’s sweet tonic to make her feel human again. She felt boneless, without a spine, as though her limbs were just dangling parts. Her mind cantered down paths like a wild horse she had no control over. Her lips were dry, too cracked to mould into shapes.

And finally, she sank into the bed, drifting away, thinking of home.

7

The dishevelled messenger apologised profusely to the King of Brekka. He had been set upon by outlaws, robbed of every coin and weapon, his horse stolen.

And then he’d been flung into a ditch.

‘You’re lucky they didn’t kill you!’ Gisila exclaimed beside her son, worried eyes surveying the filthy young man. ‘Where have we come to that Brekka is beset by thieves and outlaws?’

Ignoring her, Axl took the dirty but still sealed scroll from the man’s hand. ‘You did well to find your way home. Gerald!’ he called, eyes snapping to his steward, who had entered the hall from the kitchen with crumbs in his beard. ‘Find Torun some food and dry clothes. We’ll need to replenish his coins too. And his weapons.’

‘Thank you, my lord,’ the messenger sighed, bowing before his king before turning after the old steward.

‘It’s Gant’s hand!’ Gisila exclaimed, drawing closer to her son, attempting to read the note.

‘Ssshhh,’ Axl told her, trying to concentrate. Gant had a creeping scrawl, hard to decipher at the best of times, but Torun’s ordeal had caused the vellum to become damp, the ink blurring in places, making it even harder to read. ‘It’s about the trouble in Valso. Gant says it’s someone called Mutt... Storman?’ The name sounded familiar, though he couldn’t quite place the man.

Gisila looked surprised. ‘That’s a name from the past.’ She shuddered. ‘A horrible man. He murdered Hans Steffen’s daughter, Klara. Do you remember her?’

Axl shook his head.

‘She was just fifteen, I think. Mutt Storman was as old as your father, as old as Hans himself, and he wanted her for his wife, but she didn’t want him. Eventually, when Hans forbade him from marrying her, he killed her. Horrible business.’

Axl looked back down at the scroll. ‘We need a meeting. Can you find Getta and Amma?’ He thought of Hal and Erling, frustrated that they were both still away. Gant too. ‘We need to discuss what we’re going to do.’

* * *

‘You killed Noor as though he was some pointless slave!’ a furious Dessalene hissed at the queen when they were alone in the throne room. Kalina had sent everyone away, and now the two women sat on opposite sides of a round table, glowering at each other. ‘To spit in the eye of a god? To betray the trust your father placed in you?’

Kalina heard her, though her mind was elsewhere.

And sensing it, Dessalene leaned forward, slapping the table. ‘You must forget Arras Sikari! Your obsession is a weakness, and that weakness will continue to undermine you until you are in real danger, Kalina. Are you so blind that you cannot see your reflection? That you cannot look yourself in the eye and confront the truth?’

Kalina started. ‘But Arras –’

‘Arras Sikari will be found and brought to justice!’ Seeing the queen’s shock, Dessalene smiled smugly. ‘I did not sail here all alone, dearest. Of course not, for I saw how things would go. Your father’s wolf ships are hunting down the traitor as we speak. And when they find him, they will kill him. Unless I do so first.’

Lurching forward, Kalina’s heart thumped wildly, nails clawing the table. ‘But I –’

‘What? You think I would trust you to deal with him if he were brought back here?’ Dessalene laughed. ‘But you have a weakness, child. Your desperate heart! Your father has always been blind to it, but when it comes to love, you simply cannot be trusted. The number of husbands you have discarded? The poor choices and reckless decisions you have made? Your heart leads you astray, Kalina, so the wolves will see to Arras. They will kill him for the good of all.’

Kalina’s eyes bulged. She was broken-hearted, embarrassed, ill with what had happened, and desperate to see Arras again. Though she couldn’t deny that Dessalene was right.

After what he had done, Arras Sikari deserved to die.

* * *

Thorgils nudged a thoughtful Eadmund, who, much like the rest of Bone Hammer’s crew, had his eyes peeled open, searching for signs that their pursuers were still in the hunt. ‘So what do we think of our guests then?’ he wondered quietly, inclining his head to where Arras, Nico, and Anika were talking to Kolarov, who wobbled before them as though he would soon topple over.

Eadmund’s eyes drifted to them as his cloak billowed around his face. Grabbing handfuls of the woollen cloth in frustration, he tucked it behind himself, leaning back to trap it against the stern. ‘Well, Arras kidnapped Jael, so I’m not overly fond of him.’

A shocked Thorgils spun around to his friend. ‘He what? Kidnapped Jael?’

Eadmund nodded. ‘Though according to him, he had no choice. Besides, no one was more aware of that than Jael, and she helped him escape. She sacrificed herself so he could leave the isle. I doubt she’d have done that if she hadn’t thought him worthy of his freedom.’

Thorgils didn’t know what he thought about that.

‘Jael’s no fool,’ Eadmund reminded him. ‘Not one to choose worthless allies either. And she left him with a few scars to remind him never to cross her again.’ Smiling now, he tried imagining how that fight had gone. He would’ve loved to have seen it. To have seen her...

Thorgils sighed. ‘Well, whatever the case and whatever Jael may have thought of him, likely we’re being hunted because he’s on board. If those ships survived the storm, they’ll find us again. And when they do?’

Eadmund was worried about that too. ‘Go talk to Mattie. She might have seen something.’ A muttering Thorgils headed off, leaving his frowning king behind. And watching him go, Eadmund became increasingly tense. Everyone kept turning his way, trying to catch his eye, and on a ship, there was no escape from it.

He closed his eyes, seeing that tunnel, hearing the slamming door and the sound of his wife calling his name.

* * *

Jael felt almost alert when she woke for the second time.

Ratish was washing her face with a wet cloth, and pulling away from him, she sneezed.

‘Black pepper,’ he told her with a smile. ‘It does not agree with everyone.’

Nose running, Jael sat up, eyes sweeping the room, seeing the busy shelves Sunni had been so drawn to.

She dropped her head, wiping her nose on the back of her filthy sleeve, feeling nauseous. She saw that the fetters were back. The weight of her arms was suddenly heavy, and so was the weight of despair.

‘There are soldiers outside, waiting for you. I would have liked to keep you here longer, though the queen sought word when you were revived. I am not sure where they will take you now or what may happen.’

‘Who was the woman?’ Jael wondered, returning to her encounter in the throne room. ‘There was a woman with the queen. A dreamer?’

Ratish was confused, and frowning at Jael, he dropped the dirty cloth into a bowl of water. ‘A dreamer? Why, what did she look like?’

‘Tall, with reddish hair. Very thin. Middle-aged.’ Jael closed her eyes, trying to retrieve something more descriptive from her memory. ‘She wore an amulet of a bird. A golden bird.’

Ratish’s swollen face noticeably paled. ‘That sounds like Dessalene, but she –’

‘She saved me. I’m certain she saved me. But why?’

‘Dessalene is the queen’s stepmother. Some call her dreamer, others offer less complimentary names. She is married to the king. There are many rumours about the woman and what she might have done to the king’s first wife. Though it is better not to speak of her. Safer.’

A knock on the door was immediately followed by it opening, and a glowering soldier came in, talking in an impatient voice. Ratish headed him off with flapping hands, shooing the man back outside and shutting the door.

‘They want to take you now,’ he told Jael. ‘I’m sorry, but you must go.’

Jael swung her legs over the side of the bed, staring down at her fetters. She stood, feeling oddly unsteady. Her wobbling legs appeared to be trying to decide if they possessed the strength to hold her up. And not certain herself, she leaned on the bed. ‘Thank you. I hope not to return.’ And now she smiled. ‘Though I have a tendency to get in trouble, so you never know.’ Once again, she caught a glimpse of the surgeon’s jars filled with his collection of disturbing oddities, and her heart sank.

Ratish patted her arm, guiding her to the door. ‘We do our best,’ he whispered. ‘To survive. Man or god, we do our best. And sometimes, we fail. But you will carry on, Jael Furyck. I am sure Sunni would want that. She would want you to be happy.’

* * *

Axl found himself thinking about his sister as he listened to Getta, Amma, and Gisila debating the many challenges Brekka was now facing, certain she would have strong opinions about everything.

He had sent Gerald to find Ragnar Olveggen, commander of Andala’s garrison, though having been retrieved, Ragnar sat beside his king in silence, a man of few words who didn’t know his place in such a situation.

Axl turned to him, hoping to draw him out. ‘How is the count coming along?’

A surprised Ragnar cleared his throat. ‘The tallies are trickling in from the settlements and forts. Down south will take longer, but we’re getting a picture.’

‘And how’s it looking then, this picture?’

‘Fair, I’d said, lord.’ Ragnar wriggled a leg, which had gone to sleep. He squirmed on his bench and generally couldn’t sit still at all. His eyes drifted to the women, who had fallen into silence, all three staring at him. ‘There’s been a drop off of men after all the sickness, but it’s not marked. Not in the numbers I’ve seen. Though we may have to assist the settlements in terms of providing weapons. It would make sense,’ he added, mumbling now.

Ragnar was in his late forties, rising through the ranks during Ranuf Furyck’s reign and then Lothar’s. And though Axl had been in charge for four years now, the garrison commander was still struggling to find a firm footing with him. The king was usually flanked by his unserious friends, who had a habit of confusing everything. And now, without them, he wasn’t sure how to behave.

‘Andala is the prize our enemies will need to claim if they wish to unseat me, so I will have to think carefully before parting with a single arrow. Once all the numbers are in, we can discuss further.’ Axl turned to his mother. ‘I’m not sure I can go to Karsten’s wedding now. In fact, I’m sure I can’t.’

Gisila looked surprised, Amma was disappointed, but Getta nodded. ‘Your departure would signal an opening to your enemies, and you wouldn’t be able to go south alone. The amount of men needed for such a journey?’ She shook her head. ‘Word of your preparations would quickly filter back to Oren Storgard. Perhaps he is choosing to remain behind himself?’

Axl scratched his beard, fearing he would. ‘I will send you by ship,’ he decided, smiling at his wife. ‘It will be an easier journey, I imagine. And faster. It will be nice to get away from here, to see new sights and make new allies.’ He kept smiling, seeing fear in Amma’s eyes. The journey would be challenging for her either way, though he needed her to go, to represent Brekka to the rest of Osterland while he remained behind, keeping everyone safe.

He could almost see his sister nodding, and he felt strange, realising how far apart they would soon all be. Edela and Jael were lost, and there was still no word about either of them. Gant was in the south, and soon Amma would sail away with Gisila. It was unsettling, especially when he considered that Iskavall was in the hands of an enemy, his brother dead.

Though now Axl imagined his father and straightening his back, he took a sip of ale, ready to press on with the next matter at hand.

His steward popped his head around the door. ‘There is someone to see you, my lord. A woman.’

Axl looked up with a frown. ‘That’s not especially informative, Gerald. Who is she?’

But the portly man could only shrug. ‘I don’t know, my lord. She says she must speak with you urgently. She would not give her name.’

Everyone turned from Gerald to Axl, who stood. ‘Well, you carry on, and I’ll see what this mysterious woman wants. I won’t be long.’

* * *

After Kalina had eaten and sipped a little wine, Dessalene took her for a walk in the palace gardens, where they discussed what would happen to the body of Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree.

And their plans for Jael Furyck.

‘Will you stay?’ Kalina wondered, unsure how she felt about it either way. She started, seeing a little man appear from the bushes. ‘Who are you?’

Dessalene laughed. ‘Ignore my little toad. He does tend to creep about.’

‘What is he?’ Kalina stared in horror at the strange creature, who was the size of a boy with the face of a man. He had bulbous, greedy eyes, leering at her in a way she wasn’t used to.

‘He is Pye, my crooked little helper.’

‘A slave?’

‘No, a willing attendant! Isn’t that right, Pye dearest? He serves me out of a desperate need to be useful. To me. I assure you I barely endure it, though he has his uses, as we will both find out.’ Dessalene eyed the hunched little man. ‘You must stop creeping about here, though. Go out into the city and bring me back what I need to know!’ And with a flapping hand, she shooed Pye away.

Kalina watched as he hobbled off, almost hopping. ‘What was his name?’

‘Pye. It’s what I call him. He has a ridiculous name, so I much prefer that.’ And without further explanation, Dessalene hurried through a flowering arch into the next garden.

Named the Garden of the Goddess, in honour of the Goddess of Fertility, Olera, it had been designed by Kalina’s mother, who, like herself, had also struggled to fall pregnant. And despite her best efforts, she had died, leaving behind just the one child. And a daughter at that. ‘What will we do about Noor?’

‘Everything!’ Dessalene announced, swinging around with bright eyes. ‘We must hold the greatest funeral ever seen on S’ala Nis! A vast procession with weeping slaves and singing children. There will be flowers and wine and sacrifices. We will soak the temple in blood to remind Eyshar of our unfailing loyalty and gratitude. Anything else will be less than the god deserves. Remember, our words of contrition will have no meaning without offerings. Bounteous ones!’

Kalina nodded. ‘And Jael Furyck?’

‘Well, I’m sure we can find something suitably unpleasant for her next challenge. The woman likes to go about as a man, so perhaps it’s time to treat her like one?’

* * *

Axl’s visitor was a sour-faced old woman who didn’t offer a smile or a bob of deference as he approached.

She waited for him in the middle of the hall, eyes on the burning fire pit. It was a warm day, and she was dressed in mostly rags. Wide and short, she had messy shoulder-length greying hair and a ruddy face. Dirty, Axl thought. Her eyes were dark, pinched with suspicion as she waited for him, thin lips pursed in a scowl.

‘And you are?’ Axl wondered, sensing that Gerald had followed him out of the meeting room, though he didn’t feel inclined to offer this rude creature refreshments.

‘Helga,’ the woman almost spat. ‘I have come to help you.’

‘Help me?’ Axl cocked his head to one side. ‘Are you a dreamer?’

The woman’s nod was imperceptible. She was perhaps sixty, Axl thought, as still as a boulder as she glared at him. A strange, strange creature.

But a dreamer?

‘And where are you from, Helga?’

‘Where all the other dreamers are from, I suspect. Tuura. North of the River. I live in the forest there. My grandson and me.’

Axl looked around, not seeing a boy.

‘He is out in the sunshine. I set him exploring.’

Axl found it disconcerting that she never smiled, for though this woman was offering her services, she didn’t appear happy about it. ‘And you came here, why?’

‘Because I saw what was happening and what would come. Dreamers are being killed. Strung up and cut up. Shut up. I have never been especially fond of my own kind or insidious Tuura and all its ambitious power brokers. It was once my home, though I left it behind years since, never seeking to be drawn into that sticky web. And where I live, I’m happy enough. We are. But now? Darkness is coming to this land.’

Axl felt compelled to lighten the mood. ‘Though the Darkness was defeated. It will not come again.’

Helga’s glowering face became stormy. ‘You think the only darkness was contained in a book of spells? That when Raemus was defeated, all evil was banished with him? That no one with evil intentions exists?’

‘Well, I –’

‘Do your enemies wish you well, King of Brekka? Do they want you and yours to live?’ Helga grunted, shaking her head. ‘No, they seek to grind you into dust, you and those of your name. Do you not feel it? In the air? The earth? The rain that pours down and ruins the crops? Do you not feel a great stirring of evil?’

Axl shivered. The woman eyed him as though she was seeing into his soul.

‘I have come to help you,’ the dreamer repeated. ‘Your grandmother is gone. I have seen that.’

‘Did you know her?’

‘In Tuura. Many years ago now. We were not friends. Not enemies either,’ she added, seeing Axl’s concern. ‘I will need a place to sleep big enough for me and the boy. He’s eight, so he doesn’t take up much space, though he does tend to run around.’

Axl didn’t appear to have much say in the matter, though he had been searching for a dreamer, desperate for insight. ‘Yes, of course. And you... will you be able to find my grandmother? My sister? They are missing, and I –’

‘What I will be able to do is up to the gods. I am guided by their hands and their hands alone. I will do what I can to aid you, though I can never go against the gods. And nor can you.’

‘Of course.’ Axl spun around to Gerald, who hovered a few paces away with a look of displeasure on his round face. ‘Please inform everyone that the meeting is finished, Gerald. You may tell them that I appear to have found a new dreamer. I will take her to Edela’s cottage.’ He turned back to Helga, who appeared ready to snarl at him. ‘You and your grandson may stay in my grandmother’s cottage. It is small but warm and comfortable.’

Helga nodded curtly. ‘That sounds acceptable.’

Axl thought about demanding the respect he was owed as king, though seeing her scowl intensify, he thought better of it, instead ushering her out of the hall to where her short-haired grandson had commandeered a dog. He smiled at the skinny boy, dressed in rags like his grandmother. ‘That’s Gully. He’ll be your friend if you give him something to eat.’

The boy grinned toothlessly at him. ‘Can he be mine?’ he said to his grandmother.

She shook her head. ‘No, he cannot. Though you may be his friend, and play with him when he allows it. But not now, boy. We must go and see our new home.’

The boy looked excited to hear that, so hugging the dog, he hurried to his grandmother’s side. And with the slightest bob of her head, Helga indicated for Axl to lead the way.

* * *

Her ordeal in the prison hole had Jael ready for a long sleep. Though after being returned to the slaves’ quarters and made to change into a clean grey tunic, trousers, and sandals, she’d been taken across the city towards the south of the isle, where she’d been reassigned to the expansive temple compound.

She stood on a gravel road, eyes roaming the grounds, seeing a circular platform, ringed by what looked like a moat, a temple with an enormous tree sprouting from it, and a stadium, looking down on it all.

‘Queen’s orders,’ a tall, lean man told her in a hesitant voice. He’d seen this woman fight in the Arena, defeated by Arras Sikari, though she had put up a mighty fight for a time, and with those fetters around her wrists?

He held his ground, remaining watchful.

‘You’ll be working on the tower behind you. See? The Tower of Eyshar. I’ve just had word we need it completed in time for the funeral, so you’ll be putting in long hours with the rest of the men.’

The sun blazed into Jael’s eyes, and she squinted up at him. ‘Funeral?’ Her eyes drifted to the tower. It was taller than any structure she’d seen on the isle, reaching into the hazy blue sky, now free of clouds. The tower was made of the same pale stone used elsewhere – almost white. She saw an arch at its base, where men in yellow robes came and went, stepping in and out of the shade.

Much of the tower was wrapped in wooden scaffolding, though Jael could see that its top remained unfinished.

‘For Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. He died suddenly. Yesterday. Just dropped dead, apparently, which isn’t a good omen. No one’s happy about it. The funeral, that is. We’re going to have to move all these stones out of the road too,’ he muttered, motioning to where great lumps of dressed stone and piles of rubble blocked the route to the temple.

‘What’s your name?’ Jael asked the chatty man.

‘Quint,’ he told her, reminding himself that the woman was a slave. Though she was also the Queen of Oss, daughter of the famous Ranuf Furyck.

He didn’t know how to act.

‘I’ll take you to Alek. You can be on his crew. He’ll show you what to do.’ And with that, Quint fixed a frown on his naturally genial face and strode away. He had a compact torso but long legs and was soon well ahead of a weak Jael, who made little effort to catch up.

They headed for a courtyard, where squinting slaves hefted stone slabs into carts, some lifting them onto their shoulders, acting as carts themselves, aiming for the tower.

The men stared as she passed, whispering to each other.

Jael assumed that many recognised her from the Arena, though it soon became apparent that they were also staring because she was a woman.

Every slave she could see working on the tower appeared to be a man.

Quint eventually stopped before a slave with the bluest eyes Jael had ever seen. They burst brightly from a bronzed face, liberally dappled with freckles. He wiped a hand over a high forehead, staring at her with interest.

‘I’ve brought you another worker,’ Quint said, and seeing the man’s mouth drop open, he held out a hand, pre-empting his complaints. ‘Queen’s orders. Find something that won’t kill her. She’s tough enough, but we’ve carted enough warriors away from here to know that being good with a sword doesn’t help you down here.’ He motioned to the dark shadows in front of the tower. ‘Good luck,’ he said to Jael, smiling crookedly. ‘Alek will take care of you.’

A blinking Jael didn’t reply, remembering Noor’s words in the queen’s throne room. She turned to the blue-eyed man with a frown. ‘Aleksander?’

The man nodded, interest sparking in those intense blue eyes. ‘Though I prefer Alek. And you’re Jael Furyck.’ He lowered his voice now, stepping closer. ‘I’ve been hoping to meet you.’

8

‘Tell me about my father,’ Kalina said as she returned to the palace with Dessalene, a silent Mali trailing behind them.

‘Tell you what?’ Dessalene wondered, happy to escape the sun and the flies. ‘He is as busy as ever. No man has ever worked harder, which is why he’s been successful beyond his wildest dreams.’ Upon re-entering the throne room, she indicated for Mali to pour her something to drink. ‘Yet Ronin will not rest until he has accomplished his vision. Our job is to help him. It has always been to help him, dearest.’

Kalina was thoughtful, fiddling with her rings, seeing the bare finger she had been saving for her wedding band. Her stomach clenched as she trapped a furious scream in her mouth.

Dessalene placed a hand on her arm. ‘You were reckless in your choice of Arras Sikari. You can’t have imagined your father would have approved of such a union? He liked him well enough, but as your consort? A son-in-law? But you didn’t even seek his opinion! Your quest for this child has gone on long enough. It has been indulged for far too long, and it is now over. It is, Kalina. You are barren, and it is simply time to face the truth of it!’

Kalina’s eyes flared, glancing over her shoulder at Mali, who dropped her head, coming forward to offer both women little beakers of wine. ‘To speak to me as though I am nothing? With such cruelty?’

Dessalene placed a bony hand on her stepdaughter’s arm. ‘The cruelty comes from those who say nothing! Who won’t tell you the truth. You will have an heir, though the child will not be born from your body, Kalina. It is time to stop pretending that the fault is anyone but yours. You need a husband and an heir, and that is all. You needn’t worry, there will be a solution.’

Kalina curled towards her. ‘And is there nothing you can... do?’

‘Magic, you mean? You wish to have an unnatural child?’

Kalina thought to say yes, that she would have any sort of child. Any child of her own. She was desperate. Desperate to hold a baby in her arms.

Dessalene squeezed the queen’s arm, demanding her attention. ‘What matters is your legacy, not your feelings, not your needs, for they cannot rule after you are gone! If you truly wish to help your father establish a great dynasty, then you must accept that your feelings do not matter at all. No. I shall think on it and dream on it and find a way forward, and that is all.’

* * *

After leaving the dreamer and her grandson to get comfortable in Edela’s cottage, Axl returned to the hall, eager to discuss things with Gisila, who had sensed it and found him on the way.

‘You finally have a dreamer?’ his mother asked with gleaming eyes. ‘A real dreamer?’

Thinking of surly Helga, Axl felt less enthusiastic. ‘A reluctant sort of one.’

Gisila turned around, following her son to the hall. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Well, she’s not an overly friendly woman.’

‘No?’

‘But she saw what was happening to the dreamers and wanted to help. She has a grandson. A young boy. I’ve set them up in Edela’s cottage.’

Gisila was surprised by that but soon nodded. ‘It will surely help her find Edela. And Jael.’

‘Well, I hope so, though I fear she won’t bend to my will, Mother. To ours. She seemed quite obstinate.’

But Gisila only laughed. ‘Though dreamers come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they? I’m certain she will help us.’ Approaching the square, she frowned. ‘As long as we can trust her. As long as she’s not a Follower.’

‘She doesn’t seem overly fond of Tuura and its kind, so I don’t think she’s a Follower. Or if they even exist now. Not since the Vale.’

‘Mmmm, though we must try and make sure,’ Gisila warned, clutching Axl’s arm as they entered the busy marketplace. ‘We cannot be fooled again. We have to ensure this woman is an ally who can help us.’

* * *

Alek Orlan led Jael towards the shade, which made her like him immediately.

‘I come from Brekka, my lady,’ he told her as they walked. ‘A small village on the coast. Stora. Lived there my whole life. Well, until I went and got myself captured at sea. My brother and I did. My twin. He was a man of the sea, got into trading. I was happy working as a silversmith, though he convinced me to join him. In hindsight, it wasn’t my finest decision.’

He seemed excited to meet her, and though he was friendly and had an open, easy manner, Jael was soon on edge.

‘I’m surprised you’ve been assigned here,’ Alek said, once again wiping sweat from his forehead. His short hair was sandy-blonde, similar to Eadmund’s, mostly darkened with sweat.

It was scorching.

‘Summer’s only just arrived,’ Alek went on. ‘But the heat’s taking more men by the day. The heat and the strain of the work. It’s not for women, even one as useful as you. This job will maim or kill you before long.’ He scratched his head, looking her over. ‘I’ll try and find you something lighter.’

Jael scowled at him.

‘You might think it doesn’t look hard, and maybe you’ll be able to lug a few of the smaller slabs,’ Alek grinned. ‘But try doing it hundreds of times from sunrise till sunset. And these days, the sun’s setting later and later. You try that for just one day, and you’ll never want to move your arms again. But then you’ll get up and do it again and again. It’s brutal, unforgiving work that changes you forever, one way or another. I’ll find you something lighter. Trust me, it’s for the best.’

A doubtful Jael peered at him, thinking fondly of her little buckets of urine, which led her mind immediately back to Otho Dimas and Sunni.

She saw the girl’s body lying in the tunnel, and her husband, who had been so close.

It had all been so close...

Shaking her head, Jael remained dazed, attempting to focus on her new surroundings, on the new tasks and the new men. And this man in particular, whose name was Aleksander. She eyed him with interest, remembering Noor’s words. ‘Well, I may as well get started. There’s plenty of hours left in the day.’ And pushing back her shoulders, she followed a smiling Alek out of the shade and into the blazing sun once more.

* * *

There was an almost relaxed feel on board Bone Hammer for the first time since they’d left S’ala Nis.

An exhausted Bolder had taken a real break, sitting down to supper with Eadmund, Thorgils, Kolarov and Fyn, leaving the ship in the hands of his second-in-command: a steady older man named Raal. And feeling the relief of stepping away from the steering oar, Bolder finally felt free to let his shoulders drop.

‘What do the clouds say?’ Thorgils wondered, for though it had been a relief not to see any sign of the wolf ships for the past few days, he wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that such luck would hold until they reached Hest.

He’d never wanted to see Karsten Dragos so much in his life.

It was light enough to still see the outline of the clouds that had followed them all day, of which there were many, though Bolder only shrugged, tipping back another cup of ale. ‘They say enjoy the respite! Rest while you can!’ He shook his head at Fyn, who held the ale jug, not wanting any more. Well, wanting it but deciding that the pleasant, light-headed feeling would end up becoming a detached inability to function if he drank another cup.

Raal was useful, Bolder knew, trustworthy, but Bone Hammer was his responsibility, and so were the men. Though looking at the King of Oss, he smiled, realising that they were all Eadmund’s men now. ‘If we reach Hest and you can convince the king to bring his fleet back to S’ala Nis, what’s the plan? We won’t be able to hide this time. They’ll have men up on The Maiden’s Reach. Men everywhere, looking for trouble.’

Kolarov belched loudly, gripping his chest. ‘How right you are! And their ballistas, primed for action! We must ask the commander about that. He will know what their plans will be. And the dreamer. She’s sure to see things.’

Eadmund held up his free hand. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. After what’s happened, we can’t tempt fate. I think we just focus on getting to Hest. That’s all. That’s all I want to think about for now.’

Sitting next to Thorgils, a quiet Fyn was of the same mind.

He couldn’t believe they were sailing away from S’ala Nis without Jael.

It was impossible to stop thinking about what had happened to her or what her captors were doing to her. He filled his own wooden cup, placing the jug on the deck beside Thorgils.

Who knocked it over in a hurry to scramble to his feet when the shout went up.

And then everyone was on their feet, cups abandoned, ale spilling down the deck.

For the wolf ships had returned.

* * *

Having escaped her needy stepdaughter, whose side she’d been at since she had arrived, Dessalene was thrilled to finally be alone, and she shut her chamber door that evening with an audible sigh.

Hearing a knock.

Swinging back around with clenched fists and aching shoulders, the dreamer snarled at the door. ‘Go away!’

Silence.

She frowned, certain she could hear something.

A grunting sort of noise.

‘Go away, Pye!’ she snapped. ‘You lost your chance to speak to me. I will hear whatever you have found in the morning!’

‘But, but, where will I sleep, Mistress?’ came the plaintive voice. ‘I do not have a chamber!’

‘Chamber?’ a horrified Dessalene laughed. ‘But the animals sleep in the stables, Pye. Don’t you remember? Run along, my pet, and find yourself a bale of hay!’ She turned away with a smile, not needing to open the door to see his miserable face.

She heard an indignant spluttering, which soon faded, and then silence.

She had given one of Kalina’s slaves instructions to deliver nine braziers to her chamber. To prepare them with kindling and tinder, ready to light.

And now she arranged them in a circle.

Taking a flaming candle, she carefully lit each one, shutting herself off from all that lurked beyond her door. She repeated a chant, murmuring it until her lips became numb.

It was the beginning.

She would go into a trance. She would seek out her enemies.

She would offer them up to the God of Death and his serpents of the deep.

* * *

Bolder couldn’t stop cursing as he returned to the steering oar, sending Raal to organise the crew.

He had steadily pulled them back on course, past Zagora, and with no sign of their pursuers, they’d pushed on into the Adrano Sea, aiming for Hest’s golden city, where they’d hoped to find a safe harbour amongst powerful allies.

But now?

They had quickly counted five wolf ships hunting them again.

‘Head to shore!’ Eadmund called to Bolder. ‘Head to shore, and we take our chances!’

‘With what? One crew against five?’

A frowning Eadmund swayed towards him. ‘You think another storm’s coming to save us?’

Bolder didn’t. ‘I’ll aim north, though southern Hest won’t make it easy. There are more cliffs than coves. We could try for Castala instead? Disappear into Silura?’

‘Which is closer?’

Bolder stared at him, deciding. ‘I’d say both.’ It was a well-informed hunch, supported by years at sea, though still just a hunch.

Arras Sikari made his way up to the steering oar. ‘What’s the plan?’

Bolder glanced his way. ‘We’re aiming for shore.’

‘What? Castala?’

Eadmund thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No, we still go for Hest, but try for Vastera. There’s a cove there.’ He turned from Bolder to Arras, whose face betrayed nothing. ‘We’re safer in Hest than Silura. I’m sure of it.’

Arras just stared at the king, hoping he was right.

* * *

In the slaves’ dining hall, it was finally supper, and though the meal promised to be a watery, tasteless slop, Jael sat down with real enthusiasm. Though after three days of hard labour, she half doubted she had the strength to lift her spoon.

Her friendly foreman, Alek Orlan, had been right – the work was brutal.

She had strong arms, she was used to working and fighting hard, but spending hours lifting and carrying bricks and stones had her body aching in places she hadn’t even known existed.

Alek tapped her arm and she winced. ‘Sit with me,’ he said, indicating for her to take her bowl and join him outside. ‘It’s slightly cooler out there. Private too.’

Jael had seen a lot of the Brekkan since being assigned to his crew. She sensed there were things on his mind, though initially, they’d only spoken of the work.

But now?

A curious Jael picked up her bowl and headed outside. She saw they weren’t alone in wanting some privacy, for despite a few flaming torches and braziers lighting up the courtyard, it was welcomingly dark outside, a light breeze teasing them with the promise of cooler air.

Alek led her to a stone bench big enough for two, and motioning for her to sit, he joined her. ‘You’re likely missing the cesspits and shit holes,’ he joked. ‘I’ve done that work, done nearly every task you could imagine in this place. I often think of lugging those little buckets with fondness. As light as a cat.’

‘Perhaps,’ Jael said, sensing him dancing around the subject he actually wanted to discuss, and fearing what that might be, she sought to cut him off. ‘Do you have a knife?’

Alek was taken aback. ‘Knife?’ He shook his head, lowering his voice. ‘Most slaves aren’t allowed to have knives. Not to keep.’

‘Get me a knife and two small, flat stones, and we can talk,’ Jael told him. ‘Until then, it’s best not to.’

‘Quint has a knife. He often lends it to me to trim my beard.’

‘Good, get it then, and the stones. In the meantime, you can tell me how long you’ve been here. How you’ve survived.’

Alek smiled. ‘Too stubborn to die, I suppose. My brother died within a year of arriving here. Our crew didn’t last much longer than that. I’ve been here six years come summer.’

‘Six years?’ Jael shook her head. ‘And what did you leave behind? Who?’

Scooping up a spoonful of the watery stew, Alek looked sad. ‘Two sons. Twins.’ Losing his appetite, he poured the stew back into the bowl. ‘The Goddesses of Fate work in mysterious ways. When my sons were born, I felt like the luckiest man alive, then a few months later, I was dragged to this place. I thought there’d be some way out, some hope, but there was nothing until I heard that you were –’

Once again, Jael hurried to cut him off. ‘How long have you been working on the tower?’

Alek’s mouth dropped open, though he soon followed Jael on her sharp turn. ‘A year now. It’s been beset by problems, though. Taken twice as long as it should have. It’s made for the god, Eyshar. Apparently, he’s the one who led the king here, to the isle. He gifted it to him. Gifted him a seer too. Though now he’s dead, so we’re under orders to finish it for his funeral. Though unless we work every hour of the day and night, I don’t see how that’s possible.’ He frowned then, fearing that under pressure from the queen, that might just end up happening.

‘And what’s Eyshar the god of?’ Jael wondered absentmindedly.

‘Providence,’ Alek smiled. ‘But also the God of Fire.’

* * *

Darkness could be both a friend and an enemy.

Though Eadmund was yet to determine whether it would work in their favour as he called for every shield to once again be drawn from the racks and every bow and spear retrieved from their storage places. There were few arrows left, though he hoped Mattie had deprived their enemies of their own supply.

Thorgils came up to his shoulder, and losing his balance, he bumped into him. ‘They’re fast.’

Eadmund could see that. Gripping the stern before him, wet knuckles turning white, he peered at his friend. ‘They won’t let us escape.’

‘No.’ Thorgils’ muscles felt tight, legs vibrating. Trapped on a ship in the middle of the ocean at night... he felt tied in knots. They were at the mercy of the sea, the gods, and soon, he feared, their enemies. ‘I’ll try Mattie again. She has to see something that could help!’

Eadmund nodded, watching him go.

A frantic Kolarov took Thorgils’ place. ‘Catasla might have been the better choice, my dear king.’ Feeling himself slipping, he snatched Eadmund’s arm. ‘If these are indeed Ronin Sardis’ ships, we should be cautious. That king is favoured by the gods! Oh, the fortune bestowed upon him!’

Eadmund didn’t need to hear it. ‘Is that so? Well, to my knowledge, I’m not favoured by a single god, but my wife is. And if her gods want her to live, they’re going to have to help us escape. Wouldn’t you say?’ He almost bellowed in Kolarov’s face, for he was burning with rage as the sea splashed over him. ‘Let those wolves try and stop us here, and they will die regretting it!’

* * *

Dessalene used her right index finger to stir the dark liquid. The reek of the balm she’d rubbed on her skin made her eyes water, tears trickling down flushed cheeks. Hot fires blazed in the braziers she had arranged in a circle in the centre of her spacious bedchamber.

She was alone, and apart from the burnished glow of those braziers, sending light shimmering across the marble flagstones, it was entirely dark.

She heard nothing but the sound of waves.

Her body swayed as though she stood on the deck of a ship, a hint of nausea stirring in her belly.

Picking up a small bowl, she whispered a chant – a growling sound so unlike her own voice. And now, she submerged her entire right hand into the bowl before bringing it up to her face, eyes bursting open, her chanting sounds rising as though cresting a wave. She flicked her dripping hand at the brazier before her, watching the flames hiss before turning to the next, and then the next, repeating the process until her bowl was empty and the flames blazed like a circular wall of fire.

Casting aside the bowl, hearing it clattering across the marble floor, Dessalene lifted her arms into the air, encouraging the flames to rise higher, until she stood, caged in fire.

9

Fyn had abruptly sent an enquiring Thorgils on his way, and Thorgils was muttering in annoyance as he turned, smacking into Arras, who staggered backwards, knocking into Nico behind him.

‘What is it?’ Arras asked, checking on his son.

‘Just my cousin,’ Thorgils grumbled. ‘Acting as the dreamer’s minder. Apparently, she won’t speak to anyone.’

‘It’s a good thing!’ Arras assured him loudly, buffeted by the wind and by his fears of what was about to happen. The wolf ships had hung with them, slowly gaining. He felt certain that before long, they would strike. ‘She gave all their arrows to the sea! Let her show them what else she can do!’

Mattie heard the wind, the voices, the waves and the creaking as Bolder pushed his beloved ship further into the dark night. She felt the warmth of Otter nestled in her arms, the rhythmic vibrations of his purring against her chest. A wave of intense heat washed over her, the bright light of flames blaring into her eyes. She suppressed a scream, struggling to see, and rising to her feet, she dropped Otter to the deck. He scampered away as she reached Fyn, pushing past him, unable to catch her breath, to find her voice.

Eventually, she stopped by Bolder, who glanced her way.

‘Fire!’ she croaked, touching his arm. ‘We have to turn! South! Go south! Now!’

But it was too late, and as Mattie and Bolder looked towards Bone Hammer’s prow, they saw flames rising out of the sea like a wall of fire, blocking the ship’s path.

* * *

After supper, the slaves were allowed some time to themselves. They could gather in the high-walled courtyard, sit at the tables, finish their meagre ration of food and water and talk with their friends. But the hot days were so draining and absent any respite that most took straight to their beds.

The thought of being the only woman sleeping amongst hundreds of men had given Jael some pause, unarmed as she was. Though, much like her fellow tower workers, she’d been too tired to think once her head hit the floor.

There were no pillows, just the same thin mattresses that had been provided in the women’s quarters. Sitting down, nauseous from her meal, confused by her conversation with Alek, Jael didn’t immediately lie down. Her attention drifted back to the tunnel again, to Eadmund and then Sunni. Looking down at her hands, throbbing before her, she couldn’t see any blood. It had been washed away, replaced with dirt, dust, and blisters, but in her mind, it was still there. The blood of Sunni’s death would always stain her.

It was her fault – all of it.

And now, what would Eadmund do? Ships had been hunting him – she’d seen that – so what would he do?

She dropped her head, feeling a sharp pain run from her neck all the way to her lower back, where it spread into a throbbing ache. Shifting her body, she rolled her shoulders, feeling but avoiding the attention of the men lying around her.

Those who hadn’t seen her fight in the Arena had heard about it from their friends. Most were suitably wary, but perhaps not all?

Refocusing, she posed the question again: what would Eadmund do now?

‘Find ships.’

His voice was loud in her ears, as though he stood speaking directly into them. He would return to Oss, get the fleet, arm the Islanders and return. Perhaps seek support from Axl? Even Karsten?

He would get a fleet and return for her. Risking how many lives?

‘If he makes it that far.’

Shuddering, Jael jerked around, wondering who had spoken.

Someone had. A woman?

Looking down at the fetters locked around her wrists, she saw hints of the symbols she knew were there, though she had scratched through some of them.

So who was in her head, and how did they get there?

And more importantly, what did they mean...

* * *

‘Sail down!’ Bolder shouted at his experienced crew, who had anticipated his order, moving with speed as they hurried to drop the sail.

They needed to slow Bone Hammer down fast.

Mattie had asked Kolarov to keep Otter safe before rushing to the bow.

Eadmund thought about following her, eyes drawn to that strange wall of fire, though he needed to see what the wolf ships would do. Turning back to the stern, he thought of Jael and her sea-fire.

Only heavy rain or snow had put that deadly weapon out.

But this? This wasn’t sea-fire at all.

‘They’re gaining!’ Thorgils warned.

‘Bring every weapon we have!’ Eadmund barked at him. ‘All of it, into the stern! Arras! Nico!’ And as the crew hurried to stow the sail and yard, gathering the oars, Bolder watched with sinking hopes as the fire spread, quickly blocking any chance of escaping.

And realising it, Eadmund yelled at Thorgils. ‘Wait on me!’ He almost fell as the ship tilted, but rebalancing quickly, he reached Bolder. ‘Turn all the way if you can! We’ll aim for the flames!’

The wind was whipping the flames around, and though Bolder saw it was possible, he thought it insane. ‘And then what?’

‘Do you trust her? What she can do? And you?’

Bolder nodded, not needing to think about that.

‘Good! Then run her close as you turn her! We need to get near those flames!’

* * *

An entranced Dessalene was surprised, wondering what that ship was about.

She saw the familiar face of Arras Sikari glowing in the flames.

The traitor.

And though she had no love for her foolish stepdaughter, her shame would be avenged. The king, she knew, would insist upon it, and she would not let her husband down.

* * *

Bolder’s teeth were jammed together, eyes stinging from the fire’s heat as he took Bone Hammer close to those flaming walls, the steering oar groaning beneath his vibrating grip, his crew now at the oars.

Thorgils was the tallest on board, with the biggest reach, though Eadmund wasn’t far behind. Both men hung out over the port gunwale, spears in hand. Fyn, Arras, and Nico joined them, hurrying to knot the scraps of cloth they’d hastily wound around the necks of their spears before dipping them into a barrel of pitch.

Suspended out over the water, fearing he would set himself alight, Thorgils’ hand shook as he reached farther than he thought possible. The tip of his spear caught fire, and convinced that his arm would go up in flames, he jerked back into the ship, quickly moving to the bow beside Eadmund, whose spear was also alight.

Fyn, Arras, and Nico surrounded them, carefully lighting their spears, and soon all five men held flaming weapons, though in the swirling breeze, they feared they wouldn’t be alight for long.

‘Go! Go! Go!’ Eadmund bellowed at Bolder, who tugged Bone Hammer away from the fire wall, now turning her into the path of the oncoming wolf ships.

There were five of them.

Five flaming spears.

‘Row!’ Bolder ordered, struggling to see but well aware that they now needed speed. ‘Row hard!’ His men steadily increased their rhythm, oars scything through the sea, as Eadmund and his spear-wielders reached the bow. He glanced at the dreamer, sitting behind him, seeing her eyes closed, hoping she was helping as he aimed Bone Hammer between two of the wolf ships.

In the darkness, it was impossible to gauge if there was enough space, though Eadmund and his men had their heads fixed forward.

Bolder could only hope they would alert him to danger.

‘Can’t miss!’ Thorgils called, though as the spear burned in his hand, it was a message mostly to himself. They had tried to use the cloth sparingly and the pitch lightly, but now, holding that flaming shaft in his hand, Thorgils feared it wouldn’t fly. Though there was no time for fretting, so with a grunt and a prayer, he launched his spear into the air, aiming for the nearest ship’s sail. Fyn remained with him while Eadmund, Arras, and Nico hurried to the starboard gunwale as Bone Hammer drew closer to the wolves.

Thorgils’ spear tore through the enemy’s great square sail, hitting it high, near the mast, flames quickly spreading. And turning back to Fyn, he remembered Jael on board Sea Bear, wishing they had a catapult. They’d be able to fling that pitch at their enemies and set them all ablaze.

Eadmund launched his own flaming spear, and soon two sails were on fire.

Bolder felt the wind strengthening, knowing that if he got too close to either burning ship, Bone Hammer risked catching a spark and going up in flames herself. Their enemies appeared too preoccupied trying to put out their sails to launch a counterattack, and seeing the great wall of fire moving further around to block their escape, Bolder realised he had no choice but to turn again.

Three more ships. Three more spears.

His jaw ached, and realising it, he opened his mouth, inhaling a smoky breath.

Hearing Bolder shouting for everyone to hold their places, Fyn used his free hand to brace himself against the gunwale as Bone Hammer started turning. Now they would come from behind and cut through the middle of the remaining three ships.

He stood with Arras and Nico, each man fearing his flame would extinguish before they got close enough to launch their spear.

Eadmund feared that too. Heart in mouth, he watched as Bone Hammer made her move. Seeing that their enemy had outflanked them, the wolf ships started veering away, and with their sails still up, he knew they would soon be out of range. ‘Fyn! Now!’ he urged, eyes darting back and forth, seeing Fyn almost tipping overboard as he released his spear, hearing the roar of his effort.

His spear lit up the darkness, flame flickering, struggling. Rising.

And then it went out.

‘No!’ Fyn was furious, devastated, but there was no time for it. And not giving up, he swung around, looking for something else to set alight.

Trying not to let his disappointment unsettle the crew, Eadmund shouted at Bolder to push on, and soon they were coming up behind two wolf ships. There was no space between them. Arras and Nico would have to fire on their sails from behind.

Eadmund was tempted to take the spears from their hands, though Arras had risen to the rank of commander, so likely he knew how to handle every kind of weapon with skill. And as he thought it, the two men released their spears, one aiming left, one right.

Both of them striking their targets.

And soon, four wolf ships were on fire.

* * *

Standing in the centre of her circle of crackling braziers, Dessalene was outraged.

Feeling an oddly cool breeze, she shivered, becoming distracted, wondering if one of the slaves had left a door open. Then, realising she couldn’t be in two places at once, she pulled down the curtains of her mind, enclosing herself in her vision.

At once, seeing the dreamer.

Swooping over the ships like a bird hunting for prey, Dessalene saw the woman hunched up on that enemy ship, eyes closed.

What game was she playing? What could she do?

But not waiting to find out, the dreamer curled her fingers as though plucking a harp.

Drawing closer.

* * *

Shutting out the ships and their crews, Mattie remained in the silence of her mind. Her need to protect Bone Hammer grew in strength, power, and size until she felt like a giant standing astride the ship, feet touching the ocean floor. As though, with one enormous hand, she could bend down and sweep their enemies away. She thought of Otter and Fyn; Eadmund, Kolarov, Thorgils and Bolder.

In Sonderberg, apart from Otter, her only real companion had been loneliness, but on Bone Hammer, on this adventure, she had found friends, and she wanted to keep them safe.

Four ships were on fire, some of those crews now looking for weapons they could use against their enemy. Bolder was veering away, heading after the one ship whose sail remained intact.

Yet, they were now encircled in flames, and realising it, Mattie the giant bent down and started blowing.

* * *

The flames rising from Dessalene’s circle of braziers now swept around as though they stood outside in a storm. Soon one was extinguished, and then another. The dreamer’s eyes sprang open in horror, seeing no curtains blowing in her chamber. The balcony doors were closed, and she felt a heavy warmth in the air. A perfect stillness.

It wasn’t that.

It was the dreamer.

And closing her eyes again, a furious Dessalene started chanting, squeezing her right hand into a fist.

* * *

Two of the wolf ships collided, and the explosion of bright flames shooting into the darkness revealed an arrow abandoned on Bone Hammer’s deck. Quickly scooping it up, Fyn tore a strip from the bottom of his tunic, hastily making a fire arrow. Dipping the cloth in pitch, he hurried across the ship and leaning over the port gunwale, he hoped to catch a flame.

Thorgils grabbed hold of him, allowing his cousin to extend his right arm even further.

He sensed that the fire walls were lower, though how they were going to pass through them unscathed, he didn’t know.

The wind was strengthening, Bone Hammer shuddering as she ploughed through the waves, Bolder aiming her at their last target.

Seeing that his cousin had managed to set his sleeve alight in the swirling wind, Thorgils yanked him back into the ship. ‘Give me that!’ he yelled, taking the arrow so Fyn could drop to his knees, soaking his sleeve in the bilge water sloshing over his boots.

Quickly back on his feet, Fyn drew the bow from his back, reaching for his arrow. Though catching a glimpse of Mattie clasping her throat, eyes bulging, he hesitated, handing Thorgils the bow instead. ‘You do it!’ And running past his nodding cousin, he headed for the choking dreamer.

‘Fire!’ someone shouted, and Thorgils turned to see a flaming spear land in the back of one of Bolder’s men, who spun around, howling in agony.

‘Get him down!’ Eadmund bellowed. ‘Get him down!’

Nico Sikari was closest to the man, and he tackled him, knocking him down to the deck, quickly smothering the flaming spear, though not before it had burned him.

Fyn reached Mattie, trying to pull her hands away from her throat. ‘Mattie!’ he called, unable to free them. ‘What’s wrong?’ Those fire walls, which had seemed to be shrinking, suddenly shot up higher, and the intense glare of flames revealed terror in Mattie’s blinking eyes. ‘Mattie!’

Thorgils heard his cousin yelling the dreamer’s name as he reached Bone Hammer’s starboard gunwale, nocking the flaming arrow with wet fingers, breathing too heavily to feel confident about anything. The wolf ship was drawing away from them as he pulled back the arrow string, fingers parted, bringing it past his ear, knowing this was their last chance.

Releasing the arrow, he prayed to Borli, watching its tiny flame leap into the darkness.

Fearing for it.

And then nothing.

It was as though his heart had stopped.

Then suddenly, the wolf ship’s sail burst into flame.

* * *

Dessalene hissed with fury.

She would kill the dreamer. She would burn that ship to ash.

There was a knock.

Blinking in confusion, she didn’t understand.

Ignoring the odd distraction, she clenched her fists until she feared her bones would snap, squeezing the air from that little dreamer’s throat. She was young and surprisingly useful, though she had made a mistake thinking she could –

‘My lady?’

Another knock.

‘My lady!’

Eyes springing open, a furious Dessalene rose to her feet, wheeling around like a fire-breathing dragon, eyes on the slave cowering at her now open chamber door. ‘You think to enter unbidden? That I want you here, in my private chamber? Now?’ She screamed so loudly that her ears rang. ‘Get out! Get out before I have you thrown from my balcony! Before I do it myself!’

The slave was Mali, Kalina’s most loyal servant, and though she felt frightened of the screaming dreamer, she didn’t leave. ‘My lady, please. It is the queen. She has tried to... kill herself. She is dying!’

Dessalene stared at her, lips parting, jaw clenching.

Not moving.

Turning to glance back at her circle of braziers, she bared her teeth.

Growling.

10

Every wolf ship was now on fire.

Sails burning to ash, flames spreading, their helmsmen had no choice but to order the crews to the oars. And despite the chaos and burning carnage, Eadmund feared their enemy still stood a chance. He pushed up the sloping deck towards Bolder. ‘We have to run through the fire wall! We have to escape it now!’

Bolder thought he was mad.

But right.

Blinded by the glare of flaming ships and fiery walls, he tried to find the best place to aim his precious ship.

Behind him, Mattie fell forward, releasing her neck. Rasping and gasping, she pushed Fyn away. ‘Go!’ she hissed. ‘Get away!’

Fyn stumbled backwards, hearing a crack and a crash as one of the wolf ships’ masts came down. And looking at Mattie, he saw that her eyes were once again closed. He rose to his feet as his triumphant cousin returned.

‘What’s the plan?’ Thorgils panted.

‘We’re escaping!’ Eadmund told him, glancing around as Arras Sikari arrived. ‘Arras, take the bow. Thorgils, go to the stern. Fyn, you’ve got starboard. I’ll take port. We’re going through the fire! Everyone’s eyes open. Fill every bucket with water and watch for sparks!’

‘Take down the prow!’ Bolder ordered. ‘We’re rowing through it!’

It made sense, Eadmund knew, though they wouldn’t be fast. And seeing the speared man lying on the deck, tended to by a useful Anika, and knowing they’d already lost a few to injuries, he called to Nico Sikari. ‘Nico! Take an oar!’ Eyes shifting to Kolarov, clinging to Otter, he pointed. ‘Grab that bucket of water! Eyes open for sparks!’ And thinking of water, he stalked the deck as those men not rowing scurried about like rats, responding to their helmsman’s orders.

Doing his part, Eadmund collected buckets of bilge water, leaving them with those he’d charged with watching for sparks; the rest of the crew was stowing the prow, and finally ready, Bone Hammer started moving again.

* * *

‘We pulled her out of the baths, my lady, but she is weak,’ Mali explained, voice trembling, eyes on the bed where a bedraggled Kalina lay, ashen-faced and covered in blood.

‘Find a physician!’ Dessalene ordered with an unimpressed snarl. The smoke from the braziers was trapped in her throat, as was her anger, and she coughed and spat, too wild to think what to do with the foolish woman.

The king loved his daughter more than he’d ever loved his wives, Dessalene knew. Perhaps she was even jealous of her pretty stepdaughter?

Perhaps...

Hearing Mali leave, and shooing the rest of the ogling slaves away, Dessalene sat on Kalina’s bed. She swept away the covers, grabbing one of the queen’s bloody wrists, hastily wrapped in cloth, now entirely soaked in blood. ‘What were you thinking, you fool! And if those slaves talk?’ Spinning to the door, she called the slaves back into the chamber, and after giving them a warning about spreading gossip, aided by a little spell sure to tie their tongues, she once again sent them on their way, turning back to the queen. ‘Your father always told you how beautiful you were, how special, and in that, he failed you terribly, Kalina. For you still see yourself as a child, cherished by all, seeking to be pleasing and to please those you wish to admire you. What a meaningless queen you truly are. Yet...’ And now Dessalene stood, feeling the pull of her chamber, the threads she had been ready to tie in knots, all flapping loose, now out of reach.

And unwrapping the bandages around her stepdaughter’s wrists, she sighed.

* * *

The oars turned with purpose and precision as Bone Hammer surged forward, leaving the burning wreckage of the wolf ships in her wake.

As they approached the flaming wall blocking their exit, Eadmund took up his position in the bow, bucket of water in hand. The crackling flames dared them to approach, warning what would befall them for even attempting such folly, but Eadmund chose to think of Jael walking straight through them.

She would, he thought, turning to urge the crew on. She would.

‘Row! Row!’

Mattie heard him, working to push herself back into her trance, though it was harder this time. Now there was the lingering fear that someone was watching her, seeking to hurt her. Attempting to ignore that and her aching throat, she focused on reclaiming the vision of herself as a towering giant, blowing out the flaming walls.

Bolder’s eyes were on those walls, too, every instinct urging him to turn Bone Hammer away from the danger. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing the five burning ships. They had no sails between them, though if they could put out those flames, they would row soon enough.

They had to escape now.

So, echoing Eadmund, he ordered his men to pick up their pace. ‘Row! Faster! Go faster!’

The heat from the flames soon warmed a shivering Eadmund, who wasn’t breathing as he braced himself, clutching the bucket. Bolder’s men had taken down the dragon head prow, limiting the damage the flames would inflict, though he still wouldn’t take a breath.

Not until they were safely through.

‘Row!’ he heard Bolder scream, then a strange silence amidst the creaking oars and splashing waves; amidst the roar of the fire and the exploding ships behind them.

Mattie blew out an enormous breath. She made it cold, like frost, as though by blowing on those flames, she was powerful enough to freeze them all.

Eadmund felt a cold breeze on his face as the heat from the fire walls diminished. They came close to licking Bone Hammer’s strakes, and he quickly dashed a bucket of water over them, though it was as if the flames were being sucked away from the ship now. And as Bone Hammer edged forward, they appeared to part, inviting the ship to escape.

Turning around, Eadmund strode down the deck, past the men straining at the oars, backs to him. He saw Arras, Thorgils, and Fyn, unblinking on the gunwales; Kolarov standing in the stern, clutching his own bucket, Otter sitting at his feet.

But most of all, he saw that the flames weren’t touching them.

Bolder didn’t look his way, eyes peeled open, jaw pulsing, waiting for word that they were all the way through.

And as Eadmund moved past the helmsman, down to Kolarov, he saw them leave the last of the flames behind, watching as the walls closed after them.

Finally, setting Bone Hammer free.

* * *

Finding Jael’s bed, Alek crouched down beside her.

Waking in fright, she shoved him in the chest, knocking him over, disturbing those men sleeping around her.

A shocked Alek pulled himself back onto his knees, touching her arm. ‘Jael, it’s me. Alek. I don’t wish to hurt you.’

She panted, heart racing, and sitting up, she stared at him through a curtain of dark hair. Parting it and sweeping some behind her ears, she frowned. Moonlight leaked through holes in the ceiling, and she saw his blue eyes before her like tiny pools.

Tugging him forward, she shivered. ‘What are you doing?’

He leaned even further forward. ‘I have a knife.’

‘And stones?’

‘Yes, two.’

‘Then go back to bed. Quick. Don’t draw any attention to yourself. Leave them here with me, and I’ll see you in the morning.’

Alek hesitated; he had wanted to wait, to talk to her. Though nodding, he turned the knife, laying it in the queen’s hand before placing the two stones on her mattress. They were smooth, flat, and not too big. He left them there, watching as she rolled onto her side, concealing the knife and the stones.

And soon a confused Alek rose to his feet with a creak and crept back to his bed.

Hearing him go, Jael lay perfectly still, wondering what the dreamer would see? Or the men sleeping around her?

What would they hear?

She waited, struggling to keep her eyes open for what felt like an hour. The sounds of the men’s sleeping quarters would take time to get used to. There were rustles, murmurs and the odd familiar rhythmic sound, though no one was moving about. Everyone appeared settled. Tired.

And finally, inhaling a deep breath, Jael picked up one of the stones, angling it towards the rays of moonlight, and with the knife in her hand, she started scratching.

* * *

Kalina hadn’t opened her eyes, which kept Dessalene by her bed.

The physician had been roused, brought sleepy-eyed to stitch her wounds.

Dessalene Sardis was a dreamer, not a healer; blood mostly disgusted her unless used for her own purposes. She felt reluctant to even attempt to save her stepdaughter, who had caused such a mess. And not for the first time.

Now, having tended to the queen’s self-inflicted wounds, the physician was looking to be dismissed, suppressing a yawn. Dessalene eyed him, feeling jealous. He would escape back to his house, and she would –

‘The queen must be watched, my lady,’ Ratish told her as he edged backwards. ‘When she wakes, there may be regret, though perhaps, I fear, a desire to try again...’ His voice trailed away as he dropped his eyes.

‘Yes, yes, you may go. Return in the morning, though. I will not have the queen’s wounds festering.’ Straightening up her aching body, in need of sleep herself, Dessalene eyed the physician, who had almost reached the chamber door. ‘I am sure I don’t have to tell you that no word of this is to escape your lips. If it does, I will have them cut off. I’ve seen it done, you know. Nasty business. I can’t imagine it makes eating a very pleasant task, or speaking, come to think of it. And you’d never kiss again, though at your age, would you even want to?’ Smiling, she shooed the old man away before turning back to the bed.

And now she sighed.

The queen was propped up on perfectly plump pillows, sheathed in a clean silk nightgown, her glistening black hair smoothed under her head. Kalina’s slaves certainly knew how to care for their mistress, how to pamper and indulge her, though they did not know how to modify her ridiculous behaviour. That much was obvious.

Yawning now, Dessalene aimed for a lounge chair. She couldn’t trust the slaves to ensure that her stepdaughter lived, and imagining her husband’s worried face, she knew he would want her sitting there. So, running her tongue over thin, sullen lips, Dessalene Sardis took a seat, eyes on the bed.

* * *

In the hours before dawn, Korri Torluffson, owner of the Sea Queen, lord of his men, took a seat beside the dreamer.

Neither of them appeared able to sleep, so he thought they may as well keep each other company. His tawny cat, Alvi, an expert ratter, was laid out across the dreamer’s lap, pink tongue poking out.

‘You cannot conjure up a sleeping spell?’ he wondered with a wink, thinking he should have found a fur to cover himself with; the wind was rising off the sea like a vengeful whip.

Edela chuckled. ‘I’ve never tried to, truth be told. I’m not usually awake at this hour, even at my age. Dreamers tend to sleep a lot, but not tonight.’

Korri frowned. ‘Do you have a bad feeling?’

‘Plenty! Yes, plenty of bad feelings, especially in the dark. It’s where they all like to gather, isn’t it? In the darkness, waiting to frighten us, when in the sunlight, perhaps they wouldn’t be so scary at all?’

Korri was thoughtful, enjoying the silence. ‘We’ll stop in Zagora, the city of Bakkar, in a few days.’

‘I’ve never been there,’ Edela admitted. ‘Which is something I’ve been saying a lot lately.’ She smiled again, seeing the man relax. He had an open manner, a friendliness she warmed to; she knew few people who were so forthcoming. ‘I do not have a bad feeling about you, however,’ she added. ‘In case you were wondering?’

‘I’m glad to hear it. So just for yourself then?’

‘For me and my companions, yes. For my family too. I fear the future and why I am here. Of what I will do and who I might hurt. Like poor Elmer and his crew.’ Which, Edela realised, was at the heart of her sleeplessness. Guilt had given her a bad case of indigestion. She felt a sharp pain in her chest, a flood of bile in her mouth, sickening her.

‘Though you didn’t cause the death of those men, Edela. The bear did that.’

Edela stared at him, saying nothing further. It would do no good to draw another innocent victim into the web of danger she was weaving.

Korri turned to her. ‘I met a dreamer as a boy. She told my father to stop farming. That he should sell his farm and take to sea. That if he didn’t, it would be the death of him. And though he’d paid her for her insight, he didn’t listen to the woman, too stuck in his ways to change. He was dead within a year. Fire destroyed the place, killed my parents and my sister, so I didn’t go into farming...’ Korri grinned. ‘And since then, I’ve always been open to the words of a dreamer, both good and bad. It’s like day and night, storms and clear skies. We can’t choose one or the other, can we? We have to live in the world as Daala made it. A world carefully balanced between good and evil. Between darkness and light.’

Edela looked surprised. ‘You’re rather wise.’

‘What? For a man of the sea?’

‘Perhaps.’ Edela saw glimpses of a pregnant woman and Korri’s hands wrapped around her belly, his long beard draped over the smiling woman’s shoulder as he nuzzled her neck. ‘And your children? Your wife?’

‘I’ve none of those,’ Korri laughed. ‘Not yet. This sweet ship is my only mistress. Perhaps there’s nothing else in my future? No one else?’

Edela shook her head. ‘I don’t think you have to worry. I see a very happy family in your future. A very happy family indeed.’ The old cat began to stir, and beside her, Bertel flopped over, interrupting his steady stream of snores.

Korri’s mouth gaped open. ‘You’ve seen it? My future?’

‘A happy glimpse of it, yes, which is rather reassuring, I must say. For both of us!’ Now she yawned, finally feeling a break in the darkness, as though its hold on her had lessened. Elmer and his crew were gone, and though it grieved her, she could not dig back into the past and save them.

The only way now was forward. The only path lay before, not behind her.

Flicking out a hand, Bertel touched Edela, and finding her hand, he held it.

* * *

When morning dawned, Jael had only just fallen back to sleep. She’d hidden the knife inside her thin mattress, knowing it remained on the floor each day, mostly undisturbed, reserving the place of its owner.

She slid the two symbol stones into her new shoes, feeling grateful that now she was working on the tower, she had been provided with more purposeful footwear. The covered shoes were too big for her, mostly given to men, and the stones helped keep them on her feet.

As the leader of his crew of thirty-four men and one woman, Alek Orlan was up earlier than the rest, responsible for getting them hydrated with cups of warm, cloudy water and handing out small shoulders of stale bread. And though his men gratefully took whatever he handed them, it wasn’t the breakfast they needed to prepare them for the day ahead.

Sunshine streamed into the dining area, already strong and bright, though it hadn’t been long since dawn.

Jael peered at Alek with one eye, struggling to peel open the other. She thought wistfully of her perfect bed and her husband lying beside her, his legs entwined with hers.

‘Where’s the knife?’ he wondered with a whisper.

Jael was trying to swallow down the tough bread and couldn’t answer. Tipping some warm water into her mouth, she attempted to soften it, eventually gulping it down, feeling grit in her teeth.

Scratching her nose, she scowled at Alek, knocking his cup of water to the floor.

He blinked in surprise before bending down to pick up the now-empty cup. Jael dropped down with him, and slipping one of the stones out of her shoe, she wedged it into Alek’s.

They both straightened up.

‘I’ll need some more water,’ he said. ‘You too. I thought you could come with me today. I’ll be at the top of the tower for much of it. As you can see, that’s where our attention is focused now.’

He was an awkward-looking man, Jael noticed. Though he was of average height, his hunched, crooked posture made him appear much smaller. Still, there was a manic sort of energy about him as he hovered around her.

She kept scowling, not wanting to draw attention to either of them.

He couldn’t favour her.

‘I’ll be fine carrying on,’ she muttered as they headed outside to the well. ‘No special treatment. If the dreamer gets wind that I’m being given an easier time, she’ll think of something worse.’

‘I’m not sure there is worse,’ Alek told her with a grin. ‘I’ve done most tasks since I arrived, and I can’t think of anything I’d want to do less. Working at the top of the tower is still hard, the hours are still long, but you’re not doing all that lifting. That’s what broke me. My body will never be the same after my time in the quarry.’

Perhaps that explained it, Jael realised, seeing his unnatural way of walking.

And he wasn’t the only one.

The men around them moved as though sleepwalking, bent over with shuffling gaits, as though their arms and heads were too heavy to lift.

‘What are the stones for?’ Alek asked, smiling at a slave boy filling buckets from the well. And scooping his cup into one, he gulped down a mouthful, grimacing before encouraging Jael to do the same.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Hopefully, to protect us. To hide us from that dreamer and anyone else who might be looking at what we’re doing.’

Alek watched in silence as Jael filled her cup. Men filtered out of the dining hall, stretching and sniffing, squinting at the sun – their arch-nemesis.

That and the massive lumps of stone.

One or the other was sure to kill them in the end.

‘I’ll get everyone underway, then we can talk,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll see to it. There’s so much to talk about, but we don’t have much time.’

And wheeling away from her, Alek Orlan soon left Jael behind.

11

The bright glow of the morning sun revealed that there were no flaming walls and no sea wolves hunting them.

Eadmund dropped his head, nauseous with exhaustion.

Beside him, Thorgils chomped into a hunk of salted pork, eating with his mouth open. ‘We still aiming for Vastera?’

Jolted out of his stupor, Eadmund shook his head. ‘No need.’

‘Though this is the last of the pork,’ Thorgils frowned. ‘There’s no cheese, little ale, and we’re low on water.’

That was true, and Eadmund pulled himself to his feet. ‘I’ll speak to Bolder.’ And leaving Thorgils chewing as though his life depended on it, he headed for the stern, tipping back his head, seeing Bone Hammer’s faded red sail as full as a pregnant belly above his head. It reminded him of his daughter, who had writhed like a sea creature in Jael’s belly. He’d been fascinated by it, lying in bed beside his wife, irritating her with his exploring hands, eager to feel his child, to imagine her.

Bo.

She had certainly arrived like a bellowing beast, he thought, a smile now brightening his face.

His father would have spoiled her rotten. His sister too.

If they had lived.

Mattie stood and stretched before him, mirrored by Otter, who yawned.

‘You’re awake,’ Eadmund noted. ‘Thought you might have been trapped in a dream again.’

Mattie was in a surprisingly good mood. She was used to waking up feeling the need to scratch her claws on something, but this morning, she felt light and at ease. ‘No, just resting, I suppose. It was a long night.’

‘And you worked hard,’ Eadmund reminded her. ‘We all saw that. You helped us, Mattie. You’ve helped a lot.’ As a leader, it was important to give everyone confidence in their abilities, and it had taken a distracted Eadmund some time to realise how little belief the dreamer had in herself. She covered it up with a brash manner and a loud voice. She bustled and scowled and generally looked in charge of whichever situation she encountered, though over the past few weeks, Eadmund had seen how afraid she was.

Afraid that she wasn’t good enough.

He patted her shoulder. ‘Jael has a chance because of you.’ And feeling tears coming, he bobbed his head, abruptly turning away, nearly tripping over Otter.

Fyn approached, clutching a cup of ale. He looked wary, knowing the dreamer well enough now to anticipate an abrupt dismissal, though she beamed at him as a purring Otter weaved through his legs. Surprised on both counts, Fyn couldn’t find anything to say.

‘It’s a beautiful day,’ Mattie smiled, staring up at him. ‘A better day.’

Peering into her eyes, Fyn thought they looked emerald green in the sunshine – green with a shimmer of gold. ‘It is. I didn’t think it was possible. But who did that? The fire walls?’

Now Mattie frowned, curious about that herself. Bending down, she scooped up the cat, rubbing his head. ‘Someone who wants to stop us. Someone watching, so likely a dreamer. Hopefully, not a god.’

‘A god?’ Fyn didn’t like the sound of that.

Mattie chuckled. ‘Likely a dreamer,’ she repeated. ‘A powerful one too. I felt a hand around my throat, like a vice tightening. Not flesh and bone but metal.’

‘And you stopped it?’

‘No, I think it stopped on its own. I wasn’t doing anything. It just stopped, and I felt released.’ She shook her head. ‘It wasn’t me.’

‘Then we had some luck,’ Fyn decided, hearing Kolarov calling for him, and seeing the explorer, red-faced and pointing at Thorgils, he rolled his eyes, guessing he was being called upon to settle another dispute between the two stubborn men, who had been facing off against each other since Castala. Though seeing the bright sun and the full sail and the relaxed dreamer, he smiled.

They weren’t out of danger, they didn’t have Jael, but for the first time in days, Fyn Gallas felt hope stirring.

* * *

Kalina saw nothing but darkness.

She sat on her bedchamber balcony, propped up against a wall of cushions beside a table laden with refreshments. Ignored by the queen, they were now attracting flies.

She stared as if at nothing. Her swollen eyes were without focus, her body no longer her own.

She felt suspended in pure darkness.

Sitting beside her, Dessalene rolled her eyes, looking away for a moment to silently scream at the wall before turning back to her stepdaughter. ‘The physician will be here soon. I shall order another tonic. Something uplifting! You will see the sun again, Kalina.’

Kalina remained mute and lifeless beside the dreamer, and resisting the urge to prod her with a sharp fingernail, Dessalene brightened her forced smile. ‘There is much to plan. You enjoy that, don’t you? Festivities and the like? Though,’ she added, ‘I hardly think the funeral should be too festive. And we must use the time before it to draw your lords around you, Kalina. After what happened with Arras Sikari, you need to refocus everyone on what comes next, not on what has been. On what has gone wrong.’

Kalina still didn’t reply, and too irritated to fake it any longer, Dessalene snapped. ‘And what will your father think when he hears of this?’ She saw a flicker of something in the queen’s eyes. ‘To hear that your response to your mistakes was to run away from them? Not to fix them or make things right, but to end your own life? After the trust he put in you? I cannot think that would please him, dearest.’

Kalina had grown up fearful of her father.

He was a smiling, gregarious man until some slight irritation set him off and then, like a spark on dry moss, he would ignite and turn into a bellowing ogre. Sitting in the heat of the balcony, she shuddered at the memories of his rage, stomach clenching.

Dessalene smiled. ‘We are never parted, though when I saw what you were about, I... I wanted to help you, for if Jael Furyck had died in that hole?’

Kalina slumped forward with a heavy sigh. ‘And though I am grateful you came, you need not stay, Dessalene. You can return to my father.’

Staring at the oddly pale queen, Dessalene shook her head. ‘No, I will stay. I must. Eyshar must be more than simply appeased for your error. His trust in you, in the isle and its people must be fully restored. That will require more work than you are capable of managing, especially in your... present state.’ Touching Kalina’s hand, she closed her eyes. ‘You will have a child,’ she breathed. ‘I see a boy, dark-haired and handsome. Strong and healthy.’ Opening her eyes, she tried to infuse her stepdaughter with hope, wanting to snap her out of her catatonic state.

Though Kalina’s eyes remained lifeless. ‘Yet you said I am barren.’ She didn’t care who heard. She didn’t care about anything. Her heart ached for Arras, for the mess she had made of everything, for the child she would never carry.

‘You will never give birth, for not even a dreamer of my ability can change what Olera herself has ordained. But a child, a baby given into your arms after his first cry? That will be your child in every way. You will raise him. You will be his mother in all the ways that matter.’

‘What child?’

‘Argo Kosta’s. It became clear to me last evening while I sat by your bed. I have chosen Argo Kosta’s unborn son to be your heir. And when the boy is born, he will be yours to raise, beside your new husband.’

Kalina scrunched up her face. ‘Argo Kosta? But he is –’

‘An experienced man of high rank. A friend of your father’s. And it just so happens that he’s impregnated a slave. When she delivers her boy, we will take him and kill her, and you will have your child!’

Kalina stared at her. ‘But he is –’

‘A man worthy of being your consort. He was never a slave, so he does not pine for his freedom as Arras Sikari so obviously did. No, Kosta will remain by your side, enjoying the power and prestige you gift him. And happily content to play amongst his whore slaves, he will provide you with many heirs, my dear. You see!’ Dessalene threw up her hands, ready to leave the sweltering balcony for somewhere cooler. She eyed Pye, who, sensing his mistress’ need of him, had popped his head around the door. ‘It will all work out perfectly. It will! But first, there is the matter of the funeral and the new Noor. Your people are unsettled, and unease does tend to fester amongst the masses. As pervasive as disease! Do not let your feelings undermine all your father has built. He trusted you, Kalina. For you to let him down now?’

Dessalene’s words seared through Kalina’s cloudy consciousness, and soon she was blinking. Her wrists ached, the bandages hidden beneath long, draping sleeves. She suddenly felt embarrassed, enraged that Arras had left her, foolish for falling in love.

Her heart ached.

A pain she had never experienced before.

Dessalene stood. ‘You rest, and tomorrow, we will make our preparations together. By then, I am sure you will be yourself again, Kalina. Do not forget now, you are a queen first, a woman last and your father’s daughter above all. You must not let him down.’

* * *

Hidden away on the scaffolding at the top of the Tower of Eyshar, Alek spoke to Jael in hurried whispers, hoping not to attract attention.

In charge of his own crew, Alek Orlan had more freedom than that offered to most slaves, so when he’d chosen to keep Jael with him, no one had raised an eyebrow. Alek had taken her up the tower, intending to have her help the stone masons, though he wanted to speak to her first.

To share all he knew, hoped, and desired.

Now that she had arrived.

‘It is possible,’ he began. ‘To free ourselves. I’ve thought about it since I arrived. I’ve counted, studied, watched, listened, planned it out myself. I’ve made allies and talked to others of the same mind, though I’ve never been a warrior, never fought in a battle. I’m good with numbers, I can organise, but I can’t lead the slaves into battle. And that’s always been my problem, what I’ve waited all these years for. A true leader, someone to organise us. And now you’re here. You can lead us, Jael.’

‘Into battle?’ Jael’s voice was so low she could barely hear herself. They had squatted down while Alek acted as though he was outlining the tasks he needed her to do. She squinted at him, seeing those intense blue eyes.

Aleksander is waiting for you. He will show you what to do. Trust him.

Inhaling sharply, Jael pushed herself up, realising how the deep throbbing pain in her back already had her stooping. She squeezed her hands into fists, trying to feel her fingers.

Looking at Jael’s face, Alek could see he had some work to do. ‘Those in positions of power in the army are generally weak and ineffective. Sons of the queen’s lords. Most haven’t earned their places with any particular skill they’ve honed over the years. They’re not experienced leading men like Arras Sikari. He was different, but now he’s gone and –’

‘What about the other commander? Commander of the Rocks?’

Alek nodded. ‘Argo Kosta. He’ll be here soon enough. It’s his job to see that the tower is finished. He’s a beast.’

‘A smart beast?’

‘A ruthless killer. The king was friends with him, from what I’ve heard, so Kosta rose quickly until he became head of the army. Though it appeared that the king had a change of heart, for before he left the isle, he divided the position into two roles. Commander of the Waves and Commander of the Rocks. I think he wanted a more powerful fleet, and he saw Kosta as less suited to that.’

‘A ruthless killer?’

‘His daughter’s married to Quint. Krissia. I suspect Quint tells her everything that happens here, and she reports it all to her father. He turns up sometimes with his whip. Takes it to anyone she tells him is disloyal or not pulling their weight.’

Stepping back, Jael was troubled. ‘We can’t just hide here and talk all morning. Quint’s already staring up at us.’

Alek agreed. ‘Come, I’ll take you to Gardi. You can stay up here and help him for a while. You’re like a gift from the gods, Jael. You’ll help me free the slaves. I know it.’

She eyed him with doubt.

‘They keep us imprisoned by threatening us with weapons, with torture and pain. They make us fearful and afraid, fill us with doubt that nothing else is possible but this. They keep bringing in more slaves to build their homes and towers, their sanctuaries and gardens, never thinking of how outnumbered they are. But those they’ve captured are farmers and seamen, traders and merchants. Warriors too. Many know how to fight. More than our oppressors might imagine. We just need weapons and you. You to lead us out of here, Jael. You to show us the way home.’

PART II

REUNIONS

12

They would reach Bakkar today, Edela knew, savouring a cup of goat’s milk with Siggy, who appeared to be enjoying her time on Sea Queen.

‘Do you think we’ll be safe there?’ the girl asked, big curls bouncing in the wind. She kept shaking them away, trying to see, though they blew straight back into her eyes. ‘Wherever we’ve gone, someone’s tried to kill us. Except Marinos,’ she said with a cheeky grin. ‘We were safe there.’

Edela laughed. ‘Is that what you think? Though there I was lured to that horrible Aggralaia, wasn’t I? Someone was obviously watching, laying a honey trap that I certainly fell for.’ She saw Siggy shudder. ‘Though let’s not talk about that! We’ve barely had a chance to discuss what happened to you on the island.’

‘To me?’ Siggy wiped her milky lips on the back of her hand, leaving a faint moustache behind. ‘What about me?’

‘Your dream! You saw that bear.’ Though any joy about Siggy’s progress was dampened by the memory of Elmer and his crew’s terrible fate, and soon they were both frowning.

‘I didn’t think it was a bear,’ Siggy admitted. ‘In my vision, I saw dark creatures. They were big, with sharp teeth, but they weren’t bears.’

Edela felt tremors of worry about that, though putting down her empty cup, she patted Siggy’s hand. The goat bleated, ready for her breakfast, which Edela knew was Siggy’s chore, though she kept holding her hand. ‘You are a dreamer, Siggy, you’ve always been a dreamer, though something was stopping your dreams coming. Maybe fear? Or sadness? Though now that first dream has come, many more visions will flood your mind, awake or asleep. They’ll be confusing, unsettling, and sometimes nothing at all, but I want you to tell me about them so I can help you. Everything you see. There’s no Tuura, no temple anymore, though you’re fortunate enough to have your own dreamer and elder on hand.’

Siggy looked nervous.

The goat bleated again.

Nellie, Edela remembered with a smile. ‘You’d best go give that beast something to eat. After all, she’s given us a lovely drink this morning. We must return the favour.’

Siggy hopped to her feet and turning to look down at Edela, she shrugged awkwardly. ‘I do want to help. I’ll tell you everything I see so I can be useful. I promise.’

Edela nodded. ‘I know, now hurry along. I might close my eyes and see if I can find anything about our destination. Bakkar. I wonder what it will hold for us?’ She smiled at Siggy, who spun away before muttering to herself. Bertel waved to her from near the mast, where he was deep in conversation with one of Korri’s men, and she bobbed her head, still smiling. Though inside, everything was a great swirling mess.

For she had woken from a dream that had left her fearing she was going in the wrong direction entirely.

* * *

It had quickly become apparent to Axl that nothing he said or did would tease a smile out of his new dreamer. She stomped around with a face like thunder, though her grandson, Linas, appeared oblivious to it, and the boy continued to smile and chatter as though she was enjoying his company.

Perhaps she was, Axl thought as they walked away from the harbour towards the cove.

He had been showing the dreamer around Andala, wanting to learn more about her. Hoping to trust her.

‘My mother wishes to meet you. She’s been busy, though, preparing for the wedding in Angard.’

Helga called out for Linas not to throw stones before turning back to grunt at Axl. ‘I know nothing about it.’

‘Mmmm, though it does affect Brekka. With my Southern neighbours uniting in marriage, it very much affects us.’

‘Though your neighbour in the west is more of a problem. That man is a messenger of darkness.’

‘Oren Storgard?’

‘Yes. Some are like that, born to evil. He seeks vast power. He seeks to rule Osterland itself.’

Axl stumbled to a stop just before the little rise in the path. ‘Osterland?’

Helga grunted. ‘Securing your borders will not save you from a man who intends to fly over them.’ She kept walking, once again calling out to a dark-haired Linas, who swung around, flashing a toothless smile before running off again.

Having experienced flying creatures, Axl was shivering when he caught up to the dreamer. ‘Though what power does he have? Surely he’s just a man?’

Helga shrugged. ‘Desperate men, hungry, obsessive men, can seek out many remedies for their weaknesses. With gold, great power can be bought, so you underestimate the man if you are only thinking of iron and steel as a defense. Of mortal warriors to aid you.’ The dreamer shook her head, finally stopping to turn to the king. ‘I do not wish the boy to grow up in a land of darkness. And the Brekkan throne will soon be the only one standing against that darkness. With your grandmother gone, you need my help.’

‘But what can we do?’

‘Plenty,’ Helga promised. ‘There are no warriors breaking down your gates, no enemy ships in the harbour, so you have a chance. We do. Brekka will be isolated, but she cannot fall, my lord. And if we work together, I am certain she won’t.’

It was the first acknowledgement of his standing, though Axl barely heard her. Heart pounding, he peered at the woman, whose scowl hadn’t shifted. ‘And my child?’ he wondered. ‘My heir? Will he live?’

But Helga had turned away from him, heading after Linas, not stopping to answer.

* * *

Bolder had kept them in Vastera for two days.

Bone Hammer’s sail had needed repairing, her hull caulking, and with Eadmund’s help, he’d replenished their supplies too.

Now they were sailing to Hest’s capital, which the Hestians simply referred to as The City, though despite Eadmund’s reassurances that they would be welcomed by their allies, he wasn’t going there defenseless.

They had stocked up on arrows, pitch, tinder and spears.

And now, with Bone Hammer caulked, cleaned, and restocked, they set sail again.

Kolarov bubbled with energy. He had purchased a new hat in Vastera’s bustling market. It was blue, made of wool, and a little floppy, though he felt more like himself with something covering his scalp. More respectable.

‘There was talk about a wedding in Angard,’ Eadmund remembered, scratching his head. He’d slept in a bed in Vastera’s tiny tavern, which had been almost comfortable, though he’d been scratching ever since.

‘You did mention something about it,’ Kolarov said, gripping the lid of the chest he had commandeered for the journey. ‘Do you fear the king may have already decamped for Angard?’

A frowning Eadmund nodded. ‘I’m losing track of time. I should have asked in Vastera. Why didn’t I think to ask?’ He scratched his beard with two hands, drawing Kolarov’s attention.

‘You have certainly caught lice,’ the rotund explorer told him, inching backwards. ‘You’ll need to shave, dear king! All over, I’d advise.’

Eadmund sat on a chest opposite the explorer, slipping his hands beneath his thighs, though the itching sensation became even more maddening.

‘I never travel anywhere without my pillowcase.’

‘Your pillowcase?’

‘Oh yes, made of the finest silk! I purchased it in Tudash many years ago. A luxury of the finest order, not cheap, though one I heartily recommend. It’s cool and soft, and most importantly of all, no lice!’

‘Though you have little to attract lice anyway,’ Eadmund reminded him with a grin. ‘I doubt they’d be drawn to your eyebrows.’

‘Don’t be so sure about that!’ Kolarov laughed. ‘They’re insidious creatures, creeping into those places you often forget about. Like enemies! They like to find those weak spots, to slip through shadows, embedding themselves in the darkness and then...!’ He lunged towards Eadmund with mad eyes before dissolving into a fit of giggles, belly jiggling. ‘I don’t like lice.’

Eadmund absentmindedly scratched his head. ‘Well, let’s forget about invisible enemies for now.’ He saw Arras coming towards them and frowned. ‘We need to talk about those enemies we can see and what we’re going to do about them.’

Feeling conspiratorial, Kolarov lowered his voice. ‘You don’t like the man? Arras?’

Eadmund didn’t move his head. ‘After what he did to Jael, I’ve no reason to trust him, though she did. She gave up her place on this ship for Arras and his son, and I can only hope she didn’t sacrifice herself for an enemy.’

* * *

Jael caught her first glimpse of Argo Kosta that morning.

Alek had told her that the imposing Commander of the Rocks liked to make unannounced visits, hoping to catch the slaves off guard and punish those failing to carry out his orders.

As it was that morning when he arrived in the company of the seer, Inesh Seppo. After the funeral and sacrifices had taken place, the seer would be anointed the new Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. In his early forties, handsome and tall, he looked nothing like his predecessor, apart from the air of calm that radiated from his long face and his slow, graceful movements.

Alek was one of four foremen working to complete the tower under the supervision of the commander’s son-in-law, Quint, though there had been no sign of Quint that morning, and his absence had led to a loosening of discipline, which was quickly pounced on by a barking Kosta.

Jael had returned to the bottom of the tower, sent for supplies by Gardi, the stone mason, and she remained in the shade of an arch, watching as Alek hurried forward, called to account for the mess in the tower courtyard. The commander was twice the width of a lopsided Alek, at least a head taller and physically imposing. And though he’d appeared ready to throttle the smaller man, he merely pushed him away, snarling for another of the foremen to come forward – this man, the one ultimately responsible for the courtyard side of the tower.

Alek edged back towards his men and Jael, not looking at any of them. There was a palpable tension in his body that had her concerned, and looking at the brutish commander, now rendering the foreman a stuttering mess, she soon joined him in his worries.

It wasn’t long before Kosta drew out a knife, stabbing the apologetic foreman in the cheek.

Jael swallowed, hearing the man’s cry of anguish, seeing a flash of horror on the seer’s face, which he was quick to mask.

‘This tower is months overdue! Months!’ Kosta bellowed. ‘The funeral is to take place in twelve days, and a great sacrifice will be carried out here. Before the tower! So you will have this fucking tower finished, or you will all suffer like your worthless foreman here!’ And now, grabbing the sobbing man by his tunic, he slashed open his throat, throwing him to the ground. ‘Take him to the pits!’

Swinging around, he took in the rows of slaves now cowering before him, eyes lowered, hoping not to draw the commander’s attention.

Inesh Seppo sought to intervene. ‘Commander, we must not keep the queen’s stepmother waiting. She is to meet us inside the temple.’

Kosta was still bristling with anger, incensed by the unfinished work and the poor standards of Quint’s foremen and their crews. Though reminded of the seer beside him, he allowed his attention to be reassigned. Turning with the blue-robed man, he caught sight of Jael and stopped as though struck.

Curling a thick, calloused finger in her direction, Kosta’s eyes narrowed as he waited.

Jael heard a hush weave through the slaves as she walked towards him, wishing she had a weapon to hand.

The commander, she could see, had plenty.

She kept her eyes up, back straight, as she stopped before him, barely blinking.

He still held the bloody knife he’d killed the foreman with, and though Jael could smell the blood and the trail of shit the foreman’s body had left behind, she didn’t look. She didn’t flinch beneath that intense gaze.

Kosta took a thumping step forward, aware of the seer’s discomfort and the slaves’ interest. ‘You are the woman Arras Sikari sought to kidnap. A wealthy woman. A famous woman. A warrior.’ He had seen the match in the Arena; he knew what this woman was capable of. ‘And a precious, precious prize.’

His breath was smoke and wine and meat. Skin that had spent decades baking in the sun was a rippled, leathery mass. He peered at her with yellow-tinged blue eyes narrowed to slits, as though surveying a great feast.

Jael didn’t answer him; she hadn’t heard a question.

Roughly taking her chin in his hand, Kosta squeezed it, jerking it upwards. ‘But not to me,’ he rasped in warning. ‘You are not a prize to me.’ And now he shoved her backwards, watching her stumble, disappointed that she didn’t fall. ‘I will have my eyes on you. On all of you!’ he shouted. ‘This tower will be finished before the funeral, or you’ll all be sent to the pits. Every last one of you useless fucks!’ And with a nod of apology to the clearly disturbed seer, he led the man away.

Jael watched him go, still inhaling the stink of that smoky hand on her face as Alek came up behind her.

‘Are you alright?’

Annoyed by his fussing, she brushed him aside, simmering with anger. ‘I’ll have to kill him,’ she decided, far more interested in Alek’s plan now. ‘Before we leave this place, I’m going to have to kill that bastard.’

* * *

‘What is troubling you, Edela?’ Bertel muttered in a distracted voice. Bakkar, Zagora’s noisy capital city, was a whirlwind of delights, and his attention was everywhere but on his companions. Siggy roamed ahead of them, turning around to announce where she was leading them next. Beside him, Edela was silent, as though not entirely present. The streets were swarming with people in a way they hadn’t experienced on any of the islands. Instead of bright blue skies and little white cottages fronting cobblestoned alleys, Bakkar was like a dark, steaming maze of narrow paths, old roads and impossibly tall buildings. They rose like towers, crammed together, blocking out the sun, allowing little air through, making everything even more claustrophobic.

Bertel stood on a woman’s foot. ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ he declared in horror. The young woman’s husband swung around, shoving him with a look of disgust, and though incensed by that, Bertel allowed himself to be tugged away by an insistent Edela.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, showing signs of life now as Bertel peered at her with furrowed brows. ‘I hardly think getting into a fight serves us.’

‘Well, I...’ A flustered Bertel didn’t go on, realising that they’d lost Siggy. ‘Hurry up, Edela!’ And taking her hand, he shouldered his way through the crowd, finally spying that familiar curly head.

Siggy turned back to them. ‘I don’t know where I’m going!’ she admitted with a laugh.

Edela laughed with her, though she felt uncomfortable in her own skin. Bakkar was an unsettling, overcrowded place, and though the sun was out, it felt strangely dark. She was becoming less convinced that she was going in the right direction, more fearful that her every move was being watched – even her thoughts studied by some invisible enemy. But smiling at Siggy, she tried to move them forward.

Though they didn’t get far, for soon, they came across the friendly Korri Torluffson and a handful of his men, who had left the ships early, hoping to offload their stock of honey and furs, and by the look of their empty hands, they’d succeeded.

‘Glad I’ve found you,’ Korri smiled at Edela, nodding at Bertel. ‘If you’re still keen to earn some coins, I’ve heard of an opening that might interest you.’

Bertel frowned at him, one hand on Edela, who he sensed was ready to leap forward at any moment. ‘What sort of opening? What would I have to do?’

Korri laughed. ‘Not you. Edela. It’s a fortune teller they’re looking for. An old man and his grandson, they own a tavern called The Crescent Moon. A small place, but very busy. You wouldn’t be short of customers!’

Edela turned to Bertel, shaking off his hand. ‘Well...’

Bertel wasn’t sure what he thought. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t have to do it for long,’ he suggested. ‘And you could use a different name.’

‘It pays well,’ Korri added. ‘According to the grandson, at least.’

‘You should only do it if you want to, Edela,’ Siggy told the dreamer.

‘Though will it be safe?’ Edela wondered.

‘I’m not sure anywhere’s safe,’ Bertel said, leaning close. ‘I can try down at the harbour, see if anyone needs help –’

‘No, no. No, this makes perfect sense,’ Edela decided. ‘I’ll tell some fortunes, make a few coins, and then we’ll be on our way.’

Happy to hear it, Korri and his men soon took their leave, eager to return to their ships.

‘Well, that was a stroke of luck,’ Edela chuckled as they turned back into the crowd, though she shivered, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

Revealing herself as a dreamer?

Not a dreamer, a fortune teller, she reminded herself. And anyone could set themselves up to tell fortunes. No one had to know she was a dreamer.

‘The sign of the crescent moon?’ Bertel muttered, seeing how many stalls, shops, and signs populated their path. ‘Perhaps we should have asked Korri to guide us?’ Narrowing tired eyes, he tried to sharpen his vision, though he wasn’t looking where he was going, soon standing on another foot.

Now Edela laughed, almost relaxing for the first time in days. ‘Perhaps we need to find a cart so Siggy and I can push you? It might be safer. At this rate, you’ll end up with a knife in your chest!’ Though a scowling Bertel took her hand, squeezing into a gap in the crowd, pulling her after him.

* * *

Mattie’s hands were so cold they were turning blue. Her red nose was dripping.

‘Oh, I long for hot water,’ she sighed, smiling at Anika, who had proven a friendly, if shy, companion. And though it was agreeable to have another woman on board, Mattie was so unused to female company that she could never think of anything to say to her.

They sat side by side in the bow, keeping to themselves while the men sharpened weapons, played dice and chatted amongst themselves. The weather was fair, the wind bitterly cold, and they were well on their way to Hest.

Anika, who had arrived on board in a thin grey dress with sandals on her feet, nodded. ‘Hest will be warm. I lived there as a child.’

That was more information than she’d revealed about herself so far, and Mattie peered at her with interest. ‘You’re Hestian?’

Anika shook her head. ‘No, I was born in Brekka, but my grandparents were Hestian. I lived with them for a time.’

‘Near The City?’

‘No, further north. Near the border with Helsabor. It was a hot place compared to Brekka. Very dry.’

The women looked wistfully at each other before a jet of sea spray fired over the bow, showering them both. They burst out laughing, frightening a sleeping Otter, who bounded off Anika’s knee, scuttling towards Bolder.

‘So will you stay in Hest then or go back to Brekka?’ Mattie asked, dragging a clump of wet hair out of her eyes.

Anika immediately sought out Nico, feeling a fluttering in her stomach, still amazed to think there was a future to talk about. ‘I’m not sure. We haven’t discussed it. I know Nico and his father will want to go back for the queen. For Jael Furyck. After what she did to help us escape, they won’t leave her behind.’

* * *

Gisila recognised Helga Brugen at once.

Beside her, Axl was surprised when his mother didn’t speak. He knew Gisila was desperate for answers about Jael and Edela, worried about him and Amma, yet she had no questions and certainly no welcome for his new dreamer.

‘I didn’t expect you would ever leave the forest, Helga,’ Gisila frowned.

Helga had no smile either, though that was less of a surprise, Axl realised.

‘The forest sustained me, fed and nourished me for years and will again, though for now, my place is here, helping your son.’

Gisila’s frown didn’t budge. She stood in the centre of the hall, too close to a fire pit, feeling a warmth on her back that was almost burning. ‘You were sent out from memory. Banished from the temple.’

Helga’s beady eyes sparked. ‘Not quite. Though I imagine the elders sought to turn everyone against me after I left. My daughter said as much. It was a corrupt place, and I would not remain silent, so I spoke up and left.’

‘Which seems like a wise choice in hindsight, don’t you think, Mother?’ Axl said with a raised eyebrow, hoping to set his mother right again.

Gisila offered a grudging nod, hearing the truth in Axl’s words. ‘Tuura has certainly fallen far these past few years. You were well out of it.’

‘These past few years?’ Helga sneered. ‘Oh no, but Tuura has always been rotten to its core.’ Straightening up, she looked past the former queen to where servants were laying the high table, realising that before long, Linas would come searching for food. ‘I would like to help myself to your kitchen stores.’

Ignoring his mother’s blinking eyes, Axl nodded. ‘Of course. You will need to feed your grandson and yourself. I can show –’

‘I can take myself,’ Helga assured him, stepping away from the fire pit. ‘You must have better things to do. More important things, perhaps?’

‘I... yes. Well, do help yourself. I shall be paying you for your services, Helga, but in the meantime, take what you need.’

The dreamer bobbed her head at the king, eyed Gisila coldly, and strode towards the kitchen with purpose.

When she had disappeared from view, Gisila swung around to her son, grabbing his arm. ‘Helga? You didn’t say her name was Helga!’

‘Why, what does it matter what her name is?’

‘Helga Brugen was no friend to dreamers in Tuura. I’m not sure we can trust her. That you can, Axl.’

Axl had been fearing that himself, though he was determined to push back, not wanting to think he was making a mistake. ‘There is no one else, Mother. Besides, Helga sees danger on the horizon, and she wants to help me.’

‘We see danger on the horizon, so that’s hardly illuminating!’

‘But she sees danger for all of Osterland. For every kingdom, not just us. Oren Storgard’s ambitions are more than we could ever have imagined.’

That was news to Gisila, who finally moved away from the fire.

‘We need help. I do. And for now, that help is Helga. You were desperate for a dreamer, and she has come, so let her help us, Mother. Let her help us save the kingdom.’

13

Having been brought down from the top of the tower by Quint, who wanted another pair of hands to help unload the wagons, a struggling Jael tried to order the horrors of her current experience, seeking to determine which was the most unbearable.

There was the heat.

It was so hot she felt burned from the inside out. Her skin sizzled in the sun. It gave her a pounding headache, dried her throat and soaked her clothes with sweat.

Which led to the smell.

The reeking stink of sweating bodies and the rank odours from the pits and latrines drifted towards her in hot waves.

And the pain.

That was constant. Slabs of stone were hefted onto wagons, brought up from the quarry, some as large as a man, many smaller but still incredibly heavy. Jael’s arms felt as though they were coming apart.

One man’s had. A young slave called Wibo.

Something had popped that morning, his right arm suddenly changing shape, withered and dangling from the shoulder joint like a piece of overcooked meat. The pain must have been unbearable, though the man had looked almost removed from his own body – a level of exhaustion Jael was certain she would soon approach herself.

Then there was the enslavement.

That was discomfort in a way she couldn’t put into words. To be enslaved, where no decision was your own. Where your time belonged to someone else, your energy, joy and pleasure.

Your body.

Someone owned all of it.

And though Jael had been made Queen of the Slave Islands, sympathetic to the plight of all slaves, as the daughter of a king, she had always been removed from the experience of actually being a slave.

Until now.

Now she felt like a horse shut in a stall, a dog tied to a post.

She wanted to scream.

Nudged in the back, she turned with a snarl, surprised to see Alek, who had been gone for most of the day. ‘Where’d you disappear to?’

His blue eyes glowed with pleasure. ‘A meeting with the foremen and Inesh Seppo about the tower and the funeral. He spoke to the queen’s stepmother about Noor’s wish to give the slaves a day of rest in honour of the occasion.’

‘So they’ll be invited to watch? The slaves?’

Alek nodded. ‘They want a crowd, so yes, we’ll get to watch. Which will suit our plans.’

Jael peered at him. ‘Did you know the old seer?’

‘Yes. The queen has many plans for the temple grounds and Noor helped her refine her vision. He worked closely with Quint and the foremen.’

‘He knew your name?’

Alek stepped closer, glancing around. The slaves were being given a water break, many dipping scraps of cloth into their cups and wetting their faces, wiping the backs of their burning necks. The water wasn’t cool, but some liked to tie the cloths around their necks, though they didn’t remain wet for long. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I watched him die,’ Jael whispered. ‘The queen stabbed him, and before he died, he spoke to me about you.’

Alek was gobsmacked. ‘Me?’

‘Unless there’s another Aleksander you know of?’

‘No. Not around here.’

The slaves were already being ordered back to work, so Jael quickly gulped down the remainder of her water.

‘I’m sending you back up the scaffolding,’ Alek told her. ‘Gardi could use the help. If you don’t mind heights?’

Jael frowned. ‘Do you ask every slave’s preference for where they want to work?’

‘No, just those who are queens,’ Alek grinned. ‘Those who need to conserve their strength for what lies ahead.’ He whispered the last part as he turned away, heading for the rickety tower of scaffolding.

Watching him go, Jael wondered if it was truly possible.

To free the slaves and leave this place?

And tipping back her head, eyes on the intense blue sky, she thought of home.

* * *

After finally finding the sign of the crescent moon, Edela had left Siggy and Bertel outside the narrow little tavern while she went inside to enquire about the position.

The taverner was a wily old Tudashi man, intent on haggling with her, though she eventually struck what she hoped was a fair bargain, and finally emerging into the sunshine, she flashed her companions a triumphant smile.

‘At last! We thought you might have disappeared again,’ a red-faced Bertel declared. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Negotiating,’ Edela said with a wink.

‘Successfully?’ Siggy wondered.

‘Very successfully! I start work this evening.’

Bertel wasn’t sure what he thought about that.

‘And what’s more, the man has a room to rent above the tavern. We can stay there as part of my agreement. Free of charge!’

‘Well, I hope you haven’t talked yourself into some form of bondage, Edela,’ Bertel fretted. ‘I didn’t think we’d chosen to stay in Bakkar. In Zagora at all. It’s not where we want to be.’

‘Isn’t it?’ Edela shielded her eyes from the sun, which suddenly seemed so bright after the dingy tavern. ‘I’m not sure we know that. Every destination has provided one more clue, so why not this?’

‘So you have to tell people’s fortunes?’ Siggy asked, squinting at the boy who’d emerged from the tavern. He eyed her briefly before starting to wipe down the tables. ‘And can you do that?’

Edela laughed. ‘Well, I’m sure I’ll see some things. I just need to stop myself becoming too dark and gruesome. I want to leave my customers feeling optimistic about their futures.’

‘Your customers?’ Bertel snorted. ‘Sounds as though you’ve lost hold of your purpose, Edela, which certainly isn’t to become a fortune teller!’

‘Is that so? But wasn’t it you suggesting I offer myself up as one to poor Elmer and his men?’

Nostrils flaring as though he’d inhaled some horrible odour, Bertel turned away. ‘Well, as you say, we do need to earn our way, and I don’t expect we’d make very good thieves.’

Siggy laughed. ‘I don’t think so. Edela’s far too slow to run away.’

A chortling Edela agreed. ‘Yes, we’d be caught for sure!’ Everything suddenly darkened, and she heard a voice in her ears urging her to run.

To run far away.

‘What is it?’ Bertel asked. ‘Edela?’

Edela stumbled, swinging around, and finding Bertel, she took his arm, steadying herself. ‘Nothing. It’s... nothing.’ Which neither Bertel nor Siggy appeared to think was entirely true, though avoiding their eyes, Edela was soon on her way. ‘Let’s go back to the harbour and see if we can find Korri,’ she suggested. ‘He might allow us to help ourselves to some of Nellie’s milk. This sun is unbearably hot!’

Siggy turned after Edela, though Bertel didn’t move. Jostled and growled at, he ignored the crowd seething around him. Instead, he saw images of Tuura and his simple chamber in the temple, the quiet company of the elders, the plentiful food and comfort his former life had afforded him. And though he was a tense, starving, aching mess, far removed from that world, he knew it had been slowly killing him with boredom.

Edela Saeveld was a secretive witch, a mysterious healer and visionary dreamer leading them to who knew where, though Bertel felt certain he was meant to be by her side.

He was meant to help her find the answers she was so desperately looking for.

* * *

The sun was sinking in the sky, blinding Jael as she tottered near the edge of the scaffolding, only half-listening to Gardi lecture her about the importance of keeping her trowels clean. She was transfixed by the incredible view and occasionally by the wobbling scaffolding as the pulley was drawn up and the next bucket of bricks was delivered.

From here, she could see the palace. She could see into the temple, where the majestic Dragon Blood Tree commanded a mosaic-floored courtyard. She could see the sea to the west and the great pits where she’d been dropped into a hole and left to die. The memory of that had her shivering as she turned around to Gardi, who was now shielding his eyes, hoping to see her own.

‘You’re looking in the wrong direction,’ the white-haired old man grumbled. ‘Unless you’re thinking of flying? Won’t have been the first. They sometimes send soldiers up here to stop men throwing themselves off. At such a height? You’re guaranteed a fast death. Not painless, though. Wouldn’t try it myself. Now come on.’ He turned back to the wall, where a stack of bricks waited. ‘Alek says you’re my new assistant.’ He muttered noisily, not sounding thrilled about that as he motioned to the bricks. ‘For now, you’ll hand them to me. I need to stay down on my knees. See?’ And easing himself down onto his aching knees, Gardi held out a hand. ‘Once we’ve laid out the row, I’ll apply the mortar. Watch me carefully, and perhaps you’ll have a turn. Perhaps...’

Picking up a brick, Jael attempted to focus on Gardi’s process, though her mind remained busy, exploring every area of the city. She saw a side road heading out of the grounds, around the back of the temple. And that road appeared to lead towards the harbour.

* * *

The smell of supper, still hours away, wafted into the dining hall, and Kalina felt a stirring of hunger. It was a new and surprising sensation, for she’d had no appetite for days. It had felt as though she no longer possessed a body, just a mind and a heart, both distracted and in pain. She had no body, no need to care for it, no need to worry if she lived.

In those first few days, she hadn’t wanted to.

Dessalene swept into the room in a rush of silk and gold, her auburn hair unbound, whipping around like a horse’s tail. ‘We shall announce the engagement after the funeral!’ she decided gleefully. ‘That will put us all back on an even keel, won’t it, dearest?’ Seeing Kalina’s emotionless eyes, she brightened her own. ‘You will make such an attractive couple, such a talked-about pair, that all the mess with Arras will be gone as though it never existed. Brushed away like yesterday’s crumbs. Soon no one will even remember his name!’ Though thinking of Arras Sikari, Dessalene was aware that the traitor had slipped away from her wolf ships, and when he heard about that, her husband would be furious.

‘I thought you might mention it this evening. My betrothal.’

‘No, dearest. This evening is all about the Noor-Elect and introducing him to your lords and ladies.’ Dessalene frowned. ‘What a strange custom that is, not allowing the man to keep his own name. Pretending they are all one and the same. Whoever thought of that, I wonder?’

‘My father,’ Kalina said dully, aiming for the door. She wanted to bathe. Her stitches were itching, and she wanted to soak them. Whatever Mali added to her baths was soothing and reduced the irritation. The heat, her clothes, everything else simply irritated them. ‘And have you heard anything of Jael Furyck?’ she wondered, heading out of the throne room into the entranceway leading to the grand staircase. ‘Whether she lives?’

Following her, Dessalene blinked. ‘She does, of course! Nothing will happen to her now. I’ve arranged it all, so you needn’t worry. I have my eyes on her, and my little toad is checking on her, so if she gets up to any mischief, I’ll soon see it. We must keep her safe, mustn’t we, for your father will want to see her when he arrives.’

Kalina jerked to a stop. ‘My... father is coming? Here?’

‘Of course! He was always coming to inspect his prize. I merely hurried on ahead to fix your... mistakes before he arrived. You know how he can be. And we want things to be pleasant, don’t we? This way, he will arrive with everything smoothed over!’ Dessalene spun around, running a critical eye over the dining table, pleased with the work of those dedicated slaves, before turning back to Kalina. ‘Besides, he is only in Zagora. I don’t expect he’ll be long at all.’

* * *

That evening, Korri met up with Edela, Bertel, and Siggy at The Crescent Moon, where they shared a meal at an outside table.

It wasn’t what any of them had been hoping for.

The ale was too strong, with a bitter aftertaste, and the stew was unappetising: little chunks of meat sunk into a thick brown gravy with nuts sprinkled on top.

Thankfully, Edela realised in time that the meat was, in fact, rat and the bowls went untouched by her hungry companions.

Feeling bad about that, the taverner’s grandson, Zen, suggested they try some bread, which a starving Korri promptly ordered four servings of.

And while they waited for that to arrive, they sat outside the busy little tavern, in the busy little road, far too close to the crowds for comfort, occasionally jostled by people hurrying by.

Bertel was annoyed on every count, though he tried to smile for Korri, who had been generous with his hospitality from the moment he’d rescued them from Aggralaia. ‘And how long do you plan to stay in Bakkar?’ he wondered, glancing at the open tavern door, yet to see any sign of that bread. He did see the taverner’s grandson, though, and raising a hand, sought to claim his attention. Though the boy – a tall, slumping sort of youth – turned away without noticing.

‘A few more days, I reckon,’ Korri said. ‘I need more men to crew the new ship.’ He didn’t feel comfortable about acquiring Elmer’s ship in such tragic circumstances, though she deserved a careful owner and a useful crew, and he was determined to succeed on both counts. ‘And I’ll have to think about how I’m going to pay them. I’ve still got the ivory, which I was planning to sell in Castala, but I may need to part with my pelts here.’ His freckled face momentarily lost some of its cheerful enthusiasm, but he was soon smiling again. ‘And you? What are your plans?’

Zen brought out the plates of bread, and all conversation ceased, for it was warm, soft, and white. And soon gone.

‘If only we had something better to wash it down with,’ Korri grinned. ‘I’m not sure you can call this ale. Tastes like spicy bilge water.’

Edela couldn’t help but agree. ‘Well, there’s always Nellie. She can be relied upon for a nice cup of milk.’

‘True, and maybe it’s worth finding another goat for the new ship?’ Korri mused. ‘We’d never go thirsty then.’

They chatted for a while, discussing the animals, the ships, and what they’d discovered in Bakkar until Edela stood, adjusting her cloak and belt. ‘I must excuse myself, for it is time to get to work. I did tell my employer I would start after supper.’

Korri hopped to his feet, along with Bertel, who blinked at Edela with worry in his eyes. ‘You’ve secured a place here?’

‘Well, a temporary position. A way to pass the time!’

Siggy rose to her feet with a yawn. The air felt warmer than ever, a kind of sleepy haze falling over the sky now, turning everything a deep shade of copper.

‘We won’t be far away,’ Bertel promised, glancing at the patrons, who seemed loud and drunk.

‘I’d say that’s a good idea,’ Korri said, then seeing that Bertel had only a few knives in his belt, he smiled. ‘Come down to the harbour with me, and I’ll give you a sword. After Aggralaia, we’ve plenty to spare.’

Bertel looked pleased about that, turning after the helmsman before swinging back to Siggy. ‘Are you coming?’

Siggy shook her head. ‘I think I should help Edela. You might need some help,’ she insisted, sensing the dreamer’s resistance before she even opened her mouth.

Edela was certainly ready to protest, though seeing how eager the girl was to be useful, she nodded, squeezing Siggy’s arm. ‘Yes, I think that sounds like a sensible idea.’ Shivering, she glanced over her shoulder, feeling the same ripple of fear from earlier.

It was odd – a new sort of sensation.

As though a snake had slithered over her bare feet.

A long black snake with glowing eyes.

* * *

Bone Hammer slid into Hest’s harbour, searching for somewhere to moor. It was bustling and busy, every spot on every pier seemingly occupied, though eventually, Bolder’s man Raal found them a berth.

It brought back memories for Eadmund and Fyn, who stood by the prow with Thorgils, eyes on the enormous castle in the distance, seeing the improvements Karsten Dragos had made to the harbour since their last visit. It felt similar to Castala in many ways now, blessed with the same sort of golden hue, though not quite as chaotic.

‘He’s been busy,’ Thorgils noted, enjoying the welcome onslaught of warm, still air. Overhead, the blue sky was tinged with gold and he saw a hint of the moon. ‘Looks like he’s built five more piers since we were last here. How’s he managed that so quickly?’

Eadmund tidied up his beard, running stiff fingers through his hair, itching his scalp again. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep, though he needed to be alert and move with speed. And he needed to find Karsten.

‘With all the trade coming from the Fire Lands, I imagine he had to get the harbour back up and running,’ Fyn said, raising his voice as Bolder shouted at his crew. ‘It’s certainly busy!’

Kolarov stumbled into him. ‘What a sight!’ he declared cheerfully. ‘Oh, what a magnificent sight! I do hope your friendship with the king wasn’t overstated,’ he murmured to Thorgils, who turned to peer down at him. ‘I do so wish to sleep in a real bed! A real bed in that majestic castle. I had occasion to meet the old king a few times, though I never found him an especially hospitable man. Nor that wife of his. A quite vicious woman from memory.’

Thorgils slapped him on the back, recalling his own memories of Bayla Dragos. ‘Oh, you think so? A room in the castle?’

‘Well, I’m not one of the crew,’ Kolarov muttered. ‘They’ll have to make do with whatever they find, but a chamber in the castle would be more suited to me, an advisor to the king!’ And licking a finger, he smoothed down his eyebrows, ignoring a laughing Thorgils.

Eadmund’s eyes were on the docks, where their arrival had attracted the attention of three men dressed in green tunics trimmed in gold, who quickly headed towards them, muttering to each other. He turned to see Mattie with her cat, Arras and his son, and Anika. They had remained in the stern while Bolder and the crew secured their possessions, tidying up the ship. ‘What matters is what I can procure in terms of heading back to the isle. Not beds, not food, but ships and men and weapons. We have to rescue Jael. Don’t forget that now.’

That silenced everyone, though Kolarov had to pinch his lips together to stop any contrary thoughts from escaping his mouth.

‘You needn’t worry,’ Thorgils assured the man. ‘The Dragos’ will have fond memories of us Islanders. I’m sure they’ll lay on a warm welcome.’ Hearing a snort from Fyn, he smiled, thinking of the night Jael had set fire to Hest’s harbour.

Jael Furyck, he thought, still smiling.

Wherever she was and whatever she was doing, he hoped she was causing some trouble.

* * *

‘I’ve just been to see Quint. The commander wants us working through the night until the funeral,’ Alek told Jael as he joined her at the top of the tower. ‘So I’m going to make a new roster.’

‘Through the night? But how will anyone see?’ Jael wondered, and though the thought of what such a schedule would do to the already under pressure slaves, the darkness would provide opportunities for her and Alek not afforded by revealing daylight.

‘Lamps are on the way. Quint’s having more braziers brought in from the city too. We’ll do our best. And you? How are you finding it up here?’

‘Informative. It’s been very informative,’ Jael murmured, and inclining her head, she moved further along the scaffolding, feeling the wooden planks bouncing beneath her feet. She’d never had a problem with heights before, though that lack of concern was being sorely tested by her precarious new occupation. ‘On your roster, find time for us to be together. Surely there’s a task we could do side by side? Anything?’

Alek stared at Jael, seeing the last of the sun reflected in her green eyes. ‘You’ll help us then? You’ll lead us?’

She didn’t blink. ‘Roster us together, and we can talk about what’s on my mind.’ And now she smiled, feeling a familiar tremor of urgency emerge from her grief-stricken stupor.

Ideas had been percolating for days, and finally, she was ready to make a plan.

14

As he reached the wide swathe of steps leading up to Hest’s stone castle, Eadmund stopped, turning back to his friends, running his eyes over those who had trekked from the harbour. Two servants scurried out to greet them, but ignoring them, Eadmund pointed to Thorgils, Fyn, Mattie and Kolarov. ‘You four come with me. Bolder, see that everyone else is watered and fed. I’ll see what I can do about somewhere to stay.’ Then, thinking again, eyes on Arras, he pointed at the man. ‘You’d better come too. Your insight will be important.’

Turning back to the castle, Eadmund felt his shoulders tightening as he mounted the steps, trying to think of what he would say to Karsten. Of how to say it.

‘Eadmund? My lord?’

An older man emerged through the castle doors, stopping abruptly. He was finely dressed, though his grey hair was shaggy, and he carried himself without the poise of one raised in a castle.

Eadmund started. ‘Ulf? Is that you?’

Ulf Rutgar, formerly of Brekka, emerged from the shadows of the castle into the golden evening, seeing more familiar faces lined up behind the King of Oss. ‘Yes, still here! Not sure how Bayla has kept me prisoner for so long, but I seem too content to leave. I’ve been put in charge of the fleet, you know. About time, I must say. That shit Ludwig Berner died in a knife fight, though he was never the right man for the post.’ Realising he was rambling, Ulf blinked. ‘You’re here for the wedding? You did know it’s taking place in Angard?’ Now he looked around. ‘And where’s Jael?’

Hearing his wife’s name, Eadmund swallowed, though there was some hope in that familiar old face, some hope in being in the presence of allies once again, and he smiled. ‘Well, that’s why we’re here, Ulf. Jael’s in trouble, and we... need some help.’

* * *

Axl walked up the path to his grandmother’s cottage, feeling strange.

He remembered coming here as a child with Jael and Aleksander. They’d usually been forced to take him with them, and they’d always let him know how much of an inconvenience that was.

He remembered how Edela would fling open her door with a big smile and then open her arms for a bigger hug. This place had always felt safe and nurturing. In the hall, his mother had often been miserable or sharp-tongued, and his father had been in a hurry, barely glancing his way. But in Edela’s cottage, he’d always felt seen and heard.

The boy, Linas, opened the door, cocking his head to one side. He had an uneven haircut, much like his grandmother. As though she had taken a blade to it in the dark. There were patches where she’d gone too close to his scalp, Axl could see, and he smiled sympathetically at the cheerful boy.

‘Are you the king?’ Linas wondered.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘But where’s your crown?’

‘Back in my chamber, as it happens. Sometimes I forget to wear it.’

Linas didn’t welcome him inside, for he had many more questions, though his grandmother soon yanked him away from the door. ‘Move yourself, boy, and let the king in. His questions are more important than yours.’ Now Helga opened the door wide, ushering Axl inside.

He almost gasped. Though the cottage appeared just as Edela had left it, it no longer smelled like his grandmother. He saw the fur-lined chair by the fire, the stool waiting before it and felt an overwhelming longing to see her again.

‘You want to know about your family, I expect,’ Helga said in that blunt way of hers. ‘Well, I’ve seen one or two things, so you’d better sit down.’

* * *

Edela’s strange feeling continued as she made herself at home in the smelly back room of The Crescent Moon. The taverner’s grandson, Zen, had been quiet but helpful, bringing in a small round table, which wobbled, and giving it a wipe. Siggy tried to balance the table while Zen disappeared, returning with four stools of varying heights.

‘Do you have any cloth?’ Edela wondered. ‘Something to make it look...nicer?’ Despite Zen’s attempts to clean it, she saw stains and holes in the table. ‘Anything?’

‘I’ll see what my grandfather has upstairs,’ Zen said, smiling at Edela before disappearing again. Though he was soon back with an armload of fabric, which Siggy helped Edela sift through. They chose an ivory-coloured muslin for the table and scraps of thicker, woollen cloth for the four stools.

Siggy asked Zen if he had a cushion or sheepskin, for she wanted Edela to sit in comfort, and Edela requested more lamps and candles, seeking to brighten the dingy chamber.

And eventually, they were ready.

Bertel returned with his new sword, promptly sent on his way by the two dreamers, who didn’t want him frightening Edela’s customers. Though he was soon put to work by the taverner, who offered him ale in return for keeping a watch outside the back room door.

Edela settled down on her cushioned stool, smiling at Siggy, who sat in the corner braiding her hair. ‘This is hardly what I should be teaching you,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘And not what dreamers were born to do, though we must eat! We’ll certainly be no use without food.’

Siggy agreed, remembering that delicious bread. It had been dusted with spices she could still taste when she licked her lips. It almost made up for the horrible rat stew. She shuddered. ‘And then we can leave.’

‘Leave? You have plans, do you? Something you’ve seen? Somewhere we must be?’ Edela’s eyes snapped to the door, which opened, revealing a man and woman. The woman was barely more than a girl, the man a brutish sort of lump. And quickly assessing the situation, Edela offered her customers some wine. Though not understanding the common tongue, they stared blankly at her.

Zen appeared from behind the man.

‘I’m to translate for you, madam!’ he announced loudly, repeating this in the Zagoran tongue before boldly winking at Siggy and taking his place behind Edela.

She turned to peer at him, flapping a hand to move him away. ‘Over there, I think, by Siggy.’ And ignoring the girl’s horrified look, she turned back to the couple with a beaming smile. ‘Please, do sit and tell me how I can help you.’

* * *

The Dragos family had just finished supper, retiring to a chamber off the hall, when Ulf brought the news of their unexpected visitors.

Bayla Dragos, the king’s mother and a former Queen of Hest herself, scrunched up her face in confusion. ‘Did they not read their invitation?’ she sneered. ‘It certainly does not say come to The City. What are they here for? What do they want?’ Eyeing her heavily pregnant daughter-in-law, Meena, she hoped for some insight, though despite being a dreamer, the silly girl remained a mostly mute irritant who trembled and shook around her.

Tidying up her shoulder-length silvery-blonde hair and dabbing a napkin at the corners of her mouth, Bayla eyed her eldest son.

King Karsten Dragos was just as surprised, though ignoring his mother’s enquiring look, he urged Ulf to take his guests into the hall. His younger, one-armed brother, Berard, joined him, followed by an uptight Bayla, leaving Ulf to help Meena to her feet.

They trekked from the chamber into the hall, where their bedraggled guests huddled near the massive stone hearth, warming their hands before a blazing fire almost taller than they were.

‘Islanders!’ Karsten called cheerfully, arms open wide. ‘You have come!’

Eadmund and Thorgils turned with smiles, and soon the men embraced.

Karsten glanced past them in surprise. ‘But no Jael? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to get another child on her?’ He laughed, eyeing Eadmund. ‘Perhaps you’re skilled in magic yourself?’

More greetings followed between Eadmund and Bayla, Berard, and Meena, and when that was done, Eadmund completed his own introductions, and soon Bayla’s steward was organising wine.

‘My mother is concerned that you Islanders can’t read,’ Karsten said with a straight face. ‘That you misunderstood the wedding invitation.’

Hearing a snorting Thorgils behind him, Eadmund turned to the former queen, who was attempting to conceal her annoyance at her son. A chuckling Ulf took her arm, pulling her close. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t come for the wedding but for something less celebratory.’

Meena gasped, holding her belly. ‘Jael!’

Her husband, Berard, frowned at her before turning to Eadmund. ‘What’s happened to Jael?’

All eyes were soon on Eadmund, who saw flickers of past visits here with his wife – not all of them pleasant. ‘She was kidnapped.’ He felt rather than saw Arras Sikari’s eyes on him. ‘In Tuura. Edela disappeared, and Jael went after her, and then... she was taken.’

Meena gasped again.

Ulf looked worried. ‘What sort of disappeared?’ Having lived in Andala for many years, he was particularly fond of the old dreamer.

‘I don’t know. Tuura was attacked by Silurans, and during the attack Edela seems to have vanished.’ Again Eadmund felt Arras’ eyes on him, knowing he hadn’t spent nearly enough time asking the man what he knew about the events in Tuura. ‘In her search for Edela, Jael was kidnapped, transported to an island in the Valgeir Sea. She’s being held there.’

‘For ransom?’ Berard asked.

Only Karsten was still smiling, his smirking face more deeply lined than when Eadmund had last seen him. The worries of being a king, he imagined, feeling them himself. He sighed. ‘No.’ He motioned for Arras to come forward. ‘This is the man who took her.’ That evinced a murmur of horrified surprise from the Hestians.

Arras looked embarrassed and uncomfortable in the presence of two kings, both glowering at him.

‘And he’s not in chains? Or in the sea?’ Karsten wondered with a growl. ‘He took your wife, and he still breathes?’

‘He did, though she ended up saving him,’ Eadmund explained. ‘They were escaping the isle together, but Jael remained behind, saving Arras and his family. She sacrificed herself for him, but she’s still there.’

The fire spat a spark at Mattie, who flicked it away, blushing as everyone turned to her with questions in their eyes. She edged closer to Kolarov, whose head was up, eyes bright, hoping to be invited into the conversation.

‘What island?’ Ulf asked. ‘Where?’

Eadmund indicated for Arras to speak.

‘It’s called S’ala Nis. Ruled by Queen Kalina Sardis and before her by her father, Ronin.’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ Ulf said.

Karsten nodded. ‘And him. Though the King of Silura had nothing nice to say about him.’

‘They were rivals,’ Arras added.

‘And you kidnapped Jael for your king?’ Karsten wanted to know.

‘For my queen,’ Arras admitted, strengthening his voice. ‘They took me from my home in Silura before I was even a man, made me a slave, though I fought for my freedom and became a commander. But I was never truly free on the isle. I sought to escape so I could give my son a better life. And yes, I am only here because of Jael, so I will do anything to help her.’

‘So you want ships?’ Karsten concluded, eyes shifting to Eadmund. ‘My ships? And my men to sail them?’

‘But we are leaving for Angard in seven days!’ Bayla blurted out, sensing where this was going. Her son had been champing at the bit for months, seeking anything to delay his impending nuptials, and now perhaps he saw a way to do just that. ‘The wedding!’

Both Karsten and Berard cringed, and dropping her eyes, Meena shuffled awkwardly, cradling her pregnant belly.

Only Ulf looked unconcerned by Bayla’s screeching. ‘Though Karsten can spare a few ships,’ he told her with an encouraging smile. ‘We were never taking the fleet to Angard.’

Arras glanced at Eadmund, who spoke. ‘We have one ship. We left Osterland in one ship, though we need more than a few. I thought...’

Karsten looked torn, shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

‘You owe Jael,’ Thorgils reminded him sharply. ‘You’re here, a walking, talking, breathing king solely because of her. You owe her more than a few ships, Karsten Dragos.’

‘I’m well aware of my debt!’ Karsten snapped, glowering up at the big red-headed man. ‘You think I’ve forgotten what she did? I promise you, I remember that moment every day of my life. Every night I close my eyes.’ It was an admission he’d barely made to himself, and admitting it in public made him furious. ‘But I have a commitment to this wedding. I have no choice but to go. Two kingdoms are holding their breath for this fucking marriage. When it’s done, though...’

‘How many ships will you need?’ Berard wondered, eyeing his wife. Meena was a dreamer, though still not an experienced or confident one, and she rarely volunteered any visions. Despite her love for him and her happiness in the castle, the trauma of her life before Berard still kept her prisoner.

‘There is a dreamer,’ Meena whispered, staring at the flagstones.

Bayla rolled her eyes. ‘Isn’t there always!’ She spied a familiar figure amongst those visitors huddled around the fire. ‘I know you. Come, come, let me see you!’

Kolarov barrelled forward with gleaming eyes. ‘My lady, yes.’ He bowed deeply, one hand on his blue hat, which, straightening up, he swept from his bald head. ‘Kolarov Radic, explorer extraordinaire –’

Karsten cut the man off, eyes on Eadmund. ‘You wish to topple this queen? Is that your intention, or do you want to slip in and out? To take Jael and escape?’

‘We’ve tried that,’ Eadmund told him, exhaustion flooding his body. The warmth of the chamber had surprised him, the taste of the wine, the meaty smell of the Dragos’ evening meal still lingering in the hall. He had spent days frozen by tension and an always bitter wind, and now, in the castle, surrounded by allies, maybe even friends, he felt his body almost collapsing around him.

He eyed Arras, then Thorgils. ‘No, this time, we’ll be going in the front door.’

* * *

Helga spoke of Jael as though she knew her.

It was unsettling, Axl thought, watching the dreamer propped up like a boulder before him in his grandmother’s favourite chair.

‘I sense that she was lured away by magic.’

‘Magic?’ Leaning forward, Axl was surprised. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because she is a smart woman, an experienced warrior. To have walked into a trap with all her senses working? I can’t imagine you think that possible?’

Axl supposed not.

‘And after she was taken, there has been no sign of her. You say this dreamer, Ayla, that she found a wall when she searched for her? Such walls are only erected by dreamers. Those who understand how to shield and hide what they wish to remain secret.’

‘Ayla suspected as much.’

Helga grunted, jerking her head towards Linas, who hurried to add another log to the fire.

Axl was hoping it would slowly die. He was melting.

Helga narrowed her eyes. ‘Your sister and grandmother will free themselves. They are dreamers, and in your sister’s case, a warrior. They are the only ones equipped to undertake such a rescue. I am not here for them. I am here for you. Linas, boy, bring me my box.’

Linas scurried away, as obedient as a well-trained dog, promptly returning with a scuffed wooden box. Taking it onto her lap, Helga opened the lid, lifting up a bronze amulet hanging from a plain leather cord. ‘You must wear this.’

Now Axl narrowed his eyes.

‘Doubt me all you like, but know that my life was in the forest. My freedom too. I do not like people, do not wish to live around them. I like the quiet and my own company. I mostly like the boy’s company, but I did not come here for me. The Furycks are no friends to Tuurans, though without them? I see no one else capable of standing up to our enemies.’ Helga jerked the amulet at Axl, who finally took it, studying it carefully.

On one side, he saw an image of a man holding what appeared to be a spear.

On the other, an intricate knot of symbols – nothing he had seen before.

‘What does it do?’

‘It keeps you safe from danger, of course. Not the danger you will see coming but that which you won’t. Keep it on you at all times. Wear it around your neck, next to your heart. This I offer you as a form of protection.’

Looking up, Axl wanted to see a comforting smile giving him confidence, though instead, he saw grubby Helga glowering at him with beady eyes.

It was hard to trust the woman, though what choice did he have?

So, with a nod and a sigh, Axl slipped the amulet over his head.

* * *

After sitting at her table for many hours, seeing a steady stream of customers, Edela was desperate to stand and stretch out her back. It was cramping in a most uncomfortable way. Her right leg too. She wiggled her toes, shifting around on the cushion as Zen ushered her next customer into the tiny room. The candles were either burning low, or she was growing blind, for the man appeared shrouded in darkness. She blinked, hoping to sharpen her vision, though everything only became blurrier as Zen led the hooded man to a stool.

More men attempted to enter the room, past an indignant Bertel, though the man urged them to remain outside, nodding at Siggy, who poured him a cup of wine. She felt a great responsibility for Edela, who looked like a tiny grandmother hunched over the table. Though, she reminded herself, that grandmother had ably defended them on their dangerous adventure. They were all still standing because of Edela, so whoever sought to trouble her was likely to bring trouble on themselves.

‘Please, do make yourself comfortable,’ Edela smiled at the man, hoping to encourage him to remove his hood. She wanted to look in his eyes, to see his face, for there was already something about him that troubled her.

Zen translated her words into Zagoran, though the man held up a hand. ‘No need. I understand perfectly.’

His voice sent a chill up Edela’s spine, and she watched as he drew back his hood, revealing a thick head of dark hair, liberally oiled. He wore a short beard, covering much of the lower half of his face, which remained in shadow. He was incredibly still with his body. Commanding.

It was as though he was in control, Edela realised, becoming unsettled now.

‘I am Inga,’ she said. ‘A wise woman from the North.’

‘Inga? Is that so?’ the man smiled. ‘And where in the North are you from, Inga? Hest? No, you don’t look Hestian to me. Perhaps further north than that? As far as Tuura?’

Edela held his eyes, feeling her insides clench into a fist. ‘You are a well-travelled man.’

‘Did you see that about me? Have we begun?’ The man placed his hands on the table, turning them over. ‘Do you need to look?’

‘At your hands?’ Edela became acutely aware of Siggy hovering nearby. The girl’s heartbeat had quickened, matching her own. ‘Yes. May I see?’ The man nodded, and she took his right hand, holding it gently.

A burst of light blinded her, and she heard a great buzzing in her ears.

‘But why kill the dreamers?’ someone asked.

‘Not for us to question,’ came another voice. ‘They’re the queen’s orders. She wants them all dead, so we kill them. All of them.’ He sounded almost gleeful at the prospect.

‘And you?’ the first man asked. ‘What did the queen task you to do, Iker Rayas?’

Now Edela saw the man with branded cheeks, eyes glowing like lumps of coal. ‘I am to kill the one they call Edela Saeveld.’

Eyes springing open, Edela dropped the man’s hand.

‘Is something wrong?’ he purred, a hint of a smile playing around his hairy lips.

Hearing Edela’s voice in her ears, a surprised Siggy quickly aimed for the door.

The man turned to her. ‘Where are you going, girl?’

Siggy froze. ‘To get... more wine. I won’t be long, sir.’

Slipping around the table, she grabbed the door handle, pulling it open to two burly men who blocked her path. They looked familiar, she realised suddenly, swinging back to Edela.

‘Though I’ve had enough wine,’ the man said, returning his eyes to the dreamer. ‘Finally, I have everything I want right here before me. There’s no need to go anywhere. Not now we’re all together.’

There was a commotion as the two men at the door moved aside to make room for a now weaponless Bertel Knutson, who was shoved inside, falling onto Siggy. She cried out in surprise as the men moved back into position, closing the door and blocking it.

‘As I was saying,’ the man at the table purred darkly. ‘Now that we’re all together, let us begin...’

15

Karsten took Eadmund and Thorgils into his private chamber, leaving his family to entertain the rest of their guests. His mother tended to override every conversation with her demands, and Berard had gained his own voice since the death of their father. Sometimes their interference was too much, especially with the wedding around the corner.

‘You need to take a moment,’ he insisted as Eadmund swung around to him with blazing eyes. He held up a hand. ‘And what, you think I’m wrong here? Being patient?’ Laughing bitterly, he eyed Thorgils. ‘I remember being stuck in Andala, going out of my mind, watching people I loved die. I remember what it felt like to scratch the walls with the need to do something. You’re the one who held me back, Thorgils. You told me to wait it out, to be patient. And you were right, weren’t you, in the end?’ He turned to Eadmund, who paced the chamber like a wolf. ‘To do it properly is what your wife would advise. You remember her, the one with all the plans? How carefully did she plot out attacking Skorro? You can’t think she was wrong to take that time?’

‘Says the most impatient man in the world!’ Thorgils scoffed, seeing threads of silver glinting in Karsten’s long blonde hair. He had grown it out over the years, and it gave him a more regal appearance; older, too, he thought distractedly.

‘And what if it was your wife?’ Eadmund added. ‘You’d hardly sit on your hands if it was this Freya Valens.’

Karsten laughed, topping up his goblet. He studied the burgundy liquid with disinterest, swilling it around before turning back to his guests. ‘I’d let them keep the bitch,’ he grinned. ‘They could have her with my permission and a chest of gold!’

‘So it’s no love match then?’ Thorgils suggested.

Karsten threw back the wine and immediately refilled his goblet. ‘A king needs heirs, and for that, a king needs a queen. I’ve no choice in the matter.’ His easy demeanour vanished, replaced by a look of sadness. ‘When my son died, I...’ Gulping down more wine, he took a moment to compose himself. ‘I have one son left, one heir, and he was desperately ill last winter. Whatever that plague was, it took my nephew, Valder, too. I realised I couldn’t keep going, hoping...’ His words became stilted, his thoughts elsewhere. ‘A king must have sons,’ he ended abruptly. ‘So prim and proper Freya Valens it is!’ He eyed Eadmund with more sympathy then. ‘I want to help you, but we must do it properly. You can’t afford to fail again.’

Eadmund’s chest rose and fell, the stem of the goblet cold in his hand. Thinking about what Arras had done, he wanted to snap that stem in two.

Though it wouldn’t help. Arras had followed orders.

Then tried to help Jael escape.

He scratched his head. ‘I need to organise beds. I’ve a crew of tired men out there. I need to see to them.’

‘Of course. I’ll find my steward and he can organise a meal too. I’m sure there’s something Berard hasn’t stuffed into his little mouth. Or Meena. She eats like a wild boar when she’s pregnant.’ Karsten became thoughtful again, eyes shifting to the door. ‘We’ll talk more about what to do and what’s possible. I can’t get out of this wedding, but I’ll do what I can, I promise.’

Eadmund wanted to scream, but instead, he nodded.

Karsten placed a hand on his arm. ‘It’s Jael,’ he reminded the king. ‘No matter what you think or fear, never forget who your wife is.’

* * *

It wasn’t any cooler as Jael and Alek met that evening on the mostly finished southern side of the tower. Alek’s crew had been assigned their tasks, and in the darkness, there was a silent rhythm about the work. Few spoke, as those who had been rostered to work through the night were long past exhausted, struggling to coordinate their bodies and minds.

‘This slave revolt of yours...’ she began with a grin.

‘Will work,’ he cut in, seeing only shadows on her face.

‘A battle where the attacking side has no weapons requires coordination,’ Jael said in a hushed voice. ‘And that’s a challenge while there’s a dreamer in the palace. And the new seer,’ she added. ‘What is he? I’d heard that Noor wasn’t a dreamer, but he spoke into my mind.’

A surprised Alek blinked at her. ‘But the stones we have stop anyone spying on us, don’t they? Including the dreamer?’

‘In theory. I think so.’ Still, Jael glanced around. ‘I’ll make more, and you can distribute them to those you trust. You have to keep talking and planning with your allies.’

‘Of course. I’ve told them all about you. They’re ready.’

Jael sighed. ‘To attempt this, you need to be fully aware of what failure would mean, Alek. I don’t appear to be someone they want to kill, so my life likely won’t be in danger if we attempt this, but yours will. Yours and whichever men are caught, especially any leaders.’ Hearing a noise, she popped up her head, but seeing only cats chasing each other across the courtyard, she bent back down. ‘You need to be sure this is something you want to do. To risk dying?’

‘I’ll die here if I don’t try,’ Alek told her in desperation. ‘I’ve watched my brother die and my friends. If I’m to die, too, then so be it, but I’ll have no chance of ever seeing my sons again, of ever tasting freedom if I don’t try.’

‘And what about your wife?’ Jael wondered, realising that he’d never spoken of her.

Alek looked away. ‘I imagine my wife has a new life now and certainly a new husband. She never wanted to marry me. Not me. She wanted a family, to be prosperous and respected, though I see now that she simply grew impatient with being married to a craftsman. I thought I could earn the fortune she so desperately desired, trying my hand at trading, that I could convince her to be happy somehow. I loved her once, though the truth is, she never loved me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Alek shook his head. ‘I only hope my boys are alive. I don’t want to leave them in that woman’s hands.’

‘Well, if you’re determined to do this, then the funeral is the best opportunity we could hope for. To gather so many slaves in one place? It’s not a smart move... for them.’

‘There’s no Arras Sikari anymore. Likely he’d see things that way and consider a different approach, though Kosta’s a man who barely sees out of one eye, and that one’s always fixed on petty squabbles. He lost overall command of the isle because of his inability to manage his men. He’s a bully, not a leader.’

‘Well, I hope that remains the case. That no one points out the risk he’s taking, packing so many slaves in here.’

‘Mmmm, hopefully not.’

‘The soldiers will be distracted, watching the sacrifice. It’s not something you can look away from. There’ll be drumming and chanting and blood... enough to take their minds off what’s happening behind them,’ Jael mused. ‘So we just need a signal, and the slaves will overpower the soldiers here. If we can get enough weapons quickly, we’ll drive the momentum in our favour, push them onto the back foot. Though they won’t stay there long if we don’t work quickly. And effectively.’

‘So you agree then, we attack at the funeral?’

‘Yes,’ Jael whispered, feeling the certainty of that settling within her now. ‘At the funeral, we take back our freedom.’

* * *

Edela tried to delay whatever the branded man, Iker Rayas, was planning, hoping to get some answers.

Chest tightening, legs trembling, she sought to press him. ‘You were sent here by who?’ The man’s surprise froze his momentum, and Edela quickly ploughed on. ‘There is little chance of me escaping,’ she smiled sadly. ‘In fact...’ And now her eyes met Bertel’s. ‘I see no chance.’ He visibly shuddered. ‘But I’ve been running from you for some time now, and I would like to know why.’

The man rested his elbows on the table, grinning at her. ‘You think I’m privy to that information? Ha! If you’re such a famous dreamer, why not see for yourself? Here,’ he offered, holding out his right hand. ‘Try again. You might be able to see what I don’t know.’

Edela nodded, clasping that big hand.

Bertel’s tension overflowed like a bucket of water, though seeing the taverner’s grandson and poor Siggy, he sought to calm himself, to remember the warrior he’d once been. Thirty years ago, he would have felt confident taking all three men on, weaponless as he was. Now, he feared he would only end up getting them all killed.

He remembered the attic room in Esby, the symbol on the floor and the bloody-eyed bodies lying in a heap.

And the little dreamer presiding over them all.

And clenching his fist, he willed Edela on.

* * *

In the castle hall, Berard Dragos had helped his wife into a chair, bringing pillows to make her more comfortable. And helping himself to another goblet of wine, he’d sat down beside her while she chatted to the dreamer.

Mattie Bilso.

‘Did you know Edela?’ Berard interrupted, then sensing that neither dreamer wanted his company, he stood, eyeing the men. ‘Meena has visited Tuura and Andala many times. She’s met Edela. A very giving woman.’

Mattie shook her head. ‘No, though I knew her name.’

Now Berard took his leave. ‘I do hope they find her,’ he said. ‘Jael is especially fond of her grandmother.’

‘Have you seen anything yourself?’ Mattie wondered when Berard had gone. He seemed like a kind man, though his constant fussing hadn’t offered his shy wife a chance to speak. She was an odd creature, timid yet determined, Mattie thought, sensing strength in the woman, though it appeared trapped behind a great barrier of fear.

Smiling wryly, she imagined the same could be said about her.

Meena looked uncertain. ‘My dreams have been different lately,’ she confessed. ‘I used to see glimpses of this or that, but recently, I’ve been having the same dream. Different versions of the same dream. Don’t tell Berard, he does tend to worry, but I’ve, I’ve been dreaming of volcanoes.’

Mattie was taken aback. ‘Volcanoes? Are there volcanoes here? In Hest?’

Meena shrugged. ‘Possibly, though I don’t believe it’s something that will happen. I don’t get that sense at all.’

She didn’t say any more, fussing with the sleeve of her voluminous gown. She was exquisitely dressed, though despite her jewels and her gown, made of fine silk and embellished with delicate patternwork, there was a wildness about her, crowned by a mop of frizzy red hair.

Having heard Mattie’s appraisal of her, a frowning Meena sat up straighter. ‘I was at the Vale of the Gods and not by choice. What happened that day makes me fear the power of dreamers and gods. I watched my own family consumed by dreams of power. Berard’s brother too. Karsten and Bayla are always asking what I see, what I think, though I don’t want to open the door to those answers. For what lies beyond?’ Shuddering, she clutched her belly, blinking rapidly. ‘You wouldn’t understand, you can’t, unless you’ve seen how dark this world can be. How truly cruel and evil.’

Mattie, who had only just started embracing her own powers, felt disturbed. She had been excited to meet a fellow dreamer, wanting to talk about what had happened on the ship, but now she felt reluctant to speak of it.

‘I have children,’ Meena went on to explain. ‘This will be our third. A girl. We will have three daughters, and I must shield them from this world. I was, I, I...’

Leaning forward, Mattie patted her hand. ‘You have been through a lot. I sense that, at least. I only want to know more so I can help, not hurt anyone. Not claim anything for myself.’

Meena narrowed her bulbous eyes. ‘But you know that isn’t true, and being a dreamer, so do I. The path you’re walking down will trip you up, but maybe by then, it will be too late? I have known dark dreamers, old crones, menacing witches, and those raised from the dead to become something even worse. And in the beginning, I’m certain they were just like you and me, searching for something they truly thought mattered. But darkness is an enemy cloaked as a friend, and once you welcome it in, it infests you, breeds within you, and then it is you. Please, I beg you, turn away from this path now, Mattie, before it is too late. Before you become one of them...’

* * *

Edela held Iker Rayas’ hand, eyes closed, seeking to trap him, hoping to mine whatever information she could before she killed him. Just the thought of it was horrifying, but she had to keep Bertel and Siggy safe. She had to –

Eyes springing open, she turned as Zen whipped a knife from his belt and flung it at the branded man’s face, striking him in the eye. ‘No!’ she shouted, seeing the two men guarding Bertel draw their swords, charging at the boy. Though one quickly saw that as a mistake and turned back to keep an eye on the old man.

A panicking Siggy unsheathed her own knife and flung it at the man, missing him entirely and hitting the door, just above Bertel’s head. Yanking the knife out of the door, Bertel drove it up into the man’s throat. He jerked back, gurgling, trying to lift his sword, but kicking it out of his hand, Bertel sent it flying. Squinting in the dark room, he saw the bulky shadow of the branded man rising to his feet with a bellowing howl, lunging for Edela, and a screaming Siggy trying to pull Zen out of the path of a scything sword.

Everything slowed to a blur, Bertel’s thoughts extending from him like long threads as he sought to pick his next step.

‘Save the boy!’ Edela yelled, falling off her stool with a thump.

‘Edela!’ Bertel moved with speed now, ducking under the arm of the gurgling man, scooping up his sword, and in two steps, he’d driven it into Iker’s man’s back. The man gasped, swinging around in surprise, sword vibrating in a shuddering hand.

Siggy dragged Zen away, urging him towards Edela, who was crawling away from Iker Rayas. Knife jammed in his eye, blood coursing down his cheek, he chopped wildly with his sword.

Edela couldn’t think. She’d fallen onto her side, hitting her head so hard that her ears rang like bells. No thought would come to her, and certainly no symbols.

The door was flung open, banging against the wall, Iker Rayas was looming above her, and more men were fighting in the tavern.

She could hear screams now, clashing blades and furniture smashing.

So could Zen, who fell to his knees beside Edela, dodging Iker’s blade. Though Iker wanted the old woman more than the boy, and sensing that, Edela urged Zen to leave. ‘Run!’ she croaked, unsure if anyone could hear her. She could barely hear herself, though she could see images of what was unfolding in the tavern, and rising to her knees, she tried to urge everyone to follow her.

‘Aarrghh!’ Siggy cried, kicked by Iker Rayas, who turned to slash his blade at the irritating boy blocking his path to Edela.

Edela felt a hand on her back, and swinging around, arms extended, she was surprised to see a bloody-faced Korri Torluffson bending down, pulling her to her feet.

‘We’ve got to get you out of here!’ he urged, eyes sweeping the back room. One man was down, bleeding from the throat. Another, bigger man had a sword in his back, but he was still going, using his own sword to try and kill Bertel. He saw the tavern boy, Zen, and Siggy, and a gruesome-looking man with a knife in his eye who looked ready to kill them all. ‘Bertel!’ Korri bellowed. ‘Forget him! We have to go!’

Bertel swung around in surprise, and feeling a cool breeze of relief wash over him at the sight of the Alekkan, he kicked his attacker in the balls and hurried towards Zen and Siggy.

Korri helped a stumbling Edela through the door.

Her ears were buzzing so loudly that she knew she would soon faint. She tried to turn her head, wanting to see Siggy and Bertel. And Zen. That boy didn’t deserve to get trapped in the middle of their mess.

She caught a glimpse of Bertel’s tall shadow, watching as he swung a punch at the back of Iker Rayas’ head.

And then, feeling Korri’s strength like a wall beside her, she sagged against him.

The tavern was a battleground and seemingly on fire, and though Korri’s men were under attack from the Silurans, there was little he could do but try to get the dreamer and her friends to safety. He was useful with a sword but no great warrior. His men didn’t need him as much as the dreamer did.

Edela had gone limp, her eyes closed, and sheathing his sword, Korri bent down, throwing her over his shoulder. ‘Bertel! Hurry!’ he yelled, seeing Bertel shoving the two teenagers ahead of him, out of the back room.

Zen staggered to a stop, seeing the chaos in the tavern, the great battle unfolding, flames licking a corner wall where someone had tipped over a lamp. ‘Grandfather!’ he panicked, ducking a flying knife and heading for the counter.

‘Zen!’ Siggy called, ready to go after him, but Bertel held her back.

‘We have to get out of here! Now!’

‘But he tried to save us!’ Siggy implored, and seeing Bertel rolling his eyes, she held her ground.

They were jostled by fighting men, and pulling Siggy close, Bertel hissed in her ear. ‘Well, hurry up then!’ And bending down, he yanked an axe out of a dead man’s back. One of Korri’s, he saw, recognising the tattooed scalp. ‘Hurry!’ Eyes on the back room door, he saw no one coming after them, though he didn’t imagine that would remain the case for long.

Zen cried out, holding his face in horror, and then he was gone from view, lost behind the counter.

Jugs were being brandished as weapons, ale and wine splashing everywhere.

Siggy slid over, falling onto her knees just in time to avoid a man who’d been launched into the air. Bertel jerked to a stop, waiting until the way was clear before dragging Siggy back to her feet. Though shaking him off, she hurried behind the tavern counter, where she saw a sobbing Zen lying over his grandfather’s body. It was dark, though the flames revealed that the old man was dead. His eyes were wide open, staring lifelessly at him.

Bertel felt sympathy for the boy, but swinging around, he could no longer see Korri and Edela, and he tugged Siggy’s arm. ‘We have to go!’

Siggy reached for Zen, watching the flames surging across the ceiling. ‘You can’t help your grandfather now! He’d want you to live! Come with us! Please! You’ll die here!’

Zen was ready to; his grandfather was everything to him.

Everything.

Though the girl was right. So, leaning down to kiss his grandfather’s head, Zen unbuckled the old man’s belt, replete with knives and pouches. And crawling now, tears streaming down his face, he felt around until he found a loose floorboard. Lifting it, he retrieved a satchel, and with one look at his grandfather, he turned to Siggy and Bertel. ‘Let’s go.’

16

Eadmund had been shown to a chamber by Bayla Dragos, who was as uptight as ever. She reserved her smiles for Ulf alone, it seemed, for she was dull-eyed and frowning as she motioned to the bed.

‘I’m sure you’ll find everything you need. Though if not, just ask. We are so busy preparing for the wedding, but someone will be able to assist you, I’m sure.’

She turned to go, but holding out a hand, Eadmund stopped her. ‘I am grateful,’ he said haltingly. He thought to say more but felt overwhelmed by sadness.

He had stayed in this chamber with Jael.

He remembered it well.

Bayla’s face appeared to soften before him, though she remained as stiff as before. ‘Your wife has a quality about her that few possess. A pig-headedness perhaps?’ And now she offered half a smile. ‘I doubt she is sitting on that island waiting for you to come. I imagine she’s busy making her own plans.’

Eadmund returned the half smile, nodding as he followed Bayla to the door, and when she was gone, he closed it. Boots stuck to the flagstones, he stood there for some time, resting his head against the door.

The fire behind him wasn’t needed, for it was a warm evening, but its gentle crackle reminded him of home. Of his bedchamber and his family, his chair and his horse. His children and his wife most of all.

Life was so fragile, so easily shattered. And once broken, could the pieces ever be put back together as they once were, or did the scars left by what had broken make it impossible? Tears came, and finally, truly alone, Eadmund didn’t stop them. They fell from his eyes onto the pale stone beneath his feet, splashing his dirty boots.

He smiled. Bayla Dragos was right.

His wife was pig-headed – more stubborn than anyone he’d ever met.

Now he laughed, and straightening up, he wiped his eyes and turned to look at the bed, seeing himself lying there and Jael moving on top of him, her black hair sweeping over her breasts, eyes glowing like emeralds.

She was wild and unpredictable.

His.

He shook his head, knowing that tears wouldn’t bring his wife home. And nor, by the sound of things, would Karsten Dragos and his fleet.

So it was time to make another plan.

* * *

Korri quickly hashed out a plan, and when Bertel, Siggy, and the boy came charging after him and Edela, he led them down the nearest alley to where he’d earlier purchased a pair of boots. He had taken a liking to the shoemaker – a confident woman who had recently taken over the business from her deceased father. She had fitted him out with the most comfortable pair of boots he’d ever owned, and now he hoped she would provide them with a place to hide.

Banging on the door, he jiggled a still-unconscious Edela over his left shoulder.

‘Put her down,’ Bertel urged, squinting at the dreamer. The alley was narrow and dark, few lamps lighting up windows or hanging from doorways, and he couldn’t see anything more than shadows on her face. ‘Let me see.’

A nodding Korri lay Edela on the ground, turning back as a tiny shutter opened in the door. And soon, the door itself was opened.

‘Is something wrong with your boots?’ the shoemaker asked in surprise, a leather apron tied around her waist, curly brown hair hanging loose around a tired face. Then glancing past Korri, she saw the old woman lying in the alley, an old man, and two teenagers, and stepping back, she grabbed the door.

‘We need somewhere to wait for a few hours,’ Korri told her, eyes darting to the end of the alley, certain someone was yelling about a fire. ‘Please. Just a few hours.’

The shoemaker’s hesitation was only momentary, for the man with the long beard had a trustworthy face, and soon she was ushering them all inside.

* * *

Berard Dragos couldn’t help his fussing.

Meena was quiet, rarely speaking for herself or voicing her own needs, so he felt an obligation to try and anticipate them. Though on nights like this, he had no idea how she might feel or what she might need.

Wriggling in the bed beside him, she was unable to get comfortable. Her pregnant belly had made sleeping a challenge lately, and as she flopped back and forth, it tended to disturb a light-sleeping Berard. He generally gave up trying to sleep until Meena herself was snuffling away beside him.

He often wondered if she was avoiding the dreams that waited for her.

Reaching out his hand, he took hers. ‘You haven’t said much.’

Her eyes were closed. ‘I’m trying to sleep, Berard. Talking doesn’t help with that.’

Peering down at her, he saw that she was smiling. ‘But did you know they were coming? Eadmund and his friends? Or what happened to Jael? Did you see?’

Meena shook her head, feeling her belly. ‘No. I told you I didn’t. I didn’t.’

‘I hope she’s alright. I can’t believe she let herself get kidnapped. Jael Furyck?’ Berard chuckled quietly. ‘I imagine she’s giving her kidnappers a hard time.’

‘That man took her,’ Meena reminded him. ‘The one downstairs.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘But he had help.’

Berard propped himself up on his elbow. ‘Help? Whose help?’

‘A girl with freckles and long blonde hair. She led him to Jael. She showed him the way.’

Berard realised that Meena was almost asleep. Her voice had become strangely liquid. She spoke in stuttering mumbles most of the time, lacking confidence. But here, she sounded dreamlike. He yawned. ‘What girl?’

‘She’s not a girl!’ Meena spat suddenly, eyes springing open. ‘She’s not a girl at all!’

* * *

Thorgils and Fyn were sharing a chamber with Kolarov, all three men grateful for the comfort of Hestian mattresses, generously stuffed with wool, and plump feathery pillows to rest their weary heads upon.

It made Thorgils wistful for home.

‘If Karsten’s not going to part with his fleet, we may as well head for Oss tomorrow,’ he yawned. ‘Unless Eadmund wants to make another midnight escape from Hest?’

Rolling onto his back, Fyn smiled. ‘I don’t think we’d get very far. We don’t have the men to steal more than one ship.’

‘Mmmm, so Jael will have to hold on.’ Thorgils felt tense at the thought of it. He heard the squeaking noises as a muttering Kolarov adjusted himself in his bed – something that had been going on for some time. ‘And you?’ he asked, eyes shifting from his cousin to the explorer, whose bed lay along from Fyn’s. ‘What do you think about our next steps then? What are your plans?’

Kolarov, who needed total silence to fall asleep, sighed loudly. ‘I would like sleep! Yes, that’s my next step. And yours? To talk all night and keep us awake with your pointless mutterings?’

A surprised Thorgils burst out laughing. ‘Well, true. Maybe it’s a conversation better saved till morning?’

‘I would say so,’ Kolarov carried on, though his frown had lessened, for he had found a comfortable spot where his hips didn’t ache and his back was supported, and even his legs appeared to have stopped twitching. Closing his eyes, he remained perfectly still, trying to ignore a sudden urgency in his bladder. ‘Karsten Dragos is no coward,’ he added. ‘And as much as the king wants to hurry us all back to S’ala Nis, it won’t be easy breaking in. No, I remember thinking how secure its harbour was, how tricky to navigate. And those ballistas!’ Eyes springing open, Kolarov wondered if he should simply return home to Castala? Back to his quiet old life, which suddenly didn’t seem as dreary as it once had.

‘Mattie will help us,’ Fyn insisted, eyes closed now, imagining the dreamer peering at him in the darkness as though she could see through every veil he attempted to drape over his weaknesses. She wasn’t fooled by his words or bravado. Her inquisitive eyes were sharp and judgemental, though he found himself thinking of them often. They were hazel, bigger than the average eye – like windows into her soul. And once you saw past that sharpness, sadness lingered. A desperate sadness, he thought, becoming sleepy now.

‘Well, you might be right about that,’ Kolarov conceded. ‘A powerful dreamer can be a more useful weapon than an entire army. Or a fleet. With Mattie on our side, those ballistas won’t stand a chance.’ And smiling now, Kolarov Radic closed his eyes, remembering that great hail of arrows frozen mid-air by the dreamer, who had then thrown them into the sea.

Magic.

It was simply breathtaking.

* * *

Edela couldn’t catch her breath.

When she’d fallen off the stool, she’d landed on her ear, though she also felt a pain in her chest and a shortness of breath as though she’d been running.

Everyone was fussing over her, though she didn’t have the strength to tell them to go away. Blinking at Siggy, she sought to reach her.

‘We need to give her some space!’ Siggy soon called over the chorus. She stood next to Zen in the shoemaker’s narrow main room. He slumped on a stool, head in hands. ‘She can’t breathe!’

Bertel, Korri, and Anna, the shoemaker, turned her way before dropping their eyes to the dreamer.

‘Edela?’ Bertel touched her shoulder. ‘Is she right? Do you want us to step away?’

A silent Edela nodded, grateful when they did. She dropped her head, hands on her knees as Siggy left Zen behind and joined the worried huddle.

‘I’m sorry to have burst in on you,’ Korri said to Anna, whose plump face was pinched with worry. ‘There was an attack at The Crescent Moon.’

Anna’s eyes widened, realising where she knew the boy from.

‘The taverner was killed,’ Korri added softly. ‘His customers were attacked, and my friends... they had to fight for their lives.’

Anna looked concerned. ‘The city can be a dangerous place, especially at night. You are welcome to stay, and I will organise a drink for your friend. I have something that should revive her.’

Edela watched the woman turn away. She saw Bertel and Korri exchanging worried glances, and beside her, she felt Zen’s grief.

Siggy looked frozen in place, those big doe-like eyes full of fear as she turned from one to the other. And though Edela was staring at what lay before her, and who, her mind was back in The Crescent Moon, in that little room, where she had touched Iker Rayas’ hand. Shivering, she brought the vision back to her, closing her eyes, wanting to go deeper. To understand what it meant.

A queen wanted to kill all the dreamers.

She had sent men to Osterland to carry out her plan.

Determined men. Warriors.

But why?

And what did it mean for those she loved, like Jael and Ayla? Or her friends in Tuura?

Edela gave only a fleeting thought for herself, though those men who survived the battle at The Crescent Moon would keep hunting her. Of that, she was certain.

Opening her eyes, she saw Bertel watching her, though she looked away, desperate for a moment alone.

* * *

Jael wanted to go back to sleep.

Her eyes ached, her weary body vibrating with exhaustion. Though try as she might, she couldn’t send herself back to sleep.

She knew that soon the roosters would start crowing, the cooks would put on the onions for whichever tasteless broth was on offer today, and the hammering, grunting, groaning noises from the tower would filter in through the sleeping hall’s open windows.

She curled her fingers and squeezed as though holding a hand. In her mind, it was Sigmund’s, and they were walking to the stables. He loved horses. Bo was scared of them, but Sigmund would have ridden all day if she’d let him. He had a little black pony called Shadow, which Jael was teaching him to ride. She imagined Sigmund’s beaming face as he tugged her along, turning back to look up at her with urgent eyes.

So much like Eadmund.

And then Eadmund was before her, and her hands were in his hair, and she was bringing his face towards hers. She closed her eyes, body heavy now, releasing a sigh, muscles softening, feet flopping to the side. Then a smell and a grunt, and a man was over her, reaching a hand under her tunic. She saw the shadow of him in the inky pre-dawn light and immediately flung up her right leg, smashing her ankle fetter into the back of the faceless man’s head.

And now she was moving.

Her attacker staggered sideways, and rising to her knees, Jael smashed her wrist fetter into the side of his head, helping him on his way. She hit him hard, grunting, nearly losing her balance with the effort. And now, up on her feet, she stood over the man, snarling.

He didn’t move.

Body heaving, Jael wondered if he was even breathing, though eventually, she caught a glimpse of his chest moving up and down. And not sure how she felt about that, she left her bed behind, heading to an open window, needing some air.

A sleepy Alek soon joined her. ‘What happened?’

‘Some idiot forgot I was armed,’ Jael said, brandishing her wrists.

‘He tried to touch you?’

‘He tried, though he won’t try again.’

‘He’s alive?’

Jael nodded. ‘Seems so.’

Alek stroked his stubbly beard, seeing that few had been woken by the disturbance. He hadn’t been asleep, his mind whirring with ideas. For though he was always exhausted, he didn’t sleep much these days. ‘You need to meet someone.’

Turning towards a whispering Alek, Jael frowned. ‘Who?’

‘Rigg. My friend. My number two for what I’ve been planning. He took ill, so Quint sent him to the physician’s but he’ll be back today. He’ll help us.’

‘And you trust him?’

Alek nodded. ‘With my life. He’s a little rough around the edges but a good man, I promise.’

Jael heard groaning sounds coming from the direction of her bed. ‘And you’re sure you want to do this? That you’re able to?’

Alek grabbed her arm, feeling her flinch. ‘I’ll use whatever I have to get out of here. A needle, an elbow, my teeth. I will do anything to crawl out of here, swim out of here, be carried out of here. I just want to go home, Jael. I need to. I won’t die here. My boys need me. I’ll do what I have to to escape, for them.’ He’d hissed with such force that he started coughing, bending over, trapping his face in an arm, not wanting to wake anyone up.

‘Though I can’t protect you,’ she warned. ‘If you want me to lead this, then I can’t focus on you, Alek. When it begins, whatever it turns out to be, it’ll be chaos. Bloodshed, death, panic, fear. A living, breathing nightmare. One you’ll have to survive on your own.’

Alek straightened up, pushing back aching shoulders. ‘And I will. I promise you, Jael. I will.’

* * *

Edela woke with a thumping headache and ringing ears, seeing the shoemaker sitting beside her bed, a cup nestled in her hands, eyes closed.

She stifled a yawn, not wanting to wake the poor woman they’d imposed themselves on, but as her mind wandered back to what had happened in the tavern, she was unable to prevent an explosive sneeze.

Anna jerked in fright, spilling hot tea on her knee.

Shaking her head, Edela propped herself up. ‘I am sorry,’ she said, promptly sneezing again. ‘You’ve got ragweed in that cup, haven’t you?’

A nodding Anna smiled, though she remained wary. ‘I still don’t understand why those men were trying to hurt you. Or if they still want to?’ She glanced at her front door, half-expecting blood-drenched warriors to burst in, brandishing axes.

‘I imagine they still want to, yes. Though we will not stay. We cannot.’ Edela felt chilled to the bone – not by the morning air, which was anything but cool – but by her own fear of what lay waiting outside the door.

Or who.

A thoughtful Anna got up, and heading to her kitchen, she brought back a cup for Edela. ‘It’s just hot water, though I often find that soothing in itself.’

Smiling at her, Edela saw a faint rim of light around the front door now. ‘Thank you. And yes, I agree. I would bathe in the cup if I could. Disappear into all that lovely hot water!’ She turned as Bertel roused himself, soon followed by Korri, knowing that the two teenagers would be the last to wake. She thought of Zen and his grandfather, wondering what they were going to do with the boy. Then looking back at Anna, she sighed. ‘We will leave promptly. It’s for the best. I don’t want to bring further trouble to your door.’ Edela had carved a handful of symbols on the back of Anna’s door, though she was losing confidence in her ability to see danger coming.

‘I’ll prepare some food to take with you.’

Edela was ready to protest, though it would certainly help. ‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

Korri approached, adjusting his swordbelt with a mighty yawn. ‘I’ll go out first, get the lay of the land. See what happened at the tavern and how my men fared.’ He felt guilty for leaving them to it, though he’d wanted to ensure that Edela and her friends were safe. They had no one to protect them, and those men appeared quite determined to kill them all.

Seeing the pretty shoemaker, he smiled. And noticing Edela staring at him, he wondered if there was perhaps another reason he’d felt the need to stay the night? Feeling his cheeks heating up, Korri smoothed his wrinkled mud-brown tunic, untangled his beard ropes and headed for the door. ‘I’ll return soon, so get yourselves ready to leave. Soon as we can, we’ll make our way down to the docks. I don’t think Bakkar has anything more to offer. We may as well head to Castala.’

Bertel nodded, feeling much the same. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the sleeping boy, Zen. ‘And what are we going to do with him, Edela? I’m not sure we need another mouth to feed.’

Edela frowned. ‘I think we’re the reason that boy’s grandfather is dead, so if he wants to come along, then he shall, Bertel Knutson. We owe him that. It’s the least we can do.’

* * *

Karsten Dragos had woken up feeling strange.

He was due to leave for Angard in six days. After months of planning, negotiating, arguing and compromising, the wedding was coming far too quickly for his liking. When his marriage had been a distant proposition, he’d merely felt a niggle of discomfort, but now with it all but staring him in the face, he wanted to scream.

Marriage itself wasn’t a problem – he’d missed having a wife. He hadn’t often been happy with his first wife, Nicolene, but he’d enjoyed the certainty of her presence in his bed and having a mother to his children. And shuddering with the memories of the loss of both his wife and son, he turned to the balcony, walking out to view the harbour. He soon found the ship Eadmund and his friends had arrived in.

And his strange feelings intensified.

Every instinct made him want to set sail today. Now. And not to Angard but to this mysterious isle, S’ala Nis.

It had been years since he’d felt free. He had been focused on remaking Hest into his own kingdom, and without his father barking at him or his brothers bossing him about, he’d been free to. His mother had always been a clanging voice in his ears, but with Ulf to fuss over these past few years and her motherless grandchildren to care for, she had mostly left the kingdom’s business in his hands. Despite having only one arm, Berard had proven to be surprisingly useful and eager to handle the more mundane tasks, so Karsten had happily delegated most of those to him. Meena had even been helpful at times, offering some insight and ideas when she wasn’t breeding.

Things had been going well.

And yet?

The restless energy flooding his veins, waking him in the night, driving him to the training ring twice a day wasn’t going to be sated by marriage to the prickly daughter of the King of Helsabor.

Karsten didn’t burn for Freya Valens.

He burned for adventure, danger, action.

And...

Turning away from the balcony, heading back to his chamber, he thought of breakfast and his guests, certain that his mother would already be down in the hall, seeking to make an impression on her royal visitor.

And Hanna, Karsten eventually admitted with a sigh.

He burned for Hanna Boelens.

17

Korri Torluffson returned to the shoemaker’s house with good and bad news. A number of their enemies lay dead in the tavern, a handful of his own men, too, and the tavern itself had burned down, everything in it now just smoking ash and charred wood.

A swollen-eyed Zen looked in disbelief from Siggy to Edela and back to Korri, though he didn’t speak. Korri had offered him passage on one of his ships, though Zen had been in Bakkar since he was nine-years-old – seven years now. He didn’t know if he was ready to leave the only home he could remember.

Anna patted his arm. ‘You can stay here until you decide what to do, if you like? I’ve been looking for someone to help me in my workshop.’

Korri smiled at her, feeling an odd sensation stirring. And then Anna turned to him and that sensation rippled through his body. He couldn’t look away.

‘No,’ Zen decided. ‘No, I shouldn’t stay. My grandfather would tell me to go. I should go with you.’

Korri nodded, patting him on the back. ‘Good. And go we must before those men are out scouring the city.’

‘Do you think they will be?’ Bertel asked, taking a wrapped bundle of food from Anna with a grateful nod.

Korri headed to the door. ‘According to Edela, their mission is to kill her, so yes, they’ll have to keep trying if they wish to please their queen.’

Bertel muttered something under his breath, which Edela heard perfectly, and she shook her head, turning back to Siggy. ‘Put your hood up, dear. You’ve got rather recognisable hair. The less we stand out, the better.’

Korri thought so, too, tucking his beard ropes down his tunic.

Siggy did as she was told, stomach growling loudly, though there was no time for breakfast. They simply had to get away from Bakkar in haste. She glanced at Zen, feeling his pain. Not just imagining it but actually feeling it, for his loss had awakened her grief over her mother’s death, and she felt even more upset.

‘Thank you for your help,’ Korri told the shoemaker. ‘And once again, apologies for the inconvenience.’

‘I was happy to help,’ Anna promised. ‘And if there’s anything else I can do, you know where I am.’ Her brown eyes shone as Bertel opened the door, ushering in the sun, trying to shepherd everyone out into the alley.

Korri remained, staring at her. ‘I won’t forget your kindness. And perhaps we’ll meet again? I’ve a feeling I’ll return to Bakkar before long.’

* * *

Eadmund had piled his plate with the breakfast bounty on offer in Hest’s hall, seeing that both Fyn and Thorgils had done the same. It had been some time since they’d eaten so well. In fact, scratching his head as he made his way to the high table, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had an appetite. Though he’d begun to feel a weakness that had come from a prolonged lack of food, and knowing he needed to be strong in both mind and body when he returned to S’ala Nis, Eadmund had decided to fill himself to bursting.

Bayla Dragos was watching, and with a smile, she indicated that he should sit beside her. He tried to mask his reluctance, for the former queen was always happy to offend, eager to dig for gossip, and he didn’t want her company. Thankfully, Karsten headed towards him, inclining his head to where he’d chosen to sit, at the far end of the high table, next to Thorgils.

Eadmund shrugged apologetically at Bayla and aimed for Karsten instead.

Sitting beside Bayla, Ulf laughed.

‘You men are all the same,’ she snapped, lips thinning into a scowl. ‘You think we women have nothing to offer, no useful information to impart. Why Eadmund thinks Karsten has anything other than smutty jokes to share, I don’t know.’

Ulf eyed her, licking hairy lips. ‘Is that so? More likely you fear Eadmund will sway Karsten about the wedding. Convince him to take the fleet to sea and him too?’ Seeing a flare of anger in Bayla’s clear blue eyes, Ulf thought he’d hit the nail on the head. Nudging her arm, he placed a hand on her thigh. ‘Karsten’s promised to go through with it, so he won’t back out. Not now, Bayla. You can trust him.’

Bayla let out a strained breath. ‘I worked very hard on this marriage. He has no idea. The visits, the endless feasts and meetings with that vile Herold Valens and...’ She leaned towards Ulf. ‘Though for what? Karsten’s heart isn’t in it.’

‘It’s not his heart that will get him an heir, though, is it?’ Ulf joked. ‘He doesn’t need to love or even want the woman, just to do his duty and strengthen his hold on the throne. And he will. Karsten’s not the same man who went to the Vale. You know that.’

Bayla mostly did, though seeing her son sniggering with Eadmund Skalleson, she was suddenly reminded of how reckless he could be. That impatient, boyish man who thought little of the consequences of his actions.

Yes, she remembered that man well.

Leaning out, she poked Berard, who sat next to Ulf, talking to the explorer. ‘Go and sit with your brother,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t want him changing his mind!’

Karsten could hear the chairs being moved, scraped across the flagstones, and soon he saw a lop-sided Berard approaching with a nervous look. ‘Here comes Mother,’ he joked to Thorgils.

‘Well, my mother always told me what a bad influence I was,’ Thorgils laughed. ‘So if that’s still the case, perhaps I can convince you to postpone this inconvenient wedding of yours and come to S’ala Nis with us instead?’

Ducking his head and ignoring Berard, Karsten lowered his voice. ‘Can’t say I haven’t thought about it. It’s certainly a more attractive proposition than bedding Freya Valens.’

‘Ugly, is she?’ Thorgils asked, seeing Berard quickly look away as he took a seat beside him.

‘All women look the same in the dark,’ Karsten supposed with a shrug.

‘She’s not ugly,’ Berard assured them. ‘Perhaps a little... plain featured?’

‘A little?’ Karsten shuddered. ‘The woman could sour milk, though it’s not her features that bother me as much as her sneering, whining voice. In all of Osterland, in all of the Fire Lands, that’s the woman Bayla thought would make the best Queen of Hest?’

Thorgils was confused. ‘But what happened to Hanna?’ He glanced at Karsten and Berard before turning to Eadmund, who looked on with interest.

Berard immediately sat back, eyes on his breakfast plate.

Karsten didn’t speak.

‘Thorgils has a mouth big enough to stick two boots inside,’ Eadmund said, breaking the suddenly awkward silence. He turned to glare at his friend. ‘I imagine if Karsten and Hanna had wanted to marry, he would be marrying her instead.’

More silence ensued as Karsten squirmed and Berard knitted his lips together, neither Dragos speaking.

‘I asked her to marry me,’ Karsten admitted softly. ‘Hanna. But she...’

Thorgils patted him on the back. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Whatever words he offered would be mere platitudes. When he’d lost Isaura, such words had been spoken to him, though nothing had truly felt right until they’d been reunited. Looking at Eadmund, he imagined he felt the same.

‘And you have to go through with the marriage?’ Eadmund wondered with a darting glance at Bayla, now talking to Arras Sikari, who appeared to be charming her.

‘I do... and though I’d rather come with you to this hidden isle, as king, I simply can’t. Though you should still have my fleet. I may not be able to come, but you must rescue Jael. I’ll talk to Ulf. The fleet’s his, so he can go along and take charge. Either way, Bayla won’t be happy, but at least this way, I won’t make an enemy of Herold Valens.’

It was spoken like a king, and a surprised Eadmund nodded, understanding all too well how it felt to put your own needs and desires to one side and do what was right for your kingdom. ‘I’m grateful, Karsten. Very grateful.’

Karsten didn’t even nod. It was the right thing to do, though he didn’t feel happy staying behind. Still, seeing Bayla now eyeing him suspiciously, he smiled, taking pleasure in knowing that he’d be irritating the woman who had organised the wedding in the first place.

Eadmund didn’t know what else to say, so deciding to change the subject, he turned to Berard. ‘Can I speak to Meena? To see if she’s seen anything? Anything that might help us?’

Meena hadn’t come down to breakfast. She had tossed and turned all night, and Berard had left her sleeping, though with two little girls in the chamber next door, he doubted she’d have slept for long.

He looked uncertain.

‘You’ll need help from the gods to drag a vision out of Meena,’ Karsten laughed. ‘She tends to keep them all to herself. Though we’ve had no great need of her dreams, thankfully enough.’

Berard started spluttering, ready to defend his wife, when Meena herself waddled into the hall, quickly overtaken by her two toddlers, who hurried towards their father. Meena’s eyes, however, went to Eadmund, and seeing her staring at him, he lost his appetite entirely.

* * *

Breakfast for those slaves who had worked long into the night was spoiled and warm. S’ala Nis’ heat was draining, the arduous work under an always-bright sun exhausting, and sitting at the table, faced with watery gruel, Jael couldn’t bring herself to lift the spoon to her lips.

Sitting opposite her, Alek ate like a hungry dog, slopping the gruel into his small mouth with real enthusiasm. He was as thin as a stick, with protruding cheekbones and shoulder blades that jutted out from his back. His vivid blue eyes were bright with energy, though she continued to worry about the man’s chances of escaping the isle in one piece.

A shadow fell over the table, and looking up, Jael squinted at a new arrival. He loomed over her like a standing stone, with small beady eyes and a thin slash of a mouth. His short dark hair was thinning, some missing where a scar angled across his scalp, down to his right ear, which, Jael could see, was missing its tip. He looked about Eadmund’s age, perhaps older, though perhaps not, for she sensed that work in the quarry and on the tower was ageing them all.

Alek lifted his face with a beaming smile. ‘Rigg!’ Turning to Jael, his smile widened. ‘I told you about Rigg. And you’re finally back!’

‘They wanted to keep me longer, but that weak cunt Quint sent one of his minions to bring me back.’

Rigg’s voice was stone-like, too, Jael heard as he plonked his massive weight down on the bench beside Alek, who was forced to move along.

‘So you’re still not well then?’

‘Well enough, though I’d rather be lying in the physician’s room with one of those pretty slaves spooning soup into my mouth.’ And that mouth now curled into something resembling a smile. His small eyes disappeared as he chuckled, his flat cheeks swallowing them up entirely.

‘But now you’re back, and just in time.’

‘For what?’ Rigg wondered, opening his eyes and shifting them to Jael. ‘And why’s she here?’

Alek ducked his head, dropping his voice to a whisper. ‘This is Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands. She’s here to help us. Help with the...’ And now he mouthed the word. ‘Plan.’

Rigg burst out laughing. ‘What? This loser? I saw her in the Arena, beaten up like a nobody. And what, you think because she’s a queen, we want her helping us?’

Despite having known Rigg for three years now, Alek was still mortified. He looked towards a surprised Jael with supplicating hands. ‘You’ll have to forgive my friend for his... manner.’

Rigg glared at Alek. ‘What’s wrong with my manner?’

There was a sudden flurry of noise as Quint entered the dining hall, blowing his conch shell for the change of shift.

Rigg stood. ‘No,’ he spat at Jael. ‘I saw you fight, I know who you are, and the answer’s no. I’ll lead our men, as I’ve already said, Alek.’

Jael stared up at him, slowly getting to her feet. ‘I’m not sure it’s up to you.’

Quickly scooping the last of his gruel into his mouth, Alek joined them. ‘I’ve got Jael working up the scaffolding, but let’s talk on the way. Hang back with me,’ he hissed. Though seeing Quint waving for him to join the other three foremen, he frowned. ‘I’ll catch you up. Listen to Jael, Rigg. Give her a chance.’ And with that, he ran a hand over his mouth and strode away.

Rigg was the same height as Jael; a solid man with impressive balance. She imagined that not even a strong wind would have him swaying. There was no movement, not even on his face, as Alek left them behind.

‘We should talk,’ Jael began. ‘About Alek’s –’ But before she could finish, Rigg had stomped away.

* * *

The walk from the shoemaker’s to Bakkar’s harbour was led by a grief-stricken Zen, who knew the crowded city better than anyone.

Though he didn’t speak.

Siggy took the lead beside him, leaving Edela and Bertel behind them and Korri bringing up the rear.

‘Are you sure you want to leave?’ Siggy asked, eyes sweeping the alley, stacked with carts, buckets, and piles of rubbish, where dogs were sniffing around. Zen appeared to be avoiding every public square and market, though she feared, as the alleys became steadily narrower and shrouded in shadows, that they would soon come to a dead end. ‘Bakkar? It’s your home. Those men aren’t after you.’

Zen didn’t answer her. Instead, he strode out ahead, taking a left turn. And head up now, he appeared to be thinking.

‘I’d hold your nose, Edela,’ Bertel warned, inhaling what smelled like a latrine or perhaps dead bodies. Whatever it was soon had him covering both his nose and mouth.

Edela was looking over her shoulder at Korri and didn’t answer.

‘I may as well talk to myself for all the company you are this morning,’ Bertel huffed, and lengthening his stride, he left Edela in his wake.

She barely noticed. Her attention kept being drawn back to Korri.

Though she didn’t know why.

Then, feeling that same strange sensation, as though a snake was crawling over her boots, she pulled up, dragging Korri onto the dark porch propped up beneath an overhanging house.

He grunted in surprise, but as they crouched there silently, masked by shadows, he soon saw two men heading past them. ‘Silurans,’ Korri mouthed at Edela, who nodded with worried eyes, recognising the leathery tunics worn by Iker Rayas’ men.

The two men hung back slightly, not wanting to be seen, and as Korri made to step off the porch, Edela snatched his sleeve, holding him back. She pointed at the sword he was about to unsheathe, shaking her head.

Pulling out her knife, she quickly cut a symbol into her palm, wincing as the blade bit into her thin flesh. ‘Hello!’ she called. ‘I was wondering if you could help me. Hello?’ The two men, who’d been about to turn the corner after Bertel, jerked to a stop, swinging back to find where that voice was coming from, but in the darkness of the alley and shade of the porch, there was little clue.

Edela and Korri remained perfectly still.

Clasping her hands together, feeling the pain of the symbol and her coursing blood, Edela tried to release a breath, knowing that a calm dreamer was a powerful dreamer.

Breath ignited the magical symbols.

So did chants, and whispering words under her breath, she now brought the symbol to life. It glowed on her palm, urging her to act. Edela didn’t recognise either man, almost relieved that it wasn’t that terrifying brute with the brands, Iker Rayas.

She stepped off the porch.

The men looked slightly confused and wary but pleased to see the dreamer alone. Though, as they approached, they saw Korri with his sword.

‘Don’t hurt us!’ Edela pleaded as Korri stepped past her into the alley.

Having discovered that Edela and Korri were no longer behind him, Bertel had headed back around the corner, and seeing the two armed Silurans, he’d hurried to alert Siggy and Zen. Now all three stood blocking one end of the alley while Edela and Korri commanded the other.

Edela saw Bertel unsheathe his knife and quickly sought to reach him, telling him to wait. Korri too.

Holding her burning hand up to the Silurans, the symbol on her palm glowed red. ‘Do you feel your legs? How heavy they are? How you can barely lift them? How hard it is getting to move?’

Both men scoffed at her words, though it was soon apparent that their boots were stuck to the ground, holding them in place. Panic flared, the Silurans exchanging a frantic look before returning their attention to the old dreamer and her glowing symbol.

‘Put down your swords!’ Edela ordered, voice sharpening now. ‘On the ground. Throw them away, far out of reach!’

They heard a loud slap and someone crying out, a door slammed, though the alley remained theirs alone.

The men threw their swords away; metal clattering on stone.

It grew darker in the alley as the symbol on Edela’s hand became brighter.

Siggy watched it, feeling strange. Beside her, Zen didn’t know what was happening.

‘Close your eyes!’ Edela warned the men. ‘And down on your knees!’ She started walking towards them as the men followed her orders, calling out in pleading voices, begging for mercy.

It was hard to hear, but these men sought to kill them. They would not stop.

So she would have to stop them.

Now the men became perfectly still, faces wrenched in fear, lips and eyes frozen. Edela had claimed their bodies, though she would not claim their lives.

Not her.

‘Korri! Bertel!’ she called. ‘They are all yours!’

Neither man hesitated – Korri taking the first man in the chest, Bertel slitting the second man’s throat. Their deaths were silent for those in the alley, though not for Edela, who could hear the men’s pained cries as the blades bit, and soon their mournful howls were choked off.

And Edela no longer heard the sound of their hearts beating with life.

18

Upon returning from his meeting with Quint and his fellow foremen, Alek gathered his crew together, revealing that the date for Noor’s funeral had been confirmed by the palace.

It would be held in eleven days’ time.

That news was greeted with gaping mouths and audible groans. Alek didn’t blame his men, for they could all see what it meant for them. The foremen had agreed with Quint that the timetable for completion of the great tower was weeks.

Not days.

So much of it had been finished, though the work to complete the top, which would be crowned with an elaborate arch, was laborious and, in many instances, fiddly.

It wasn’t something they could rush.

Though he couldn’t change any of it. Eleven days gave him a chance to work with Jael, Rigg, and their allies to ensure that everything was in place for the slave revolt.

Though if Argo Kosta was going to drive them all into the ground, would any of them have the energy for it?

‘It’s doable!’ Rigg bellowed in support of his friend. ‘Why not? That fuck Kosta’s looking for reasons to throw us into the pits. Let’s not give him any!’

Jael watched the men, seeing little belief in Rigg’s words.

Or Alek’s.

She didn’t blame them. Sweat had soaked through their clothes already, and it had only just gone breakfast. One man started sobbing, banging his hands against his head.

After offering more words of encouragement, Alek dismissed his crew, his smile soon becoming a grimace. ‘The queen’s expectations must be met, though they’re not based in reality.’

‘Course not,’ Rigg grumbled. ‘Queens think only of themselves, don’t they? Of their own wants and needs as they sit upon their thrones and look down on their people. We’re like ants to them up on their mighty perches. Mere ants!’ He eyed Jael with scorn.

She eyed him right back. ‘And how many queens have you known? You’re thinking they’re all like this one? Believe it or not, some of us actually care for our people. Some of us put our lives on the line for them.’

Rigg laughed in her face. ‘Well, you don’t need a great storyteller in your hall. You can tell your own tall tales, it seems! But I see you here, before me. You’re a slave. I saw you in the Arena when the commander defeated you. You’re a loser! A slave and a loser just like the rest of us!’

Stepping forward, Jael jutted out her chin, but Alek quickly pushed in between them. ‘We need to get up the tower, Jael. And you need to see Goran at the quarry, Rigg. And both of you are far too important to kill each other!’

‘You don’t need her,’ Rigg insisted. ‘To do what?’

Alek rolled his eyes. ‘She’s Ranuf Furyck’s daughter. She was by his side for those famous battles with Hest. And Brekka was never defeated. She helped her father see to that. Haven’t you heard the stories? She’s Furia’s daughter!’ Usually calm and even-tempered, Rigg had finally pushed a genial Alek too far. ‘I brought her in because she knows battle. She’s the leader we’ve been waiting for.’

‘But I was to lead us. That was the plan,’ Rigg hissed, bending down to drive his point home. ‘And then, I get sent to the physician’s and –’

‘Why?’ Jael interrupted. ‘Why were you there?’

‘I was poisoned!’ Rigg growled in a loud voice. ‘Poisoned, I tell you!’

Alek threw his hands in the air, leaving them both behind. ‘I have work to do, and so do you. We’ll get nothing done while you’re blathering about that again.’

A curious Jael followed after Rigg, who had turned after Alek. ‘Poisoned by who? And why?’

‘Attilo Balda. Over there. Big bruise on the side of his face.’

Jael saw the man, wondering if he was the one who had touched her in the night. He certainly looked in pain, holding his swollen, bruised face. ‘What does he have against you?’

‘Nothing that’s any business of yours, loser.’ And with that, Rigg walked off.

Jael stared after him in surprise, and shaking her head, she tilted it back, looking at the great web of scaffolding leading up the side of the tower, fixing her mind on Eadmund.

* * *

Meena took Eadmund to the winding gardens.

They were her gardens now, and though the bad memories of her grandmother and her aunt and even Draguta lingered, she had worked hard to make a fresh start.

There were more healing plants now, less tools of darkness.

She had encouraged birds to visit by planting honeysuckle and milkweed. There were bees and butterflies and all manner of insects. And her children.

Willa and Lila.

When they were with her, the garden felt the happiest of all.

Sitting on the stone bench beside Eadmund Skalleson, she regretted not bringing the girls, though Willa had a tooth coming through and wasn’t good company. It was better that they stayed with their nursemaids.

‘I expect you want to know about Jael,’ she said, becoming nervous. A dreamer was expected to provide answers to kings, and though Karsten had mostly given up on her, she could feel the weight of Eadmund’s concerns and his need for her insight.

He nodded, turning to her. She was still a squirming, awkward creature, he saw, watching her curl over beside him. But happy. Meena looked happy. ‘Anything. Just anything. I don’t understand why this is happening. Why Jael was taken.’

Meena felt troubled, twisting swollen fingers on her lap before lifting her blinking eyes to Eadmund. ‘I’ve been sensing ripples lately. Sometimes in the earth, like the where-worms from the Vale.’ She shuddered, immediately shutting those dark memories away. ‘Sometimes they’re in the clouds or in the air. As though... it is hard to explain.’ And now she twitched, becoming entangled in nerves.

An impatient Eadmund saw that rushing the dreamer wouldn’t help matters, so he sat perfectly still, drawing his attention to a hovering hummingbird dipping its long beak into a pink foxglove.

‘The ripples are a sign that something is happening,’ Meena said at last. ‘I feel it myself, here. This alliance with Helsabor? Bayla wants Karsten to have a wife. She never thought Hanna would make a suitable queen, and she made that known to Hanna herself. There was talk of a Siluran princess, though she died, so when Herold Valens reached out with an offer, Bayla worked quickly. Karsten was too drunk at the time to argue, which he likely now regrets.’ Eadmund looked confused. ‘Raymon Vandaal is dead!’ Meena blurted out as though it should all be obvious to a king. ‘Hest and Helsabor will make an alliance, someone has kidnapped the Queen of Oss, and Tuura has been attacked.’

‘So something bigger is happening? The ripples?’

Meena’s eyes widened, and she started tapping her leg. ‘I th-th-think so. I fear it, for no ripples happen in isolation. They are always connected. So to find answers for one, you must find an answer for all.’

Her words were confusing and not especially encouraging, though they certainly focused Eadmund.

‘Volcanoes.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Somewhere, somehow, this has to do with volcanoes. I feel that.’ Grimacing now, Meena rubbed her belly.

Seeing her discomfort and doubting he would get much more out of the dreamer, Eadmund stood, and taking her hand, he pulled her to her feet. ‘Thank you, Meena. I will... think on what you’ve said.’

She became flustered, drawing in a shaky breath. ‘It wasn’t much. Mostly nonsense.’

Slipping her arm through his, Eadmund helped her back down the steep path with a smile. ‘No, not nonsense. I’m grateful for any insight you can give me. Any at all.’

Feeling his arm, Meena shivered, seeing glimpses of an unexpected sight. And blinking up at Eadmund, she immediately looked away, not wanting to reveal the horror she was sure had blanched her face.

‘Is something wrong? Meena?’

‘No,’ she mumbled, eyes on her boots. ‘No, it’s nothing.’

* * *

They encountered no further trouble on their way to Bakkar’s harbour and quickly finding Sea Queen and Elmer’s ship, and pleased to see that every man still standing was on board, Korri Torluffson bid his helmsmen to get them underway.

‘Are you alright?’ Siggy asked Zen, who looked ready to jump overboard. He kept eyeing the pier as though he regretted stepping down into the ship.

Korri eyed the lanky boy. ‘Can you row? We’ve lost a few hands, and now with two ships... it would help.’

Zen shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

Placing an arm around his shoulder, Korri guided him towards a chest. And feeling a twinge of grief at those friends he’d lost, he pushed Zen onto it. ‘Just match the rhythm as best you can. You’ve certainly got the arms for it.’ Clapping the boy on the back, he turned to Siggy. ‘Make yourself scarce in the stern. And Nellie could use a milking.’

Nodding and feeling slightly dazed, Siggy turned towards the little black goat, pleased to see her. Nellie bleated urgently, so shaking off the strange morning and the terrifying night, Siggy took a deep breath and headed for the milking stool.

Watching her, Edela was consumed with guilt.

She was forcing the girl down a dark path. And to where would it lead?

Beside her, a frantic Bertel wanted Korri to hurry everyone along. Sea Queen’s helmsman was a genial, relaxed sort of man, but it was Korri’s voice everyone listened out for. Though now, when there was such an urgency about the situation, he strolled around with the air of someone arriving for a feast. Bertel feared that at any moment, a half-dead Iker Rayas and the dregs of his warband would appear and launch a last stand.

Placing a hand on his arm, Edela squeezed gently. ‘Stop your fretting and sit down beside me, Bertel Knutson. We don’t need to get in their way.’

Swinging around as though stung, Bertel was ready to snap, though seeing exhaustion in Edela’s blue eyes, he sighed instead. ‘I should have killed that man in the tavern. I shouldn’t have left until I knew he was dead.’

‘Well, if you’d done that, perhaps his men would have trapped us there? No, we had to escape. But if he finds us again, I will kill him. I promise you that. We cannot go on like this, hunted like animals. And all because of me?’

Bertel stared at Edela, then past her to the pier, where his view was obscured by men hefting barrels into a wagon. ‘But can you tell me why? Why these men are after you? What they actually want?’

‘It’s a very good question,’ Edela sighed, feeling her palm stinging. She heard a muffled voice like a distant rumble of thunder, though no actual words. Shaking her head, she smiled again. ‘Castala!’ she announced confidently. ‘I’m sure we’ll find answers in Castala.’

* * *

Jael peered over the edge of the scaffolding, seeing Argo Kosta motioning up to her. She recognised Quint next to him, and Alek, and soon all three men were urging her to come down.

It took some time. The scaffolding planks were narrow, restricting who could pass – the ladders too – though, eventually, Jael reached the ground, where the three men waited.

‘You’re to be reassigned,’ Alek told her with blinking eyes. ‘The commander wants to move you to the quarry. You’ll be loading wagons.’

An expressionless Jael clenched her jaw. She had no issue with hard work, but that was a task her body was ill-suited to.

‘Quint will show you,’ Kosta said with a wrinkly grin.

There was a malicious delight in his eyes, which Jael wouldn’t indulge. She simply nodded her head and followed after Quint.

Alek made to follow, but the commander thumped a big hand on his drooping shoulder, holding him back. ‘You thought to make things easier for her? Why? Do I need to think about sending you with her? I’m sure you’d last a few hours at best.’

His growl sent shivers up Alek’s spine, tingling the back of his neck. ‘I was trying to work with speed. She doesn’t have the strength others do. She would be slow. I thought her better suited to the top of the tower. She worked with precision up there. The work is laborious, lord, but also intricate. I chose her for that role.’

Kosta squeezed Alek’s shoulder, watching those bright blue eyes intensify until he saw tears of pain. ‘You thought? You chose? But your place is under Quint, who is under me. I decide all, and I’ll tell you if there has been a change in my decision. Understood?’

Alek nodded, shoulder burning. He wanted to twist out of that grip, to free himself from the pain, though legs trembling, he focused on merely keeping to his feet.

‘I want that tower completed as much as anyone, and we’ll all work to please the queen. Give the bitch a day at the quarry. Have Rigg keep an eye on her. He can report back to you at supper.’

A trembling Alek gasped as the commander finally released his shoulder.

He couldn’t help but stumble down onto his hands and knees.

Kosta laughed. ‘Are you made of sticks, man? I wonder how much more you have in you? Just enough to get my tower done, I hope. Though you’ll die either way soon enough.’

Alek bowed his head, then looking up, he saw the commander spin on his heels and stride away, laughing as he scuffed up a cloud of dust.

* * *

Fyn Gallas had been oddly distant since they’d arrived in Hest, which had Mattie frowning. She was used to him hovering around, checking on her. He didn’t appear to like her or enjoy her company, but he did like it when she gave him answers.

Though here, in the golden city, he’d become quiet, keeping to himself.

She found Thorgils on a bench outside the castle, and sitting down beside him, she decided to find out why.

‘Wrong?’ A cheerful-looking Thorgils peered at her. ‘With Fyn?’ He turned to the castle, where he’d expected his cousin to emerge with some food, though there was still no sign of him. For a moment he frowned, then his face cleared. ‘That would be Milla.’

‘The Alekkan girl?’

Thorgils nodded, sweeping unruly curls away from squinting eyes. ‘It’s about time, you know. No one’s needed to find someone more than my cousin, though he does tend to scare easily.’ He chuckled, seeing Mattie’s deepening frown. ‘Why? Have you seen something? About Fyn?’

‘No, no, just curious. He’s been so quiet since we got here. I just wondered if something was amiss.’

‘And you can’t see for yourself? You have no clues?’

Mattie smiled. ‘My head is full of clues, though they’re no more use than a cloud of flies buzzing around me. It takes time to wade through them all and find out what’s important.’

Thorgils bent down to her. ‘Though you need to, Mattie. What matters is attacking that island and reclaiming our queen. Nothing will feel right until we have her home with us. Though,’ he added with a wink, ‘don’t tell her I said so. No one’s got an ego as big as that woman.’

It was hard not to like Thorgils Svanter, Mattie thought with a smile, watching as he excused himself and headed to where Eadmund and Arras had emerged from the castle, aiming for the harbour. She thought to close her eyes and enjoy the hot sun for a while, letting her mind wander, though it wasn’t long before Kolarov was upon her with a flurry of questions.

Seeing Mattie waving her hands at the explorer, Arras was momentarily distracted, though sensing Eadmund’s impatience, he cleared his throat, drawing his eyes back to him. ‘Jael had iron fetters around her wrists and ankles. They had symbols inside to stop her dreaming, though she had no problem using them as weapons. She smashed more than one man in the face.’

Eadmund didn’t smile; the thought of his wife as a prisoner made him wild with anger. He glanced at Thorgils as he fell in beside them. ‘Though she found a way out? She’s the one who showed you the tunnel?’

Arras nodded. ‘She never said, but I imagine she found a way around those symbols, for she certainly appeared to read my mind.’

‘In the tunnel, she wasn’t wearing them,’ Eadmund remembered. ‘At least I didn’t see them.’

‘No. Before our fight in the Arena, they were removed.’

‘So we might be able to reach her? Mattie might?’

Arras sighed, knowing Kalina Sardis as he did. ‘The queen is a petty woman, vengeful and short-tempered. I doubt she’d allow Jael the freedom she had before.’ He didn’t want to add how much he feared for Eadmund’s wife. Kalina couldn’t kill Jael – according to the queen, she’d been forbidden – but she would blame Jael for his escape.

She would take her anger out on her.

‘Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree is bound to the queen. To the isle. He may be forced to reveal our plans.’

‘He sees the future?’ Eadmund asked.

Arras shrugged. ‘He speaks to the gods, advises the queen and her lords. It’s likely he’ll tell the queen what is coming, whether he wants to or not.’

‘Us, you mean?’ Thorgils muttered, looking concerned.

Arras nodded. ‘Yes, us.’

Eadmund smiled. ‘I don’t mind that. Let them be waiting. We have our own dreamer, and she’s proven herself quite useful so far, so let them be waiting.’

And Jael, he thought.

Let Jael be waiting too.

19

With Jael and Rigg at the quarry and two men throwing themselves off the scaffolding, progress at the top of the tower slowed.

The relentless pace was too much for some to bear. The heat turned them mad with exhaustion. It sapped energy and stole hope from bodies and souls. It burned skin and broke minds, and for some, there was no longer any point in living.

For this was no life.

‘Do you think they’ll want us back?’ a panting Jael asked Rigg when he’d shared the gossip. ‘Alek’s crew needs more men if we’re to finish on time.’

Rigg laughed. ‘And you think they’ll need you? What? Are you a stone mason? Do you have the skills they need?’

Jael swung around. ‘What’s your problem with me, Rigg? I’m a prisoner here, same as you. I’m as miserable as you, as desperate to get home as you.’ She lowered her voice, suppressing a cough. It felt as though she’d sunk into a great pit of dust, feeling tiny particles in her eyes and up her nose. When she wasn’t hefting the slabs and bricks into wagons, she was wiping her eyes and sneezing. ‘I want to help Alek as much as you.’

Rigg lurched forward, grabbing one of her wrists. ‘You think I have a home to go back to, do you?’ Seeing Quint heading towards them, he dropped Jael’s arm, lifting a slab of newly dressed stone onto his shoulder. ‘Thanks to you Furycks, my home, my family, everything I know, everyone I loved... they’re all gone.’ And spitting on the ground, just missing her shoe, a red-faced Rigg lumbered away.

Quint stopped behind Jael. ‘Do we have another problem, your highness?’

Hearing the sarcasm in his voice, she didn’t turn around, merely shaking her head. Her arms were mostly dangling by her sides, entirely numb, though bending down, she slid her hands beneath a stone similar in size to Rigg’s, and with a grunt, hefted it up, bracing it against her shoulder as she staggered towards the wagon.

Quint watched her go with a frown, knowing she was better used elsewhere. For though his father-in-law wasn’t a man to cross, he wondered if Kosta had thought through the ramifications of Jael’s reassignment. He watched as she struggled under the immense weight of the stone, pleased to see a scowling Rigg turn and take it from her, easing it down into the wagon, which soon buckled under its weight.

‘You two!’ he called. ‘Drive the wagon up to the tower! Stay there for the rest of the afternoon and help Alek. His men are dropping like flies. I’ll have you back tomorrow if he doesn’t need you!’

Jael’s eyes brightened at the unexpected gift, though as she turned to Rigg, she saw that his were still dull and unblinking. Though dropping her head and choosing to forget about her miserable companion, she aimed for the wagon bench, eager to sit down.

* * *

Amma was tired of lying down, and knowing she would soon be heading to Helsabor, she decided to leave the hall behind and see the sun, hoping to infuse herself with energy. Getta was busy with Gisila, organising their departure, and Axl had left early, though she wasn’t especially eager for company. Sometimes, it was simply nice to be alone with her thoughts.

She saw a boy playing with Gully, who had never had an owner. A friendly, happy dog, he was well looked after by everyone. Perhaps a little too well looked after, she thought, seeing how plump he was getting. The scrawny boy looked up as Gully took off, scampering towards her.

‘Well, hello,’ Amma smiled, bending down to pat the black dog, who quickly flopped onto his back, offering up his big belly for a scratch. She laughed, seeing the boy coming, watching her with curious eyes. ‘Perhaps you could give him a scratch for me?’

‘Is he your dog?’ Linas wondered.

‘No, Gully has always been his own master. He goes where he wants, when he wants.’

‘Are you the queen?’

Amma nodded. ‘And you are?’

‘I’m Linas. I’m new!’

‘New? To Andala?’ Amma stood up now as the boy crouched down, vigorously scratching Gully, who flicked out a hind leg in ecstasy.

‘I came with my grandmother. From the forest. We always lived in the forest.’

‘In the trees?’ Amma wondered with a smile. ‘Did you live in a tree house?’

Linas shook his head. ‘But I can climb trees!’ He looked around, seeing that the queen was alone. ‘Do you have children? They could come with me, and I could teach them!’

Amma’s smile faltered. ‘No, not yet, but soon. Soon, I hope.’

Gully wriggled up to his feet, bounding towards a waddling Helga, who immediately shooed him away.

‘That’s my grandmother!’ Linas called, waving to her. ‘She can make magic!’

Helga glowered at the boy, who paid her no mind and was soon scampering after Gully. She turned her attention to Amma. ‘The boy talks too much. Linas. He’s never had a friend.’

Amma was surprised. She had met the dreamer once and wasn’t sure what she thought of the intimidating woman. She was coarse in both appearance and manners, so she hadn’t expected her grandson to be such a joyous and happy boy. She smiled nervously. ‘I had thought to come and speak to you about –’

Helga held up a grubby hand. ‘I have seen nothing of your child. Nothing of you at all. My lady,’ she added somewhat begrudgingly, still scowling. ‘I must see to the boy. He needs to eat.’ And with that, she wheeled around and headed after Linas and Gully.

Gisila arrived, scowling herself. ‘That woman has the manners of an ogre. The face of one too.’

A horrified Amma turned to her. ‘She will hear you, Gisila.’

‘I’ve no doubt she will, though I’d happily say it to her miserable face. Speaking to a queen as though she’s a servant? No, I shall ask Axl to have a word with the woman. She may have come to help, but she must be taught her place.’

‘I imagine she lived in the forest because she didn’t want to have a place,’ Amma murmured. ‘She didn’t want to live under anyone’s rules.’

Gisila peered at her. ‘Helga lived in the forest because no one wanted her in Tuura. She has a habit of saying things people don’t want to hear. I’m not sure having her here makes sense. Not for Axl.’

‘Can we trust her?’

Gisila shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea why Helga’s truly come. Axl hasn’t really explained it. He says she wants to help, which doesn’t sound like the Helga I remember. If only Edela were here or Gant...’ Gisila tensed, realising that perhaps her ornery mood wasn’t about the dreamer at all.

Since her husband had left, she’d felt rudderless. She had flitted about Andala, looking after her family and fulfilling her duties. She and Gant had often passed like ships during the day, though there was always a smile and a few words, a touch and a kiss. And then, after supper, they would retire to their chamber to be alone.

Together.

Her favourite time of the day.

It had been weeks without that ritual taking place. Weeks since she had felt his touch, heard his voice or seen that rugged old face – her handsome husband – and she didn’t feel like herself at all.

‘I’m not sure when I’ll see Gant again. Perhaps he’s just enjoying escaping from under my thumb!’ Though both women knew that Gant wasn’t the sort of man to let anyone tell him what to do. Gisila felt worried. ‘I only hope he’s safe, wherever he might be.’

* * *

Gant and Rexon were nearly at Saala.

They had spent weeks roaming Brekka’s southern borders, gathering information, speaking to farmers, warriors, and villagers. They had hidden out, following tracks, leading them to an abandoned camp once occupied by Mutt Storman, the disgruntled Andalan outlaw stirring up trouble. Gant hadn’t wanted to return to Axl with only half a story and one idea. He’d wanted to be fully armed with information before returning to Andala, seeking to survey the true extent of Mutt’s corruption of Southern Brekka.

In Saala things had remained stable under Rexon, but their journey had been eye-opening and both men rode with increasing urgency, sensing that Mutt Storman had stacked a great pyre of kindling in the South and was merely waiting to set it alight.

They’d ridden out with Gant’s thirty men, imagining they’d feel safe, though it had quickly become apparent that things had shifted. A few villagers had spat when Gant had mentioned Axl’s name. Others had threatened them. And, unable to guarantee the safety of his men, Gant had made the decision to return to Saala, where he would decide his next move.

‘Where is Mutt Storman getting all his silver from?’ Rexon wondered, eager to see his wife and children. Eager to free his numb arse from the saddle too. ‘Someone with deep pockets.’

Gant nodded, wiping a cloth over his neck. Sweat dripped from his long hair, trickling down his back. He sought to stop it at its source and soon lifted the cloth to his head, trying to soak up moisture there.

It was a warm day, and though he didn’t generally mind the heat, they’d long since seen a stream and were all getting thirsty. Gus shook his dirty white head, growing impatient with the slow pace, refocusing Gant’s wandering attention. He patted his horse, shifting his eyes to Rexon, who looked a few shades darker than when they’d left Saala.

Summer certainly had arrived in a burst of sunshine.

‘Well, that’s the one thing we need to know,’ Gant muttered. ‘An outlaw doesn’t mount such a bold challenge with empty pockets. Ranuf tossed him out of Andala without even a cloak on his back, so how did he end up leading an army? How did he take Valso?’

‘Take it and claim it,’ Rexon said bitterly, for not even he had realised how successful Mutt Storman had become.

‘Perhaps only a dreamer could tell us?’

Rexon didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Please tell me there are no more dark dreamers stirring up trouble in Osterland. I –’ Lifting his head, he sniffed. ‘Smoke.’

Gant tightened his grip on Gus’ reins, scanning the trees. ‘Where are we near?’

‘Only Saala. Though perhaps someone’s camping nearby?’ The smoke was oddly strong, and fearing what it might mean, Rexon’s stomach started cramping.

* * *

The journey back to the tower gave Jael a chance to ask Rigg about his earlier statement. ‘What do you mean the Furycks took everything from you?’ she wondered with a frown. ‘Took what?’

Bouncing along on the wagon bench beside her, Rigg was initially reluctant to say any more; the memories were too painful, even now. ‘My family,’ he admitted eventually. ‘My father, my three brothers. They all died in your war with Hest.’

‘You’re Hestian?’ Jael asked, though Rigg grumbled something she couldn’t understand. ‘I thought I recognised your accent.’ He didn’t reply, so she carried on. ‘But we had no war with Hest.’

Rigg spun around, snarling at her. ‘You wanted our riches, our city, our gold! You never stopped trying to claim what belonged to us. To take and take until you controlled all of Osterland. You Furycks swallowed up Tuura, destroyed their people, and now, now you seek to claim it again.’ Tugging the reins, Rigg steered the oxen out of the path of an oncoming wagon. He paused there, simmering with rage. ‘Haaron Dragos didn’t have to convince my family to fight for him. We were never going to surrender to the likes of you.’

Jael was speechless. ‘But who told you that? It’s not true. It’s not what happened at all.’

‘You think I’m lying?’ Rigg growled, wrapping the reins around his hands until his knuckles turned white.

‘What were you and your family? Lords or warriors?’

‘Ha! You think I’m lying because I wasn’t a lord? Just a grunt with a sword? You think you know more than I do about what happened? That you know why my family died?’ Rigg’s voice had risen until it strained with pain.

‘I do,’ Jael insisted. ‘I was beside my father when he read the scrolls from Haaron Dragos announcing his intention to defeat us, to take our kingdom. He wanted Brekka. The fact that he told you the opposite was just a ploy to convince you to fight. It wasn’t what happened, Rigg. My father fought to keep Brekka safe. He had no intention of expanding our borders. In his entire reign, he didn’t.’

‘Not for want of trying!’ Rigg spat, and flicking the reins, he urged the pair of oxen up the hill.

‘Did you ever meet Haaron Dragos? Ever talk to him or his sons?’ Jael asked, temper sparking. ‘Did you ever ask him what he was doing, driving up out of Valder’s Pass every spring? You left your kingdom to attack ours. I was there.’

‘So was I!’

There was no getting through to him, Jael realised, sinking back onto the bench, deciding to save her breath. Though still feeling incensed and unable to hold her tongue, she tried one more time. ‘I’m sorry for your losses, sorry for your family, though I fear we’ve no choice but to disagree and move on.’

‘Move on?’

‘What? You wish to die here? We can argue about who had the right of it when we’re standing in Hest or Brekka. I don’t care. But for now, we have to work together to escape.’

‘With you as our leader?’ Rigg scoffed. ‘A woman who got herself captured? Who couldn’t defeat a rusty old man? You’re the chosen one? But what do you know about this place? How have you suffered?’

‘So you want to do it then? That’s what’s at the heart of this? You thought you’d lead the revolt?’ They were approaching the entrance to the temple grounds now, and Jael leaned closer to Rigg, lowering her voice. ‘Alek is your friend. He trusts you and I trust him, but for this to work, you and I need to trust each other.’ Seeing that his scowl hadn’t budged, she held out a hand. ‘Just until we leave, until we’re away from this place. Then you can try to kill me.’

He peered at her now, squinting eyes once again disappearing into his big, flat face. ‘Oh, I will, Brekkan,’ he promised with a snarl. ‘You can be sure of it.’

* * *

A panicking Rexon was now sure where the danger lay, and he pushed his mare on, ignoring Gant’s warnings.

The smoke intensified, a grubby pall smeared across the summer sky.

His wife loved summer, Rexon remembered, his horse’s hooves digging up clumps of dirt, flinging them at Gus, who pounded the road behind him.

Demaeya loved summer, and summer loved her. It turned her hair brilliant shades of gold. It sprinkled her perfect nose with freckles, it deepened the colour of her cheeks, and the fine, dry days lifted her mood. With her children playing outside, the hall airing, and their winter stores replenished, she was always at her happiest and most fertile.

Summer was the perfect time to plant seeds of every kind, she would say with a wink, drawing him into her arms.

Rexon’s heart was a throbbing lump in his chest as he urged his horse on, barely needing to guide her as she took each turn with ease, for this was the way home.

They both knew that.

The way home, now veiled in smoke.

He coughed, hearing Gant coming up behind him, coughing too.

‘Wait!’ Gant spluttered. ‘Rexon, wait!’

Though a desperate Rexon ignored him, and dropping his head, he kicked his horse towards the fort.

* * *

Karsten held up a hand to shade his eyes.

He’d headed down to the harbour to join Eadmund, Thorgils, and Arras – who had now been joined by Bolder – eager to show them his fleet.

‘We managed to put it back together after your wife destroyed it,’ he laughed. ‘That was a memorable night. For all the wrong reasons!’ He still had a bit of a limp from where Jael had stabbed him.

Arras looked confused, though no one bothered to explain it to him.

Seeing the array of ships moored in the harbour, Eadmund knew it was only a portion of Karsten’s fleet. ‘Are they all seaworthy?’ he wondered, pointing to the enormous ship sheds facing the docks, where he assumed the remainder of the fleet was stored.

Karsten nodded, feeling pleased about that. ‘Every last one of them. I keep them ready in case you Islanders attempt to threaten us again.’ He laughed, seeing Arras’ puzzled face. ‘They sought to take one of my islands a few years ago, though that didn’t work out.’

‘Well, it worked out fine for us,’ Thorgils grinned. ‘Your father paid us all that gold to go away. We’ve never been disappointed about that, have we?’

Eadmund frowned at him, only wanting to talk about the near future, not the distant past. He felt an impatience to get on with planning, unlike Karsten and Thorgils, who were too busy reminiscing.

Sensing his tension, Karsten had one of the harbour workers open a ship shed. ‘I keep these locked as they contain something I’m not interested in sharing. Not with whatever spies lurk in my city.’ And thinking about that, he glanced over his shoulder.

Eadmund leaned forward, craning his neck as the shed doors were pulled open.

He saw a fine-looking ship with an unusually short prow, revealing a catapult mounted in the bow. Turning, he saw Arras’ wide eyes and Thorgils’ blinking surprise. Bolder’s mouth had dropped open.

‘And here,’ Karsten said, enjoying himself, ‘is another. I’ve five in all, though I’m planning for more.’

Arras smiled for the first time since he’d left S’ala Nis. ‘Yes,’ he breathed, turning to Eadmund. ‘With these, we can rescue your wife.’

* * *

‘My wife!’ Rexon cried, pulling up some distance from Saala’s fort. Something was burning – likely the hall. Dense clouds of smoke billowed across the path leading to the gates, hiding the ramparts, and seeing that his friend had stopped, Gant slid off Gus and ran to him, trying to pull him off his panicking horse. ‘I need to save my wife! My children!’

Gant imagined how he would feel if Gisila was trapped inside a burning hall, captured by enemies, though he couldn’t let Rexon throw his life away. He glanced over his shoulder as his men rode to join them before turning back around. He needed the Lord of Saala to hear him, to follow his commands. ‘We don’t know how many there are! You’ll be killed if you get any closer!’

‘I want to die!’ Rexon screamed at him. ‘If my family is in there, then I want to die! Let go! Let me go!’

‘Archers on the walls!’ one of Gant’s men called in warning.

Rexon spun his horse in a circle. ‘You stay!’ he bellowed at Gant. ‘Stay safe! But I need to do this!’ And unsheathing his sword, a coughing Rexon Boas drove his horse towards Saala’s gates.

Gant ran to mount Gus, calling his men to him. ‘We back him up! Ears open! If we have to get out of here, we need to move with speed!’ And swinging Gus’ head around, Gant spurred him after Rexon, praying they weren’t too late.

20

‘You’re back!’ Alek exclaimed, pleased to see Jael and Rigg return to the tower. ‘For good?’ He eyed one then the other, sensing with some disappointment that they hadn’t resolved their differences.

Rigg shrugged, jumping down from the wagon. ‘Quint sent us back. Once Kosta gets a whiff of it, he might have something to say, but in the meantime, we’re all yours.’

Alek looked relieved. ‘You heard about Kol and Akon then?’

Rigg nodded. ‘Not a surprise. If you take a man from his family, if you take his freedom, his dignity, his choices, you take away his hope. Eventually, he must question what there is to live for.’ Eyeing Jael, he called two of Alek’s men over to help him unload the wagon.

‘He’s still not convinced by you as our leader then?’ Alek asked discreetly as Jael hopped down from the wagon. She looked stiff, he thought, sore, and knowing the damage such work had done to his body, he wasn’t surprised.

‘I’d say he intends to kill me.’

‘What? He said that?’

‘Well, he implied it, at least. And he’s welcome to try. As long as we get out of here, he can try what he likes. Arsehole.’ She muttered the last word under her breath, though Rigg swung around, glaring at her.

‘I’m saddened to hear it, Jael,’ Alek sighed. ‘He’s always been a loyal friend to me. He’s saved my life more times than I can count.’

‘Though where family’s concerned, his resentment runs deep,’ Jael warned. ‘And he blames my family for the death of his, so likely he won’t rest until he makes me pay.’

‘Well, I know what passion the thought of my sons stirs within me. The thought of anyone hurting them, let alone killing them? I understand his anger, his sadness, though he must see that we’re on the same side here? That you’ll help us?’

Jael stared at the frail man, trying not to dash his hopes. ‘I’m sure deep down he does. And to get you out of here, I sense we’re going to need him.’

* * *

‘Pull up!’ Gant bellowed. ‘Rexon! Pull up!’

Saala’s gates were slammed shut; he heard the locking bar dropping into place.

And screams.

Over the shouted orders and crackling fire, Gant could hear people screaming in terror.

Behind him, those armed with bows shot at the men on the ramparts, striking one. Gant swung around to them. ‘Cover me!’ And spurring Gus down the path, he aimed him at Rexon’s galloping chestnut mare. ‘Rexon!’ Arrows flew in both directions – he felt one skim his arm – and dropping his head further, he was soon alongside the Lord of Saala.

Rexon turned to him, eyes bursting with the need to do something.

But the gates were shut.

What could he do on his own? What could they do with so few men?

‘We have to leave!’ Gant pleaded. ‘Rexon! Do not die here!’

Rexon turned his mare in circles, eyes darting to the ramparts, back to Gant, then further back to those archers trying to keep them safe. Smoke burned his throat, his racing heart a pain deep in his chest now.

He couldn’t breathe.

‘Let’s go!’ Gant urged, nudging Gus forward.

Rexon’s hands trembled as he tightened his grip on the reins. An arrow speared his horse in the rump, and she reared up in shock. He clung to her, urging her down to the ground, and with a look back at his fort, now in enemy hands, he flicked the reins, reluctantly aiming her at the trees.

* * *

When Erling finally returned from Hest, Axl called a council meeting.

‘I’ve decided on horses,’ Gisila told her son as they waited to begin. Amma and Getta hadn’t arrived, nor had Erling. ‘I spoke to Nils, and he has two possible contenders. A brother and sister from Saldis. It feels a worthy gift, suitable for a Brekkan king to give.’ She lifted an eyebrow at her son, who seemed distracted. And noticing that he was crushing a scroll in his right hand, she frowned. ‘Have you had news?’

Axl nodded. ‘Another note from Gant. He suspects Mutt Storman has powerful allies, for how else is he managing to acquire so many weapons? So many men?’

Gisila sighed, forgetting all about horses now. ‘I do fear his ambition.’

Axl was starting to as well. He ran a hand through his beard, becoming tense. ‘But who could they be? These allies?’

Gisila didn’t know. ‘Your father had little trouble amongst his own people over the years. Nothing that flared up threatening to become something more. He battled the Islanders and the Hestians. Iskavall was like an annoying sibling but generally manageable, and Helsabor just hid away behind its walls, seeking to disappear.’ Gisila clasped her hands in front of her dark blue dress, feeling a chill. ‘What else does he say?’ They stood in the meeting chamber where a brazier was burning – almost suffocating in the small space – though she felt as though someone had dropped a block of ice down her back.

‘Just that he’ll remain with Rexon until he has a clearer picture of what’s happening.’

Erling Venberg entered the chamber looking markedly different from when he’d departed Andala some weeks ago.

‘You’ve had a haircut,’ Axl noted in surprise, seeing his friend’s closely cropped black hair, which had always touched his shoulders.

A frowning Erling ran a hand over his fuzzy scalp. ‘There was an... incident with a barrel of mead, an arm-wrestling competition and a candelabra,’ he joked. ‘Hopefully, it’ll grow back by winter.’

Gisila didn’t smile as she took her seat. ‘And where is everyone else?’ she muttered as Gerald led two servants into the chamber, carrying trays of nuts and ale. ‘I had hoped to start by now.’

Axl glanced at the open door, though he couldn’t even hear a sign of Amma or Getta. ‘Perhaps they’ve gone to visit my new dreamer? Amma did mention wanting to take Helga and the boy a basket of food. To help them settle in,’ he added, seeing what his mother thought about that.

‘New dreamer?’ Erling almost dropped the cup Gerald had handed him, turning to Axl in surprise. ‘What dreamer?’

‘Helga,’ Axl said. ‘She’s not to everyone’s taste,’ he added, hearing Gisila snort. ‘Though she’s come to help.’

Erling shook his head as though dazed. ‘I don’t understand. Where did she come from? She just... turned up?’

‘From Tuura. She heard about what’s been happening and wanted to do her part.’

‘Well, that’s her story, at least,’ Gisila muttered, turning from Axl to Erling. ‘Though I have my doubts. She certainly wasn’t wanted in Tuura.’

‘No? Why is that?’ Erling wondered, though his question went unanswered as an apologetic Amma swept into the room, followed by her sister.

‘Your hair!’ Amma exclaimed in surprise. ‘I... you look quite different.’

Erling smiled ruefully, once again running a hand over his scalp. ‘Yes, it’s quite a change. My mother isn’t especially taken with it.’

Gisila laughed. ‘No, I imagine not. And how is your sister? I heard she was ill.’

‘She’s a little better today, though still in bed. Mother is hovering over her, attending to her every need. Hopefully, she’ll be well enough to travel to Angard. It’s all they can talk about.’

Gisila’s tension rose, and she remembered the horses and how much else there was to do and only three days left to do it in. ‘Well,’ she smiled at Axl as he took his seat, ‘shall we hurry on? I can’t be sitting around all day!’

* * *

‘Perhaps you could teach Meena something about dreaming?’ Bayla said with a beaming smile, eyes shifting from the comely Mattie Bilso to her red-faced lump of a daughter-in-law, who sat opposite her, fussing over her crying daughter.

Mattie looked surprised, caught between two opposing forces. She saw Meena blush and Bayla sit up straighter, that confident smile never faltering.

‘She was not trained as a dreamer, you see,’ Bayla went on, ignoring her granddaughter’s tantrum and Meena’s struggle to deal with it, encumbered as she was by her enormous belly.

‘Willa, please, that is Lila’s, not yours. You must let her have it, sweetheart,’ Meena tried, looking around for the girl’s nursemaid, who had disappeared to find Willa’s favourite toy.

‘You can play with my cat if you stop crying!’ Mattie called over the noise, eyes on the girl, who soon swung around, peering at the strange woman stroking the cat on her lap. ‘His name is Otter, and he’s a very special cat. A magical cat.’

Even Bayla looked interested in that, and soon all eyes were on the fluffy brown cat with the white-tipped ears who, sensing the attention, lifted his head, lengthening his neck.

Willa reached out to touch him, but Mattie shook her head. ‘Are you sure you’ve stopped your tears? That they’re all gone now?’

Willa Dragos nodded with enormous moist eyes, bottom lip protruding.

‘Alright then,’ Mattie smiled, and plonking Otter down on the balcony floor, she left her cat in the care of the toddler.

‘Perhaps we need a cat?’ Bayla mused as peace returned. ‘Is it really magical?’

Mattie grinned, though she didn’t answer.

Which led Bayla back to her previous thought. ‘And you were trained at Tuura?’

Leaning forward, Mattie helped herself to another sweetmeat. She couldn’t get enough of the miniature delicacies, though she was becoming aware that she was the only one eating and that the plate was nearly empty. ‘For a time, though I left when I was fifteen. The elders and I came to realise that we wanted... different things. So I taught myself after that.’

‘And you are Eadmund’s dreamer? He has so many now, I think. If he still has that woman on Oss?’

Mattie shook her head. ‘No, I don’t believe I am. When the queen was kidnapped in Tuura, I offered to help find her.’

‘So you’ll return to Tuura when Jael’s safe?’ Meena asked, finally getting a word in.

‘I expect so. My home is there. Though not until I help the king. He needs me.’

‘Yes, I agree,’ Bayla hummed, eyes returning to Meena. ‘The advice of a dreamer is invaluable to a king, wouldn’t you say, Daughter?’

Meena gulped down a mouthful of bile, feeling strange. ‘I, yes, of course...’ She winced, a burning pain shooting up the back of her leg. This pregnancy, quick on the heels of the last, had been a more uncomfortable ordeal than her previous two, and she was looking forward to feeling like herself again. She blinked, gripping the armrests of her chair.

Sighing, Bayla turned back to her granddaughter, who was becoming more confident with Otter. ‘Gently now,’ she urged the little girl. ‘You don’t want a scratch.’

‘Are you alright?’ Mattie asked Meena. ‘Have you seen something?’

Meena shook her head, trying to push herself out of the chair, though she appeared quite firmly wedged in place. ‘No, no, I... I... the baby is coming!’

* * *

‘My children!’ Rexon raged. ‘My wife!’ He wasn’t sure if he was crying or whether the swirling smoke was merely stinging his eyes, but he couldn’t see. His heart throbbed, every muscle knotted, every breath like heavy fog. ‘I need to...’ And coughing violently, he bent over, retching.

Gant patted his back, eyes darting around the gathered men, who huddled in the trees near their horses. His men. Rexon’s Saalans were all back in the fort with their families. With Rexon’s. ‘We have to go,’ is all he could say; the only option to advise. ‘Saala has fallen. We won’t know about your family for some time. As the wife of the lord, Demaeya has a good chance.’

Flinging up his head, Rexon bared his teeth. ‘A good chance? And what if I said that about Gisila? Would you just leave? Do nothing?’ Ignoring the curious stares of the Andalan warriors, he strode away.

Gant let him go, calling over his second-in-command – a useful man named Saki. ‘How are we with supplies?’

Saki rubbed his own stinging eyes. The smoke from the fort was being driven west on a stiff breeze now, and their horses were shifting around, growing disturbed. ‘We’re low. We had enough for today but after that? We’ll have to hunt. Eat on the road.’

Gant scratched his beard.

They needed more men, though his time in the South had shown him that former allies could no longer be counted upon. The growing resentment bred by poor harvests and devastating plagues was festering and spreading. He didn’t know where he could be guaranteed to find a lord still loyal to Axl. And realising that, he shook his head.

They could aim east, head to Borsund, whose lord had ships. Take one, head home. But could he still rely on the man?

He could lead them west instead, but that way was paved with treachery, he was sure.

Then there was south. Hest.

Was Karsten Dragos still an ally?

Saki took a waterskin from one of his men, offering it to Gant, who shook his head, indicating that he give it to Rexon.

Gus nudged him, nudging harder until Gant turned towards him.

And there he saw the path.

East.

* * *

A waddling Meena Dragos was hurried upstairs in a fluster of noisy panic.

She remained mostly calm, though Bayla became frantic, calling for help, then quickly sending her servants on their way, demanding someone find Berard.

Mattie tried to calm her, though that didn’t improve things, and eventually, she left the Dragos women to it and the nursemaid to deal with the children, hoping to find Berard Dragos herself. She imagined he would want to be as close to his wife as possible.

Heading downstairs, she became distracted, remembering her own doomed pregnancy, and then just as quickly, trying to think of something else.

A wide-eyed Berard was charging up the steps as Mattie walked outside.

‘Meena?’ he panted.

‘She’s upstairs. Your mother’s with her.’

Berard didn’t wait to hear any more, and soon Mattie was alone again. She inhaled a breath, feeling tension building in the pit of her stomach, eyes on the busy square, and past that to the bustling harbour.

Soon they would head back to S’ala Nis.

She remembered her conversation with Jael Furyck in the tunnel and Eadmund’s grief when he’d returned to Bone Hammer without his wife.

She thought of Berard and Meena; Fyn, who couldn’t wait to see that girl on Oss; Thorgils, so worried about his own wife and children.

And sighing, tears flooded her eyes as Mattie realised how desperately lonely she felt.

How unbearably sad.

* * *

As the afternoon progressed, the heat intensified around the Tower of Eyshar.

It was getting hard to breathe.

A breeze had picked up, though it wasn’t cooling, just troublesome. Sifting dust, it whirled it around, into eyes, up noses and down throats. So now those slaves with parched mouths and grainy eyes were further hampered, made even more miserable.

They needed water – anything to drink.

As Jael exited the tower, she felt as though she’d entered a fire pit. The swirling heat from the blazing sun threatened to knock her over. Seeing no sign of Alek, she aimed for Quint, who stood like a signpost in the middle of a cluster of wagons and slaves, arms pointing in every direction. He’d tied a wet cloth around his head, holding another to his mouth to keep out the dust, though he was still croaking and coughing.

Jael headed for him, then hearing a crunching noise, she turned around to see a man collapse. He’d been carrying a heavy stone slab, and unable to hold his balance or the slab in his weary arms, he’d dropped it on his foot. ‘Gaspar!’ she called, and hurrying forward with another slave, they lifted the slab off the young man. Seeing the crushed mess of his foot, she stood, signalling for the overseer. ‘Quint!’

He came quickly, grimacing at the sight of that mashed foot. ‘Get that stone up the tower!’ he ordered the other man. ‘And you,’ he said to Jael. ‘We need a stretcher. Bring it back with two men. Have them take him to the physician’s.’

‘I can take him,’ Jael quickly offered. ‘I know where it is. And the physician needs to look at my wrists. Under the fetters, it smells rotten.’

Quint frowned at her. ‘Rotten?’

Jael nodded with big eyes, showing him a glimpse of the wounds beneath one of her wrist fetters. ‘If they get any worse, I may die.’

‘Die?’ Quint scoffed. ‘What are you talking about?’

Jael’s nodding was enthusiastic. ‘That’s what the physician said. It’s like any wound that turns bad. Once it fouls the blood, it can kill you.’

Quint had seen many amputations in his time, so with a shudder, he nodded, not wanting to be responsible for his most famous slave’s sudden demise. He saw Rigg coming with a stretcher. ‘Take Rigg. But quickly! We can’t lose more time!’ And erupting in a coughing fit, his attention was soon claimed by another slave with another problem.

Alek wasn’t far behind Rigg, and quickly assessing the situation, he sought a word with Jael. ‘You’re to take him to the physician’s? You and Rigg?’

Jael nodded.

‘They won’t spare a wagon, so you’ll have to walk. Perhaps it will give you an opportunity to... smooth things over?’

Jael looked doubtful. ‘I have to go.’

Alek touched her arm. ‘Someone said you wanted me?’

‘Gardi does,’ Jael told him, turning away. ‘He needs more bricks, but there’s something wrong with the pulley.’ She hurried to Gaspar, who writhed in agony, stirring up dust. Rigg stood by his legs, ready to lift the man. ‘We need to drag him onto the stretcher,’ Jael told him. ‘But first, we have to deal with that leg.’

‘That’s what the physician’s for,’ Rigg snapped, bending down to grab Gaspar’s good leg.

‘No! Leave him!’ And rushing to the nearest wagon, Jael helped herself to a thin strip of wood, which she snapped in half. And tearing off the bottom of her tunic, she braced a now-sobbing Gaspar’s foot, doubting Ratish would be able to save it – the bones were crushed.

Hearing Rigg muttering under his breath, she made knots in the cloth and stood. ‘We’ll go as quickly as we can,’ she promised. And coming around to Gaspar’s left side, she indicated for Rigg to help her. ‘We’ll drag him onto here, then we’ll go.’

Rigg scowled but offered his help, and with a yelp and a sob, their patient was soon on the stretcher.

Inesh Seppo hurried towards them, brandishing a cup. He said something that neither Jael nor Rigg understood, though bending down, he offered what smelled like wine to the injured man.

Straightening up, the concerned-looking seer fixed his brown eyes on Jael, now speaking the common tongue. ‘I am Inesh Seppo, the Noor-Elect.’ He glanced down at Jael’s fetters before raising his eyes again.

‘We must go!’ Rigg barked, tugging the stretcher.

And with a hasty smile at the seer, Jael stumbled after him.

Watching her go, Inesh Seppo bowed his head, closing his eyes.

* * *

Berard Dragos’ eyes were moist with tears when he entered the hall later that afternoon. The joy of his wife safely delivering a healthy child had him feeling emotional and slightly giddy.

‘Another daughter!’ his brother called, holding up his goblet. ‘Another princess of the realm!’

Berard was thrilled to have three daughters. Three vibrant little lives. It was a gift greater than any he’d thought would be bestowed upon him. And his wife.

She was a joy like no other.

‘And how’s Meena?’ Eadmund asked. They had been discussing plans around Karsten’s map table when Berard had burst in with the good news.

‘Relieved. I think we’re both just so relieved. So much can go wrong. And yet?’ He shook his head. ‘I will sacrifice to Thita in thanks!’ he decided loudly. He saw Karsten’s eyes narrow and tempered his enthusiasm, knowing his brother was still grieving his lost son.

Tipping back his wine, Karsten looked away. He didn’t begrudge Berard his happiness, for sometimes it felt as though his family was cursed by the gods. So much had gone wrong, so much had been taken from them. He was smiling, full of good humour when in company, but in private?

He felt deeply alone.

Brightening his face, he turned back to his guests, seeing tension in Thorgils’ face, his eyes fixed on him. ‘Well, you go and take Meena our best wishes. And little...’

‘Sasha.’

‘Sasha. Take her our best wishes too.’ Karsten turned back to the map table, all thoughts of babies and dreamers quickly gone from his mind. ‘We must get on with the planning,’ he told his friends. ‘For if we don’t leave on this rescue mission soon, Bayla will never forgive me.’

Eadmund turned to him. ‘We? But I thought –’

‘What? Me?’ Karsten laughed. ‘No, Ulf. He’s promised he’ll join Bayla in Angard, so we need to get him there and back as soon as possible. Though ask Ulf and I think he’d happily stay at sea for weeks.’ He laughed, imagining what his mother would think about that. She’d never said, thought it was obvious to everyone how much Bayla had come to rely upon Ulf over the years.

And love.

Karsten knew she had come to love him too.

‘Well, you’ll get no argument from me,’ Eadmund promised. ‘The sooner we leave, the sooner I get my wife back. We just need to ready the ships. Ready the ships and make our plans.’ He was raring to go, impatient to leave, though he knew it was important to do this right, certain that if they failed, none of them would see Oss again.

21

Ratish was occupied when they arrived at the physician’s rooms, so Jael and Rigg deposited the injured slave with another physician, who seemed ill-tempered and unprepared. Though there was little to be done, and they were promptly sent on their way, back to the tower.

Leaving the building, they bumped into Ratish, who looked surprised but pleased to see Jael.

‘You are well?’ he whispered. ‘And those wrists and ankles?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I’ve more important things to worry about.’

‘That sounds... concerning.’

She smiled, feeling a rush of energy. Just being out of the sun for a moment was a relief. She saw glimpses of Sunni dashing down the hall, though, and her good mood vanished. ‘Tell me about the seer, Inesh Seppo? Is he like the old seer?’

Ratish peered at her. ‘The old seer?’ Then, only guessing at her meaning, and sneaking a glance at a glowering Rigg, he shrugged. ‘He came here as a young man many years ago now. He learned everything from Noor. They were especially close. Why do you ask?’

‘No reason. I met him at the tower.’ And brushing off Ratish’s attempts to inspect her wrists, she spun around. ‘We have to get back. Hopefully, we can find our way!’

Rigg grunted at the physician and turned to follow, soon catching her up.

‘What are you doing? Making your own plans?’ he snarled. ‘Doing whatever suits you?’ They headed across the cobbled street, immediately seeking the shade offered by a wall of fresh-smelling pines. Jael slowed down, trying to get her bearings. She had been led here more than once by Sunni, though she was still not certain where to go. ‘Where’s the harbour from here? How do we get there?’

‘You want to go to the harbour? Now?’

‘Why not now? I doubt we’ll be free to go anywhere until the funeral. This is our only chance.’

‘To do what?’

A pair of finely dressed ladies headed towards them, eyes on Jael, whispering to each other. They looked disgusted but also intrigued. Stepping out of their path, Jael dragged Rigg after her. ‘Someone will find us soon enough, so we don’t have much time. When the attack starts, we have to push up from the temple towards the harbour. No matter what’s happening at the tower, they’ll keep men stationed there. And if I’m leading, I need to understand the path to get there. When I arrived, I was brought in through tunnels.’

‘It’s one of the ways in,’ Rigg said, beady eyes darting up and down the street, fearing they’d be stopped. He led Jael down the alley that would take them back to the main road. ‘But not the way I came. They take the female slaves that way. They get sorted into those worthy of pleasure and those only good for work.’

‘Pleasure? Whose pleasure?’ Jael snorted, keeping her head low, not wishing to draw any unwanted attention. She followed after Rigg, who stomped with uncertainty ahead of her. ‘What is it?’

He grunted, sniffed loudly but remained silent, focusing on heading towards another row of trees. ‘We should go around the back. Less chance of being spotted.’

‘Though more chance of looking suspicious,’ Jael decided. ‘Let’s stay on the main road.’

Rigg pulled up now. ‘Are you in charge of me? The boss here? My boss?’

‘For now. Seems that I am.’

‘I don’t think so, loser.’ And jerking around, Rigg strode off, not wanting the queen’s company.

Though Jael soon caught him, eager for that shade. ‘I can get us out of here.’

‘I can get us out of here.’

‘And you’ve been here how many years? Do you stay because you enjoy it?’

A simmering Rigg clenched his fists, seeing a troop of soldiers heading their way. Jael was drawing everyone’s eyes, and he was becoming increasingly tense, not understanding the point of what they were doing. ‘I... the timing needs to be right. It’s taken Alek a long time to build connections across the isle. We’ve worked solidly over the years. Together. Now there are allies in the palace, the stables, the Arena. Even at the harbour. You may have just swanned in, but we’ve been making plans for years now.’

‘You!’ a soldier shouted, and nudging one of his friends, they headed across the road towards Jael and Rigg. ‘Stop right there!’

* * *

Korri Torluffson’s two ships arrived in Castala after an unremarkable journey from Zagora.

Edela wondered if Iker Rayas would follow them. One-eyed Iker Rayas, she remembered, watching Zen offering to help Siggy over the side of Sea Queen, down onto the pier.

Siggy appeared insulted by his offer, though perhaps remembering that he was grieving, she shook her head and took his hand.

Bertel held Edela back. ‘We tell no one you’re a dreamer,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Never again. Not till we’re safe in our own beds.’

‘Our own beds?’ she frowned, spinning around to him. ‘And where exactly might that be? I can’t remember what it feels like to have a home anymore. Or a family.’

‘Well, be grateful you still have one, Edela, for both Siggy and I have lost ours. And poor Zen. The only one of us who isn’t a homeless orphan is you.’

Edela felt terrible. She’d barely slept on the journey from Bakkar to Castala and had been in a fractious mood. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sighed, turning back as one of Korri’s men offered her a hand. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she smiled. The young man had been experiencing terrible spasms in his right shoulder, and she had used the last of her lavender and yarrow salve to release it.

Bertel nodded as he reached up to take her in his arms, lifting her over the shield rack.

Edela’s first glimpses of Castala had her heart sinking. It was a sprawling city, much bigger than Bakkar, from what she could make out. Though just as busy. If she was meant to find something here, it was going to be a hard task. She thought wistfully of the pretty little islands of Illonia. Though despite their beauty, they had also lured her into traps of her own making.

Here, in Castala, she had to be careful. And clever.

Bertel was right. No one could know she was a dreamer.

* * *

Jael wished she could simply make herself invisible.

She had hoped to get to the harbour, wanting to assess the route for herself.

But now?

‘What are you doing here?’ one of the soldiers demanded, right hand hovering near his sword.

Rigg twitched beside the slave queen, hoping she didn’t drag him into her mess.

‘We’ve been sent with a message for the commander,’ Jael told him. ‘Argo Kosta. Our overseer said to find him at the harbour. Apparently, he’s there.’

‘The harbour? And then?’

‘Then we’re to report back to the temple grounds. We’re working on the Tower of Eyshar.’

The soldier eyed her with suspicion, though his friend sought to draw him away. Jael recognised him as one of Nico Sikari’s friends.

‘Come on. We have to report to the palace. Do you want to be late? They’ll be whipped soon enough if they’ve left the tower without permission.’

How right he was, Jael thought, not liking the sound of that. She bobbed her head, keeping it down until Nico’s friend managed to drag the other soldier away. And when they were gone, she hurried up the road.

She could smell the sea.

The breeze that had stirred up so much dust was blowing in from the harbour.

‘How many ships?’ she wondered, glancing at Rigg, who exhaled loudly. ‘In the harbour? I never asked Arras. Not sure why.’

‘Oh, Arras, is it? Your friend, the commander?’

Ignoring him, Jael carried on. ‘If we’re escaping an island, how many can fit on the ships? We don’t want to leave any behind.’

‘That’s not the plan. The plan is to stay, not to sail away.’

Jael peered at him. ‘Though one plan is never enough. You and Alek have your numbers and your allies, but I’ve led men into battle. Vast armies. I know how useless plans become when one thing or another goes wrong. So, if we have to leave, I need to know how many ships can take us.’ Rigg grunted, which was his most common method of communication, Jael realised, and ignoring him, she lengthened her stride, eager to reach the harbour before they were stopped again.

* * *

‘Seven days,’ Arras decided, leaning over Karsten’s map. It stopped before ever reaching S’ala Nis, though seeing the distance from Hest’s capital to Bakkar, he could guess how long it would take. ‘Eight at most, but we should aim for seven.’

Beside him, Kolarov tottered about, ready to burst.

‘Yes?’ Eadmund wondered. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘The... trouble we encountered on our way here, my lord,’ Kolarov said with great deliberation, eyes darting from one king to the other. ‘That unexpected trouble... what if something similar were to... occur again once we get within distance of the... isle?’

Karsten’s eyes swept the gathered party, seeing something resembling horror blooming on every face present: Fyn, Mattie, Thorgils, Arras and Bolder. Ulf was there, too, though he simply looked confused. ‘Trouble?’

‘Well, there was a little fire,’ Eadmund mumbled. ‘Though we survived it well enough.’

‘What sort of fire? Sea-fire?’ Karsten asked.

Thorgils laughed. ‘We would’ve liked some sea-fire!’

Karsten didn’t understand. ‘What fire then?’

‘Walls of fire,’ Mattie explained, sensing Eadmund’s hesitation but knowing that they couldn’t hide the danger from the King of Hest, for what if they did encounter such trouble again?

‘In the sea?’ Ulf didn’t understand, glancing at Karsten.

Who scratched his beard. ‘Not sea-fire?’

‘It was a dreamer,’ Mattie said. ‘A dreamer did it.’

‘So the island Jael’s imprisoned on has a dreamer?’ Karsten’s bravado retreated. It had been years since they’d had to face a dreamer, and he wasn’t sure it made sense to do so again.

Arras spoke up. ‘No, though the king is married to a dreamer.’

‘A dark one?’ Karsten snapped, turning to look at Eadmund and Thorgils, who certainly looked disturbed. ‘A dark fucking dreamer? And you thought to keep that to yourselves? You were just going to borrow my ships and lead them into a sea of fire conjured up by a dark fucking dreamer?’

‘Mattie stopped her!’ Fyn blurted out, directing everyone’s attention towards the dreamer, who looked unhappy to receive it.

‘Well, I...’

‘Mattie helped us escape,’ Eadmund explained. ‘We were set upon by a handful of ships likely belonging to the king. And yes, there were walls of fire, but we got through those too. I wasn’t keeping it from you, Karsten. We’re discussing it now, aren’t we?’

‘Only because your explorer brought it up!’ Karsten huffed, feeling Ulf’s hand on his back.

He remembered the night he’d met Ulf.

He remembered what had happened to his brother.

A dark, powerful dreamer...

Shuddering, he looked towards the hallway entrance, as if seeking an escape. ‘Who is she? What does she want?’

No one knew, so there was no answer.

‘To keep Jael on the isle?’ Kolarov eventually suggested with a shrug. ‘Though for what purpose or reason, we still have no idea.’ And now every head turned towards Arras.

Eadmund stared at the man, convinced that he hadn’t revealed everything he knew. Though perhaps not intentionally, he conceded, for Arras likely didn’t appreciate the significance of every morsel of information he possessed. ‘The queen never spoke of Jael before? Of what she might want with her?’

‘In my presence, no,’ Arras said, becoming uncomfortable. His rescuers had been understanding about his role in Jael’s kidnapping, though he remained on edge, fearing that one wrong word would set them against him. ‘I knew nothing about Jael until the night the queen brought me in to discuss her plan.’

Thorgils leaned across the table. ‘Tell us everything she said. Were you alone? You and the queen?’

Arras shook his head. ‘There were two other men with me. I’d been asked to bring them along.’

‘And what did she say?’ Eadmund wondered.

Arras was immediately back in that enormous chamber, reeking with fragrant smoke, the queen staring at him with intense eyes.

‘I have a very special mission for you,’ Kalina purred, eyeing each man in turn, though her attention lingered longer on Arras. ‘A mission that will take you all the way to Osterland.’

Karam looked excited, Iker intrigued, but Arras frowned. ‘Osterland, my queen? For more slaves?’

Kalina shook her head, indicating for her own slave to pour wine for her guests. ‘Well, one slave,’ she conceded. ‘You, Arras, will bring me a very special slave. A slave queen.’

Arras blinked. ‘A queen?’

‘Her name is Jael Furyck, a Brekkan warrior of some renown. Now Queen of the Slave Islands.’

‘And she will be in Osterland?’

‘Yes. That is what I’ve been told.’

Arras had thought about it then as he thought about it now.

By who? Who had told her that?

‘And you, Karam. I have set you the most distasteful task. You are to kill Osterland’s dreamers. Every old crone you can find. I want them strung up and torn apart. Make it gruesome. I seek to encourage their silence, so you must frighten those who remain into hiding. Do you understand?’

Karam nodded, a hungry look in his eyes.

‘And that leaves you, dear Iker,’ Kalina smiled, patting his arm. ‘You must hunt down one dreamer in particular. The most troublesome one of all, I imagine. Edela Saeveld. She is Jael Furyck’s grandmother. If anyone is going to cause us problems, it will be her. You will find her at the Temple of Tuura, I understand. At the very tip of Osterland.’

None of the men understood what their mission was about, though they hadn’t felt entitled to press for clarification.

Kalina had encouraged Karam and Iker to drink, taking a moment to approach Arras alone. ‘Your mission matters most of all, commander. And when you return, we shall have other, more personal matters to discuss.’

When Arras had finished speaking, Eadmund blinked. ‘So the queen wanted the dreamers silenced and Edela unable to help Jael? To warn her?’

‘It seems that way.’

‘Though the question remains why?’ Karsten put in, still frowning. ‘For if your queen went to so much trouble to find Jael, there must be a reason. A reason important enough not to want to lose her.’

Thorgils frowned. ‘The king’s wife. The dreamer. She must have told your queen that Jael would be in Osterland, for we didn’t know we’d be there ourselves, did we? And certainly not in Tuura.’

Eadmund nodded.

Karsten brandished his empty goblet at the nearest servant. ‘Well, they sound like people who need to be stopped!’ he decided loudly. ‘First Jael and Edela, then who? They want to kill all the dreamers? I have a mostly useless one, though I don’t intend to lose her. Likely Meena’s daughters are dreamers, too, so we have to do something. Whatever they want, whatever their plan, you need to stop them.’

Eadmund raised his lips into a smile, though he didn’t feel happy.

Just desperate to begin.

‘We’ll float the fleet tomorrow, get all the ships into the harbour,’ Karsten decided, eyes on a nodding Ulf. ‘So we’d better finalise your plans.’

* * *

They had been riding in silence for hours, and a bereft Rexon could no longer take it. Thoughts burned like hot flames in his mind. Fears and hopes wrestled in a desperate battle to see which would come out on top.

He jerked his injured mare to a stop, and jumping down, he ran towards a row of brambles, vomiting violently.

Gant jumped down after him, ordering Saki to keep watch and the rest of the men to take a break. ‘You alright?’ he asked Rexon when he turned around. It was a stupid question that had rushed out of an exhausted mind. ‘Sorry, I mean –’

‘I am no more,’ Rexon said starkly, unable to focus. He wiped his beard, spitting. ‘If my family is dead, which likely they are, I am no more.’ Tears came, and bending forward, he covered his face with his hands, sobbing.

Gant took him in his arms, tears in his own eyes. Just the thought of those poor little children. And Demaeya? It didn’t seem real. ‘We’ll head back as soon as we can. As soon as we have the men.’

Rexon’s arms fell to his sides. He felt encased in a tomb of pain, so oppressive that he struggled to even breathe. The grief was too much to wrap his mind around. It was as though the gods had torn out his heart and flung it far from his body. As though he was no longer alive.

‘As soon as we have the men,’ Gant repeated. ‘We’ll return as soon as we have the men.’

‘They must be stopped,’ Rexon panted. ‘And we must stop them, Gant. Whatever we have to do, we must tear the flesh from their bones!’

* * *

Dessalene Sardis tore the flesh off a pork bone like a starving beggar.

Sitting opposite her, Kalina cringed, still nauseous and miserable.

‘I do like a well-cooked pig!’ Dessalene announced as she tossed the bone onto her plate and picked up a napkin, dabbing her glistening lips. ‘You have such talented cooks here, Kalina. I had almost forgotten!’ Her eyes snapped to the archway leading into the hall, where her little spy had appeared. ‘Pye! Are you lost, precious thing? Or have you come upon a juicy tidbit?’

Turning her head, Kalina soon saw the odd-looking creature creeping into the dining hall. The oily little man made her shudder. His protruding eyes were evasive and smug. He would never meet her eye, which she found highly disconcerting, though she was certain he was always watching her.

‘My queens,’ Pye smiled, bowing deeply. ‘I had no idea it was supper time.’

‘Shut up with your charm!’ Dessalene snapped, good humour vanishing as though it had never truly been there, just a veneer masking a seething anger that blazed like fire. ‘We have no need for it, just your information. What do you know, Pye? What have you seen?’

Brushing off the insults, which he took as a form of endearment, Pye bowed some more. ‘Your favourite slave has been wandering about the city, my queen.’

Kalina jolted forward. ‘What do you mean, wandering about?’

Pye shrugged, wide-eyed with innocence. ‘I couldn’t say, though the matter was brought to my attention, so I felt it necessary to bring it to yours.’

‘You felt it necessary?’ Dessalene flapped a hand. ‘You impertinent toad! Have Argo Kosta sent to the palace. The queen must have a word about how he is managing his slaves.’

Kalina stared at her stepmother as Pye turned away.

‘The commander has his talents, though he has never been particularly attentive to his responsibilities,’ Dessalene told her. ‘It is quite apparent why your father sought to put Arras Sikari in charge. According to him, Kosta had a habit of disappearing. I imagine that’s still the case? Disappearing into the arms of those wanton concubines in the harem!’ She sneered now, not understanding the weakness of men. To undermine their futures with such self-defeating behaviour?

‘I must find someone to replace Arras,’ Kalina said blankly.

‘I would leave your father to do that. It’s better if it’s him, Kalina. He won’t be happy with the mess you’ve made. I imagine he’ll seek to make changes in that way of his.’

And reminded that her father was returning to the isle, Kalina shuddered, thoughts of Arras Sikari and Jael Furyck fleeing her mind. ‘My father, he... hasn’t even returned for my weddings.’ She ignored the plates of steaming ox hearts the slaves delivered to the table. The dish itself smelled enticing, though her attention remained on her grinning stepmother, who was always one step ahead of everyone.

‘Though what choice have you given him, dearest? He has thought about returning many times over the years, but this? You have outdone yourself, Kalina. Throwing his prize into the pits? Murdering his beloved seer, displeasing the god your father owes his success to? And then, seeking to escape your great litany of misjudgments, you took a knife to your wrists and opened them into a warm bath, trying to end your life, thereby depriving your father of his only heir!’ She smiled at the queen, fluttering thick eyelashes. ‘There is simply so much to choose from! So much your father will wish to discuss!’

Kalina was growing more uncomfortable by the moment, and she certainly didn’t want more food. Reaching for her goblet, she gulped down a mouthful of wine that quickly burned her throat. ‘What will he do with her? Or me?’ she asked in a small voice.

‘Ronin? I imagine he will inspect Jael Furyck like a treasure stolen from his enemies. Then he will return her to the heat and the sun and the back-breaking misery. And you? We shall have to wait and see!’ And rubbing her hands together, Dessalene picked up her knife and stabbed it into a steaming heart.

* * *

Jael and Rigg didn’t return from their adventure until supper, much to Quint’s annoyance and Alek’s horror.

After a barracking from Quint, they joined Alek at his table, where Rigg quickly shooed away his companions so they could speak in private.

‘But where were you?’ Alek hissed. ‘Did something happen? I thought Quint would send for Kosta. He should have done so immediately, though I imagine he didn’t want to get in trouble himself.’ Alek saw Quint cuff one of the slaves around the ear – he was obviously in a foul mood. Though he wasn’t a cruel man, just married to the daughter of one.

‘Your queen decided to take a tour,’ Rigg grunted, pulling his bowl towards him, too hungry to be disappointed by the small helping of stew. An oily film clung to the top of whatever lurked beneath, and grabbing his spoon, Rigg broke through that film with gusto.

‘A tour?’ Alek blinked at Jael.

‘To see the harbour,’ Jael explained, the smell of the stew turning her stomach. She looked away, seeing a commotion at the door and Quint disappearing through it. Lowering her head, she eyed Alek. ‘We need more than one plan. You may think you’ve calculated every number and all the possibilities of what might happen, but battle changes plans. It changes minds. Those who insist they’ll be with you? When you blow that shell and they’re faced with a wall of soldiers, armed with swords and capable of killing with them, there’s no guarantee every slave will be able to find the courage to keep going, especially when the soldiers rally.’

Alek looked thoughtful, but Rigg scoffed loudly.

Unsurprisingly.

Jael rolled her eyes. ‘You think differently? Every battle you’ve been in has gone to plan, has it? Or perhaps you never knew the plan to begin with, only having second or third-hand knowledge of your king’s intentions.’

Rigg dropped his spoon and lunged across the table. ‘Don’t you speak about my king. What do you know of him?’

‘That he’s dead.’

Rigg sat back in horror. ‘Dead? Haaron Dragos? What? Killed by your father, was he?’

‘My father’s dead too. A lot’s changed since you were last in Osterland.’

Rigg saw sadness in Jael’s eyes, and picking up his spoon, he stirred his stew, hoping to awaken some flavour.

Jael took a breath. ‘All I know is that if this revolt fails, it’s the slaves who will suffer. They can’t kill everyone, but they’ll certainly kill the leaders, and you can be sure that those trying to save their own lives will point a finger at you.’ She looked from Alek to Rigg, then past them to where Kosta had entered the dining hall, rendering it silent.

He strode around the tables until he reached theirs.

And there he stood, watching Jael.

22

‘What do you see?’ Linas asked his grandmother, who sat before the small fire with her eyes wide open, as though watching something in its flames. He was hungry, wanting her to turn her attention to the meal fire instead.

Surely it was time for supper?

Gully lay curled up at the dreamer’s feet, tongue lolling from an open mouth. He’d followed Linas and Helga home and didn’t appear inclined to leave.

Linas thought that Gully would need supper too. He didn’t want him running away.

‘I see a boy who won’t have any supper if he keeps interrupting his grandmother. Now hush and let me finish. Pat that dog and keep him quiet. Do that, and you will eat soon enough and well. I have smoked trout, cabbage, and beans. Some bread, too, so be patient, child, and you will feast when I’m done.’

Nodding vigorously, Linas crouched down to the dog, stroking his thick black coat.

Helga returned her gaze to the flames, brow furrowing into deep troughs. She saw things that made no sense. It felt as though the ground was quaking beneath her feet; all that was certain, all that had stood for centuries, crumbling like great towers around her.

She heard her grandson’s heartbeat and that of the dog’s.

When her daughter had died in childbirth, she had sworn to care for the boy. Her blood. The only family she had now.

‘Kings will fall, the Furycks will die, and Brekka will stand alone.’

That same voice spoke to her from the flames – a warning that sent shivers through her body.

‘A time of darkness will return. You cannot escape what is coming, Helga. Not by hiding. You won’t. It is time to choose your side and enter the fray.’

* * *

Grabbing a handful of Jael’s filthy hair, Kosta yanked her to her feet.

‘My lord!’ Alek was immediately on his own feet. ‘But what has she done?’ He glanced at Quint, who looked away, heading out of the dining hall.

Rigg’s head remained down as he continued to eat.

‘You were seen strolling around the harbour today. Looking to escape?’ Kosta spat at Jael, and releasing his hand from her hair, he tightened it around her tunic, twisting the rough homespun until it started choking her.

Preventing her from speaking at all.

‘She, she went to the physician’s, my lord,’ Alek explained, holding out an unsteady hand. ‘You... she took an injured man to the physician’s at Quint’s direction. His foot was broken, and... and Rigg went with her. Though they got lost. They simply lost their way, lord.’

Kosta kept twisting Jael’s tunic, further cutting off her oxygen.

And now, veins bulging in his thick neck, he started pulling her off her feet.

‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘My lord, she can’t speak!’ Alek insisted.

And completely aware of that, the commander now turned his ire on Alek. ‘Seize him!’ he ordered, eyeing two of his men. ‘You will come too!’

‘Come where?’ Alek panicked. ‘But, my lord, I –’

He was knocked to the ground, kicked by one of Kosta’s men.

Jael had thought that Kosta only meant to scare her, knowing that she’d already been pulled out of the pits, though now she feared what he intended to do.

Calmly placing his spoon on the table, Rigg stood. ‘Alek’s telling the truth, lord. Gaspar dropped a slab on his foot. Quint sent the woman with me to take him to the physician’s. We left him there and –’

‘And?’ Kosta demanded, releasing Jael, who gasped in a breath, staggering. Her eyes flicked from Rigg to Alek, who had been hoisted into the air. ‘And?’

‘And she wanted her freedom,’ Rigg snarled, eyeing Jael. ‘It was nothing to do with Alek. He didn’t send her anywhere. Quint did. And when we left the physician’s, she wanted to see the city. I followed her, eventually convincing her to return.’

Kosta narrowed his eyes. ‘You went along? Why? Because you feared her? What? You couldn’t knock her out and throw her over your shoulder? Or seek help from someone braver? Stronger?’

Rigg’s expression remained neutral, unchanging, as though carved into his stony face. ‘I heard she was special, to be protected. I thought I could get her back in one piece.’

‘Heard from who?’

‘Gossip, lord. Whispers. Everyone talks about the woman.’

Jael wished Rigg would shut his mouth. She had no idea what he was doing except trying to get her thrown back into those pits.

‘Well, then, let’s give them something more to talk about!’ Kosta grinned, wrinkles folding up like curtains, and dismissing Rigg with a grunt, he motioned for his men to release Alek. Then, grabbing another handful of Jael’s hair, he tugged her through the hall and out into the night.

* * *

It was decided that they would sleep on Sea Queen, though Bertel wasn’t pleased, having thought Edela’s full pouch of coins meant that they could afford a room.

But Edela was not to be swayed. ‘I would much rather know we can leave if we need to.’

‘Though to do that, we need a helmsman and a crew,’ a tired Bertel grumbled. ‘And none of them are currently on board. Likely they’ve found actual beds, surrounded by walls and doors.’ He flung out an arm, seeing that they were alone, bar Siggy, Zen, and the two men Korri had left to watch over them. Though Bertel didn’t think they’d be much use against Iker Rayas and whatever men had escaped death in Bakkar.

‘It’s quieter here,’ Edela added, remembering another of her arguments for why the ship made sense. ‘Private too.’

A confused Bertel glanced around. ‘Private? With all these ships? All their crews? Not to mention whoever’s making that noise! Sounds like cats being strangled!’

‘Bertel, do sit down,’ Edela sighed. ‘I’ve no energy for a fight.’

‘Fight?’ Bertel slumped down onto a chest opposite her. Siggy and Zen were playing with the goat and cat. The girl was trying to cheer him up, though in the occasional flash of a swinging lantern, Bertel could see the abject misery in Zen’s eyes, doubting she stood a chance. ‘But we’re not fighting, Edela. I’m merely pointing out that a more comfortable arrangement could have been organised. By me. I would have been happy to seek out accommodation for us.’

‘Though here is where I want to be.’

And with a defeated sigh, Bertel left the subject alone.

‘Tomorrow, we will take leave of our hospitable host and continue on this journey alone. To draw attention to ourselves will only hamper our progress. We must be like specks of dust, imperceptible to the naked eye.’

Bertel’s frown dug a deep canyon between his grey eyebrows. ‘Do you have any clues?’

‘How ridiculous you are, Bertel Knutson, asking such questions. You know I never have a clue about what I’m supposed to do next!’ She winked at him, smiling for the first time in a while.

He smiled back, shoulders dropping slightly. ‘We are certainly living boldly,’ he decided. ‘Not dribbling and quivering in a corner like some our age.’

Now Edela laughed. ‘Though I’d happily curl up and dribble on myself for a while. After what we’ve been through, it would be quite appropriate.’

‘And what is to come? Do you think we’ll ever see Osterland again?’

Edela saw Axl’s face and Jael’s, overcome by a desperate fear for her grandchildren. ‘I... I really must make a decision about that. When we left Tuura, I was given the impression that I was not to return.’

Bertel saw how troubled she was. ‘You should dream on it, Edela. Whoever gave you the warning about Tuura, the warning to leave, perhaps they had ulterior motives? Perhaps they didn’t want to help you at all?’

Edela didn’t want to admit that he might be right, though the thought nagged at her. She had left behind everyone she cared about, and it was long past time to decide if that was the right thing to do.

* * *

Jael was dragged into the courtyard, scalp burning, fearing that Kosta would tear out clumps of her hair. She tried to push herself towards him to lessen the pain, though he kicked her leg, and she lost her balance, crying out.

‘Kilo! Hector!’ Kosta called, motioning two of his men forward. ‘Chain her up!’

The slaves had followed the commander towards the dining hall doors, wanting to see what would happen in the courtyard, though Quint had ordered them closed, and now the only witnesses for what was about to happen were Kosta, Quint, and four of the commander’s men.

She would have fancied her chances...

Though then what?

There was simply no way off the isle on her own.

Dragged towards a stone arch she hadn’t given much thought to before, Jael now saw that it had a particular purpose, as Kosta’s men brought down chains with fetters, which they clamped around her wrists. And once her arms were secure, they dropped to the ground and drew out another pair of chained fetters, securing them around her ankles.

Panic started fraying Jael’s thoughts. She felt flashes of dread, bracing for what would come next.

‘Get back!’ Kosta snapped at his men. ‘Unless you want to lose some skin yourself? Kilo! Tear her tunic!’

Now Jael did brace herself. Closing her eyes, seeing she had no choice but to let everything unfold as Kosta intended, she sought to disappear inside herself.

She heard the commander scuffing his boots, grunting as he unfurled his whip.

‘Are you afraid?’ her father growled in her ears. ‘Afraid of pain? After all that you begged me to make you a warrior, Jael, and now you’re too afraid to get in that ring and fight?’

He was angry, but his voice was a comfort.

She heard Kosta barking orders, wanting to hear her father instead.

‘But you still have a choice, Jael. I give you a choice, here and now,’ Ranuf Furyck said to her. ‘To choose the path of your mother, the pain of the childbed, the pain that comes from losing babies and children. Or you could choose my path, where I promise you will be bruised and broken and cut open. You will bleed and cry, and it will hurt. But it’s your choice, Jael, for life is pain either way. You just need to choose your path...’

Jael heard the flick of the whip, and legs trembling, she tensed her body.

‘I choose your path,’ she whispered, gritting her teeth. ‘I choose your path, Father.’

The whip cut her skin like a blade, searing across her back, tearing open her flesh. She reared up silently, mouth wrenched open, body singing with pain. Her eyes flooded with tears, and shaking now, Jael slumped forward, hearing Kosta’s joyful laugh.

‘You want to beg, bitch? Plead? Make me stop? Then tell me what you were really doing at the harbour! Tell me what plans you’re making!’

Jael shut out his voice, taking herself back to Andala.

Closing her eyes, she saw Aleksander in the training ring. Gant was talking to him, giving him advice.

Her mother was holding Axl and shaking her head, and her father’s arm was around her shoulder as he whispered in her ear. ‘Whoever tries to stop you, Jael, they are your enemy. Never let them see weakness or fear. Never let them win.’

And now that vicious whip came for her again.

* * *

Standing on benches, watching through the high windows in the dining hall, Alek cringed, turning to Rigg in horror. ‘Why did you do that?’

Rigg looked incensed. ‘What would you’ve had me do?’ he hissed. ‘She took the risk, she chose that path. I didn’t! Let her suffer for it. Let her think next time she chooses to be reckless.’

Alek shook his head. ‘I thought I knew you, that I understood you. I thought we were doing this together.’

‘She’s a Furyck!’ Rigg snarled. ‘A Brekkan! You have no idea what her family has done!’

‘I’m a Brekkan!’ Alek cried. ‘My father put his sword behind Ranuf Furyck, as did my uncle, my grandfather, my brother. They were proud to serve the Furycks. Proud of our people. I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong! Jael could have blamed you, brought you into it, but she didn’t. She’s out there suffering, no thanks to you!’ Now he lowered his voice, which trembled, as his entire body trembled. ‘And what do we do now? Without her to lead us?’

‘We have me!’ Rigg insisted. ‘As we always have done. You never needed her, Alek. You have me!’

* * *

Jael thought she was swinging in the air. She felt like she was moving. There was no ground, no bones in her legs. She was just swinging.

Just flesh and pain and –

‘What are you doing?’ came a screeching voice.

She blinked. The rhythm was broken.

The whip didn’t come again.

And now she opened her eyes.

It was nearly dark. Or perhaps that was the great cloud of pain descending upon her, blocking out anything real.

‘What are you doing?’ Kosta growled at the strange-looking man. He hopped about like a frog, flapping small arms, his bulging eyes almost popping out of his head. ‘Interrupting me? Get away from here, you fucking turd!’

‘I am sent by the dreamer, Dessalene, who bids me to inform you that you are abusing the king’s prized slave! The king who will soon arrive to view said prized slave. And you? You brute! What have you done to her? You were to discipline her, not deface her!’

Jael hung suspended from the arch, blood oozing down her naked back, dripping on the ground. Despite the warm air, she shivered uncontrollably, thoughts mashed together. She could hear someone trying to stop that whip. She hoped he would succeed. Eyes closing, she knew it wasn’t up to her.

What happened next wasn’t up to her at all.

She saw Eadmund smiling at her.

Steam rose up to cloud his face, and she imagined they were in the hot pool outside Oss’ hall. She saw his chest, shoulders, wet beard. He was smiling, eyes narrowed to slits.

One of those smiles.

Edging closer, his lips parted, and she felt herself moving, wanting to touch him, wanting to –

She dropped to the ground, unable to break her fall.

The fetters and chains binding her to the archway had been released, and now those holding her to the ground were unclamped as well.

‘You will see that she is carried to the physician’s at once!’ Pye ordered imperiously, though he barely came up to Kosta’s elbow. And suddenly conscious that the hulking brute might simply swat him away, he grew quieter. ‘She needs a stretcher. Look at her! Look at what you’ve done!’

Rolling up his bloodied whip and hooking it onto his belt, Kosta spat on the ground. ‘I never want to look at that bitch again. The king is welcome to her.’

The commander’s men opened the dining hall doors, searching for a stretcher. They tended to be stashed everywhere, for slaves were constantly dropping dead or injuring themselves.

The slaves who’d been locked into the dining hall poured outside, eager to know what was happening. Alek and Rigg were first in line, their eyes drawn to the prone figure of Jael Furyck, slumped on the ground. And though it was growing dark as they approached, both men could see the bloody lines crisscrossing her back.

Watching from inside the dining hall, Alek had counted thirteen lashes. He imagined that Argo Kosta had intended to deliver many more, feeling grateful for the little man who had given Jael a reprieve.

‘You will ensure she is delivered to the physician’s!’ Pye repeated, uncomfortable with the arrival of so many filthy, smelly slaves. He shuddered, seeking to leave. ‘And I shall tell the Queen Kalina exactly what I have witnessed. This is not what she intended at all!’

‘Is that right?’ Forgetting all about Jael, Kosta stepped towards Pye, wanting to flick the little snot away. ‘And how will you do that with no tongue?’

‘I... the dreamer can see! The dreamer can see!’ Pye reminded the man before spinning around and scampering away.

Kosta laughed, burning with unsated rage. ‘Get the bitch on a stretcher!’ he commanded. Though aware that every slave was simply staring, he turned with a snarl, seeing that Jael was moving, attempting to stand on her own.

No one spoke.

The silence descending on the square was only broken by the loud buzzing of cicadas.

‘Do not let him defeat you,’ Ranuf Furyck rasped in Jael’s ear. ‘Do not let him win. He may hurt you, yes, cut you, make you bleed, but defeat is something that happens in the mind, not the body. Remember that. Whatever happens, you get up and you walk out of that ring with your head held high. Because you’re a Furyck, my daughter, and you will never be defeated.’

Jael’s back had frozen, numb, her arms and legs were wobbling, but she wasn’t about to be carried out on a stretcher, spat on by a sneering Kosta.

Soon she would lead the slaves in a revolt against the army, the lords and the queen. And why would they ever want to follow someone who couldn’t stand up and fight for herself?

So, pushing her hands against the dirt, she gritted her teeth, feeling the weight of her fetters like enormous slags of iron pinning her to the ground. But sucking in a breath, she lifted herself onto her knees. And now, squatting there, sensing all eyes on her, she filled her lungs with air, ears ringing. Pain screamed loudly, like a bell someone was hammering, an axe thumping against a shield. She saw glimpses of her horse, Tig, and vibrating all over, she pushed off her knees and finally stood.

Turning around to face Argo Kosta.

Dropping aching shoulders, eyes wide and blinking, she held her head high. And with a look at Alek and Rigg, she turned and started walking to the physician’s.

* * *

Korri and his crew had returned to Sea Queen with a bounty of food and drink, which cheered Bertel up no end. Siggy was hungry and eagerly took the trencher of fried fish and flatbreads she was offered, though a grief-stricken Zen refused to eat anything. And seeing that, Bertel offered a sympathetic smile as he helped himself to the boy’s food too.

He had taken a plate to Edela, who had asked to be left alone in the stern, where she was keeping Korri’s old cat company. Though knowing she needed to eat, Bertel soon joined her. ‘You need your strength,’ he said sternly, peering down at the dreamer. ‘It was a tasty meal, I must say. Korri did well.’

‘He did,’ Edela agreed blankly, staring at her full trencher. ‘Perhaps Siggy might like it? She certainly has a healthy appetite.’

Bertel nodded, though instead of delivering the trencher to Siggy, he sat down beside Edela, groaning quietly. ‘What is it then? You can tell me. No one can hear us down here.’

Edela shook her head.

‘You don’t even want to try?’

Thinking about it, she peered at him, cocking her head to one side. ‘Well, there is something we could try. I’m sure it’s safe.’

‘Safe?’

Edela took his hand. ‘Just stay still now and close your eyes.’

Though Bertel stared at her, eyes wide open.

‘Please. It won’t work if you don’t trust me.’

Eventually, Bertel closed his eyes, hearing Edela release a long breath. He stayed still, listening to Siggy’s laughter and Nellie’s bleating, the gentle splash of water against the ship. Men were talking as they ate, their voices bleeding into a comforting hum of noise.

And then Edela.

‘I am in your mind, Bertel. Can you hear me?’

Feeling surprised by that, he nodded.

‘I can hear your thoughts, so relax and set them free.’

‘What are you doing? That is the only thought I have, Edela. What are you doing inside my mind?’

She smiled. ‘I am going to tell you my secret. I need to, for I want your help deciding whether I’ve been an old fool. Whether I’ve made the right decision or merely led us all on a wild hunt far away from where I’m supposed to be.’ Bertel’s hand twitched, but she held on.

‘Tell me.’

* * *

Walking to the physician’s felt like plunging into a blazing fire.

Jael’s back burned, the pain flooding every part of her until she wanted to wail like a dog. Though lips pressed together, jaw clenched, she remained silent. The four men walking with her left her alone, for the most part, merely attempting to lead her.

Though by now, she knew the way.

Had it been worth it, she wondered? That trip to the harbour?

Flashes of pain blinded her, and she stumbled.

She thought of Alek and that misguided prick, Rigg.

Perhaps it had? Though perhaps not...

Halfway through his supper, Ratish was surprised to receive news of a patient. Though quickly seeing what had happened to Jael, he bid her to come into his chamber, shooing the guards away. They promised to wait outside the door, for they were under orders not to let the slave wander off again.

‘Wander off?’ Ratish snapped irritably. ‘I’m surprised she can even stand!’

And when he’d shut the door on the men, he saw Jael’s legs bow, almost giving way as she turned to him with an ashen face.

‘Oh, dear,’ he tutted, switching to the common tongue as he gently helped her sit on his linen-covered bed. ‘But what am I going to do with you, Jael Furyck?’

23

‘I was visited by someone in Tuura’s forest, just after I saw you,’ Edela explained, sending her words directly into Bertel’s mind. Her lips remained pressed together, her eyes closed as they sat facing one another in Sea Queen’s stern.

‘Someone?’ Bertel’s thoughts were loud and impatient.

Ignoring him, Edela carried on. ‘It was what that shapeshifting creature Katalyne wanted to know. Who had told me to leave Tuura? Well, it wasn’t who, it was what. A goddess. I was visited by Furia.’

Bertel’s eyes flew open, and he stared at the dreamer, who remained before him with her eyes closed. So, closing his own again, he urged her on.

‘She bid me to leave Osterland immediately, to save the Furycks from their doom. Those were her words, and I took them to heart. I did not question them. I did not look back. That a goddess would visit me and request my help? Well...’ Edela tightened her grip on Bertel’s hand. ‘At the time, I believed everything was as I had seen. But what if I was wrong?’

‘Wrong?’

‘I have a pain in my chest, in my heart. It is growing in intensity, leading me to fear that I should be there, helping them, not here, running and hiding, killing and maiming, turning into who knows what. Perhaps it wasn’t Furia at all but another shapeshifter? Or something else? Perhaps even some delusional thought! Some ridiculous daydream!’

Edela sounded oddly overwrought, and Bertel had to resist the natural urge to open his mouth and speak. He thought hard instead. ‘Tell me exactly what she said. Furia. Can you remember?’

‘Yes, as though she is speaking to me now,’ Edela insisted, proceeding to relay every word as though Furia herself was saying them. She saw the goddess’ face and those bold green eyes. Like Jael’s, she realised sadly.

Listening to the dreamer, Bertel’s thoughts scattered. He struggled to order them in a way that made sense to Edela. Though, eventually, she heard his mostly clear opinion.

‘You have no reason to think it wasn’t Furia, and if she showed you symbols to keep you safe, it leads me to believe that she was helping you. If she hadn’t been Furia, well, she could have killed you. Isn’t that so? Right then and there?’

‘Yes, she could have.’

‘There are many who appear to want you dead, Edela Saeveld. Though I don’t believe Furia is one. And I do think it was the goddess. It makes sense. She asked for your help, so it makes sense that something is happening with your family. And that’s why you feel the discomfort.’

‘Then I should be there, Bertel. Home. I should be home. They need me.’ Edela felt tears coming. She wanted to weep. Everything had been so frightening, so terribly frightening, and despite Bertel’s and Siggy’s company and Korri’s help, she felt the absence of those she loved. She imagined Axl’s arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze, or Jael standing before her, poking fun with a wink. She saw a glimpse of Gisila holding onto Branwyn, both her daughters bereft, tears in their eyes.

Her own eyes sprang open, then quickly closed. ‘We must never speak of this, Bertel. Please. Perhaps we can try this again? It seems to work quite effectively, and I do hope it is safe, though do not speak of what I have told you tonight. Not to anyone. Not even to me.’

‘I won’t, no. And if you need to talk about it again, we will do it this way. Our secret way.’ He heard nothing further and soon felt Edela release his hand.

Somewhere, a man started singing. He had a mournful voice.

Opening his eyes, Bertel saw Edela staring at him with tears in her own.

He smiled at her, nodding, and taking her hand in his, he patted it.

* * *

Lying on her belly, back exposed and bleeding, an uncomfortable Jael had many questions.

So did Ratish, who had taken off her shoes only to find the stone. ‘And what, pray tell, is this?’

‘A... Tuuran symbol, an ancient one. It’s supposed to... stop dreamers hearing or seeing,’ she confessed with a whisper, struggling to command herself. The pain was intense, as though flames writhed beneath her skin, burning her from the inside out. Gasping, she gritted her teeth.

Ratish kept hold of the stone, turning it over. ‘But why do you have it? What are you planning now?’ He stepped closer to Jael’s head, turned on its side, facing his many shelves, and now he bent down, whispering. ‘You are planning another escape?’

She smiled at him. ‘Of course. Why? You think I should let Arras get the better of me again?’

‘But how?’

Jael shook her head. ‘I won’t tell you that, but I promise that soon you’ll be free.’

‘But I am no slave,’ Ratish insisted, placing the stone on the table and smoothing Jael’s hair away from her back. It was a tangled, filthy mess, and he didn’t want even a strand touching her open wounds.

She flinched, shivering.

‘The tincture I gave you will take effect soon,’ the physician promised. ‘I will wait a while longer before cleaning the wounds, though. It will hurt.’ He picked up a clean cloth, gently soaking up the blood.

‘You are... happy here?’ she asked, trying to distract herself. ‘You never wished to leave?’

‘Those who come here do not leave,’ Ratish said starkly, and now he stood, returning to his desk, where he proceeded to lay out the salves, needle and thread he needed.

‘So you chose this path? To come to the isle?’

‘I did, yes. It seemed a way out of a life I had grown weary of. The offer of a sanctuary? For that was what was promised... a sanctuary. It was an offer I did not think to refuse.’

‘And you have, aarrghh, enjoyed this life?’ Jael panted, closing her eyes.

‘There were many reasons to enjoy it at first,’ Ratish admitted, sitting in his chair, his back to Jael as he threaded the needle with squinting eyes. ‘I left only bad memories behind. Though soon I could not ignore the reality of what this place truly meant to be.’

‘And what was that?’

‘A prison. For those who are free are few, and the enslaved so numerous, so cruelly treated, that I quickly began to realise that I was living in a prison.’

‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Jael smiled, ‘I can help you escape.’

The physician shook his head, chuckling as he turned around. ‘Oh, I can just see you as a child, Jael Furyck. What trouble you must have gotten up to.’

* * *

‘Jael’s not back,’ Alek noted, easing himself down onto his bed. He’d spoken to his crew about plans for the morning. It would be an early start, hours before dawn, and he had reminded them about that too.

Opposite him, Rigg slipped off his shoes.

‘Perhaps they’ll keep her there?’ Alek mused fretfully, keeping his on.

Rigg leaned towards him. ‘Do you want the woman?’

‘Want her?’ Alek shook his head. ‘For what?’

‘Well, it’s been lonely in here. A lot of lonely years. When did you last even lay eyes on a woman? I’m sure she’d look better with a wash. Brush all that hair out of her face, and you might see a real woman emerge.’

Alek scowled at him. ‘I want my freedom, don’t you? I lie here every night thinking about my freedom, my home, my sons, and Jael Furyck’s my best chance of making that happen.’ Seeing the doubt in Rigg’s dark eyes, he turned away, determined to force himself to sleep. His body was frail, and no matter how much he ate, he never grew any stronger. Only weaker. ‘Go to sleep,’ he huffed. ‘You’ve made your feelings about Jael clear enough. No need to say any more.’ Lying down, Alek gasped, back aching. He eased himself onto his side, away from Rigg. ‘Perhaps you’ll get your wish? Maybe she won’t be able to help us now? And if that’s the case, we’ll likely be stuck here forever, and there’ll be no women then. Not ever.’

Rigg stared at Alek’s back, fearing for the man; he appeared to be wasting away.

Rigg was thirty-six. He’d been captured as a slave eight years ago, eventually ending up on S’ala Nis. He never spoke about his own family, for no one was waiting for him. He wanted his freedom as much as Alek, as much as anyone on the isle, though there was no one to go home to.

Turning to lie down on his own mattress, he heard hushed conversations in corners of the sleeping hall, the odd grunt and rustle, though most men had stumbled down onto their beds, desperate for whatever comfort they offered until they were kicked awake and dragged back out into the sun for another day of endless torture.

The Furycks had killed his family.

Their men.

In the battles that they had started.

Rigg couldn’t get past it.

He hadn’t wanted Jael Furyck whipped. He hadn’t imagined that’s what Kosta would do. She was protected, he’d thought. Not to be harmed.

And now?

For Alek’s sake, he hoped she’d return.

* * *

After supper, Dessalene found Kalina sitting alone on her bedchamber balcony, eyes closed. She laughed. ‘Is this where you sleep now? Out here? It’s hot enough, certainly, though surely not comfortable?’ Coming around to face the queen, she peered at her. ‘You’re worried? About your father coming?’

‘What happened to Jael Furyck?’

Dessalene wafted a hand. ‘She can stand, speak, walk. No harm was done. Well, she’s scarred for life, though as far as your father is concerned, she is here, waiting for him. Still in one piece!’

‘Thanks to you,’ Kalina said grudgingly, well aware that her stepmother had likely saved Jael’s life twice now.

‘Yes, of course thanks to me. Now come, dearest, it is time for bed. You must show your father a better face than that sack of wrinkles. Faith! I doubt he’ll even recognise you!’

A frowning Kalina stood, taking Dessalene’s hand. ‘And what will he do? To me?’

Dessalene didn’t want to admit that she didn’t actually know. She shepherded Kalina into her bedchamber, where the soothing scents of myrrh and cypress burned in dishes on various tables in the immense chamber. She aimed her at the bed, where Mali was folding back a sheet. ‘He will discuss his plans, I imagine. He has so many! For you know as well as I how ambitious he is.’ She mumbled other such platitudes as she handed the queen into her capable slave’s hands. ‘Though think of other things, like your upcoming marriage and the children you will have. Think of names! And then sleep. That is what you must do most of all, Kalina. You must sleep.’

Dessalene slipped away before the queen could utter a word, not wanting to be drawn into a conversation, for she had her own plans for the night...

* * *

‘What are you doing?’ Fyn hissed at Mattie, who he’d found wandering around Hest’s unoccupied hall.

Lost in her thoughts, she jumped, not having heard him coming. And feeling annoyed that, as a dreamer, she’d been caught unawares, she snapped back at him. ‘Well, I could ask you the same!’

‘I’m looking for something to drink,’ Fyn told her. ‘Kolarov won’t stop complaining about his dry throat. Apparently, the herring was too salty, and he says he won’t be able to sleep without something to drink, which sounds like a nightmare to me.’

‘You didn’t have anything in your chamber?’

‘He drained everything we had, which put Thorgils in a foul mood. He’s thirsty too.’

Mattie peered at him, seeing tired eyes above the flickering candle he held in his hand. ‘And they sent you?’

Fyn grinned. ‘I sent me, to get some peace. Those two can moan at each other for a while.’

Mattie smiled. ‘I can imagine. And as for me? I just feel odd. This place is odd.’

‘It is. I’ve a lot of memories of Hest. Not good ones.’

‘Mmmm, there’s a darkness about it. It lingers. I feel it.’

‘Not anymore,’ Fyn assured her. ‘Those who caused the Darkness, who killed everyone, they’re gone now. The only dreamer in the city is Meena, according to Karsten, and you can see that she wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Mattie led him towards a long table in the main hall, where refreshments had thankfully been left out. Fyn immediately poured himself a cup of ale, drinking with gusto.

‘The herring was too salty,’ he admitted with a laugh. ‘Kolarov’s not wrong there.’ Mattie didn’t answer, and he turned to her, seeing that her eyes had drifted away from the table towards Karsten Dragos’ throne: a great monstrosity standing astride a circular dais. It was a gruesome sight, for the stone dragon curling around the chair rested its feet on a stack of human skulls. He thought of Eadmund’s and Jael’s simple wooden thrones in Oss’ hall and smiled. ‘What darkness?’ he asked. ‘What do you feel?’

Mattie shrugged. ‘Nothing I can put into words, just something I’ve felt since I arrived, and here, in this room, I feel it most strongly of all.’

‘I’ve heard some of the things that happened in here,’ Fyn told her, eyeing the table. ‘If you don’t want to go back to bed, I’m sure I could entertain you?’

Mattie turned back to him, still frowning. ‘No, I’ll just have a drink and be on my way. Entering the darkness won’t help me now.’

Fyn was inclined to agree.

It felt strange to be in Hest as welcome guests rather than escaping fugitives. Though he couldn’t wait to leave, to get back on Bone Hammer and return to the Shadow Isle, hoping that Jael would still be there, waiting for them.

* * *

Ratish returned to his patient with a weary sigh. ‘They will not let you stay the night,’ he told her. ‘I’m afraid I must send you on your way.’

Jael was disappointed to hear it, for she couldn’t imagine moving. The tincture had dulled the pain, though she still felt the hot agony spreading in waves across her back, taking her breath away.

Ratish helped her to sit, then realising that her tunic was torn, just hanging off her, he left the room, returning with a familiar grey dress. ‘I had a patient die recently...’

An unsteady Jael eyed it with trepidation.

‘The pain,’ Ratish warned. ‘I would advise you to wear nothing, though that wouldn’t be practical.’

‘No, not especially.’

He pulled the torn tunic away from her back. ‘Here, I will help you.’ And dragging a stool towards the Queen of Oss, Ratish mounted it, dropping the dress over her head.

Jael let out an almighty groan as it fell past her shoulders, the rough fabric rubbing her stitches. ‘I... appreciate your... help.’

A bothered Ratish shook his head, returning to the bed for Jael’s stone, and as he slipped on her shoes, he pushed the stone down into the toe of one. ‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘And if you feel any strange heat, do come back. I don’t want those wounds turning.’

‘Strange heat?’ Jael chuckled. ‘I don’t think I’d recognise a strange heat.’

A smiling Ratish ushered her to the door. ‘No, perhaps not, though I will be here when you need me. Take care, my lady.’ He smiled kindly at the grimacing slave and opened the door.

* * *

Dessalene heard footsteps outside her door, and pausing her ritual, she turned towards it. Though the footsteps soon padded away, and clearing her throat, seeking to refocus, she drew her attention back to her small altar. It was portable and entirely intimate – a collection of relics she had acquired over the years that both enhanced her power and protected her from malevolent forces. Her eyes were particularly drawn to a tiny amber figurine of the Siluran Goddess of Magic, Atikar. Eyshar’s wife. Her body was that of a woman, though she had the head of a phoenix. It glowed as though ablaze, for Dessalene had lit many candles.

Pye had lit many candles, too, before she had shooed him away.

He had an obsession with fire bordering on madness, and she’d sent him from the chamber before he set the curtains alight.

He was a terrible nuisance.

A little froggy man.

Though useful in his own way.

As was Ronin Sardis, her husband. A handsome rogue in his prime. A man of few words but intense actions. She shivered at the memory of him. He never smiled, rarely spoke to her with kindness or affection, though he was thoroughly in love with her. She tried to tell herself that it was a one-sided arrangement, that she had no such desires for him, though her throbbing body soon told her otherwise. Blinking naked, candlelit visions away, she focused on her wedding band: a finely worked ring of gold embedded with nine tiny sapphires that Ronin had insisted were the perfect match for her eyes.

Dessalene couldn’t help but agree.

The rogue. Always disarming her with his gruff charm.

Body heating again, she sought to return to her path. Her purpose.

For she had not come to her altar to pine for her husband.

She had come to see what games he was playing without her.

And who he was playing them with.

* * *

After a slow, painful walk back through the city, once again under an armed escort, Jael returned to a mostly silent hall. She glimpsed a few bodies moving in a shadowy rhythm, and looking away, she quickly sought her bed, trying not to trip over a shoe or an arm.

If one of these men, long deprived of women’s company, wanted to try something with her, this would certainly be the night to do so. She could barely lift an arm, and every movement caused the dress’ rough homespun to brush her stitched wounds, slathered in Ratish’s paste.

Stepping carefully, guided by tiny pools of moonlight, she soon found her bed. Glancing around, she saw movement from where Alek and Rigg slept, and soon the hulking shape of Rigg sat up. Kneeling on her bed, Jael sucked in every groan and gasp, just trying to keep that dress from touching her back.

Eventually, she lay down on her side, breathless.

She felt tired, though her mind was still busy with thoughts about what she’d seen on her journey to the harbour. And then she was imagining how she was even going to move in the morning.

Someone approached, and clenching her fists, she held her breath.

‘Alek was worried about you.’

Jael didn’t answer, still deciding whether she was going to pretend to be asleep. Though she soon opened her eyes, peering up at Rigg. ‘And?’ He shrugged, muttering something she couldn’t hear. ‘I need sleep,’ she grumbled. ‘So do you.’

Though Rigg remained, almost suspended before her. ‘He seems to think you’re the only one who can lead us. Well, maybe before...’

Jael wanted him to go away, and staying silent wouldn’t achieve that goal. ‘I’ll be fine, though I’m not sure about you. I’m not sure you’ll ever be fine with me taking charge.’

Rigg was silent for some time. ‘Your family are scum. Scum. But... in this instance, it makes sense for someone who has... led to... lead.’

Jael was too tired to feel surprised. ‘Fine. That’s fine.’

Neither could give the other what they wanted, for neither truly knew what they wanted.

Except sleep.

And soon a nodding Rigg left Jael’s side, padding back to his mattress, leaving her to immediately sink into a disturbed sleep.

* * *

Dessalene saw her home in Zagora – one of many.

Thanks to Ronin’s bounteous luck over the years, he now had a home in every kingdom in the Fire Lands. They barely visited most of them, though it was always worth keeping an ear to the ground, listening to the vibrations of what was happening around them.

She found him in their bed, a naked girl sitting astride him, two more lying nearby – all four having a wonderful time.

Ablaze with jealousy, Dessalene nearly jerked out of her trance. Despite nearing sixty, the man had an insatiable appetite for pleasures of the flesh, but to carry on like this in their bed? She twisted her lips, clenching her jaw before finally calming down and refocusing once more.

Pushing herself into the bedchamber, she stood beside Ronin, ignoring the moaning girl straddling him like a horse. She lifted her eyes to her husband’s black and white beard, up to his bronzed face, to those strange pale green eyes – one slighter smaller than the other. Both cruel and kind, she thought. Well, perhaps not kind, but handsome. Desirable. Interesting.

He was all hers.

And yet, she could clearly see, not hers at all.

She bent to his ear, laying a hand on his temple. ‘What are you thinking, my love?’ she breathed. ‘Dearest of all things to me. What are your plans?’

And finding the answer, unexpected but clear, she staggered back in horror.

PART III

SECOND CHANCES

24

‘You are not going!’ Bayla exclaimed as Ulf entered her chamber dressed for sea. He was wearing his favourite old cloak, which he was only allowed to wear aboard a ship; she wouldn’t allow such a garment inside the castle. ‘It is bad enough that Karsten is handing them our fleet, but you, Ulf Rutgar? What are you thinking?’

Coming forward, Ulf took his difficult but exquisite woman in his arms. ‘I am thinking that I’m the Master of the Fleet. It’s my responsibility, Bayla. I’m in charge of our helmsmen. You think it makes sense for me to remain behind and wave them off?’ He shook his head, grey hair escaping from behind his ears, earning another scowl.

Bayla tucked it back behind his ears, and though she was in no mood to be placated, she didn’t wriggle out of his arms. They were solid, reliable arms, always comforting, and they held her tightly. ‘But what if something happens?’

‘Well, something can happen staying here, can’t it? Look at the poor children, Eron and Kai. They died in their beds. In fact, it’s the only place people have died in Hest for years now. We’ve had no trouble, and I’m not looking for any, but these are our men, and Karsten is my –’

‘Your what? Hmmm?’

‘My king,’ Ulf went on.

‘So you’ve become Hestian now, have you? No longer a Brekkan? Yet you’re running off to rescue a Brekkan queen.’

‘She’s an Islander now, but yes, Jael is still a Furyck, and I’ll always feel a duty to help Ranuf Furyck’s children. He was a friend to me, a fine man and a fierce king. I will not turn my back on his daughter. Or Karsten. I’m going to help the only way I know how. I’m going to steer my ship and command my men. And you’re going to be here when I return, Bayla. For I will return to these arms, and this bed, and these lips.’ And with a smile, Ulf bent his head and kissed them.

* * *

Gant tried to shake a clump of wet hair out of his mouth, though it wouldn’t budge, and he was forced to take a hand off Gus’ reins and scoop the sodden strands out himself. He rocked in the saddle, trying to unstick his trousers. The rain had been heavy for hours, and though not cold, it made even thinking an effort. The noise was intense, a driving roar that bored deep into his mind, disrupting the plans he was trying to make.

He glanced at a miserable-looking Rexon, who hunched over beside him, barely holding his mare’s reins. Turning, he saw his man, Saki, looking just as depressed. And seeing a stretch of trees promising shelter, Gant aimed for it. ‘Come on!’ he urged. ‘We’ll take a break!’

Rexon’s eyes flared.

They were heading for Borsund and Lord Edd Arnsten, who had always proven a reliable friend.

‘We can carry on!’ Rexon insisted, though he could barely see through the great wall of rain teeming down, and with an angry growl of acceptance, he turned his horse towards the trees.

Gant watched him, feeling hopelessly sad. Family was everything. He had no children, but he’d always cared for Jael and Axl like they were his own.

And as for Gisila...

He wasn’t sure he would have left Saala’s burning fort behind. Likely he would’ve shaken off his clear-thinking friends and charged for those gates.

Stopping his horse, Rexon ducked his head, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

They were less exposed under the trees, though the noise of the rain soon increased, turning to hail.

Gant closed his eyes, wishing he was a dreamer who could see beyond the trees and the hail and the road to Borsund. He wanted to know where Edela and Jael had disappeared to; to see if Gisila was safe in Andala with Axl; to reassure them that he was.

Safe for now.

Though here, escaping enemies, Gant wasn’t sure how long that would stay true.

* * *

The wind was picking up, their preparations for departing Hest were complete, and now it was simply a matter of getting everyone on board.

Thorgils was eager to get going and had headed to Bone Hammer early, helping Bolder organise the crew. ‘What happened to you?’ he laughed, seeing Eadmund approaching. He ran a hand over his curly mop. ‘Where’d your hair go?’

A newly-shorn Eadmund, walking with Karsten and Ulf, peered up at his friend with a frown. Those on board turned their attention to the kings, and Eadmund squirmed, not wanting to reveal why he’d taken the drastic measure.

‘Oh, that would be the lice!’ Kolarov announced loudly, popping up beside Thorgils. Though seeing Eadmund’s scowling face, he quickly swung around as though called away.

Karsten peered at Eadmund. ‘You have lice?’

‘Lice? No. Just felt like a change. It’s... so hot here.’

‘Is it? Well, compared to your little block of ice, I imagine it is,’ Karsten said, running a hand through his long blonde locks, rarely bothered by the heat himself.

Ulf wasn’t thinking about hair. His eyes were fixed higher up, on the clouds blowing across the dirty grey sky. ‘Wind’s fair,’ he decided.

Karsten laughed. ‘That may be so, but you’re still not going.’

Ulf looked confused. ‘Why do you say that? I am going.’

‘You think you’re really going to go? Leave Bayla? That’s not like you. You won’t come. My mother’s bound you to her like some dark dreamer. Tied you up with imaginary rope. You’re hers. She won’t let you go.’

Ulf grabbed his arm. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? My chest’s already on board Beloved. What makes you think I’ll change my mind now?’

‘Because she’s coming. See? Bayla’s right behind us. All it will take is one little tear, one squeeze of your hand, held to her breast and –’

‘Bah! You don’t know what you’re talking about, man.’

‘Ulf!’ Bayla called, lengthening her stride. ‘Ulf Rutgar!’

Eadmund left them to it, deciding to run his eyes over the departing fleet before he joined his friends on Bone Hammer. Bolder seemed to have things under control, and Thorgils was loudly trying to sort out Kolarov and Mattie. But he wanted a moment to clear his head of all the noise. He was desperate to leave, to head back to sea and return to S’ala Nis, but they couldn’t fail again.

He wouldn’t leave Jael there a second time.

Five of the Hestian ships had been built with catapults, thanks to Karsten’s unexpected foresight – a gift he couldn’t help but marvel at. They had boulders and supplies of pitch, fire arrows, spears, bows and shields. Arras thought they certainly stood a chance of breaking into the harbour, though he feared the enormity of the task ahead.

Eadmund just hoped they’d be in time.

He knew what Arras had said about Jael not being killed, though he also knew his wife’s inability to control her temper or her tongue. Smiling now, he shook his head; Jael was going to make it hard for her enemies to stick to that pledge. Still smiling, he nodded at a handful of Hestians who passed him carrying chests. He was pleased to see that the piers were clearing out as they got closer to their departure.

Including Bone Hammer, there were seventeen of them.

Though would it be enough?

Turning around, inhaling the sea, he remembered swimming into the dark tunnel.

Dripping and out of breath, he had run for his wife only to see that door close.

But not this time.

This time, he wouldn’t let anything stand in his way.

* * *

It was time to say goodbye.

Having quickly sold the remainder of their furs, honey, and beeswax in Castala, Korri and his men planned to travel further inland, hoping to purchase turquoise and lapis lazuli with their profits, for those were the sort of luxuries that sold for hefty prices back in Alekka.

‘You’re sure you don’t want to see the desert?’ he asked Edela. ‘They have camels!’

‘What are camels?’ Siggy wondered with big eyes.

‘One of those creatures we saw with the humps,’ Zen told her. ‘Yesterday, remember? The man with the monkeys? They were riding on a camel.’ He spoke without enthusiasm, his eyes dull, mostly turned towards his boots.

‘Well, I don’t think we’re missing out on much not seeing a... camel?’ Bertel muttered. ‘How do you even ride something like that? With those humps?’

Korri laughed. ‘We’ll manage. Perhaps you’ll find out for yourself sometime?’

Edela glanced at a clearly uninterested Bertel. ‘Perhaps,’ she chuckled. ‘I wish you luck with your adventure. Hopefully, it’s a much calmer experience for you. Without us, it’s sure to be!’

Korri kissed her cheek. ‘Well, what’s life without some excitement? I’d rather have a few surprises than none at all. I’ll ask about you when we return. See if you’re still here.’

‘Though hopefully, no one will know anything about our whereabouts,’ Bertel told him. ‘That’s certainly our intention. This time, we move like shadows. Isn’t that right, Edela?’

Edela held her tongue, lifting her eyes to the sky, which had lost its hazy blue of earlier, now appearing a dirty orange. The warm breeze had strengthened, and she heard snapping awnings, seeing dust swirling. ‘Well, if the wind gets any stronger we’ll be blown around like shadows!’ she laughed, taking Siggy’s arm. ‘Farewell, Korri Torluffson, and thank you again. It was a most pleasant change to make friends rather than enemies!’

Korri and his men took their leave, heading away from the market to where they’d hired the camels to take them on an entirely new adventure.

‘Are you sure you want to go with them?’ Siggy asked Zen.

Zen lifted his eyes before glancing over his shoulder at Korri, feeling torn. ‘I... I think so. Korri will look after me, and you’ve enough mouths to feed already.’

Bertel glanced at the boy, who appeared to have grown taller in the short time he’d known him. ‘Well, you’re right about that.’

Siggy frowned at him. ‘But you can still stay with us if you want, can’t he, Edela?’

‘Of course,’ Edela promised. ‘If you change your mind, I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.’

‘Oh yes, just follow the next band of Silurans hunting us down!’ Bertel chuckled, earning another frown from Siggy, who was now joined by Edela. Inhaling a mouthful of the swirling dust, he ignored them both, erupting into a noisy coughing fit.

And with a crooked grin, Zen shrugged and turned away.

Staring after him, Siggy felt certain she would see the boy again.

‘Storm’s coming,’ Edela warned, touching her arm, hearing the wind start to whine. ‘We should find whatever we need quickly and then hunker down.’

‘Well, worst comes to worst, we can always stay on Sea Queen,’ Bertel reminded her between coughs. ‘Though I’d much rather have a bed and a roof! Come on!’ And ducking his head as the wind stirred up more trouble, he led Edela and Siggy further into Castala’s seething market.

* * *

Mattie held onto Otter, watching the golden city of Hest disappear in the distance. Kolarov stood to one side of her, Fyn on the other. Bone Hammer’s sail was up, and everyone was making themselves comfortable.

Mattie felt like vomiting, though she wasn’t convinced it was because of the ship. Otter was oddly still in her arms, and she felt tension in his body, which put her on edge. ‘The dreamer will see us coming,’ she fretted.

‘Not now you’ve carved that symbol on every ship,’ Fyn promised, turning to her with a reassuring smile. ‘It will work. It will.’

‘If you have it right. How do we even know you have it right?’

‘Well, I expect we’ll soon find out,’ Kolarov chuckled. ‘When we see a great wall of fire or serpents lunging out of the sea, trying to devour us!’

‘Best not say that around Ulf,’ Fyn warned. ‘He actually saw a serpent lunge out of the sea, chomping his ship in two. And not just his ship...’

Kolarov’s eyes bulged.

He saw Eadmund and Thorgils deep in conversation, almost not recognising the king with his new short haircut, which did indeed suit him. And then Mattie beside him, long hair whirling around a tense face, no doubt worried about her part in things.

‘I think you should sit down with that cat and put your dreamer mind to work,’ Kolarov suggested. ‘We’ve got a fleet, weapons, and men, but the most important tool we brought along is you, Mattie Bilso. You are our greatest weapon and Jael Furyck’s best hope, so why not see what you can find?’

Mattie hated being told what to do and almost told Kolarov what he could do with his suggestion, though he was right – she needed to be useful. So, with an almost agreeable nod, she lifted Otter up to her shoulder and stumbled away from the men, looking for a quiet place to sit.

* * *

As the dust storm descended upon Castala, the market emptied out with speed, its customers urgently seeking shelter.

Bertel led the way, cloak wrapped around his face, hoping not to swallow another mouthful of dust. He couldn’t see, and then he couldn’t stand. Someone had run across his path, elbowing him, and as he’d sought to rebalance himself, a gust of wind had blown him over, onto his knees.

‘Bertel!’ Siggy cried, bending down to help him up. ‘We have to find shelter!’

Bertel agreed, and brushing off her helping hands, he readjusted his cloak, trying to see.

‘Let’s aim for one of those buildings!’ Siggy suggested, pointing towards a dusty silhouette of what might have been houses or perhaps shops. It was impossible to see as the dust swept around them. ‘Hurry!’ She turned back, now seeing only Bertel. ‘Where’s Edela?’ she called. ‘I can’t see her!’

Bertel spun in a circle, squinting through the orange dust, cloak and tunic flapping, seeing no sign of the dreamer.

* * *

Edela had lost her companions so suddenly that she couldn’t quite believe it. She had been telling Bertel to hurry, urging him to the left where she was sure they would find shelter.

Now she was alone in a whirlwind of orange dust, with no idea where she was.

No idea of where Bertel and Siggy were either.

Right hand out, left hand covering her mouth, Edela focused her attention on her feet. She could barely see her boots or the ground, though it was her only hope of not ending up walking into a great hole. Though it wasn’t long before something hit her, blown by the wind, and she was knocked over, falling onto her side with a cry and a thump.

A hand grabbed her arm, pulling her back to her feet.

She didn’t understand the man, but there was urgency in his voice as he bent to see if she was alright. She couldn’t tell anything about him, or if he was even real.

‘You understand the common tongue?’ he said at last.

‘Yes!’

‘Come then! I will take you somewhere safe!’

And feeling the strength in that hand gripping hers, Edela didn’t think she had any choice in the matter.

* * *

Bertel couldn’t scream Edela’s name.

Every time he opened his mouth, dust blew into it, and then he couldn’t speak from coughing.

Siggy grabbed his arm. ‘Come on! That way! That... way!’ Soon she was coughing too.

She was pointing at something, though Bertel couldn’t see a thing, merely allowing the girl to drag him along. Tunic flapping, wind roaring, he stumbled after her.

* * *

Suddenly, the noise was gone.

Almost, Edela thought, for her ears still rang with the sound of the vicious wind. Though now, she was inside a tunnel, and the only air she could feel was a flowing warmth around her face.

Her rescuer was leading her, turning occasionally to hurry her along.

Though as the urgency of escaping the dust storm diminished, she wasn’t sure she wanted to follow him, fearing where he might be leading her.

Copper lanterns glowed in small alcoves set into the tunnel walls, lighting the way.

To where?

‘I... where are you taking me?’ Edela called. Nothing came to her – no hints of danger or safety or where her companions might be. She needed to go back and find them. They could come down into the tunnel, out of the wind too.

She needed to –

‘You are Edela,’ the man said, coming back to her. And removing the wrappings from his face, his smile revealed a set of bright white teeth. ‘Please, come. The Armless One is expecting you.’

25

Atop the Tower of Eyshar, Jael was struggling. It was impossible not to move her arms, though every time she made the slightest motion, the wounds on her back burned.

Clenching her jaw and curling her toes in her shoes, she could feel the symbol stone, which calmed her. Releasing a long breath, she sought to focus.

Since she’d returned from the physician’s and had been put back to work, Alek had fussed over her, repeatedly asking how she was. Rigg had nothing to say, though she often caught him watching her. There had been no sign of Argo Kosta, which was a relief, and Quint, who wouldn’t meet her eye, had ensured that she was assigned lighter tasks. So that meant she was now permanently stationed at the top of the tower, overseen by Gardi, and by Alek, who, when he wasn’t fussing over her, was breathless with frustration.

One of the pulleys had snapped, dropping a decorative frieze to the ground. Thankfully, it had remained intact, for it had taken weeks to craft. Though to get it back up the tower, the pulley needed to be repaired, and there was suddenly an absence of rope.

When Gardi finished his shift, Jael would take over, though instead of focusing on his very precise instructions, she was busy putting together everything she’d learned in her time on the isle.

According to Alek’s calculations, the slaves amounted to ninety in every hundred S’ala Nis residents. That number was so staggering that Jael didn’t quite believe it, though she hoped it was true. But having greater numbers wouldn’t guarantee success. It certainly gave them a good chance of overthrowing the army and their masters, but it wasn’t a given.

Alek called her away and they headed around the tower, the scaffolding planks bouncing beneath their feet. It was disconcerting and made Jael tense, for every jerk and bounce felt like it was rippling up her legs to those gashes on her back, rubbing against her tunic. Alek had quickly replaced her dress when she’d returned to the temple grounds, though she almost missed it, thinking how pleasant it would’ve felt to have no trousers sticking to her legs.

‘What do you think?’ he whispered when they were alone. ‘Is it still possible? With your back?’

Jael peered at him. ‘Is what still possible?’

‘You? Leading us? I don’t want to press you, but with the funeral coming, I fear you can’t even raise an arm, let alone lead a battle. And it will be a battle.’

Jael glanced over her shoulder, wincing. ‘I’ll be fine. It’s seven days till the funeral, though I could do it now if I had to. So could you.’

‘To escape here, I could.’

‘The greatest problem is that my army’s invisible to me, and I’m invisible to them. I can’t see them, talk to them, lead them. And how do we get everyone going in the same direction when no one knows the plan.’

‘I have carefully cultivated my allies,’ Alek insisted. ‘They’re intelligent and cautious. We’ve always had a basic understanding of what’s required, but now, with the funeral as the focal point, everything’s become much clearer. More possible. I will tell them what you need them to do. We can work together.’

‘Though you tell the wrong person? Those getting paid to spy for the queen or for Kosta? What happens then?’

Alek swallowed, frantic eyes sweeping the cloudless sky, suddenly feeling small and vulnerable. ‘Then we’re tortured, killed. All of it. And it’s over.’

‘You’ve told them the signal? It’s Quint’s conch shell.’

Alek nodded. ‘Rigg will steal it, and when it’s time, he’ll blow the signal. It’s loud enough that our allies in the city will hear it. They’ll blow their own signals, and we’ll attack the soldiers in numbers throughout the isle. Though our greatest effort will have to be here.’

Jael agreed. ‘The only way to disarm the soldiers effectively is with surprise and speed. I doubt they’ll be watching the sacrifice with weapons in their hands. They’ll be sheathed at first, so we’ll need to knock them to the ground and steal their weapons. Kill them. There’s no time for feelings. The slaves have to kill. One less man to overcome is one more chance of freedom.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And you? Can you use any sort of weapon?’

Alek squinted at her, mouth dropping open. ‘Well, I...’

‘None? Nothing?’

‘Nothing,’ he admitted sheepishly. ‘Nothing at all.’

Jael’s worry for the man increased.

‘Except desire. I’ll be armed with that.’

Sweat ran down Jael’s back, seeping into her wounds, and she clenched her jaw. ‘I should go back to Gardi.’

Alek smiled at her. ‘It must hurt, your back.’

‘I have children, dogs, horses, a husband, good friends, a missing grandmother and eight islands, and I’m stuck here, far away from them all. My back doesn’t hurt nearly as much as that. So no, it may make things uncomfortable, but I’ve got more to concern me than whatever Kosta’s whip did. Though when I find the bastard, I’ll make him sorry he ever thought to touch me.’

* * *

Bertel’s cloak flew away, lost in the storm, and though he cried out, there was nothing for it; they simply had to get inside before he was swept away after it.

Siggy had found a door, and pushing it open, she dragged Bertel through it, slamming it shut after them.

They were in some kind of workshop, Bertel realised, seeing that they weren’t alone. He couldn’t move, pressed in on every side as anxious people shuffled into groups, sheltering from the dust storm. It swirled angrily outside, rattling the window and banging the door, sweeping dust through cracks and under the door itself. Though inside the shop, they were safe from its worst.

He wondered how Korri and his men were faring, and then, most of all, he worried about Edela.

‘Do you think someone took her?’ Siggy hissed.

Looking down at the girl, Bertel wiped dust from his eyes. ‘Well, knowing Edela as we do, it’s entirely possible. What do you think? Do you see anything?’

Siggy shook her head, rubbing her own eyes. ‘No, nothing at all.’

* * *

An unsettled Edela followed the man in the golden tunic down the tunnel into a cave, which glowed brightly, revealing a strange figure sitting behind a table.

Or was she imagining things?

Irritated by dust, Edela’s eyes were little use, but as she approached the table, she eventually saw a person draped in shimmering red fabric. It fell over their face, covering their body, though recalling what the man had told her about this person’s name, Edela soon became aware that the body did indeed appear armless.

‘Sit,’ came a voice inside her head.

Glancing over her shoulder, Edela saw a flash of gold as the man disappeared down the tunnel.

She saw a stool, and on the table, a little beaker filled with a reddish liquid, and despite a great sense of foreboding, she soon sat down. ‘You knew I would come? You know who I am?’ she asked, not daring to try and speak directly into The Armless One’s mind.

Though The Armless One soon replied into hers. ‘Yes, I am a seeress, and you are a dreamer. We are similar, I think, in many ways. I speak of the future.’

‘For a price?’ Edela wondered, already moving a hand towards her purse.

‘No, you need not pay me, for I willed you to come. I have seen some of your journey, and though I do not entirely understand its ramifications, I believe I have information that will aid you.’

‘Why?’ Edela blurted out, once again checking over her shoulder. ‘Most people I’ve encountered on my journey have only sought to hurt me.’

‘Though in battle, there is more than one side, and perhaps I am on yours?’

Edela edged forward. ‘Whatever you can share with me, I would be grateful to receive it. Though I... fear what it will cost me,’ she admitted.

‘Only a little time. While the wind rages and the dust blows, only a little of your time. Now, please, if you wish, take a drink and we shall begin.’

* * *

Quint blew his conch shell to signal the change in shift, which sent everyone rushing towards the nearest well or bucket of water.

With the changing rosters it had become a complex muddle now and there was a noisy confusion about who was supposed to stop and who had to do a double shift. Those foremen and their crews working at the base of the tower headed Quint’s way, and soon he was surrounded by tired men waving hands in the air.

Jael knew she was on a double shift, though she was barely present as she climbed down the wobbling ladder fixed to the scaffolding, working hard to reduce every shudder and movement. Pain throbbed in her limbs, burning across her back, and she was trembling by the time she reached the ground.

She saw Quint talking to a stout woman with a mean-looking face. The woman kept peering around with squinting eyes, muttering to Quint.

His wife, Jael assumed, for she had the same squarish physique as Kosta, the same wide face; the scowl was familiar too. Seeing them both looking her way, she turned around, nearly banging into Rigg, who handed her a cup of muddy water. ‘Do you think they add dirt to this?’ she croaked at him.

He shrugged. ‘Either way, better than just eating dirt.’

Rigg had been strange around her since her whipping. She wasn’t sure what he thought or whether he felt somewhat responsible, though he’d snarled less and hadn’t called her a loser once, which was something.

‘I was talking to Alek –’ she began, stepping closer.

‘Why? Thinking you won’t be able to go through with things? What with your back?’

Jael’s smile was wry. ‘No. Just that, what are we going to do with him?’

Rigg looked confused, and taking her elbow, he moved her away from the crowd. ‘Meaning?’

‘He can’t use a weapon. He’s defenseless and weak, so you’ll need to protect him.’

Rigg stepped back. ‘Me?’

‘I’ll be busy. I have to organise everyone. I can’t be responsible for Alek’s safety.’ She thought of Sunni, remembering how it had turned out when she last tried helping someone escape the isle. ‘You need to take him with you. Keep him close.’

An uptight Quint blew his shell again. ‘Back to work! We must get back to work!’ he called in the common tongue and then in Siluran. ‘The king is returning! We must work quickly, for the king will be here for the funeral! He will return soon!’

Jael’s eyes bulged.

She scratched her chin, frowning. Ideas sparked in her mind, and fears.

She remembered her vision of the king discussing the tunnel. He appeared to be a man who sought to prepare for everything, in which case their challenge had just become even tougher.

Rigg turned around, and their eyes met, both of them sensing problems.

* * *

Despite a mouthful of dust, Edela didn’t dare sip the wine or whatever it was. She peered at The Armless One, desperate for answers but alert to danger.

There had been so much danger.

The Armless One appeared oblivious to her discomfort, her steady voice humming in Edela’s ears. ‘Many years ago, I gave a man a warning. I don’t believe he heeded it, or perhaps there was nothing he could do? Though it appears that he did not speak of it to you. And yet now...’

‘Man?’

‘Ranuf Furyck. He visited Castala as a young man, when I was younger myself and not this...’ The Armless One’s voice trailed away.

It was a sad voice, Edela realised now. Deep but feminine. ‘What was the warning?’ Now she focused, fearing what the seeress would reveal next.

‘He came to me seeking his destiny, though I had little to say that pleased him, for when I touched his hand, what I saw was the end of a dynasty. I saw that the Furyck line would die with his children. That he would father dead babies, feckless rulers and cowards. That they would preside over the downfall of that famous name. His children’s weakness would be their undoing. His progeny, a failure.’

Edela spluttered in confusion. ‘I do not recognise who you are speaking of. My grandchildren? They are neither feckless nor cowards. That is simply not true!’

‘Your granddaughter is no longer a Furyck, Edela. She is a Skalleson. Gone from Brekka. Your grandson... do not lie to yourself. You doubt he has the strength of character to muster a long reign, and he certainly has no heirs.’

‘Yet! And I promise you that my granddaughter still sees herself as a Furyck. She will always be one.’

‘And Ranuf’s secret son? Raymon?’

‘He is dead.’

‘No, he is not dead. Quite the contrary,’ that sad voice hummed in her ears. ‘He is here, in Castala. A runaway.’

* * *

After they exited the workshop they’d sheltered in, Bertel had to stop himself running off in a panic, though the fear of what might have happened to Edela lit a great fire within him.

Where could she be?

Siggy shared his sense of panic, though she thought it would be futile to search for Edela, at least for a while. Like them, she may simply have sought shelter once they’d been separated. She suggested heading for the great stone pillar in the middle of the square. It was the most obvious landmark, and even if she couldn’t see where they were, perhaps Edela would simply head there anyway?

Bertel knew it made perfect sense, though as they waited, trying to distract themselves by studying the scenes of gods and battles wrapping around the tall pillar, seeing the great mounds of dust and dirt the storm had gathered around it, there was no sign of her.

‘Perhaps I should go?’ Bertel suggested eventually. ‘I’ll ask if anyone’s seen her and return shortly. Just stay here and don’t talk to anyone.’

Siggy shook her head. ‘No! Bertel, that makes no sense. If we lose each other, what will I do?’

Bertel was about to argue, though seeing fear in the girl’s blinking eyes, he nodded. ‘Yes, yes, we’ll stick together then. It makes sense. With the luck Edela’s having, we’ve got to expect that something’s gone wrong, so we must find her. And quickly!’

* * *

Edela felt the pull of her companions, hoping they were safe from the storm. She could almost hear Bertel calling her name. He would be fussing and fretting in that thoroughly irritating manner of his, and though she didn’t wish to cause him further worry, there was much more she needed to know.

‘Do not speak,’ The Armless One warned. ‘Not with your voice, Edela. This cave is protected. I have made it so, though ones such as us can never be certain what our enemies are truly capable of.’

Now Edela spoke into the seeress’ mind. ‘Is that why I’m here? In Castala? To find Raymon Vandaal?’ She had a sudden memory of Esby and the ship she’d watched departing, shivers raising goosebumps on her dusty flesh. ‘But how can I trust you to tell me the truth?’

‘You cannot. You cannot trust anyone, though I reached out to you, for your enemies are my enemies. Those who seek to harm you have also harmed me, Edela. I wish to do what I can to even the scales.’

‘Then what else can you tell me? Please. I must understand my path.’

‘Your path is not something I am privy to, unfortunately. I can only tell you what I have seen myself. What I know. And now I have. There is nothing else I can offer.’

Edela felt heartily disappointed, beginning to realise that there were no easy answers to find in this mysterious quest of hers. Only pieces of a puzzle she was yet to understand.

* * *

In the comfortable silence on board Bone Hammer, Nico had approached his father.

Arras had wanted him to stay in Hest with Anika, though Nico had refused, and being a man, there was little his father could do about that. Like Arras, he had an interest in helping Jael Furyck escape. ‘And,’ he’d suggested, ‘not just Jael, but all the slaves. Don’t you think, Father? With the Hestian fleet Karsten Dragos has given us, don’t you think there’s a chance of taking the entire isle?’

It was an idea that, planted in Arras’ mind, had blossomed until he had thought to take it to Eadmund Skalleson.

The King of Oss had no reason to care for anything he wanted. Arras had his freedom, as did his son. Eadmund didn’t owe him anything. Well, perhaps a knife in the throat after what he’d done, stealing Jael as he had. It was all well and good to insist he’d had no choice, but was that entirely true? Wasn’t there always a choice?

Seeing that Eadmund had left Thorgils behind, heading to the stern alone, Arras pursued him, noting a hint of annoyance in the king’s eyes when he turned around.

‘I’ve been thinking about what happens after we take the harbour,’ Arras began. ‘If Mattie can find out where Jael is, I can try and find her. I know my way around, so I can get us there quickly.’ He saw Eadmund nod. ‘But the rest of the slaves? We need to free them too. They deserve to go back to their homes or to try and find new ones. We can’t just take Jael and leave them behind.’

Eadmund stared at him in disbelief. ‘You thought we would just leave them behind?’

‘Well, I...’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘My father died a king, yet he was born a slave. He freed all the slaves on the islands, gave everyone the gift of a life to call their own, and you think I would just sail away, leaving those men and women as prisoners? No, we are going there to destroy the entire place.’ He eyed Arras. ‘Your queen made a mistake when she sent you after my wife. One I vow to make her regret till her dying day.’

* * *

Bertel had no idea where they were.

The storm had passed, though the cloying, warm air was still so murky that he could barely see where they’d been when they’d lost Edela. Though even if it were clear, he doubted he would’ve been any wiser.

‘I...’ he squinted, seeing the workshop they’d sheltered in again.

Now, he stepped out four paces and walked in a circle, head lowered. And on his next pass, he lifted it to waist height, narrowing his eyes further, desperate to sharpen his vision. On the third pass, he lifted it higher still, catching a glimpse of a man jumping onto a plinth, golden tunic shimmering in the sunlight. Looking up, Bertel was surprised to see the return of the sun, though mainly he saw an enormous blur of orange light seeking to blind him.

Looking back down, he noticed the man was smiling at him.

‘Sir! Can I help you find what is lost?’

Frowning in surprise, Bertel tapped Siggy, and they hurried forward. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I am a man of many talents, but mostly I watch people. And you, sir, are looking for something. Or perhaps someone...’ Placing a finger to his temple, he smiled. ‘Have you ever witnessed magic?’ he asked with gleaming eyes.

Bertel was beginning to doubt the man’s motives and he made to drag Siggy away, but the man lunged at him.

‘Close your eyes, sir! Do close your eyes! And then turn around!’

Bertel snorted, though overcome with desperation, he closed his eyes and slowly turned around.

Waiting for the man to speak.

‘Are you alright, Bertel?’ came a familiar voice, and Bertel’s eyes sprang open to Edela, standing before him with that familiar twinkle in her eyes.

‘But I?’ Bertel swung around to the man, though he was gone. And now he turned back to Edela, grabbing her forcefully. ‘Oh, Edela!’ He hesitated, caught for a moment, as though in his relief at finding her, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Eventually, he released her arms and patted her head.

She looked at him in surprise, wrinkling her nose. ‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Yes, I... but where have you been, woman?’ he snapped. ‘Disappearing like that? You shouldn’t make a habit of it, Edela. We might not always be here to rescue you. It can be quite inconvenient!’

Ignoring him, Edela embraced Siggy. She held up a hand to silence Bertel, wanting instead to hear from the girl.

‘I thought we’d never see you again,’ Siggy said quietly, squeezing the dreamer. ‘That the storm might have swept you away. Or those men. Perhaps they followed us?’ She stepped back with tears in her eyes.

Edela wiped them away with a weary smile. ‘Well, that would be a mistake on their part, don’t you think? The danger we pose? They’d be wise to think twice before considering such a foolish idea.’ She winked at Siggy and turned to Bertel, who had bent down to shake a pebble from his boot.

The words of The Armless One rang in her ears, and she remembered Raymon Vandaal. ‘Put on your boot, Bertel Knutson!’ she barracked, taking Siggy’s hand. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose!’

26

Kalina swept through the palace like a rush of wind. Dressed in her newest gown, which felt far too loose in the bodice, her mind darted about. She fretted over the ill-fitting dress, knowing she’d barely eaten since Arras’ departure, certain she looked like a skeleton. Turning around, she fed Mali a list of instructions, seeking to have everything ready for her father’s imminent arrival.

She had never been entirely sure why he’d left S’ala Nis all those years ago with Dessalene. Ronin Sardis had always planned with the future in mind, for as his sole heir, they had both known that Kalina would eventually rule in his place. Though his departure had left her with questions that still remained unanswered. Perhaps he’d thought her ready? Or maybe he’d thought the opposite?

Kalina had occasionally sailed to visit him in exotic locations, though the last time she had seen her father had been nearly five years ago.

Taking Dessalene’s advice, she had invited Argo Kosta and his daughter to supper, seeking to advance negotiations for the marriage. The thought of marrying such an ugly brute repulsed her, though she hoped it would put her father’s mind at ease, knowing she was actively pursuing an heir.

And then there was Noor’s funeral to think about.

Kalina had tried to put it all out of her mind, but now, with her father coming, she was consumed with urgency to have everything ready in time.

Swinging around, she stopped near a display of lilies. They perfumed the air with a pleasant sweetness, and for the first time since she’d woken, Kalina inhaled deeply. ‘Send Marros to the temple and have him bring Inesh Seppo to me. I must hear his wishes for the funeral. Do that now, Mali, then find me in the Garden of the Gods. I will take tea there.’ Dismissing her favourite slave without a glance, oblivious to the four slaves following at a discreet distance, Kalina swept around, silver earrings chiming together as she strode outside.

Five days.

Her father would arrive in five days’ time.

* * *

Edela, Bertel, and Siggy pushed their way through the market, jostled by a sea of people moving as impatiently as ever, seemingly oblivious to the piles of dust or the recent storm. Castala was quickly coming back to life, the noise, once drowned out by the howling wind, now building again.

‘What happened to you?’ Bertel wanted to know, nudging Edela. ‘You appeared swept away. One moment you were there, and then... gone!’

Edela laughed, feeling a sense of urgency but also exhaustion. ‘I was! I turned around to find a way out of the storm, and when I looked back, I could only see the storm. I do hope Korri and his men are safe on those camels. And poor Zen.’

Siggy lifted her eyes to the sky, which was clearing. Those heavy clouds had peeled away, leaving an orange glow in their place. ‘We need to find somewhere to stay.’

Bertel nodded. ‘We certainly do. I don’t want to be sleeping on that ship when another storm comes blowing through!’

‘I was told about a place,’ Edela revealed. ‘A baker has rooms above his shop. We can rent one of them.’

Bertel frowned, inhaling a fresh dump of manure newly deposited nearby. ‘Well, anything to get out of this. We need something to drink and somewhere to sit down for a moment. We need to make a plan.’

‘Oh yes, we do, and now that we’re together again, I’m sure we can come up with one.’ And turning left, then right, Edela squinted, trying to see. ‘It’s that way!’ she decided, pointing east. ‘We’ll find the baker’s that way!’

The thought of what food the baker might be selling distracted them all. That and the idea of a roof over their heads. So much so that they didn’t notice the small, dark-haired woman following them.

* * *

Sitting by herself in Bone Hammer’s stern and aided by some of Kolarov’s usha root, Mattie had slipped into a trance.

Kolarov was busy explaining all about the root to Arras Sikari, who watched the dreamer cradling her cat, eyes closed. Arras wondered how she could keep her balance on the constantly tilting ship. He doubted he could.

‘Do you think that dreamer is waiting for us? On S’ala Nis?’ Fyn asked. ‘And the wolf ships? Maybe there are more?’

His questions had all three men frowning as they leaned over the shield rack, sipping ale.

Arras scratched the stitches on his forehead, thinking of Jael. They itched, though scratching was painful, and he dropped his hand as he turned to Fyn. ‘When the king and his new wife left the isle, they didn’t return. The queen travelled to visit them a few times, and I went along. I dined with the woman. More than once.’

Kolarov’s bulging eyes widened further. ‘Do tell, commander!’

‘She was charming and playful but calculating,’ Arras recalled. ‘An attractive woman with a whip of a tongue. Quite... unique. I got the sense that she was dangerous. She certainly implied as much.’

‘Where is she from?’ Fyn wondered. ‘Silura?’

Arras shook his head. ‘I’m not sure where she comes from. Further north? She was very protective of her husband, supportive of him, so perhaps she saw what was happening and came to the isle by herself or with him? Hopefully, she was on one of those wolf ships, for if Dessalene is on S’ala Nis it’s going to make our job nigh on impossible.’

Fyn was thoughtful. ‘Though we have Mattie. And on the isle, we have Jael.’

But Arras wasn’t convinced. ‘I doubt Jael will be able to do much. Whatever has happened to her now, I doubt she’ll be able to help at all.’

* * *

Jael was struggling, her back hurting so much that thinking became impossible. Sweat dripped from her hair, and she became distracted, just staring at those glistening drops forming bigger and bigger shapes until finally, they fell, dripping onto her tunic, joining the many others that had soaked it through. Head bowed, she didn’t move, ears buzzing with the sound of a thousand bees.

Gardi shuffled back to her, barking orders with such a heavy accent that she could barely understand him. But lifting her head, she wiped sweat out of her eyes and got back to work, feeling his scowl but ignoring it anyway.

Alek soon made his way to her side of the tower to see what was happening.

And spying fresh streaks of blood across the back of Jael’s tunic and the glazed look in her eyes, he told her to head down to the temple and find Inesh Seppo. The seer had mentioned wanting to check the placement of the crowning arch before it was mortared into place, so Alek decided that now was as good a time as any. Jael thought to argue, sensing that he’d taken pity on her, though she didn’t have the energy. So, cleaning her trowels and leaving them in a bucket of water, she headed around the scaffolding, aiming for the ladder.

She saw herself riding Tig through the snow on Oss, the ice-cold wind chilling her face, numbing her body, the feel of him beneath her. Then, hearing a disturbance, she looked down at the courtyard, seeing the familiar bulky shape of Argo Kosta, whip out, striking a slave, who curled on his knees, covering his head.

Hands clenched into fists, she kept walking, deciding to head around the other side of the tower until he had gone. Then, hearing the plaintive cry of a horse, she swung around, wincing, just in time to see Kosta turn his whip on his own horse.

Jael’s eyes widened in horror, heart thumping in her chest.

The horse was a fine bay stallion, at least sixteen hands, and she could see that he feared his owner. And as he reared up, pawing the air, trying to escape the lash of the whip, a furious Kosta struck him again.

Jael’s eyes were drawn to Rigg, who stood watching with a look of horror on his face – one mirrored by all those nearby. Dropping his whip, Kosta lunged for his horse’s bridle, and with a bellow of fury, he drew out his knife and slit the beast’s throat.

Jael’s breath caught in her own throat, hands trembling, gripping the scaffolding. She watched as the stallion threw back his head, as though trying to escape the God of Death coming to claim him. His body, no longer in his control, flopped down onto the dusty earth with a shuddering thump.

Silent slaves stared.

Red-faced with rage, Kosta hung over his horse, body heaving, knife dripping blood in his right hand. He stared for a moment, as though caught between wanting to stab the horse and not quite believing what he’d done. Head snapping around, he laid eyes on Rigg, calling him forward. ‘Get rid of this creature!’ he demanded. ‘Have it thrown into the pits! And Quint! Quint! Find me another fucking horse!’ He turned from the gory sight now, eyes up on the tower, and seeing Jael watching him, he staggered to a stop.

She thought about moving, about edging back, out of his line of sight, though it was too late. He was staring at her, seeing her.

Jael held his gaze, wanting to hurt the cruel, callous man.

That he would kill a horse? For what? She had no clue.

Eventually, Kosta swung around, heading for the tree-lined path to the temple entrance, shouting orders as he went.

The planks started bouncing, and soon Alek appeared, wanting to know what she was doing.

‘That prick, Kosta, killed his horse.’

‘What?’ Alek peered down to where he could see the dead horse, and Rigg, calling for ropes, but knowing they were experiencing a real shortage, he doubted he’d find any. ‘What did it do?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I didn’t see.’

‘It’s not the first time.’

‘He’s killed other horses?’

Alek nodded. ‘More than horses. Animals tend to run from him, which tells you all you ever needed to know about Argo Kosta.’

Jael felt sick, and leaving Alek behind, she headed for the ladder, thinking of Tig, hoping he was safe on Oss.

She was vulnerable without her weapons, imprisoned far from home, far from her family. Remembering her dream of the pyres, she thought of Axl in Andala, wishing she’d left on better terms.

* * *

Axl clapped his arms around Hal Harbak, relieved to have both his friends back again. ‘You took your time!’

‘Did I?’ Hal offered his king a crooked grin. ‘Though there was much diplomacy to partake in, so I could hardly hurry home.’

Erling laughed, thinking of his journey to Hest. ‘Yes, all that diplomacy tends to take a toll.’

‘I’m not sure I’ve drunk so much in my life,’ Hal sighed. ‘None of it better than what we’ve got here, though I did have some nice mead.’

Erling groaned. ‘Don’t ever speak that word again.’

Hal’s curiosity about that vanished as he noticed his friend’s strange appearance. ‘What happened to your hair? You look... different.’

Which Erling didn’t take as a compliment and he shrugged as they followed Axl away from the stables towards The King’s Axe. It had been too long since they’d all been together, holed up in the tavern, shutting out the world and the endless problems of the kingdom. ‘Just a little change for summer.’

Hal wasn’t sure it suited a narrow-faced Erling, though for once, he kept his opinions to himself. ‘We need a meeting,’ he said instead. ‘I want to hear what happened in Hest, and you need to hear about my travels.’

Axl nodded. ‘I sent Gerald to round up the women, though Getta went for a ride this morning. I’m not sure she’s returned.’

‘And what about your dreamer?’ Erling wondered, eyes on Hal. ‘Will you invite her?’

Hal’s eyes bulged as Erling had intended, though he attempted to lessen his horror as he turned them on Axl. ‘Dreamer? What’s this?’

Axl was already tired of everyone’s complaints about Helga. He had them himself, though he also felt grateful that the woman had come. Thinking about the amulet she had given him, feeling the cold metal against his chest, he hoped she would provide a bulwark against whatever sort to destroy him. ‘Her name’s Helga. She came down from Tuura with her grandson to help. So that’s good. Now we’ve more insight, a window into whatever our enemies are planning.’

Hal had to stop himself from staring at Erling, who he sensed felt as troubled by this new development as he was. ‘And what insight has she provided? Anything?’

Thinking about that, Axl shook his head. ‘Nothing specific, though she certainly senses trouble on the horizon. It’s why she came. We appear to be in desperate trouble.’ And as those words sank in, he realised that it would do no good to keep the dreamer out. Helga had an unpleasant, abrupt manner, though he needed to see past that and work with her. ‘I’ll find Gerald, and he can bring Helga to the meeting. She may have seen something new, and it’s best if she’s there to hear your news too.’ And seeing the tavern in the distance, Axl pulled up, deciding that he didn’t feel like going in after all. ‘I’ll see you at the meeting,’ he told his friends.

Erling looked surprised. ‘You won’t come in?’

‘No, there’s too much to do. I’ll see Gerald, then go and find Ragnar. He can join us too. I think the more people we bring in, the better. We need to be fully informed about what’s happening. About our strengths, our weaknesses and what we need to do.’ Axl patted a frowning Hal on the shoulder. ‘Have a cup for me, and I’ll see you soon.’ And with that, he was gone.

Hal stared after him before spinning towards Erling. ‘Dreamer? What dreamer?’

Erling looked disturbed, though relieved to have him back. ‘Exactly. This old duck just waddled down from Tuura, and now? Now she’s busy wrapping our king around her filthy little finger. Come on, we need to make a plan. Decide what we’re going to do about her before it’s too late.’

* * *

Walking to the temple, eagerly looking forward to its offered shade, Jael glanced over her shoulder, gritting her teeth. She had visions of S’ala Nis’ harbour, remembering her journey with Rigg. She imagined jumping on a ship, willing it to take her to Oss. Though she knew her departure from S’ala Nis would never be as simple as that.

Unfortunately.

Turning back around, she banged into Inesh Seppo.

Unlike the old, murdered Noor, Inesh was heavily bearded, with a thick mop of dark-brown hair brushed back from a dark face. He had thoughtful brown eyes shaded by bushy eyebrows.

Stumbling, he sought to grab hold of Jael, fearing he would knock her over. Though lurching backwards, she hurried out of his reach with a groan.

‘Did I hurt you?’

She shook her head. ‘I... my wounds. Sorry.’

Inesh nodded. ‘I am the one who is sorry. To have been treated so viciously by that man?’

Jael blinked.

Inesh Seppo smiled. ‘We are not all cruel here on S’ala Nis.’

They stood beneath an arch threaded with green leaves and white flowers. Jasmine, Jael saw, inhaling deeply, relieved not to feel the sun on her back for a moment.

‘Did you need something?’ Inesh prodded. ‘I have been called to the palace to meet with the queen. About the funeral,’ he added, seeing Jael’s confusion. ‘It will be greater than anything undertaken in my time, so there is much to organise. Much more than just finishing Eyshar’s tower. Though that is important, too, for the god will have a say in proceedings. That is our hope, at least.’

‘The stone masons are preparing to fit the arch. Alek said you wanted to see it in place first, to...’ Jael sighed heavily, ‘approve it?’

Inesh laughed. ‘You are struggling to be a slave, perhaps?’

‘Struggling?’ Jael peered at him, unable to detect anything about the man’s intentions; his thoughts were entirely walled off from her. She saw his smile but sensed that he was not all he appeared to be. ‘No, I just want to go home.’

Inesh stared at her. ‘You, perhaps more than any other, will struggle because you were not a farmer or a servant but a queen, daughter of a king. That struggle will take some time, though eventually, you will come to see that to fight against what is will only hurt you and deprive you of peace of mind. You are here now, so you must release all that has been, all that you may wish for. This isle is what you have now. It is your home.’

Jael was stunned. The seer’s eyes were kind, but his words were cruel. She stiffened. ‘Can I tell Alek when you’ll come? He cannot bring the arch to you.’

‘No, I imagine he can’t,’ Inesh chuckled, ignoring or perhaps oblivious to Jael’s coldness. ‘You may tell him I will come after my visit to the palace.’ Glancing past her, he saw two slaves waiting with the shaded sedan chair they would carry him to the palace in. He took a breath, smoothing down his robe. ‘I mustn’t keep the queen waiting.’

* * *

Helga didn’t appear happy to have been dragged away from Edela’s cottage and into Axl’s council meeting, though he tried not to become distracted by her surly scowls and his councillors’ gawking glances. They had to work together now, for the sake of the kingdom.

‘Hal, why don’t you begin,’ Axl invited, looking first at his friend before scanning the table, seeing Gisila sitting between Amma and Getta and an awkward Ragnar wedged in between Hal and Erling. Helga sat to Axl’s right, muttering darkly.

Hal tried not to stare at the intimidating dreamer as he began. ‘We have little to worry about,’ he declared brightly. ‘Any losses experienced through the sicknesses have more than been made up for by time. Boys have become men in the intervening years, and despite struggling during the bad harvests, we haven’t lost weapons. Quite the contrary, the weapons’ stores from Sorn to Ording are in good order. It was a worthwhile journey, which certainly put my mind at ease. We have no problems.’

Helga’s snort was explosive.

Everyone turned to her.

Picking up her cup, she sniffed.

‘You disagree?’ Hal posed with a frown. ‘You see something else? Perhaps you’d like to share it with the rest of us, for we can hardly defend Brekka alone. From some invisible enemy, only apparent to a stranger like you?’

Helga slammed down her cup, eyes snapping to the round-shouldered Hal. ‘You think the new King of Iskavall is invisible, do you? To whose eyes? Those of his people? His neighbours? Did you meet with him, speak to him, enquire as to why he was so desperate for the throne or what he intends to do with that power? With his army? His allies?’ She sat back with a grunt, lips pressed together.

Silence.

All eyes now shifted to Axl, who turned to Hal. ‘The King of Iskavall is a problem, as Getta has already informed us, and Helga has confirmed to me privately. He does not just seek to conquer Brekka, but all of Osterland. He wishes to rule every kingdom, to make them as one. An empire under his command.’

Surprise swept the chamber, accompanied by murmurs of discomfort.

Axl went on. ‘So, although the news you bring is encouraging, Hal, it is only one piece of a much larger puzzle. Oren Storgard’s ambitions are a threat to our very survival and, according to Gant, a man called Mutt Storman is busy accumulating power in the South.’

‘Though I had a positive meeting with Karsten Dragos,’ Erling put in. ‘He reaffirmed Hest’s commitment to Brekka and implied that his marriage to Freya Valens would only solidify the support of the Southern kingdoms. You cannot think that Oren Storgard or this Mutt Storman is any match against such might?’

Helga couldn’t help herself – she snorted again.

Gisila looked furious with the woman, though ignoring them both, Axl spoke instead to Erling. ‘The problem is that we’re seeing what we want to see. What we know. That is how we assess a problem, by stacking it up against what has come before. We think because it was always one way, that that way will continue. That our enemies will arrive on a battlefield of our choosing. Though that will not be the case this time.’

A surprised Helga turned to the king. ‘Yes.’ She nodded now, twisting around until she was eyeing Gisila. ‘I don’t wish to be here any more than you want me here. Edela belongs here. This is her home, and it is where she should be. I am made for the forest, for I mostly despise the company of those on two feet. I do not hide who I am, who I have been, and I do not hide when called upon.’

‘Called upon?’ Gisila wondered.

‘Your son is in danger,’ Helga said bluntly. ‘And more than anyone at this table, you know it, Gisila. You know it in your heart.’

Feeling that intense gaze fixed on her alone, Gisila’s stomach twisted in knots, shivers rushing up her arms. She couldn’t look away; it was as though the dreamer was holding her still.

‘Swords and men to wield them is a useful place to begin,’ Helga went on, shifting her attention to Erling and then Hal. ‘Until it’s not. A man like that? He is no fool. He does not sit upon Iskavall’s throne as a lucky fool but as a calculating schemer with big ideas. I see him, and he is a snake.’

Amma clasped Getta’s hand, feeling afraid.

‘He knows his kingdom is smaller, weaker, yet he confidently pursues dreams of conquering Brekka. Which means what? Hmmm?’ Now Helga turned to Axl, inviting the boy king to impress her once more.

‘That he has other weapons. Magical ones.’

Helga smiled.

‘Magical?’ Getta looked doubtful, though she couldn’t deny that it made sense, for how else did Oren Storgard anticipate conquering a much larger foe? ‘Are you saying that Lina knows how to make magic? But I remember the silly girl. She was still a student in Tuura when I left Ollsvik. A child.’

Helga grunted, reaching for her cup, eyes lowered. ‘Not the child,’ she grunted. ‘No, it is not the child dreamer we must concern ourselves with.’

‘Then who?’ Gisila wanted to know.

Though Helga didn’t say.

* * *

Mattie’s trance was interrupted by an urgent need to vomit, which surprised her. She had thought that after so many days at sea, she had gained control over that nauseating feeling. Though with her eyes closed, Bone Hammer’s rocking motions had intensified the unpleasant sensations, and after she’d emptied her breakfast into the Adrano Sea, she turned around with a shudder, surprised to see Fyn watching her. ‘What?’

‘Just wondering if you’d seen anything?’

Mattie wiped her mouth, beckoning him closer. ‘A little. I flew over the isle towards an enormous tower near the building with the strange tree sprouting from its centre.’

Fyn remembered what Kolarov had said. ‘The temple.’

‘I saw an old man in a white robe. He stood at the very top of the tower with his arms outstretched, covered in blood.’ Mattie shuddered, remembering what she’d seen next. ‘He threw himself off the tower, and then... before he could hit the ground, he transformed into an eagle and flew away.’

Fyn became aware of Otter rubbing against his leg, no doubt hoping for another fish. ‘What does that mean? Could it be the seer Kolarov mentioned?’

Mattie swallowed, needing some ale. ‘I plan to ask him, though I fear it isn’t good.’

‘No.’

And seeing that Fyn had frozen before her, worried eyes fixed on some imaginary place in the distance, she patted his arm. ‘I’ll keep looking. I will keep looking, Fyn. Not all dreams are that confusing. There will be clues, and I will find them.’

Fyn nodded, encouraged by her confidence. ‘You found a way in last time, a way to Jael,’ he reminded her. ‘I’m sure you can again.’

Ducking her head, Mattie stepped past him, not wanting to tell him that she’d already seen a glimpse of Jael Furyck.

And she had been covered in blood too.

27

Kalina had arranged to hold her meeting with Inesh Seppo in a private chamber. She did not wish the seer to even step foot inside the throne room for fear that he would see the truth of what had happened there.

Though could he have any doubt?

Sitting by an open door, she sought a cool breeze, though the air remained heavy, the sound of bees buzzing loudly, drilling into her mind.

‘The king will arrive in five days!’ Dessalene announced, wanting to move things along. After the formalities had ended and refreshments had been offered, Kalina had gone into some sort of trance and now appeared mute, so she tried moving things along herself. ‘The isle is ready to rejoice in his long overdue and much-desired return. And it will! How fortunate I am here to guide us all in this little endeavour,’ she purred, smiling at Inesh before turning her attention to Pye, who sat at a distance, shovelling cakes into his tiny mouth. Though one look from his mistress had him swallowing down the last doughy lump before sitting on his hands, head bowed in submission.

‘It is a time of rejoicing,’ Kalina agreed dully with a nod to her stepmother, who raised an eyebrow. She sat up straighter. ‘Though also a time of reflection, for the passing of our beloved Noor must be treated with utmost respect and dignity.’ She felt nervous sitting before the seer. He was little more than forty, an unsettlingly handsome man, but like Noor, she feared he could hear everything she was thinking.

Squirming in her chair, she once again lost the ability to speak, leaving Dessalene to carry on in her place.

‘You are so right, dear queen,’ the dreamer murmured. ‘And so very wise. We must balance these two opposing forces with grace and dexterity. The gods are watching, especially now. Eyshar awaits your appointment with bated breath, lord seer. I am certain you feel that yourself?’

Dessalene was from Alekka; she had trained in Tuura.

Her gods were not Inesh’s or even Kalina’s.

They were not her husband’s gods.

And that gave her an advantage over them all.

‘I shall defer to you both,’ Inesh said with a charming smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkling deeply. ‘I have outlined the ritual sacrifice as it was retold to me by Noor. Here.’ And opening a leather pouch, he took out a sheet of vellum.

‘I intend to make many sacrifices,’ Kalina piped up as Dessalene took the vellum, running her eyes over it. ‘Many.’

Inesh bowed his head. ‘Of course, my queen, for words without sacrifice hold no meaning to the gods. They are mute offerings.’

‘I think Arras Sikari’s horse can be one,’ Kalina added. ‘He is a fine beast. A gift from my father.’

Dessalene nodded. ‘Though we must seek more than just four-legged beasts. Eyshar will also require those on two legs. Perhaps you, Pye?’ she suggested, turning to her horrified man-servant. ‘For what use have you been lately? I must say, you’ll not find a more deserving candidate. I would do it myself if I had the time!’ She smiled at the seer, drawn to his gentle brown eyes. Few men had a look of such attentiveness; it was quite unsettling. Blinking, she attempted to focus. ‘Though I would hardly insult a noble god by offering up such an unpalatable tidbit. No, I will ensure we provide much worthier gifts.’

‘I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear it,’ Inesh chuckled, turning to smile at Pye, whose bulbous eyes remained on his mistress, not daring to look at the seer, who now turned back to the dreamer. ‘I would gratefully request your help, my lady. For you to take a prominent role. If you notice, where Noor has outlined the sacrifice, he had one of the senior logi wielding Atikar’s dagger, though he did not anticipate your presence here. I can think of no one better to take it on than you. You are a gifted weaver of magic, as I understand it, and Atikar is the Goddess of Magic herself. The timing is too perfect to ignore.’

Dessalene was further charmed. The seer’s manner was so refreshingly genial. She was used to snarling men with angry eyes, grunting insults, curses and orders. But Inesh was like a tasty beverage, sweet on the lips, going down very smoothly.

She was quite taken.

Kalina turned to her slightly dazed stepmother. ‘Dessalene?’

Dessalene blinked. ‘Of course. I would be delighted to! Yes, I think that sounds like a very good idea indeed.’

* * *

Dusk took forever to arrive.

Though as the sky turned ever more vibrant shades of red and gold, slowly darkening into inky blues and greys, Gant sent a scout into Borsund’s fort. He guessed they would shut the gates after night fell, knowing that left them a small window. Though he hadn’t wanted to act earlier, much to Rexon’s annoyance.

They had hidden in the trees, concealed from those coming and going from Lord Edd Arnsten’s modest fort.

Rexon was mostly silent, though occasionally he would clench his fists, jaw pulsing and turn towards Gant with hissing complaints.

Gant was sympathetic, but if they made a mistake now, there was no hope of returning to Saala. He had sent two men to Andala to alert Axl to what was happening, though the rest of his men remained with him and Rexon. Apart from the one he’d sent into the fort to determine whether Edd Arnsten remained loyal to the king.

Holding his breath, empty belly growling, he hoped they’d have an answer before long.

* * *

After a busy afternoon, Axl joined Amma for supper in the hall, pleased to see her looking plumper than she had in a long time. It was a good sign, he told himself. Perhaps this child would live? And Amma too. He placed a hand on her knee, smiling at her. ‘Gisila tells me everything’s organised for the journey. I suppose that’s something. There’s little for you to worry about now except yourself.’

Amma nodded. ‘I’ll miss you.’

‘And I, you. As tedious as the wedding is likely to be, I’d rather be coming to Angard. I want to meet our allies face to face, to look in their eyes. Especially Oren Storgard.’

‘Though will he even come?’ Amma wondered, remembering Helga’s words. ‘If his intention is to claim Brekka and to kill you, he may remain behind.’

Axl wanted him to. He had tallied up Hal’s numbers with Ragnar’s and now possessed the clearest picture yet of where things stood.

Brekka was in a strong position.

Though in the back of his mind, he was desperate to know more about Gant’s journey. He saw now that he’d been too slow to act on the trouble in Valso, and with news of this Mutt Storman emerging, he felt certain that the trouble was spreading.

Amma tapped his arm. ‘Did you hear me?’

‘No, I must have drifted off,’ Axl smiled. ‘I think this is the first time I’ve truly stopped today. Sorry.’

Amma kissed his cheek. ‘Will you go to the tavern tonight?’ She had enjoyed seeing more of her husband while his friends were gone, though with Hal returning, she feared Axl would slip away from her again.

Axl shook his head. ‘I’d rather spend my time with you. Besides, Hal wasn’t feeling well, so it would just be Erling, and he appears otherwise engaged.’ He inclined his head to where Erling was engrossed in a conversation with Ragnar’s blonde-haired daughter, Lise.

Amma yawned. ‘Well, I don’t imagine I’ll be much company. I’ll likely fall asleep as soon as we crawl into bed.’

‘I hope you do,’ Axl said, catching her yawn. His eyes drifted away from Amma to where he could see Gisila whispering to her sister, Branwyn. He guessed they were discussing Helga and her warnings from the meeting. Axl’s chest tightened as though someone had wrapped a rope around him and was pulling it into a knot. He felt nauseous, wondering if he should let Amma and Gisila go to Angard. Wondering if he could trust Helga...

Without his father, Gant, Edela, and Jael, he had no one to talk to.

No one who didn’t have a negative opinion of the dreamer.

There was no one to lean on at all, he realised, becoming overheated, fearing he might need to dash out of the hall, away from the fires burning in great pits. Fires that surely weren’t needed on such a warm evening.

Jiggling a leg, he felt his heartbeat quickening.

Then a voice in his ear.

‘Though you have yourself, Axl. My Axl. You have always been far wiser than you realised. Instinctive too. You don’t grow up around a dreamer without learning a thing or two about instincts. So trust yourself. Trust that you will find your path, for I certainly do. I believe in you...’

Closing his eyes, Axl sought to find his grandmother in the darkness, though only the echo of her voice remained. She was gone. To where he didn’t know, but he felt the loss of her like a great hole inside him, fearing he would never see her again.

* * *

Edela ate her supper beside a fidgeting Siggy, opposite a scowling Bertel, who wasn’t enamoured with the meal they’d put together. Siggy had purchased a plate of fried squid, which was tough and flavourless, Edela had found some salted peas and flatbreads, and Bertel had bought a small cask of what he’d thought was ale but had turned out to be something so fiery and strong that nobody could drink it.

He sighed, peering around the little room above the baker’s. Now that nothing moreish was cooking in the baker’s ovens and over his fires, it smelled strongly of urine.

Bertel regretted that he hadn’t sampled whatever he’d been lured into purchasing. In truth, he hadn’t understood anything the taverner had said, and obviously, the man hadn’t understood him. And now he was many coins lighter and desperately thirsty.

‘We will find our way around this maze,’ Edela promised her silent companions. ‘And we’ll certainly discover something more palatable than this!’ She heard the noise from the street and the market and the buzzing hum of her own thoughts, though she tried to focus on those seated at the table.

‘Will we stay here?’ Siggy wondered, eyes darting to Bertel, who had returned to his cup of fire water, determined not to waste it. ‘In Castala?’

‘I think for now,’ Edela murmured, and running a hand over her chin, she became quiet.

‘You don’t seem especially convinced,’ Bertel noted, pushing away his cup.

‘Oh no, I am convinced,’ Edela assured him with a smile. ‘Just a little tired. And hot. I wish there was a real window in here!’ There was a long gap between the outer wall and the ceiling, though not big enough to put more than a hand through, and their faces were slick with sweat, hair stuck to their foreheads.

Bertel studied her. ‘Well, if you’d like a walk, I’ll return this cask and exchange it for something we can actually drink. I don’t trust the look of the water from the well, and we’ll die of thirst soon enough.’

‘Well, perhaps not die,’ Edela smiled. ‘Though we can’t drink that.’

And agreeing wholeheartedly, Bertel stood, pushing back his chair and eyeing Edela. He certainly wanted to try exchanging the cask, but he also wanted a private word with the dreamer. She’d been evasive and quiet since he’d found her in the market, and he wanted to know what had really happened to her in the dust storm.

‘We won’t be long,’ Edela told Siggy. ‘But lock the door, though, just in case.’

Siggy nodded. ‘Maybe find some fruit? Something sweet would be nice.’

‘I’ll try,’ Edela promised, and with a wink, she turned to follow Bertel through the door.

* * *

Gant’s man slipped out of Borsund’s gates as they were closing for the night, and mounting his horse, he headed down the main road until he was out of sight of those men on the ramparts. Turning his horse into the trees, he soon found Gant and Rexon waiting for him.

‘What happened?’ Rexon demanded, almost pouncing on the young man, who smelled of ale.

The man shook his head. ‘Lord Arnsten’s still there, though he’s got a friend with him.’

Gant’s stomach clenched. He thought of Gisila in Andala and felt an urgent need to go home. ‘What friend?’

‘From what I could pick up, he’s an ally of Mutt Storman.’

Rexon swung around to Gant. ‘How is that possible? This far north?’

Gant didn’t know. He turned back to the young man. ‘Anything else? Anything I need to know?’

‘There were a lot of weapons, lord. Men were piling them up, counting them. It looked like they were preparing for battle.’

A stunned Gant ran a filthy hand over his mouth. He felt nauseous.

He’d called into various settlements and forts on his way to Saala, not thinking to stop at Borsund. Edd Arnsten had been loyal to Ranuf and had always shown great respect to Axl, so how had this come to pass? Had it all been an act, lulling them into a false sense of security? ‘Then we ride for Rosby, aim to find a ship there and head to Andala.’ He’d already known how Rexon would react to that, though there was little choice that he could see.

‘We can get men from Folstad, from Tornas!’ Rexon insisted, too loudly for Gant’s liking, and he motioned for him to quieten down.

Though Rexon was exhausted, spent, inclined to shout all the louder. Grief made him reckless, though he lowered his voice, still clearheaded enough to know that alerting enemies to their position put them in danger. ‘We’ve still got allies in the South.’

Gant hoped that was true, though he was beginning to doubt everything he’d seen and heard. ‘But we have to get to Andala, Rexon. As much as I want to go back to Saala now, we risk everyone if we don’t return with an army behind us. You’re only of use to Demaeya and the children if you get to safety. We have to come back here in force and quickly, but only if we get out of here now. We have to find a ship, otherwise it’s days riding back to Andala, and I fear Axl will have left for Angard before we arrive. We need to head for Rosby tonight.’

Gant had been one of Rexon’s mentors when he’d lived in Andala as a young man. He’d learned everything at his and Ranuf Furyck’s side, and though he wanted to rail against his words, he knew Gant was right. He heard the concern in his voice but also felt his steadiness. And now, despite his own frantic energy, he leaned towards him, seeking that calm direction. His heart was torn, bleeding in his chest, though Gant was right.

They had to get to Andala.

* * *

After her enjoyable time with Inesh Seppo, Dessalene was forced to attend a tedious evening with Kalina’s greedy old lords, who had arrived at the palace with their hideous wives, all of them preening and fretting, wanting reassurance that the isle wasn’t about to be devoured by Eyshar and his vengeful brother Herash, God of Death.

And after gliding about with a charming smile, offering comforting words and promises, Dessalene retreated to a corner of the dining hall, where she sought a moment’s peace before the first course was served. She remembered the welcome calm of her meeting with the seer and how attentive he had been – so interested in her thoughts. Nothing like her husband, who only sought to take, like a pig at a trough, feeding until he was unconscious.

Sipping from a silver goblet, bejewelled with flaming garnets, Dessalene watched the queen, seeing how effectively she was charming her guests – among them a bellicose Argo Kosta and his humourless daughter. The hulking commander wasn’t as ugly as she remembered, though she saw that his face had been scarred by fire, which had melted his right ear into a fleshy lump. Dessalene wondered why the man persisted with such a cropped hairstyle. Surely it made sense to grow it longer to mask the hideous sight?

Turning away, she headed for Pye, who lingered near a billowing curtain on the opposite side of the dining hall, as though thinking about slipping outside and heading for the harem.

She wouldn’t have put it past him.

‘What have you heard, my little toad? Anything worth bringing to my attention?’ Then, immediately holding up a hand, Dessalene cut him off. ‘Though do not bore me, Pye. You know how I detest being bored.’

Pye’s moist lips quivered, bulbous eyes zipping left and right. Lips parting, he leaned forward. ‘Argo Kosta killed his horse today.’

Turning around, Dessalene saw the commander eyeing Kalina with a look of hunger, though busy talking to Krissia, the queen didn’t appear to notice. She arched an eyebrow. ‘And? Have you ever known me to care about an animal? Except you, of course. My favourite one of all.’ And now she scratched Pye under his hairless chin, seeing him shudder with joy. ‘Tell me why I should care. About him?’

‘Because he is reckless! Not to be trusted. It was his own horse, Mistress. What man does that?’

Dessalene dismissed his worries about Kosta for now, wanting answers to other questions. ‘And what have you heard about Inesh Seppo, the Noor-Elect? What do you know of him?’ She flicked a hand at an annoying slave, who kept pestering her with a tray of honey-glazed door mice – a thought too hideous to imagine.

‘He is well-favoured, Mistress. Apprenticed to the old Noor. The logi speak highly of him. They follow him without question.’ Pye shrugged. ‘There’s nothing of interest there.’

Dessalene narrowed her eyes. ‘Though I cannot read the man’s thoughts.’

‘He is a seer, Mistress. I doubt he could read yours.’

Dessalene cuffed him around the ears. ‘Impertinent! Of course he couldn’t read mine. What? Do you think I just crawled out of a latrine as fresh as a new turd? No, toad, of course he couldn’t read mine, but I should have been able to read his. He is all charm, but what else? You will find out and tell me. From what you say about that brute Kosta causing trouble, the temple is the place for you to be. And, of course, the she-man Jael Furyck is there, isn’t she?’

Pye smiled.

‘What? What do you know of her?’ Now Dessalene grabbed him by his red ear, pinching it.

‘I... ow, I... Mistress!’ Pye yelped.

But ignoring his complaints and the sudden interest of Kalina and her guests, Dessalene dragged her little spy outside, only releasing him when they were alone.

‘If you think to keep secrets from me, Eppypyrus...’

The wincing man backed away from her, fearing what the use of his real name portended. ‘But there are no secrets, Mistress. None! She is just pretty. A pretty woman!’

Dessalene’s blue eyes flared in horror. ‘Pretty? You are deluded. A deluded little man! I shall have your eyes tested. I’m sure the physicians can tell if you are going blind!’ And curling her lips in disgust, she headed back inside. Though stopping by the curtains, she swung around to Pye, who had followed her. ‘No.No, thank you. You return to the temple and find some patch of earth to curl up on like the dirty rodent you are. And do not return without a useful tidbit. Otherwise...’ She drew a hand across her throat, and with a sneering grin, slipped through the curtains.

28

‘What do you see?’ Fyn asked, watching his cousin, who sat beside him with his eyes closed.

‘Ketil’s. I’m at a table. Two of the children are on my knees, the rest sitting beside me. Isaura’s opposite me, and it’s snowing. They’re laughing. Even Mads.’

Fyn smiled, closing his own eyes, trying to picture the sight of Oss’ long-seen square, covered in snow. Ketil would have his braziers flaming, meat on long metal skewers turning slowly over the fires.

He licked cracked lips.

‘Isaura’s pouring a cup of Munder Sandvik’s ale. He makes the best ale in all the islands.’

Fyn nodded in agreement.

‘She hands me a cup, and I put down my meat stick just long enough to take a sip. Then Mads steals it away, jumping down into the snow, running into Jael. Ha! She sends him back to the table with one of those looks, and I have my meat stick again.’

Fyn laughed, opening his eyes. ‘I can see the look on Jael’s face.’

‘I can see the look on Mads’!’ Thorgils opened his own eyes and sighed, seeing nothing but shadows moving around Bone Hammer in the dark. Most of the crew was sleeping or getting ready to. A few were sharing cups of ale and talking amongst themselves. Kolarov belched repeatedly as he fussed around his cabinet, creaking doors and squeaking drawers. Mattie was sound asleep on her side with Otter, and Eadmund was chatting to Bolder at the steering oar.

‘We just have to save Jael and go home,’ Fyn told him. ‘That’s all. And then we’ll see Oss again.’

‘I like how optimistic the young are,’ Thorgils grinned. ‘So optimistic! You really think it’s going to be that simple for us?’

‘I choose to believe it will. I want to go home and see Bram and...’

Leaning his head back against the gunwale, Thorgils yawned. ‘We all deserve a summer, a little reprieve before the next shit storm comes for us.’

Fyn joined Thorgils in his yawning. ‘You forget that it’s Jael. She sacrificed herself to save that slave girl, but she won’t be sitting on her hands. She’ll be working on a plan. You know her.’

‘Course she’ll be working on a plan, and hopefully, it won’t get us all killed! Or her...’

Eadmund’s attention was drawn to Thorgils and Fyn, talking loudly in the distance. Or, at least, Thorgils was.

Beside him, Bolder had gone quiet.

‘You’ve done more to help us than I could have imagined,’ Eadmund told the helmsman. ‘More than anyone could’ve asked.’

Bolder turned with a shrug. ‘Jael should have been my queen in Brekka. Everyone thought it. Axl’s a fair enough king, but Jael was destined for the throne.’

Eadmund smiled. ‘Well, luckily for me, Ranuf Furyck made other plans.’

‘You’ll be glad to go home.’

‘I will. We will. I don’t imagine we’ll leave again for a year. We can visit the islands and then... ’ Eadmund patted Bolder, feeling weary. ‘You’ll be rewarded. Enough to buy yourself another two ships. I’ll see to that.’ He yawned. ‘Think I’ll take to my bed, or whatever you call a wet fur on a wooden deck.’

Bolder’s mouth had fallen open, and he was too shocked to reply as the King of Oss bid him goodnight and headed for his friends.

* * *

Edela’s mind was on Raymon Vandaal as she took a seat outside a tavern opposite Bertel. He had negotiated to exchange his cask and now poured them each a measure of what looked and smelled a little more promising into two tiny cups.

Edela sniffed hers, sipping and smiling. ‘Ale,’ she sighed. ‘That’s better.’

Bertel, though, wrinkled his nose. ‘Bitter,’ he decided.

‘Though perfectly drinkable. And after those salty peas, I’m glad of it.’

Bertel quickly finished his cup, and placing it on the table, he took Edela’s hand.

She was so surprised that she almost snatched it away.

‘We can talk. As before. If you think it’s wiser?’

And understanding his meaning, she closed her eyes, placing her left hand on top of his.

‘My disappearance wasn’t an accident. I didn’t get lost,’ she explained into Bertel’s mind. His hand jerked, but she held on, feeling him become still again. ‘The man in the golden tunic took me to a cave where I met a woman called The Armless One.’ She felt Bertel shudder. ‘And yes, she certainly appeared to have no arms. I could barely see in the cave, and she was hidden beneath a cloth, but I...’

Bertel squeezed Edela’s hand, trying to focus her.

‘The woman is a seeress who met with Ranuf Furyck here many years ago. She warned him then that his line would die out, that the Furyck dynasty would end with his children.’ Edela felt tears coming, but she hurried on, knowing they needed to get back to Siggy. ‘And there’s more. According to The Armless One, Raymon Vandaal isn’t dead. He’s here, in Castala.’

Now Bertel jerked away from Edela entirely and she opened her eyes, staring at him. Mouth gaping, he peered at her. ‘What?’

Taking his hand, Edela encouraged him back into the silence. ‘When I was in Esby, I had the strongest sense that I was missing something. As though it was staring me in the face, though I remained entirely blind. I remember watching a ship departing the harbour. What if he was on that ship?’

Bertel immediately made to speak, but keeping his lips closed, he sought to merely think instead, hoping Edela would understand him. ‘But if Raymon Vandaal is here, who died in Ollsvik and why?’

‘The Armless One said he ran away, so I fear he planned it himself. That it was all a ruse to escape.’

‘From who?’

‘I don’t know, but we need to find him.’

‘And what? Force him to return to Iskavall? Though with Oren Storgard in charge, how would that even be possible?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘The man ran away, Edela, so why should we intervene?’

Again, Edela had no answers.

‘Besides, if this armless woman saw the end of the Furycks, shouldn’t you return to Osterland to see your grandson? Ranuf Furyck had two sons, so what if you’ve been sent after the wrong one?’

* * *

Mattie lurched out of her dream like a dragur breaking through the earth, and rising to her feet, she gulped in big mouthfuls of cold air. Turning, she saw Kolarov swaying towards her, feeling the warm comfort of Otter rubbing against her legs.

‘My king!’ Kolarov called, turning to where he’d last seen Eadmund sharpening his sword. ‘My king! The dreamer is awake!’ He swung back to Mattie, who stood before him, shaking with cold. ‘Tell me, my dear, what did you see? Something to aid us? Something of the isle?’

Mattie nodded, not entirely sure what she had seen. It had been so loud, a chaotic scene, though an organised one, she thought now.

Everything had been bright white and blue skies.

An explosion of voices, drums, horses.

A curdling scream.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus on Kolarov. ‘It was a... parade. Perhaps? Like nothing I’ve seen before. All these people in white. There were flowers, white flowers, and there was... blood.’

* * *

Linas was asleep, the black dog sent on his way with a full belly, and Helga welcomed the silence of the cottage into her mind, steadying her thoughts.

She wasn’t used to so many people or so much conversation.

Her only daughter had died birthing Linas, and for months after, grief had rendered her mute. Even now, she had little to say to the boy, though they communicated well enough in their own way, she knew, checking to see that he was covered and sleeping.

Turning back to the fire, she saw not flames but blood. She saw walls and bodies, great cries of anguish and pain. And edging closer, Helga held out her hands, chanting in a low voice, not wanting to wake Linas. And soon she saw those flames changing from red and gold to blue and green.

Moving her hands, she parted them, revealing the sight of what she feared most of all: Oren Storgard sitting on his throne, his dreamer wife by his side.

A new king in a small kingdom with fewer resources, married to an inexperienced girl who likely didn’t even know how to conjure a spell. Not as a student of Tuura...

So why did she keep coming back to this scene?

To this man. That woman.

Why did she tremble and fear for her boy and for the King of Brekka, who was little more than a boy himself.

Oren Storgard vanished, and now she saw an old lady walking with Axl Furyck. White-haired and tiny, she had an energy about her, squeezing the king’s arm, keeping him close. Her eyes twinkled, and she looked up at Axl with affection and love. Bending down, he laughed, kissing her cheek as they went on their way.

Helga dropped her hands, and the flames merged once more, returning to their warm burnished glow. Linas called out in his sleep, nothing she could understand, though pushing herself out of the chair, she padded towards him. Bending down, she lifted the fur up to his chin, smoothing down his dark hair. It would grow back, she thought with a rare smile, feeling the unevenness of her efforts.

He was a good boy. Her boy.

So she would do what was best for him. It was what her daughter would have wanted: protecting Linas, giving him a future. And if Oren Storgard was allowed to fulfill his ambitions, there would be no future for boys like Linas at all.

* * *

Mattie’s dream piqued Eadmund’s curiosity, and he quickly woke Arras, wanting him to make sense of it.

The commander approached with a now-familiar frown, and shaking his head to wake himself up, he squatted down, joining the small huddle of Eadmund, Mattie, and Kolarov. ‘A parade?’ His frown deepened, remembering the many parades he’d been forced to take part in during his time on the isle. ‘Did you recognise anything about it? Anything strange?’

Mattie looked up as Thorgils and Fyn approached, and curious about what was going on, they bent down to join the circle.

‘What’s happening?’ Thorgils wondered, gnawing a sliver of salted pork.

‘Mattie had a dream,’ Eadmund explained. ‘About the isle. There was a parade.’

Thorgils frowned. ‘Parade? What were they celebrating?’

‘I’m not sure they were celebrating. I can’t tell. They were dressed all in white.’

Arras blinked. ‘Everyone was in white?’

‘Some were in grey, I think,’ Mattie clarified.

‘The slaves, they always wear grey. But those in the parade?’

‘They were in white.’

‘White is worn for a funeral,’ Arras explained.

‘Even the flowers were white,’ Mattie added.

‘Then definitely a funeral.’

‘It can’t be Jael,’ a worried Fyn decided. ‘They wouldn’t celebrate that, would they?’

Arras agreed. ‘No, it’s not Jael. They wouldn’t celebrate her at all. Not the lords and ladies. Not the free. She’s a slave. She is nothing to them.’

‘Then who died?’ Eadmund asked. ‘Who was the funeral for?’

Mattie had no clues. Bone Hammer dipped, and she lost her balance, falling onto Arras, who grabbed her arm. And blinking, she saw a flash of something. ‘A horse. A black horse covered in blood.’

Arras tensed. ‘Did it have a star? A white star on its forehead?’ Mattie nodded, and pushing her away, he stood, struggling to catch his breath.

Eadmund soon joined him. ‘What is it? Your horse?’

Arras was almost too upset to speak. ‘There are more horses than mine who are black with white stars,’ he said, working to convince himself that it was merely a coincidence. ‘Many more, I’m sure.’

‘But why would they kill your horse?’ Thorgils wondered, rising to his own feet.

‘A sacrifice to the gods?’ Kolarov suggested.

Arras turned to him with a shiver. ‘Yes, I expect so. It would be like Kalina to sacrifice my horse, though I cannot blame her. She knew what he meant to me, I knew what he meant to me, and yet, I left him behind. I imagine she will take her revenge.’ His heart ached for Tito, his beloved horse of twelve years. He turned back to Mattie. ‘And his throat was slit?’

Mattie struggled to her feet. ‘Not that I saw. I just saw the blood, heard a terrible noise.’

‘Someone died, there was a funeral procession and a sacrifice,’ Kolarov recounted. ‘They would have made such a sacrifice where?’ he asked Arras. ‘At the temple?’

A still-stunned Arras nodded. ‘If it was a funeral, the procession would finish there, and then the sacrifices would begin.’

‘Sacrifices?’ Eadmund wondered.

Arras frowned, trying to focus. ‘Someone important has died.’

‘The queen?’ Thorgils suggested.

Mattie shook her head, drawing everyone’s attention her way. ‘I saw a dark-haired woman wearing a crown. She rode in a gilded carriage, flanked by many slaves.’

‘That sounds like the queen,’ Arras said.

‘So if it’s not her and it’s not Jael, who is it?’ Eadmund asked, fearing in his heart that it was Jael. He had no sense of her, and Mattie hadn’t seen a glimpse of her since they’d left the isle behind, so despite everyone’s assurances, his heart throbbed with dread.

‘I saw that man throwing himself off the temple, remember?’ Mattie exclaimed, clutching Arras. ‘He transformed into an eagle and flew away. He wore a white robe, and it was covered in blood!’

Arras blinked at her. ‘This man, what did he look like?’

Mattie sucked in a breath, trying to remember. She wrinkled her nose, dropping her arm back to her side. ‘He had the look of leather. Old and hairless. I remember that he looked oddly hairless.’

Arras’ mouth dropped open. ‘That is Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree.’

‘Which would explain such an occasion,’ Kolarov decided, taking Fyn’s offer of a hand to pull him back to his feet. ‘But why are you seeing such a thing?’ he wondered, eyeing Mattie.

Who shrugged. ‘I don’t know, but I’ll keep searching for answers,’ she promised. ‘Hopefully, there’ll be more to see and an understanding of why it all matters.’

* * *

Gisila couldn’t sleep. Whether it was Helga’s snarling words or Gant’s messages, she felt disturbed. Not the sort of disturbance a slovenly servant or a lost necklace would evoke, but a gnawing fear that grew with each passing day. She had longed for a dreamer to provide insight and assurance, though Helga’s arrival had peeled open the doors to a nightmare she had been fearing for some time.

She had been excited to go to Angard, looking forward to such an occasion, but now? Nibbling a hanging fingernail, she headed away from her bedchamber, deciding to find a little mulled wine, hoping it would soothe her back to sleep. But in the hall, she found Axl sitting at the table, staring at his hands as though seeking some invisible answers.

He looked up in surprise, motioning for her to join him. ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘Without Gant, it’s never easy,’ Gisila admitted. ‘I always feel more at ease when he’s around. As though I can relax and let him worry about everything.’ She chuckled, certain that wasn’t true, though his presence had always given her comfort. ‘I just wish he was here. That I could see him before we leave.’

‘He won’t be far away,’ Axl promised. ‘And he won’t know what to do without you. It will be so quiet here.’

Gisila stared at him blankly before shaking her head. ‘Your father used to say that to me before I went away. He’d tell me how much he intended to eat while I was gone. How much he would drink without me sitting beside him, tapping his hand and whispering in his ear.’ Now she laughed. ‘And when I returned, he would say how terrible it had been without me. How he’d lost his appetite entirely, waiting for my return.’

Axl smiled. ‘He did love you. I know he did.’

‘Well, yes, he did, for a time. And for a time, I loved him. Though fate intervened and tore us apart. Fate and grief. There was so much grief and loss. And Tuura. Not to mention Ravenna Vandaal, of course.’ Gisila shook her head, turning to her son. ‘Marriage is like a seed. You must plant it in fertile soil, water it, nurture it, care for it. Though if the gods see fit to send too much rain or sun or snow, it will not thrive, and in some instances, it will stop blooming and simply die. So you must care for your marriage, for your wife, through these hardships, Axl. Your father and I grew apart as I struggled. I certainly pushed him away, which didn’t help. Losing my babies made me feel less of a woman and less of a wife. Certainly less of a queen. And once pushed away, your father did not return to me. We stayed at a distance, watching it fall apart without ever truly being aware of it until it was too late, and we had simply become strangers.’ Taking Axl’s hand, Gisila squeezed it. ‘Cherish what you have, my son. Never take your life or your wife for granted.’

‘I won’t, Mother, I promise. And I hope you can enjoy yourself in Angard. Please leave your worries here. They’ll be waiting for you when you return. As will I.’

Gisila nodded. ‘You must take care and listen to that dreamer.’

Axl sat up in surprise.

‘Well, I am choosing to trust her. I don’t see another option, do you?’

‘No.’

‘So listen to her, though never stop thinking for yourself. You have many enemies, Axl, and you can be sure they all want you dead.’ Bolts of fear shot through Gisila’s body, though her face revealed nothing. ‘Never forget you’re a Furyck, and Andala is where you belong. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise.’

* * *

That evening, Jael sat down with a smile.

She had rarely noticed whether she was sitting or standing before. Tending to always be in a hurry, mind overflowing with things to do, the discomfort of the present had rarely affected her. Until she’d been forced to stand or squat in the full glare of the sun for twenty hours a day. Until her joints burned and her legs trembled with the need to rest. Until her back throbbed and her wounds pulsed like flames.

Her shoulders, twisted into painful knots, started unwinding as she swallowed a few spoonfuls of the evening broth, which tasted fishy and foul but was so welcome after a day spent in the burning sun. The liquid soothed her parched throat and almost made her want to speak again.

Opposite her, a quiet and still Alek coughed.

Looking up, Jael blinked at him.

He chuckled. ‘Just clearing my throat. You carry on. You look hungry.’

‘I think this might be the best meal I’ve ever eaten,’ she lied with a wink, shifting her attention to Rigg, who sat opposite her, finishing his bowl of broth, and back to Alek again. ‘Not hungry?’

Rigg looked up and around to Alek, then down at his friend’s bowl, which was indeed still full. ‘You need to eat.’

Alek nodded, brushing off their worries. ‘Sometimes I get so tired I lose my appetite and the thought of eating? You’re welcome to it,’ he said, nudging the bowl towards Rigg, who pushed it right back.

‘It tastes like shit, but I’d happily eat shit to stay alive in this place. You know what happens to those who stop eating, Alek.’

‘I haven’t stopped eating. It’s one bowl. I just want to get to bed. These longer days are trying. I... need some sleep more than I need that broth.’

Jael peered at Alek, thinking that his big eyes looked sunken, his cheekbones more pronounced. ‘Though you need both to keep going. If you skimp on either, you’ll end up paying a price. A few spoonfuls would be useful for tomorrow.’ Leaning forward, she lowered her voice. ‘We need you.’

And finding himself penned in by his fussing companions, Alek picked up his spoon and dipped it into the now-congealed bowl of broth, hoping to shut them both up.

Watching him, Jael’s shoulders dropped, all humour gone from her eyes. Tension throbbed in her chest and at her temples like a heartbeat.

She barely knew these men, who slumped over tables, desperate to head to bed. They were broken men, unhappy men, exhausted and abused men.

But were they fighting men?

Would they fight for her, for their freedom?

In seven days, Jael knew she’d find out.

29

Before leaving Hest’s capital, Eadmund had agreed to meet up with the Hestians in the small town of Solt to go over their plans one last time.

The Hestians arrived slowly, led by Ulf in a magnificent ship called Beloved. It was a strange name for a ship, Eadmund thought. Most warships were named to intimidate, but this ship was named as if in honour of someone. And it wasn’t hard to guess who.

He clapped a cheerful-looking Ulf on the back. ‘Good trip?’

Ulf nodded. ‘She sails like a seal, slipping over the waves. It was a delightful way to spend a few days.’

A yawning Thorgils lifted his arms up, out of his cloak, as though trying to touch the clouds. They hung above the beach in an almost straight row, light grey and feathery, blocking the sun. ‘I don’t imagine you get set free much these days, what with Bayla keeping you close.’

Ulf laughed. ‘Bayla’s the last woman to want me close, I assure you. I keep my own counsel about that.’ And saying nothing more, he turned his attention to the small town bordered by wicker fences on a lean, as though permanently buffeted by a strong wind. He’d often thought that Solt needed better defenses but had never pushed Karsten hard enough to do something about it. With the King of Silura being such a close ally, their coastal defenses hadn’t been front of mind. Though now, with trouble brewing in the Fire Lands and beyond, it was time to push harder to make some sensible changes.

‘What’s on offer here?’ Thorgils wondered, striding across the beach with purpose. His belly rumbled loudly, for breakfast had been a meagre affair of cheese and nuts, and he was ready for something more substantial.

‘What you’d expect,’ Ulf grinned. ‘Just on a smaller scale. Though we’re not here for the food,’ he warned, promptly ignored by Thorgils Svanter, who quickly moved past him.

Eadmund shook his head, realising that everyone was of the same mind, as crews from every ship soon flooded the beach, heading after Thorgils. ‘We’re not staying long!’ he warned, seeing Thorgils waving a hand and otherwise ignoring him. Soon he was joined by Fyn and Kolarov, both men eager to experience whatever Solt had to offer.

Arras walked further back with Mattie, who carried Otter in her arms, wanting to learn more about what the dreamer had seen. ‘I wish you could see something of Jael,’ he said, keeping his voice low. Eadmund was walking ahead with Ulf, and he didn’t want the king hearing him. ‘I know she’ll likely have those fetters back on again, but still...’

Mattie stopped him, dropping Otter to the ground. ‘Perhaps I have, though maybe it’s not something I want to talk about?’

‘Why? What did you see?’

Mattie couldn’t tell Eadmund or Fyn. She certainly didn’t want to tell Kolarov, who tended to blabber whatever he heard. And realising that she needed to tell someone, she drew closer to Arras. ‘I did see a glimpse of Jael. She was covered in blood, and these men, they... threw her into a hole.’

Arras stiffened. ‘A hole?’

‘There were many holes, I think,’ Mattie murmured. ‘Pits and troughs and mounds. It was a vast area. A field of dirt and dust. I... perhaps it was a burial ground?’

Arras sighed heavily. ‘Of sorts,’ he said. ‘Yes, if you get thrown into the pits, you are left to die. There are tiny holes dug into the earth, with lids on top, and once the lid is locked, there’s little air, and in the heat... it doesn’t take long.’

A horrified Mattie clamped a hand over her mouth. She glanced up the beach at Eadmund, who had turned to encourage everyone to hurry.

‘And that was your only sight of her?’

The dreamer nodded. ‘So we might be going back to S’ala Nis for nothing. Jael might be... dead.’ She peered at Arras, then back at Eadmund. ‘What are we going to do? How am I going to tell the king?’

* * *

Axl held Amma close, feeling the swell of her belly against his own. He smiled, imagining their child growing inside his wife – a strong, healthy child. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the summery smell of her hair. She had bathed the day before and now smelled like a flowering meadow.

Pulling back, he kissed her. ‘You look perfect,’ he breathed. ‘A perfect queen. My queen.’

Amma gulped, feeling a nervous wreck. Remembering the dreamer’s stark words, she feared she would never see Axl again.

The dreamer had joined the well-wishers lining the piers as those leaving for Angard hurried to ready themselves, under orders from impatient helmsmen and barracked by Gisila, who was ready to depart.

She had said her goodbyes to her son and now stood on board Death Weaver, hands on hips, wishing Amma would hurry along. Spinning around, she realised that Getta had disappeared. And with an annoyed sigh, she headed towards her sister, hoping she knew where she was.

‘Stay safe,’ Amma pleaded. ‘Axl, you must stay safe here.’

He smiled, stroking her hair. ‘Brekka has always been the strongest kingdom in Osterland. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t. Besides, I have Helga looking for problems. And I’ll have Erling and Ragnar here, helping me. We’ll all be here, waiting for your return.’ He took her hand, leading her towards Death Weaver.

Amma glanced over her shoulder, seeing Getta hurrying towards her, followed by a loping Hal Harbak. She cringed, hoping he would choose to sail on the other ship, where he could keep the upset horses company. She knew Axl wanted Hal to go along to keep them safe, though she would have preferred anyone else. Even Erling. Though his sister was still unwell, so his parents had tasked him with staying behind to care for her. Which was strange, she thought, wondering why Kamilla Venberg hadn’t wanted to stay herself. Though seeing her fussing with her hair in Death Weaver’s stern, she knew the ambitious woman wouldn’t want to miss out on such an important event, no doubt hoping to return with a bride for her bachelor son.

‘There you are!’ Gisila called, relieved to see Getta. ‘We must leave. We really must, Axl!’ And glaring imploringly at her son, she watched as he planted a final kiss on his wife’s lips before hoisting her into the ship. ‘I have a chest organised for you, my dear. Over here, yes, move please... come along, Amma. Over here!’

Axl held up a hand as his wife turned away, then feeling a clap on his back, he turned around to Hal. ‘Look after Amma,’ he said. ‘My mother too. I don’t like that I won’t be there, keeping them safe.’

‘In Angard?’ Hal was half-asleep, hungover, and not looking forward to a long journey to Angard with Gisila bossing him about, though he sought to reassure his fretting king. ‘We’ll be safe, Axl, surrounded by allies. It’s Andala you need to worry about, for you’re sending your best warrior away.’

‘What? Who?’

‘Me!’ Hal grinned. ‘Though I suppose you’ll have Erling for company and, of course, your old friend Helga. She’s sure to keep you warm at night!’

Axl laughed, pushing Hal towards Death Weaver. ‘If you don’t hurry, Gisila will have you in the sea!’ he warned, turning to an out-of-breath Getta, who stopped beside him. ‘Do you have everything?’

Getta had dashed back to the hall for Amma’s sick bowl, doubting her sister, the queen, would want to hang over the gunwales like everyone else.

She frowned. ‘Hopefully, though I’m not armed with any confidence.’

Peering at her miserable face, Axl was concerned. ‘Confidence?’

‘About any of it,’ Getta hissed. ‘Going there, leaving you here. Eren Venberg.’

Axl blinked, bending down to her. ‘What?’

‘Well, she’s staying behind, isn’t she? And without Amma here to distract you –’

‘It is over. It is. I had no part in her staying.’

Getta eyed him doubtfully, deciding it was pointless to pursue the matter any further. Axl was a grown man, a king, and she couldn’t make him bend to her will or choose right over wrong. Though hurting her sister was very wrong indeed. ‘I will keep Amma safe,’ she said instead.

Axl nodded. ‘Your sister means everything to me, Getta. I know you don’t believe me, but she does. I’ve made mistakes, I just hope...’

Though not wanting to hear any more, Getta turned away, knowing that she’d made her own but fearing that her brother-in-law was about to make some more.

In fact, she was certain of it.

* * *

The rain hadn’t stopped for two long days, and a tired and sodden Gant began to fear it never would. Their journey from Borsund to Rosby, along Brekka’s eastern cliffs, had gone slowly because that rain had caused flooding and slips, and the path, far too close to the sheer cliffs for Gant’s liking, had kept them cautious. Even Rexon, who had been mute for much of the journey north, had tempered his horse’s desire to move faster, eager to get out of the rain. Though there had been no escaping it until those first hints of smoke reached their dripping noses.

Smoke and the smell of fish.

Soon they saw a glimpse of Rosby’s ramparts, newly constructed and rising out of the steaming gloom. The sun had risen somewhere, though it was impossible to tell, for the sky remained a heavy grey blanket, slashed with rain.

Gant held Rexon back. ‘I’ll send Saki in.’

A morose Rexon didn’t argue, hoping upon hope that Mutt Storman hadn’t infiltrated their allies this far north. Turning around, he ran his eyes over Gant’s bedraggled men and miserable horses. They all needed food, water, ale, and, most of all, somewhere dry. He nodded. ‘I’ll move everyone back into the trees.’

Gant was pleased to see a hint of the leader return, and he smiled, then with a sigh, he called to Saki, ordering him to approach the fort like a man, not a warrior. They stripped him of his shield, leaving him with a plain cloak and a swordbelt carrying only knives. His grey gelding was a fine horse, though he was a Brekkan, so there was nothing unusual about that. And content with how he looked, Gant sent Saki on his way before turning back to wait with Rexon and his men. As impatient as they were, it wouldn’t do for Saki to head in and out with speed.

He wished they could make a fire, but that risked drawing attention.

At least he could stand, so slipping out of the wet saddle, he patted Gus, giving his head an affectionate rub, smiling as his loyal horse bumped his head against his chest, wanting more. ‘We wait,’ he told his men. ‘Give the horses a break. Stretch!’

They were getting closer to Andala, and if they could help themselves to one of Rosby’s ships, they’d be in Brekka’s capital in a day.

He missed Gisila. The feel of her body as she stroked his face, tidying up his beard. And his eyebrows. He smiled, turning to see Rexon standing by himself, staring into the trees like a man who’d lost every reason to live.

Blowing out a tense breath, Gant didn’t want to think it was truly possible. That Rexon’s wife and their three children were all dead? Burned in that fire?

And if they weren’t?

Whatever the case, it was time to deal with the trouble in the South once and for all.

Saki eventually returned, giving everyone a lift.

‘It’s safe!’ he called, spurring his horse forward. ‘There’s no trouble! We can go –’ An arrow took him in the head and knocked out of the saddle, he hung from his horse, one boot wedged into a stirrup.

The spooked horse took off as though shot himself, plunging into the forest, leaving everyone scrambling to mount their own horses.

* * *

Helga, Linas, and Gully joined Axl as the two ships left the harbour.

‘You have much to do,’ the dreamer bluntly told the king as Gully charged off after a cat, Linas following close behind.

Axl barely heard her, his attention still focused on the disappearing ships, suddenly regretting sending Amma away. Perhaps it was safer to stay here? To stay together?

Getting no response, Helga grunted. ‘You must turn to what is happening here. Your fortress is not safe!’

Now Axl blinked, finally drawing his eyes towards the dreamer. ‘How so?’

‘You have enemies within. Just as you have spies in Ollsvik, Oren Storgard has spies here, so you must weed them out if you are to shield yourself from that man. As well as symbols. They will help.’

‘We have symbols,’ Axl told her, glancing over his shoulder for one more look at the ships before turning to follow Helga towards the harbour gates. ‘They’ve kept us safe.’

She laughed out loud. ‘But what real danger have you faced these past few years? No, you need to use my symbols. I’ve kept myself hidden in the forest for years, and not by chance, I –’ She froze, feeling a pain in her chest, lungs burning as though she’d been running.

‘Is something wrong? Helga?’

She stared at him, breathless, unable to put her thoughts into words. ‘Show me what you have, and I will... make a plan.’ Images flooded her mind, surging towards her like rain on the wind, but she couldn’t make sense of them. Something was happening, something important, though until she knew what, she couldn’t say anything.

She wouldn’t.

Feeling the king’s concerned eyes on her, Helga bent her head and bustled away.

* * *

Saki was gone, his dead body likely still dragged behind his horse, though there was no chance of helping him now.

Gant, Rexon, and their men were under attack.

Arrows took out two more men in quick succession as Gant ordered everyone into the trees. He knew the area around Rosby well and immediately took the lead on Gus, urging his men to follow.

Shouts of pain and surprise rose over the hammering rain, disorienting them all.

It was hard to sense where the attack was coming from, as first, men on Gant’s left flank were struck, and then those on his right. The rain came down heavily, streaming through gaps in the forest canopy, and he turned Gus in a circle, trying to see a way out. He saw Rexon’s horse stabbed with an arrow, and then Rexon himself, struck in the arm. ‘Move!’ Gant bellowed. ‘We have to move!’ And finally choosing his path, he ducked his head, spurring Gus deep into the trees.

He had to protect his men, Rexon, and his horse, too, but more than anything, Gant knew he had to get back to Andala and warn Axl of the danger heading his way.

* * *

‘We’ll arrive at S’ala Nis in four to five days. Likely five,’ Arras told the helmsmen gathered around the long trestle table set up in Solt’s underwhelming square. Crowds of curious onlookers gathered around the strangers, wanting to know what they were discussing. Fyn and Nico had been tasked with keeping them far enough away so that no information reached their ears. Both men clasped cups of ale, and in the warm sunshine, they seemed content with the task.

Arras moved a finger to where he’d marked S’ala Nis on the map. He’d drawn the map on a hide before they left Hest, where the general outline of their plan had been formulated, but now he needed to focus Bolder, Ulf, and Eadmund on the intricate nature of what would be required. ‘Last time you headed for The Maiden’s Reach...’ Mattie was included in the huddle as well, and Arras immediately became distracted, remembering what she’d seen of Jael and her fears that the queen was dead.

He was acting as though she was alive, talking to her husband about how he should rescue his wife – the woman who had saved him.

Though shouldn’t he say something?

Shouldn’t he give Eadmund some warning?

‘This time, we’ll be aiming here, at the harbour, where we’ll be met by a strong response. Ulf, you’ll need to lead the way with your catapult ships.’ Turning his body so he could no longer see Mattie, Arras tried to focus, wanting to see S’ala Nis’ harbour in his mind. Not the pits. Not the pits the dreamer had seen Jael thrown into, doomed to die an agonising death.

Blinking, he sought to focus.

‘So there’s only one harbour? One place to moor ships?’ Thorgils mumbled between bites of a moreish almond cake. He chewed with his mouth open, eyes on Arras.

‘Only one, to ensure we know who comes in and out. We could drop anchor and swim, though that makes little sense. Wet men wielding slippery weapons puts us at a disadvantage. Once Ulf’s ships take out the ballistas, we can move into the harbour at speed.’

‘Sails?’ Bolder wondered.

‘Yes. All the way in,’ Arras advised. ‘There are five piers and three entrances into the isle from the harbour. Straight down the main road, the tunnels to the south or the tunnels to the north.’

‘And where will Jael be?’ Eadmund asked, growing tense, seeing how many pieces crowded the gaming board now. He looked from Arras to Mattie, both of whom appeared to freeze. ‘Any clues? Any idea where we’ll find her? That’s where I want to head. Aim me at my wife.’ He looked back to the map before fixing his attention on a tight-lipped Mattie. ‘Have you seen any sign of her?’

Mattie looked past Eadmund to Arras, who dropped his eyes to the map.

Seeing the look on the dreamer’s face, Eadmund shivered. ‘You’ve seen something, haven’t you? Something bad?’

Thorgils gulped down the last of his cake. ‘Tell us, Mattie. What have you seen?’

And backed into a corner, Mattie couldn’t lie. ‘I saw Jael, yes. A glimpse of her. She was covered in blood, as though she’d been attacked.’

Eadmund lunged at her, eyes flaming. ‘But you didn’t say?’ He furiously scratched his newly shorn hair. ‘Why not?’ And now he swung around to Arras, who didn’t appear to be blinking. ‘But you know? You told him, didn’t you? Why?’ He turned back to Mattie. ‘What did you really see?’

‘She saw Jael being thrown into a pit,’ Arras said, not wanting everything to fall on Mattie. ‘She didn’t want to worry you. She didn’t quite understand what it meant. We spoke only now, on the beach.’

‘A pit?’ Eadmund’s throat had immediately dried up; he could barely swallow. ‘What pit?’

‘I can’t say,’ Arras tried to explain.

‘I think you can!’ Eadmund bellowed. ‘Tell me!’

‘The pits are prison holes.’

Thorgils frowned. ‘But I thought they wanted to keep Jael alive? That she wasn’t allowed to die?’

Arras nodded. ‘Which is why I was hesitant to say anything. It doesn’t make sense unless –’

‘Unless?’ Eadmund snapped. ‘What?’

‘Unless the queen lost her mind.’

Silence swept over the table like a heavy snow cloud as they all let that sink in.

The oinking sounds of an escaping piglet echoed around the square, though no one looked away.

‘And you think she might have?’ Eadmund asked in a small voice. ‘Lost her mind?’

Arras shrugged. ‘It’s always possible. Kalina is prone to fits of anger. Tantrums. She likes getting her own way. She was thrown from a horse as a young woman and immediately had it killed. I... I wouldn’t put it past her.’ It hadn’t been what he’d intended to say, planning to veer closer to a path of hope. Though it was the truth, and in the end, he felt he owed Eadmund his honesty.

Eadmund felt as though he was being swept away from all he’d clung to, as though the current was too strong and he would soon lose his grip.

On hope.

On the prospect of ever seeing his wife again.

‘We don’t know that it’s real,’ Mattie put in. ‘What I saw. I may have seen it wrong, or it was another time, or –’

‘Whether Jael’s alive or not, we carry on,’ Thorgils said, speaking on behalf of Eadmund, who he could tell was struggling to speak at all. ‘To the isle. It’s what Jael would want us to do. To liberate those slaves. Though knowing her, she’s already busy doing it herself.’ He felt odd, struggling to keep his spirits up, though he needed to. For all of them. ‘We carry on!’

Eadmund didn’t even nod in reply.

Since Jael had been taken, since they’d left S’ala Nis without her and escaped the wolf ships and the fire walls, he’d wondered if the gods were with them. Did they want to help Jael or hurt her? Furia was her protector, but had she turned against her? Or were other gods now seeking to bring her down?

It wasn’t a helpful line of thinking, though Eadmund feared that no matter what he thought or did, he was doomed never to see her again.

30

Having told the king where she intended to apply new symbols to the gates and around Andala’s walls, and leaving him with a flea in his ear about the spies in his fort, Helga went looking for Linas.

The boy was used to Tuura’s forest, which he’d known since he could crawl, though he didn’t know a busy fort or its self-interested people. He was curious and quick but with the mind of a dog hankering after a treat; he would not stop and ask questions. She almost smiled, thinking about the dog, who was now Linas’ dog. She could see that well enough.

A pale-faced woman rushed around the corner before her, hand over her mouth, eyes sweeping the alley, and seeing no alternative, she turned to a small midden pit and threw up.

Helga stopped, and frowning, she waited for the woman to finish.

Wiping her mouth as she turned around, Eren Venberg gasped, seeing the stout woman staring at her. ‘Who are you?’

The rear of a row of workshops cast long shadows over the alley, a strong smell of urine fouling the air. Helga guessed they were near the tanner’s, which might have explained why the woman had become nauseous.

But not quite.

‘It is unfortunate, I think, or perhaps desirable. To you, at least.’

Eren shivered, holding her ground, fearing that this was the dreamer Erling had told her about, and then quickly sure of it. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Your child. It is one way to keep a man, of course, but just as easily a reason to push him far away. Unless you plan to use it as leverage? To bring him back to you, to keep your silence in return for his love?’

Eren turned to vomit again, though she wasn’t sure if it was from nausea or fear.

Now Helga approached, not wishing to spread gossip. ‘The king doesn’t love you. A child will not change that. No matter what you say or do, you cannot steal a heart. It is given.’ And with that, she turned to leave, though frowning, she turned back to Eren Venberg. ‘There is something about you that concerns me. Not just the child in your belly but your intentions. I am old, and my vision is failing, though I will never be blind while there is breath in my lungs. Wherever you go, whatever you do, know that I will be watching.’ And with a grunt, Helga stomped off, feeling the woman’s eyes following her every step.

* * *

They had talked awhile longer, refreshed their stores of ale and water, filled chests and baskets with food, then headed back to sea.

The wind had dropped considerably, making Bolder tense, though seeing Eadmund traipsing up and down Bone Hammer’s deck with hunched shoulders, worries etched into his face, he held back his own.

Having heard what Arras and Mattie had revealed to the king, Kolarov joined him, hoping to put his mind at ease. ‘I have seen these pits,’ he said. ‘My lord was shown them. The Lord of Bhat. From Agerra, south of Zagora. I was employed by the man for nearly a year. He was educated. A wealthy, ambitious lord. He sought to create the same sort of private kingdom the King of S’ala Nis had built. He wanted to understand everything, so he found his way to an invitation to the isle, and I was taken along.’

Eadmund stopped, wondering where this was leading. Suppressing a sigh, he looked down at the man, tension pulsing in his jaw.

‘We were shown to the pits. A horrible place, teeming with flies. Oh, the filth!’ Kolarov worked to hold himself back, trying to refocus. ‘Our guide explained that those doomed to die were dropped into the holes and locked in. It was a feeding ground for Venusta, Goddess of Souls, though I imagine the God of Death also made use of the place.’ Though seeing that only made Eadmund more concerned, Kolarov hurried on, eyes averted. ‘The guide also said that the pits were used as a deterrent and that, sometimes, all that was needed was a few hours. It would give a troublesome slave a good scare, and then they’d be hauled out and cause no further problems.’

Eadmund’s face suddenly relaxed. ‘So the queen may just have sought to threaten Jael? To punish her?’

‘Yes. Exactly! She would wish to please her father, surely? To be his heir and then go against his wishes? For surely they are his wishes?’

‘So there’s a chance...’

‘I think there’s more than a chance. I cannot believe that woman would die in a hole. She is far too special for that. Jael Furyck?’ Tears welled in Kolarov’s eyes. ‘I have not seen her in many a year. Not since her father’s untimely death. Though my memories of her are still vivid and full of life, like she is. I saw her fighting often, and never once was she defeated. No, I tell you, dear king, your wife lives still. I feel it.’

Eadmund stared at him, tears in his own eyes, and placing his hands on Kolarov’s shoulders, he nodded. ‘So do I, my friend. So do I.’

* * *

That night, there was a disturbance in the slaves’ sleeping quarters.

Someone had been found dead.

But as everyone scurried around, trying to find out what had happened, Jael lay on her side, listening, confident that the man had simply died of natural causes.

Well, not natural, she realised.

The pressure the slaves’ bodies were being put under, the strain of such long working hours and brutal conditions wasn’t natural at all.

She imagined Kalina Sardis sleeping in her bed. Closing her eyes, she saw a high bed requiring steps to climb into it. It was draped in silk sheets and finely woven blankets, crowned by a ring of enormous feather-stuffed pillows, encased in fine muslin curtains. And...

Jael blinked, wondering if she was imagining things or was she really seeing the queen’s bedchamber? A tingle at the back of her neck had her wondering. Since Sunni’s death, she’d struggled to see much. She certainly wanted to, though something was holding her back.

Rigg squatted down before her. ‘Looks like Esten just died. No sign of any wounds or weapons. Poor sod. We arrived here together, I remember. Thought he’d been looking a bit off-colour.’

A frowning Jael didn’t know why he was suddenly talking to her.

‘This place will kill us all.’

Jael didn’t answer, sensing something else was coming.

‘Alek says the only way to succeed...’ Now Rigg dropped lower, leaning his head until it was shadowing Jael’s face. ‘Is to have one leader, which should be me, of course, though he wants it to be you. He thinks your coming here is some sort of sign from the gods, and he doesn’t want to displease them.’ He saw glimpses of Jael’s face. She looked in pain, he thought, seeing her lying on her side with her face scrunched up.

He wondered how she was even going to lift an arm to help them rise up.

But shaking his head, he carried on. ‘So, it’s you. I... it’s you.’

Jael was almost too tired to answer, though she cleared her throat. ‘Good. So we can’t go in different directions anymore. Only mine.’

‘Because you’re a dreamer?’

Jael made a noise that sounded almost like a laugh. ‘No, because I’m a leader. It’s what I do. I will lead us out of here.’

* * *

The eagle soared above S’ala Nis.

From this height, the isle was tiny, the sea encircling its rocky cliffs like shimmering blue glass.

Silence.

The bird’s brown wings extended like great sails on either side of its body. Feathers fluttering ever so gently, it angled its head, diving now, aiming for S’ala Nis’ temple.

Dessalene watched.

Lying in her bed, lost in a dream, she watched that magnificent bird with an open mouth.

Eagles were heroic creatures, sacred to Artis, God of War.

She refocused on the bird, seeing it swooping towards the Dragon Blood Tree. And skimming its furry green top, it rose again, wings flapping, lifting higher.

Dessalene felt cold air on her cheeks, fingers twitching.

The eagle’s wings now spread out in perfectly straight lines as it raced over the city. She recognised the harbour, the palace, and the main road leading to the temple grounds. She saw crowds of people fixed in place, and she realised it was the funeral procession.

Kalina was there. Argo Kosta and his ugly daughter.

She saw herself.

And a body wrapped in a white funeral shroud, resting on a bier, carried by eight red-robed logi.

She suddenly noticed that the eagle had something in one of its talons.

A rat.

And as Dessalene looked on, the bird released its sharp claws, dropping the rat down onto the procession before lifting its head and flying away.

* * *

The men who’d attacked them at Rosby had followed them into the forest, taking down three more riders before Gant and his men had finally managed to leave them behind.

It was dark, still wet, and the horses were tired.

No one could see through the rain.

No one knew where they were.

But finding a clearing near a stream, Gant ordered everyone off the horses, wanting to sleep but knowing they had to stay alert.

‘We’ve gone back on ourselves,’ one of his men muttered. ‘I feel like we’ve turned around.’

Gant barely heard him over the thundering rain, though he feared it himself.

He’d lost six men. Six horses.

And he was no closer to getting back to Andala.

Walking Gus to the stream, he dropped his head to the side, trying to relieve a spasm in his neck.

‘You think we lost them?’ Rexon wondered, conscious of the arrow in his arm. He’d snapped the end off, though he needed someone to cut it out. ‘I don’t feel we have.’

‘No, I don’t think we lost them. To follow us for hours in this weather? They’re not looking for coins.’

‘They want to stop us reaching Andala,’ Rexon decided, leaving his injured mare beside Gus and turning with a sigh. He brought his wet hands up to his wet face, sweeping away the rain. Though it soon returned in force, and he blinked at his friend with dripping eyelashes, trying to find some hope in the darkness.

‘It’s hard to know what to do because we didn’t see much of them. I’d be tempted to split us in two, send half to lead them on a wild goose chase and the rest to Andala. Though what if there’s an army?’

Rexon thought about that, and stepping closer to Gant, he lowered his voice. ‘If we don’t tell Axl what’s happening, there’s no chance. There’s no guarantee those messengers got through, and if there is an army...’ His meaning conveyed, Rexon stepped back, running a hand over his horse’s rump. He’d cut out the first arrow that had hit her in Saala, but she’d been struck again at Rosby, and now he snapped that in half, knowing there was nothing he could do till morning. She whinnied in discomfort and stepped away, dropping her head to the stream.

Gant made his decision. ‘We’ll rest for a while and give the horses a break. I’ll take first watch, then we’ll separate. You lead the men to Andala. I’ll take the rest deeper into the woods and hopefully distract anyone still following us.’

Rexon was surprised. ‘Hallow Wood?’

A weary Gant grinned. ‘There’s nothing to fear in there now except more rain and whoever’s got a mind to stop us. Hopefully, they won’t feel so inclined to enter the woods.’

‘You’re sure you don’t want to go to Andala?’

Gant shook his head, peeling away his cloak from his tunic, hoping to find something to eat in his pouch. ‘If it all goes wrong, you need to get back to Saala and those children. I may love my wife, but your children need their father.’

Rexon held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

‘I’ll tell the men.’

* * *

In Jael’s dream, she was in Andala.

Everything looked so achingly familiar.

She saw the King’s Hall, wishing she was a girl, running inside to see her father, though she walked alone in an eerie silence. There was no one in the square, no one coming and going through the open hall doors. The workshops were quiet. She heard no hammering sounds. No clanging. No chatter.

Just an oddly heavy silence.

Moving slowly, Jael sensed everything becoming darker. She peered over her shoulder, feeling a presence, though seeing nothing; nothing but moonlight now, streaked across the ground.

Turning back, she heard a creak.

A crack.

Lengthening her stride, she was soon heading past the hall.

And then she was running, heart pounding.

It wasn’t a crack or a creak but a great shattering of wood, as Andala’s main gates broke open and a flurry of men swept inside, weapons glinting in moonlight, teeth bared. They were screaming, charging at her.

She had no weapon, nothing to hand, and she was knocked to the ground, trampled underfoot, bones snapping, chest crushed.

Waking with a shout, Jael saw that Quint was already in the sleeping hall, rousing the slaves with a kick and a shove, urging everyone to hurry. Soon he put his shell to his lips and blew loudly.

She didn’t even look his way.

In the heat of the stuffy hall, she felt chilled to the bone.

‘Jael?’ Alek had crept over to see if she was alright. He moved to put a hand on her shoulder, though quickly thought better of it.

She turned to him, hearing his familiar voice, seeing his kind face. Her heart was still racing, body trembling. ‘I...’ She nodded slowly. ‘Fine. I’m fine.’

He turned away to answer a question, though Jael didn’t move.

She was still there, watching those warriors charging through Andala’s gates.

* * *

A tired Dessalene sat like a statue at breakfast.

Pye hovered nearby, slipping in and out of the dining hall curtains as he was wont to do. Beside her, Kalina picked at a plate of figs and olives. She heard the delicate patter of slippers across marble as slaves moved around the table in silence. From the open doors came a steady hum of industry, the squawking, chirping, singing sounds of birds in the courtyard and the plentiful gardens beyond.

Yet Dessalene’s mind remained in her dream. She had returned to it many times over the past two days. The eagle had dropped a rat; it seemed clear enough. Though what did the rat signify? Or who?

She hadn’t had a dream since, nothing to further inform her thinking, and it left her disturbed and unsettled.

Who was the rat?

Glancing at Kalina, she wished the woman would lift herself out of her puddle of self-pity. She was an embarrassment, carrying on like a broken-hearted girl when her indulgent father had made her a powerful queen. How could she rule her people when she appeared incapable of commanding herself?

Blinking, Dessalene moved her head, watching the silent slaves, noting their subtle glances at the queen and their shared looks of concern.

Foundations didn’t crumble overnight.

The weakening of great dynasties happened out of sight for months, even years before the first wall fell. A great catastrophe was the result of many small instances, each one adding to create a destructive sum of its parts.

Leaning forward, Dessalene raised her goblet. ‘A toast!’ she announced loudly. ‘To your upcoming nuptials! I had a dream last night of you and your husband.’ Keeping her eyes fixed on a curious Kalina, she sensed that the nearby slaves had pricked up their ears.

‘You did?’ Kalina turned towards her stepmother, raising her own goblet.

‘Yes, you and he were on a ship. A fine wolf ship, surrounded by your children. Three little boys and a daughter. You held the girl in your arms, her dark hair shimmering like perfect obsidian, just like yours. It was quite the scene. I woke with tears on my cheeks, dearest. Tears of happiness for you and Kosta.’

Kalina stared blankly at Dessalene, unable to imagine such a future.

Unless she replaced Argo Kosta with Arras Sikari and then it became entirely possible. Despite her anger at her traitorous former husband-to-be, the memory of his face teased a smile out of her at last.

Dessalene felt relieved. ‘Those other men were ill-suited to you, but Kosta is cut from a different cloth entirely. He will be both a loyal consort and a mighty ruler of our army. He will keep you and your children and S’ala Nis safe.’ A tired Dessalene doubted every word, and soon her smile faltered, though not before she offered a toast to Olera.

This time, Kalina didn’t raise her goblet, watching as Dessalene drank from hers. Her stepmother kept talking in that loud, attention-seeking voice of hers, though Kalina was no longer listening.

Would Arras return?

Would he come back to S’ala Nis and save her from having to marry Argo Kosta?

* * *

Kosta stopped his new horse by the temple well, swinging down to the ground with a grunt. Quint came running towards him, seeing that his wife had accompanied her father.

Carefully placing Krissia on the ground, Kosta turned to glare at a sweating Quint. ‘That scaffolding is still up. Why is it still up? We discussed it yesterday, man. I want it down! We have more work to do than just the tower. These grounds are a mess! A fucking mess! There is planting to be done, and I must ensure the platform is prepared for the sacrifice, so why is that tower still not finished?’

A fretful Quint bowed his head. ‘The men are working as fast as they can, though we have lost time with the...’ Lifting his head, he eyed his pouting wife. ‘Deaths.’

‘What? Speak up!’ Kosta snapped. ‘I cannot hear the mutterings of mice!’

‘There have been a great number of deaths, lord. Since the pace was accelerated, it has become a struggle.’

Kosta snarled, snapping his fingers at a slave to see to the horses. And taking his daughter’s hand, he slipped it into the crook of his arm. ‘You think we are lacking slaves, Quint? Is that what you’re saying? That on an isle brimming with slaves, we cannot find any to finish the job?’

Quint was a bowing, bending, nervous wreck around his father-in-law. ‘I’ve enough who can lift and mix. It’s the cutting and the point work that takes skill, and I’ve just lost two of my best men. The arch is fiddly, lord. It must be done right.’

It was a reasonable answer and certainly a quandary, but for Argo Kosta, future consort of S’ala Nis, betrothed to a very particular queen, it was not good enough. He aimed his daughter at the temple, seeking to deposit her in the shade while he made his way up the tower to find out what to do about this nagging problem.

The funeral was in four days, and he felt confident that with a final push, they could finish the tower and ready the grounds, but he wanted everything looking presentable for the king’s return. For he knew Ronin Sardis would hurry to the temple to make an offering to Eyshar upon his arrival.

The grounds simply could not remain in this chaotic state any longer.

Handing Krissia off to her husband, he called three slaves to him. He knew no names; they were just bodies. ‘You there! And you! You too! Come!’ And when the three surprised and anxious-looking slaves approached, Kosta gave them their orders. ‘You will clear this courtyard. I want every bucket, every rock, every speck of dust gone. The tower mightn’t be finished, but the courtyard will no longer look like a building site, understood?’ Squinting in the harsh glare of the morning sun, he narrowed sharp eyes at the three men, whose heads were bowed and bobbing. ‘Good, see that it’s done.’ And turning on his heels, Kosta headed after Quint and Krissia, who had been stopped by the Noor-Elect, dressed in a dark blue robe trimmed in silver thread.

‘A good morning to you, commander. And to your lovely daughter,’ Inesh Seppo smiled, inclining his head.

Despite all his bluster, Kosta had a great reverence for the gods and their emissaries, and he bobbed his own head. ‘You must be eager for the mess and noise to be gone, lord seer?’

Inesh laughed. ‘It is like the sound of birds and bees to me now. I am certain I would not recognise the silence!’ He motioned his guests towards the open doors of the temple, where shade beckoned. Here was another world entirely, and peace descended as they crossed the impressive mosaic floor, weaving between pools swimming with lilies and lotuses. Suddenly, the sounds of shouting and hammering lessened, a sweet chorus of birdsong filling the air.

‘Still, we must have it completed in time for the funeral. And for the king, who arrives within days.’

‘I have great faith that it will be. I know Quint has his men working night and day, so do not fear, commander. I have seen that all will come together as we intend. Have faith.’

The seer’s words soothed Kosta’s tension, and he smiled at his daughter, whose eyes were immediately drawn to the matching statues of Eyshar and his wife, Atikar. ‘Would you be kind enough to show my Krissia around? Quint is going to take me to the top of the tower so I can assess our progress from above.’

‘Of course,’ Inesh said. ‘I would be delighted.’ He fixed his attention on the sour face of Krissia, who barely offered a smile as her father turned away, heading back into the sun.

And to the scaffolding.

Where he would climb the tower.

31

The rain had finally stopped in the night, though Gant was still soaked through and shivering as he led his men deep into Hallow Wood.

They rode silently behind him, unhappy about the mission they’d been set.

Warriors disappeared in Hallow Wood. Everyone knew that.

They had all heard tales of what lurked amongst the strange trees. It was like a different world in here. Everything had a tinge of blue, as though the light filtering down through the tree canopy came from an entirely different sun. Or perhaps it was abandoned by the gods altogether?

Except those with dark intentions...

Gant wasn’t a dreamer, though he could almost hear the unspoken fears swirling around him.

Leaning forward, he patted an oddly still Gus. Gus remembered this place, and not fondly, he guessed, judging by his lack of interest in his surroundings. It was as though he was just trying to get through the woods in one piece.

One of Gant’s men, Osgar, rode up beside him, eyes darting left and right. ‘Would they have followed us, lord? In here?’

Gant shrugged. ‘Not if they’re smart.’ Now he grinned, patting the young man on the back, seeing fear in his tired eyes. ‘Though we’ve nothing to fear from the woods. Whatever lingered in here is long gone.’

* * *

Kneeling at the top of the tower, trowel in hand, Jael’s mind wandered like a river. She couldn’t fix it in one place. It returned to her dream of Andala before flowing past thoughts of the battle to come, stopping briefly at Alek, who she was growing increasingly worried about, her children and Milla Ulfsson, and finally lingering on Eadmund for a time.

She wondered what he had done after leaving S’ala Nis.

Where he had gone...

Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t been able to bring anything to her. She had seen him being chased by ships, so had he made an escape?

Was he safe?

Body tensing, she stopped what she was doing.

‘Is something wrong?’ Alek asked, seeing Jael’s hand shaking mid-air. He’d come to check her progress, and pleased with what he saw, he’d started to smile, but seeing her expression, he frowned instead.

Jael shook her head, hearing a scream in the distance, feeling silly for worrying about her own wounds. Likely someone had just broken a bone or lost a limb or perhaps their life. ‘No, nothing.’ Turning her head, she peered up at him. ‘And you?’

Their attention was immediately diverted by the sight of an eagle soaring past the tower.

Jael laughed. ‘He’s following me.’

‘The eagle?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been seeing him for days now.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’ve got some company up here.’

‘The best sort,’ Jael assured him. ‘Anything but people.’

They heard a disturbance, soon feeling vibrations as the planks started rippling like waves.

Alek looked past Jael, immediately stiffening. ‘Kosta,’ he warned, inclining his head for her to stand.

Which she eventually did, with some effort, just in time to see the big brute staring at her as he stopped, shadowed by a muttering Quint.

Rigg had happily informed Jael that Kosta had thrown a number of slaves off the tower already, displeased with their work. He’d warned her of what might happen if she were ever paid a visit by the commander.

Jael quickly woke herself up, assessing the situation. She backed up to the tower wall, not wanting to get anywhere near the edge of the scaffolding. She held a trowel in her right hand, and she had her fetters, which were weapons in themselves, though it wasn’t just herself to worry about. Alek was as thin as vellum. If Kosta decided to have a problem with him, he could simply blow him over the side.

Seeing the slave queen, Kosta glowered at her. ‘You have been given this task? Why? What did you promise to earn this place? What did you have to do?’

Alek was quick to intervene. ‘She has skill with the finer work, commander. Gardi chose her to help him. She works fast too. Faster than anyone we’ve had up here, even with...’ He trailed off, realising he had chosen the wrong path.

‘Even with?’ Kosta demanded, almost bumping his chest into a clearly intimidated Alek.

‘Even with her weakness as a woman,’ Alek hurried to explain. ‘Weakness of mind and body. She is... effective here. And we need speed if we’re to finish on time.’ He glanced at Quint, who looked as nervous as Alek felt.

Kosta grunted, moving away from Alek towards Jael, forcing her to step back until her wounds were touching the stone tower. He knew he’d hurt her, and now he would remind her of that. Though watching her eyes, he saw no indication of pain. The sunlight was bright on her face, and her eyes sparkled like gems. Bending close, he poked a finger at her nose. ‘Soon the king will be here, and I imagine he’ll want to see his prize. And what will he do to you? What does he want you for? I’d say you’re about to find out.’ Jael’s face remained impassive, and incensed by that, Kosta had to resist the urge to grab her by the tunic and fling her off the tower.

Hands pulsing by his sides, he clenched them into fists, hearing another scream in the distance, soon followed by a loud thud. And motioning with his head, he indicated for Quint to go and find out what had happened. Lunging at Jael, he grabbed her by the throat. ‘You’d better be on your best behaviour, bitch, for if I hear even one whisper that you’re falling behind, taking it easy, I’ll have you down in that quarry, hefting stones as big as Alek here. Hear me now, for if this tower isn’t finished on time, I’ll make you wish you were dead.’

* * *

Edela walked past the plinth where the man in the golden tunic was trying to tempt customers for The Armless One. Their eyes met for a moment before she carried on, though her attention was drawn back to the seeress’ words and then Bertel’s.

Raymon Vandaal had run away.

But was she really here to try and convince him to return home?

And to what?

A ruined hall, a new king, and little hope of reclaiming his throne?

A throne he didn’t appear to even want?

Jostled by an impatient woman, who elbowed her sharply, Edela toppled towards Bertel, who righted her with a grunt.

‘You must look around, Edela! These people are like galloping horses, with little care for us. Do stay alert!’ And taking Edela’s arm, he proceeded to walk briskly.

Siggy, who had been ranging ahead, came running back to them with bright eyes. ‘There’s a statue on top of that mountain!’ she called, pointing into the distance. ‘To Sibela. She’s the Siluran Goddess of Wisdom. A woman told me you can go up there and make a wish. The goddess will tell you what you want to know if you pay her a silver coin!’

Bertel laughed. ‘And who takes all those coins, I wonder?’

Though an earnest Siggy shook her head. ‘No, there’s a great pool and an altar. You throw them in for the goddess, and she keeps them!’

Though Bertel wasn’t enthusiastic. ‘It sounds like too much walking to me. Up a mountain?’

Edela felt torn. She was desperate for more insight, but like Bertel, the thought of all that walking wasn’t appealing in such energy-sapping heat. ‘It’s been a while since we walked up a mountain, though I haven’t forgotten how horrific it was!’

‘And you only had to walk up it once,’ Bertel grumbled. ‘Hmmm, and how reliable is this goddess?’

Edela laughed. ‘I’m not sure you should be questioning the integrity of a goddess, Bertel Knutson. Besides, a little walk might do us some good.’

‘A little walk?’ Bertel scratched his head. ‘Where is this mountain?’ Now he spun around, trying to see through the frothing sea of people and the orange haze burning across the sky. ‘I see no mountain!’ Though stopping abruptly, he thought he did spy a dark lump rising in the distance.

‘It’s not far,’ Siggy promised. ‘And we could always take a wagon?’

‘Now that’s thinking!’ Bertel declared, glancing around with squinting eyes. ‘Let’s ask that man up there!’ And pointing at an old man standing in a wagon, an enthusiastic Bertel bounded away.

* * *

Anticipating the arrival of her husband, Dessalene strode around the palace with the urgency of a warrior preparing for battle, demanding that every piece of furniture and every ornament was free of dust, that the rugs were taken outside and beaten, and then, still unhappy with the state of them, beaten again. That every vase was emptied of its flowers, its foul-smelling water refreshed. And more of them, for the king was coming.

‘The king is coming!’ she bellowed at Pye, who followed closely behind, trying not to step on her swishing blue dress.

He blinked, offering no soothing words or offers of comfort.

She glared at him.

‘And the king will be so pleased to see you, Mistress. He will not care for flowers or be disturbed by dust. He is coming to see you!’

Dessalene swung back around, snorting loudly. ‘What an impudent little toad you are. He isn’t coming to see me. He wants to inspect his prize, and he wishes to see what his daughter has been up to. And if he sees the truth? The mess Kalina has made of everything?’

‘Though you have the power to paint the picture you desire him to see,’ Pye purred. ‘Any picture you wish.’

It was true, and taking a breath, Dessalene marched on into the foyer, where she mounted the stairs, aiming for her bedchamber. Hearing Pye clopping behind her, she turned around, shaking her head. ‘Not you, creature. Hop away and find me a tasty tidbit! Something useful to make me smile. I shall reward you.’ And bending down, she tickled him under the chin. ‘Hurry along now.’

Pye looked excited by the prospect of a reward and soon scuttled away, leaving a tense Dessalene staring after him.

Something was wrong.

In all that was right, something felt off. And not dirty rugs or drooping flowers, but something she could not see.

Her dream filtered back to her, and she remembered the rat.

And if there was a rat on S’ala Nis, she needed to be a cat.

* * *

Jael heard Alek coming long before he arrived.

‘Your cough is getting worse,’ she told him when he stopped to offer her a cup of water. Jael was certain the water was upsetting her stomach, but her throat was so dry that she quickly threw the muddy water down it.

Alek frowned, working to suppress the cough tickling the back of his throat. ‘I fear you’re trying to convince me that we shouldn’t follow through with our plan.’

Handing him back the empty cup, Jael dropped her shoulders, longing for an ice-cold bath. ‘You’re not a child, Alek, and I’m not your mother.’

He leaned towards her. ‘I may be two steps from the outstretched hand of the God of Death, but I am still two steps, Jael. I will not give in to whatever ails me. I’ve come through worse. The heat and the dust?’ Now he coughed freely, drawing up a great rattling noise from deep in his lungs. He stumbled, nearly dropping the cup.

Taking his arm, she sought to steady him. ‘I need your help with this pattern.’ Inclining her head to the bricks she’d laid out according to Gardi’s instructions, she bid Alek to sit down. ‘If you could just stay here awhile, make sure I have it right. Just for a while. The sun’s moved away, and it’s almost shaded here.’

Alek was too busy trying to catch his breath to answer. But looking up at Jael as she forced him onto the ground, he smiled. ‘You are –’

‘I need more mortar. If you can just wait here, I’ll find Abez. He’ll have some more. Just wait here for me.’

Alek nodded.

‘I won’t be long.’ And slowly moving away from the foreman, not wanting to bounce the planks, Jael blew out a long breath. Her worry for Alek was growing. She hadn’t been here long, but he appeared to be fading away before her eyes.

Leaving him sitting, she decided to go and see Quint.

* * *

With Siggy’s help, Bertel had commandeered a wagon to take them up the mountain and they all felt happy about that.

Edela turned to them with a smile. Her companions sat together on one side of the wagon, squeezed between barrels of what smelled like fish, while she perched on the bench next to the driver: a sullen, silent old man who refused to make eye contact with her.

Bertel had quickly offended the man, who had threatened to drive away, though Siggy had convinced him to take their coins. She was certainly growing in confidence away from Tuura’s temple and those girls who had made her feel unworthy of her place amongst them. Here, on this strange adventure, she had a freedom never experienced before – a true journey of discovery – and though it had been frightening, dangerous, and most of all, confusing, Edela saw that it was exactly what Siggy had needed.

It was as though she had been freed from every doubt, forced to live in the moment. Forced to rely on instincts and gifts that had always been present, though buried under a mountain of doubt.

Smiling wryly, Edela shook her head, feeling buried beneath her own doubts.

Lifting a hand, she shielded her eyes from the sun, which appeared to be burning a great hole through the haze. She felt stuck to the bench, feeling sweat cascading down her back. They had purchased skins, filling them with small ale, though after the long ride up the mountain, Edela doubted they had a drop left between them. She hoped there would be somewhere to refill them, though turning to the scowling driver, she didn’t dare ask him.

As the haze burned off, the view from the mountain sharpened, and Edela could see the great city of Castala disappearing from view. It was a relief to be away from the crushing noise and the impatient crowds. She longed for the open spaces offered by Andala, the trees and the rain, her garden, her cottage.

Peace.

She had certainly taken it for granted over the years, but since leaving Tuura behind with Bertel and Siggy, she had known none, just a continual churning of fear and confusion.

‘A far better way to climb a mountain!’ Bertel called to her as the wagon jolted over a rock. He grabbed the siding, not wanting those to be his last words, for up here, it was steep, and the driver had moved his wagon far to the edge of the mountain path to avoid oncoming traffic.

‘You’d better hold on, Bertel,’ Siggy warned, eyes bulging as the wagon tilted sharply, creaking as though it was about to come apart.

Edela turned back to them again. ‘See the statue up there! Have you ever seen something so tall? It’s enormous!’

The impressive statue of Sibela rose from the mountain like a bird, the arms on either side of her long body appearing to flutter like wings in the sunlight. Her body had a rosy hue, which was quite striking after the gold and brown tones of the city.

Staring up at Sibela’s face, Edela saw a haughty-looking woman. The goddess appeared to be snarling, as though willing away those who came to make offerings, which didn’t bode well.

Turning back around, she heard Siggy’s excitement and Bertel’s efforts to rein in the girl’s enthusiasm, feeling her own trepidation about what lay ahead.

The old driver snapped the reins, urging his oxen up the last of the rapidly steepening incline, and then they were at the top of the mount, approaching a great square with the appearance of a market. Much like Castala itself, there were food sellers and stalls and peddlers hawking their wares – a great humming buzz of industry. In front of the statue, people formed lines on the steps leading to the stone altar fronting the great pool, eager to toss their offerings into the water, hoping Sibela would grant them an answer or a wish.

Siggy had jumped down before the wagon had completely stopped, earning another grumble from Bertel, who urged her to stay where she was.

To no avail.

‘I won’t go far!’ she promised. ‘Only over there!’

Amongst the various peddlers were those selling food, and the appetising aromas had quickly attracted a hungry Siggy.

‘Oh, let her go, Bertel,’ Edela laughed. ‘She has a few coins, so let her spend them. Besides, you need to pay this man for his trouble and then help me down. I’m eager to see what all the fuss is about!’

Bertel turned away from Siggy, hopping down from the wagon in a tangle of limbs and twisted clothes. He hurried to rearrange himself before grabbing Edela by the waist and lifting her down. She turned to smile at the driver, who ignored her, keeping his eyes on Bertel, who was busy digging into his pouch, where he pulled out the agreed-upon sum of coins.

The driver quickly pocketed the coins and picked up the reins, clicking his tongue.

‘No! Wait! You must wait here to take us back down! I have more coins for the return journey!’ Bertel called. ‘To the city! You must wait!’

But ignoring him, the driver turned his oxen in a slow circle, aiming them back down the mountain.

A laughing Edela grabbed Bertel’s flailing arm. ‘We’ll find someone else. Look! There are so many coming and going. It appears that the goddess is good for business. We’ll find another wagon. For now, let’s just enjoy this magnificent view!’

Siggy came running back to them with two slices of a dark-coloured cake. ‘I bought us something to eat!’ she said, handing one to Edela and the other to Bertel.

‘Though where is yours?’ Edela wondered, sniffing the cake, intrigued by hints of fruit and spice.

‘I ate it already! I want to go and see the woman selling jewellery. She has necklaces and amulets. Could I, maybe, spend a few more coins?’

Already shaking his head, Bertel opened his mouth, though it was Edela who spoke. ‘You most certainly can. It will be lovely to have a little keepsake, not just a faint memory of all the different foods we tried!’ And thinking of food, she took a bite of the cake, closing her eyes to savour the complex medley of flavours.

Bertel followed her lead, both of them watching as Siggy scampered away towards the dark-haired woman selling jewellery.

* * *

Quint had nothing helpful to say about Alek. ‘He’s knowledgeable, useful at managing his crew, and a hard worker. It’ll be a shame to lose him, but what can I do?’

‘Send for the physician,’ Jael insisted. ‘You need to send for the physician or take Alek there. He needs something for his cough. A tonic.’

Quint laughed, looking past Jael to the slaves bringing in the wagon-loads of dirt needed for the new gardens around the tower. ‘I don’t have time to be down a man. I can’t be!’ He felt rising panic, for Krissia had warned him that if the tower wasn’t finished on time, her father intended to place all the blame on him. ‘He just needs to stop complaining! Stop complaining about ill health and get on with his work!’

His spittle hit Jael’s face, and she stepped back with a scowl. ‘You’ll have no one left soon if that’s your attitude. These men don’t want to die, yet they’re dying in droves out here in the sun, doing this impossible task –’

‘Do you want to be whipped again? Or thrown in the pits?’ Quint snarled uncharacteristically. ‘Because if you don’t shut your mouth and get back to work, I can assure you that will happen. The commander doesn’t tolerate failure. He...’ Shoulders sagging, he ran out of anger. He went to bed every night beside his far-from-affectionate wife, though he rarely slept anymore. He lay on his comfortable mattress, resting his head on his feather-stuffed pillow, fretting and worrying about the tower.

It was the centrepiece of the sacrifice to come.

As though Eyshar himself would be looking down on them; a part of the ritual.

And if it were to remain unfinished?

Quint felt a stabbing pain, as though his father-in-law had reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. He could almost smell the commander’s breath, always so strong and sour. He drank the notoriously potent black wine, morning till night, and even his skin reeked of the stuff.

‘You needn’t fear the commander,’ Jael said.

Quint blinked at her. ‘What?’

‘I... to help the men finish the tower on time, you need to bring a physician here. It would help speed things along. He could see the men with ailments and wounds and help to remedy them. It would mean healthier men, happier men, faster men.’

Quint peered at the woman. She frowned intently at him, as though in pain. He saw her eyes imploring him, and they were quite mesmerising eyes. And her words... it was as though they were in his head.

Blinking, he called over a man he often used as a messenger. ‘Go to the physician’s. Request their presence down at the tower. We have men needing attention. And quickly. Return as quickly as you can.’ Quint glanced at Jael, seeing her eyes brighten and intensify. He moved a hand to dismiss her, feeling as though it wasn’t even attached to his body.

And with a smile, she was gone.

Though Quint remained, watching her, the slave queen’s words echoing in his ears.

* * *

Helga toured Andala’s fort in the company of Linas and Gully, though the boy and the dog mainly ignored her, and when she stopped to inspect the main gates, they left her behind, heading down the well-worn path to the forest. ‘Do not go far!’ she warned, though only Gully turned his head in acknowledgement.

Helga’s eyes, though, were on a man watching from the trees.

He held the bridle of his horse, which was mostly hidden by the thick trunk of an oak, his eyes roaming the ramparts and then the open gates, watching those coming and going.

She narrowed her eyes, murmuring a quick chant, searching for that which remained hidden.

Closing her eyes, she saw a lord – a man with dark brown hair.

‘Look like one of them. Blend in and head down. Find Emmet. He’s working at the docks, staying with a woman from the tavern. You’ll find him easily enough.’

Opening her eyes, Helga called Linas to her. Hands on hips, she waited, seeing no sign of the boy, though within a few heartbeats, Gully came bounding out of the trees and back onto the path, Linas charging after him.

She felt the man moving out of the trees now, though she didn’t return her gaze to him. She kept it on the dog and the boy, though she sensed the man making his way towards her, his heartbeat quickening as he approached the gates. His smell was in her nostrils, and now Helga turned around.

‘We weren’t going far!’ Linas promised with a freckly grin.

His grandmother ignored him and the dog, who looked up at her joyously, hoping to be rewarded for his obedience. Grunting, she turned around. ‘That may be so, though you don’t know this forest, boy. It’s not our forest. We’re not in Tuura now.’

The man was close, passing Linas, though she would not look his way.

Or the boy’s.

Instead, she pushed an idea into her grandson’s mind.

Linas peered up at her, frowning.

And then he nodded.

‘Come on, Gully!’ he called. ‘Let’s go see the ships! They might have brought back some treasure!’

Helga sensed the man staring after the boy. She slowed to a stop, putting a hand to her back, seeing that man pass her by, eyes trained on the boy, who he was now following.

* * *

The dark-haired woman held a silk-covered tray, showing a selection of necklaces and amulets to Siggy. There were other customers wishing to inspect her wares, though her eyes remained on the girl.

The necklaces first caught Siggy’s eye – made with glass beads and stones. She fingered them, lifting them up, seeing the way the sun lit up the tiny balls of blue and green glass as though they were made of liquid. There was another necklace of red carnelian stones that captured her interest and then something else entirely: a round silver disc on a silver chain. It wasn’t beautiful, but somehow, it quickly became the most mesmerising of all.

‘What does it mean?’ Siggy wondered, picking up the amulet and fingering the interlocking symbol carved into the silver disc.

‘It is Memtek’s symbol. He is the God of Protection. You wear this under your dress, next to your heart. It is not as pretty or eye-catching as the rest, but it is the most powerful.’

‘Powerful?’ Siggy squinted at the woman, whom she noticed for the first time. She was middle-aged and small, with curly black hair. Her cheeks were deeply pitted as though she had lived through a serious illness. Her eyes were kind, perhaps weary, Siggy thought.

She wondered if the woman had to walk up the mountain to sell her wares each day. It would be exhausting, especially in the heat.

‘You wear it to protect those you love. To keep them safe.’

‘Those you love?’

Placing the tray on the ground, the woman slipped a hand into her bodice and pulled out her own amulet, which had the same symbol carved into a similar silver disc. ‘I pray to Memtek each morning and every night to keep my children safe. I wear this in honour of him. My children are grown now, with their own families, so it has certainly worked for me.’

Siggy stared past her to the great statue of Sibela, then over her shoulder at Bertel and Edela, who weren’t looking her way. ‘I will take it,’ she decided quickly. ‘Please.’

The woman smiled. ‘You will wear it now?’

Siggy nodded, looping it over her head.

‘Remember to keep it safe, next to your heart, and to offer up a prayer to Memtek each night before you close your eyes. It is your special amulet, so make sure to keep it just for you.’

A happy Siggy tucked the necklace beneath her dress and paid the woman the three coins. ‘Thank you.’

‘No,’ the woman smiled. ‘Thank you.’

32

Ratish was happy to leave his rooms behind, eager to do what he could to help those slaves under the most intense pressure on the isle.

Having tended to horrific injuries and deformities over the years, he had tried to counsel Argo Kosta about his treatment of the slaves. He knew that Arras Sikari had petitioned the queen about it, to no avail, for the commander’s cruelty had persisted. And those men forced to work demanding hours, lifting heavy stones into dangerous positions, had suffered, died, or been maimed forever.

Now was a chance to help at least a few of them.

‘This man needs to rest for the day,’ he told a muttering Quint, who hovered over the physician’s shoulder, shuffling impatiently.

Ratish had been invited to set up a temporary clinic in the temple foyer by Inesh Seppo, who had ordered his logi to bring in mattresses and cups of wine.

Ratish was grateful, though Quint was starting to fear that Kosta would arrive and shut the whole thing down. He half wished he would. At this rate, the number of men waiting to see the physician would outnumber those working on the tower.

‘No one can afford a rest!’ he sighed. ‘No one! I’m losing too many! Just patch them up, give them something to drink, and send them on their way. You’re here to help them carry on, not to stop them from working altogether!’

The physician peered up at him from where he squatted on the mosaic tiles, touching the slave’s head. ‘Then assign this man somewhere out of the sun. He clearly has heat stroke. If he goes back into the sun, he will die. So please, put him somewhere else.’

Quint rolled his eyes, turning to find Alek staring at him. ‘What now?’

Alek blinked at him in surprise. ‘I... I’m next in line.’

And grunting with annoyance about that, Quint strode away, wanting to see exactly how long the line now was.

Ratish smiled at Alek. ‘Please, lie down on that mattress over there, and I’ll be with you shortly.’

* * *

Edela and Siggy made a small offering of coins to the scowling Goddess of Wisdom while Bertel shuffled impatiently behind them, muttering his opinions about that. Eventually, he headed off to the latrines, leaving them in peace.

‘Here’s hoping he’ll be some time,’ Edela laughed. ‘He may even get lost!’ Though thinking it, she glanced around, wanting to remember in which direction he had headed.

Siggy was thoughtful. She tipped back her head, trying to see the face of the statue. The goddess appeared angry, as though she hated her job. She remembered the necklace she’d bought and was going to show it to Edela, though recalling what the woman had told her, she decided to keep it to herself. The idea that she could help keep Edela and Bertel safe mattered to her. If she told them about it, perhaps they wouldn’t understand?

‘Why don’t you go after Bertel?’ Edela suggested. ‘I’ll stay here for a moment. I need to think.’

People crowded the altar, tossing their offerings into the pool. Most threw coins or stones, some jewellery or knives. Siggy saw a sword and a child’s toy in the water. There were even scattered bones.

A few of the gathered crowd looked upset, clinging to each other with tears in their eyes. She felt their concerns for their loved ones, their fears for themselves, and she offered a sympathetic smile as she headed after Bertel.

Edela shut her out. She shut the noise of the crowd out too.

And closing her eyes, she took herself into the calming darkness, looking for answers.

She immediately saw the burned hall in Ollsvik and its new king with his gleaming, gloating face. She saw a terrified Lina in tears, sitting beside her husband. He held her hand tightly, as though hurting her.

Edela thought of Raymon, and soon his face was before her and he was in Esby, boarding a ship. He turned, and she saw herself in the little rowboat with Siggy, the rain pouring down on them both.

He turned away, dropping his hood lower, and then he was gone.

‘To Castala,’ someone said. ‘We are heading for Castala.’

The vision vanished, darkness returned, and Edela burst out of it, staring up at the statue of the goddess, certain now that she had been sent here to find Raymon Vandaal.

* * *

Dessalene usually enjoyed entertaining, though she had quickly grown tired of Kosta and his frumpy daughter, who dressed like a woman with a great fortune but no taste whatsoever. She was a diminutive dumpling whose lavender dress was so extravagantly busy that it appeared to be drowning her. Her little head poked out of a collar of ruffles, her earrings so heavy they dragged her ears towards her shoulders.

And as for her hair...

Thin, mousy strands had been wound into curls that had now gone limp and merely hung about her like wind chimes seeking a breeze.

It was quite the sight.

Though it was Krissia’s father who claimed most of Dessalene’s attention. The man drank like a commoner, gulping down goblet after goblet of the queen’s black wine – her strongest. He was a man of high standing on the isle, so she’d been surprised to discover that he reeked like a drunk. And though she kept a pleasing smile fixed on her face, it was making her cheeks hurt.

Kalina felt much the same, willing time to move faster. She thought of her bedchamber, imagining the feel of her legs rubbing against the cool sheets. Here, she felt on display, like a treasure Kosta sought to claim. She was no dreamer, but she could certainly see the intentions in the man’s eyes.

They ate on the patio, under an awning, surrounded by flaming torches and an army of statue-like slaves holding platters and jugs. The air was sweetened with honey and jasmine, the gentle calls of night jars like music in the distance.

‘Your father’s return has captured the attention of the isle,’ Kosta told Kalina. ‘There has always been much speculation about why he left or whether he was even alive, so now to return so suddenly...’

Kalina and Dessalene exchanged a glance.

‘Well, the motives and movements of a king have never been the concern of slaves or even lords,’ Dessalene said with a hint of irritation, smile faltering now. ‘My husband values privacy above all things, as I’m sure he’ll remind you when he arrives.’

Kosta heard the rebuke in the dreamer’s words, and his jaw clenched. Sitting opposite him, Krissia stared at her father with a warning in her eyes, knowing that he possessed a volcanic temper that she’d always feared would ruin them both.

Ignoring her, Kosta now turned to the dreamer with a grimacing sort of smile. ‘I respect any man who knows his own mind, who keeps his own counsel. And certainly a king. It’s the type of consort I intend to be.’ Now his attention shifted from the king’s thin-lipped wife to the luscious lips of the attractive queen, who quickly averted her eyes. ‘A man who knows his own mind and his desires.’

Swallowing down a lump of distaste, Kalina reached for her goblet, taking a big gulp of wine. She understood Dessalene’s rationale for this match, though if she had been in her right mind, she would have fought harder against it.

She would talk to her father. He would –

Then, remembering the mess she’d made by choosing Arras Sikari and the six dead husbands before him, not to mention murdering Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree, she sighed, sipping her wine.

Wishing it was stronger.

‘And the tower?’ Dessalene enquired, seeking to draw everyone’s attention away from Kalina. ‘I hear there is trouble.’

Kosta looked surprised. ‘You do? Well...’ He violently scratched his salt and pepper beard, scattering a flurry of dandruff onto his plate. ‘Perhaps there was a hiccup or two initially, though we will be ready to host the sacrifice. In fact, Krissia’s husband excused himself from our supper because he is so keen to deliver the tower on time, my lady. It will be done, I assure you.’ Fixing his eyes on the dreamer, he remained unblinking until she looked away, motioning for a slave to bring her guests more wine.

And when his goblet was once again filled to the brim, a tense Kosta drained it dry.

* * *

It had taken some time to find a wagon to drive them down the mountain, so it was late when Edela, Bertel, and Siggy returned to the city, though thankfully, there was still time to buy fried fish from one of the vendors near the docks. The fish was warm and tasty, a little spicy but otherwise pleasant, and while Bertel and Siggy walked ahead of her, aiming for the baker’s and their room, Edela lingered further back, feeling weary.

She held her wrapped fish in one hand, no longer eating. Her mouth hummed with spice, and she thought of offering it to Siggy, though in the next moment, it had been snatched from her hand by someone running past, knocking her to the ground.

Crying out in surprise, Edela bit her tongue, feeling a sharp pain in her knees and then a hand on her arm, pulling her up. In the darkness, she felt afraid, though the man’s voice was reassuring and oddly familiar. He righted her onto her feet, then seeing her, his eyes bulged in horror, and dropping his hood over his face, he spun away, immediately sucked into the crowd.

Bertel hurried back to Edela. ‘What happened? Are you alright?’

Siggy was soon beside him, looking a dishevelled Edela over.

Though the dreamer could only gape at them in horror, unable to offer any words, certain that the man who had helped her had been Raymon Vandaal.

* * *

Erling joined Axl in the hall after supper.

‘How’s Eren?’ Axl wondered, not having seen her around the fort. He imagined Getta’s face but blinked away her angry scowl, telling himself that he was simply interested in his friend’s sister’s health.

Erling took the goblet of wine Gerald handed him without acknowledging the steward and turned to Axl. ‘She’s well enough. Women’s troubles, I suspect. The less I know, the better.’

‘Oh?’ Axl took a seat by a brazier, indicating for Erling to join him. They were alone in the hall, apart from those servants tidying the high table and finishing up in the kitchen. It was so oddly quiet that he felt grateful for Erling’s company.

‘Well, as I said, she’s not been herself, though I’m none the wiser. As long as she’s alive when my mother returns, then I’m in the clear!’

‘You’ll make such a responsible father one day with those high standards.’

Erling grinned. ‘I can’t imagine it, being a father. And a husband? It needs to happen, and my mother certainly wants it to, though I like my freedom too much to think about being tied to one woman. One woman?’

‘Then you’ve never been in love, my friend, for if you had, you’d know how desirable such a proposition can be.’ Though remembering his dalliance with Erling’s sister, Axl stopped smiling. He felt embarrassed and ashamed, a disappointment to himself and his family.

And not for the first time.

‘Though, according to Helga, the harbinger of doom, I should be fearing the end of the kingdom. It’s hardly the time to make plans for marriage and children.’

Axl smiled. ‘I’m not sure why everyone hates Helga.’

‘You’re not sure? Why? Don’t your eyes work? Or your ears? Or your nose, come to think of it. You can smell the wild beast coming. Her and her rabid boy.’

The hall doors opened, and Gully rushed inside, followed by Linas and Helga. The boy and the dog headed for the high table, where Gully immediately slid onto his belly, searching for anything the servants may have missed.

Though Helga had her squinting eyes fixed on Erling Venberg in the dark hall, and she glowered at the man as she stomped forward.

A horrified Erling abruptly sat up, peering at Axl, who looked just as surprised by the dreamer’s sudden arrival. Unsettled too. It was late, and he hadn’t been expecting any other visitors.

Now Erling stood. ‘I must get back to my sister. I... don’t want to leave her alone.’

Helga raised an eyebrow, lips clamped together, watching as a flustered Erling nearly knocked over Linas in his attempt to hurry out of the hall.

‘Is something wrong?’ Axl asked, leaving his goblet on a table as he approached the dreamer. ‘Have you seen something?’

Helga glanced at Linas, who disappeared under the high table with Gully. She saw that the servants had left the hall, and hearing no one nearby, she indicated for Axl to return to his chair. And when he had, she took a seat next to him. ‘Your friend’s sister is not unwell. She is pregnant with your child.’

Axl felt as though he’d been hit in the face or smacked in the stomach. He felt deprived of air and thoughts, just feelings that immediately started bubbling inside him: fear, anger, annoyance, anxiety.

Panic.

Heat rushed up his body until he tugged at his tunic, feeling breathless.

‘There is nothing to do about that,’ Helga said plainly. ‘Except keep your mouth closed and ensure that she does the same. The gods will decide the fate of that child and the woman, as they will decide yours, Axl Furyck.’

Axl sagged in the chair, eyes drifting to his goblet.

‘I did not come to discuss her, though. There is a man. I found him today. His name is Hardar, and he came here to join up with someone called Emmet, who is working on your new pier. A lord sent him. Not a lord friendly to you.’

All thoughts of Eren Venberg flew out of Axl’s mind. ‘What lord?’

A shrugging Helga didn’t know. ‘You must have the men watched and followed by someone you trust. Not me,’ she added quickly. ‘There will be men you can ask. Those who can blend in.’

Axl nodded. ‘I’ll find someone.’

Helga stood, waiting as Linas returned to her side.

‘I’m hungry,’ the boy said, peering up at her.

His grandmother ignored him. ‘Come to me when you have anything to report. And I will find you if I learn more. I suggest that speed is your best friend now... my lord.’ And shooing the boy towards the doors, Helga headed out of the hall, leaving the open-mouthed king staring after her.

* * *

Alek looked better that evening, sipping from the tiny glass phial Ratish had given him.

The slaves had been gifted the surprise of an early meal, too, which Jael knew had also come thanks to the physician.

She smiled, pleased to see a hint of colour on Alek’s sunken cheeks.

Even Rigg looked cheerful, gobbling down what appeared to be mutton and pea soup, though the meat was so overcooked that it had lost all colour and could have been anything. Jael swallowed without chewing, trying not to imagine what it was.

Alek looked at his bowl with less enthusiasm as he picked up his wooden spoon and scooped some stringy meat into his mouth. ‘I hear you’re to thank for the physician coming today.’

Lifting his head, Rigg looked surprised.

‘Who said that?’ Jael wondered.

Alek grinned. ‘Quint got himself worked up when so many lined up to be seen. Said he regretted ever listening to that stupid woman. Wished he never had. I can only think he meant you. That wife of his would hardly offer charity to anyone.’

Rigg chuckled, surprising them both. ‘What? You don’t think I’m happy to have an early supper? I’ve been starving since breakfast. A man like me, living off scraps? I’ll look like Alek soon enough!’

‘Thanks.’

Leaning across the table, Rigg eyed Jael. ‘How did you convince Quint then? Did you promise to fuck him?’

‘Rigg!’ Alek wasn’t impressed. ‘You think a queen would propose that? Are you drunk?’

Jael wasn’t offended in the slightest, though she changed the subject, lowering her voice. ‘Have you been passing on messages to your allies? About our plans?’

Alek nodded, still frowning at Rigg. ‘I’ve confirmed the timing and the signal. Word has gone out, though news of the king’s arrival has worried a few.’

It worried Jael, too, but the funeral procession and the sacrifice at the tower was their best chance to make something happen. Everything was easier in numbers; there was confidence and support amongst a crowd. In such a setting, you could lose your identity entirely and become not an individual but a weapon.

At least, Jael hoped that would be the case.

‘Where will you go when you leave here?’ she wondered, eyeing Rigg. ‘Back to Hest?’

He looked annoyed, instantly reminded of why he hated her and her family so much. ‘I’ve already said. I’ve no home any longer. No place I belong.’

‘Then come with me,’ Alek offered. ‘To Brekka. Stora isn’t much, though it’s paradise compared to here. It rains!’ He laughed, never having thought he would miss those gloomy Brekkan days as winter signalled its approach. ‘There are trees, forests, grass. Come with me, Rigg, and we can start again together.’

‘What will you do?’ Jael asked Alek.

‘Set up a workshop. Though for that, I’ll need coins.’

‘Which you’ll have,’ she assured him. ‘You will. These lords and ladies have plenty to spare. And spare them they will,’ she added darkly.

Rigg peered at her. ‘Why do you want to help the likes of us? What’s in it for you?’

‘I like to think we’re helping each other,’ Jael began, watching as one of Alek’s men approached the table, wanting a word.

‘From the goodness of your heart?’ Rigg scoffed when the man had departed.

Jael eyed him. ‘You think a Furyck has a heart? How big of you, Rigg. No, I want to get out of here as much as you. I have things to do, people to hunt down and kill, and if we work together, soon we’ll all get what we want.’

* * *

‘Siggy’s asleep,’ Bertel sighed. ‘So now you must tell me, Edela. You’ve had your lips sewn together all evening, though now I’ll hear no more excuses. What is wrong, for surely something is? I’ve never seen you so quiet. You’re a shadow of your usually boisterous self.’

Edela suppressed a laugh. ‘Boisterous? I’m not sure I’ve ever been described as boisterous before. Not even as a child.’

Bertel pulled his chair around the table, stopping it beside her. ‘And?’ He glanced at Siggy, who lay perfectly still on the floor. ‘What has happened? Something?’

‘I... I think I saw Raymon Vandaal.’

Bertel plopped down onto the chair in surprise, and shaking his head, he frowned. ‘In a dream, you mean? A vision?’

‘No, I actually saw his face, tonight, when I was robbed of my supper. The man who helped me up, I think it was the king. He... must have recognised me, for he immediately ran away.’

Bertel was doubtful. ‘And you’ve met him before?’

‘Oh yes, before he decided to shun Axl and Jael. I know he only did it to survive in that snake pit, though before then, he came to Andala a number of times. I remember that face. It grows more and more like his father’s, and of course, there’s a resemblance to Axl and Jael. I... I’m sure it was him.’

‘Though it was dark.’

‘It was, but I’m not entirely blind, Bertel Knutson. He was very close. I saw him clearly. It was him.’

Siggy flopped over, and they held their breaths, willing her to remain asleep. She didn’t need to know all their troubles.

‘Well, if that’s the case, what can we do? He’s gone to an awful lot of trouble not to be the King of Iskavall, so I doubt a few words from us will change his mind.’

‘Mmmm, and he’s obviously not looking to be found. Not by anyone. He recognised me, though he looked like he’d seen a ghost. He couldn’t run away fast enough.’

Bertel raked his beard, and finding knots, he dug into his pouch and pulled out a fine ivory comb, working it through his grey beard as he worked on his thoughts. ‘So what are we supposed to do?’

‘Well, something,’ Edela decided. ‘If I could just speak to him, find a way to speak to him, maybe I could understand what it was all about?’ Her eyes drifted towards Siggy again and up to the little gap in the wall, wishing it would usher in a breeze. The room was stifling, and the thought of sleeping was unappealing, though they would need sleep, for tomorrow they had to scour the city for a runaway king.

* * *

In her dream, it was so hot that Siggy felt as though the flames were licking her legs.

And her back.

She spun around, fearing they were, but the wall of flames remained at a distance.

A woman was talking to her in a quiet voice. It was gentle and familiar. And now she came closer, with a smile on her face, hands out.

It was the woman who had sold her the amulet, Siggy realised. The woman with the curly dark hair.

She reminded Siggy of her mother, and though she felt afraid, she smiled.

‘I am so pleased you came, my dear,’ the woman said. ‘To me, for I can help you. You knew that, didn’t you, when we met? Come closer, and I will show you how we can help each other...’

33

Jael hadn’t slept much since Kosta had taken his whip to her, so she was wide awake as the first hints of dawn lit up the sleeping quarters. She heard the odd groan and fart, someone crying out in their sleep, but it was a mostly peaceful time.

Her eyes hurt more than her back, which she took as a good sign.

It was healing. And by the day of the funeral, she would be ready to wield a sword again.

She couldn’t wait.

Alek was the brains behind the revolt, but he had tasked her with being the sword, and she knew she needed to be able to use one. There was simply no choice.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, she winced, feeling the rough threads of her tunic move across her back. Though breathing deeply, she worked the pain into a place where it was manageable, rubbing her eyes. Glancing around, she saw she was the only one sitting. Those sleeping men would not rouse themselves until Quint blew his shell. Until then, they would claim every last moment of rest.

The pain came again, blaring loudly, but she kept breathing, pushing it back, moving through it. Lifting her left arm, she brought it across her body, bracing it with her right, stretching her injured back.

It hurt, though not as much as it had done yesterday and even less than the day before.

She sat there for some time before repeating the process with her right arm.

‘What are you doing?’ Rigg wondered behind her, sitting up with a loud yawn.

‘Preparing.’

‘You think you’ll be ready to fight?’

Jael heard the doubt and even scorn in his voice, and for a moment, she was back in Harstad, smelling the dragur. Barely alive, she’d pulled herself out of that bed and fought off those revolting creatures intent on killing her. ‘I don’t mind the pain.’

‘What sort of woman are you?’ he scoffed.

Irritable and tired, she wriggled around to face him. ‘Perhaps the truth is, Rigg, you just like it here? You’d prefer to stay here where you’re treated so kindly by your masters. By their rich lords and friends. Perhaps the truth is that you simply like being someone’s bitch?’

Rigg lunged for her, but Jael held out an arm, keeping him back, eyes flaming. ‘You don’t know me. You have no idea about me at all.’

‘I know you’re a Furyck.’

She shook her head, turning away. It was like talking to a tree.

Nothing would change the man’s mind about her.

‘Choose a side,’ she hissed, glancing over her shoulder. ‘You can’t be on this one if you’re against me. And if you don’t want to be on my side, then get out of my way.’

And with that, she stood, suppressing a groan, deciding to go outside and take a piss.

* * *

Siggy seemed different when she woke that morning, and Edela hesitated to tell her about Raymon Vandaal. ‘Did you have a dream?’

A frowning Siggy tried pulling a comb through her knotted curls. ‘I don’t remember. I was... tired.’

‘Oh, so was I,’ Edela sighed. ‘All that walking. I can’t feel my feet. Imagine if we hadn’t found those wagons!’

Bertel had come back inside after a long visit to the latrine. He seemed in a good mood and had brought back something for breakfast. ‘Well, sit a while longer and try one of these,’ he suggested, offering a round fruit to Edela. ‘No idea what it tastes like, but it was recommended by the baker. He makes pies with them, apparently.’

Taking the oddly textured fruit in her hand, Edela peered at it. It was furry, like a short-haired cat. ‘And I’m supposed to... eat it?’

Bertel bit into his, blinking. ‘It’s called a peach. Quite tart, but juicy.’ He took another bite. ‘Mmmm, I don’t mind that.’

Edela merely held onto her peach, eyeing Siggy, who still seemed too sleepy to be aware of anything.

‘So are we off to find the king then?’ Bertel wondered cheerfully, quickly demolishing his peach.

‘King?’ Siggy looked confused and then nervous. ‘Are we going to visit the King of Silura?’ Now she was wide awake.

Bertel laughed. ‘Didn’t Edela tell you? No, we’re off to find Raymon Vandaal. He’s here. Edela saw him last night.’

Siggy’s mouth fell open. ‘What? Alive?’ She blinked some more.

‘Yes, I believe he’s the man who helped me when I was knocked over. I think he’s escaped to here.’ Edela absentmindedly bit into the soft peach, surprised when juice spurted down her chin.

‘But he was dead, in Ollsvik’s hall,’ Siggy remembered, feeling confused. ‘How did he get out of the burning hall?’

‘Well, perhaps he wasn’t even there?’ Bertel suggested, handing Edela the scrap of cloth they used to dust the room. She dabbed her chin, then her dress, fearing the stains wouldn’t come out.

Siggy was quiet, her thoughts moving slowly, then she shuddered as though struck by lightning. ‘You mean he pretended to die? That he ran away?’

Bertel shrugged. ‘Well, seems to me that if he hadn’t run away, he’d still be in Osterland with his wife, trying to get back his kingdom. No other reason he’d be here unless it’s to hide.’

‘From who?’ Siggy asked.

No one knew.

‘And we’re going to search for him?’

‘We may as well try to,’ Edela said. ‘If only to offer our help. Someone to talk to.’

Bertel laughed. ‘I doubt he’s come all this way because he’s looking for someone to talk to, Edela. You are funny! Someone to talk to?’ And he laughed some more.

Edela stared at him, stony-faced. ‘Says the man who’s never had a child or a grandchild. Young men often lose their way. Young women too. And Raymon is very young, younger than my Axl. I can certainly offer him guidance and, as a dreamer, the insight he may be needing. It’s worth reaching out. If we can find him, that is.’

‘Do you have any idea where to look?’ Siggy wondered.

‘No,’ Edela realised, handing a hungry-looking Bertel the rest of her peach. ‘Though don’t you worry, I’m sure something will come to me as we walk around.’

* * *

Dessalene remained in bed later than usual, clinging to the remnants of a dream.

There was no eagle, no rat, but there was a horse.

He was quite magnificent as horses went, she thought, seeing the sheen of his rich black coat glistening in the sun. She felt that sun herself, burning her cheek. And holding up a hand, Dessalene was forced to shield her eyes, trying to see through the intense glare. Though everything immediately became even brighter until all she could see was a white light.

And then something coming.

A flash of lightning striking her cheek.

Screaming, she fell, seeing the black horse rising above her, hooves in the air.

Crashing down on her.

Lurching upright with a gurgling gasp, she shook all over.

Shivering and shuddering, she didn’t move.

Those hooves had crushed her bones. The pain...

Closing her eyes, Dessalene quickly drew a symbol for healing and one for calm, weaving them together as she returned to her breath, finding the room inside her mind where reality existed.

The now.

She had to return to the now.

Legs on silk, hands on legs.

Chest moving up and down.

And now Dessalene opened her eyes, wondering what her dream had meant.

* * *

After a nauseating breakfast, Alek led his crew outside into the blistering heat.

‘Is it ever cool?’ Jael wondered. ‘Does it ever rain?’

Alek laughed in response. ‘Apparently Kosta plans to spend the day here, making sure we finish the tower.’

Rigg grunted as he stretched behind them, lifting his arms and rolling his shoulders. ‘And what’s he going to do if we don’t? Throw us all off the tower? And then what? The man’s a fool.’

Alek saw Quint coming towards them with his second-in-command – an old grouch named Berros – and he turned around to Rigg with a frown. ‘Though there’s nothing we can do to change that. We’re this close,’ he reminded his friend, pinching his fingers together. ‘This close. So head down and work fast.’ He turned back around, smiling at Quint. ‘Are you ready?’

A swollen-eyed Quint looked confused. ‘Ready for what?’

Reading his thoughts, Jael could hear him fretting about the terrible arguments he’d been having with his wife. She had nothing against the man. He wasn’t a slave, though wedged between the dominant figures of Argo and Krissia Kosta, he was as good as one.

‘Ready to finish the tower,’ Alek told him. ‘We’re so close.’

‘Haven’t you heard? Abez died during the night.’

Jael was shocked, having worked with the man. ‘How?’

‘Slipped and fell in the dark, or at least that’s what I imagine happened. Gardi went to check his progress and found him missing. It took some time to locate the body. And without him? We lost hours last night.’

Jael felt sad. These men had to hold on now. It was only three days till the funeral, three days till the slaves would rise up and reclaim their lives.

They just had to hold on.

‘You need to rally everyone, Quint,’ Alek suggested. ‘Bring everyone together. We need a final push now. Any men who are too tired should be rested, replaced by those able to work. We need our best on board, and those men can do more. Just for this final push.’

Quint peered at him as though he was speaking Siluran. He didn’t answer.

Frozen to the spot, he just stared.

Alek nudged him towards the centre of the courtyard. ‘Grab your shell. Give it a blow and call the meeting.’

‘We can’t afford the time,’ Quint insisted.

‘A few minutes at most,’ Alek promised. ‘That’s all. Just a few minutes.’

Jael glanced at Rigg, who quickly looked away.

She felt the earth vibrating beneath her feet, and turning around, she saw the approach of Argo Kosta on his new horse.

* * *

‘I have ordered my carriage to take us to the temple. It will be here directly,’ Kalina told Dessalene when she finally came down for breakfast. Though the queen had long since finished hers and was sitting with her hands in her lap while Mali brushed her hair.

Dessalene stared at her blankly.

‘Inesh Seppo invited us,’ Kalina reminded her stepmother. ‘You are to help with the sacrifice, remember? He asked us to come so he could explain your role. To show you the platform where it will all take place, and the tower. You haven’t seen it yet, I imagine?’

Dessalene shivered as the ripples of her odd dream returned to unsettle her anew. The feeling of those giant hooves breaking her bones into tiny little shards, crushing her chest... it was visceral and disturbing. ‘Yes, yes. And where is Pye this morning?’

‘I haven’t seen him.’

Dessalene was puzzled, too nauseous to eat, mind darting about, tired eyes slow to follow. ‘Your father will arrive tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Kalina had known that, though her stepmother’s words made her nauseous.

Turning to the breakfast table, Dessalene poured wine into an empty goblet, drinking greedily. Blinking at the queen, she shook her head. ‘We will visit the temple then return to ready everything for his arrival. I must give the cooks their orders. Your father will be ravenous.’ Now she smiled, imagining her surly husband with his big, rough hands. She had missed him.

Kalina felt nervous, shooing Mali away. She smoothed down her shining dark hair and turned to the dreamer. ‘And what will you tell him?’

Dessalene stroked her stepdaughter’s cheek. ‘What a good question you pose, dearest.’ Hearing clopping hooves, she dropped her hand. ‘Let us see how the day proceeds. I shall think on it, for I am your father’s wife but also his dreamer. I owe him honesty in all matters.’

Kalina’s eyes shone with fear.

‘Though we shall talk, and I shall see. Do not fear, precious one, whatever the outcome, we both know Ronin Sardis. I am certain he will be most understanding!’ And tittering with laughter, Dessalene swept into the entrance hall, where the footmen were now waiting.

Kalina watched her go, as confused as ever. Dessalene kept her spinning like a child’s toy, leaving her unsure if she could trust the woman. Just as she was starting to feel close to her, the dreamer would twist the knife, choosing cruelty over kindness. And always, always playing games.

It was as though she was two different people.

And when it came to her father and what the dreamer was going to tell him, that provided no comfort at all.

* * *

Amongst the panicked slaves, their stressed foremen, and the frazzled Quint, the logi were finalising their preparations for Noor’s funeral under the watchful eye of Inesh Seppo.

Which was giving Kosta a headache.

‘We can transport the smaller animals in wagons,’ he told the seer.

Much like his predecessor, Inesh Seppo had a slow, deliberate manner, and he let the commander’s clipped words roll over him like a wave cresting a beach. Then smiling, he eventually replied. ‘Though it is important that the animals come of their own volition. They must agree to their part in the sacrifice. They must assent. Packing them into wagons and driving them here deprives them of such a choice in the very first instance.’

Kosta stared at the man, not understanding.

Someone shouted down a warning from the tower, and everyone scattered. Soon a block of stone crashed to the earth, breaking in two.

Stomping away from the seer, a furious Kosta lifted a hand to shield his eyes, tipping back his head. ‘I hope that wasn’t fucking important!’ he bellowed. ‘It’s broken now!’ Spinning around, he spied Alek. ‘Where’s Quint? What’s going on up there?’

Alek came closer. ‘I’m not sure, my lord. He may have gone to check on supplies. We’re running out of ash to make the mortar.’

‘Running out? Is that why the stone fell? There’s not enough mortar?’

Alek didn’t know, and he shrugged apologetically.

Kosta wanted to hit him, though he stormed away instead. Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder at the seer. ‘I will return momentarily. I must ensure nothing else falls off that tower. And you,’ he growled at Alek. ‘You will help the Noor-Elect with whatever he needs.’

Alek turned to the seer in surprise.

Inesh grinned at him as Kosta strode away. ‘Do not worry, I need nothing from you or your men. I have my own attendants, my logi, and their arms and legs have more life in them than yours. Of that I am certain.’

Knowing that Inesh Seppo was a seer, soon to be the new Noor, Alek had many questions. He feared that he would die before he ever left the isle. He feared his sons were dead or that his wife had remarried a cruel man who abused them. He –

Inesh placed a hand on his arm. ‘You have a tired body but a very active mind, my friend. What you need is some shade and a little faith. Come. The commander wishes you to help me, so come into the cool of the temple and you can advise me on the more... practical matters of the sacrifice.’

Alek’s lips parted, ready to protest, though before he could speak, both men heard the clattering of a carriage, and turning around, they saw the queen arriving with her stepmother.

Leaving Alek behind, Inesh hurried forward, watching as a stool was produced by the footmen, who silently offered their hands to each lady, helping them dismount in turn.

Kalina gagged, trying not to inhale. A breeze blew across the courtyard, carrying a terrible stink all the way from the pits and she was soon flapping at a dark cloud of flies. ‘My father will arrive tomorrow, so we must see how everything is coming along.’ Tilting back her head and shielding her eyes, Kalina saw how much the tower had changed since her last visit. ‘It is nearly finished!’ she exclaimed in delight.

‘Yes, my queen, the men have worked hard, ably led by Quint and his loyal foremen,’ Inesh told her. He smiled at the dreamer, who appeared to be studying everything with sharp eyes.

‘And Argo Kosta?’ Dessalene wondered. ‘For surely the success of the tower is his? Not some mere offsider I have never heard of.’

Inesh nodded. ‘Indeed. The commander has gone up the tower to inspect it himself, though he will return soon and give us his assessment, which I feel will be favourable.’

Dessalene felt relieved, as did Kalina, who jumped as a rat scurried past, chased by a mangy-looking cat. She looked up at the seer with distaste. ‘Well, I hope he can do something about the vermin. How disgusting!’

Inesh smiled apologetically, urging the queen towards the temple.

Though Dessalene didn’t follow.

Her attention was on that cat, bounding after the rat.

‘I will join you inside,’ she murmured. ‘I won’t be long.’ And lifting her hem out of the dirt, she stalked away.

* * *

Axl stood in a daze, watching Helga’s grandson, Linas, fishing off a pier with two boys he appeared to have befriended. It was such a surprise not to see him alone or in the company of Gully that he stared, remembering his own childhood and how inseparable he’d been with Hal and Erling.

How quickly time had passed.

Now he was hoping for a child of his own.

He started, remembering Helga’s words, and turning away, he wondered what he should do. He’d barely slept, going over the ramifications of Eren’s pregnancy and the possible courses of action.

He should have been thinking about the man Helga had told him about and the one he was going to meet, though if he started snooping about, it would likely spook both men. He’d sent his trusted messenger, Torun, to work on the new pier, wanting him to appear disgruntled, unhappy with the king. He hoped the ruse would work, and in the meantime, he had to focus on tracking down every other spy in the fort.

Turning away from the fishing boys, Axl decided to head for the main gates. The toll master and his assistants kept a strict watch on the harbour, inspecting those who came and went, and Axl wanted to ensure that the men on the main gates were enforcing a similar level of security.

He saw Erling coming towards him with Eren and sought to spin away and somehow make himself invisible, but it was too late, for Erling had a hand in the air, calling his name.

‘You look lost!’ Erling laughed, ducking his head as a squawking gull swooped low.

Axl peered at him. ‘Lost?’

‘Not in the hall.’

Axl’s cheeks were warm, his mouth suddenly dry as he nodded at Eren, hurriedly shifting his gaze to Erling. ‘There’s so much to do. I just need to ensure we’re as prepared as possible.’

Eren looked confused. ‘For what?’

‘There will likely be an attack soon.’

Now Erling was confused. ‘By who? Iskavall? But surely that’s a guess? There’s no information that suggests it will happen. Is there? I know about the problems in the South, but Iskavall?’

‘Helga sees that Oren Storgard will come. That he seeks to defeat Brekka. And me.’

Eren shivered. ‘The dreamer?’

Axl wished she’d stop speaking. He didn’t want to look at her, though he could hardly ignore her. ‘Yes.’

Erling rolled his eyes. ‘You’re putting an awful lot of trust in this dreamer, Axl. A woman you’d never met before a few days ago. A woman who bustled in here like a snarling old crone and found herself a new home and a benevolent king, wheedling her way into his confidence.’

‘Matters regarding my dreamer are not your concern, Erling,’ Axl snapped. ‘As king, I must do everything to ensure the safety of my people. And employing the advice of a skilled dreamer makes sense. I have no reason not to trust the woman, and nor do you.’ He glared at Erling, bobbed his head at Eren, and turned to go. ‘We’ll be meeting this afternoon. You, me, Helga and Ragnar, so I hope you can put your feelings about the dreamer to one side.’ And with that, he was gone.

Eren grabbed her brother’s arm, watching Axl stride away. ‘The dreamer is a problem,’ she hissed. ‘She is going to be a problem.’

And turning to watch the quickly disappearing king, Erling Venberg feared his sister was right.

34

The cat chased the rat around the back of the tower, forcing Dessalene to move faster than she was used to, and restrained by her dress, she was breathing heavily by the time she stopped, seeing a woman filling a bucket from the well.

The rat scuttled away, though the cat remained, and now it sat down.

Watching the woman.

A panting Dessalene looked from the cat to the woman.

Who, she could clearly see, was Jael Furyck.

Looking up, Jael saw the dreamer watching her and she froze.

‘Taking a break, are we? Hiding away?’ Dessalene purred, coming forward with a smile. She worked quickly to calm her breathing, smoothing her flowing auburn hair away from her shining face.

‘I need water to mix the mortar,’ Jael explained, covered in a dusting of ash and lime. ‘The slave who did it was taken away. Likely he’ll die.’

‘Ahhh, and they say the Goddess of the Sun is a benevolent force. Well, perhaps not where I come from! You have a friend, I see,’ she added, forcing Jael to stop.

Jael stared at the cat before lifting her eyes to the dreamer. ‘I’ve never seen it before.’

‘No? Though it seems to like you well enough. Or perhaps not? Perhaps it is watching you?’

Jael laughed. ‘I’d be glad for the company, though I have to climb back up the tower soon, so I doubt it’ll keep following me for long.’

Dessalene stepped closer. ‘You have been busy, from what I hear, working like a man. You must be happy, not having to clean floors and wash clothes like women do?’

‘Well, happiness isn’t what it was. I take what I get, nothing more. And you? I hear your husband is arriving tomorrow. You must be happy to see him? I imagine it’s painful being apart?’ Jael stared at the dreamer, wanting to dig deep into her mind, though she found only walls keeping her out.

Walls she hoped that she too possessed.

Lunging at her, Dessalene grabbed one of Jael’s fetters, checking it was still clamped tightly around her wrist. She checked the other fetter, then bending down, she checked the ones around her ankles too.

Jael held her breath, fearing the woman would see the scratched symbols or force her to take off her shoes, revealing her stone.

Though standing up, Dessalene smiled, blue eyes flashing with menace. ‘My husband pines for me, you know. A brutish man with the heart of a needy child. I couldn’t be happier with my choices. Though soon you’ll see for yourself, for he will want to meet you. After all he went through to claim you? And why? Perhaps he’ll tell you? I imagine you are burning to know.’ Dessalene glanced at the cat, who continued to stare at the slave queen. ‘I’m not like your frail old grandmother, Jael Furyck. Tuuran dreamers tend to be so unambitious, squandering their real power. No, where I come from, the Goddess of Magic herself teaches us. She claims us and gifts us extraordinary powers. You simply cannot imagine how much pain I could cause to those you love and how quickly I could do so.’ And with a triumphant smile, Dessalene spun on her heels and strode away.

* * *

‘How are we feeling?’ Thorgils wondered, stopping before Eadmund with an enormous shiver. Rugged up in a thick woollen cloak, he didn’t feel especially cold. His face was frozen, his nose and ears numb, though his body was warm enough, he supposed, being at sea again.

It was more a nervous kind of energy.

Perhaps even a sense of excitement building now?

Eadmund stared at him with dead eyes. He didn’t know how he felt. Perhaps petrified? Petrified that his wife was a corpse in a hole.

It was all he’d thought about since they had sailed away from Solt, aiming for S’ala Nis. In the silence, he feared he could actually hear the truth. That he had some magical insight into what had happened.

He feared the worst.

Fyn approached. ‘Bolder says to hunker down. Storm’s coming.’

Thorgils sighed. ‘And here’s me thinking we’d get through the journey without some disaster befalling us.’

‘Go speak to Mattie,’ Eadmund told Fyn. ‘See what she can see.’

A nodding Fyn headed past the men, who swayed before each other in silence.

Thorgils clapped his friend on the shoulder. ‘I’ve never had faith in anyone like I have in Jael,’ he said without even a hint of humour in his eyes. ‘Not even your father, and that’s saying something. That woman...’ He shook his head. ‘She’s wrangled more beasts and bastards than anyone I know of. And you want to doubt her now? I think she’d have something to say about that.’ He stared into Eadmund’s eyes, trying to see a flicker of life.

Eadmund swallowed, turning away. Picking his nails, he heard the mournful cry of the wind. If he let his mind wander, that sound merged into one deafening howl, as though all the gods were weeping.

For Jael.

Furia’s daughter.

The mighty Jael Furyck.

And remembering his wife’s dream of those pyres and her own body lying amongst them, he felt sick, swirling in a whirlpool of worries.

‘What I think or feel doesn’t matter,’ he muttered. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’

‘Exactly. We’ll see soon enough. And in the meantime, let Jael handle whatever’s being thrown at her. She can. We both know she can handle warriors and dreamers alike. Don’t worry, Eadmund, we’ll be there soon. And so will she. Waiting for us.’

* * *

Edela led Bertel and Siggy on a long, meandering journey, searching for any sign of Raymon Vandaal, convinced that her path away from Osterland, across the Valgeir Sea, had led her here for a reason.

A Furyck reason.

And stopping, at last, to the great relief of her companions, panting loudly behind her, she turned around.

‘Finally!’ Bertel exclaimed. ‘We have to find a well, Edela. I’m parched, and as for poor Siggy –’

‘I’m fine. Though I’ve got a hole in my boot.’ And taking advantage of the break, Siggy took off her boot and shook out some gravel.

Edela turned to her. ‘That’s not good to hear. We need that lovely shoemaker from Bakkar, don’t we? What was her name?’

‘Anna,’ Siggy said. ‘But where are we, Edela?’

‘Good question,’ Bertel huffed. ‘Nowhere near a well, that’s for sure.’

‘We are at a crossroads,’ Edela told them. ‘See.’ And motioning past her companions, she showed them what was entirely obvious: a narrow tower with a symbol on top, marking a bustling crossroads, with nine narrow paths leading off it.

‘Deary me,’ Bertel sighed, taking it all in. ‘And you know which path to take?’

‘I will,’ Edela assured him, suddenly not feeling confident about that. ‘After I catch my breath. Over there,’ she suggested, pointing to a bench, empty bar a few birds making a mess. ‘We’ll give our poor feet a break, and I’ll close my eyes.’

Bertel shook his head. ‘You’ll only draw attention to yourself, woman.’

‘I’ll pretend to be asleep!’ she laughed. ‘That won’t look out of place at all. I certainly feel like taking a nap.’

Siggy limped after Edela with a grimace. ‘I’ve got a terrible blister.’ And shooing three squawking birds away, she sat down, showing Edela her foot.

‘Oh dear, that does look painful,’ Edela said, glancing around. ‘You stay here, and I’ll try that shop over there. I’ve been meaning to find a healer. I’m completely useless with no supplies.’

Bertel, who had bent to sit, now straightened up. ‘I’ll come with you.’

Edela laughed. ‘For what reason? Company? In truth, I’d enjoy a moment alone.’

Bertel looked offended as Edela continued to chuckle. ‘I have my coins, so you take a seat, and I’ll return presently. Perhaps I’ll find something tasty to eat while I’m gone?’

‘Well, don’t go far,’ Bertel warned. ‘You mustn’t go far!’ Though he was calling into the noise of the crossroads, and a bustling Edela didn’t even turn around.

* * *

‘Where have you been?’ Alek asked when he found Jael, still mixing her bucket of mortar on a plank of wood balanced on two boulders.

‘Gardi was taken away and there’s no one else free. I’ve had to come down and do it myself.’

‘And you know how?’ Alek wondered.

Jael nodded. ‘Gardi taught me.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘He just started slurring his words, then he slumped over. Quint and Berros had to come and carry him down.’

Alek sighed. ‘They’re dropping like flies.’ And batting a cloud of actual flies away, he edged closer to Jael. ‘The queen and her stepmother went into the temple with Inesh Seppo.’

Jael peered at him, sensing there was more. The flies moved towards her now, though with one hand stirring and another pouring the water, she couldn’t swat them away. ‘And?’

‘Apparently, he’s invited the dreamer to be part of the sacrifice. To lead it.’

Jael was confused, unsure what she thought of Inesh Seppo and his motives. Was he like the old Noor, who had sacrificed himself and given her hope? Or was he an enemy masking his true intentions with a pleasing manner and an earnest smile? ‘The dreamer is a worry. She made a lot of pointed threats to me just now.’

Alek looked worried himself. ‘Do you think she can see past your symbol?’ he whispered, though with a hoarse, dry throat, he was soon coughing.

Wanting to give him confidence, Jael shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t believe so. Though you must take care not to speak to anyone who doesn’t have a stone. You have your leaders and your messengers, so only rely on them. Encourage them to hold their tongues too.’

He nodded. ‘They know to do that.’

‘There will always be spies. Dreamers or not, there will always be spies. We just have to get to the funeral. Here. With all those slaves here, we’ll outnumber them.’

‘Though will it be enough?’ Alek was suddenly doubtful of his long thought-through, much-discussed plan. Jael was right about the numbers. He’d spent years on the numbers, and in his head or scratched in dirt, it had all seemed possible. Hopeful. Now he saw how broken and exhausted these men were. How would they have the strength for such an important fight against armed, energised warriors? Men skilled with weapons, who went home every night. Who slept in beds and ate real food and didn’t live with the fear of death hanging over their heads?

And then there was Jael herself.

She could barely lift her arms.

His doubts created a churning noise that Jael heard loudly. ‘Fear breeds fear,’ she told him as two men approached. ‘In a battle, fear quickly becomes like a sickness. If you can frighten your enemy, that fear can do more harm than any blade. If you can command their minds, tell them what to think and feel, you will weaken them. But if the opposite happens?’ Standing back, she shrugged. ‘We have to stay strong in our minds. You’ve managed it this far, Alek, and I’ll need you. So will those men you’ve chosen to lead. Don’t wobble now.’

Alek felt very wobbly as the two men stopped before him, one with a question, one with a command from Kosta to meet him atop the tower. He nodded at one, answered the other, and with a determined smile, left Jael to it.

Watching him go, she was reminded of the dreamer’s threats, fearing that everything she’d just told Alek was a bunch of lies and that Dessalene Sardis had heard them all.

* * *

The healer’s shop was fragranced with a mishmash of intriguing aromas, and as Edela closed the door behind her, she picked out hints of lavender and ginger, though many scents were entirely foreign to her nose.

The middle-aged man behind the thick wooden counter eyed her with interest.

He spoke the common tongue in the first instance, recognising that this old woman was not from the Fire Lands. ‘And from whence have you come?’ he enquired, twirling his moustache with a flourish. ‘I have visitors from all over Varmyr. North, South, East and West, I’ve had them all through my door!’

Edela peered at the diminutive man, deciding that he seemed trustworthy enough, though she wouldn’t reveal anything about herself. ‘I am from Alekka. Visiting. My granddaughter has a terrible blister, so I wanted some marigold for it, and mallow if you have it. Also some witch hazel. Yes, and garlic. Oh, how I long for garlic!’

The man arched an unruly eyebrow. ‘You are a healer?’

Edela laughed. ‘I have healed as a mother, a grandmother, and now as an old woman. I’m not sure that makes me a healer, though I do know my way around a blister.’

The man smiled. ‘I am Tarkel. A physician. Please, I have just what you need as it happens. I’ve been making pots of my favourite healing balm, for burns, bruises, and cuts. It should work perfectly for a blister.’

‘What is in it?’ Edela wondered.

Tarkel hesitated, for his concoctions were his own. ‘You are just visiting?’

Edela nodded. ‘I will return home before the end of the month.’

‘Well, there is no harm in sharing a little knowledge between friends,’ Tarkel decided with a wink. ‘Please, go through the archway and take a seat in my waiting room. I shall just step upstairs and grab one of my pots.’ He ushered Edela through the archway, where a young woman was tying an apron over a plain black dress. ‘Lilia, please look after the shop.’ And with that, the physician disappeared up the stairs.

Edela smiled at the woman in passing, intrigued by the many shelves and intense smells in the physician’s waiting room. She barely heard the shop door open and close but soon became aware of a man’s voice and then the young woman replying.

Shivers tingled Edela’s arms as she crept back towards the archway, and lifting her hood over her head, she saw that the man who’d entered the shop was none other than Raymon Vandaal.

* * *

Jael had discovered that there was something hypnotic about her work, and despite her discomfort, the repetitive movements were oddly soothing. She perched on the scaffolding, trowels in hand, working to a steady rhythm, pleased to be mostly alone.

Her thoughts wandered, the sun beating on her head like a drummer. It was so hot that she became sleepy.

She saw Eadmund’s face, feeling his beard beneath her fingers. She watched herself kissing a sleeping Bo, riding a glistening Tig.

Killing.

She saw the rhythmic dance of blades, the sharpened edges cutting flesh, drawing blood. It flew through the air like little red baubles. Baubles in the sun.

That sun, it burned, and she saw her back, striped and stitched.

Argo Kosta’s face.

Sunni lying dead.

And she saw herself standing on the sacrifice platform before the tower, the sun striking her face, lighting her up like flames.

Igniting her.

The plank she crouched on wobbled violently, and jerked out of her vision, she saw a man approach. ‘Didn’t you hear? Break time! Take too long and there’ll be no water for you.’

Jael peered at the man. Berros. That creep.

She nodded. ‘Coming.’ And after cleaning her trowels on a cloth and leaving them in the bucket of water, she stood, turning to stare at the hazy blue sky and the great golden sun.

Eyshar was the God of Fire, Alek had told her.

And also the God of Providence.

A powerful god indeed.

So whose side was he on?

* * *

Upon seeing the familiar face of Edela Saeveld, Raymon’s feet started shuffling, eyes snapping to the door. Though he didn’t move as the dreamer came through the archway towards him.

The physician’s assistant turned away to find something on the shelves, and Raymon dropped his head, swallowing a mouthful of bile.

‘Hello,’ Edela said softly. ‘I had hoped to see you again.’

Raymon frowned, eyes darting to the assistant and then the dreamer before returning to his boots. ‘You are following me? You have followed me here?’ he whispered.

The woman turned back with a small linen pouch. ‘You must crush the leaves and mix with the salt. Hold them in your mouth, on the tooth, for at least an hour. More if necessary. If it doesn’t help, please return, and I will find you something stronger.’

A nodding Raymon paid the woman with fumbling fingers, eventually turning back to Edela, clasping the linen pouch, unsure of what to say.

‘May we use your rear door?’ Edela asked sweetly, forgetting all about the balm the physician had left to find. ‘A more private exit would be preferable for my young friend and me.’

The woman looked surprised on both counts, though she silently ushered Edela and Raymon through the archway, into the waiting room, a full store room, and finally, through the back door.

Edela flashed her a grateful smile. ‘Please tell the physician I will return presently. I just have a... matter to attend to.’

The woman nodded, closing the door, leaving Edela and Raymon alone in a dank alley, penned in by tall buildings cloaking them in shadow.

Edela saw a litter of miaowing kittens, thinking of Siggy, who she needed to return to. But not yet.

‘Why are you here?’ Raymon wanted to know. ‘Who sent you after me? Axl? Who knew I was here?’

‘No one at all,’ Edela promised, seeking to calm him, fearing he would simply run away again. ‘At least not that I’m aware of. I am here by chance. I saw you by pure chance, but once I did, I had to see you again. I was in Ollsvik the day after the fire, you see. It was quite upsetting. And then to see you here? I wondered if I was imagining things. But no, here you are, Raymon. Very much alive.’

Raymon turned away, trying to make sense of things. ‘You were in Ollsvik? Why?’ He turned back to Edela, too surprised to be wary now.

‘There was an attack in Tuura. I was staying there, helping at the temple and... well, I saw the danger just in time and managed to escape with my companions. One of them was Lina Storgard. We took her home to Ollsvik, to her family.’

Raymon’s frown deepened, his confusion intensifying. ‘Lina?’ Now he nodded. ‘She was a dreamer.’

‘And soon to be the Queen of Iskavall.’

That was a shock that quickly had Raymon shivering. ‘So Oren Storgard was victorious?’

‘You didn’t think he would be? When you ran away, you didn’t imagine he would claim your throne?’

Raymon shook his head. ‘I hadn’t meant that to happen when I...’ He turned to the physician’s door, fearing someone would come out. Staring back down the alley, he saw the kittens now playing with a dead mouse. ‘I did what I did, Edela. I can’t undo it, and I... I don’t want to. I don’t want to return.’

‘But what about your wife? Your people?’

Raymon’s laugh was bitter. ‘Many of my people sought to kill me. My wife certainly would’ve, given a better offer. I have nothing in Ollsvik, nothing I want. That place, it killed everyone I loved, and I knew before long that it would kill me too.’

‘So you killed yourself first?’

‘You don’t understand what it was like, what it felt like to live in that prison, watched by my enemies. I was afraid of every mouthful of food, every cup of wine, every pair of eyes. A man would slip his hand inside his cloak and I’d fear he’d have a knife.’ Shaking his head, he trembled at the memories. ‘I... I will not return. I cannot.’

Edela felt his pain, and nodding, she offered a smile. ‘I am not here to make any demands, Raymon. I merely wanted to understand, to see if I could help.’

He peered at her. ‘But why are you in Castala, Edela? So far from home? You went from Ollsvik to Silura?’

‘Yes, eventually,’ she chuckled. ‘I’m not entirely sure how I’ve ended up here or why, though it appears that people are trying to kill me. They’ve certainly tried very hard, though I’m still standing.’

‘Kill you? Why?’

‘Unfortunately, I have no answers for that, though I am hunted, and I fear returning to Osterland until I understand why.’

Raymon’s worry for himself vanished as he looked down on the kind old woman – Jael and Axl’s grandmother. She had always been so nice to him, and now she was in danger. ‘You’re not alone, though, are you? You have help?’

Edela smiled. ‘I do. I have two companions keeping me on my feet, so you needn’t worry about me. And being a dreamer, I have a few tricks up my sleeve too.’

‘And coins? You have enough?’

‘Yes, I do. Oh, yes, plenty.’ Digging into her purse, Edela ferreted around, eventually pulling out a small shard of green tourmaline. ‘Here, take this. Keep it on you, and if you ever find yourself in trouble, in need of help, you can hold it and think of me, and I will try and find you.’

Raymon peered at the stone before lifting his eyes to the dreamer. ‘Well, I...’

‘I would take you with me now if I could,’ she grinned. ‘Though I’m well aware that you want to leave all vestiges of your old life behind. But we all need help sometimes, so don’t be afraid to reach out for it. If I am close, I will come. And even if I’m far away, I will make my way to you, Raymon. If you find yourself in danger, I will do all I can to help you.’

‘Why?’ he wondered, tears in his eyes as he finally took the stone, rubbing a finger over its surface, feeling indentations. ‘Why care about me?’

‘Because you are a Furyck, of course. We share a family, whether you want to believe so or not. I know you thought it helped you to forget about being a Furyck, though you will always be one. I see it so clearly. You are Ranuf’s boy, and he loved you so very much. I’ve often seen images of him with you as a child. The love he bore for you was all over his face. That and his love for your mother.’

A tear spilled from Raymon’s eye, trailing down his cheek.

‘You will always be a Furyck, always have a home in Brekka, if you decide you want it. Or with Jael, on Oss. Axl and Jael would both welcome you. We all would. Wherever you go, however lost you become, always know that you have a home with your family.’ Taking his hand, Edela gave it a comforting squeeze. ‘Be careful, Raymon. You may think you have escaped your enemies, though your actions will not have gone unnoticed by those who mean the Furycks harm.’ Bobbing her head, she stepped past a stunned Raymon towards the physician’s back door. ‘Take care now.’

He turned, watching her go. ‘And you, Edela. And you.’

PART IV

RETURN OF THE KING

35

Axl had decided to keep Helga’s discovery to himself, so he hadn’t mentioned it at the previous day’s meeting. The fewer people who knew about the spies, the better. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Erling or even Ragnar. There was just more risk of having word spread, and he needed to keep the men talking so he could uncover their plans.

He sent word to his messenger, Torun, now acting as his spy, arranging to meet the young man in the forest.

Torun was late, and Axl was growing concerned, scuffing pine needles with his boots, constantly glancing over his shoulder, at last hearing a horse coming.

An apologetic Torun dismounted with red cheeks, hurrying to his king. ‘I couldn’t get away, my lord. I am sorry.’

Axl shook his head, wanting to be quick. ‘And what have you found? These men? Have you... befriended them?’

‘Hardar and Emmet? Yes, it was easy enough. We’re all working for Elred on the new pier.’

‘And these men, what have they told you?’

Torun sucked in a breath, seeing a golden beam of sunlight shining through the trees. ‘Emmet’s quiet.’

‘I don’t know him,’ Axl admitted. ‘I can’t put a face to the name.’

‘He’s not Andalan,’ Torun explained. ‘He’s come up from Rosby. He’s disgruntled, alright. Says he doesn’t like the state of things. Not since your father died, my lord.’

Axl frowned. ‘And the other man? Hardar?’

‘He’s from Rosby too. They know each other.’

‘Rosby?’ Axl was confused. ‘So they’re not Iskavallan?’

‘No, lord.’

Axl thought of the Lord of Rosby, Henk Layborg. He was new to that position, having taken over from his brother during the recent sickness. Much of his family had perished, from memory. He didn’t know the man well, though he had sworn an oath to his king.

An oath that was now...

Axl didn’t know.

Perhaps it was nothing? It was common for people to move about, seeking better opportunities. Life was rarely stagnant, and when circumstances changed, people often left what was familiar for a new beginning. Perhaps Hardar had simply come to Andala because his friend had, and now they were working together?

Though he remembered Helga’s words.

A lord sent him. Not a lord friendly to you.

There could be no doubt, and realising it, he eyed Torun. ‘Keep in with them. The pier’s barely started, so there’s plenty to keep you all busy. See if you can draw them out. Share your own unhappiness with your king.’ Torun looked uncomfortable about that, though Axl smiled encouragingly. ‘It’s no different than carrying messages. It’s what your king is asking you to do, and it could save all our lives. Find out what those men want. My dreamer thinks they’re enemies, so I need to find out the truth before it’s too late.’

* * *

Dessalene pinched Pye, who squeaked as she’d intended. ‘I need more from you than tittle-tattle about Kalina’s lords and their revolting proclivities, you pointless toad. What I want are things I can actually use! Do you understand me? I am searching for a rat, not breadcrumbs!’

Pye sat opposite her in the carriage they were taking to the harbour, where the king was soon to arrive. Kalina had gone on ahead, wanting to ensure that everything was perfect.

Having seen what her husband had been up to since she’d left his side, Dessalene felt less inclined to rush, though it wouldn’t do to create problems. There would be time to take him to task for his indulgences.

‘I did hear something...’ Pye teased.

‘Something you’ve been sitting on?’

He shook his head. ‘I thought to gather more information before I brought it to you, Mistress, but as you are so very impatient –’

‘I abhor games, Pye, unless I’m the one playing them. Ronin will be here any moment, which, as always, is both a curse and a blessing, so I need to know everything. And I need to know it now!’

‘There is talk of a revolt, Mistress.’

‘Revolt?’ The carriage dipped into a rut, and Dessalene jerked forward, almost onto Pye’s lap. ‘What? By the slaves?’

He nodded. ‘There is talk that they’ll rise up and overthrow the lords. Even the queen herself!’

Dessalene laughed. ‘Silly Pye, that isn’t new. Such talk is always present, for what prisoner doesn’t speak of freedom? It is nothing to concern ourselves with, unless there is something more?’

Pye wasn’t sure.

‘And where did you hear this?’

‘One of the kitchen slaves. She heard rumours about how it was coming. They would rise up soon, she said, and she was worried. She feared what they would do to those who worked for the queen, in the palace. She worried they wouldn’t be spared and that the women would all be raped!’ Pye’s bulging eyes became more pronounced.

Though Dessalene eyed him with scorn. ‘The word of one gossiping slave is hardly proof of a conspiracy, Pye. Surely you know that?’

He slunk back with a grunt, slumped in defeat. ‘It is something. I tell you it is something,’ he muttered.

The dreamer ignored him, turning to look at the great forest of masts marking the harbour in the distance. She had no love of ships or the men who sailed them. They were generally a smelly, uncouth bunch. Apart from Arras Sikari, she thought with a scowl. And though that charming man had slipped away from her prowling wolves, she wouldn’t forget him.

She would ensure the traitor was brought to justice one day.

One day soon.

The carriage started rocking from side to side as they approached the harbour entrance, where Dessalene could see Kalina flanked by a small army of slaves, issuing orders to her temporary Commander of the Waves.

Their attention appeared fixed on one ship in particular, and as the carriage rumbled closer, Dessalene could see her husband gripping its wolf head prow.

* * *

Bone Hammer was abuzz with activity as everyone scrambled to find something for breakfast. Strict rationing was in place, though it hadn’t stopped a greedy few helping themselves when no one was looking.

Including Thorgils Svanter, who did his best impression of an innocent man as Bolder grumbled about where all the cheese had gone.

Shaking his head, Fyn turned to Mattie. ‘Well, I hope you didn’t feel like cheese.’

She grinned. ‘I prefer soft cheese. I like to mix it with fresh dewberries and a little cream and serve it with crispbreads.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s not to everyone’s taste.’

Though Fyn looked intrigued. ‘I wouldn’t mind trying that.’

‘Well, I imagine you’d have to come to Sonderberg. I doubt you have dewberries on Oss.’

Fyn shrugged. ‘Traders are always stopping by, so likely we’ve got more than you might expect. But no, I’ve never heard of them.’

‘And do you like living there? Your cold little island?’

Fyn laughed. ‘It’s certainly cold, though it’s not so little, and I do. It’s home. Everyone knows each other, so it’s like a big family really. And with Jael and Eadmund on the throne, it just feels... right.’ Turning his head, he saw the horizon like a great road in the distance, wondering how far he was from home now. How far from Bram and his horse, Yara. From the children and Biddy. Isaura and Ayla.

Home.

He wondered if Milla was there, and thinking of her, he smiled.

‘We’ve been away for too long,’ he decided, eyes back on Thorgils, who was fighting Kolarov for a half-frozen sausage. ‘Especially Thorgils. His wife was pregnant when we left. He worries about her. Her last birth was a bit frightening for them both.’

‘And you want that, do you? A wife and children on your little island?’

Fyn shrugged. ‘I’m still young, so I’m happy as I am. I’ll wait and see what the gods have in store for me. For now, it’s all about getting our queen and going home.’ He peered at a silent Mattie, surprised by how calm she was. The dreamer had become increasingly tense as their journey progressed, so it was unusual to find her so relaxed. ‘And you? You will go back to Tuura? To your village?’

Mattie bent down, picking up her miaowing cat. ‘Of course. It’s just the two of us, so yes, we’ll go home and pick up where we left off.’

‘And will you marry again?’

‘Me?’ Mattie laughed. ‘Why would I ever want to? I already found my true love. I won’t search for another. I’m content now to live with Otter and my memories.’

Fyn thought to encourage her to think differently, to hope for a family and another man she could love, though she was a stubborn woman. A woman who certainly knew her own mind. Her happiness was her own.

Not his business.

He spun around as Thorgils lobbed a stale roll at him.

‘You’ll lose a tooth on that,’ Mattie warned with a wink.

‘Not hungry?’

She shook her head. ‘I want to close my eyes and see where the day takes me. I’ll eat when all the fuss dies down. Besides, I don’t think anyone should get between Thorgils and his empty belly.’

Fyn laughed, watching as she stumbled away from him, one hand hugging Otter to her chest, one held out for balance.

He hoped she would find something.

Something to give them hope that Jael was still alive.

* * *

A breathless slave arrived at the temple grounds with news that the king’s ships had been sighted in the harbour.

Sipping from a cup of water, shielding her eyes from the already blazing sun, Jael became tense.

Ronin Sardis sounded like a formidable man. To have created his own private kingdom? To have built it up with such speed that it resembled an ancient city? And to do it all under a shield of privacy? From the scant information she’d managed to gather, he was an ambitious man, protected and supported by powerful friends.

Her enemy.

Beside her, Alek bent over, coughing. ‘We must be... careful,’ he warned, trying to clear his throat. Jael offered him her water, though he shook his head. ‘Kosta might be a brute, a hammer, but from what I’ve heard, Ronin Sardis is a wolf. He’s careful in what he does, careful in who he trusts and always primed to attack.’

‘Well, we just have to hope that any loose lips are sewn shut until the funeral.’

‘Is that possible, though? In a place this size?’ Alek fretted. ‘If one conversation is overhead, one person changes their mind and talks...’

Jael yawned, taking in those men sucking the last drips of moisture from their small cups. They looked ready to fall down where they stood and sleep until winter. She doubted any would want to sabotage their chance of freedom. Though it wasn’t unthinkable for someone to be overheard or that sharp-eyed dreamer to uncover what they were planning. ‘Either way, remember what you know, what you believe to be true. Your mind will start tricking you now, especially in the heat and after all these hours of working. But you can’t forget what you know, Alek.’ He was still coughing, trying to suppress it, though she could see that he was struggling. ‘You know numbers. Your work has all been up here,’ Jael said, tapping her aching head. ‘Let them try to stop us. We’ll crush them anyway.’ And with a smile, she headed to where Quint stood near the men who had drawn up four buckets of water from the well, though she doubted it would last long.

Alek turned to watch her go, struggling to catch his breath.

He saw the streaks of blood leaking from her wounds, the patches of sweat staining her tunic. She was as exhausted as the rest of them, but Jael Furyck walked like a queen.

A queen who would soon set them free.

* * *

‘You have been missed, Wife,’ Ronin Sardis grunted, pulling Dessalene towards him, kissing her with a need that soon had them both breathing heavily.

Dessalene pulled away, inclining her head to where Pye sat opposite them, looking on with bulging eyes.

‘What’s that fuck doing here?’ Standing up, Ronin demanded the driver’s attention, and sitting back down as the carriage pulled to an abrupt halt, he swung open the door. ‘Out you go! Crawl back to the palace, you little prick! Or better yet, go find a kennel to sleep in!’

A horrified Pye glanced at Dessalene, who shrugged at him, and with a reluctant sigh, he crept towards the open door, almost falling through it as Ronin threatened him with a boot.

‘You are cruel,’ Dessalene chided with a smile, paying no attention to a plaintive-looking Pye, who watched as the carriage clattered away, leaving him in a cloud of dust. She had missed the smell of this man, though remembering what she’d seen in her dreams, her smile soured. ‘To me. So cruel, Ronin. I came to comfort and help your poor barren daughter while you remained behind, entertaining young girls in our bed.’

Ronin grabbed Dessalene’s arm, tugging her towards him. ‘Young girls? Well, younger than you, my old wife. But never as desirable, never as powerful, never as important as you are to me. Though I am a man. What else am I to do when you abandon me? I am a king. My needs must be met, Dessalene, and if not by you, then whoever’s to hand.’

‘Must they, though?’ She smiled as he kissed her, rushing a hand up her dress. ‘It is only a... brief journey to the palace,’ she warned with a gasp.

‘Take me on a tour!’ Ronin barked at the driver, his pale green eyes never leaving Dessalene’s. ‘And you, Wife, will remind me of what I’ve been missing.’

* * *

After his surprising encounter with Edela Saeveld, Raymon felt all at sea. Any peace he may have claimed since leaving Osterland had been swept away in a wave of confusion.

Had the dreamer truly just stumbled upon him?

He couldn’t quite believe it.

Despite a night’s sleep, her words still rang in his ears, warning him of enemies he hadn’t anticipated. Once he’d left Ollsvik, he had hoped no one would think of him again. His kingdom would have yet another king, his wife, who hated him, would find another husband, and he would...

Raymon hadn’t exactly known.

His travels had so far been almost surreal, as though he’d not been able to experience all that was new and strange. He had changed his name three times already, unable to decide who he wanted to be. But hearing his own name spoken again and being looked upon by someone who had known him as a king made him feel ashamed.

A coward.

Raymon turned right with no idea of where he was going. He’d hoped to wake up knowing what he wanted to do and where he wanted to go, though the new day had brought no clarity. He thought about finding some breakfast, remembering that he hadn’t eaten supper. Maybe food was what he needed to start thinking clearly again?

Eyes sweeping the flock of people surging towards him, occasionally turning around to check who was behind him, he was determined not to bump into Edela again.

He remembered the baker who sold delicious date cakes, immediately turning right, hoping he could find his way there.

His thoughts tangled.

Perhaps he needed to leave Castala today? He could find a camel or a horse and disappear into the desert.

He could...

Now Raymon turned left. The alleys were so narrow there was barely any space between opposing rows of houses. There was a pervasive smell of shit, though, a reeking stench that had his nostrils flaring, once again focusing his mind.

He would buy some food and return to his room, pack his things and decide what to do.

He couldn’t be anywhere someone might find him – someone from his past.

If he was a coward, then so be it, but he wouldn’t return to that life.

He wouldn’t return to Iskavall.

He turned a sharp corner, tunic snapping as he hurried away.

Not noticing the man in the hooded cloak following some distance behind.

* * *

After greeting her father and realising it was Dessalene he most wanted to be with, Kalina had made a quick escape in her carriage, heading back to the palace. Her father was notoriously quick-tempered and detested when things weren’t exactly to his liking, so she felt an urge to ensure the palace was in order one last time.

The carriage pulled up outside the palace steps, footmen and doormen scurrying to and fro.

She saw Argo Kosta waiting near the open doors, and taking a footman’s hand, she descended the carriage steps, frowning. ‘Is something wrong, commander? My father is on his way, I... if something is wrong, perhaps it is best to tell me first. I do not wish to ruin his homecoming with problems.’

Kosta looked confused and incredibly clean, Kalina realised as she approached, sensing Mali behind her, untangling her train.

‘Your stepmother invited me,’ he explained in a halting voice. He was more comfortable with weapons and warriors, and dressed in a new linen tunic and trousers, absent any armour, he felt almost naked. ‘She wanted me here. I thought you knew, my queen. Kalina.’

Kalina blinked at him, swallowing a sigh. ‘Of course. Well, do come inside. We mustn’t loiter out here with the slaves.’

She was a queen, Kalina knew. What she thought mattered little now.

A queen needed a husband and heirs, and because of her poor choices, she had lost the opportunity to take matters into her own hands. It was S’ala Nis that mattered now; there was nothing else to be said.

So, sweeping past her betrothed into the palace, she left all thoughts of Arras Sikari behind.

* * *

Ronin and Dessalene’s carriage entered the temple grounds, its impressive new tower reaching into the clear morning sky. The sun had set it alight, enhancing every feature, and Ronin took a moment to study it, feeling pleased with its overall impact on the site. Though his attention quickly skipped ahead. ‘Is she here then? My prize?’ he breathed in a dishevelled Dessalene’s ear, feeling her warm and limp beside him.

‘Oh yes,’ his wife promised. ‘She has been working on that tower herself, like the good little slave she is.’

‘Not stirring up trouble?’ Ronin wondered, turning to stroke her cheek. ‘Not trying to start a war? You left in such a fluster. I had imagined coming here to find the place on fire and Jael Furyck sitting on the throne.’

Dessalene laughed. ‘You give the woman too much credit. She is mortal, Ronin, not a goddess.’

He kissed her. ‘Though from what you just told me, she nearly escaped, no thanks to Kalina.’

‘Kalina is the reason she didn’t escape. Her spies alerted her to the danger, and they stopped her.’

‘Though not Arras Sikari,’ Ronin scowled. It was hard not to feel betrayed by that. The man had been like a son to him. He had raised him up so high, now regretting every misjudgment he had made, reliving his poor choices.

‘The girl fell in love! I’m sure you remember what that feels like?’ Dessalene murmured, watching her husband’s jaw pulsing.

‘Perhaps I remember,’ he growled, fingering her lips.

She nibbled his finger. ‘Well, let us forgive Kalina her little sins and forget about Arras Sikari entirely. As I said, I’ve already arranged for her to marry Argo Kosta. It is an eminently suitable match, and he has a bastard on the way with a slave. Before long, Kalina will have a child in her arms and a consort by her side, and we can return to our own plans.’

And thinking of their plans, Ronin’s eyes were drawn back to that impressive tower. He saw the empty stadium before the sacrifice platform and the temple, mostly unchanged since he had left the isle, but it was the tower that held his attention. Sunlight surged through holes in the walls like orange and gold flames.

He thought of Eyshar, and edging away from his wife, he tidied up his trousers and tunic. ‘I will make an offering,’ he murmured. ‘Alone. It has been too long.’

‘Then I shall carry on and send the carriage back for you,’ Dessalene decided.

Kissing her, Ronin frowned. ‘But first, tell me what happened to Noor. How did he die?’

* * *

Hallow Wood was a strange place, and after riding through it for nearly three days, Gant was beginning to feel strange himself.

He was tired, he knew that, though he was sure he kept passing the same tree. It was an old oak with a knot in its trunk, curled into the shape of a heart.

He was convinced he’d seen it four times now, starting to wonder if he was seeing things. Turning around, he called Osgar to him. ‘We need to stop for a drink. You ride ahead and find a stream.’ The young man nodded, spurring his mare ahead.

Gus’ white ears had started swivelling for the first time since they’d ridden into the woods, inviting Gant to worry some more. Then blinking and attempting to wake himself up, he thought of Gisila and Andala and Axl.

He couldn’t let his mind wander down meandering paths. He had to stay on this path, leading any pursuers far away from Andala.

Turning around, he winked at the nearest man. ‘Osgar might find us somewhere we can –’ Hearing a scream and certain it was Osgar, Gant swung back around, spurring Gus down the road.

36

Edela, Bertel, and Siggy ate in silence, perched outside a busy tavern, enjoying an early supper of seafood broth and bread. The broth was salty, and the bread was a little charred, though overall, it was a hearty meal that filled them up.

Bertel kept trying to ply Edela for information while they ate, wanting to know what they were going to do about finding Raymon Vandaal. After only one day of searching, she no longer seemed interested in pursuing him any further.

‘I told you, I’ve no clues about where he might be,’ she insisted. ‘It feels like a dead end. Perhaps not a path to follow at all? Besides, we can hardly keep wandering around in circles. If I was meant to find him, I’m sure I would have been shown something by now.’ Edela wasn’t exactly sure why she wanted to keep her meeting with Raymon a secret, except that she’d felt something when she was standing before him – a dark foreboding, as though he was in grave danger. She had felt such an urgency to find him, though now she felt foolish, fearing she may have led her enemies to a new target.

Were they linked?

She didn’t know, but Furia herself had feared for those Edela loved.

And The Armless One had said as much in her prophecy to Ranuf Furyck.

The Furyck line would soon end.

Gulping, she placed her spoon back in the bowl and her hands in her lap. ‘You can have mine,’ she offered, first to Siggy, who shook her head, then to Bertel, who nodded his.

The bowls were barely big enough to feed a child, he thought, happy to have two. They were trying to conserve the coins Edela had earned in Bakkar, so he’d worked to suppress his appetite, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Except those about Raymon Vandaal.

Though no longer wishing to even talk about the poor young man, Edela changed the subject. ‘We need to find a way to earn more coins while we’re here. What do you think we could do? Anything but fortune telling!’ she laughed, winking at a quiet Siggy, who looked up in that dazed manner again. Edela frowned. ‘I’m starting to think you’re ill. You have a look about you. Does your head hurt, or perhaps your throat?’

Siggy nodded. ‘My head has been hurting since yesterday. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.’

A disturbed Bertel edged away from her, earning a stern look from Edela. ‘Well, I have something for that in my purse!’ she announced happily. ‘Though I must return to that physician for a few more supplies. I need to keep us all in good working order, don’t I?’ She squeezed Siggy’s hand. ‘Why don’t we leave Bertel to gobble that down, and we’ll head back to the baker’s room. I can make you up a drink that will soon send that headache on its way.’

Siggy stood with a grateful smile. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be unhelpful.’

Edela wrapped an arm around her. ‘Oh, you’re never unhelpful, Siggy Larsen. Quite the opposite.’

‘But you can’t go on your own!’ Bertel spluttered, splashing his spoon down into the bowl. ‘I...!’ He took another quick mouthful before rushing up from the table and hurrying after them. ‘It’s not safe!’ he called, receiving a few filthy looks.

Edela was laughing when he caught them. ‘You still don’t think I can keep myself safe? Still?’

Bertel swept a hand over his forehead, wiping away a layer of sweat. ‘I think you think you can keep yourself safe, though I doubt Iker Rayas is going to give up so easily. If he was promised a reward, he will hunt you down like the prize you are, no matter how many injuries he has.’ Moving ahead of his companions, Bertel sought to clear a space, without much luck. Everyone moved with urgency, demonstrating no tolerance for those standing in their way.

Edela let him do what he needed to, keeping Siggy close. ‘It won’t be long. We’re nearly there.’

Beneath all her curls, Siggy tried to smile, though she still felt odd.

Something was wrong. Something she couldn’t put her finger on.

Something inside her.

* * *

Gant’s heart was throbbing as he turned Gus into the trees, fearing he’d led his men into danger once again.

He heard more screaming as he charged deeper into the woods, leaving the path behind.

Branches snapping, horses blowing, Gant and his men ploughed on, following those agonising noises.

It sounded as though Osgar was in terrible pain.

The forest darkened around them, first a greenish blue light, then an inky black. Gant was struggling to even breathe, let alone see now, though just as he was about to stop and turn his men around, he came to a clearing.

He could smell smoke.

And squinting, he could see a cottage...

* * *

Quint had lost his voice after days of yelling at his men, so his offsider, Berros, had to make his speech after supper to those slaves who had been allowed to stop for a meal. ‘We’ll be working through the night! All of us! One hour’s rest only!’

There were surprised looks and disappointed groans at that news.

Jael eyed Alek, who looked ready for a long sleep, though he nodded at her, attempting enthusiasm. Rigg, on the other hand, appeared ready to jump up from the bench and rip Berros’ head off.

‘One hour,’ he grumbled, ignoring the rest of whatever nonsense the man was spouting. ‘They want men climbing up that tower in the dark on one hour’s sleep? Men who’ve been pushed day after day, night after night? And they think that will get their tower finished?’ He leaned forward, dropping his head to his hands, and bristling with annoyance, he scratched his head. ‘Tired men are clumsy men and clumsy men –’

‘One more night, though,’ Alek reminded him. ‘We’re supposed to be finished by tomorrow.’

‘And if we’re finished tomorrow, they’ll put us on something else,’ Rigg’s neighbour muttered, head bowed as though he couldn’t even lift it. ‘The king or the queen or some rich lord will put us on something else. Some pretty tower or building or temple they can look at, not caring how many of us are buried to make it for them.’

Jael eyed the man, who was given to grumbling, though he wasn’t wrong. ‘Where do you come from?’ she asked.

Lifting his head, the black-eyed man named Hepa peered at her. ‘Silura. A place called Opat, far in the desert. I made the mistake of venturing to Castala one summer. It was like stepping into the mouth of a serpent, and before I knew it, he’d clamped his teeth together and I was trapped. Taken here.’

Jael had first-hand knowledge of a serpent’s mouth, though she didn’t say. ‘I went there many years ago,’ she said instead. ‘To visit the King of Silura.’

The three men turned towards her, wanting to know more.

‘And how did you find him?’ Hepa asked. ‘Last I heard, he’d gone mad. Locked away in his compound. His own prisoner now.’

Jael had heard something similar. ‘It must have been ten years since I saw him. He seemed content then, with his family around him. His palace with its gardens was enormous. I remember seeing wild beasts.’ She shook her head, feeling odd. Her father had taken her and Aleksander, leaving Axl behind with Gisila. It had opened her mind to how big Varmyr was, to how much there was to see.

‘All his family slowly died,’ Hepa added. ‘Some taken by illness. Many murdered. It doesn’t always pay to be a ruler of men, as those in power here will soon find out.’

Rigg nudged the man. ‘Keep your mouth shut about that, Hepa.’

Hepa eyed him angrily. ‘You think I’d risk Quint finding out? Risk an opportunity to see my home again?’ He lowered his voice. ‘No. I’ll slit the man’s throat myself and piss on his dying body.’

Jael stared at him, seeing anger seething from his pores like sweat.

She felt her own, though she had nothing against Quint.

He appeared caught in a trap of his own making. Every way he turned, he was bound to encounter an enemy – even in his own house.

Berros had finally finished speaking, and soon everyone in the hall dragged themselves back to their feet, accompanied by a chorus of groans, creaks, and clicks. Bodies that couldn’t take any more would only be offered one hour to recover, and they needed to use every second of it.

Jael closed her eyes, willing herself on.

Two days.

In two days, she would find her way home.

* * *

‘It is so good to have you home, Father,’ Kalina said nervously.

Ronin had excused them both, leaving Dessalene to entertain Kosta while he ushered Kalina into the throne room, quietly closing the doors.

No slaves were present, though every lamp and candle was burning – a sweet, musky aroma infusing the air.

‘I’m not sure you mean that, Kalina. Truly? You do know Dessalene told me about Arras and about Noor. That you murdered him?’ Ronin’s voice was a hiss and a snarl. ‘Here? In this very chamber?’

Kalina didn’t blink, though she felt a familiar tightness in her chest. ‘He betrayed me,’ she insisted, holding her ground.

‘How? How?’ Ronin demanded, and grabbing her wrist, he pulled her to him.

‘He told me that Arras and I would be together. He lied! He was playing games. To make such things up? To lie?’ She shook her head. ‘I knew he wasn’t loyal. Not to me or S’ala Nis. He let Arras escape! It was his fault. He should have seen!’ She was trembling with terror, feeling her father squeezing her wrist.

‘But to murder a seer? Chosen by Eyshar himself? But that great god raised me up, turned me from a lowly slave into a powerful king. And to betray him so cruelly in my name? Without thought to the consequences, Kalina?’ Dropping her arm, Ronin spun away. ‘I’m disgusted that you could commit such a crime. Against me! Against the trust I have placed in you! And why? Because your heart was broken?’ Ronin laughed, swinging back around. ‘Do you think a queen should have a heart, Daughter? A heart of what? Blood? No!’ He shook his head. ‘To rule with power and strength, a queen must possess no heart at all.’

Kalina blinked at him.

‘Your people do not care if you are happy. They care little for who lies beside you at night, who holds your hand and whispers in your ear. No! They care that they are safe and prosperous. And you have made us less safe, Kalina. Arras is gone from here, and what will he reveal of our secrets? What aid will he give to our enemies?’

Kalina still didn’t understand why Arras had left.

He’d shown no signs of unhappiness – not until he’d returned from Osterland with that woman.

A dreamer, who had certainly bewitched him.

‘Perhaps Jael Furyck is to blame?’ she offered. ‘Perhaps she convinced Arras to escape? To take her away? Noor denied it, though I didn’t believe him.’

‘Why? Because you are a dreamer, Kalina? Is that it? You are a seeress, a dreamer? That is a great revelation, if true!’

Kalina’s temper stirred, though under the steely gaze of her dominating father, it soon retreated. ‘I didn’t believe him,’ she repeated, sounding defeated now. ‘I cannot explain why.’

Ronin’s anger wasn’t tempered, and he pounded a fist against his leg. ‘I trusted you! Your mother, that silly, addled woman, tried to turn you into her little doll, but I saw intelligence and a quick mind. I saw strength and a leader in you. My heir! I chose you! And you? You have disrespected that choice, ruling not as a queen but as a petulant child, making impulsive, reckless decisions!’

Kalina recalled a childhood spent hiding from her father’s violent outbursts. ‘I am... sorry, Father. I am. Though S’ala Nis has not suffered. The isle thrives.’

Ronin swung around, remembering his guest. ‘You may think so,’ he seethed. ‘Yes, you may think so, Daughter, but power is so finely balanced on the isle. You rule as one woman. You sit in this chamber on that throne and make everyone on the isle believe that you are more powerful than all of them combined. That Eyshar chose you to rule in my steed, just as he chose Noor. The Noor you murdered.’ He turned to look back at his daughter, pinching his fingers together. ‘This is the margin between success and failure, between the powerful and the powerless. If you give these people a reason to doubt you, to doubt your ability to command Eyshar’s favour...’ And now he clamped his fingers together, eventually dropping his shoulders. ‘Come, we must rejoin your betrothed. I’m sure he has missed you already.’ And without lifting an eyebrow in humour, King Ronin Sardis strode out of the throne room, leaving his trembling daughter behind.

* * *

Knowing they were only allowed one hour’s rest, Jael hadn’t imagined that sleep would come. She’d eased herself down onto the mattress, lying on her side, mind whirring, though within a few heartbeats, she had plunged into a dream.

She walked in the snow, and it was cold.

Jael had forgotten cold, and this was freezing in a way that kept her blinking. Her lower legs were buried in it, her arms and legs shivering, nose numb.

It made her smile.

It was Oss. Home.

She saw Sigmund throwing snowballs at Mads, both boys swathed in layers of wool and fur, red cheeks bright against the white snow. The sky was a dull grey behind them, merging with the pillars of smoke writhing into the air.

Jael turned to see Thorgils helping his stepdaughters make their own snowballs. He was crouched down between two of the girls, who urged him to hurry.

She wanted to join them, though her eyes were soon on Oss’ old hall, seeing its familiar roof like an upturned ship, its doors shut against the cold.

Beaming with pleasure and impatient to get inside, she hurried up the steps as Isaura walked out, carrying Elina. Turning around to smile after them, Jael was momentarily distracted, seeing another familiar face.

Everything looked so familiar.

She turned back and frowned.

Not everything.

The interior of the hall wasn’t as she remembered it.

She saw the two simple wooden thrones on the hide-covered dais.

Eadmund’s was on the left, and on the right... a woman sat on Jael’s throne.

Ayla?

She looked different, a confused Jael thought, coming closer, seeing Eadmund emerge from behind a curtain. It wasn’t green. The green curtain had gone.

He came towards the dais, and stepping up to Ayla, he bent down and kissed her – on the lips.

Jael felt as though she had lost her balance, her hold on the dream.

She started vibrating.

Eadmund kissed Ayla, then touched her belly.

Her very pregnant belly.

Staring in horror, Jael watched as he left the dais behind, heading out of the hall straight past her. She could smell him; every scent that was so achingly familiar; every memory of his hands, his lips and...

Turning to follow him, desperate to understand what was happening, she headed out of the hall to where Eadmund had stopped by Thorgils.

‘How’s Ayla?’

‘Better, I think. She slept more last night.’

Thorgils peered at his friend. ‘And you? How are you?’ Stepping away from the children, he kept his voice low. ‘Thinking about Jael?’

Eadmund ran a hand through his sandy curls. He stared at his friend with sad eyes. ‘I know she’s gone, but I... I still wake up every morning not believing it’s real. That she’s not here?’ He shook his head, dropping it, arms hanging by his sides. ‘How is it even real? That I have to live my life without her?’

Thorgils patted his back. ‘Though you do have to live, Eadmund. And you know Jael would want you to.’

‘And Bo?’ Eadmund raised his head. ‘I miss her. So does Sigmund.’

Thorgils turned to look at the children and at the little blonde head of Sigmund Skalleson, now curly like his father.

Hands shaking by her sides, Jael stared at that little boy with a deep longing. He wasn’t her blood, but he was her heart.

‘Though we have to think about what we have here. We both do. Sigmund and Ayla and the baby? There’s still a lot to be grateful for. There is.’ Thorgils looked ready to cry, though he attempted a smile. ‘Come on. Let’s show these children of ours how to have a real fight.’

Eadmund didn’t smile, though he was soon following him towards the children, trying to drum up some enthusiasm.

Shivering in Oss’ snowy square, Jael stared after them.

Tears freezing on her cheeks.

* * *

When it was dark, and the street outside the baker’s was mostly quiet, Siggy sat up, heart thumping.

She’d heard a voice.

Glancing around, seeing moonglow creeping across the walls, falling over the beds, she saw that both Bertel and Edela were sound asleep.

They hadn’t spoken.

She glanced at the door, squinting, noting that the bolt was firmly in place.

Feeling confused, she soon felt the pull of her mattress. It was warm and sticky in the room, though she was simply too tired to care.

Then the voice again.

Looking down, Siggy saw that she had something clasped in her hand: the silver disc from her necklace. She must have been clutching it when she went to sleep.

And now she crawled away from her mattress towards the table where Edela had left a plate of figs for breakfast. Her eyes shifted from the table to the cloaks draped over the chairs. Siggy saw her own and then Edela’s. The dreamer’s belt hung over it, and attached to that belt was a leather purse in which Edela kept stones and nuts and all sorts of useful supplies.

Glancing over her shoulder, checking that the dreamer was still asleep, Siggy froze. Then, shaking her head, curls trembling, she turned back to that purse, silently lifting its flap and sliding her silver disc inside.

And with one more look over her shoulder, she touched the purse and padded back to her mattress, lying down, immediately drifting back into a deep sleep.

* * *

The man who kicked Jael received a surprised shout in return. She lurched off her mattress, crying out in pain, shaking with tiredness. Her bed was wet through where she’d been lying, her hair damp and stuck to her face. She felt stiff and strange, as though she hadn’t slept at all.

The men around her were complaining loudly, used to little sleep, but not this little. It was torture. They moved slowly, barracked by Quint’s offsider, Berros, for Quint was still sleeping in his bed with his wife and would be for some hours yet.

‘Come on!’ Rigg growled, raising his hoarse voice. ‘We’ve two days till the funeral! Two days till we...’ He sneezed loudly and then a second time. ‘Till we rest!’

Jael’s disturbing dream returned like a splash of cold water. She shivered, remembering the snow and the playing children and her husband, who appeared to have married Ayla.

Because she was dead.

And Bo?

‘You too!’ Rig grunted, flapping a hand at her. ‘Our queen. Aren’t you supposed to set a good example for your subjects?’

Jael glared at him. ‘Fuck off.’ And dropping her head to her hands, she rubbed her eyes, trying to make the dream disappear. Though it lingered, taunting her.

Her dream of the pyres hadn’t disturbed her as much as this.

Eadmund had another wife. A pregnant wife.

And there was no Bo.

Lifting her head, she saw Rigg trying to rouse Alek, who remained lying down, and shaking off her own worries, she stood. ‘Is he alright?’

‘I’m fine,’ came Alek’s weak voice, mingled with a yawn. ‘Just... tired.’

Jael smiled. ‘Two days till the funeral,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s just two more days.’ Berros’ helpers were moving around the hall with glowing lanterns, urging speed. She looked back to Alek, seeing how gaunt he was. He coughed, and it rattled his bones. ‘You can just sit somewhere for a while. Let Berros run after everyone. You just sit.’

Between Jael and Rigg, they managed to help Alek up into a sitting position and then onto his feet. He wobbled unsteadily, coughing some more, though he offered his friends a smile.

‘Two days,’ he echoed. ‘And then –’

‘Get moving!’ came the urgent cry. ‘Kosta’s on his way!’

That was a worse thought than anything that might happen on the building site, and whether true or not, it shot a spark of fear at the tired slaves, who now hurried to drag their shattered bodies and broken spirits towards the doors.

‘Hope they give us something to drink,’ Rigg croaked.

Jael hoped so too. ‘You take Alek outside. I’ll go and ask. He needs water.’ Alek couldn’t clear his throat and kept coughing, now bent over. She felt increasingly worried about him, about her dream, about their chances.

If she was dead, when had it happened?

Ayla looked heavily pregnant, Sigmund maybe a year older.

So when had she died?

Here?

Still trying to shake off the dream, she headed for the shouting Berros, looking for something to drink.

* * *

‘I did miss you,’ Ronin sighed, stroking his wife’s flaming hair. Her head lay on his naked chest, her fingers in his chest hair, their bodies still vibrating.

‘I find that hard to believe, Ronin Sardis. You looked so busy when I saw you.’

He laughed. ‘I told you, those women are never a replacement for you. They’re merely a distraction. A way to pass the time, to relax. I have so much on my mind. I do need to relax, Dessalene.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you do. Perhaps you’ll need to pay a visit to your old harem while you’re here for some more... relaxing? From what Pye tells me, it’s stocked to the brim with nubile young distractions.’

Ronin laughed. ‘And what would he know about such things? I didn’t think he even liked women.’

‘Pye? Oh, he has quite the appetite, hungry little beast that he is. Man or woman, he’s never been fussy. Though looking like that, he has to take what he can get.’

Ronin bent down, and lifting her chin, he kissed her. ‘And you? How is your appetite, Dessalene?’

She stared at him. ‘I’m quite full, to be honest. Perfectly sated.’

He looked disappointed.

‘But surely you must sleep, darling one? After your journey? And with all there is to attend to? Let your body and mind rest now, and perhaps my appetite will return before dawn?’

He grunted, still hungry for his wife, though she wasn’t wrong – he was exhausted. ‘And you?’

‘Well, I have one or two matters to attend to.’

Ronin lifted an eyebrow, preparing to sit up, but his naked wife pushed him back down, reaching for her silk robe. ‘My matters,’ she assured him. ‘I shall return shortly.’

‘How shortly?’

‘Very shortly,’ she promised, and bending down to kiss him, she patted his head. ‘Be a good boy now, and I may even wake you when I return.’ She didn’t mean it, for Ronin Sardis had always slept like the dead. Once she left the chamber, he would barely take a breath before falling into a deep sleep.

A yawning Ronin stretched out his legs, cracking his toes. ‘Don’t be long,’ he warned, and pulling more pillows towards him, he dropped his head, promptly closing his eyes.

Watching him, Dessalene smiled, and turning around, she inhaled a deep breath, ready to get to work.

* * *

After Jael had propped Alek on a bench and given him a cup, which, to his surprise, contained ale, she turned away, ready to start work.

‘Jael, wait,’ Alek implored, touching her elbow. ‘I want to talk about what will happen.’

Turning back, she frowned. ‘Happen?’

‘At the sacrifice. After the signal, how it will all unfold.’

Jael bent down to him, eyes darting around the dark courtyard. Braziers had been set up around its square perimeter, though their flames did little to brighten the dense night. ‘We’ve already discussed it. I know what to do, and so do you.’

Alek was struggling to breathe. He lowered his cup to his lap, holding it in an unsteady hand. ‘I’m just... I don’t know what I can do now. I’m... worried.’

She patted his hand. ‘Rigg will take care of you. We’ve decided. Between the two of us, we’ll keep you safe.’ Jael’s dream lurched out of the darkness, and she feared that wasn’t true. Squeezing his hand, she tried to reclaim a sense of certainty. ‘I know where to go. I can see the path, Alek. When Rigg blows the signal, I’ll find a sword, grab a horse and rally everyone. Once I’m on horseback, it’ll be easier. You don’t have to worry. Just rest and let us finish the tower.’

She stood to go, but taking another sip of the delicious ale, Alek cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want to kill Quint.’

‘No, nor do I, though he’s not on our side. If he had to make a choice, he’d sacrifice us. He may not want to be where he is, but he can’t escape it now. I won’t kill him unless I have to, though likely someone else will.’

Alek nodded, motioning for her to leave. ‘You’ll see the sun rise,’ he told her. ‘Up there. It will be beautiful.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, I imagine it will.’

* * *

A vibrating Dessalene took a seat at her table.

Into its smooth obsidian surface were carved four circles filled with intricate symbols. They opened whichever door she wished to unlock. It was simply a matter of deciding exactly where she wanted to go.

She sensed problems.

Running the pads of her fingers around the circles, she certainly sensed problems.

Kalina appeared to have come back into line, Ronin was here, which meant she could keep a closer eye on him. Jael Furyck was alive, lucky not to have been murdered twice, and Inesh Seppo had preparations for the funeral under control – a competent man indeed.

There was still the matter of her dream about the eagle and the rat.

Though that wasn’t why she had left her husband sleeping. She had far more important matters to attend to now.

Important matters that were long past needing to be resolved...

Touching a symbol with her right index finger, Dessalene watched it glow, bright white like a tiny moon. Behind her, the crackling fire was a comforting sound. The doors to the balcony were open, and though it was a warm night, a fire always helped her slip into a trance.

The symbol extinguished, and now Dessalene tried another, this time with her left index finger, holding it on a symbol that resembled a hook. Its glow intensified, quickly lighting up the table, and feeling the relief of finding her path, Dessalene Sardis now closed her eyes.

37

That night, Axl paid a visit to Helga.

It was late, Linas was sound asleep, though she had been expecting him, for she opened the door before he could knock, silently ushering him into the cottage, inclining her head to the boy.

Axl wasn’t surprised to see Gully greet him with a big slobbering tongue, though Helga shooed him back to the bone he’d been enjoying by the fire.

‘You have word? About those men?’ she wondered in a quiet voice, motioning to the stool in front of the fur-lined chair.

Axl took a seat without thinking about his grandmother. Helga was here now, and he needed her insight. ‘They’re not from Iskavall. They’re Brekkan. Likely not sent by Oren Storgard or any of his lords, but by one of mine.’

She grunted, surprised by that. ‘You have more enemies than I can count, which is nothing new for a king. I don’t imagine any king sleeps with both eyes closed.’

Axl stared at her, desperate to unburden himself.

But not to Helga.

He stiffened. ‘Torun is working with them on the new pier. He will try to find out more, but in the meantime, you need to help me. Gant’s gone to find answers, and he’s been gone a long time now.’

Helga looked confused.

‘My stepfather, my... he’s... Gant. My father’s best friend. He taught me everything I know. He’s...’ Becoming worried, Axl’s words trailed off.

‘He’s a reliable, experienced man,’ Helga murmured, seeing an image of a grey-haired man sitting astride a big white horse. Something pricked at her. That strange feeling again, and she realised that perhaps she’d found a clue.

‘What is it?’ Axl asked, seeing her deepening frown.

She shook her head. ‘I will hunt for answers, of course, though they do not always come when bidden. Not like that dog, who is an obedient creature.’ She looked down at a happy Gully, gnawing away on his bone. ‘I can search for him, but do not expect the truth to be revealed. Sometimes...’ She blinked.

‘Sometimes?’

‘Sometimes bad things are simply meant to happen.’

Now Axl blinked, seeing sadness in Helga’s eyes. He thought of Aleksander and his father. No dreamer had been able to see or stop what had happened to them. Not in time, at least.

‘Though I will keep looking. It makes sense to. For now.’

Axl nodded, seeing Linas wriggling in the little bed Ayla used to sleep in, and Biddy before her.

‘Know that you are at war, Axl Furyck. Your enemies may not be knocking on your gates, but they are circling you. I feel it. Be ready for it, for it is coming.’

* * *

Arras couldn’t sleep.

He had tried, though memories of S’ala Nis kept him disturbed in both body and mind. He remembered what it had felt like to be taken to that place, removed from all he knew. Relieved of his freedom.

He had it back now, though was he about to throw it away?

And his life? Not to mention Nico’s?

His son lay sleeping next to him, beside Fyn Gallas, who seemed like a nice young man. They all seemed nice, but were they good enough to overcome whatever Kalina and her army would throw at them?

If Ronin Sardis and his wife were there, perhaps not.

He noticed Otter’s fluffy brown tail flicking in a pool of moonlight, and looking up, he saw the dreamer approaching.

She stopped before him. ‘Can’t sleep?’

Arras nodded, and deciding that he needed to clear his head, he stood. ‘We’re getting closer, I just...’

‘Wonder if you’re doing the right thing? Going back?’ Mattie inclined her head for him to follow her away from the sleeping bodies. They walked to the stern, where Otter had returned to Mattie’s pile of furs, scratching them into a lumpy heap.

‘It’s the right thing to try and rescue Jael, to free the slaves, though I do fear I’m simply taking my son back to be a prisoner. Or worse.’ Peering at the dreamer, Arras hoped the moon would reveal what she thought about that, though her face remained in shadow. ‘As a parent, I...’

Leaning on the stern, Mattie’s eyes were drawn to the churning sea in Bone Hammer’s wake. ‘Though the gods have already decided your fate. Yours and your son’s.’

Dragging a hand through his beard, Arras nodded. ‘What do you see? Anything about the isle?’

‘Nothing new,’ Mattie admitted. ‘It’s as though a shroud has dropped over it. I just see clouds now.’

‘Perhaps that’s the dreamer?’

Mattie feared he was right. ‘Do you know her? You must, for how else did you find Jael? How else did you know where she was?’ She turned to Arras, seeing nothing in the man’s eyes that told her he was lying, though she needed to be certain which side he was on.

Arras stared at her. ‘I didn’t know her well. We barely spoke.’

‘Though she led you to Jael?’

‘Dessalene?’ He shook his head. ‘No, it was the queen who asked me to find the men for the mission to Osterland. She gave us our instructions and sent us away.’

Having heard about Jael’s journey from Alekka to Tuura, Mattie was confused by that. ‘Though Jael didn’t have plans to go to Tuura. She went to Andala. Going to Tuura came out of the blue, a spur-of-the-moment decision, so how did you end up there?’

Arras began to wonder if he was under attack. ‘Well, I –’

‘Someone helped you?’

‘There was someone...’

Mattie almost pounced on him.

‘A voice in my ears. It was like a dream, as though I was imagining things. I don’t know who it was, but I’m sure it wasn’t Dessalene. It wasn’t a voice I’d heard before.’

‘What did it tell you?’

‘Where to go and when. Where Jael would be.’ Arras remembered that night so clearly, full of regret but also gratitude now, for without Jael, he would never have found a way to escape S’ala Nis.

Mattie felt strange, fearing how many dreamers were helping their enemies. She frowned, becoming nauseous.

‘You have a gift,’ Arras assured her, guessing the reason behind the dreamer’s silence. ‘So whoever you have to face, you should feel confident. We all saw what you did to stop those arrows. You made that magic.’

Mattie screwed up her face. ‘If that’s what it was. I don’t know –’

‘Of course it was, you know it was. You did it. And if called upon, you’ll do it again. I remember walking into the Arena, matched up against the king’s champion. I wasn’t a warrior. I’d learned some things here and there to survive, though I’d never killed a man. Yet I held my own. I defeated that champion. He was too cocky, too sure that he’d crush me just because he’d crushed every man he’d faced before. Confidence can help you, but it can also trick you into thinking you’re unstoppable. And that’s where people like us can come into our own.’

Mattie held her breath, hanging on every word, feeling her fears writhing inside her.

‘If Dessalene is there, if she’s watching, she will try to stop us. And you. Prepare for that, but don’t let it defeat you, for I’m certain that she’s the one who should be fearing you.’

* * *

The path was paved with stars, leading to a door.

Dessalene’s heart pounded like footsteps as she approached, suddenly hot in the darkness.

The door was short; she would have to bend her head to enter. Grabbing the handle, she turned, though it didn’t open. She felt the resistance of the bolt on the other side, though with a deep breath, that bolt soon slid back. Silently. And with a twist of the handle, she was inside.

A smelly little room.

A box with no windows, she thought, seeing a sliver of moonlight revealing two beds and three sleeping bodies.

She saw the girl curled up on a mattress wedged between the two beds.

The two old people lying stretched out, mouths open.

Smiling now, she stepped further inside, seeing the silver disc glowing brightly in the old dreamer’s purse.

Dessalene moved around the little table, only just stopping herself falling over a basket. She inhaled shoes and lavender mingled with fish, and wrinkled her nose. Then, stopping her wandering thoughts, she focused on the old woman.

Edela Saeveld.

And silently approaching her bed, Dessalene held out a hand.

* * *

In the dark, working at the top of the tower, Jael was struggling to function. Sleep deprivation had always been her least favourite form of torture. And knowing how much she hated giving up sleep, her father and Gant had thought it amusing to wake her in the middle of the night, taking her outside to train. Aleksander too. He’d blamed her for that, and quite rightly, as he’d never had a problem with being hauled out of bed before.

She smiled, mind wandering again, seeing Edela approaching the training ring with her familiar shuffle. Her grandmother had often spent hours perched on her moon-watching bench, returning to her cottage past the training ring, offering words of encouragement.

Jael wanted to reach out and stop her, but she was moving too quickly.

Hand in the air, Edela chuckled, smiling at her granddaughter. ‘Keep going! You can do it! I believe in you, Jael!’

Jael stared at her, desperate to say something.

‘Where are you?’ she wanted to ask. ‘Are you still alive?’

‘Come and find me when you’re done! I shall have a hot tea waiting!’

‘No, Grandmother. No,’ Jael pleaded silently. ‘Wait for me.’

And then darkness, and she was staring at the stone wall and Berros was bounding along the plank towards her, barking with unhappiness.

‘It won’t be finished by wishing it!’ he snapped. ‘Lift your trowel and get going, woman!’

Ignoring him, Jael could still see those sparkling blue eyes peering at her in the darkness. ‘Wait for me, Grandmother,’ she urged. ‘And when I’m free, I will come and find you.’

* * *

Edela sat up, hearing a strange humming in her ears.

Glancing around, she slipped her eating knife out from under her pillow. Bertel was snoring opposite her, Siggy was sleeping silently on the floor, the room illuminated by a ghostly moonbeam.

Lifting her head, she saw that the door was open.

Hurrying out of bed, Edela stepped over Siggy, reaching for her belt and cloak. She wrapped the belt around her waist, threw her cloak around her shoulders and slipped on her boots. She thought about waking her companions, though she didn’t want to worry them.

Not till she knew there was something to worry about.

Perhaps they had simply not bolted the door?

Either way, she would quickly find out.

Stepping around the table, she tiptoed towards the open door.

Glancing around, she saw nothing unusual. She heard no footsteps or anything to cause her concern. It was late. No noises were coming from either of their neighbours.

Feeling confused, Edela turned around, sniffing.

And though she swung back with speed, she was too late.

Something was thrown over her head, and after that, there was nothing.

* * *

The coming dawn woke a tired Fyn, who wasn’t sure he’d slept much.

He felt stiff all over, stretching his arms, legs, even his toes in an effort to get moving. He longed for warmth: a fire, a hot drink – something to thaw his frozen nose and fingers. Squeezing his hands together, he tried waking them up, and finally, with a yawn, he stood, seeing Kolarov already busy preparing a cup of his favourite concoction. It had such an unappetising smell that Fyn wondered why he chose to drink it, and smiling now, he approached the explorer. ‘Breakfast?’

Kolarov looked up. ‘Well, a form of it, yes. This tonic is my elixir. It keeps me young!’ He glanced up at the tall, supple figure of Fyn Gallas, feeling anything but. ‘Not something you need to worry about for many a year, though men my age start to lose their spark after a time. So this is how I try to reignite myself!’

Fyn sat down on a chest. ‘You seem full of energy to me.’

‘Yes, all thanks to my elixir! I developed it myself, you know. My own little recipe formulated from my discoveries. Perhaps I should set up a shop and sell it? I would certainly make a fortune. It is quite the wonder.’

‘Back in Castala?’

‘Well...’ And now Kolarov’s enthusiasm retreated somewhat. ‘I am beginning to wonder if I’ll ever see Castala again.’

‘Do you love it?’

Kolarov was so surprised by the question that he struggled for an answer. ‘It is... where I was born, where I always returned to, but love?’ He looked sad then. ‘I do not think of love. Love has never been a part of my life.’

‘You never wanted a family?’

Kolarov immediately looked away, fussing with his cabinet drawers. ‘Men like me, we are... not made for that sort of life. No, I seek other pleasures. Other worlds! A simple family life? Ha, I am certain I would shrivel up and cease to exist!’ His bluster and bravado were back, though sadness lingered in his eyes. ‘Though men like you? I imagine you cannot wait to return to Oss and find a mate. Unless, of course, you’ve already found her?’ he wondered with a wink.

Fyn looked confused. ‘What?’

‘Mattie,’ Kolarov murmured. ‘I’ve seen the two of you together. You make quite the pair. Yes, and she’s a lonely widow, looking for a husband, desperately wanting a family.’

‘Mattie?’ Fyn looked horrified. ‘Mattie?’

‘Yes?’

Both men turned to the dreamer, who stared at Fyn in confusion. ‘You wanted me?’

Kolarov suppressed a laugh.

A slightly dazed Fyn shook his head. ‘No, no, I don’t.’

‘Oh.’ Mattie looked from Fyn to Kolarov with no idea of what was going on.

‘We were just... talking about tomorrow,’ Fyn muttered. ‘It will be tomorrow, won’t it? That’s what I’ve heard. About what you might have seen in your dreams. Hopefully, something.’

Mattie sighed. ‘I’ve seen nothing, so unless this mist in my head blows away, we’ll be sailing into the harbour blind.’

That soon swept away all thoughts of wives and home. ‘Blind?’ Fyn repeated, staring at the dreamer.

‘Yes, blind.’

* * *

Bertel couldn’t see.

His eyes were almost glued together, the room a muggy cave. He felt so weary that he wasn’t sure it was morning, though the cheerful chatter of birds filtering through the gap at the top of the wall told him otherwise.

He heard a familiar bustling sound coming from the market and could smell that the baker was cooking his first loaves of bread, which immediately had his empty stomach growling. Though inside the room, he heard no hints of movement at all. And used to waking after Edela, Bertel was surprised by that. He finally peeled open his eyes, squinting at the dreamer’s bed, where he realised that she was already awake.

And gone.

Glancing around the small room, he saw Siggy sprawled on the floor, sound asleep. Turning to look at the table, he noticed that Edela’s cloak and belt were missing, her boots too. And hoping she’d slipped out to find some breakfast, he considered going back to sleep, though that was hardly setting a good example for Siggy. So, instead, he sat up, feeling stiffer than ever. Old age was no fun, and nor was sleeping on a door, which was what lay beneath his very thin, straw-stuffed mattress. Yawning loudly, he adjusted his tunic and trousers and stood. Immediately unbalanced, he stumbled towards Siggy, accidentally kicking her awake.

She sat up with a splutter, peering up at him through a fringe of damp curls. Brushing them away, she blinked. ‘What... happened?’

‘Happened? Just morning. Time to wake up! Edela will hopefully be back soon with something to eat. I certainly don’t think a few figs will fill us up.’

Siggy looked around, feeling so exhausted that she almost didn’t know where she was, though seeing Edela’s empty bed, something jumped out at her, glowing in the dim light. Arms tingling, she peered down at her right hand, clenched in a fist. Though opening it, she saw nothing but a memory.

Standing in a hurry, she stumbled towards the table, to the chair where Edela’s cloak and belt had been. Lifting her right hand, she remembered slipping the silver disc into the dreamer’s purse. And frowning, she turned back to look at the bed.

She swung around, seeing nothing disturbed in the cottage.

Though the door was open.

Which was odd.

Though not as odd as her dream.

Slipping a hand into the pocket of her grey dress, she pulled out the silver chain, seeing no disc attached.

And now she turned to Bertel with horror in her eyes.

* * *

Dessalene was in such a joyous mood at breakfast that she was even nice to Pye, who remained in a corner of the dining hall, awaiting instructions.

‘I will see Jael Furyck today,’ Ronin decided, surprising his wife.

Dessalene peered at him. ‘See her? What? For a little chat?’

Ronin laughed as he watched a slave topping up his goblet. ‘A chat? Do you think I wish to get to know her? To see how much we have in common and discuss our shared interests?’ Picking up the goblet, he sampled the black wine he’d been so fond of during his time on the isle. He blinked, having forgotten how potent the stuff was. Sensing his wife stiffen opposite him, he turned instead to his open-mouthed daughter. ‘Unless you have actually managed to kill her, Kalina? Pushed her too hard, broken her body, deprived her of everything needed to keep her alive?’ His smile darkened, and his pale eyes hardened. ‘Though my orders were to keep her very much alive, weren’t they? To keep her alive for me.’

Kalina looked from her father to Dessalene, whose lips rose into a cat-like grin. ‘Yes... they were, and I... she is alive, Father. Of course.’

‘I hope so. For your sake, I do hope so.’

Kalina suddenly remembered something Kosta had said at supper about happily sacrificing a number of slaves to get the tower finished in time. He was an arrogant man, given to hyperbole, though she didn’t doubt he meant it, and he appeared to have a particular dislike of Jael Furyck...

She dropped her eyes to her plate.

‘If she is dead, I shall happily find another heir, Kalina. The woman’s life is mine, and only I choose when to end it.’

A flustered Kalina swallowed a fishbone. It stuck in her throat, and feeling herself panic, she grabbed her goblet, guzzling down a mouthful of wine – almost spitting it out.

Dessalene laughed. ‘What a brute you are, Ronin! Your poor daughter only wishes to please her beloved father, and there you are, threatening to throw her into the sea. And not for the first time!’

Ronin gazed at his wife with a knowing look. ‘I dislike betrayal, I despise failure, and I detest incompetence most of all. Though...’ And now he turned back to his daughter, patting her hand. ‘Kalina would never let me down, would you?’ Leaning towards her, he kissed her flushed cheek. ‘Come, finish up, and we will head to the temple. I wish to meet this Noor-Elect too. He may be the chosen heir, though I still have to approve the man. As does Eyshar himself.’

Dessalene lifted an eyebrow at Kalina, who hurried to dab her lips with a napkin. ‘Well, do enjoy yourselves!’

‘You are not coming, Wife?’

‘To that building site again?’ Dessalene shook her head. ‘No. I have too many things to prepare that do not involve leaving the palace. I shall see you both upon your return.’

Ronin wasn’t happy about that, though Dessalene had always been a secretive creature, plotting away in the shadows, so her having other plans didn’t come as a surprise. He nodded, finishing his breakfast in silence, and when he was ready, he stood, helping a nervous Kalina to her feet. ‘Well, come along, Daughter. Let us go and greet my long-awaited prize!’

* * *

Edela didn’t know where she was.

Or who had taken her from the room above the baker’s.

She had been awake for only moments, yet her senses were quickly alert and vibrating with urgency.

Something was draped over her head, preventing her from seeing where she was or who was with her. She heard boots scuffing floorboards, inhaling the sweat of male bodies. Her throat was painfully dry, though she felt too afraid to ask for a drink.

Her hands were bound, too heavy to lift; something hard and cold was wrapped around them.

And then the mask was yanked off her head and a gasping Edela saw that she was sitting across a table from a one-eyed Iker Rayas.

38

‘What do you mean? Amulet?’ Bertel didn’t understand as Siggy panicked before him, tugging his tunic in terror. ‘You lost an amulet?’

A frustrated Siggy took a breath and started again. ‘When we went up the mountain to visit the goddess, this woman... she had jewellery for sale. Necklaces and amulets.’

‘Yes, yes,’ an impatient Bertel grumbled. ‘You’ve already said. Move to the part where she tricked you. What does that mean?’

‘I don’t know. The woman... I bought an amulet from her. She told me it would protect those I cared about but that I needed to keep it to myself.’

Bertel frowned. ‘Sounds a bit strange. What was this amulet?’

‘I don’t have it,’ Siggy admitted, showing him the chain. ‘Well, I have the chain, but the disc with the symbol on it –’

‘Symbol?’ An increasingly concerned Bertel almost lunged at the girl. ‘What symbol?’

‘Protection, the woman said. It was the God of Protection’s symbol, and then... I think I felt strange.’

Bertel peered at her. ‘You were strange. Quiet. You had a sore head.’

‘I did, but it’s gone now, and so is Edela!’

A now frantic Bertel grabbed both of Siggy’s arms, shaking her. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I think I led someone to Edela. I think the amulet was a trap. And now, what if I’ve gotten her killed?’

* * *

Iker Rayas looked different from when she’d last seen him, Edela thought, trying not to reveal any disgust she might feel about his gruesome appearance. In trying to be helpful, Zen had flung a knife at his eye, and now a bloody bandage was wrapped around his face, hiding it. He had new wounds, too, roughly stitched, though she could smell that they were festering.

Slamming his hands on the table, Iker grinned at her. ‘I have hunted you for weeks, and now, you’re finally mine.’

Glancing down, Edela saw the heavy iron fetters clamped around her wrists.

Iker laughed. ‘They will stop your magical powers, old woman. Stop everything you seek to do. Stop anyone finding you too.’

Edela’s mind raced back to Bertel and Siggy. She tried to remember what had happened.

She had crept out of their room to check on the open door, and if only she had thought to say something, to not be so stubborn, so reckless... perhaps...

Tears pricked her eyes, lips quivering, as she realised that she had finally run out of luck. This man had sworn to kill her, and now, with her imprisoned and helpless, he finally could. She balled her hands into fists, trying to stop her tears from falling. ‘You wish to take my life? To end it?’ Forcing a smile, she tried a look of nonchalance, which she doubted was effective, for she trembled like a leaf. Now she shook her head. ‘I confess to feeling flattered. An old woman clinging to the last years of her life? I had not expected to find myself fleeing a band of warriors intent on murdering me.’

‘Then what sort of dreamer does that make you?’ Iker wondered, indicating for one of his men to fill his cup with ale.

A desperately parched Edela looked longingly at that ale jug, though there was no cup for her. ‘Well, a failed one,’ she confessed. ‘The Tuuran gods guide me, so I assume their silence is a statement in itself.’ She wasn’t sure she believed what she was saying. The words coming from her dry lips evoked no feelings of fear or regret. She felt displaced, disconnected from her body.

Iker smiled, though now he didn’t look happy. ‘Perhaps, though my orders have changed. It appears you have a reprieve, but only a small one.’ Edela blinked, though he revealed nothing further, and standing with a grunt, he headed out of the room.

* * *

Argo Kosta was standing beside a fidgeting Quint when the queen’s carriage pulled up outside the temple. Though before either man could speak, a flock of slave children hurried down the temple steps, followed by a smiling Inesh Seppo and six yellow-robed logi.

Pulling up before the king, first the slave children and then the seer and his attendants bowed deeply.

‘Father, this is Inesh Seppo,’ Kalina mumbled with a tense smile.

Ronin stepped forward. ‘I do not remember you,’ he said bluntly, ignoring the children, who were soon shooed away, curious about this man who had risen so high without his knowledge or approval. ‘When did you arrive on S’ala Nis?’ Ignoring Kosta and Quint, and not even glancing at the tower, the king kept his attention on the seer.

‘Nine years ago now, my king. I had a vision that brought me to Noor, and after we met, he asked me to stay. He saw that I should succeed him.’

A deeply uncomfortable Kalina nodded. ‘Yes, Noor sought my approval, and Inesh has been here ever since, learning what is expected of him. He has many gifts.’

Ronin studied the man. ‘You are young.’

‘I do not always feel it, my king,’ Inesh joked. ‘Though I understand your concern. I had it myself when Noor approached me, though he insisted that age was no guarantee of wisdom, and nor should it be used to prohibit those qualified from serving. Eyshar spoke to him and, according to Noor, chose me, and I have answered that call. I had expected many more years to pass before I assumed his place, though Noor saw that his time was ending. We both did.’ He glanced at Kalina before averting his eyes.

Ronin wasn’t sure what he thought of this confident, youthful man. His memories of Noor were of a silent, still sage who spoke in riddles that were always maddening, though often revelatory. He half-doubted Inesh Seppo was a seer at all, though he knew Eyshar would have the final say on that.

Now Ronin’s attention returned to why he had come, and he shifted his eyes away from the seer towards Kosta. ‘Tell me, where can I find my very special slave?’

* * *

Pye scuttled along behind Dessalene, who had decided on bathing. ‘I do not require your company,’ she informed him with a flapping hand. ‘Go be with your own kind, toad.’

Though a determined Pye caught up with her instead. ‘I have more!’

Dessalene turned around with a scowl. ‘More? More what? I am going to bathe, Pye. Do not pester me with nonsense. Do not!’

‘More about the slaves, Mistress. They truly are making plans to revolt.’

‘Is this your little kitchen friend again?’ Dessalene wondered with narrowed eyes. ‘And what are you paying her for all these tasty morsels?’

‘She wishes to be helpful,’ Pye insisted.

‘To me? A slave?’ Dessalene laughed. ‘But no slave wishes to aid their mistress from the goodness of their miserable little hearts! No, Pye, this woman, whoever she is, seeks to gain something for herself through a gullible fool like you!’

‘She has a son!’

Dessalene shrugged.

‘She fears he will be killed, Mistress! She wishes to stop the revolt. To save his life.’

Dessalene remained unconvinced, though remembering her dream of the eagle and the rat, she knew it would not do to overlook such a threat at this delicate time. ‘Bring the woman to my chamber, though be discreet,’ she warned. ‘I’ll have no word of this meeting spread about like shit in a stable. Now go! I will need at least an hour.’

Problems amongst the slaves was the last thing she wanted to worry about, so she fixed her mind on more pleasing matters.

Like Edela Saeveld.

Things were looking up.

And with a spring in her step, Dessalene Sardis turned around and swept down the hall.

* * *

Jael was brought down from the top of the tower by an uptight Quint, who told her that the king was in the temple, waiting on her.

The king and his daughter, the queen.

Jael’s tired thoughts refused to order themselves as she carefully climbed down the scaffolding. She clung to the sides of the ladder, well aware that one exhausted man had fallen today. He hadn’t died, but word was that he’d broken nearly every bone in his body. She swallowed, moving with even more care, until she was down on the ground, out of breath and covered in dust.

Following behind an impatient Quint, she enjoyed a brief respite from the sun as she entered a shaded colonnade before heading out into the temple courtyard, where she first saw Kosta, then Inesh Seppo, the queen, and finally a big man, who turned to her with a look that chilled her to the core.

‘My king,’ Quint mumbled, bowing to Ronin, then the queen, and mumbling some more, he shuffled backwards, leaving Jael standing by herself, stared at by her enemies.

‘I met your father once,’ Ronin said by way of introduction, his words clipped, his tone sharp. He spoke the common tongue with a heavy accent. There was no smile in his eyes, no welcome in his voice. ‘Such an arrogant prick of a man. He talked about you, I remember. About how you would be his heir. The Furyck line, he told me, would carry on through you. How odd, I later thought, when I heard that he had chosen your brother instead. How odd that he had lost faith in you.’ Ronin smiled now, staring at his own daughter, whose face was a mask beside him. ‘But now I see you, broken and filthy, a defeated prisoner, and I realise how right he was to discard you. You are celebrated in many parts of Osterland, from what I hear, as a hero, a saver of the light, yet how easily you were trapped! Like a novice. Like that boy you keep beside you. What was his name?’ Ronin tapped his chin. ‘Fyn, that’s right. Fyn Gallas.’

A horrified Jael felt like a tiny piece on a giant’s gaming board.

She saw her home, her friends, her family, everyone she loved, and Ronin Sardis looming over the board, moving those pieces around with enormous, powerful hands.

Pushing back her shoulders, she projected something else entirely. ‘Well, I was never much of a dreamer.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Ronin grinned. ‘And what a shame for you.’ He stared at the slave queen, seeing defiance in her eyes. They were compelling eyes, drawing his attention to her face. She was tall, and though she appeared weary, she still carried herself as though she thought she was important.

Which she wasn’t.

As she would soon find out.

* * *

Fearing that Siggy was right about the amulet and Edela, Bertel sought to formulate a plan.

‘Edela can take care of herself,’ he kept reminding them both as they sat outside the baker’s, hunched over a plate of cakes. It wasn’t the most appropriate breakfast, though Bertel had needed to feed the girl, and having given her some coins, he’d left her to pick what she wanted to eat.

She’d chosen two slices of the delicious date cake, though sitting at the table without Edela, worrying about Edela, neither of them had an appetite.

‘But this feels different,’ Siggy insisted. ‘If Edela had known there was danger, she would still be here with us. She’s seen it every time before, but this?’ Dropping her head to her hands, she burst into tears. ‘It’s all my fault!’

Bertel glanced around, conscious of those sitting nearby, turning to stare. ‘Now, now,’ he soothed awkwardly. ‘I... we just need help, don’t we?’ And thinking of help, he remembered the man in the golden tunic who had taken Edela to the seeress’ cave. ‘There might be someone who can find her,’ he murmured, leaning closer until he was whispering in Siggy’s ear, explaining everything.

When he’d finished, Siggy blinked at him, wiping her eyes. ‘I know where he is!’ And jumping to her feet, she grabbed the cakes off the table, stuffed them into her purse and with a quick look at Bertel, bounded away.

* * *

After a long and luxurious bath, Dessalene remembered Pye and his gossiping slave. She sighed, having her own matters to attend to, though if there was an actual revolt being planned, she would do well to uncover it quickly.

Entering her private chamber, which she did not share with her husband, she saw that her loyal toad was already there, offering his guest some wine. A horrified Dessalene was at a loss to understand why he’d even given the woman a seat, let alone refreshments, which Pye appeared to realise as the dreamer entered, nearly knocking over his goblet as he rushed to his feet. The slave looked as disturbed by Dessalene’s arrival as her companion, and the pair of them were silent and twitching as she approached the table.

‘It appears you have started our little meeting without me,’ Dessalene seethed.

Pye hurried to pull out a chair for his mistress. ‘Nanna was thirsty. I thought it would be easier for her to speak if her throat was... moist.’

Nanna was a small buxom woman of perhaps forty, with the sort of motherly look Dessalene knew Pye was drawn to. He liked being fussed over and petted, like a cat, rather than the slimy little toad he actually was.

She forced a smile and took a seat.

When Nanna moved as though to sit back down, Dessalene’s head snapped around, quickly removing such a notion from the slave’s misguided mind. ‘You will tell me why I am giving you my time. It is a valuable prize, my time, and I do not gift it to mere chattels. Not without cause. So make this sacrifice on my part worthwhile, or I shall have Pye club you to death.’ She smiled brightly, showing off perfectly straight teeth.

The dreamer’s words tied a shocked Nanna’s tongue in knots, and she couldn’t even begin until a helpful Pye nudged her along.

‘You told me about what you’d heard, about there being a revolt? Soon?’

Nanna nodded. ‘The leaders are trying to recruit everyone.’

‘Which leaders?’ Dessalene demanded. ‘Give me names!’ She grabbed the slave’s hand, squeezing it hard. ‘What are the names of these rebel leaders?’

Nanna’s mouth dropped open, a look of confusion crossing her face. ‘I have no names, lady.’ She bobbed her head apologetically.

‘No names? Then what do you expect me to do? Who do you expect me to kill if you cannot point them out?’

‘Kill?’ Nanna sought a hasty retreat, regretting that she’d spoken up, though Dessalene had a firm hold of her hand, and she couldn’t move. ‘But I –’

‘Anyone attempting to revolt against the queen will be thrown into the pits! I will see to that myself! Now, tell me, where did you hear talk of this revolt?’

‘F-f-from, f-f-from,’ Nanna stuttered, the pain of the dreamer’s grip making her eyes water. ‘Ingrid! She works in the kitchen garden. I... aarrghh, she overheard men talking in the street.’

Dropping the woman’s hand, Dessalene stood. ‘You are useless to me. Get rid of her!’ And swinging around, green dress swirling around her thin body, she headed to the door. ‘Get rid of her, Pye, and find the woman who actually has the information I need. And do not waste my time again!’ Flinging open the door, she turned to hiss at the slave. ‘If we should ever have the misfortune of meeting again, that will be a very bad day for you.’ And turning to glare at Pye, she watched as he hurried Nanna through the door. Slamming it after them, she spun around, bristling with anger.

Furious at her little toad for wasting her time.

* * *

Edela was taken to a small, windowless room.

Where she was locked in.

The fetters made any sort of movement cumbersome. They were incredibly heavy, and she moved slowly.

The dark room was sparsely furnished with a single short bed, a bucket, a dirty cup and a jug of water.

There was no food, though she assumed that would come in due course as Iker Rayas now apparently wanted her to live. Or, at least, whoever had sent him after her did.

She tried to recall the woman’s face. Her words.

‘Bring me the dreamer, she will be my prize.’

A prize?

A puzzled Edela collapsed onto the bed with a sigh.

Hearing footsteps, she glanced at the door, though they soon moved away. She wondered where she was. The noise from the market had found her everywhere she went in Castala, though here, she heard little but the blaring sound of her rising fears.

She thought of Bertel and Siggy, who were hopefully back at their room unharmed. They would try to find her, come after her, though that would only put them in terrible danger.

She remembered creeping out of their room into the dark hallway with only her knife, wondering what madness had bewitched her. Now her knife was gone, and so was she, locked away in this room. Glancing down, she saw that she was wearing her belt, and seeing her purse, she opened the flap, feeling even more confused. She had been carrying her symbol stone, which surely shielded her from the view of whoever was seeking her?

Unless Iker Rayas had simply spotted her in a street and followed her?

Feeling around in the purse, she found the familiar smooth surface of her stone. She saw a few nuts, which might come in handy, and something shiny that caught her eye. And then, digging deeper, she found a silver disc with a strange symbol on it.

* * *

When Siggy led Bertel towards the plinth she’d often seen the golden man standing on, she was devastated to discover that he wasn’t there.

‘Perhaps he’s taking a break?’ Bertel muttered, glancing around. Though he saw no sign of a golden tunic amongst the bustling crowd. ‘We can go and find a seat over there. On that bench. He’ll come back eventually.’

Siggy hoped that was true, and pushing through the crowd, she approached the bench, whose availability was likely explained by the splatters of bird shit fouling its surface.

A sighing Bertel looked around, and seeing no alternative, he spat on his sleeve and started wiping.

Eventually, they sat down, eyes on the plinth.

A man in a brown tunic arrived, and mounting the plinth, he started his presentation to the crowd. He spoke many dialects, eventually repeating his message in the common tongue, trying to tempt both Siggy and Bertel to venture the short journey to his stall down at the harbour, where they could purchase fried fish.

Thinking of food, Siggy pulled the squashed cakes out of her purse.

Bertel pointed at them. ‘They’ll be like rocks before long. You should have them. Edela wouldn’t want you to starve.’

Siggy stared at him as though he was mad. ‘But it’s my fault! It’s all my fault, Bertel! She’s missing because of me!’ She was very loud, scaring away the birds who had thought to approach, wanting the cakes for themselves.

‘You must stop this. Edela wouldn’t blame you. She’s been fooled enough herself not to blame you for any of this. If it’s those men again, they would’ve found her one way or another. What we need to do is find some help. Someone who might have seen her. I can ask around. We passed that tavern a few roads back. I’ll return there and ask if anyone’s seen Edela. You stay here and wait for the golden man.’ Standing now, Bertel peered at Siggy, wondering if that was a sound plan. ‘You have your knife?’

She nodded.

‘Well, maybe some time alone will do you good? You might have a vision.’ Siggy looked ready to cry, so Bertel patted her shoulder. ‘What would Edela say? You have proven yourself a dreamer, Siggy Larsen. All you need now is a little confidence. I’m not saying you have to find Edela, that it’s all on you, but just that you try opening your mind. Who knows where it will lead you?’ And with a squeeze of her shoulder, he turned away. ‘Wait here for me!’ he called. ‘I won’t be long!’

39

When Quint finally blew his conch shell for a break, Jael hurried down the ladder, eager to find out how Alek was, though she couldn’t see him anywhere. So, after helping herself to a cup of water, she made her way to Quint. ‘Have you seen Alek?’

‘I put him in the temple. He’s assisting Inesh Seppo with preparations for tomorrow.’

Lifting a hand to shield her eyes, Jael peered at the overseer. ‘He’s worse then?’

Quint looked away. ‘The seer needed help, and Alek’s good at organising. He knows this place better than most.’

Reading his thoughts, Jael suppressed a grin, pleased to know she’d been right about Quint. He did, in fact, appear to be a half-decent man, unlike Ronin Sardis, who, Jael was convinced, was evil to the core.

They stood side by side, turning to look up at the tower.

‘I didn’t think we’d finish it in time,’ Quint sighed. ‘Though soon it will be ready, and then we’ll all move on to something else. Some other monument or building. Some great monstrosity...’

He looked defeated, Jael thought, and tired. The bags under his eyes had grown more pronounced since she’d arrived. His wife tormented him, and his father-in-law was a vicious bully, though as much as she thought to offer him advice, she had enough problems of her own.

And he certainly wouldn’t welcome her interference.

‘What did you want Alek for?’ Quint wondered, waking himself up.

‘To take him some water, to see how he was.’

‘Hmmm, well, if he makes it to tomorrow, I’ll ensure he has a seat at the sacrifice.’

‘An actual seat? How generous.’ And with a grin, Jael dropped her head and aimed for the temple. Though after a few steps, Quint blew his shell again, ordering everyone back to work.

Glancing over her shoulder, she glowered at him, and with a sigh, turned and headed back to the tower.

* * *

Gripping the silver disc between trembling fingers, Edela hoped to feel something, wanting to discover what the symbol meant. Though knowing that the bonds around her wrists and ankles were put there to prevent her seeing anything, she eventually dropped it back into her purse.

She saw the nuts again, though she had more of an urge to vomit than eat. Her head hurt, absent any clarity. It felt as though her fears had imprisoned her as much as the fetters.

Wanting to understand more about them, Edela held her right arm out, moving the fetter around, trying to see. There was no window in the room, though light came streaming under the door and through countless holes in the walls and ceiling. She moved the fetter around until a beam of sunlight revealed symbols. A squinting Edela thought she could make out one. Perhaps? She moved the fetter again, now seeing nothing. The fetter itself was locked tight, and she imagined Iker Rayas guarded the key.

She would have no luck there.

She remembered her knife, though apart from her purse, her belt was empty.

And feeling more desperate by the moment, she closed her eyes, seeking answers in the darkness of her mind.

* * *

After Jael Furyck had been sent back up the tower, Ronin had taken leave of his companions to spend some time alone at the Dragon Blood Tree.

The old tree was sacred, a gift from Eyshar himself. Drops of his dragon’s blood had fallen from the sky, from which the tree had grown, now towering above the temple itself, infusing the isle with good fortune.

To Eyshar, Ronin owed a mighty debt, the weight of which he carried with him. The God of Providence and Fire had paved his path in gold, taking him from a slave, born of a slave, to a king. And soon, with Eyshar’s blessing, he would seek to claim more.

Though he knew that such success could not be taken for granted, and in the silence of the temple courtyard, he could feel the god’s displeasure chilling him. Looking up now, Ronin saw a cloud, dark and small, hovering above his head. It blocked the sun, and he stood in shadow, shivering with worry.

If Eyshar removed his favour, what would become of his ambitions?

What would become of all that he and Dessalene had planned?

* * *

The sun had reached its zenith when Dessalene emerged from her private chamber, hunting for Pye, who had not returned to her.

She found him out on the balcony, stuffing his face with grapes.

‘What is this?’ she exclaimed in horror, spying the grapes and feeling like some herself. Leaning down, she snatched his plate away. ‘Have you forgotten who you serve, Eppypyrus?’

Pye recoiled. ‘No, Mistress. Never!’

‘Then why are you sitting here, feasting like a king instead of bringing me that slave you promised? The garden slave? The one with all the information?’

‘She’s dead, Mistress. I was coming to tell you, but then I was faint from hunger. I thought to eat. It makes sense to eat.’

Dessalene took a seat. ‘Dead how?’

Pye leaned forward, though he didn’t speak. Looking around surreptitiously, he edged even closer before finally opening his tiny mouth. ‘A... plague.’

‘A what?’ Dessalene recoiled in horror, hand to her throat. ‘A what?’

‘The woman collapsed, carried away to the physician’s. She was there for a few days but never recovered. They whisper of a plague.’

‘Who whispers?’

Pye shrugged unhelpfully, earning a pinch. ‘I don’t know!’ he yelped, cradling his cheek. ‘I’m only telling you what I heard. They say the woman’s face swelled with boils of pus. Hideous things! She was coughing up blood. Blood in her eyes too!’ Pye shuddered. ‘We shouldn’t stay!’

Dessalene agreed, though tomorrow was Noor’s funeral, and for the good of the isle and to ensure Ronin’s prosperity, they could hardly decamp now. ‘I need you to find someone,’ she whispered. ‘Someone... disposable.’

Pye didn’t understand.

‘I do not want you returning to that garden, you fool. Back to where that woman died?’ She pushed back her chair and stood, moving far away from him. ‘You do not come into the palace again. Understood? And you certainly do not breathe a word of this, Pye. Not to anyone.’ Glancing back at the open doors, she saw no slaves lurking about, though surely there would be one?

‘Can’t you do something?’ Pye pleaded, not wanting to be cast out.

‘Against a plague?’ Dessalene mouthed. ‘You have the mind of an ass. No, no, a plague is sent by the gods themselves. A punishment!’ And remembering what Kalina had done, murdering Noor as she had, she wondered if this was just the beginning? Their luck upended, like a bounteous harvest ruined by a deluge of rain? ‘Find someone, a slave of no consequence. Have them go to the kitchen and shut them all in. This cannot spread. Not the sickness and not the gossip. Make sure it is contained there, Pye. I am relying on you. And whatever you do, do not come back inside the palace. Send word that you have completed this task.’

Pye looked concerned. ‘And where am I to sleep, Mistress?’

Dessalene didn’t care. ‘In a doorway? Under a wagon? I shall be sleeping in my bed, so why should I concern myself about where you’ll be? For all I know, you’re already full of disease. This may very well be our last moment together.’ Holding a hand to her nose, Dessalene turned away.

‘Mistress!’ Pye called to her, bulbous eyes shining with fear, though he had no response as the dreamer disappeared into the palace without looking back.

* * *

Bolder handed Raal the steering oar, and massaging his cold, stiff hands, he brought Eadmund and his friends close to discuss how things stood. ‘Do you think they’ll keep everything the same?’ he asked, fearing that whatever knowledge Arras had was out of date.

Arras frowned, the crease between his bushy eyebrows deepening. ‘Likely they replaced me with Victor Omani.’ He looked at Nico, who nodded. ‘My deputy. He’s a useful man with a sound mind. And unless he was told otherwise, he wouldn’t have suddenly changed every system we had in place. Things ran smoothly, and my departure shouldn’t have altered that.’

Eadmund hoped he was right. ‘So they’ll change shifts at sundown? Those guarding the harbour?’

Arras nodded. ‘It’s always been the same. When the bell is rung to change shifts, there’s a rhythm to it, a slower pace. I never minded that. The men take a little time to ease their way in and out. They’re more relaxed in those moments, so if we make our move then, we’ll catch them off guard.’ Arras knew his soldiers. Most were good men, and the thought of storming the harbour and trying to kill them didn’t sit right with him. Though Kalina would never relinquish her prisoner, and she wouldn’t free the slaves unless forced to.

There was no other choice that Arras could see.

Nico looked just as uncomfortable opposite him.

‘The timing of our approach will be crucial,’ Arras added. ‘And around The Corridor, it’s never easy to anticipate the wind. It can blow about unpredictably.’

‘That’s comforting,’ Bolder groaned, eyeing Mattie. ‘Perhaps you can find a clue?’

Mattie stared at him. ‘About the wind?’

‘There are wind spells, you know,’ Kolarov put in helpfully. ‘Old women in The Murk speak of binding the wind.’

Mattie felt a great rush of heat surge up her frozen body. She shook her head. ‘I can’t simply know how to do everything, Kolarov! About the wind?’

‘I can tell you what I know,’ he said quietly. ‘It may help.’

‘Do it,’ Eadmund ordered. ‘You two go over there and sort that out.’ And ignoring Mattie’s gaping mouth, he turned back to Arras. ‘When we arrive in the harbour, you’ll need to lead us. You’ll need to lead me to Jael.’ He experienced a shudder of uncertainty as he spoke, though it made sense. Arras had escaped the isle and would not be welcomed back. He needed to do everything he could to survive, so Eadmund chose to trust him.

And though it made sense, the gathered men were silently surprised.

Especially Arras, who blinked at an equally shocked Nico before turning to look at the king. Scratching his cheek and dragging dirty nails through his scraggy beard, he thought quickly. ‘It makes sense. Nico can lead the assault with Ulf. He knows the harbour.’ He looked at Fyn and Thorgils. ‘Fyn, you should come with us. We’ll need to move with speed through the tunnels. When Ulf’s catapults announce themselves, Victor will send everyone to counter the attack. I can only hope he doesn’t send too many to guard the tunnels. If Mattie can’t tell me where Jael is, once I’m inside the city, I’ll find someone who can. Everyone will be talking about her after the fight in the Arena. Someone will know where she is.’

Eadmund hoped that was true. ‘Thorgils, you go with Nico. We’ll stop Ulf before we reach the isle, and you can hop on board Beloved.’

Thorgils would have preferred to join the hunt for Jael, though he didn’t argue, ready to do his part.

Eadmund clapped him on the back. ‘So it’s agreed? Nico and Thorgils will join Ulf and attack the harbour. Arras, Fyn, and I will lead Bone Hammer’s crew through the tunnel into the city.’

Arras nodded. ‘The tunnel will take us into a bathhouse, a garden, and then we’ll be out on the street. I’ll find my way to Jael then.’

‘Take a sword for her,’ Thorgils suggested.

A smiling Arras remembered how much trouble Jael had caused Otho Dimas. ‘Not sure she’ll need one. Not if she’s got those fetters back on. She seemed able to handle herself without any blade at all.’

A sense of anticipation was building now, a nervous energy buzzing around the ship.

Eadmund glanced over his shoulder at Mattie and Kolarov arguing in the distance. The explorer was waving a small section of rope in her face, and she was batting it away. He shook his head, uncertain how that would go, but whatever the case, in little more than a day, they would arrive at the isle.

* * *

Ronin Sardis approached his wife with an unfamiliar sense of trepidation.

They had planned everything so carefully, and yet he had an overwhelming desire to go against one of the centrepieces of their plan.

Dessalene was in the Pleasure Garden, gliding around a fountain in a trance. Looking up at the sound of his footsteps, she cocked her head to one side. ‘You have come.’

‘I needed to speak to you.’

‘And I you.’

‘We have to kill Jael Furyck,’ they blurted out together.

Ronin blinked. ‘You think we should kill her?’

‘I do,’ Dessalene said in surprise. ‘And you? Why?’

Reaching his wife, Ronin took her hands. ‘I spent much time in contemplation in the temple, before the tree. I left my offerings, I gave Eyshar my apologies and my promises, though I sensed a great unease, a darkness descending upon the isle, upon Kalina and upon me. The god has been unhappy for some time, Dessalene. I feel it. I know it. He will not be satisfied with the blood of oxen and goats, no matter if we send him a hundred. After what Kalina did, murdering Noor? Eyshar’s voice on the isle? His eyes?’ A tense groan escaped his lips. ‘It was such a lapse in judgement on her part, to lose her temper so recklessly. A betrayal! If we wish to solidify Kalina’s place on the throne and secure Eyshar’s continued support, I believe we must offer him that which I most desire. A true sacrifice, something I do not wish to lose. We must offer him Jael Furyck.’

‘Though our plans?’

‘There are other ways, we both know this. Other ways to make it happen.’

Dessalene sighed. ‘I fear you are right, for there is another problem.’ Ronin’s grip on her hands intensified, though yanking them away, the dreamer stepped back with a disgusted shiver. ‘Pye has uncovered what appears to be a plague.’

‘What? On the isle?’

Dessalene nodded. ‘A woman working in the kitchen garden died in a particularly revolting manner.’

‘In the kitchen?’ Ronin looked concerned. ‘Where our meals have been prepared?’

‘In the garden, dearest,’ Dessalene repeated. ‘I have enquired further, and the woman had no access to the kitchen itself. She was more of a gardener.’

‘Still...’

Dessalene lifted her head. ‘The sacrifice of a Furyck, a queen, will certainly please Eyshar. Her blood will appease him, and S’ala Nis’ destiny will be assured. It will be as we intend once more, and our plans will simply be remade.’ Now Dessalene slipped her arms around his waist. ‘Eyshar has granted you the most glorious destiny, my love, though you must demonstrate your gratitude. And you will. Tomorrow.’

40

Kolarov Radic enjoyed studying people.

He was an observant man, drawn to the unseen. He had visited exotic places, climbed mountains and trekked through jungles, sailed oceans and feasted in palaces, though studying people remained his favourite adventure of all.

Conversations involved listening and speaking, and though Kolarov enjoyed using his voice, he mostly used his eyes. And as he tried to get through to a very resistant Mattie, what he saw was a fearful girl. She stood before him as a determined woman, full of bluster, though her eyes revealed the girl who’d never felt good enough to be a dreamer. The girl that, when pushed, had run away from the Temple of Tuura, never to return. And now that girl stood before him, speaking with the voice of an angry twenty-six-year-old woman.

‘You’re talking gibberish!’ Mattie insisted, fiddling with her belt. ‘And what can I do with that? I don’t know this god. Isvarr? I don’t know anything about Alekka or The Murk. I know Tuura. And as far as I’m aware, there is no God of the Wind in Tuura!’

Kolarov weathered her storm of doubt, and when she fell silent, he took her hand, patting it gently. ‘Though there’s no harm in trying, is there? These men are fortunate having a dreamer on board. You’ve already saved their lives! They would have died without you, Mattie. And Arras and his son wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t uncovered that tunnel. You have exceeded any expectations already. Far exceeded. Now is just something you can try.’ He shrugged nonchalantly, seeking to relax her. ‘There is no certainty that binding the wind is even possible. Of course not! Though you have already proven your worth many times over. All you need to do now is have a little... try.’

Mattie’s shoulders remained tense, up near her ears. ‘Try?’

‘To bind the wind.’

‘And then?’

‘Release it at exactly the right moment to spur us along. Like kicking a horse from a trot to a gallop. We will fly through that corridor of stone and into the harbour!’

Mattie stared at him, feeling that gentle pressure on her hand. It was oddly comforting, and she didn’t try to draw it away. ‘Show me again,’ she said. ‘But this time, go slowly, Kolarov. I need to understand you.’

Watching with Eadmund and Fyn, Thorgils chuckled. ‘If Mattie was a bit stronger, I’ve a feeling she’d tip Kolarov overboard.’

Fyn smiled, though Eadmund remained tense, scratching his head. His belly was mostly empty and noisy with it, but he was becoming nauseous, continually running through what would happen and what could go wrong.

Thorgils nudged him. ‘Jael might see us coming. She might be watching us now.’

Blinking at him, Eadmund hoped it was true.

‘So we should try and look more confident about this plan of ours, don’t you think?’

Now Eadmund grinned, blowing out a long breath. ‘I’d say so. She’s probably rolling her eyes, imagining she’s going to have to do it all herself.’

‘And not for the first time!’ Thorgils added. ‘Come on, let’s find some more ale. We’ve talked enough for one day. Best thing we can do now is let it all go. In the morning, we’ll wake up ready to do our part. You know, to help Jael with whatever plan she’s magicked up!’ He was laughing as he headed off in search of ale, remembering his queen and her hair-brained schemes.

Hoping she was busy making more.

* * *

Jael wiped her nose. A breeze had swept dust up it, and she couldn’t stop sneezing. She felt like falling on her face. Just the thought of lying down was so enticing that nothing else entered her mind.

She had come down from the scaffolding, having been sent on her way by Berros.

Looking up, she could see that only the last touches to the crowning arch remained to complete.

The tower was almost done.

Rigg approached, sneezing himself. ‘Where’d the breeze come from? I didn’t think Eneko knew where to find S’ala Nis!’

A sniffing Jael turned around in confusion.

‘Eneko. The Siluran God of the Wind.’

‘Oh, well, it’s not cool, but it’s better than nothing, I suppose.’

‘Are you done up there?’ Rigg asked, picking a scab on his wrist.

‘I am. Finally.’

‘So you’re off to bed then?’ The sun was setting, still hot, like a fire on his face, which glowed.

‘Oh yes, off for a nice long sleep,’ Jael joked, knowing how many more tasks she’d been assigned. ‘This time tomorrow it will start,’ she realised, watching the sun’s slow descent. She turned to see its golden rays hitting the tower arch, and though not yet pushing through it, they were already blazing like fire.

Turning further, she saw the circular platform with the high-backed stone chairs and the enormous altar where the sacrifices would take place. It stood alone, cut off from what looked like an empty moat, with a little bridge leading up to it. According to Alek, the animals would be led across that bridge to where Dessalene Sardis and Inesh Seppo’s logi would sacrifice them to Eyshar, filling the moat with blood.

The thought was sickening. All that blood spilled to honour a god?

Remembering what Rigg had said, she turned back to him. ‘They’re bringing more plants and dirt, apparently. Quint’s gone to hurry up the gardeners. Now we have to start digging.’

‘I thought there’d be ale,’ Rigg grumbled. ‘To celebrate.’

‘Well, when we crush our enemies, you can go to the palace and drink the queen’s wine.’

Rigg’s beady eyes popped open at the thought of it. ‘And what are we going to do with the queen?’ he wondered.

‘Not that,’ Jael said, reading his thoughts.

He blinked at her, all innocent surprise. ‘What?’

‘She’s a woman, so it’s not hard to imagine what you want to do with her,’ she muttered, finally seeing the return of Quint, followed by a procession of slaves pushing hand carts. ‘Though she’s not the woman we need to worry about.’

Rigg was confused. ‘Who then?’

‘The dreamer. She’ll be leading the sacrifice, and when we start the attack I’ve no idea what she might do.’ Lowering her voice, Jael swung around in a circle, checking no one had snuck up on them. ‘I’ve seen dreamers so powerful they can –’ Stopping abruptly, she tried to prevent the memory of the Vale returning, though it was quickly before her as though she was living it again.

‘Can what?’

‘Kill with symbols and spells. I’ve seen them kill.’

Rigg thought about scoffing, though he saw how troubled the usually cocky queen looked. ‘Though you’re a dreamer, too, aren’t you? You can stop her.’

Jael laughed, though she was soon whispering again. ‘I see things, hear things. I’ve gone into trances and spoken to gods, but magic? No, give me a sword or a bow and I’ll be useful, but spells? I know nothing about them.’ She scratched her head, fearing that might soon become a problem. Looking at Rigg, she saw his tension and tried to reassure him. ‘I’ll deal with the dreamer one way or another. Don’t worry, I won’t let her get in our way.’

* * *

It had been a fruitless, exhausting day for Bertel and Siggy, who had eventually given up on the man in the golden tunic and walked around Castala, searching for Edela. And as dusk painted the sky deepening shades of amber, they stopped outside a tavern to decide their next move.

Bertel had purchased two pots of what appeared to be some sort of bean stew with his last coins, regretting that he’d left Edela holding most of them. Still, that wasn’t a worry Siggy needed, and he kept his fears about how he would feed them to himself.

Siggy felt like crying. ‘Do you think they’ve already killed her?’

Looking down at his beaker of wine, Bertel thought about throwing it back in one big gulp, though he knew he’d quickly regret that. He took a sip instead. ‘I’m not sure.’ Just saying that made him shiver. ‘Edela was adept at alluding them, so to have disappeared like that? I don’t know.’

‘That branded man from Bakkar... he said he wanted to kill her. That there was a price on her head.’

Bertel took another sip, resting his elbows on the table. ‘They took her away,’ he mused. ‘If they’d intended to simply kill her, they would have burst in and killed us all, wouldn’t they?’

Siggy shrugged. ‘I want to try and sleep,’ she decided, having had enough of the bean stew. It had been tasty, though she felt too distracted to eat any more. ‘I need to dream. I’ve been trying to see something all day, but there are so many people and too much noise. We’ve looked everywhere, but I want to look inside my dreams.’ She had become quieter as she spoke and now looked completely uncertain.

Unable to resist the temptation of his wine any longer, Bertel tipped the remainder of it down his throat, and wiping a hand over his mouth, he stood. ‘We’ll head back to our room then, but let’s check the docks on the way. We haven’t been there today. You never know, whoever took her might have made a hasty escape.’

Siggy looked horrified to think such a thing, but she nodded. ‘Hopefully, we’ll find something there.’

* * *

Edela hadn’t seen Iker Rayas again.

She hadn’t seen anyone. Not even with food.

She had carefully rationed her jug of water and still had a little left. The windowless room was becoming stuffier as the day turned to night. She tried imagining where she was. Somewhere in view of the setting sun, she thought. So, west?

Back aching, she attempted to get her bearings, though in the end, her thoughts tangled like a ball of yarn, and she couldn’t unpick them. She was starving and tired, and the lack of both food and sleep had left her drained.

The symbols inside the fetters were stopping her seeing beyond her prison walls or using any magic to escape. She couldn’t reach out to Siggy or Bertel, and she knew that Siggy wouldn’t be able to find her.

Heart galloping, Edela started panicking.

Footsteps approached, and though she feared what that meant, she was also desperate for food and information.

Iker Rayas unlocked the door, stepping inside with a wooden trencher. He placed it on the floor, eyeing the old woman sitting on the bed. ‘You’ve been quiet in here. Thought I’d best come check whether you still lived.’

‘I hardly think you’d worry either way. You did want me dead.’ Edela didn’t move from the bed, though the fishy aromas coming from the trencher had her belly growling.

‘Still do. Though I’m not the one who gets to decide such matters. Not now. My mistress... well. We all answer to another, don’t we? There’s always someone above us.’

‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t tend to go around kidnapping people for coins.’

Iker laughed, readjusting his filthy bandage. ‘You think I need coins? That I’m scraping about to make my fortune?’ He shook his head. ‘No, old woman, I’m the son of a lord, a wealthy man of influence. Where I come from, I’m friends with a queen.’

Edela’s surprise was impossible to mask. ‘Is she your mistress, this queen?’

Realising that he’d said too much, Iker backed up to the door. ‘Enjoy your meal, for who knows? It might be your last.’

‘Wait!’ Edela launched herself off the bed, desperate for more clues. ‘You could earn a far greater fortune by releasing me. Perhaps your father is a wealthy man, but not you? In Osterland, you could be rich in your own right.’

Iker burst out laughing. ‘But I thought you were a dreamer? Now I’m not sure why I have those fetters on you at all. You’re obviously just a useless fucking crone!’

Edela didn’t understand what he meant, though she feared it.

‘We’ll be leaving tomorrow, so best get some rest.’ And with that, Iker turned back to the door. ‘Your family can’t help you now. No one can.’

Edela watched him leave with unblinking eyes, feeling like a fool.

A frightened old fool.

Why had she ever left Osterland?

Looking down at her hands, she saw the truth in Iker Rayas’ words: her skin, so mottled with age; her crooked fingers trembling.

The fetters trapping her.

Why had she ever left her family behind?

Head sinking, eyes closing, Edela feared she would never see them again.

* * *

Ronin and Dessalene enjoyed a private supper with Kalina that evening, eager to share their plans.

Though having heard them, Kalina was confused. ‘But I thought you wanted Jael Furyck to remain here? Alive? I thought she was to live out her life as a slave?’

Slaves came and went from the table, removing bowls and spoons, refilling goblets, replacing carafes and napkins. More slaves hovered in the distance, dealing with flies and bugs, securing flapping curtains and relighting candles.

It was unusual for the city to experience a notable breeze, let alone a strong wind, though as the day ended, that wind was sweeping through the city all the way to the palace.

Hearing a door slam, Dessalene spun around, eyeing the slaves before answering her stepdaughter. ‘We must adapt to circumstances as they change. Like the weather! It appears we may have challenges to confront tomorrow, though we will, Kalina. And sacrificing Jael Furyck will balance the scales you so abruptly tipped against us all. After Noor’s murder and Arras Sikari’s escape, I fear there is a shift. A dangerous one.’

‘Dangerous?’

‘Dessalene has discovered a plague,’ Ronin explained.

Kalina rose in her chair before sitting back down in horror. ‘Plague?’

‘I have Pye inquiring further, though the kitchen has been shut down.’

‘What? My kitchen?’ Kalina clutched her throat, staring at Dessalene, wondering if that’s why her stepmother hadn’t eaten her meal.

Dessalene looked nonplussed. ‘There is nothing to fear! It is only one woman so far... that I know of.’ She turned to Ronin, seeking his support.

‘The sacrifice tomorrow is how we reset everything,’ Ronin told his daughter. ‘We will offer contrition and demonstrate our gratitude. Remember, Kalina, actions always have consequences. You killed Noor. You took a knife to Eyshar’s seer.’ Ronin did not lower his voice, for he cared little about the slaves; he didn’t notice them at all. Reaching for his wine, he inhaled the fruity bouquet, swilling it in the goblet, imagining blood. He wondered if they were doing the right thing, killing the Furyck woman, though looking up, he smiled confidently at his wife.

Eyshar needed his thirst quenched.

And Jael Furyck’s death was sure to please him.

* * *

Fires burned in braziers, lighting up the harbour, though Bertel remained wary. He’d already been jostled once, sensing that the man hadn’t merely fallen against him but had been seeking to steal his pouch. He’d slipped his arm through Siggy’s after that, keeping her close as they walked down the docks together. ‘Those men appear to be working,’ Bertel told her, seeing three men in similar dark tunics, two holding scrolls. ‘We can ask if they’ve seen anything.’ Moving with purpose and not seeing a man turn into his path, he immediately stumbled into him.

The burly man reeked of ale, unsteady on his feet. He spun back to Bertel and swung for his head. Siggy screamed and Bertel ducked, thumping his fist into the man’s belly. He’d reacted on instinct, quickly regretting it as his knuckles smashed into what felt like a wall of rock. The man appeared to be wearing many layers, masking his true physique, and it was only now that Bertel realised what a mistake he’d made.

Hand throbbing, he shook it by his side, stepping back as the big man sought to come for him again.

‘No! Bertel!’ Siggy cried in warning. ‘Bertel!’ She glanced past him to those men with their scrolls. ‘Please help!’ Though the men remained where they were, showing no interest in intervening.

Bertel ducked and dodged the swinging fist, realising that with Siggy behind him, there was little to do but try and hold his own. They wouldn’t be able to outrun this man, who soon had two friends flanking him. One made to move around the fighting pair, trying to grab Siggy. ‘No!’ Bertel yelled. ‘Siggy! Move!’

He felt a sharp pain, then an explosion of heat as he fell to the pier.

* * *

At supper, Jael was pleased to see Alek return.

He looked pale as he sat down before her and Rigg with a small helping of stew that had been slopped into his bowl. Fish of some sort.

It smelled off.

Rigg eyed him with a crooked grin. ‘Thought you’d be moving in with the logi now? Tucked up in bed, wearing one of their pretty robes?’

Alek laughed throatily. ‘Well, it was one way to spend the day. They’re certainly determined to get everything right tomorrow. It’s the first funeral of a Noor on the isle, so they want to ensure everything goes to plan.’

Rigg yawned, not caring. ‘Did you get anything to eat?’

‘I wasn’t especially hungry, though a few things here and there.’

‘Fresh fruit, I bet,’ Rigg sighed, looking down at the greyish dregs in his bowl. ‘Dripping with sweet juice.’ Closing his eyes, he saw himself biting into a black-red plum.

‘Perhaps.’ Alek didn’t want to say any more. The logi had offered him many delicacies and treated him kindly, though he’d felt nauseous and tired, working hard just to breathe. Still, he smiled for his friends. ‘I hear you’ve turned into a gardener now,’ he said to Jael.

She showed him her black fingernails. ‘And not a good one. Ask my grandmother. I was never made for digging in the dirt. I couldn’t think of a worse way to pass the time.’ Both men blinked at her. ‘Well, perhaps I can,’ she laughed wearily. ‘I can’t think straight. I need to go to bed.’

‘What for?’ Rigg wondered bitterly. ‘You put your head down and someone will be kicking you awake one minute later. We may as well just stay here.’

Alek looked from one to the other, wondering if they were starting to get along.

‘You do what you want,’ Jael grumbled, eyes closing. ‘But I’ll take any sleep I can get. I have to find some way to stop that dreamer tomorrow.’

Alek nodded. ‘She has an important role, presiding over the sacrifices. The seer mainly watches until his part. It’s Dessalene Sardis who will lead his logi.’

Jael shivered, seeing a slave approaching their table. It was late, and she yawned, sensing him trying to meet her eye. She couldn’t remember the man’s name, though he’d always acted respectfully towards her, and even now he bobbed his head as he slid onto the bench beside Alek.

Everyone stared at him.

‘Skarpi,’ Rigg said. ‘You’ve something to say?’

The black-haired Skarpi sat perfectly still, fearing he would get in trouble, wondering if he should take such a risk, but knowing what they were planning tomorrow, he feared he had no choice. ‘I’ve had a message from our friend at the palace.’

Turning to him, Alek became tense. ‘What message?’

Though Skarpi’s eyes remained on Jael. ‘They say you’re going to be sacrificed tomorrow, my lady. Along with the animals. The queen intends to offer you to Eyshar.’

41

Bertel couldn’t hear anything.

He saw only shadows. Someone held his tunic, moving his head around.

He thought he heard a familiar voice.

Siggy?

No, no...

Head falling forward, he slid back into the darkness.

Siggy was panicking. ‘We need to get him somewhere safe! To lie down. He needs...’ She didn’t know. Edela knew about that. And realising that both Bertel and Edela might die, she burst into tears.

Korri Torluffson put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll carry him back to the ships. It’s going to be alright, Siggy. Bertel’s tougher than you think, he’s just taken a knock to the head. That man was a mountain, though no match for my beauty,’ he said with a nod to his bloody sword, with which he’d gutted the man who had sought to kill Bertel.

A sobbing Siggy nodded through her tears, surprised to see Zen arrive with more of Korri’s men.

Upon seeing her, he pulled up. ‘Siggy?’

She burst into tears again, happy to see him, though not quite understanding why they were all back in Castala.

‘Let’s head for the ships!’ Korri called to his men. ‘Zen, help Anders with Bertel.’ He glanced around. ‘And where’s Edela?’

‘Gone,’ Siggy sniffed, immediately feeling even worse. ‘We were trying to find her. All day. But... it’s my... fault. She’s been taken!’

Korri and his men turned towards the girl in horror. ‘By who?’

‘I think the same man from Bakkar. Iker Rayas. I... think it was him.’ She blinked at Zen, who didn’t look happy to hear that.

‘Well, let’s get Bertel on board and we’ll think on what to do. Don’t worry, we won’t let anything happen to Edela.’ He said it with a smile, though having lost men to those Siluran warriors in Bakkar, Korri felt worried by the thought of confronting them again. And after a disaster in the desert, he was down even more men than before. Still, he kept smiling as he ushered Siggy towards the nearest pier, following behind those men who had picked up an unconscious Bertel, carrying him between them.

He thought of Edela, remembering her mischievous blue eyes and generous smile, knowing he would do everything in his power to find her.

* * *

Jael finally closed her mouth.

It had dropped open at Skarpi’s words, and she’d been unable to say anything in response.

Though a frantic Alek and Rigg were busy pressing Skarpi for more information.

‘How did Kito hear this?’ Alek wanted to know. ‘Everything we’ve been told is that Jael is to be kept alive. A slave for life.’

Rigg nodded with sharp eyes, looking from Skarpi to a clearly shocked Jael. ‘Who told Kito?’

‘He has a woman in the palace. She heard it tonight at supper. The queen and her father were talking. He announced it.’

Jael blew out a breath. ‘Well, that changes things.’

‘For you, maybe,’ Rigg told her. ‘We still have to mount an attack. I can lead, as before.’

Alek turned to him in horror. ‘What? You’ll just move on past that, will you? Just forget about Jael?’

Rigg didn’t understand. ‘If the king himself wants to sacrifice her, what can we do to stop it?’

For a time, Jael couldn’t think of anything to say.

To be sacrificed? It seemed too strange to be real.

Her unsettling dream about Eadmund and Ayla returned, though she quickly blinked it away. Leaning forward, she interrupted the arguing men. ‘We stick to the plan. I’ll still lead us.’

Rigg snorted. ‘I thought you’d have some understanding of sacrifices and how they work.’

‘We don’t offer human sacrifices where I come from,’ Jael snarled. ‘Perhaps that’s only a Hestian thing?’

Rigg bared his teeth, carrying on with pleasure now. ‘Well, let me tell you then. You’ll have to be bathed, prepared, dressed in special robes. They’ll give you things to addle your mind. You won’t even know where you are. I’ve seen it. When they bring a human to sacrifice, they’re usually no longer present. Not in their minds, at least.’

Jael remained defiant. She remembered the tunnel and Eadmund calling her name. She would not fail this time.

This time, she would go home.

Her dream of Oss taunted her, but she shut it out with a slamming door.

Standing up, jaw clenched, she moved past Rigg. ‘I’m going to bed. We can talk more in the morning.’

The three men stared after her in silence.

‘She can’t die,’ Alek said, feeling his hopes leaving with her. ‘I don’t believe she can die. I was promised that she would get us out of here.’

‘By who?’ Rigg wondered, though Alek didn’t say as he stood, following Jael to the sleeping hall.

* * *

Waking from a nightmare, a disturbed Thorgils turned to Eadmund, who was sharpening a sword in no need of sharpening beside him. At sea, there was no real sense of time. No birds, no people. Once darkness fell, it was simply night. ‘You ever planning on getting some sleep?’ he yawned, rubbing aching eyes. ‘You’ll need it.’

‘I expect I will, though I want to be ready. There’s a lot to work through in my mind. How it will go. What will happen.’

‘Well, I can already tell you that,’ his friend grinned. ‘We’ll free your wife, free those slaves, become heroes. She’ll grumble her thanks but secretly be pleased. That sort of thing.’

Eadmund smiled. ‘I like how simple you make everything. Sounds entirely possible.’

‘It does, and why not? Nothing more than we’ve done before. We’ve done the impossible, Eadmund. You know that. We’ve been up against creatures and dreamers and gods, so we can certainly do this.’

‘We can,’ Eadmund agreed without confidence, then seeing Thorgils still staring at him, unconvinced, he straightened up, laying his sword across his lap and his whetstone on the deck. ‘I’ve never understood how I ended up with a friend like you.’

Thinking it was an insult, Thorgils readied his own, though Eadmund’s hand was soon on his shoulder.

‘You’ve always stood beside me. All my life, Thorgils Svanter. I wouldn’t be here without you. Wouldn’t have a chance to save my wife.’

Thorgils was too surprised to speak.

‘And when we get home, I’m going to build you a new house. The finest on Oss.’

‘What? But what about the timber? You were saving it for more ships.’

‘We can import more from Brekka. We’ll need it to build you something big enough for all your children. Though perhaps we’ll have to build Isaura her own house so she can lock you out!’

Thorgils couldn’t imagine such a thing. ‘We’ve decided to stop at ten.’

‘Ten children?’ Eadmund was incredulous. ‘Your poor wife.’

Thinking of his wife, Thorgils sat back with a contented sigh. ‘She likes children, so who am I to stop the woman? I can’t blame her, of course, wanting to be surrounded by little Svanters.’

Eadmund sat back himself, resting his head on the gunwale, eyes on the stars. And for a moment, he was back on Oss, walking around the fort in moonlight.

‘What’s your favourite star?’ Jael asked him, looking up at the sky, trying to spot her own.

‘Atoya,’ Eadmund told her. ‘It was my mother’s favourite.’ He pointed. ‘Past the anchor, left a little.’

Jael nodded, moving closer to him, shoulders touching. ‘That’s mine,’ she said, pointing east. ‘Not one, but five. In Brekka, we call it Furia’s Axe. My father always told me that’s where Furia watches over us.’

‘You Furycks even have your own stars?’ Eadmund laughed. ‘Well, us poor Islanders just have to adopt the stars we like. The gods don’t care about us. They don’t see us at all.’

‘Though Furia is watching over you,’ Jael promised, coming around to face her husband, placing her cold hands on his face. ‘So now you know. Whenever we’re apart, I’ll be watching you from the stars too.’

‘Mmmm, now I know,’ Eadmund breathed, kissing her.

Blinking open his eyes and hearing Thorgils snoring beside him, Eadmund searched the night sky for any sign of Furia’s Axe. Would he see it here, this far from home?

Nothing looked familiar as he searched and searched.

Eventually, heart sinking, he gave up, eyes too heavy to keep open. And slipping his sword into its scabbard and his whetstone back into his pouch, he rested his head against the gunwale and closed his eyes.

* * *

An uptight Jael had gone to sleep with Dessalene in mind. Lying on her stomach, right hand balled into a fist, she had held onto her memory of the dreamer, seeking to understand what the woman was planning.

To sacrifice her?

She had thought she was part of a game she couldn’t understand.

So now to just kill her?

It made no sense.

‘The Furycks are not who they claim to be,’ hissed a voice. ‘Furia’s famed line is all a lie! A trick!’

Jael didn’t know the voice.

She felt the heat of flames, inhaling ashy smoke, and squinting into the distance, she saw a great trail of hot lava flowing down a mountain.

A volcano?

She sought to draw more information from the blurry shapes, though the silhouettes and shadows teased her, revealing nothing further.

She started walking, bare feet on warm sand, quickly sinking into it.

‘And they will pay!’ the voice called as it returned, now loud enough to drown out every other thought. ‘I will make them pay!’

And soon that sand was crumbling away, and Jael lost her footing, sinking into the darkness.

* * *

Dessalene slid out of bed, hurrying on her robe. Turning to look at her sleeping husband, she frowned. Her dreams had been fraught, disturbed by hideous visions of plague-ridden bodies lining the streets.

Shivering in disgust, she swept out of their shared bedchamber into her private room down the hall, where she was surprised to find Pye sprawled in the middle of the bed, sound asleep. ‘What are you doing!’ she shouted, not caring who she disturbed. ‘Sleeping in my bed? In here? Get up! Get out!’

Pye screamed in fright, crawling up to the headboard, then seeing that he wasn’t being assaulted by a ghoulish demon but a screeching dreamer in a silk robe, he sighed. ‘I came looking for you, Mistress. To tell you more.’

‘Though I forbade you to come near me again, Eppypyrus! And certainly that included not rolling around in my sheets like a disobedient puppy!’ Stepping back to the door, Dessalene was seething.

‘There have been more deaths!’ Pye called. ‘I thought you should know. We must leave this place at once!’

‘We? You and your friends the slaves? But when I leave, you will have to remain with them.’

‘No! I am not sick!’

‘You are not sick yet, and perhaps you will not be touched by it, but I won’t have you on a ship, Pye. I won’t bring that plague with us. The king and I will leave together, and you will remain here.’

‘To die?’

Dessalene laughed. ‘How dramatic! I’m sure you have nothing to fear, and besides, you are due a break. A rest. So take your time here, helping Kalina, and I will allow you back when the plague has passed.’

Pye dropped to his knees now, staring at his mistress in horror. ‘I have helped you.’

‘We have helped each other, toad, and we will again in the future. Though for now, you must go.’ Pulling open the door, Dessalene motioned with a hand. ‘Do not fret, little Pye. If you live, I am sure we will meet again.’

A still-stunned Pye shuffled off the bed, moving like a reluctant child, dragging his feet towards an impatient Dessalene, who left the door wide open and hurried to the other side of the chamber, far away from him.

‘You are wrong,’ he told her. ‘This is wrong. I am not a slave. I never was.’

‘Perhaps, but without me you are no more than a lump of misshapen parts for someone to abuse and use. I found you and made you into something more useful. And you have been, though now I want you out of my sight. As far away as possible.’ She turned her back on him, heading for her altar, though her ears were open in case Pye decided to become hysterical.

Though hearing nothing, she soon turned around.

Seeing that he had gone.

* * *

Bertel woke up feeling strange, having no idea where he was. Not on land, he soon realised, quickly panicking. And standing up, he almost toppled over. The pain in his head was excruciating, and he stumbled, reaching for the gunwale.

He tried recalling what had happened.

Those men... and Siggy!

He turned, blinking open aching eyes. He had to find Siggy, he had to get off the ship, he had to –

A hand on his arm had him jumping.

‘Bertel?’

Bertel bit his tongue, swinging around to the familiar face of Korri Torluffson. ‘What are you doing here? How did I...?’ Pain crashed in on every side of Bertel’s head, and he fell against Korri. ‘Oh, I...’

‘Let’s sit you down,’ Korri said kindly. ‘After what you’ve been through, I’m not sure you should be walking around.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Bertel kept repeating. ‘You were... in the desert.’ He relaxed his limbs, letting Korri ease him back down onto a fur. They were on Sea Queen, moored in the harbour, Bertel soon realised, smelling the goat and hearing the chickens. ‘But what happened?’

Korri shook his head. ‘We were attacked, robbed, not long after passing through a village. I suspect we were part of a plot. The villagers had welcomed us in, shared a meal with us, then after we left, they sent warriors to track us down.’ He sighed heavily, joining Bertel on the deck. ‘They came upon us at night, took everything we had, killed Amos and Selvi. It was some battle, rolling around in the sand, trying to fight them off. Eventually, they took off on horses, moving with speed. I had injured men, I...’ Korri dropped his head to his hands. ‘I lost everything I earned in Bakkar. All those coins I was going to buy the stones with.’

Bertel was horrified. ‘But you... have more to sell? Here?’

‘I had some ivory, a bit of tin. Not much, but the men I left behind to guard the ships stole everything. I’ve been shat on left and right. Any gods who may have seen fit to favour me have gone elsewhere. I’m entirely ruined.’

‘I’m so sorry. That’s terrible to hear. But I... how did I end up on your ship? And where’s Siggy?’

‘She’s sleeping over there. See?’ Korri pointed to where Siggy had fallen asleep beside Zen.

Bertel nodded. ‘And me?’

‘Well, you seemed to have gotten yourself into a bit of bother. We were returning from a tavern and heard Siggy calling your name. And just in time. That man had taken his full share of drink. He was aiming to kill you.’

Bertel winced. The pain in his head was sharp, painting slashes of darkness over every memory he sought to reclaim. ‘I’m very grateful, Korri. It seems that we’ve found each other again at just the right time.’

‘You mean Edela?’

Bertel nodded. ‘Did Siggy tell you what happened? About the amulet?’

‘She tried to, though the poor girl was so upset that she didn’t make a lot of sense. She blames herself for Edela going missing.’

‘Well, she was lured into a trap by some malevolent creature, though I would hardly expect a child to see through that sort of game. She’s lucky to be alive.’

‘And Edela? You think it’s the same man from Bakkar?’

Bertel became distracted, hoping for something to drink. ‘His name is Iker Rayas, and he... wants to kill her. I don’t know why everyone wants to kill Edela, but they seem to and I...’

‘Soon as the sun’s up, I’ll send my men out. We’ll scour this place until we find her,’ Korri promised, smiling at the old man. ‘Now, do you want to try sleeping again, or would you like some ale?’

Bertel peered at him, feeling oddly emotional. ‘I think you must have been sent by the gods. You’re a surprisingly good man.’

‘Surprisingly?’

‘Well, we haven’t encountered many allies on our travels,’ Bertel sighed, thinking of Elmer Falson. And once again his mind returned to Edela.

Standing up, Korri turned to where he’d last seen an ale jug. ‘Rest now. I’ll get you something to drink, and in the morning, we’ll go and find your dreamer.’

* * *

In her dream, Jael stood on the sacrifice platform in bare feet, wearing her familiar grey dress.

She turned, seeing Dessalene Sardis flinging drops of blood from a switch she’d dipped in a golden bowl.

The dreamer moved around Jael, eyes blinking slowly.

Everything was moving slowly, Jael saw.

Those drops, flung through the air, the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

Like hooves clopping, slow and steady.

Though not calm, she thought, tension rising.

As the dreamer moved past her, she saw the men sitting on tall stone chairs. Eight dressed in red, and the man in the centre in white.

Inesh Seppo.

He stared at her, a great wooden staff in one hand, its gnarled pommel like a claw that he rolled his fingers over and stood. Stepping towards Jael, his face oddly stern, no hint of those smiling eyes now, he stopped and lifted his staff, pointing it at her.

Jael cried out, kicked in the back.

Eyes bursting open, she jerked forward, away from that boot.

‘Up! Up! We have a funeral to prepare for!’ Kosta bellowed, striding away from Jael, kicking more of the sleeping slaves awake. ‘What do you think this is? A day off?’

In fact, the slaves had been promised this special day off, though Kosta had seen that, despite their valiant efforts, the area around the tower and the walkway to the temple were in urgent need of attention.

Dawn hadn’t broken, but Kosta feared that his future hinged on this day, and so did Krissia, who had sent Quint from their house with a flaming lantern, urging him to ensure that everything was perfect. Quint had woken his father-in-law, who had joined him in his wagon without complaint. As soon as the sacrifice was over and the new Noor had been anointed, Kosta would press forward with his marriage to the queen.

And then everything would change.

‘Up! Now!’ he barked, kicking Rigg, who’d been slow to move, catching his knee. A yelping Rigg rolled away, soon up on his feet, one eye open. He glanced around the sleeping hall, seeing Jael but no Alek.

His bed was empty.

Forcing open his reluctant left eye, Rigg approached the slave queen. ‘Where’s Alek?’

Jael swung around. ‘I don’t know.’ She saw Quint’s offsider, Berros. ‘Have you seen Alek?’

‘Outside.’

Rigg felt relieved.

‘Surprised he’s still standing. You didn’t hear? He couldn’t breathe in the night. Kept coughing. Thought we’d have to carry him away.’

Rigg turned to Jael, who looked shocked; she hadn’t heard a thing.

‘There’ll be no food until I’m happy with how the courtyard looks!’ Kosta bellowed from the doorway. ‘So if you want to eat you’ll have to –’ A slave interrupted him, much to his annoyance. ‘What?’ He bent down to the small man, who spoke with purpose but softly, conscious of the early hour despite the rising noise in the sleeping hall.

Kosta frowned, making the man repeat himself before turning around to find Jael. ‘Our favourite slave is going to the palace!’

‘The sacrifice,’ Rigg mouthed, seeing the messenger coming Jael’s way. ‘They’ll prepare you.’

Ignoring him, Jael didn’t move. ‘You need to talk to Alek.’

Rigg nodded.

‘Nothing changes,’ she insisted quickly. ‘I’ve a knife in my mattress. Take it and hide it on yourself. Use it if you need to. We keep to the plan. If Alek or I...’ Jael was almost drunk with tiredness, though she worked to order her thoughts. ‘Steal Quint’s shell and wait for my signal.’

Rigg stared at her. ‘Alek believes in you. No idea why he trusts a Furyck, but he does, so you can’t let him down, slave queen.’

Jael heard his thoughts. He was nervous, worried it would all go wrong now.

‘I won’t,’ she promised, remembering Sunni. She had been so tired, so busy that she hadn’t thought about the girl in days. Lifting her head, she pushed back her shoulders, feeling blood trickling down her back where Kosta had kicked her. ‘Enjoy your day off!’ she called loudly. ‘I look forward to seeing you all soon!’

Reaching the glowering commander, Jael sensed that he was ready to kick her again, but knowing she was going to the palace, he held himself back.

‘You think you’ll return in a pretty dress, with the queen as your new friend? That they’ll have changed their minds about you, and now everything will be flowers and cakes?’

‘No,’ Jael assured him. ‘No, I don’t think so at all.’ She turned to Quint. ‘Good luck today.’

He looked surprised to receive her good wishes, as did Kosta, who scowled after her as she took one last look at Rigg and those slaves standing in the sleeping hall, peering at her with tension in their swollen eyes.

And swallowing down her doubts, Jael smiled broadly and strode outside into the blazing sun.

PART V

HOMECOMING

42

Fyn had been awake for hours, and finally seeing the first hints of dawn, he poured himself something to drink. Realising that the dreamer was awake, he brought her a cup too.

She wasn’t thirsty but took it anyway.

Otter rubbed against Fyn’s leg, and smiling at the cat, he bent down to pat him. He’d discovered that he didn’t hate cats as much as he’d thought, which had surprised him after a lifetime of avoiding them. Though Otter was a different kind of cat, he realised. There was something about him that Fyn enjoyed. He was almost human in the way he knew when to comfort and when to sound the alarm. Like a dog, Fyn decided, thinking of Ido and Vella.

‘Have you finished?’ Mattie wondered, eyeing him.

‘Finished?’ Fyn straightened up.

‘With Otter. I need your help here.’

A surprised Fyn blinked at her. ‘With what?’

‘My trance. If I’m to bind the wind...’ She tried not to roll her eyes, knowing that achieving anything was impossible if you kept telling yourself you couldn’t. ‘Kolarov’s misplaced his usha root, so I have to fall into a trance on my own. I’ve got these herbs from Hest, and Meena Dragos showed me some things, but I need your help feeding them into the brazier. And lighting the brazier. And watching Otter. I need -’

‘I’ll help,’ Fyn promised. ‘You can sit down and prepare, and I’ll get everything ready.’

Mattie nodded, twisting the rope around her hand. ‘It may not work.’

‘No, though it’s not essential. Useful, I imagine, though the wind does what the wind does. We’ll be fine either way.’

Mattie stared at him before looking down at the rope, trying to pull some useful tidbit from her memory. She thought of those sneering elders and secretive dreamers, none of whom had warmed to her; her mother, who had never listened to her or cared that she was a dreamer.

And her husband, Theo.

He had believed in her, she remembered with a smile.

He had held her in his arms and promised that she could do anything.

* * *

Going to the palace was the last thing Jael wanted to do, though as the sun rose, promising another scorching day, absent last night’s wind, she was pulled out of a wagon and pushed up the steps into the royal palace. Four doormen greeted her with suspicious scowls, ushering her through the open doors, where the slaves were already hard at work, washing the floor and dusting every surface in preparation for their mistress’ arrival.

Nothing Jael had dreamed had been helpful, she realised as her thoughts rushed to the forefront of her mind. She had hoped to find something useful about the dreamer, something she could use, but apart from becoming certain she was going to be sacrificed, nothing more had been illuminated.

‘There you are!’ an elegantly dressed Dessalene called, having been up early, preparing for her departure to the temple. ‘Our little slave queen, ready for her big day!’ Coming closer, the dreamer’s smile faltered. ‘Though I’m not sure we have enough time to prepare you. The state of that hair and your skin. It’s hideous!’

‘Prepare me?’ Jael attempted a look of confusion.

‘You have a very important role to play,’ Dessalene explained. ‘In the ritual. You will be our guest of honour!’

Jael stared at her, trying to read the dreamer’s thoughts but finding only resistance. ‘Guest of honour?’

Ronin Sardis strode in from the dining hall, devouring a slice of sesame cake. His eyes flicked to Jael Furyck, then back to his wife. ‘I am having my doubts, Dessalene. Are we sure about this?’

The dreamer nodded, brushing sesame seeds out of his beard. ‘Yes. A Furyck? Of course. There could be nothing more appetising to a hungry god.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Jael tried. ‘Why am I here?’

‘Because we are going to sacrifice you, which makes today the last day of your life!’ Dessalene announced. ‘It is an honour, such an honour to be chosen as a sacrifice to noble Eyshar.’

Jael stared at her. ‘And you think, what? That your god will forgive the murder of your seer if you kill me? That he’ll simply forget what the queen did, stabbing the old man like that?’ Both Ronin and Dessalene stiffened, smiles vanishing, and pleased about that, Jael carried on. ‘I doubt your god is a fool. Have you met him?’

Dessalene looked confused. ‘Met a god? What are you talking about? Are you suggesting you have met a god?’

‘I have spoken to Daala, Mother of All. And Furia. Darroc too. I’ve met a number of gods.’

Shock pried open Dessalene’s pursed lips, sharpening her cheekbones. ‘Daala? Why? Why did she come to you?’

‘To help me. To protect me.’

Ronin narrowed his pale green eyes. ‘Why should we believe you?’

‘I don’t care if you do. Do with it what you will. If you wish to kill me, then I welcome it. I give you thanks for it. Do you truly think I’d rather live here, under the thumb of your spoiled daughter, watching good men and women die around me? And all for your vanity? No, kill me and bleed me, let your god drink my blood and eat my flesh, but know that you will never appease him. You killed his seer. There will be no forgiveness. Your god will destroy this isle and everything you’ve worked so hard for. Today.’

Ranuf Furyck had always encouraged his daughter to hold her tongue, though Ranuf Furyck wasn’t about to be sacrificed, so Jael had to use her only weapon to hand.

She couldn’t read Ronin’s or Dessalene’s thoughts.

Though she could see their faces.

A furious Ronin grabbed her by the tunic, tugging her close enough that she could smell honey on his breath. ‘You think yourself better than me? Than us? That somehow your death will be avenged? You smug bitch. But you’re just the beginning. My vow is to kill every Furyck. Every living one. And when you burn, and your bones are crushed up and dropped into a hole, buried and forgotten, I will take my ships to sea and tear your brother’s head from his body. One brother, then two. And then I will find your daughter.’ Twisting her tunic around his hand, Ronin spat at her. ‘I gift you that, Jael Furyck. The knowledge that those you love will die, and so will your name. I will wipe the Furycks out.’ Releasing his hand, Ronin pushed Jael back until she stumbled against one of the guards.

Heart thumping, she watched as he smiled at her, nodded at his wife and strode away.

* * *

Arras stood near Bolder, helping the helmsman navigate the treacherous Arc of Herash and its dangerous waters, while Kolarov recounted the many disasters it had caused to an annoyed Thorgils.

‘You need to go and sit down!’ Thorgils snapped at him, and not taking no for an answer, and with one eye on the sea swirling like ale in a cup, he shepherded the explorer back to the stern.

Mattie heard his complaining as she tried to push herself deep into a trance.

She was worried about the sea, too, feeling the ship almost falling away beneath her. She thought about Fyn breathing next to her and her cat, fearing he wasn’t safe. If only she’d thought to leave him in Hest with the very distracting Kolarov.

There was her need to find a way to bind the wind, her constant fear that Jael Furyck was already dead.

And the isle.

She couldn’t stop thinking about what awaited her on S’ala Nis.

Death.

The rasping voice in her ears promised death.

‘You know magic is for the depraved, don’t you, girl? The desperate and depraved who have lost sight of the gods! They cling to the darkness, seeking to mask their weakness! They cower in shadows, afraid to live in the light like those who embrace the true gods. You understand that, don’t you, girl?’

Mattie trembled at the memory of Mirna – a vicious elder who had whipped her and a friend when she’d found them trying to make magic. Just that once. Mattie’s friend had found an old spell and thought to try it. And though Mattie had been doubtful that such things were even possible, she’d eagerly gone along. Now Inga had been sent home from the temple in disgrace, and she was about to join her.

The old woman had a stain on her robe, Mattie noticed, a dark moustache framing her scowling lips. She was not like the other elders, most of whom tried to offer guidance and help. Mirna had cruel intentions; she liked to cause pain.

Mattie’s eyes were drawn to that stain as Mirna snapped at her, spittle flying from moist lips. Berries, she thought. The old woman had eaten berries for breakfast, yet as the elder overseeing the kitchen, she ensured that the dreamer novices received only watery porridge.

A red berry. Dark, deep red.

Like blood, Mattie thought, transfixed by the stain, watching it spread over Mirna’s sagging breasts, dying her robe red.

Blood.

The woman grabbed her chest as though in pain, face contorting before her, and looking down, Mattie saw that her hand was in a fist and she was squeezing the words from Mirna’s throat. And then her heart. She would crush it, squeeze and squeeze until there was no life left. No heartbeat. No blood. All of it gone.

She hated the old woman, who had made every day a nightmare since she’d arrived.

Blood and death.

White robe.

Old woman.

Mirna sank to the flagstones like a bird falling from the sky. A slow twirling dance to the end. To earth.

And where would she go?

A cruel old woman like that?

Mattie’s fingers released their hold on the spell, her arm falling back to her side, now staring at the body of an old man, blood seeping through his white robe, eyes fixed open. He called to her, his lips never moving, though he said her name.

Mattie bent down to him, closer and closer, until she could hear his final whispers as he breathed them into her ear.

* * *

Jael was hurried through the palace towards the baths.

Dessalene accompanied her, soon stopped by the queen, who had just emerged from the baths herself, hair unbound, loose and damp on her shoulders.

‘What is this?’ Kalina wondered, looking from Jael to her stepmother. ‘Why is she here?’

‘Well, we can hardly offer up this piece of filthy rubbish to Eyshar. No, dearest, we must purify her first. Cleanse all the grime from her body, dress her in something more... appropriate.’

‘And then?’ Kalina asked, temper sparking.

‘She will join the procession. We will make her walk to her death!’

Kalina had presided over more than one human sacrifice in her time, and she narrowed her eyes. ‘And will you give her anything?’

‘Give her what? Something to take away the terror and the pain? To make it easier? To take her somewhere else?’ Dessalene sneered. ‘Oh no, but your father has insisted that she feel everything. This mighty warrior here? She is more than used to pain and fear. I’m sure there’s no one better equipped to deal with what awaits!’ And needing to prepare herself for the sacrifice, Dessalene left Jael Furyck in the hands of Kalina’s most useful slave, Mali, and four capable looking guards. ‘I must leave for the temple,’ she told her stepdaughter as Jael was led away.

‘Now?’ Kalina stared after the disappearing slave queen, reminded of Arras and her broken heart. ‘Why now?’

‘Inesh Seppo and I have much to do. We will be preparing together.’

‘Though you have all day.’

‘Which just may be long enough!’ Dessalene laughed, spirits rising. She thought of Pye and the plague cases, which had already exploded since he’d first alerted her. It would get so much worse, she saw, deciding to speak to Ronin before she left for the temple.

To ensure their safety, they could not linger when it was all done.

* * *

Mattie emerged from her trance with an open mouth, turning to stare at Fyn, who was stroking Otter beside her.

He saw that she was no longer clutching the rope in her hand. ‘What happened? Did you bind the wind?’

Mattie just stared at him, visions rushing back to her in gruesome colour.

Mirna’s death.

Then the old seer; the man who had flown off the temple.

Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree.

Scrambling to her feet, mouth still open, she swayed towards Kolarov. Her mind felt stuffed with cloth, and instead of hearing the familiar creaking of the ship and a bellowing Bolder, she heard her own thoughts and her racing heart.

Kolarov saw the look in her eyes, and rising to his feet, he grabbed her hands as she started tipping to one side. ‘What did you see? Mattie, my dear, do sit and tell me.’ Edging the dreamer towards his chest, Kolarov kept a firm hold of her hands, tottering before her.

‘I... there was a... Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. I saw him!’

‘The old seer?’

Mattie nodded. ‘He was murdered!’

Kolarov spun around in horror. ‘Commander!’ he called. ‘Come! You must come!’

Arras left Bolder behind, moving to the stern, soon joined by a curious Fyn. ‘What’s happened?’

‘The dreamer says Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree was murdered!’

Arras stared at him in horror before turning to Mattie.

‘By the queen. He told me. The queen killed him.’

Arras’ mouth gaped open. ‘She will be cursed. The isle will be cursed.’

‘Why did you see this?’ Fyn wondered. ‘How does it help us?’

Mattie stared at him, shaking her head. ‘I... because I know where Jael is going to be. The seer told me that to appease their god, they will... sacrifice her.’

* * *

As the slaves cleared the roads around the temple and hastily planted the last garden beds, Rigg received word from the palace that Jael was being prepared for the sacrifice.

The messenger brought more than tidings about Jael, though. He had come armed with a list of concerns from those allies around the isle. For as news about Jael spread, there was panic, no one knowing whether the revolt would proceed as planned. There had been rumours about Alek taking ill too.

‘He’ll be fine,’ Rigg told the messenger. ‘That man’s been hanging on by his fingernails for years. You think he’ll just slip away now? Today of all days? That’s not Alek Orlan. He’ll see this day through like the rest of us.’

‘But Kito wants to know if it’s still happening. Word’s spreading fast that it’s over.’

A furious Rigg grabbed the man by the shoulders. ‘That’s a lie. Jael and Alek and I... we’re not giving in or giving up. That woman has a plan.’

‘To start a revolt while being sacrificed?’

Rigg thought of all the things he wanted to say about Jael Furyck, biting them down. ‘You think she wants to die like a goat? Throat slit and tossed away? That she’d let that be her legacy? A Furyck?’ Rigg shook his head. ‘You go back and tell the truth. Nothing changes. I’ll blow the signal, and when you hear it, you will attack, and we’ll all be with you as planned.’

‘We have this one chance.’

Rigg agreed. ‘So go back and tell everyone. We proceed as planned.’

* * *

Dessalene watched her husband being dressed by two male slaves. At nearly sixty, Ronin had the body of a man some twenty years younger. He was still muscular, his arms and torso defined and hard. She smiled. ‘There is a ship moored in the cove.’

Looking around, Ronin was puzzled. ‘Of course. There’s always a ship moored in the cove.’

‘Though you need to send a crew to ready it. I wish to depart in haste after the sacrifice,’ Dessalene purred. ‘We cannot linger here. Your fleet will leave quickly, but we must leave soonest of all, my love.’

‘Because of the...’ Ronin turned, becoming aware of the slaves. ‘Issue Pye uncovered?’

‘Exactly.’

‘But Kalina?’

‘She is the queen.’ Dessalene hardened her expression and her voice. ‘It would not do for her to leave her people. Not in a time of... crisis. I see no problem there. Nothing to concern you.’

Ronin narrowed his eyes, feeling concerned, though in all their years together, Dessalene had never let him down. She saw danger, opportunities, and she’d always kept him moving forward, towards his destiny. ‘I shall have the ship readied.’

‘Good, now I must hurry away to the temple. Inesh Seppo appears diligent enough, though I have concerns about any man being able to organise such an event. I doubt he’s even out of bed!’ She kissed her husband with a sigh. ‘Until we meet again, sweet love, enjoy the day. You have waited a lifetime for this. To see a Furyck die?’ Dessalene smiled, looking forward to that herself. ‘Now the wait is finally over, and soon you will watch that woman bleed for your god. You will see, Ronin. I will show you.’

* * *

Jael needed a plan.

Head back, eyes closed as she enjoyed the cool water of the deep pool she’d been forced into, she saw Aleksander. Her Aleksander.

He had come to her in that tiny hole, urging her to live. To fight.

She saw his dark eyes now, peering at her. She felt pressure on her hand, a soothing voice in her ear, and then a different pair of eyes. Hazel and mischievous. Sometimes sad. Always full of love.

For her.

‘Are you ready to fight?’ Eadmund asked.

‘Fight?’ Jael smiled. ‘I was born to fight.’

‘I’m not leaving you behind,’ he told her. ‘Not this time. This time I will take you home.’

She thought of her dream of Eadmund with Ayla, and his face faded, plunging her into darkness again.

‘I was born to fight,’ came her echoing voice.

Though she heard someone laughing now.

* * *

Arras didn’t know what to make of Mattie’s vision, though piecing it together with everything else she’d told him, he made a guess. ‘I can’t say why Kalina may have killed Noor, except that he promised her things that didn’t happen. She has a history of killing those who displease her. A lack of hesitation about it too. It’s why I sought to escape with Nico.’

Eadmund and Thorgils had joined their huddle now, both men keeping quiet, eager to hear more.

‘I had meetings with Noor about his funeral,’ Arras went on. ‘We discussed what would happen, the ceremonies, and what would be required. He wanted the transition to be seamless. He had his successor picked out. I met him –’

‘So the funeral you saw is actually happening?’ Thorgils interrupted.

Mattie nodded. ‘And Jael will be sacrificed.’

Thorgils turned to Arras. ‘Was that part of the seer’s plan? A sacrifice?’

‘Yes, of course, and in return, the god would bless his successor.’

‘And now the sacrifice is to be Jael?’ Thorgils’ brow furrowed with worry.

‘Which means she’s alive,’ Eadmund told them, working to find a place where he could set aside his fears and simply cope with leading these men into battle. ‘She’s alive, which means she has a chance.’

‘More than a chance,’ Arras told him. ‘She has us. We just need to get there in time. I walked through every step of that sacrifice with Noor.’

‘Why?’ Kolarov wondered. ‘Why you? I thought you were the Commander of the Waves? Though surely the temple belongs to the Commander of the Rocks?’

Arras offered a wry smile. ‘Well, Argo Kosta’s not a man for details or delicacy. Noor didn’t like or trust him.’

‘And who will kill Jael?’ Kolarov asked, blinking at Eadmund. ‘At least, who will... try to?’

Arras thought about that. ‘There were to be many sacrifices. There is a stone ditch, a moat. The blood would run into it, offered to the god. The carcasses would be roasted on spits and boiled in great vats, and everyone would share in the meal.’

Fyn grimaced.

‘Arras!’ Bolder called from the steering oar.

‘If I think of anything else, I’ll find you,’ Arras promised. ‘But don’t worry, we have a clearer picture now, and it helps us.’

‘How?’ Eadmund wanted to know.

‘Because everyone will gather at the temple grounds. The procession will lead there. It helps us.’

Eadmund stared after him, doubts squawking like angry birds, pecking away at his confidence until it hung around him in tatters. Though he turned back to his men with a nod. ‘Nothing changes. We proceed as planned.’

43

Argo Kosta brought his daughter to the palace.

‘I thought Krissia could attend to you,’ he told the confused queen with a smile.

Smiling didn’t suit him, Kalina noticed, wishing he would stop. ‘Of course. I would be delighted for your company, Krissia. We will be family after the wedding, so it makes sense to become more... acquainted.’

Krissia beamed, as ill-suited to joy as her father.

‘You will accompany my father in the procession?’ Kalina asked the commander, motioning to the balcony where her slaves had prepared a selection of delicacies to break her fast.

‘Yes, I am to see him next.’

‘He intends to depart the isle after the sacrifice,’ Kalina told him. Kosta was boorish and grotesque, though with both Noor and Arras gone, she felt the need to lean on someone. ‘He will not stay for our wedding.’

Kosta was surprised and slightly offended. ‘No?’

‘My father is a very busy man.’

Busy doing what, Kosta wondered, though he didn’t ask. ‘I imagine he is,’ he said instead, holding out a chair for the queen and then his daughter before taking a seat himself.

Kalina watched him closely.

Everything he did appeared clumsy and unnatural, and he sat down looking uncomfortable. He was used to fine things but not bred for it.

And it showed.

‘Though after he leaves, we will have matters of urgency to attend to before our marriage ever takes place,’ Kalina warned discreetly, waiting for the slaves to leave.

Krissia looked concerned but left her father to enquire.

Kosta’s eyes were on the queen’s slender hand, raising a small beaker of wine. ‘Urgent matters?’

‘There is a... plague.’

Krissia gasped, sitting back in horror, eyes immediately seeking her father.

Who responded with calm assurance. ‘Bad news, of course, though nothing we haven’t faced before. I am sure the sacrifices to Eyshar will reestablish goodwill with the god and that he’ll once again bless us with his favour.’

Remembering how she had murdered the seer, Kalina was doubtful. She wanted to confess everything, to ask for forgiveness.

There had been so many missteps...

Kosta placed his hand over the queen’s. ‘Do not worry, Kalina. After today, Eyshar will return only good fortune to you and me, and our family to come.’

* * *

Dessalene’s carriage was waiting. She had been reminded of that twice now, though she’d made a return to her chamber, feeling the call of her altar.

And her mistress.

Throwing out the slaves making the bed and remembering how that vile toad had thought to soil them, she hurried to pull the curtains closed, needing darkness.

It was not offered.

The sun was a beacon of light, forcing its way through the almost sheer curtains. Though refusing to be unsettled by that, Dessalene removed a candle from a flaming candelabra, lighting the tiny lamps on her altar. And when she was done, she left the candle burning in a dish of frankincense, soon sending whirls of smoke into the air.

Now she sat on the floor, resting on her heels.

Closing her eyes, her breaths, at first trapped and tense, lengthened and as she steadied her breathing and calmed her mind, she heard a voice.

‘Vainglorious Dessalene! So concerned with her own needs, so certain in her power and magnificence that she doesn’t think to look around. To look away from that prize she is so desperate to claim for herself.’

‘Mistress, I –’

‘You will not speak! You will only listen. To me.’

Though then there was only silence, and Dessalene lingered in the darkness like a fish dangling from a hook, until it tugged, and she heard the return of the voice she knew so well.

‘Look around you, dreamer. The gods are not on our side. They help our enemies! And you? Who will you help today, Dessalene? Yourself? Well, know that I shall be watching. I shall be watching you...’

* * *

The sun was still rising in the east as Korri and his men searched for Edela. Bertel and Siggy were joined by Zen, who offered to help.

Despite lingering grief, he seemed eager to be useful, and Bertel wasn’t about to say no. Besides, he was good company for Siggy, who talked to him about the places they could go.

Bertel trailed behind them with his sword hilt exposed. He wanted to be ready for anything. It was time, he thought, lifting his aching head. Long past time to remember what he could do. He was old, but he had been born with talent. Over the years, he had turned that talent into skill, which was surely still there. His confidence may have retreated over the years, though not his memories.

Siggy turned around to him. ‘There are two options,’ she said with sudden clarity, causing both Zen and Bertel to stop with her. ‘They will either kill Edela here or take her away. And I think... if they were going to kill her here, they would have done so.’ The thought brought tears to her eyes, knowing that she had certainly led Edela to her death. ‘But if they are to take her away, then it must be either by sea or through the desert.’

Bertel nodded patiently, for they had already discussed this.

‘And they didn’t kill her in our room, so I think... no, I feel that they will take her away from here. To someone. The one who wants her dead. The one killing the dreamers.’

‘By sea or land?’ Zen asked.

Put on the spot, Siggy couldn’t answer, though feeling a sensation, like someone tapping her shoulder, she spun around, seeing the man in the golden tunic standing on the plinth, watching her.

* * *

Bone Hammer led the way through The Corridor – a passage of sheer volcanic rock that rose like walls on either side of them.

Eadmund headed to the stern to see Ulf following behind in Beloved.

They had agreed on the use of signal flags before departing Hest, though Eadmund’s mind was suddenly blank, trying to remember which colour signified each action.

Turning back, he lifted his head to the mast, sensing that since they’d entered The Corridor, the wind had left them. He saw the sail sagging, no longer a taut round belly but a dimpled flapping napkin. Nibbling cracked lips and running a hand over his shorn head, he aimed for Mattie. ‘Did you find out how to command the wind?’

Mattie shook her head. ‘I didn’t, I’m sorry. It was all about the seer. I can try again.’ She could see the sail herself. ‘I’ll try again.’

Eadmund nodded. ‘If your vision comes to pass, we can’t be late, Mattie. My wife tends to forge her own path, though I’m certain she’d appreciate our help. And yours.’

A blinking Mattie headed to the stern, determined to find Kolarov’s missing usha root.

Eadmund let her go, his gaze once again drifting up to the sail, then beyond it to the walls leading them towards S’ala Nis’ harbour and its deadly ballistas.

Closing his eyes, he gripped the shield rack, wanting to reach his wife.

* * *

Jael sat on a chair, once again dressed in a grey dress.

It was clean, as she was clean.

Her wet hair hung down her back, soaking the dress, and despite the cool bath, she was hot and tense.

One of the guards had gone for a physician, for her wounds had started bleeding and wouldn’t stop.

Looking down, Jael saw the pool of watery blood beneath the chair.

The slave, Mali, looked up as the guard returned with Ratish.

He frowned as he approached, and shooing away the slave and the guards, he sought to speak privately to Jael. ‘I don’t understand. What is happening?’

Jael smiled. ‘I’m about to be sacrificed to Eyshar, so things aren’t going to plan.’

Ratish stared at her in confusion, though sensing the guards approaching, he looked Jael over, quickly seeing the blood seeping through the back of her dress. ‘I must examine you.’ Turning back to the guards, he frowned. ‘If this woman is to be sacrificed, why does she still have her bonds on? I fail to understand the point. Do you fear she could defeat four of you? That she is some sort of magical creature?’ He laughed mockingly. ‘Come now, remove them so I may treat these wounds. I have to re-stitch some, by the look of things. Hurry now. I am sure your mistress doesn’t want to be kept waiting.’

‘We have no key,’ one of the guards told him.

An annoyed Ratish turned back in disgust, lowering his voice. ‘I have to remove your dress. I will find somewhere to lay you down.’ Straightening up, he headed back to the huddle of guards. ‘I need a table or a bed. Where can I take her?’

Mali spoke up. ‘The chamber next door is a dressing room. There is a long couch.’

‘Good. Let us take her there. Hurry now,’ Ratish urged. ‘Though you men will wait outside. The woman must retain some semblance of dignity. She is a queen, after all.’ He was grumbling and complaining, concerned about what Jael had said.

A sacrifice?

He didn’t know how he could help her now.

Mali led them to the next chamber, where Ratish shooed the guards away and closed the door. ‘You will help her undress, but gently now,’ he said, seeing Mali heading for the slave. ‘Gently.’ He heard Jael’s mostly silent gasps as she lifted her arms in the air, allowing the slave to pull the dress over her head before helping her to lie down, face first on the couch.

It was softer than anything she’d experienced in some time, and Jael wished she could simply fall asleep.

Ratish spoke to Mali in the common tongue, though the slave shook her head, and he reverted to Siluran, which she understood perfectly. He bid her to sit by the door, ensuring no one entered while he tended to the slave’s wounds. And then he turned to Jael, unpacking his kit of supplies, whispering in her ear. ‘What can I do? How can I help you?’

‘Just stitch me up the best you can. Wrap me in bandages if you have to. And ask that slave to braid my hair.’

* * *

Siggy hurried towards the man in the golden tunic, closely followed by Bertel and Zen. ‘Hello!’ she called. ‘Hello?’

The man turned with a beaming smile, and bending down, he lowered his voice. ‘Ahhh, the little dreamer. You seek answers, I see... though can you pay for them? For help does not always come for free.’ He turned over a hand, revealing a deeply lined palm.

Zen dug into his pouch, pulling out five silver coins of good size and quality, dropping them into that palm. ‘Is that enough?’

The man looked unimpressed, though the coins soon disappeared.

He motioned with his head for Siggy to follow him, shaking it when her two companions sought to join them. ‘You will wait here. We shall return presently.’

Bertel looked uncertain, though Siggy wasn’t waiting. ‘I won’t be long, Bertel. Stay here!’

And then she was gone, vanishing into the crowd with the golden man.

* * *

Raymon Vandaal had been up early, having spent a restless night choosing his next path.

He’d thought hard about what he wanted and where he wanted to be.

Though Edela’s words kept returning him to Ollsvik and Oren Storgard. He had abandoned his throne and his people, leaving them in the hands of a man who would rule as a tyrant. Those who had lived under his father and then him would suddenly be at the mercy of that ambitious man, who would think little of their lives in his march to power.

Still, dismissing any lingering guilt, Raymon packed up his few possessions, paid his landlord and headed to the harbour, still mulling over his options.

* * *

The Armless One had not wished to draw further attention to herself, though she had wanted to help the young girl, who had been cruelly tricked.

And the old dreamer.

She had seen that.

Siggy sat before the table, trembling with fear. She knew of Edela’s visit to the seeress, but the sight of the armless woman draped in cloth was unnerving, and she struggled to locate her tongue.

The Armless One spoke into her ears.

‘Edela is hidden from me,’ she told her. ‘And you. Yet we have the power to see, so what does that tell you, I wonder?’

Siggy blinked. ‘That a dreamer has captured her? A dreamer is hiding her from us?’

It was a good answer but not one The Armless One wanted to hear out loud. ‘Share your thoughts with me, child. Silently. You can do that.’

Siggy wasn’t sure she could, though she clamped her lips together and tried. ‘They must be using symbols.’

‘Indeed. To hide Edela, though not themselves... which means that you can find the men who took her. So there is my advice, the only advice I am able to offer. Look for the man with the branded cheeks. He makes little effort to hide himself, so find him, child, and you will find your dreamer.’

44

A freshly stitched Jael was led through the palace by the four guards. Mali had spent some time combing and braiding her hair, and with it off her face and out of her eyes, she almost felt like herself.

The guards ushered her outside onto the palace steps, where chaos was unfolding. The panicked voices all spoke Siluran, and trying to understand what was happening, she glimpsed a man being carried away.

Ronin Sardis was stomping around with flailing hands, barking orders, slaves scattering before him. He caught a glimpse of Jael and froze. This woman looked nothing like the dirty wreck he’d threatened earlier. With her braided dark hair pulled back from a clean face, he saw strong cheekbones and vibrant green eyes.

This woman looked like a queen.

Kalina arrived, followed by six slaves holding up the long train of her gown. She was dressed entirely in white, as was the custom for such solemn occasions, though she was still fretting, not wanting to draw too much attention to herself.

Not at the funeral of the man she had murdered.

Dessalene had picked out the extravagant gown with its enormous train, though Kalina wasn’t sure it was appropriate. ‘What is happening?’ she asked, glancing at Jael in surprise before returning her attention to her father. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ her father insisted. ‘There is nothing wrong. It was the heat! Only the heat! The man fainted from the heat!’

And sensing that wasn’t true, Kalina flicked a hand at the slaves and approached her father alone. ‘What really happened?’

‘It doesn’t matter!’ he snapped, becoming tense. ‘A slave fainted. It doesn’t matter! We simply must begin the procession. We are to be at the temple as the sun sets, and at this rate, we’ll be arriving beneath the fucking stars!’ He looked past his daughter to where Jael Furyck appeared to be trying to understand what was going on.

Doubt flared.

He had sought to keep her. After years of planning how to capture her, he finally had, and now to just toss her away like something that didn’t matter?

Though, he reminded himself, Eyshar certainly wouldn’t think so.

‘Bring the slave queen to me. She will walk before me. And that horse. I want that horse!’

Jael turned to see Arras’ horse, Tito, being tugged forward. He was a reluctant guest, hooves seeking purchase in the gravel, tail flicking, eyes rolling. She saw an image of Arras riding his horse, and then he was standing on a ship, tension in his eyes, sword in his hand. He stared at her, saying nothing, turning his head, revealing the man by his side.

A short-haired Eadmund.

She clung to that image, seeking to go deeper as the voices around her became louder.

‘We must be on our way!’ Ronin called, eyeing Tito, who looked ready to nip him. ‘Once I give this beast a talking to.’ He turned to wink at his daughter, seeking to steady the rocking ship. ‘Where’s Kosta?’ He saw Krissia emerge onto the steps and trained his eyes on her.

She froze, not wanting to reveal that her father had gone to the latrines some time ago. ‘He is... attending to matters.’

‘Matters?’ Ronin looked confused, then annoyed as Tito butted him in the back. Swinging around with a snarl, he yanked the beast towards him. Though before he could push for more information, Kosta emerged from the palace, red-faced and flustered as he resettled his armour. ‘Finally! It appears we are finally ready to get this procession underway.’

‘Apart from one important guest, my lord,’ Kosta said, turning to the red-robed logi bringing out the bier with Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree’s body. Intense aromas of beeswax and pine masked the rank smell of his decaying flesh, though Kalina still shuddered when she turned around, seeing the wrapped corpse of the man she had killed. His face was uncovered, though not wanting even a glimpse of it, she turned away, meeting her father’s eyes. His displeasure remained unspoken, though it cowed her nonetheless, and she was silent as she urged her slaves to once again pick up her train and help her into the carriage.

Jael was shoved forward into the procession, ordered to stand between two wagons draped in silk and flowers, carrying golden statues of what she could only guess were gods.

‘I want everyone to see you!’ Ronin Sardis called to her as he mounted a skittish Tito. ‘To see the queen who will die!’

Jael didn’t turn to him, she didn’t reply, though for once, she was in total agreement.

She wanted everyone lining the streets to see her too.

* * *

The man in the golden tunic returned a breathless Siggy to Bertel and Zen before disappearing back to his plinth.

‘What happened?’ Bertel asked, looking her over. ‘Are you alright?’

Siggy nodded. ‘She said that we can’t find Edela because she can’t find Edela, which means a dreamer is doing something to hide her. That’s why I haven’t been able to see where she is.’

Bertel’s shoulders sagged.

‘Though we can find that man, Iker Rayas. We can try and find him!’

‘Yes, of course!’ Lifting his head, Bertel scratched it. ‘The three things a man like that will want are food, ale, and women.’

Siggy peered at him.

‘I’m only guessing,’ Bertel said, almost leaping ahead of her. ‘There’s the place we passed last night, where that half-naked woman accosted me.’

Zen turned to Siggy with questions in his eyes, though Siggy could only shrug.

‘We’ll start there!’ Bertel called, hurrying away.

Siggy grabbed Zen’s hand. ‘Come on! We have to hurry!’

* * *

As the afternoon wore on, everyone grew tense on board Bone Hammer.

Bolder was under orders from Arras, who had instructed him to drop anchor before the end of The Corridor, knowing that the moment they passed beyond its protective walls, their presence would no longer be a secret, and likely nor would their intentions.

Ulf instructed the Hestian fleet to fall in line, slowing to a crawl before dropping their own anchors, while he brought Beloved alongside Bone Hammer and came on board.

‘We’ve got new information,’ Eadmund told him as they crouched in the stern, eyes on the top of the chest Arras had scratched a map onto, wanting to outline his intentions. ‘About Jael.’

Ulf glanced at him, reaching for the cup of ale Fyn offered.

‘We anticipate that she’s going to be here,’ Arras told him, using the point of his eating knife to mark the temple grounds.

‘Apparently, she’s going to be sacrificed,’ Thorgils said, much to Ulf’s horror.

A blinking Ulf now focused on Arras. ‘And we...’

‘Thorgils and Nico will switch ships and come with you. Nico will guide you into the harbour towards the ballistas. He knows their range and what’s possible. Let him run the catapults.’

Ulf peered at the young man, who he’d never even spoken to before; he looked little more than a teenager. ‘And you?’

‘Once we’re in the harbour, Bolder will aim us west, near this tunnel, which will take us into the city. The various doors and gates are guarded, but we’ll have enough men to overcome them. It shouldn’t be a problem.’

Ulf nodded. ‘So you’ll look for Jael?’

‘Yes,’ Eadmund said. ‘And you and your Hestians will need to push through the harbour as fast as you can. Take out their defenses and move through the city.’

‘What sort of resistance are we looking at?’ Ulf wondered.

‘We talked about the change in shift at sunset,’ Arras reminded him. ‘Though now we have new information from the dreamer. According to her, the sacrifice will take place after the procession, which, if that holds true, means that most of the isle will be at the temple grounds or on their way there. They tend to hold such events in the afternoon, going late into the night.’

Ulf looked hopeful. ‘So we might have an easier time?’

‘Unless the dreamer sees us coming,’ Mattie piped up. ‘I feel her sometimes, or someone. As though they’re watching. That we’re not alone.’

No one liked the sound of that.

‘Either way, we’re not turning around and going home,’ Eadmund insisted. ‘We move forward regardless. Ulf, Thorgils, Nico, you need to go. Do we all remember the signals?’

Ulf nodded, tapping his head. ‘Like it’s tattooed in here,’ he promised with a wink. Nerves fluttered in his belly, rising to his heart. He felt displaced, rocking in a strange ship in a strange sea, surrounded by mostly strangers. Though seeing the look of fear in Eadmund Skalleson’s eyes, his purpose clarified. Jael had been taken by these people, who were preparing to sacrifice her. And as a Brekkan, once loyal to Jael’s father, Ulf Rutgar knew exactly what he had to do.

Gulping down his ale, he handed the empty cup back to Fyn. ‘Anything else, or shall we just get going?’

Arras lifted his eyes to Eadmund, who turned to meet them.

‘No,’ Eadmund said, heart thumping like a drum, urging him on. ‘Nothing else. Let’s go and get my wife.’

* * *

The slaves who’d worked to build the Tower of Eyshar – those who had lived to see it finished – had been brought together by Quint, who, in honour of the occasion, had organised for each man to receive one cup of ale.

He hadn’t told Kosta, having secured the barrel himself, ensuring it was mixed with water so it would last.

‘Drink up!’ he urged. ‘You’ve certainly earned it!’ Turning around, eyes on the completed tower, relief washed over him. His shoulders, which had throbbed painfully night and day for months, finally started to loosen, and shaking his head, he almost smiled. Seeing one of the logi heading his way, he left his cup behind and headed towards the man.

And deciding that was his chance, Rigg winked at Hepa, who turned and whispered to the slaves nearby. Moving ahead of the big man, they came together like a shield wall, blocking him from sight.

Rigg slipped away, hurrying to Quint’s empty wagon. He’d spent days being ferried around in that wagon. He’d delivered the cask of ale on it, leaving the driver to serve the men, ensuring no one would get more than their fair share.

And seeing that the wagon was empty and that Quint’s attention was elsewhere, Rigg dropped a hand over the siding, searching for the conch shell.

* * *

Jael walked near the back of the slow-moving funeral procession as it clattered towards the temple grounds, feeling strange. The sight of the smiling, waving slave children disturbed her.

Though it motivated her too.

Having little care for the solemnity of the occasion, they ran alongside the wagons and horses and marching soldiers, eager to catch one of the flowers being thrown into the crowd. Some were brave enough to try touching Noor’s body, for it was good luck to touch a seer, dead or alive. Jael knew that if Sunni had been running with them she would certainly have tried to.

She walked with her head held high, back straight, conscious of the stone in her shoe and the fetters around her ankles. They were almost part of her now. She had spent so much time compensating for their weight that she half-wondered if she could walk without them.

At first, few appeared to know who she was. Some pointed and stared, but initially, most of the crowd’s attention was on the king, the queen, and Noor’s body. Though soon whispers swept around like wind, eyes turning from the front of the procession, where units of soldiers marched, and from the king, riding before his daughter, whose open carriage moved her forward as though she sat atop a gilded throne.

And now they turned to Jael, becoming reverential in their silence.

Riding further behind, Ronin sensed the hush moving through the crowd as Noor’s body approached. The seer had been like a pillar holding up the isle, the eyes and ears of Eyshar and the gods, and here, witnessing his dead body carried to the temple, he saw uncertainty in the eyes of many.

Anger at his daughter was quickly extinguished by the memory of his quick-thinking wife, who had rushed to the isle to limit the damage Kalina’s rash actions had wrought. Though with news of the plague spreading, he feared she’d been too late.

That this was all too late.

Blowing out a breath, he lifted his chin, pleased that Arras Sikari’s temperamental horse had submitted to him and now walked calmly under his hold. He was a fine beast, as Arras had been a fine man, until he’d turned against him, betrayed his daughter and abandoned his post. And now, like the rest of his enemies, he was a traitor doomed to die.

Twitching with tension, Ronin had to stop himself from snapping Tito’s reins and driving them all to the temple in haste. Lifting his eyes, he saw the setting sun, its glaring rays dazzling him, feeling his heartbeat outstripping the plodding rhythm of the drummers, who followed at the back of the procession.

Impatient to get to the temple.

* * *

As the late afternoon sun streamed through holes in the walls of her prison room, Edela started to panic. Another day was passing, and she sensed that she wouldn’t remain in the room for long. And as she thought it, footsteps echoed outside the door, and soon it was flung open, revealing Iker Rayas dressed in a cloak.

Blinking at him as the room filled with more light, Edela swallowed; he hadn’t been wearing a cloak before.

‘On your feet, old woman!’ he barked, and stepping towards the bed, he yanked Edela up by the arm. She stumbled against him, unbalanced by the fetters. ‘Ship’s leaving.’

‘Ship?’ she croaked, long since having finished her water. ‘Ship to where?’

He laughed. ‘But aren’t you the dreamer?’ Now he snarled, tugging her forward as another man entered the room.

‘Sure you want to move her while it’s still light? What if she squawks?’

‘Then she’ll sound like every other fucking bird in this place,’ Iker grinned, unsheathing a knife, which he brandished at Edela’s face. ‘You even open your mouth and I’ll stick you with this.’

Edela trembled before that lethal-looking blade, knowing that with the fetters blocking her power, she was entirely helpless against it. And him. ‘You’re not supposed to kill me now.’

He laughed. ‘I know what will kill a man or an annoying old woman. I know how to keep you alive too. You won’t lose much blood where I intend to stab you, but it will hurt, so quiet now.’

Edela nodded, eyeing that knife, which Iker soon dropped to his side.

‘We’re going to walk to the harbour. It’s not so far. We’ll make you nice and comfortable for our journey.’

To where, Edela wondered.

To where was he taking her?

And to whom?

* * *

Korri and three of his men came across Bertel, Siggy, and Zen as they emerged from a brothel. He raised an eyebrow at a blushing Bertel. ‘Any luck?’

Bertel shook his head, glancing over his shoulder. ‘No, no,’ he answered, still flustered by the very hands-on women he’d encountered inside, wishing he’d thought to leave Siggy and Zen outside. ‘You?’

‘Not a peep. We may as well return to the ships and plot our next move.’

Though Bertel wasn’t ready to stop yet. ‘We haven’t checked the crossroads. That physician is there, and surely he sees many people coming and going. He might have heard something? Or seen something?’

Korri looked intrigued. ‘Crossroads?’

Turning around, Bertel stared into the sun. ‘Back past the textile merchants. It’s not too far.’

‘Then let’s take a look,’ Korri decided. ‘It sounds like a useful place to start.’

* * *

‘You want to scream?’ Iker growled, yanking Edela closer; close enough that she could smell his sweat as though it was her own. She turned her head, though immediately feeling the press of his blade against her waist, she spun back to look at him, almost blinded by the sinking sun.

‘No,’ she insisted. ‘No.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Iker smiled. ‘That’s right. One little word and I’ll bleed you.’ He turned back around, eager to move with speed.

Edela was too afraid to breathe. All her attention had to be on keeping that knife away from her side. They were being jostled as they walked. In front of them, Iker’s men attempted to beat back the crowd, though it throbbed around them, impatient people hurrying into every available space, barely conscious of others. She tripped, nudging a man, who looked sympathetically at her before disappearing.

She thought of Bertel and Siggy, knowing they would be looking for her, hoping to see their faces amongst the crowd, though she moved in a sea of strangers with no idea of where she was or of where she was going.

Perhaps it was for the best, for what could they possibly do against Iker Rayas and his five armed men?

And thinking of Jael, knowing her granddaughter would certainly be able to do something, Edela felt tears coming. She blinked them away, though, hearing Jael’s voice in her ears, urging her to focus on what would come next.

She had to stay safe.

She had to stay alive.

45

Dessalene had arrived at the temple with fluttering nerves, almost regretting that she’d agreed to take such a prominent role in the sacrifice. It would have been much easier to have ridden with Ronin, sitting beside him, his hand on her leg. Her thoughts were a swirling mass of concerns: her mistress’ warning, fear of whatever plague was spreading on the isle, and the lingering memory of her dream about the eagle and the rat.

From his chair in the temple courtyard, where he had gathered his logi, Inesh Seppo could see that the dreamer was troubled. ‘My lady!’ he called, motioning with a hand. ‘Is something wrong?’

Dessalene shook her head. ‘I am... no. I am eager to begin, I...’ She stopped, moving her hands rather than her lips, distracting thoughts competing for her attention, merging to form a great hive of noise in her head.

Inesh stood, leading Dessalene to a table laden with ceremonial goblets. Picking up one, he offered it to the dreamer. The logi soon moved forward, taking their own.

Dessalene sniffed the dark liquid, sighing as its pleasant aromas immediately worked to soothe her.

‘Moonflower, henbane, and a little apple,’ Inesh told her. ‘Amongst other things. Noor was precise in his instructions, right down to this very drink. He was a meticulous man, a man of deep conviction. The isle was beloved to him, and he wished to preserve it, to nurture its people. He was a healer of souls, a bringer of hope. That is how he saw himself at the end. A bringer of hope.’

Sipping the sweet-smelling liquid, Dessalene felt her frazzled spirit being smoothed. Licking her lips, she smiled. ‘And he did not see his own death coming?’

‘I believe he did, my lady. Yes. We had spoken the night before, and I sensed a shift in him. He was a quiet man, careful with his words. That night, though, he had much to say to me. He took me for a walk in the gardens, and we discussed the tower and his desire to see it finished. I sensed he had knowledge of what would come, for there was a peace about him, an acceptance of his fate.’ Finishing his drink, the seer placed his goblet back on the table.

‘And yet he did not fight against it? Did not try to prevent such an end...’ Dessalene couldn’t quite believe anyone would be so foolish. To offer himself up to such a death? Surely it was no noble sacrifice to surrender to the queen’s temper tantrum?

‘Prevent what the gods had chosen?’ Inesh shook his head. ‘But that would go against everything he believed in. The destiny that befell our beloved Noor was one he walked towards with his head held high.’ He stared at Dessalene intently, noting that she was no longer blinking. Her pupils had dilated, fixed on his. ‘Come, and let us make an offering before we head to the tower. The procession will be here soon. There is not much time.’

The dreamer turned to him, lips parted, though the thought that had rushed into her mind evaporated, and she could only nod.

* * *

Having finally made his decision, Raymon bought passage on a trading ship heading east. Few of the men spoke the common tongue, though the helmsman did, and he’d offered Raymon a place on board if he was prepared to work for it. He had to pay with coins but also with labour. The man was down three hands since his arrival from Zagora, and he liked the look of the young man’s strapping shoulders, certain he could put him to good use.

Raymon wasn’t sure how he felt about his decision. The lanky helmsman had many questions and inquisitive eyes, though he needed to get out of Castala quickly.

He needed to –

Turning around, he heard the crew calling out in greeting, watching in horror as a gruesome-looking man brought Edela Saeveld towards the ship. And eyes dropping from her terrified face, he soon saw that her hands were bound and that the man beside her was holding a knife to her side.

He made to turn away, though the helmsman patted him on the shoulder, introducing him.

‘Iker! I’ve found us another pair of hands!’

A scowling Iker looked Raymon over. ‘Where are you from?’

Raymon turned from the helmsman to the branded man, avoiding Edela’s eyes. He had no choice but to repeat his lie; he’d used it often since leaving Iskavall behind. ‘Alekka.’

Iker grunted, moving past him with barely a glance. ‘We need more than one, though, Vito. I thought I told you to find more?’

Raymon was confused, soon realising that the helmsman wasn’t the lord of this ship, though he had certainly made himself out to be.

The ship had a crew of some twenty-five men, though seeing the new arrivals, Raymon put the count nearer thirty. And with that many men, he didn’t know how he could help Edela. She’d said she was travelling with companions, but surely she didn’t mean these men? ‘When will we leave?’ he asked one of the crew, who didn’t understand him. The helmsman had turned away with the man called Iker, and Edela, and he couldn’t ask him.

‘Here!’ Vito barked. ‘What was your name again?’

Raymon turned around. ‘Markus.’

‘Well, Markus, hop on board! Earning your way starts now! You’ll pick up things as you go.’

Iker turned as Raymon jumped on board. ‘You can start by looking after my little old grandmother here.’

Raymon blinked at him, eyes dropping to the knife. ‘Your grandmother?’

A laughing Iker sheathed his knife, pushing Edela towards Raymon. ‘Someone’s grandmother. Who gives a fuck? Just take her to the stern, sit her down and keep her quiet. If she makes a noise, stuff something in her mouth.’

Edela looked up at Raymon with tears in her eyes, more certain than she had been in weeks that Furia was watching over her.

* * *

The crowds slowly escorted the funeral procession to the temple grounds, where Jael’s attention was drawn to the Tower of Eyshar, gilded by the setting sun.

She thought of the hours she’d spent perched atop that tower like a nesting bird, imagining this day. Though she had never seen herself as part of it.

Not like this.

She heard bursts of singing, a mingling of joy and sorrow, as white flowers were thrown over Noor’s body.

He had been beloved, Jael could see, wondering about the man who had died protecting her, shielding the truth of her escape from the queen, saving his last words for her.

She shivered. He had wanted her to escape.

To help Alek free the slaves.

She imagined the old man now, standing before her, hand out, urging her forward. He stood in a flare of sunlight, as white as the light behind him. ‘You are the sword,’ he told her. ‘You are the sword to set these people free.’

Jael looked down at those now familiar fetters. She thought of Toothpick for the first time in days, missing her beloved sword, which had felt a part of her for so long. As her horse, Tig, had. And Oss. Her family.

‘Don’t you dare die, Jael Furyck,’ she heard Eadmund say. ‘Don’t you dare.’

She curled her hands into fists, clenching so tightly she could feel her nails digging into her palms.

‘I am the sword,’ she repeated. ‘I am the sword.’

* * *

Arriving at the crossroads, Korri and his men headed west, leaving Bertel, Siggy, and Zen to go east, though no one had seen any sign of a man resembling Iker Rayas’ description. Or Edela’s.

They met back at the signpost and then separated again, this time heading north and south.

The sun was setting as Siggy walked beside Bertel. Zen roamed ahead of them, all of them moving as though in a trance, trying to find the unmistakable face of Iker Rayas amongst knots of ordinary-looking strangers.

Siggy saw herself rowing that tiny boat from Ollsvik to Esby, drenched in rain, encouraged by Edela’s endlessly cheerful chatter. The dreamer had told her to hurry. A ship was making room for them, so they had to hurry.

Edela had been drawn to Esby’s harbour, Siggy remembered, as though the river itself was her path, a road she needed to follow.

Out to sea.

A dazed Siggy turned away from Bertel, feeling a breeze.

Smelling the ocean.

They would take the dreamer away.

They would take her to sea!

Wheeling back around, Siggy lunged at Bertel, tugging his sleeve. ‘I know where Edela is! But we must hurry!’

* * *

As the seer, the dreamer, and the logi made their preparations on the sacrifice platform, the sun continued its languid descent, the air heavy and warm.

The slaves who weren’t packed into standing rows, eyes on the lords and ladies comfortably seated in the stadium surrounding the platform, were helping to bring in the animals to be sacrificed.

It was taking forever, and the waiting was driving an uptight Rigg mad.

He had secured Quint’s shell on the ground between his feet, and surrounded by his fellow slaves, who stood shoulder to shoulder, he remained shielded from view. Though, waiting nervously beside him, aware of that shell’s presence and the occasional inspection by an armed soldier, Alek feared it would be discovered. Having the shell itself wasn’t necessarily enough to get them whipped, though he tried to think of an excuse, a reason it might be there, just in case.

Inhaling a shaky breath, he could finally hear the funeral procession edging closer, the sinking sun now flaming in the sky. He hoped they would hurry. Where he stood in a group of some hundred-odd slaves, he was near the front, and as the soldiers lined up in ceremonial dress before them, facing the platform, Alek had already chosen who he would go for: a cocky prick who had kicked him more than once. He wasn’t a big man, though he was a bully, arrogant enough to think that his gods would always protect him on his precious isle with his wealthy friends and his boundless freedom.

Rigg nodded at him, feeling Jael’s knife tucked down his waistband.

After he blew the shell, he’d surge forward and stab the soldier closest to him in the back, get him down, slit his throat and steal his sword. He kept walking through it in his mind, remembering Jael’s words. She’d sneered that he didn’t know how to lead, though he was determined to show her otherwise. He had to lead these men to rise up while Jael worked to extract herself from whatever the dreamer and the logi intended to do to her.

Timing was everything.

Hearing wheels clattering over cobblestones, the beat of drums and the rising hum of the crowd surging closer, Rigg glanced around, inhaling a tense breath as he met Alek’s eyes.

Soon.

* * *

Beloved led them forward under the command of Ulf Rutgar, accompanied by Thorgils and Nico Sikari, and flanked by four more catapult ships.

On board Bone Hammer with Arras and Fyn, Eadmund’s mouth dried up. He tried to swallow, though it was becoming increasingly difficult. ‘Fyn! Bring me some ale!’ he croaked from the bow, where he’d stopped to assess how things were going.

The Hestian ships had left the protection of The Corridor behind, emerging into the exposed stretch of sea before the isle.

Arras stood beside him. ‘They’ll spot us soon enough, though remember what I said. The change in shift is coming.’ He glanced up, seeing the sun sinking, almost bleeding into the sky. ‘Those men ready to leave their posts will have their minds on going home, on meeting up at the tavern. They’ll be distracted, talking, thinking about what comes next, not focused on what’s before them. They won’t be looking out to sea.’

Eadmund ran a hand over his head as Fyn arrived, hoping he was right. He took the offered cup of ale with gratitude in his eyes, gulping it down. ‘Are the buckets full?’ he asked, wiping his beard and leaving the cup on the deck. ‘Full of water?’

Fyn nodded.

‘Has Mattie seen anything?’ Arras wondered, adjusting his swordbelt, shoving his sword in tight, then his knives, thinking of Nico.

Fyn shook his head. ‘Nothing else. She’s with Kolarov, keeping out of the way. If she sees anything, she’ll let us know.’

Eadmund turned back to Arras. ‘Can I trust you? It’s not some trap?’

‘No, it’s not a trap. I’m risking my life, my son’s life to go back to that place. I’d rather go anywhere but back there, for if it all goes wrong?’

If it all goes wrong, Eadmund thought.

But it couldn’t. It wouldn’t.

Not this time.

* * *

Edela couldn’t talk to Raymon or even make eye contact with him. Revealing that they knew each other would likely get him killed, though she desperately needed his help.

The crew had readied the ship, preparing to get underway.

Apparently, some of Iker’s men were still missing – those who had been sent for ale – and no one wanted to leave without that on board.

Edela could hear Iker Rayas becoming angry, arguing with the helmsman, who happily argued back, and seeing that they were distracted, she whispered to Raymon. ‘Give me your knife.’

He spun around, blinking at her before quickly looking away, muttering under his breath. ‘I can’t.’

‘The symbols inside these fetters are magical, stopping me saving us both. You don’t want to go with these men, Raymon. They’re dangerous killers, taking us to who knows where. Please, if you shield me, I can scratch through the symbols, and then I can... save us.’

They had been left in the stern, where the space was taken up with barrels and chests. Edela sat on a chest, mostly hidden from view, and making his decision, Raymon turned, handing her his knife, spinning back as one of the crew walked over. ‘You must hurry, Edela,’ he whispered.

‘Yes, yes. Even if I scratch one, I’ll be able to do something.’

‘Ssshhh,’ Raymon hissed. And turning around with a frown, he made as if to check on her.

‘Everything alright?’ the helmsman called.

Raymon held up a hand, nodding, praying that Edela would hurry.

* * *

Dessalene felt fluid as she surveyed the temple grounds, as though made of ribbons undulating in a gentle breeze.

Inesh Seppo’s delicious tonic had relieved her of that which was irrelevant, focusing her mind on what was vitally important. She stood in the embrace of the sun, red clouds raging across the sky like a hungry fire, body vibrating in the presence of the god.

Could they please Eyshar with their offerings? Secure his forgiveness for Kalina’s recklessness? In that perfect moment, a confident Dessalene thought of Jael Furyck and knew they could.

Behind her, the red-robed logi moved with calm purpose, for each man had undertaken training for his role in the ritual and now carried out his duties with the skill of one performing a dance.

The seer sat silently in the middle of the row of nine stone chairs, draped in his white ceremonial robes.

He would not officially begin his role until he had been anointed. Until then, he would remain a neutral observer, watching the sacrifices.

Dessalene now saw the first horses arrive at the temple grounds, moving through the slaves, who had been pushed back to create a road fenced by rows of heavily armed soldiers. Wearing black and gold tunics, they shone in the sun.

The slaves appeared in a festive mood, cheering loudly at the first sight of the procession.

She turned to the stadium where the lords and ladies and their families sat, feeling the heat of the sun on her back, all thoughts of plagues gone from her mind now. Her eyes sparkled, eager to see her husband sitting amongst them.

Dessalene’s thoughts continued to flow as she turned back to the procession, watching it merge into the crowd now, searching for the gift she would offer the god.

It was time for that vile woman to die.

And stepping forward to a stone plinth draped in red velvet, she lifted a pure obsidian dagger from its rest, and carefully cutting the tip of her left index finger with its vicious blade, she painted a symbol on her forehead.

The symbol of Alari.

The Alekkan Goddess of Magic.

* * *

Edela worked furiously to scratch through the symbols inside her wrist fetters – cutting herself countless times. The blood made everything harder, and with the sun blinding her, she struggled to even see. She raked that blade down each fetter, hoping to feel some spark, some sense that she was freed from its magical bonds.

Raymon spun around, bending down, and yanking the knife from her hand, he stood up as Iker Rayas approached.

Iker eyed the young man, then Edela. ‘She’s dangerous, my prisoner, so whatever you do, don’t turn your back on her again. Understood? I told you to watch her, and unless you’ve got eyes in the back of your head, you’re looking in the wrong direction, boy.’

Raymon tried not to stare at the man’s gruesome wounds. He sought to focus on his eyes, though only one was uncovered, glowering at him, so eventually, he stared past his head, nodding.

Iker leaned forward, looking past Raymon to Edela, who blinked at him, then back at Raymon. ‘I don’t know you.’

‘I’ve paid for passage,’ Raymon explained. ‘I’m heading for Kadak.’

‘Why? What’s there? You’re not from around here.’

‘No, I left home for an adventure.’

‘Alone?’ Iker was becoming suspicious.

Raymon nodded, feeling it. ‘I... had a falling out. I’m just looking to start again. Somewhere no one knows me.’

‘Where in Alekka are you from? North or South?’

Raymon felt a wave of heat rush up his body to his neck, soon burning his cheeks. ‘South. A small village.’

‘Called?’

‘B-B-Bola. It’s very small, a tiny place. You wouldn’t know it.’

Iker’s eye lit up. ‘I do know it! Near Sondermay. On the Oglund River. It’s a nice place.’

A horrified Raymon started babbling. ‘Yes... it is. I... was... sad to leave, but I –’

Iker clamped a hand around Raymon’s wrist, and lifting it up, he snatched the knife from his hand, turning to aim it at his throat. ‘I know Sondermay, and though it’s in Southern Alekka, that river’s in the North.’

Raymon froze, his heart beating a warning in his ears. ‘Well, no, you’re wrong. There’s... more than one,’ he tried, though Iker wasn’t convinced.

‘Vito!’ he called. ‘Where’d you get this prick?’

The gangly helmsman came down the deck towards them. ‘Why? What are you doing, Iker? He’s paid me to sail to Kadak. We need the help.’

‘From this boy? This liar?’

‘I, I...’ Raymon spluttered, struggling to think.

The helmsman laughed. ‘What? You think we’re a band of innocent men with nothing to hide? No secrets? Come on, give him a chance. He’s young. Look at those arms. He’ll be of use, Iker.’

Though Iker wasn’t convinced. ‘You’ve got his coins?’

Vito nodded.

‘Good, then I’ll take his life. Stick to Silurans from now on. Men I can trust.’

‘What? No!’ Raymon cried, stepping back, and drawing his sword, he aimed its newly sharpened tip at Iker Rayas’ furious eye.

46

An exhausted Bertel realised that he hadn’t stopped running since he’d come across Edela Saeveld in Tuura’s forest, and he was panting as he trailed Korri and his men down the steps to the docks. There were countless piers to check – perhaps as many as twenty – and Bertel feared they would be too late.

That they would simply run out of time.

A sharp pain in his side slowed him down, and stopping to take a breath, he bent over, sucking in warm air.

‘Do you need help?’ a woman asked.

There was a kind look in her eyes as she approached him, head cocked to one side, hand out.

‘I... I’m looking for someone,’ Bertel rasped. ‘A man with... ruined cheeks. Brands and an eye –’ Seeing a flicker of recognition in the young woman’s eyes, he cut himself off. ‘You’ve seen him?’

She nodded with a shudder. ‘Him and his crew. They passed here not long ago. That way,’ she said, pointing in the opposite direction to where Korri had led his men. ‘See that big ship with the yellow sail? They went there!’

Bertel looked around, seeing no sign of Korri now. Or Siggy. ‘I... if my friends return, a girl with curls, a man with a long beard, and a tall boy... tell them where I went. Please!’ And with a grateful smile, he wheeled around, his side immediately aching again. But squeezing his right hand around his sword grip, Bertel Knutson started running.

* * *

On board Beloved, Nico stood close to Thorgils Svanter. He pointed west. ‘That tower first. It has the only signal bell. The other one was being replaced when I left.’

Thorgils nodded, nerves humming, mind sharpening as he ran through each stage of their plan. No thoughts of his wife and children or his home entered his head now. He didn’t even think of Eadmund and what Bone Hammer might be doing behind them. It was all Beloved now.

And Beloved was leading them towards the harbour.

It was on Nico Sikari to know when they were within range. To predict the moment just before those crews watching from the cliffs, running the ballistas, would spring into action.

* * *

Raymon swung his sword at Iker Rayas, who threw his knife at his face, just missing his cheek before unsheathing his own sword, scattering the crew standing nearby.

‘Fuck! Iker!’ Vito exclaimed. ‘We need to leave!’ Though he was soon stepping back, urging his men to keep their distance. He knew Iker, as they knew Iker.

This young man didn’t stand a chance.

Edela closed her eyes, shutting away her fears for Raymon. She became still, focused, cloaking herself in darkness while she worked to help them both.

Raymon screamed as Iker’s blade sliced across his wrist. He wore a plain tunic and cloak, a swordbelt, and little else. His only defense was to be better than this man, who was stocky and muscular but moved with real speed, feet never still. Raymon was soon breathless, sweeping from side to side, parrying each strike, searching for a way through the man’s defenses. Slashes of sunlight dazzled him, and he stumbled, Iker Rayas’ blade dragging across his chest. Eyes bursting open, Raymon cried out. The intense sting distracted him at first, then quickly focused him. Pushing onto the front foot, blood dripped from his wrist, oozing between his fingers. He tightened his grip, and turning his hand, he pointed his sword like a spear. Feinting right, he left Iker Rayas chasing shadows as he veered back, stabbing the man in the waist.

Iker jerked back, growling, and remembering something Jael had taught him, Raymon dropped low, spearing the man’s knee. Iker’s growl became a roar as he stumbled back, hopping, though Raymon quickly realised that his problems had only doubled as Vito now unhooked an axe from his belt and stepped forward, flanked by half the crew, who appeared to have lost patience with the whole mess.

‘Time for you to leave,’ the tall helmsman warned darkly, eyeing Raymon as Iker shook off his injuries and lurched back into action.

‘Edela! Edela!’

Hearing Bertel calling for her, Edela’s eyes bulged in surprise, but quickly closing them again, she moved with speed, realising that she had to do something to help before Iker Rayas and his men killed them all.

* * *

The funeral procession finally came to a halt at the temple grounds, now packed with slaves, soldiers, and animals, looked down upon by a stadium full of the isle’s elite, and watched over by Inesh Seppo and his logi.

Ronin was pleased with what he saw, and dismounting Arras Sikari’s horse, he made his way to the royal carriage, where he removed his golden helmet, offering his daughter a hand. ‘You are fortunate, Kalina,’ he murmured as he helped her dismount. ‘That Dessalene saved you and my isle. To think what might have befallen it without her timely intervention.’

Kalina weathered his displeasure in silence, holding his hand as they walked ahead of the logi transporting Noor’s body to the platform, where he would rest during the ceremony before later being buried in the temple – after they had feasted on the meat of the sacrificed animals.

Kalina’s stomach turned at the thought of it.

She saw Krissia Kosta heading into the stadium on the arm of her father and felt even worse, though quickly remembering that the entire mess was of her own making, she bit down on her revulsion and put on a smile.

Up ahead, Jael had found Rigg in the crowd. He nodded at her, his face a slab of tension. His wasn’t the only face turned her way, and she soon became aware of how many slaves were watching her. All those men she had suffered alongside to finish that tower. Men desperate for their freedom, though full of doubt that they possessed the strength to claim it.

Scared men.

She saw Alek and sought to reach him. ‘Stay safe. Let Rigg protect you and stay safe. I will get you home.’

And now she was dragged away by two soldiers, almost off her feet.

Jael heard goats bleating and a horse whinnying, and turning, she saw the procession of animals being shepherded towards a bridge leading up to the platform, where the dreamer waited, dressed in a long black gown, wielding a long black dagger. Spotting Tito, Jael once again saw a vision of Arras and Eadmund side by side. They were talking, pointing at something. She was shoved, ordered to move, though she tried to hold onto that vision.

The two men were staring at something.

The vision faded, though not before Jael had seen a glimpse of what they were pointing at: tall, jagged cliffs, upon which stood two giant ballistas.

* * *

Edela had to do something.

Raymon was surrounded by Iker Rayas and his men, and a bellowing Bertel had just announced his presence to everyone. She couldn’t say anything to put him in danger or alert him at all, so chanting in furious whispers, she quickly brought symbols into her mind.

‘Bertel!’

Now Edela recognised Siggy’s voice, and panic exploding, she sought to hurry.

‘Edela!’ Bertel called. ‘We are coming for you! Hold on!’

The shouting came at just the right time for Raymon, who swung at a distracted Vito, taking him in the throat. ‘Stay there, Edela!’ he warned, seeing that they had help. ‘Stay down!’

The bleeding helmsman dropped to the deck with a gurgle, and Raymon moved forward, taking the next man on the wrist, chopping off his hand. He spun, stabbing another man in the thigh. He had to be fast now, to move like the wind. Nerves leaving him, he sought to kill.

Edela’s fetters sprang open, and so did her eyes. She shook off her bonds as Bertel jumped down into the ship, brandishing his sword. ‘No!’ she cried. ‘Bertel! No!’

‘Stay back, Siggy! Zen, take her!’

Edela blinked, and in the next moment, Korri Torluffson and a handful of men jumped down after Bertel, and quickly taking the lead, swords in the air, they charged.

* * *

As Ronin Sardis took his seat on the royal dais beside his silent daughter, his eyes were drawn to his wife’s glistening auburn hair. The setting sun was sinking quickly now, and soon it would reach the tower arch.

Ronin’s eyes drifted past Dessalene to the woman in the plain grey dress, waiting with the rest of the animals.

His left hand twitched, regretting that he wasn’t the one to take Jael Furyck’s life. But though she wouldn’t die by his blade, she would die on his isle, her life ended by his powerful wife. And seeing Dessalene turning to him as though hearing his thoughts, he smiled.

* * *

An angry Korri led the attack against the ship’s crew, having lost good men to these Silurans in Bakkar. He could see that they’d taken Edela prisoner. She hunched in the stern, cowering and afraid.

Or was she?

Shouting orders at his men, he urged speed. ‘Bertel!’ he warned as one of the Silurans aimed for the old man’s back.

A focused Bertel swung around, shearing his sword across the man’s nose. He was much taller, his stance higher, and he cut that nose in two. Shifting his feet and twisting his grip, he attacked the man again, and slitting his throat, he ended his life.

Flashes of the past ignited inside him, and he moved up to flank Korri, desperate to make his way to Edela.

Iker Rayas was back on his feet now, and pushing down on his injured leg, he lunged for a distracted Raymon, knocking his sword from his hand.

‘Raymon!’ Edela shouted in warning, causing more than one head to turn her way, though there was nothing Korri or his men could do, blocked by the crew as they were. Raymon had taken back his knife, so she had to move with speed to find one for herself. Everyone was here because of her. They couldn’t sacrifice themselves.

She wouldn’t let them.

So, hopping off the chest, Edela crawled across the deck, searching for a weapon.

* * *

Two soldiers in black and gold tunics flanked Jael, who stood in a sea of animals, penned in by fences and panicking. They butted against each other, seeking an escape.

Though there was nowhere to go.

Jael waited near the front beside Tito, Arras’ fretting horse, lifting a hand to comfort him. He sensed, as all the animals did, that something was terribly wrong, and he shifted around anxiously beside her, bumping her with his head. She thought of Tig, soothing Tito with quiet words, speaking slowly and softly, working to keep them both calm. His coat was smooth, and stroking it made her feel better too.

There was little she could do to help the other animals; there were simply too many.

The drummers from the funeral procession had made their way onto the platform, still drumming as they took their places behind the seated logi and Inesh Seppo.

Dessalene Sardis prowled the platform in a headdress of red feathers and gold antlers, her tall, angular body moving like a predator at times, at other times like a graceful bird. Fragrant smoke blew towards Jael, and inhaling, she recognised the familiar scent of mugwort, though her attention quickly shifted to the dreamer speaking in what sounded like Siluran.

The drummers’ rhythm steadily increased, Dessalene following with a chant, so that soon the beating drum and the dreamer’s words became a thumping heartbeat, not happening around Jael but inside of her. The powerful smoke blew towards her, and she blinked as it stung her eyes.

She saw Arras again.

No, she realised, shaking her head. Nico. She saw Nico Sikari with Thorgils, standing beside...?

Jael frowned intensely, not understanding.

Whatever was lurking in that smoke was already undoing her mind, for she was certain she saw Ulf. Ulf Rutgar? Closing her eyes, she pursued the vision, that drumbeat rolling her forward as though she stood atop a wave. And now she saw that it was indeed Ulf, standing beside Thorgils at the helm of a Hestian ship.

Shifting her eyes, holding the vision, she turned to see more ships.

Quickly counting at least twelve.

A Hestian fleet coming to S’ala Nis.

* * *

A breathless Raymon was jabbing and swaying, working to keep Iker Rayas back, though now weaponless, he knew he wouldn’t hold out the skilled warrior for long. Dropping low, he released a leg, seeking to knock over the already unbalanced man, who hopped about, slashing his sword. But Iker quickly brought down his blade, chopping into Raymon’s shoulder before losing his balance, both men collapsing to the ground.

‘Aarrghh!’ Raymon bellowed, falling with a crash.

Bertel’s right arm was becoming heavy, as though he was wielding an anchor. The man facing him looked Korri’s age, sprightly and snarling, light on his feet. He’d cut Bertel’s cheek and his arm, and a panting Bertel was starting to flag. Breathing burned his lungs, though he kept trying to draw in breaths, hoping to spur himself on.

Knocked in the back, he lost his balance, tipping towards his enemy’s knife. He was shunted out of the way by Korri, who fell with Bertel, both men losing their swords, now towered over by two Silurans, who drew back their axes, ready to strike.

Watching from the pier, held back by an anxious Zen, Siggy screamed. ‘No! Edela! Do something!’

Edela was trying to. Having scooped up Iker Rayas’ knife, she’d sliced it across her hand, and now, face and hands dripping with bloody symbols, she rose to her feet, swaying like a tree in a gale.

Her chanting was thunder, and she was a storm.

These men had tormented them for too long; hunted and tracked them, terrorised and hurt them, and now it would end.

She would end it.

Here.

* * *

‘Wait for me,’ Jael murmured. ‘We have to wait.’ She thought of Rigg, then Alek, not certain she’d gotten through to either man. ‘Please, wait for me.’

The sun now burnished the top of the stadium, flaring off the golden helmet the king cradled in his lap. She saw Ronin Sardis, who had threatened to wipe out her entire family.

Why?

She needed to kill him, to stop him, though she wanted answers from him first.

She kept Thorgils’ face in her mind. He was on that lead ship with Ulf. Their connection had always been strong, she knew, almost smiling as Dessalene pointed to her, motioning her forward.

The slaves became still, anxious, fearing that their hopes rested on the future of this one woman. Once a queen, now a slave like they were.

She had promised to lead them, but would she get the chance?

They stood shoulder to shoulder in orderly rows under the ever-watchful eye of Argo Kosta, who sat beside the queen in the stands. Jael feared that his presence was intimidating the slaves. Though if they stumbled now they would never be free.

Their fears and doubts swirled around her as she sought to keep her composure.

There was no guarantee the slaves would rise as one.

No guarantee they would keep going in the face of soldiers skilled with their lethal weapons.

She heard Tito whinny, the beating drums rolling like thunder.

Her heart thumped, keeping in time with Thorgils’.

She saw the catapults on Ulf’s ship, blinking in surprise, thinking of Karsten.

She would know.

When they struck the first ballista, she would know.

* * *

Edela could feel the ship shuddering beneath her. A darkness vibrated in the sea, and she lifted it higher with her left hand, using her right to bring a cloud down over the sun. She drew them closed like curtains, encasing the ship in a sheath of darkness.

The dark frightened many, but not Edela, who worked quickly now, twisting her hands, weaving glowing red symbols through that darkness like sparkling threads of yarn.

She saw the trails of the symbols as she wound and bound them together, hearing the clash of blades only faintly now and Siggy crying out so far away.

Jerking forward, Edela’s back arched, arms lifting as the two symbols ignited in an explosion of sparks that blinded her. She cried out in surprise, rising off the deck, all the breath rushing from her lungs as she hung in the air, suspended, hands lost amongst a shower of red sparks.

The Silurans froze before her, turning their eyes to the levitating old woman.

They couldn’t look away.

The red light blinded them, though they couldn’t turn their heads. They couldn’t even blink or lift a hand to shield their eyes.

Edela had claimed them, wound her symbol around them like rope, and now they were her prisoners.

They were hers.

Iker Rayas felt his sword arm burning, blazing from his shoulder to his fingers until he had no choice but to release his weapon.

It clattered to the deck, joined by those of his men.

Swords fell from hands, knives and axes, even hammers. Every weapon gone.

And now those men?

In that moment, Edela felt Furia standing with her.

The goddess was wild with anger.

Furia had sent her away to safety, and she had had enough of these men pursuing the dreamer. So had Bertel, Siggy, even Korri and Zen. They had all had enough of living in fear.

Turning her palms up to the dark sky, hearing the screams of Iker Rayas and his Silurans, loud in her ears, Edela lifted her arms into the darkness, reaching into those roiling clouds, and now she claimed them, pulling them to her chest until every red spark vanished and she was the darkness itself.

This was no magic learned in Tuura’s temple.

For Edela was no longer in Tuura, and with a roar, she flung out her arms, sending the clouds of darkness sweeping over Iker Rayas and his helpless men.

Killing them all.

* * *

Standing beside Rigg, Alek was holding his breath, eyes fixed on the platform and the terrifying dreamer. He heard Jael’s voice in his ears and turned to peer at Rigg, who looked at him strangely, as though he had heard it too. Tugging his friend’s sleeve, Alek pulled him close. ‘We wait.’

A nervous Rigg wasn’t sure he agreed.

He shuffled his feet, now gripping the conch shell in his hands, holding it low. His eyes met Alek’s before sweeping over the rows of slaves. He was vibrating with tension, doubts working to undo the certainty he’d felt only moments earlier.

If they waited too long, if he waited too long to blow the shell, would the slaves lose their appetite for the fight? Before them was a great show of pomp and power. A reminder that those who proclaimed themselves their owners were in complete control. According to everything he’d heard, the dreamer was dangerous and powerful, and if she...

Alek tugged his sleeve again. ‘We wait for Jael, Rigg. We trust in Jael.’

47

Jael saw the bloody symbol painted on Dessalene’s forehead. In the heat, it had run into her eyes, bleeding over her cheeks and down her black dress.

She smiled, and her teeth were bloody too.

There was much a dark dreamer could do, Jael remembered, ripples of trauma returning to unsettle her. Shaking them away, she focused on ways to protect herself from whatever magic the woman was weaving.

‘I am the sword,’ she reminded herself silently. ‘I am the sword.’

The first rays of sunlight flared through the tower’s arch, burnishing the top of Inesh Seppo’s dark head. Glancing at the man, she was surprised to see him watching her. His eyes were suddenly guarded, and once again, she wondered whose side he was on.

Dessalene brandished the long obsidian dagger as she chanted words Jael couldn’t understand, though she guessed the dreamer was blessing the altar where the sacrifices would be offered.

It was made of a dark granite, glistening in the sun, a narrow channel attached to feed blood into the deep moat encircling the platform.

Not wanting to think about that, Jael turned away from the dreamer, eyes on the red-robed logi flanking the seer. Each man took his seat, hands clasped in his lap. One held the wooden staff they would present to Inesh Seppo as he was being anointed.

The setting sun had gilded half the stadium now, those lords and ladies sparkling like golden stars.

And Jael suddenly felt Thorgils’ heart racing.

* * *

The catapults were loaded, Ulf’s men waiting for the signal to strike.

No one spoke, Beloved’s crew holding their breaths and their shields as they waited, all eyes up on the cliffs and on those enormous ballistas aimed their way.

‘Now!’ Nico urged, turning to look at Thorgils as Beloved crossed the invisible line that only he could see. ‘Fire!’ The ship’s well-trained catapult crew moved with speed, releasing the hammer, already preparing to reload as it swung back, launching its boulder, just before the ballista crew discharged their giant missile.

* * *

The dark clouds that had rolled over Iker Rayas’ ship like a dust storm quickly evaporated, the sky lightening above their heads, and soon everyone could see that the Silurans were dead.

They lay sprawled around the deck as though felled in battle. There was no blood, though their eyes were red, wide open and unblinking, weapons lost from their hands.

Edela lay on the deck too.

A bleeding Bertel had rushed to her side, rolling her onto her back, though she hadn’t moved. He couldn’t hear her heart beating, couldn’t feel her breathing.

His own breath stuck in his throat, horror and sadness freezing him as he stared at the dreamer in disbelief.

Siggy jumped down into the ship with Zen, crying out as she ran forward. ‘No! Edela!’

Raymon swayed on his feet, and Korri was there, clutching an arm to his chest, all of them crowding around the fallen dreamer.

Bertel took Edela’s hand, once again listening to her chest, desperate to hear her heart beating.

‘Edela!’ Siggy sobbed, kneeling beside him. The darkness was lifting now, the setting sun returning, and she saw the ghostly pallor of Edela’s face beneath all that blood. ‘Please! You must come back to us! Please, Edela! We need you! I need you!’

Tears fell from her eyes onto the dreamer’s face.

Which twitched, eyelashes gently fluttering.

‘She moved!’ Korri exclaimed. ‘Did you see?’

Siggy did, and wiping her tears away from Edela’s face, she kissed her forehead.

‘Edela?’ Bertel prodded, seeing those eyelashes moving with real purpose now.

And then a cough.

Pushing a crying Siggy out of the way and certain he wasn’t crying himself, Bertel scooped an arm under Edela’s back, and with Korri’s help, they raised her to a sitting position.

She opened her eyes, blinking. ‘I...’

‘Don’t speak,’ Bertel told her.

‘But what happened?’ Siggy asked.

Bertel glared at the girl. ‘She shouldn’t speak. She needs rest.’

‘What I need is for you to... move out of my face, Bertel Knutson,’ Edela grumbled. ‘How can I take a breath with you so close?’

Watching the dreamer batting away her companions, relief washed over Raymon. Relief that the Silurans were dead and the dreamer was alive. Edela Saeveld was beloved by Brekkans and Tuurans alike and by her family most of all. Then, remembering how much he wanted to forget who he was and where he came from, he turned to go. The buzzing in his ears reminded him that he was wounded, that he couldn’t lift his arm. He would have to find someone to help him. He would go to the physician’s and –

The buzzing came for him like a swarm of angry bees, and Raymon Vandaal, former King of Iskavall, fell to the deck with a thud.

* * *

‘Red flag!’ Ulf bellowed to his men positioned in the stern and on both gunwales. ‘Red flag!’ His hands loosened on the steering oar, almost forgetting he was responsible for driving them into the harbour. ‘Keep her steady,’ he told himself, imagining what Karsten would say if he sunk his prize ship.

Beloved’s boulder struck the ballista’s spear, shattering it. But with that threat gone, they had to quickly fire again and take out the ballista itself.

‘Reload!’ Ulf cried.

‘They’re signalling!’ Nico warned, turning to see another boulder launched from the ship, and flying free, it struck the eastern ballista. ‘Again!’ he urged. ‘Fire!’

* * *

Trailing Beloved and the four Hestian catapult ships, Bolder’s hands tightened around the steering oar. He saw another enormous spear-like missile coming for the fleet. It only just missed the ship trailing Beloved before diving into the sea.

Pulling the steering oar, Bolder aimed for the western side of the harbour, where they would drop anchor nearest the tunnel, into which Arras, Eadmund, and their men would disappear, looking for Jael.

Hoping the queen could hold on.

* * *

Dessalene finished her chant, eyes glazed like fine blue glass as she stared at the glowing tower, imagining Eyshar watching her. Sweeping around, she ran her eyes over the logi and the seer, raising them to find Ronin in the stadium before dropping them to her first victim.

The raven-haired queen. Furia’s daughter.

Though not for long.

And now the dreamer glided towards the little bridge Jael had been dragged onto by two soldiers, who Dessalene didn’t see at all. Her attention remained on the woman. She could feel Ronin as though he was looking over her shoulder, breathing in anticipation. He wanted this moment to be theirs together, though it was Dessalene who would cut the woman’s throat.

Dessalene, who would gift her blood to Eyshar.

Jael watched the dreamer coming towards her, unable to prevent herself moving forward. In fact, she needed to get closer. To have any chance of stopping the dreamer, she was going to have to get as close as possible.

The two soldiers shunted her onto the platform towards Dessalene and her obsidian dagger. The drumming felt as though it was reaching a crescendo; the logi and the seer as still as statues, staring at her.

Keeping her lips pressed together, Jael sought to reach Alek, her eyes never leaving the dreamer’s face. ‘Hold,’ she urged silently. ‘Hold.’

‘You will hold her arms,’ Dessalene told the soldiers. ‘Keep her still.’

In her mind, Jael heard the shatter of wood, boulders crashing onto the ballistas, and heart thumping, mouth open, she shouted at the top of her lungs, calling the slaves to action. ‘Rigg! Now!’

Her shouting caught an entranced Dessalene by surprise, the men holding Jael, too, and feeling their grip on her arms loosen, she pushed forward, viciously headbutting the dreamer, who dropped the dagger as she fell to the ground, knocked unconscious.

Tugging her left arm out of the grip of one soldier, a dazed Jael heard Rigg blowing the conch shell.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

A furious roar swept around the temple grounds. A roar of joy and anger.

And purpose.

Jael swung her fetter at the soldier, breaking his jaw, and turning to the other man, who’d dropped her arm, aiming to unsheathe his sword, she smashed him in the nose. Elbowing him in the throat, she helped herself to his sword. There was a flurry of movement in the stadium as the lords and leaders hurried to react to what was happening. From high up in the stands, she heard a bellowing Kosta ordering his men into the fight, seeing a flash of gold, knowing that the king was on his feet. Though Jael couldn’t worry about those men – she had to organise the slaves.

Spinning around, she ran across the bridge, jumping down to Tito, and seizing the reins, she threw herself into the saddle. Raising her sword, she clung on as Tito reared up, nearly unseating her, goats and oxen panicking around him, desperately trying to get out of his path. ‘Kill them!’ Jael cried in Siluran. ‘Kill them!’ she yelled in the common tongue, and now Tito dropped his front hooves back to the ground, and she urged him on, past the frightened animals and out into the courtyard as the clanging sound of signal bells rose into the air.

* * *

One of the Hestian ships had been speared by a missile, though Ulf’s attention was on trying to destroy the remaining ballista before it could do any further damage.

He could hear the clanging in the distance as the bells alerted the isle to danger.

Thorgils turned, calling to Ulf. ‘Nudge it! We have to hit it square on!’

Ulf didn’t even nod, trying to line Beloved up directly before that ballista, still just a lump on the cliff to him, wishing his eyes were twenty years younger.

‘Turn!’ he heard someone shout from a nearby ship, sensing another missile had been fired; they looked like spears a giant would wield. Two more boulders were quickly launched into the air, one knocking the missile off course, and soon it splashed into the sea, almost clipping Bone Hammer.

Biting his tongue, Bolder swore loudly, tugging the steering oar. ‘I don’t intend to swim to this fucking island! Why can’t they crush it?’ Though in the next moment, he heard an explosion as Beloved’s newly-launched boulder struck the ballista down the middle.

A cheer went up on board more than one ship, though neither Arras nor Eadmund were celebrating.

‘I planned for this sort of attack. As commander,’ Arras told the king, eyes never leaving the harbour they were now aiming at. ‘It won’t be easy.’

Thinking she might vomit, Mattie turned away from the men, remembering her rope. She had left it with Kolarov, who had a firm hold on Otter. And now, pushing up the deck, past the strained faces of concentrating men, she aimed for the explorer. ‘I need to try the rope!’

He peered up at her in confusion, ears ringing with noise.

‘The rope!’ Mattie cried, and bending down, she felt around, finding it under her fur. ‘We’re not going fast enough! We need speed now!’

Straightening up, she immediately lost her balance, falling onto an unimpressed Otter, who bounded away. Scrambling back to her feet, Mattie gripped the stern in her left hand and the rope in her right.

And turning around, she braced herself, closing her eyes.

* * *

Jael drove Tito at the soldiers, who had turned back to fight off the attacking slaves.

It was all about momentum now, and she had to drive it.

She caught a glimpse of Alek, immediately knocked off his feet, fearing for him. Though he was Rigg’s responsibility now, because if she didn’t spur these men on, there’d be death for them all.

She thought of Eadmund and Arras, Thorgils and Fyn.

They were coming.

But not yet.

Alek and Rigg had taught her a few useful phrases in Siluran, and now she screamed them at the top of her lungs. ‘Grab their weapons! Take their swords! Attack! Attack!’

* * *

Taking to the stadium’s steps, a furious Ronin watched Kosta charging towards the courtyard, calling his men to arms. Turning to Kalina, he seized her elbow. ‘You must get to the palace! You’ll be safe there!’ He motioned to two guards as a terrified Krissia approached. ‘Take the women to the palace, and keep your queen safe! Use the back road and go now!’ And unsheathing his sword, he ran after Kosta, eyes fixed, not on Jael Furyck or the slaves, but on the fallen figure of his wife, who lay sprawled on the platform. ‘Dessalene!’ he bellowed, seeing the sun beaming through every hole in the tower’s arch now, flaming on the faces of Inesh Seppo and his logi as they rose to their feet.

‘Fan out!’ Inesh ordered, using a firm voice to command his red-robed men. And taking Noor’s staff, he banged it down on the platform, calling for Eyshar to guide and protect them.

Reaching the platform, Ronin barrelled past him, aiming for Dessalene. Falling to his knees, he brushed hair away from her bleeding face. Her nose appeared broken, blood gushing over her cheeks, pooling in her ears. Her eyes were closed, and scooping an arm under her back, he kissed her, desperate to bring her back to life. Back to him.

She stirred, spluttering, and releasing her, Ronin felt relief, oblivious to the chaos swirling around him.

‘Help me... up!’ Dessalene urged, and unable to breathe through her nose, she started to panic. ‘She... broke my nose! Ronin! You must kill that woman! My... nose!’ And flinging out a hand, she now swayed up to her feet. ‘Leave me!’ she raged. ‘And go! Kill her!’ Sending her husband on his way, she turned from the horrified look in his eyes. She didn’t dare touch her face, not wanting the extent of her injuries becoming more real.

It was enough to feel them.

‘Stay safe!’ Ronin called with a final look at his wobbling wife before running for the bridge.

Watching him leave and seeing the chaos Jael Furyck appeared in charge of, Dessalene knew she needed to do something quickly. So, lifting a trembling hand to her broken nose, she scooped up a finger of blood. And drawing symbols on each palm, she started chanting.

* * *

Mattie’s thoughts screamed at her that it wasn’t possible to control the wind, though she pushed ahead anyway, wanting to help.

In her cold hands, the rope felt coarse as she untied the first of the three knots she’d made earlier. She felt them like strands of hair blowing in a breeze. The breeze was gentle.

It moved them along.

Kolarov had told her about Isvarr – a god of both moderate and extreme temperaments. He would rise when the moment required it, and even though she was far from home, she felt as though she was back in Tuura, running through a field, hands spread like wings, hat blowing off her head.

Kolarov had said that Isvarr was just. A just god who wasn’t afraid to come for his enemies.

She wondered if he would venture this far from home?

Now she untied the second knot. She wouldn’t reach for the third.

They just needed a moderate wind.

Enough to blow them into the harbour at pace.

* * *

‘Blue flag!’ Ulf ordered as Beloved started picking up speed, grateful that the wind was strengthening in their favour.

The archers came forward, readying their fire arrows.

Braziers had been burning steadily since they’d emerged from The Corridor, but now those flames became erratic and the archers had to take care, holding their arrows in the fire, waiting for them to catch alight.

Nico Sikari stalked the deck as the men holding the blue signal flags waved them wildly.

‘Arrows!’ Thorgils yelled behind him, hearing a whistle and throwing up his shield.

Nico ducked behind his own. Ulf had no spare hands, though his second-in-command was holding a shield and worked to protect them both.

Beloved remained the lead ship, reaching for the harbour now, well within range of those archers who had flooded the piers.

The arrows sprayed over the Hestian fleet, two striking Beloved’s mast, one piercing her sail. Another struck the prow, the remainder shooting into the sea.

‘Hestians!’ Thorgils cried. ‘Nock!’ Dropping his shield, he turned, carrying his booming voice to the two rows of archers, all seeking their balance, who emerged from behind the shield-bearers. ‘Aim!’ Beloved was heading into the harbour at speed now, Thorgils could see, as he turned back. ‘Fire!’

* * *

Jael spun Tito around, raking her sword down a soldier’s back. He fell forward, howling in agony as she drove the horse on, calling to the slaves. ‘Move!’ she roared, throat burning. ‘Take their weapons! Knock them down! Faster!’

Turning the horse back to the platform, she saw the bloody-faced dreamer on her feet, arms extended, hands aimed in her direction. Quickly sliding off Tito, Jael slapped him away, needing a shield, though fearing it wouldn’t be enough against the powerful witch.

She quickly found a dead soldier, relieving him of his useless shield, and feeling more like herself than she had in weeks, she pushed past the penned-in animals, seeking the bridge to the platform where the dreamer waited.

Watching her, body trembling, a frustrated Dessalene couldn’t make any magic. Try as she might, she couldn’t bring a symbol to her mind. Every word she thought to speak wouldn’t leave her tongue.

She felt no spark, no energy. Nothing at all.

Seeing Jael Furyck coming for her, armed with weapons, she panicked. Spinning around, she saw the sun blazing through the arch, lighting up Inesh Seppo. He shone like a golden coin in that perfect moment, and blinking, she finally found her voice. ‘Help me! You must... help!’

Though instead, the seer closed his eyes, hands wrapped around his staff.

He was doing something, Dessalene realised, terror exploding now as she felt a strange force, like a wall between them.

He was working against her. Blocking her power.

Jael roared, seeking to claim the dreamer’s attention, though she was hit on the head by a flying rock and knocked to the ground.

* * *

Rigg saw a helmeted Argo Kosta barging through his men, hacking at every weaponless slave in his path, urging his soldiers to crush the revolt, demanding they snuff it out before it spread.

He had quickly found Alek a shield and a knife, and keeping his friend close, he started pushing towards where he’d last seen Jael. She’d dismounted the black horse, aiming for the sacrifice platform.

He hadn’t seen her since.

The men around him were looking for direction, losing momentum. He had to lead.

Some had already been injured and were clutching bleeding wounds, trying to escape the melee rather than fight on. Others appeared to be hanging back, waiting to see what would happen before they committed themselves, eyes on a furious Kosta.

And knowing that momentum was everything, Rigg sought to spur them on.

Lifting his voice, he gripped his new sword like a long-lost friend, urging the terrified men in grey tunics to fight for their lives. ‘For freedom! Fight for your freedom or die at their hands!’

‘Fight! Fight!’ came the cry around him, strengthening now as slaves fought off blades with fists and heads and feet. They fought their own fear that they wouldn’t be strong enough to overcome armed warriors of skill and experience.

But fight they did.

Behind Rigg, Alek swung up his shield, nearly knocking himself over, but finding a strength he’d feared he didn’t possess, he gritted his teeth, smashing a soldier in the mouth. Blood spurted from broken teeth and cut lips, spraying his face, and gulping in horror, he stumbled after Rigg.

‘Take their weapons!’ Rigg demanded in Siluran, quickly repeating it in the common tongue. ‘Take every fucking weapon and make them yours! Eyshar is with us! Every god is on our side!’

On the ground, struggling to get back to her feet amongst walls of legs, many kicking her, Jael heard him, and screaming, she rolled over, pushing herself up. Quickly getting her bearings, she saw that she’d been driven away from the platform and the dreamer, back into the throng of wrestling men.

‘Arras Sikari is here!’ she shouted, seeking to give the slaves hope. ‘He’s brought a fleet of warriors to free us!’ Swinging around, she parried an axe, teeth gritted. A few ears pricked up, and she carried on, seeking to drive that stake through the heart of the soldiers’ defenses. ‘Arras Sikari is here! In the harbour! He has returned to free you!’

She stabbed a soldier in the thigh, immediately bringing her blade up under his chin, dragging it across his throat. And working her elbows, she spun away, needing to find Tito.

She caught a glimpse of the king’s helmet.

Gleaming gold and studded with colourful jewels, it was a beacon, drawing her to him. Unleashing a long, broad sword, he swung it in two hands, chopping at every bare head, seeking to stamp out every pocket of resistance.

* * *

Eadmund and Arras moved into Bone Hammer’s bow in front of their men as a handful of archers, protected by shield-bearers, remained, giving them cover.

Waiting just behind Eadmund, Fyn vibrated with tension, trying to shut out his fears of what might go wrong. Mattie and Kolarov would stay behind with Bolder in case they needed to make a hasty escape, and he could only hope they’d be safe on board.

Ulf’s Hestians were burning the harbour to their right, setting fire to the ballistas, crushing them with boulders that flamed and smoked, sending dark clouds and stinking pitch into the air.

‘Stay here!’ he called to Mattie. ‘Don’t leave the ship!’

The dreamer clung to her rope, though she no longer needed it. Kolarov hugged Otter beside her. They both nodded at him.

‘I’ll return,’ Fyn promised with a crooked smile. ‘This time with Jael!’

‘Hurry!’ Mattie urged, feeling a sharp pain in her heart, seeing glimpses of battle now. ‘Jael needs you! You must hurry!’

Hearing that, Eadmund almost jumped out of the ship, though they were still a few lengths from the pier. ‘Get us close!’ he demanded, not wanting to swim. It would slow them down, and as Mattie said, they needed speed. ‘Come on!’

‘I’m trying!’ Bolder snapped, swaying from side to side, attempting to see through the billowing smoke and the choking pitch. ‘Take the oar!’ he yelled at Raal. ‘Hold her steady! I need to see!’ And running to the starboard gunwale, he was struck by an arrow. It took him in the side, knocking him over.

‘Bolder!’ Mattie screamed, scrambling towards him.

Plonking Otter down, Kolarov crawled after her.

Eadmund spun around, mouth open, and though he feared for his friend, he couldn’t help him now. ‘Get us there fast!’ he yelled at Raal. ‘Hurry!’

48

Ronin Sardis sensed that his men were faltering under the slaves’ onslaught. His soldiers had experience. They were armed and skilled, though they were being crushed by the sheer number of slaves in the temple grounds. It had been a mistake, he saw in hindsight, to cram so many into one tight space.

They were overwhelmed.

Those on horseback had been brought down, weapons had been ripped away, and his soldiers were being beaten by fists, kicked and stoned, armour torn from bodies, heads caved in.

More and more rocks were being used as weapons, and Ronin ducked and weaved, keeping his head on a swivel. He was experienced enough to expect the ebb and flow of battle, knowing that an inexperienced enemy would often claim early success, though it was important not to let that momentum solidify into something substantial. Once the slaves ran out of breath, he was sure his trained men would assert themselves again, instilling fear into those who dared overthrow them.

Glancing at Kosta, bludgeoning a slave with his sword, Ronin thought about what he’d heard Jael Furyck shouting. That Arras Sikari was in the harbour? That he was here to liberate the slaves?

Having heard the signal bells, he feared she was right.

Though surely he hadn’t returned alone...

‘Kosta!’ he shouted, slashing a path towards the commander. ‘You need to head for the harbour!’

Kosta swung around with confusion in his eyes.

‘You heard the bells! Something’s wrong! Get down there! If Arras Sikari’s back?’ Ronin knew he couldn’t afford to spare any men, but if they were under attack from an outside force, that force would be fully armed, and coming in from the harbour, it would crush his soldiers. He had to risk it all now or expose himself to an attack from behind. ‘Take half your men and go! Gather more on the way! You will hold them back! Hold them back and defeat them at the harbour!’

Kosta looked so unsure that Ronin was forced to shove him. ‘You will go! I’ll command here! And my wife, she will help! Now leave!’

* * *

Bone Hammer hit the pier with a thump, knocking a handful of the crew off their feet, weapons clattering.

Eadmund wondered fleetingly if his loyal helmsman was alive, and then he was vaulting off the ship onto the pier. Sword swinging from a clenched fist, he took the first man across his padded chest. Arras landed behind him with a thud, sweeping down the pier with precision, elbowing one surprised man into the sea, spearing another with his blade. He yelled at those men rushing down the pier, warning them that he had come to free the slaves and that they would either help him or die by his hand.

Eadmund saw hesitation in the eyes of those men, though their new commander barked orders for them to charge, and instinct taking over, they moved down the pier in unison, shields at their chests, swords and axes gripped in claw-like hands.

Fyn glanced over his shoulder, seeing the familiar figure of Thorgils on Beloved as the Hestian ship approached the piers, red hair flowing in the sun. Bright and intense, it streamed into Fyn’s eyes as he turned back around, hearing more boulders smashing the harbour, flames crackling as they rose up from shattered wagons, barrels, and bodies.

‘Move! Move! Move!’

Arras’ shout focused his attention, and Fyn extended his stride until he was level with him. Shifting his body slightly to the right, he saw a flash of the day Jael had taught him how to hold his sword, remembering it like it was yesterday. And squeezing his hand around his hilt, he roared. ‘For Jael!’

Eadmund didn’t speak as he released his own sword, sliding it across the neck of a warrior, but he thought it.

For Jael.

* * *

Jael saw Kosta gathering his men together, heading away from the temple grounds, and now she had a decision to make: stay at the temple or move to stop him gaining control over the rest of the island?

He turned to look over his shoulder at her, smiling.

And back burning, sword arm twitching, her decision was made.

She swung back around, parrying a shot to the head, then veering sharply, she elbowed her way towards Tito, who had sought refuge amongst the herd of frightened animals offered a reprieve by the attack.

He didn’t look pleased to see her, but having made her decision, Jael once again threw herself into the saddle, and hitching up her dress, she slipped her shoes into the stirrups. Tito made to rear up again, though a few strong words kept him grounded, and soon she was driving him towards Rigg. ‘Out of my way!’ she warned, not wanting to knock down any slaves.

She saw Quint, who, having lost his sword, was working to fend off three slaves with a shield alone. Though she couldn’t help the man. He was simply on the wrong side.

Finding Rigg, she shouted at him. ‘Kosta’s going for the harbour! I have to go after him! You’re in charge! Push them forward! Secure things here, then move up to meet me!’

Rigg nodded, spinning away, headbutting a soldier trying to attack him from behind.

‘Where’s Alek?’

Rigg stepped to the side, almost tripping over a body, revealing that Alek and his shield were still there, wobbling beside him.

‘Forward!’ she cried. ‘There’s more of you now! Kosta’s taking men with him!’ Tito skittered beneath her, nostrils flaring, the pungent stench of blood unsettling him further.

Rigg lifted his eyes, meeting Jael’s and with a nod, he swung away.

‘Alek! Stay safe!’ Jael called, eyes on the frail man, fearing for them both, though there was no time for it.

She had to get after Kosta.

* * *

Arras took them into the tunnel, having dispatched those men guarding it with relative ease. Their hesitation about attacking their former commander had rendered their defense ineffective, and Arras had quickly left their bodies behind, plunging into the darkness. ‘Run!’ he urged. ‘It’s long, but we have to run!’ He heard rumbles like thunder as the Hestian boulders destroyed the harbour in the distance now, fixing his mind on what lay ahead.

He would aim for the female slave’s bathhouse, where he’d first taken Jael. Through there was a quick route into a garden and then out onto the main street.

And what would be waiting for them?

Or who?

* * *

A groggy and bleeding Dessalene was horrified to see Kosta departing with half those men previously holding back the slaves surging across the temple grounds.

She didn’t understand what Ronin was thinking... sending the man away?

She could see nothing herself.

She could bring nothing to her, and becoming enraged, she spun around to Inesh Seppo and his circle of logi, fearing they were enemies but too desperate to care. ‘You will do something! I... need you to do something!’

Inesh looked at her blankly.

‘What is wrong with you?’ Dessalene shrieked, ready to throttle the man. ‘Why aren’t you doing anything?’ The noise crashed in from every side, her aching face pounding. Wiping blood from her eyes, she strode towards the seer and his men.

Inesh looked confused. ‘You wish us to fight, my lady? But we know no magic, no spells. And you? I had heard that you did...’

A furious Dessalene peered into those deep brown eyes, seeing defiance.

She couldn’t read the man’s thoughts, couldn’t read any of their thoughts, and turning away with a howl of rage, she left him behind.

She was disarmed of her weapons – every one of them, apart from her instincts.

And they told her that Ronin was in desperate trouble.

* * *

With Jael gone, Rigg took the battle at the temple grounds by the reins. He urged the slaves on, sensing that with the bellowing king rallying his soldiers, the slaves’ momentum had faltered.

‘They will kill us all!’ he warned. ‘We have to kill –’

A knife took him in the head, right between the eyes.

Beside him, Alek’s mouth dropped open. ‘Rigg! Rigg!’ He stumbled down beside him, seeing that his friend was dead, eyes fixed open in surprise. Terror flooded Alek’s veins. Terror and sadness.

Grabbing Rigg’s sword, he stood, heart in mouth, knowing that Jael had gone.

Jael had gone, the king was leading his men, seeking to overcome their stuttering assault.

And Rigg was dead.

‘I will not die here!’ he shouted, voice breaking. Beside him, men glanced his way. ‘They killed Rigg, but I will not die here! I miss my sons! I want to go home! Don’t you?’ He turned, screaming at the men around him, seeking to blast any doubt out of their hearts, wanting to replace it with fire and belief. ‘Don’t you?’

He was immediately knocked to the ground, kicked by soldiers working to push back the slaves. Crying out, he felt a sharp pain in his ribs. And then a hand on his shoulder and another lifting him to his feet, and soon he was flanked by two of his crew. They weren’t as big as Rigg, not warriors, but men who had slaved over that tower beside him and under him. Men who had given their all and who now stood on the precipice of death or freedom beside him.

And those men chose to fight.

‘Push forward!’ Alek rasped. ‘Push!’

* * *

Jael spurred Tito after Kosta and his men, wishing she had a bow and a quiver of arrows, though they seemed in short supply on S’ala Nis. She saw skirmishes breaking out along the main road as groups of slaves banded together, throwing rocks and anything else they had to hand. Some even threw their shoes.

Kosta’s men ran beside and rode after their commander, moving with trained precision. Swaying from side to side in Tito’s saddle, Jael watched as he ordered some of those men to peel off, urging them to crush those slaves rebelling in the main street.

She rode after him alone, calling those slaves to her, seeking to infuse them with hope. ‘Arras Sikari is coming!’ she bellowed. ‘Arras Sikari is coming to save you!’ She doubted they knew her or cared for anything she might say, but she knew how much they admired their favourite commander.

Her bellowing finally caught Kosta’s attention, and brutally jerking his horse around, he aimed him at the big-mouthed slave queen.

* * *

Jumping down onto a pier packed with enemies, Thorgils took a man in the cheek, chopping hard. Yanking back his blade, he drove it into the man’s belly. Blood showering over him, he moved away from Nico Sikari towards where Ulf was rallying his Hestians to pick up their pace.

‘Faster!’ Ulf snapped, momentarily blinded by the last of the sun. ‘You want some gold? To please your king? Then move yourselves! Move!’ He threw his axe, striking a head, and unsheathing his sword, he swept towards the man, wanting it back.

Thorgils skidded on a trail of blood, chomping down on his tongue, and grimacing, he remembered Jael’s advice that a clear head was a better weapon than any sword. Shrugging, he lashed out with his sword anyway, shattering a shield, sending its holder scrambling backwards. ‘Move on!’ he shouted, spitting out a gob of blood. ‘Through the harbour! Move!’ A rush of energy pumped through his vibrating body, heating it like boiling water.

Blades were flying, the odd arrow picking off their men, but Thorgils Svanter felt a lift. These bastards had kept his queen a prisoner. His queen, his friend.

Jael.

And he was here to get her back.

* * *

Kosta drove his horse back through his men, urging them to follow his second-in-command to the harbour, where they would make their stand against whoever sought to join the unrest. ‘Protect the city!’ he urged. ‘Protect the queen!’ He feared for Kalina as he drew back his sword, hoping his daughter had made it to safety with her.

Reaching Jael, he released his blade, though he didn’t swing for the woman.

He swung for the horse.

Jael jerked the reins, pulling Tito back, hooves in the air. She clung to him, legs gripping his belly, left hand wrapped around the reins, and bringing him back to the ground, she saw Kosta’s game. Her back was numb or burning – she couldn’t tell. The last of the sun streamed into her eyes, and in the middle of the street where she had walked with Sunni, she slid off Tito’s back, slapping him away, deciding to make her stand.

* * *

Arras turned left, leading them down the tunnel, sword dripping with blood, gripped in a vibrating hand. He thought of Nico, hoping his son was safe, regretting he’d brought him back, exposing him to more danger than ever. ‘The courtyard’s coming up!’ he warned. ‘Through there another tunnel and then the bathhouse. We’re getting closer!’

He didn’t look over his shoulder to see whether Eadmund had heard him.

Though Eadmund had, and turning around to Fyn, he nodded.

* * *

Jael’s stolen sword had nothing on Kosta’s beautiful weapon. He was an arrogant, proud, bullish brute, though he knew how to handle it with skill. Dismounting with a thump, he sent his own horse away and now confronted Jael with a sneer and a slash of his blade, skipping towards her with surprising gracefulness.

‘I’ll shatter that stick in two!’ he taunted. ‘You could run? Well...’ He glanced down at her fetters. ‘Perhaps not!’ Sweeping forward, he swung again.

Jael’s movements were hampered by both sets of fetters and by the dratted grey dress. She couldn’t move her feet with speed, her arms were slower than she wanted them to be, and she only just managed to parry his strike. The power behind Kosta’s blow nearly bounced the sword out of her hand. She clung on, though, thoughts scattering.

Eadmund was coming with Arras Sikari. She saw glimpses of the harbour and Thorgils’ face. Ulf was there with his Hestians, but they were not having an easy time of it.

Slaves swarmed the street behind Jael, chased by soldiers, a great screaming cacophony rising into the darkening sky. Women hung out of windows, tipping buckets of water over the fighting masses. The two horses charged away, seeking an escape as a snarling Kosta lunged forward, aiming to stab Jael in the chest.

Lurching back, she tripped over a cobblestone, lifting her sword, which Kosta easily broke in two.

Hubris was a cruel mistress, a stumbling Jael thought, staring at the broken blade, regretting everything that had made her think that, imprisoned by her fetters and hampered by her back, with a stranger’s sword in her hand, she would be any match for this man.

The cobblestones were unforgiving. There was nowhere to slide to. No knife down her boot, no belt at her waist. No Fyn by her side.

Though hearing Fyn’s voice in her ears, she knew he was coming.

And if she could just hang on...

* * *

Arras, Eadmund, and their twenty-odd men were held up in a courtyard. Having heard the signal bell, soldiers had been sent into the tunnels, taking a shortcut to the harbour, so there weren’t just four men guarding the doors to the next tunnel but fifteen.

‘Spread out!’ Eadmund called, motioning for Fyn to take the right flank. ‘We can’t slow down! Finish them!’

But recognising Arras, a soldier held up his hand, keeping them back. ‘Commander! Why are you here?’

Arras knew the young man well; he was a good friend of Nico’s. ‘I’ve come to free the slaves, Ravil! To free Jael Furyck. This is her husband. We are here to liberate the isle!’

The blue-eyed man blinked at him. ‘And Nico?’

‘He’s with us! Coming through the harbour. Join us! Join us or die! We outnumber you. We will kill you! You must join us or die!’

And not feeling inclined to die, Ravil urged his men to stand down and fall in line.

* * *

Still holding her broken sword, Jael slipped out of the sheering arc of Kosta’s blade, which struck the road with a crash.

‘Bitch!’ he seethed, swinging back that mighty blade again, ready to fell her like a tree. ‘You plotting bitch! This was your plan all along? With Sikari? To come here and free the slaves?’

Ignoring him, a grunting Jael swung her right leg, tearing her dress as she sought to knock Kosta’s sword from his hand. But moving with ease, he switched the sword to his left hand and once again unleashed it at her. Jael dropped her leg, unbalanced, trying to move more quickly than her fetters would allow, and legs tangling, they tripped her.

She fell on her side. Pain blinding her, she swung out her broken blade, aiming for Kosta’s leg.

He brought down his sword with a grunt, eyes gleaming hungrily, but Jael swerved to the side, stabbing the jagged blade into his ankle. He howled, furious, kicking her in the back with his good leg.

‘Aarrghh!’ Jael screamed, the intense pain stealing her vision. She entered the darkness, seeing her father’s face as he sat before that pyre. She heard Ronin Sardis’ voice as he threatened her family.

Kosta kicked her again and again. She tried to move, to wriggle away, to crawl to her feet, unable to hear anything now but her heartbeat thumping in her ears.

It stuttered. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.

The broken sword fell from her hand.

And Argo Kosta laughed, bringing down his blade.

* * *

Arras charged out of the garden, eyes up, ears open, hearing a thundering roar from the harbour, blades clashing in the street. ‘Move!’ he urged as Eadmund fell in behind him, keeping pace with Fyn.

Nico’s friend Ravil moved up to Arras’ right. ‘What’s the objective, commander?’

He spoke in Siluran, and neither Eadmund nor Fyn understood him. They followed close, running down a cobblestoned alley at pace, turning abruptly after the commander.

‘We were at the temple,’ Ravil explained. ‘Sent to the harbour by Kosta. He was being chased by that woman, Jael Furyck. He sent us on. He went back for her.’

A shiver rippled through Arras’ body.

Argo Kosta.

That bastard.

49

‘Roll!’ Aleksander’s voice blared in Jael’s ears.

Eyes bursting open, she reacted on instinct, rolling as though she was back in Andala, training with him, bellowed at by her father and Gant.

‘Roll!’ he screamed again. ‘Up on your feet!’

Jael’s back had frozen; she couldn’t breathe. She thought of her other Aleksander – Alek – seeing glimpses that Rigg was dead and that Alek was leading those men on his own. And rolling again, she heard someone calling her name.

‘Jael!’

Now it was Eadmund’s voice in her ears.

Dragging herself onto her knees with a pained roar, blood pouring from her mouth, she swayed away from Kosta’s blade, and clamping her forearms together, fetters touching, she swung for his waist. He was moving to the left, and she took him on the hip, knocking him off balance.

Keeping her forearms pressed together, Jael swung low, striking his knee. Now up on her feet, she ducked his blade as he stumbled, seeking to come for her again. Dropping her hands, she pushed off her thighs, drawing in every bit of strength she possessed, and leaning on her left leg, she flung her right at Kosta’s head. Clipping his ear with her fetter, she hurt him. Though made of stone, he merely grunted, soon swinging back at her, blade glinting.

* * *

The main road was choked with fighting.

Soldiers were being pulled from horses, uniforms stripped from dying bodies. The soldiers’ helmets were being used as weapons against them, and even children had joined the battle, some armed with slingshots and stones, others trying their luck with knives. Arras saw more than one child lying injured, perhaps dead.

‘Which way?’ Eadmund demanded, knocked against Fyn as Kosta’s soldiers backed towards them, seeking to escape a showering of rocks. Most didn’t have shields, and they joined with Ravil’s men, who did. There were curious glances as some of the men recognised Arras, and those loyal to Kosta weren’t happy to see him. One man turned on Arras with a fist. Another brandished his blade.

Eadmund swung away, grabbing Ravil. ‘Where’s my wife? Jael Furyck? Which way?’

Ravil pointed to his left, ducking a flying rock.

‘Take the men!’ Arras told him, realising he was going to be penned in. ‘I’ll keep Ravil’s. Push south. I’ll head north and work my way back to Nico!’

A nodding Eadmund was immediately spinning away. ‘Jael!’

‘Jael!’ Fyn echoed beside him, elbowing someone out of the way. The young man didn’t appear armed, he realised, feeling bad about that. ‘Jael Furyck?’ he asked hopefully as the man righted himself.

‘Fighting Kosta! That way! He’s killing her!’

And with one look at Eadmund, Fyn Gallas put down his head and barrelled forward.

* * *

Sucking air down a throat that burned, Jael tried reminding herself that she had many options. Twenty years of fighting had taught her a lot.

If only she could remember any of them.

She swayed out of Kosta’s reach, though not far enough. Feet heavy and fetters cumbersome, she was too slow, and his sword cut her upper arm.

Wincing, she dropped down, and with an agonised grunt, she bent her head, slamming it into his belly. He wore a padded vest, and it was a soft enough landing, she supposed, working quickly to grab the sides of the vest. Hanging from it, she almost tore it off him as she brought him crashing down to the ground.

Eadmund was near. She heard him shouting for people to move.

Fyn too.

Kosta hit the ground with a thud, helmet rolling off his head. Swinging back onto her knees, Jael kicked his sword out of his hand, hearing it skitter across the cobblestones.

Stopped by a boot.

Mouth full of blood, back dripping blood, braids undone, stuck to her face, she swung her left fetter at Kosta’s nose, shattering it, and then her right at his mouth, breaking his teeth. Roaring now, she staggered to her feet, blowing like a horse, swaying backwards, and as Kosta tried to move, gurgling blood, seeking to get back to his feet, she turned to her right.

Taking the sword her husband handed her.

Tears welled in her eyes as she turned back around.

Her husband.

And with a mighty bellow, Jael swung that heavy sword down on Argo Kosta, missing his neck entirely and shattering his ribs. She swayed, tears streaming down her bloody face, sobbing now. And pulling back the sword until it rose past her shoulder, she brought it down across his neck, killing him.

Dropping the sword, she wobbled, and turning, she fell into Eadmund’s arms.

* * *

Shocked to see his horse galloping up the street, Arras called to him. Tito’s ears pricked up, then swivelled around and spying his long-seen owner, he soon headed his way.

After a brief reunion, Arras mounted his loyal stallion, spurring him towards the harbour. He could see scores of soldiers ahead of him, knowing they sought to stop the Hestians’ assault.

He needed help.

‘I have returned to free you!’ he called to the slaves. ‘Come with me and be free! You can go home to your loved ones! Set yourselves free!’ He repeated it in the common tongue and even in Kalmeran, quickly drawing more slaves into the street. Windows were flung open, women and children peering out, seeing the beloved commander who had once been one of them.

He had not forgotten them.

He had returned.

‘Join me!’ he cried. ‘And you will be free!’

* * *

Eadmund made to wrap his arms around his sobbing wife’s back, though she jerked out of his reach, waking herself up.

‘No!’ Wiping a bloody hand over her eyes, trying to see, Jael turned around, revealing a torn dress slashed with blood. ‘I... we have to go. Arras?’ Jael could hear the commander calling the slaves to him.

‘Heading for the harbour. Thorgils is coming through with Nico.’

Jael saw Fyn and didn’t want to cry again, but the relief, the joy was like nothing she’d experienced in her life.

They had come to take her home.

‘We have to go back to the temple! The king!’ she remembered, blinking tears from her eyes. ‘And Alek!’ Thinking quickly, she picked up Kosta’s sword, handing it to Eadmund. ‘Swap?’

Nodding, he unsheathed his own sword, taking the fine blade she now offered, staring at the mess of her in horror. ‘Can you even walk?’

Turning around with a grimace, Jael looked for a horse. ‘I can ride. But we have to hurry!’

* * *

Pushing forward with Nico, Ulf, and the Hestians, Thorgils’ confidence rose.

They’d made it out of the harbour, suffering few losses. Ulf’s men were vicious, Thorgils was pleased to see, which, given that they were Hestians, wasn’t surprising. He’d been struck by a rock and could only hear a ringing in his left ear, so he kept turning, needing to see what was coming for him from every side.

‘Push on!’ Nico shouted, picking up his pace. He could see how few soldiers were out in the streets. He’d expected to have encountered more resistance, though maybe his father was helping with that?

Soon they heard a thundering of boots, and turning the corner, they saw a wall of black and gold tunics coming for them, shields at the ready.

‘To me!’ Thorgils urged, spinning to Ulf. ‘Form up on me! Shield wall! Do not let them past!’

* * *

Kosta’s men had abandoned their horses in the street, some of them dragged off them by brave slaves, so Jael, Eadmund, Fyn, and their men grabbed what they could, and following after Jael, they headed to the temple.

Jael rode a black stallion, which seemed entirely appropriate, Eadmund thought, watching her. His eyes were drawn to the bloody streaks across her dress, wondering what had happened, though Jael wasn’t even looking his way as she rode, one-handed, driving the horse back through surging rows of slaves, who appeared to have gotten the better of Kosta’s soldiers.

Turning around, she motioned to the tower in the distance. ‘There! Follow me!’ And darting down an alley that she hoped was a shortcut, she saw glimpses of a struggling Alek, fearing she’d be too late.

* * *

Alek had been knocked out, left on the ground some time ago.

When he’d come to, he’d tried pulling himself back to his feet, though his legs were trapped. He couldn’t even see them, couldn’t move them. Bodies were tumbling around him, screams cut off, blood flung around like buckets of water. Gasping, his voice just a thin croak, he tried calling for help. The man lying over his legs, he soon realised, was two men. Both dead. Both heavy as stone.

He was bleeding from his head wound, which had run into his mouth, and lying down, he turned to the ground to vomit. The pungent smell of death polluted the warm evening air. ‘Help,’ he could only mouth in despair.

Screaming men couldn’t hear him, though. They didn’t see him.

Then another body fell on his chest.

* * *

Jael leaned left, hoping her horse had quicker reactions than she did, for here the alleys were narrow, lined with barrels, handcarts pushed against houses, rubbish piled high. She almost ran over a pregnant dog, who waddled slowly across her path, teats nearly touching the ground.

Veering right, she heard hooves thumping behind her, loud on the cobblestones. Holding her breath, she emerged back onto the main road, having avoided the throng of slaves just before the entrance to the temple grounds.

She thought of the king, certain she saw a glimpse of his golden helmet.

But only fleetingly.

She had to save Alek.

* * *

Kosta’s men were not backing down.

They were not going to be pushed back either. These men had come to take their island, and they were determined to hold it until their commander arrived with reinforcements.

Nico saw men he knew, many he despised, and feeling motivated for the fight, he shunted his shield forward, stabbing low with his sword, aiming at thighs and knees. He would hobble anyone to stop them getting past.

They needed to be a wall now. To keep the soldiers back.

Beside Thorgils, Ulf went down, speared in the leg.

Dropping his shield, Thorgils reached down and yanked him back. Turning with a thump and a roar, he speared a man in the chest.

There was no time to think, to care, to feel.

He would survive. He would survive and save his queen.

The sudden surge of black and gold soldiers seemed to part like waves, and soon they heard a familiar voice and a whinnying horse. Looking up, Nico saw his father on Tito, coming behind those warriors, sword crashing down like a hammer. And then a cheer loud enough to drown out all other thoughts.

The slaves, Nico realised, seeing flashes of grey.

The slaves were rising.

* * *

Jael steered her horse into the temple grounds, tightening her grip on the reins, bloody hands shaking now. To her surprise, she saw that Inesh Seppo and his logi remained on the platform like colourful statues.

There was no sign of Dessalene.

She saw the king’s soldiers grouped in a huddle, trying to hold off a swarming mass of slaves. They were vastly outnumbered, surrounded, and, by the look of things, out of weapons. Rocks were being lobbed in the air, supported by fists and knives. The screaming, desperate slaves appeared to have gone over the edge, past the point of backing down.

Scanning the darkening temple grounds, Jael turned in the saddle, though there was no sign of the king either. She pushed her stallion to the edge of the melee, raising Eadmund’s sword in the air, desperate to find Alek. She knew he was in trouble, though where, she had no idea.

Behind her, Eadmund ordered his men to fan out, circling the fight.

‘You have won!’ Jael called over the noise, her horse blowing in protest, not wanting to go any further. She kneed him, though, forcing him into the crowd, seeing Hepa. ‘Tell them you’ve won! We can take prisoners! Don’t let another man die!’ He nodded, repeating her words in Siluran as Jael echoed them in the common tongue, her black stallion shuffling left, then right. There was no sign of Alek, but spotting Quint’s conch shell, abandoned and blood-splattered, she jumped down from her horse with a grunt, spinning around to Eadmund. ‘You need to keep your men back. Let Hepa talk them down. Hold the line!’ And gripping Eadmund’s sword, she moved into the crush of bodies, aiming for that shell.

‘Jael!’ Fyn cried, seeing a flying shield aiming for her head. ‘Jael!’

* * *

Calling down to his son from atop Tito, Arras started organising for peace, wanting to stop the bloodletting, though he sensed he was going to have problems. He didn’t blame the slaves, many of whom had been stolen from their homes and families and brought to this strange island. They had been beaten and raped, had their hope and freedom stripped from them, so he didn’t begrudge them their frustration or their desire for revenge.

But now, he needed them to listen. To get behind him and follow him to the temple to complete their victory, to vanquish their enemies and free themselves once and for all.

‘With me!’ he shouted, encouraging Nico and the Hestians to follow his lead. ‘To the temple! We need to find the king!’

Those words pierced the red mist, Arras saw, and heads popping up, more and more pairs of eyes fixed on him.

* * *

Wriggling on the ground, Jael saw a familiar pair of eyes.

She’d turned just in time to avoid the flying shield, though her ankle fetter had caught on something, and legs tangled, she’d crashed down onto a pile of bodies with a soft thump. And there she caught a glimpse of a groggy Alek, trying to escape a heap of blood-soaked bodies. ‘Alek!’ Untangling her legs, Jael crawled towards him, seeing no sign of recognition in his eyes as they closed. She could only see his face, and soon that was buried as well. Forcing herself back to her feet, she saw Fyn and Eadmund barrelling towards her, pulling and pushing bodies out of the way. ‘Help me! Help me get him out!’ And handing Eadmund’s sword back to him, Jael lunged for Alek’s hand as the stack of bodies started shifting away from her.

Dropping the giant sword and sheathing his own, Eadmund plunged in after her.

‘Alek! Hold on!’ Jael urged, hearing Hepa calling for a cease to the fighting. She grabbed Alek’s hand.

Freeing his own hands, Fyn joined Eadmund in pushing the dead bodies off the man, whose eyes fluttered open.

‘Jael?’ Alek’s eyes closed again and he didn’t speak.

Fyn shoved the last man away, and Eadmund pulled Alek out of the crush, throwing him over his shoulder and moving away as Jael hurried to grab Quint’s shell. Knocked into left and right, she lifted the shell to her lips and took a breath, blowing loudly.

She felt the battle almost shudder to a stop around her. ‘You have... won!’ she cried, hearing Hepa echo her in Siluran. ‘You are free!’ And seeing glimpses of the devastated harbour and the slaves united behind Arras, she knew that was finally true.

Again, Alek opened his eyes, trying to peer at her from over Eadmund’s shoulder. And turning to look at him, Jael was sure she saw him smile.

‘What now?’ Fyn asked. He couldn’t stop staring at his queen. She looked different, her tanned face drawn. Older. Though perhaps it was all the blood?

‘The king. We need to find where he’s gone. Leave Alek on the platform,’ she told Eadmund, seeing that the logi were already coming forward, eyes on the fallen foreman. ‘And come with me!’ Then, waking herself up, she ran back to Eadmund, kissing him as she unsheathed his sword. And flashing a bloody smile at her surprised husband, she ran for her horse.

50

‘What is wrong with you, woman?’ Ronin snapped at his wife as they ran down an alley. ‘Are you truly powerless?’

Dessalene was a bloody mess beside him, her thoughts in knots, her magic gone, though she knew that they had lost. The cheers rising into the dusky sky weren’t coming from victorious soldiers. Sweat trickled down her back, but she shivered, fearing they wouldn’t escape the wrath of those liberated slaves.

‘Answer me!’ Ronin snarled, pushing Dessalene closer to the wall. And stopping, he shrugged off his golden armour, not wanting to attract any attention. Bending down, he dropped it on the ground. It had taken a year to make and cost a fortune, though now he would abandon it like an unwanted child.

Thinking of children, he felt the pain of regret, knowing he was leaving Kalina, though she had been taken to the palace on the opposite side of the city, and he couldn’t reach her now. ‘You cannot help us?’

‘I can always help!’ Dessalene spat, anger masking her fear that she was lying to them both. ‘And you? What help have you been? Just get us to the cove, Ronin! We will not die here, you and I. Our plans will not be destroyed by that woman!’

Snatching his wife’s bloody hand, Ronin yanked her down the alley, looking for the symbol etched into the wall. It had been years since his friend Pero had built the tunnels leading towards the sea and the cove, and he hoped he could still find the way in.

Running a hand along the stone panels, hearing horses coming, he desperately sought to find the symbol.

* * *

With Jael it was usually best not to ask questions, Fyn knew as he urged his unfamiliar horse over the scattered remains of a wagon. He smelled smoke and saw a soldier being dragged into a house, its door slamming.

Before him, Jael didn’t even turn her head. He saw those big red slashes across her torn dress, his mind full of more questions, though head down, he simply focused on following her.

Jael saw a flash of flames, hearing her horse whinnying beneath her, sensing that he was unhappy about that, and then she saw a vision of golden armour in an alley.

Ronin Sardis had created the tunnel to the sea.

Glancing around, seeing little to recognise in the fading light, she could only follow her instincts, and swinging right, she aimed her horse down an alley barely big enough to fit through. It wasn’t long, and soon, after a sharp left turn, inhaling a terrible smell, she saw two figures running far ahead. Though, as she stared at them, sharpening her vision, they disappeared from view. ‘Go! Go!’ she bellowed at her confused horse, driving him harder, Fyn on her heels, Eadmund and seven of Bolder’s men tucked up behind them.

All light was draining from the sky, and by the time Jael arrived at where she thought she’d seen the two figures, it was almost dark. Sliding off the horse, she hurried to the wall, needing to find the symbol. ‘I have to see!’

‘What?’ Fyn dropped down beside her, soon joined by Eadmund and his men.

‘A symbol. I need to find a symbol.’ And though there was no light, Jael placed her hands on the wall, heart thumping, back burning. Panic and pain melded together in an explosion of urgency inside her. ‘I...’ Opening her eyes, she shuffled to the left, hand trailing along the stone wall, suddenly stopping as though she’d touched a spark. ‘Here!’ And reaching up, she found indentations. And now, placing both hands on the wall, she pushed, feeling it release, opening like a door. ‘Hurry!’

As he plunged into the darkness after his wife, Eadmund realised, to his surprise, that this was the tunnel – the other side of the tunnel he’d swum into.

‘We have to stop... the king!’ Jael panted. ‘Run!’

* * *

‘Someone’s coming!’ Dessalene hissed, stumbling beside her husband, whose grip on her arm was becoming painful.

‘And what? You want me to stop and fight them on my own? Or you?’ Ronin growled. ‘You can use magic again? We are in no position to fight, Dessalene. I don’t know how many men are coming, do you?’

Dessalene heard footsteps. ‘Too many,’ she decided quickly. ‘Hurry!’

* * *

Running with the fetters made an exhausted Jael incredibly slow, and panting, she urged everyone ahead of her. ‘Go... please...’

Eadmund charged past her into the darkness, and Jael felt a memory stab her, seeing Sunni. The girl had run away from her.

The girl had died.

She tried to pick up her feet, to move more quickly.

‘I see them!’ Eadmund cried from somewhere up ahead.

Jael thought to tell him to stop, but her husband wasn’t Sunni. ‘Go!’ she bellowed instead. ‘Stop them!’

He tried, she could see, drawing on every reserve to move faster, though as Jael rounded the corner, she saw a shadowy movement as a door opened. It welcomed in hints of light, revealing a glimpse of Ronin Sardis. He looked almost regretful, as though he wanted to stay and fight. Then the door was slammed shut, plunging the tunnel back into darkness.

Eadmund ran up to the door on the right.

‘They went that way!’ he called to Jael, who stopped, then turning around, she ran back up the tunnel, remembering where Sunni had died, reliving every moment of what had happened.

And dropping to her knees, she dug around where she’d hidden the key.

Though it was gone.

She searched every crevice, hands raking through gravel, scraping bloody knuckles across stone, though there was no sign of that key. And with a defeated sigh, she slumped forward in a heap, head bowed, knowing that the king and his dreamer wife had gone.

* * *

Arriving at the temple grounds on Tito, Arras saw familiar faces everywhere he turned. The slaves had overcome the soldiers, and those soldiers still standing were being corralled like cattle.

He saw actual cattle penned in by the platform and Bolder’s men on horses and on the ground, trying to halt the ongoing skirmishes.

It was dark, though braziers burned brightly around the platform, lighting up the Tower of Eyshar and the logi, who were following behind Inesh Seppo.

Nudging his horse forward, Arras ordered Thorgils and Nico to help Bolder’s men quell the fighting. From his position, he could see that, like elsewhere, the soldiers had simply been outnumbered.

‘Take prisoners!’ he told his son before turning his horse towards the seer. Approaching the bridge, he stopped and dismounted.

‘You have come!’ Inesh greeted the commander. ‘To liberate your people!’

In the darkness, Arras couldn’t see Inesh’s eyes, though as the seer came closer, he soon saw a flash of white teeth.

The man was smiling. ‘You have come, Arras Sikari. Home.’ And bending forward, he placed his hands on the commander’s arms, blessing him.

* * *

A panting Jael returned to Eadmund, Fyn, and their men. ‘There was a key, but I –’

Eadmund touched her arm, wanting to see her eyes, though her face was only darkness. He’d tried both doors again, urging his men to help, though there was no way through. ‘We can’t worry about him, Jael. We have to get out of here, back to the men. We need to finish this.’

Jael couldn’t smile, though she’d said those words herself. Many times. Instead, she simply nodded, allowing Eadmund to lead her back through the tunnel to their horses, which they rode back to the temple grounds, where she eventually found Arras.

He stared at her with a gaping mouth. ‘You.’

Jael finally found a smile, aching shoulders sagging. ‘Hello, again.’

Arras narrowed his eyes, emotions bubbling inside him. Nico stood nearby watching, safe. The slaves had been talked down, tasked with taking prisoners under the watchful guidance of Inesh Seppo and his logi. Arras had sent the Hestians into the city to keep order, remaining on the platform where Alek was lying.

Turning away, Jael hurried towards him. ‘Alek!’ Dropping to her knees, she took his hand. ‘Are you alive?’ She didn’t need his answer; she could feel it. And squeezing his hand, she bent to his ear. ‘I promised I’d get you home.’

He nodded, tears in his eyes. ‘I always knew you would.’

Jael rocked back on her heels, the pain in her body, dulled since she’d killed Kosta, returning like slashes of lightning. Her eyes started watering. ‘I’m not sure I did.’

Alek tried to laugh, but he coughed instead. ‘I’m no dreamer, Jael Furyck, but I don’t believe that for a moment.’

Hearing a familiar holler, she released Alek’s hand, pushing herself to her feet, desperate to get the dratted fetters off. Turning quickly, she wasn’t in time to avoid being swept into a bear hug by a grinning Thorgils Svanter.

‘My queen! Jael!’

‘No!’ she yelped in agony. ‘Get... off me!’ The tears in her eyes watered with ever greater ferocity as his strong arms squeezed her tightly. ‘Thorgils... Svanter... get the fuck off me!’ And ready to headbutt him, she finally pushed out of his embrace, seeing his look of surprise, even hurt. Though having missed him and his bear hugs, she turned around, showing him what she could feel was the bloody mess of her back. It was dark, though she heard his gasp, and turning back around, she kissed his cheek instead.

‘You’re hurt?’

Jael shook her head, then nodded it. ‘But it doesn’t matter now because you’re here.’ Eadmund came to one side of her and Fyn the other as Arras turned to Nico. ‘You’re here,’ she said, tears blurring her eyes. Leaning on Eadmund’s arm, she reached for his hand. Entwining her fingers with his, tears trailing down her cheeks, she felt him squeeze her gently.

She closed her eyes, ready to sleep.

And then her eyes burst open as she remembered that Edela was missing.

That Ronin Sardis had threatened to kill her brothers.

To kill her daughter.

She remembered Milla Ulfsson’s smile and her dream of Oss.

And looking up at Eadmund, Jael knew there wasn’t a moment to lose.

It was time to go home.

THE END

EPILOGUE

A red-faced Gerald almost ran into his king as he rounded the corner.

It was late, but Axl couldn’t sleep, thoughts of Eren prodding him like nails. He’d headed to the kitchen, knowing that the cook always left out a plate of leftovers. And returning to his chamber, lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard the old man coming and only just pulled up in time. ‘Gerald! Why are you running around at this time of night?’

‘Men, lord. Men are here!’

Axl’s mind immediately went to Oren Storgard.

Heart racing, he turned and ran for his chamber.

Behind him, Gerald inhaled a breath and hurried out a word. ‘Rexon!’

Stopping as though striking a wall, Axl swung around. ‘Rexon is here? Rexon Boas?’

Gerald nodded. ‘In the, the... hall, my lord.’

Axl left him behind, not bothering to dress, still wearing a tunic and trousers, his feet bare. When he arrived in the hall, he saw Rexon and a handful of men standing beside a fire pit. Its flames revealed tired faces and filthy clothes. He saw men he knew. Andalans.

The men who had left with Gant.

‘What’s happened? Why are you here?’

Rexon bobbed his head, then shook it in surprise. ‘Gant’s not here?’

‘Gant? I... thought he was with you.’ Once again, Axl stared at those Andalan men, who he could see, looked deeply troubled. Though not as troubled as a gaunt-looking Rexon. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked again.

‘We... Saala,’ Rexon sighed. ‘It’s been taken. I’ve no idea what that means for my family, but I... they were burning the hall.’

Axl swallowed, thoughts immediately with Amma, regretting that she wasn’t here with him.

‘We sought help from Borsund, from Rosby, but they are no longer loyal. Mutt Storman, he is coming for you, my lord. He is coming here.’

Axl heard Gerald gasp, looking up as the hall doors opened and Helga stepped inside. Crumpled face pinched into a frown, she approached the men.

Axl ignored her, focusing on one thing in particular.

One very important piece of information.

‘But where’s Gant?’ he asked, already knowing that he didn’t want an answer. ‘Where is he?’

Rexon shrugged. ‘I... I don’t know. We were set upon and followed out of Rosby, and Gant thought we should separate. He led half the men into Hallow Wood, hoping to draw our enemies away from Andala.’

‘Hallow Wood?’ Axl’s eyes bulged, and before him, Helga’s mouth fell open.

‘Hallow Wood?’ the dreamer echoed.

‘Yes, though he should’ve been back by now. I... something must have happened.’

Mouth open, Axl sought to find out more, though his words stuck in his throat as Andala’s signal bells started ringing in the harbour.

THE CHARACTERS

In Andala

Axl Furyck, King of Brekka

Erling Venberg, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Eren Venberg, Erling’s sister

Gerald Hogen, Axl’s steward

Ragnar Olveggen, garrison commander

Nils Gropen, head archer

Rexon Boas, former Lord of Saala

Helga Brugen, dreamer

Linas Brugen, her grandson

Aedan Byrn, Axl’s cousin

Astrid Ranveg, healer

Gully, the dog

On S’ala Nis

Jael Furyck, Queen of the Slave Islands

Eadmund Skalleson, King of the Slave Islands

Thorgils Svanter, their best friend

Fyn Gallas, warrior

Mattie Bilso, dreamer

Bolder Oysten, Bone Hammer’s helmsman

Raal Aro, Bone Hammer’s second helmsman

Kolarov Radic, explorer

Ulf Rutgar, Master of the Hestian Fleet

Arras Sikari, Commander of the Waves

Nico Sikari, his son

Kalina Sardis, former Queen of S’ala Nis

Pye, Dessalene’s man servant

Alek Orlan, former slave

Inesh Seppo, seer

Otter, the cat

In Castala

Edela Saeveld, dreamer

Bertel Knutson, elder

Sigfrida ‘Siggy’ Larsen, novice dreamer

Korri Torluffson, Alekkan trader

Zen O’yun, taverner’s grandson

Raymon Vandaal, former King of Iskavall

On Oss

Ayla Adea, dreamer

Isaura Svanter, Thorgils’ wife

Bram Svanter, Thorgils’ uncle

Brynna ‘Biddy’ Halvor, nursemaid

Beorn Rignor, helmsman

Milla Ulfsson, Alekkan girl

In Angard

Gisila Olborn, Axl and Jael’s mother

Amma Furyck, Queen of Brekka

Getta Vandaal, former Queen of Iskavall

Hal Harbak, Axl’s best friend/councillor

Branwyn Byrn, Gisila’s sister

Karsten Dragos, King of Hest

Bayla Dragos, his mother

Berard Dragos, his brother

Herold Valens, King of Helsabor

Freya Valens, his daughter/betrothed to Karsten

Kamilla Venberg, Gisila’s friend

Ebert Venberg, her husband

Osvald, Herold Valens’ healer

Norah, healer

Also mentioned

Tor Leander, scribe

Beryth Ulrik, Lady of Vallsborg

King Ronin Sardis, Kalina’s father

Dessalene Sardis, his wife

Iker Rayas, Siluran warrior

Oren Storgard, King of Iskavall

Steffan Storgard, the king’s brother

Lina Storgard, Queen of Iskavall/dreamer

Thora Storgard, her mother

Mutt Storman, outlaw

Edd Arnsten, Lord of Borsund

Helmer, Borsund’s garrison commander

Henk Layborg, Lord of Rosby

Meena Dragos, Berard’s wife/dreamer

Gant Olborn, Axl’s stepfather

Ratish Feros, physician

Fulk Easby, Andalan warrior

Col, Axl’s junior steward

Torun, Axl’s scout

Gunnhild, dreamer

Helvor, Axl’s cook

PROLOGUE

The man was brutish-looking, like an old tomcat after a lifetime of brawling. His top lip was disfigured by a slashing scar, another more obvious scar running around his jawline so that his beard was little more than patchy stubble – grey like that on his head.

He had a surly, mean look and a flat forehead that sagged towards two yellowish grey eyes, hooded and evasive.

There was a cockiness about him. Though not a tall man, he was physically imposing, his arms straining his tattered tunic as he stood before a woman.

She wore a red cloak long enough to touch the floor, a generous hood framing her heart-shaped face. ‘Mutt Storman,’ she purred seductively, studying him with alert brown eyes. ‘A leader without an army.’

‘Leader?’ Mutt snorted, curling those mangled lips. ‘Leader of what? Beasts? I live in the forest, same as you, woman. I lead no men. Just the way I like it. And you?’ His eyes lingered on hers before dropping to her ample bosom, concealed beneath a flattering red dress. She was mature with a curvaceous figure – an attractive woman indeed.

‘Me? I am someone who sees a far greater destiny for you than anything Hallow Wood has to offer. Scurrying about like a rodent? Is that how you wish to die? Gasping your last breath under a tree? A rotting carcass picked over by every hungry creature who hopes to make a meal out of you?’

Mutt scoffed, running a hand over his hair. He had lice again, and the itching was maddening. Dropping his hand, he scowled at the woman and then past her, taking in the modest cottage. He smelled fish smoking and saw a bowl of apples on her kitchen table. There were enormous bulbs of wild garlic in another bowl, and she had more fish drying outside. He’d spied a vegetable store, a few cows penned in with a goat, hearing a chorus of chickens arguing in the distance.

A fine place indeed.

‘You want what? My help?’

‘I want us to help each other, Mutt, for we have a common enemy and skills I believe will complement each other nicely. Yes, that is what I want, for us to help each other.’

Mutt hadn’t heard his name spoken in some time.

He hadn’t given it to this woman.

And that was what caught his attention most of all. That and the gleam in her pretty brown eyes.

‘You may call me Gunnhild,’ she smiled, and with the sweep of a delicate hand, the dreamer offered him a seat.

PART I

GAME OF SHADOWS

1

Axl raced through the square, issuing orders to his panting steward, who scurried ahead of him, ordering everyone out of the king’s way.

It was dark.

A cloudy night, with only scant glimpses of the moon.

One of Axl’s first orders upon rushing out of the hall had been for braziers to be lit. Woken by the signal bell being hammered, warning that ships were in the harbour, his servants had hurried, sleepy-eyed, into the square.

The square that was now a boiling cauldron of urgency.

Warriors stumbled out of houses, half-dressed, heading to the harbour wall, carrying tunics and swordbelts, asking questions as they went.

Though no one had any answers.

Axl spied the blonde head of his garrison commander, Ragnar Olveggen, who strode towards him with a steady stride, straightening his swordbelt. ‘Who’s here?’ he demanded before turning to a fretting Gerald. ‘Go back to the hall. Secure things there.’ His steward nodded, puffing out ruddy cheeks before shuffling away. ‘And if you find Erling, send him to me!’

Axl had sent a fully-armed Rexon and his men to the harbour wall in response to the signal bell while he’d hurried on his armour. He felt a pebble in his right boot, his belt was loose, and he could barely swallow, let alone think, as he stood blinking impatiently at an unnaturally calm Ragnar.

‘No idea, lord,’ Ragnar shrugged, as though immune from the panic igniting the fort. ‘I’ve sent men to see what’s happening.’ A flicker of flame as a brazier came to life revealed thick blonde eyebrows almost meeting beneath a barely lined brow. He scratched his head, sweeping away a short fringe threaded with silver strands.

Erling approached, tightening his own belt, his face drawn and tense.

‘What’s happening?’ he croaked, reeking of wine as he squinted at the king. ‘Who’s here?’

But Axl was still looking at Ragnar. ‘Meet me on the harbour wall. I’ll head there. Find out what’s happening on your way. I want a full report. And secure the gates!’ Now he turned to Erling, body vibrating; the night air was mild, though he couldn’t stop shaking. ‘Must be those men from Rosby,’ he muttered, annoyed that Helga hadn’t seen them coming. His thoughts flickered briefly to Gant, and Rexon’s revelation that he’d entered Hallow Wood.

He’d entered Hallow Wood some time ago...

He thought of his mother and Amma.

Then shutting everyone out, he aimed at the nearest guard tower, urging his men to hurry. ‘Archers to the walls!’ he shouted, hands clenched by his sides. ‘To the walls!’

* * *

Helga had left the hall in a daze, the king charging away from her, frustrated that his dreamer had nothing to tell him.

Though it was the truth.

The signal bell had been as much of a surprise to her as everyone else. She could see nothing – nothing that wasn’t before her – her eyes now resting on the steep path to the cottage where she’d left Linas and the dog sleeping.

The moon made its escape from the clouds, lighting her way.

She felt odd, reaching for the leaning wattle fence, which wobbled unsteadily. And shivering, she stared at the garden bed to the left of the door. A glint of moonlight revealed something odd – something out of place.

Barrelling up the path now, arms pumping, she heard no sounds coming from inside the cottage, seeing a faint amber glow washing the front porch. Helga aimed for the little bed bordered by stones. She had dug in there only days ago, pulling out weeds and helping herself to sprigs of lavender and hyssop. She had rearranged the stones, creating a more orderly appearance. And now she saw that one had rolled out of place.

In all that was troubling and screaming of urgency, a simple stone shouldn’t have claimed her attention. Perhaps the dog had been digging? Or Linas poking around? It may have even rolled away on its own.

Though being a dreamer, Helga sensed it was something else.

She crept forward, repeatedly glancing over, first one shoulder, then the next. Edela Saeveld’s cottage perched atop a rise in a quiet back road with little traffic, and she saw no one, heard nothing but the buzzing panic in the distance, and that signal bell occasionally sounding, though her heart had become a loud drum in her ears.

Reaching the garden bed, Helga crouched down, wishing she had a lamp. Though reminding herself that a dreamer didn’t need a flame to reveal what lay hidden in the dark, she steadied her breath and closed her eyes, feeling vibrations as though they were coming from the earth itself. Pushing a hand into the soil, she felt around until she found a small, smooth stone. Wrapping cold fingers around it, she brought the stone out, hearing someone shouting in the street.

Rocking back on her heels, Helga lifted the stone, seeing nothing. Though running her finger over its surface, she felt the indentations of a symbol.

* * *

Rexon Boas spun around to Axl as the king emerged from the guard tower, hurrying towards him. ‘Five ships in the harbour!’ he called.

Axl frowned, right hand twitching near his sword hilt. Though lifting it, he grabbed the rampart wall. Looking up, he saw the moon slip behind the clouds. ‘Show me,’ he told Rexon, dropping his eyes back to the dark harbour.

And happy to do so, Rexon turned to Nils Gropen, commander of Andala’s archers, ordering him to send another volley of fire arrows into the harbour.

Arriving behind Axl, a disturbed Erling shook his head. ‘No merchant would slink into a harbour at night. It’s not your sister bringing her Islanders, is it?’

Axl had wondered about that himself; it was worth being sure.

Though even if she had been rescued, Jael wasn’t a fool. These ships were still cloaked in darkness – no sign of a torch on board, no lantern to be seen. And threatened with destruction, no merchant or ally would continue to conceal their identity.

Flaming arrows lit up the dense sky with a flare of gold and orange light, and Axl heard Erling suck in a breath beside him.

He didn’t bother to count the ships.

He simply saw the row of them, like a shield wall of dragur rising from the dark water. He watched the arrows dive into the sea, extinguished, the harbour and docks before him once again plunged into darkness.

Shouts could be heard from the other side of the fort, seeking his attention, though he turned to Nils. ‘Hold fire for now, and let’s see what they do. Erling, ready the catapults.’ Shoulders tightening, Axl glanced past his friend to the large catapult mounted on the corner of the ramparts. He’d installed one on each corner of the fort now, reinforcing the gates, increasing the height of the walls, and adding protective stone battlements. He’d instituted new systems for the making and storage of bows and arrows. He’d enlarged their flint, tinder, and pitch stores, training those archers and warriors responsible for keeping them safe under the watchful eyes of Nils Gropen and Ragnar Olveggen.

And now he would discover if he’d thought of everything.

‘They’re moving forward!’ came a cry, and all heads snapped back to the harbour, seeing glimpses of movement amongst the shadows.

There could be no mistaking it now – this was an enemy.

‘Catapult crews!’ Axl yelled, making his decision. ‘Sink them!’ He cared nothing for these ships. He would not attempt to claim them, their warriors or whatever they were carrying. They sought to attack Andala so they would be destroyed.

Nils came running towards him, closely followed by Ragnar.

‘Warriors in the forest, lord!’ came Ragnar’s urgent cry before he tripped, almost tumbling over. ‘There are... warriors in the forest!’

Axl’s panic heightened. ‘Rexon, take charge here.’ Turning, he grabbed his arm. ‘I want those ships in pieces! I’ll see to the main gates.’

* * *

Digging around on her hands and knees, Helga pulled two more symbol stones from the garden beds at the front of the cottage. And still feeling those odd vibrations in the earth and running up her arms, she continued her search until she had surveyed the entire cottage, retrieving a total of nine stones in all, carrying them in the upturned hem of her apron.

The door opened, and a squinting Linas stood there in his crumpled tunic and bare legs. ‘What are you doing?’ he wondered, cocking his head as Gully shimmied past him, tail swinging from side to side, sniffing a dirty Helga.

Helga pushed past her grandson without a word, pleased that the fire was blazing away. ‘Close that door,’ she grumbled. ‘And get the dog inside.’

Linas did as he was told, shepherding Gully back into the cottage and closing the door. He turned to see his grandmother tipping her collection of dirty stones onto the table. ‘What are they?’ he asked, hurrying to her side.

She flapped him away. ‘Find my herbs. I need the dried ones. Wormwood and mugwort. And add two logs to the fire. You’ll need to be quiet now. You and that beast. The fort is under attack, and I must find a way to help the king.’ Unsheathing her knife, Helga picked up each stone, striking a sharp cut through every symbol.

And when that was done, she tossed them into the fire.

* * *

Gunnhild, the dreamer, frowned.

‘Helga, Helga, Helga,’ she murmured, brown eyes flickering with annoyance.

She sat at a table in her dark cottage, watching the old woman fumbling about as though she had a part to play.

And now that annoyance cleared. ‘Though I remember you. As useful as a potato in a sword fight!’ she laughed. ‘And though you have discovered my stones, what does that mean? What can someone like you do? Hmmm?’

Picking up her newly sharpened knife, she cut through a root, tossing it into the bowl of fire blazing in the centre of her table. The flames sparked blue and green, lighting up her face.

Which beamed with happiness, round cheeks flushed.

‘You belong in the forest, old friend, with the rest of your kind. What a shame you thought to get in my way...’

* * *

Axl reached Ragnar, who led him to the ramparts above the main gates, where his men had torches and braziers burning. It was brighter here, and though the night was a thick cloak, he saw the outline of the forest flanking the path leading to the gates.

He thought of Jael, who was always sharper and quicker than any blade, and here, in the great void of his mind, deprived of any ideas or understanding, he tried to think of what she might do. ‘It’s Mutt Storman,’ he decided, turning to Ragnar, who eyed him with surprise. ‘Or Oren Storgard,’ he added as doubt crept in. ‘Have they made any demands?’ he asked, nodding at one of Gant’s men, and once again, his mind was back in Hallow Wood, wishing Gant was here too.

‘They haven’t made themselves known,’ Ragnar told the king before turning to bark at one of his men. ‘Pick up that rope! Clear the walk, man!’

His voice was deep and authoritative, instilling Axl with confidence as he came to a stop beside him. Leaning forward, he peered at the trees, shifting gently in a light breeze. The noise on the wall dropped as he approached, and Axl could hear the jingle of bridles – only faintly, as though the riders were trying to muffle the sound. They were likely holding the beasts close, waiting, and impatient with it.

He saw something move, once again thinking of the dragur – those gruesome warriors awakened from their graves that had once threatened Andala’s existence. Though they were all dead, weren’t they?

And then a voice.

‘King of Brekka!’

Movement, and horses stamping now. More shadows shifting through the trees.

Axl became aware of Ragnar muttering orders and the archers silently moving to take up their positions. Turning to him, he whispered, watching him nod and slip away. ‘You wish to attack here?’ he called, infusing his voice with anger. ‘The mighty fortress of Andala? You seek to claim the most powerful kingdom in Osterland, yet you don’t have the courage to show your face? Why not save us both the time! You will die here! You and whatever scum you’ve gathered around you to betray their king! You will all die!’

He was furious.

This man? Who sought to mount such a brazen attack yet was so timid that he needed to hide? Axl snorted irritably, and turning to Ragnar, who had finished his preparations, he nodded.

Lifting a hand and sweeping his head left and right, confident that every pair of eyes were fixed on his, Ragnar dropped his arm. The archers snapped their attention to their target, and lifting nocked bows in unison, they fired a whistling volley into the trees.

Axl heard arrows striking wood, spearing the earth, snapping past branches and leaves.

Horses shuffled about.

Casually.

There was no panic, no screams, no scattering of men.

No reply.

Silence.

A puzzled Ragnar moved back to the king’s side, eyeing him.

‘That is the only warning I will give!’ Axl shouted into the eerie silence, becoming confused. ‘Take your men and leave!’ He heard shouts behind him and catapults creaking, eager to know what was happening in the harbour.

‘King of Brekka!’ came that husky male voice again.

Axl had never met Oren Storgard, though he felt sure this wasn’t him; this voice belonged to an older man. He couldn’t remember Mutt Storman, though Gisila had said he’d met him as a child. Mutt had lived in Andala all his life until outlawed by Ranuf for the murder of a young girl, though the voice was unfamiliar.

‘You hide in your fort and take from your people, who suffer and die from your neglect! From your vanity and cruelty! They deserve more than any Furyck can offer! You and your ancestors have plundered this land and its mighty folk for centuries! The Furycks are an enemy to all that is good. To all that the gods have granted us! You and your family are an enemy to all who follow me!’

Axl nodded at Ragnar, who silently ordered the archers to release another volley of arrows, and turning away, he was surprised to see a crouching Gerald shuffling towards him.

‘Your shield, lord,’ the steward panted. ‘I... your shield.’ And unceremoniously shoving the shield at his king and acutely aware of the danger, Gerald crouched lower, eyes darting around, awaiting instruction.

‘Where did Helga go? Where is she?’ Axl hissed, feeling annoyed. Not waiting for Gerald’s reply, he turned to the forest, seeking some clue that his enemy felt threatened. Though, once again, there was barely a flicker of movement.

‘She returned to her cottage,’ Gerald whispered, aware that those on the wall were silent, listening. ‘I haven’t seen her again.’

Axl jerked around in horror. ‘Back to her cottage? What? Well, go and find her, Gerald! I want her here now!’

* * *

Helga ordered Linas to keep his mouth closed, sending him to dress while she perched on the edge of the chair by the fire. Confusion knotted her thoughts, her head creasing into deep troughs as she leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the writhing flames.

Linas had retrieved her bundles of herbs, and now she turned to the small table beside the chair, feeding them into the fire.

Sensing the boy’s desire to ask more questions, she shook her head, returning her attention to the flames, now sparking brightly. They drew her forward, and she saw outlines of the symbols from the stones.

So strange. So dark.

Helga had seen something similar many years ago. Her memories had flickered upon discovering the first stone, knowing that Edela Saeveld hadn’t placed it there. No, these symbols were a dark threat – of that, she was certain.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled the familiar scents of the herbs. They would take her into a trance, and she would –

The knock on the door was followed by a barking Gully rushing towards it, followed by Linas, who immediately sought his grandmother’s guidance about what to do.

Helga could see exactly who was waiting on the other side of that door. ‘Not now!’ she snapped, eyes still closed. ‘I will come when I am ready and not a moment before! You may go and tell your king that I will be of no use to him without answers! The answers I won’t discover until you go away and cease interrupting me!’

On the other side of the door, a surprised Gerald’s lips had parted, though no words emerged as he thought on what to do. He couldn’t return to the king without answers, though if the dreamer was still trying to find them, he had no choice but to let her. So, without a word, he turned back down the dark path and hurried away.

Linas encouraged Gully back to his bed by patting it, pleased when the dog jumped up beside him, immediately laying his head on his knee. And stroking his sleek black coat, the boy’s eyes returned to the still form of his grandmother, staring into the fire.

* * *

There was something wrong. Something off.

Stalking the harbour wall, Rexon couldn’t explain exactly what, not to the impatient Nils, who sought direction for his archers or to Erling, who waited far to his left on the catapult platform, ready to launch more boulders at the ships in the harbour.

Some appeared to be sinking – flashes of moonlight revealed that.

Though there was no sound.

Creaking and groaning sounds, yes, but no noise from any crews. No panic, no reply, no threat of arrows in return. No sense that the ships were moving forward or back – that they were making any decisions at all.

‘Erling, hold!’ Rexon grumbled, sensing that he was running out of patience. ‘You hold for now! Nils, give me another round of fire arrows! We need to see!’

Nils Gropen barely knew the Lord of Saala and wasn’t pleased about the king placing him in charge. And not agreeing with that approach, he muttered unhappily before giving the archers their orders.

Soon, fire arrows were launched from the wall, streaking through the clouds, dropping down over the harbour like shooting stars, their bright flames opening windows of light over the ships.

Which, Rexon could clearly see, were empty.

2

S’ala Nis’ palace was abuzz, the queen’s golden throne room brimming with merry Hestian warriors in blood-splattered armour, drinking from bejewelled goblets and stuffing exotic delicacies into hairy mouths.

Thorgils Svanter looked on, thoroughly drunk. ‘There’ll be nothing left for us if they keep up that pace,’ he grumbled at his cousin.

An equally drunk Fyn barely heard him. His eyes were on Jael, still not believing it was real – that they had finally found her. That she was safe and well and with them.

She hadn’t changed out of her grey slave dress, which was torn and filthy, stained with bloody stripes. Though with her messy braids and her bruised and battered face, she looked just as he always remembered her.

Victorious.

‘The kitchen seems busy enough,’ Fyn laughed, turning back to his cousin. ‘I don’t think you’ve anything to worry about.’ And just as he said it, women in grey dresses similar to Jael’s shuffled into the throne room laden with trays of wine and food.

Thorgils’ bleary eyes lit up. ‘Now that looks promising!’ he declared, seeing a platter of little cakes dotted with seeds. He saw the honey glaze glistening invitingly and licked his lips.

Fyn yawned. ‘I’d rather go to bed.’

Which provoked a slap on the back from Thorgils. ‘Please do! All the more for me!’

‘And those Hestians,’ Fyn warned with a wink, pointing Thorgils to where some of Ulf Rutgar’s men were already making a beeline for the new arrivals. ‘You’d better be quick.’

And without a word, Thorgils staggered off at a sloppy gallop, leaving Fyn to head in the opposite direction – after Jael. He’d barely spoken to her since the fighting had ceased. They’d had so much to do, for the slaves had taken some convincing that their victory was complete, and despite the hour, Fyn felt certain there were still skirmishes somewhere on the isle. Though for now, he was happy to leave all thoughts of S’ala Nis to Arras Sikari, for the Commander of the Waves was now in charge.

Jael turned as he approached, and Fyn saw a grimace of pain that she was quick to mask.

‘Surprised you’re still awake,’ she grinned. ‘You don’t usually last this long.’

He frowned at her. ‘Well, I –’

‘You can’t deny it, Fyn Gallas. You like your sleep as much as Thorgils likes his food.’

Fyn was bashful, hair dropping over his eyes. ‘I suppose I do.’

Jael took his arm, steering him through the doors, out onto the porch and down a gravel path into an intensely perfumed garden that soon closed around them. ‘It’s too noisy in there,’ she decided, exhaling loudly. ‘And I’m ready for my own bed. We’ve an early start tomorrow.’ Dropping his arm, she turned to him. ‘I’m worried about the children.’

‘Your children?’

For a moment, Jael just stared, lips parted, so tired that she couldn’t even blink. She wanted to warn Fyn about Milla Ulfsson, to reveal her concerns about the girl. He wouldn’t take it well, and she couldn’t blame him for that, though she would never keep things from him. ‘When I was taken in Tuura, and Milla and I –’ Seeing a flash of colour, Jael spun away from Fyn, darting off the path and plunging into a flowering bush, where she seized a handful of tunic.

Dragging a little man out of the leaves, a breathless Jael peered at him. ‘You are spying on me?’ Looking him up and down, she could see that his bright blue tunic was embellished with silver thread, made of fine linen. He stood as though lop-sided, his face pinched and scowling. His hairless cheeks flushed an intense pink as he glared imperiously up at her.

‘You must release me! Release me immediately!’ Pye squawked, wriggling like a venomous snake.

Though Jael held on tighter, feeling a weakness in her wrist from so many weeks of wearing the fetters. They were gone now, and there was relief in that, though their legacy remained and would for some time yet. ‘I’ll release you when you tell me why you were spying on me.’ Blinking, she suddenly let go. ‘You stopped the whip, when Kosta...’

Stumbling away from the Queen of the Slave Islands, Pye straightened his tunic and adjusted his belt, lifting his head now. ‘I... yes. The dreamer, she –’

‘Dessalene? You work for Dessalene?’

Pye caught hold of his tongue, and pressing thin lips together, he shook his head.

Sensing he was about to flee, Jael grabbed his wrist. ‘You work for the dreamer, yet she left you behind? So you are nothing to her then? Just a servant?’

Spluttering in horror, Pye yanked his arm out of Jael’s grip. ‘A servant?’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘But I am no servant!’ Then, remembering who he was talking to and realising that his fate was now in Jael Furyck’s hands, he dropped his crooked shoulders, adding: ‘My lady.’

‘Not a servant then, but a helper?’ Jael mused. ‘You helped her, but she abandoned you?’

‘She –’ Pye sought to argue, though he wasn’t a liar, and the queen had presented him with the truth. ‘She left because of the plague.’

Fyn’s bleary eyes bulged. ‘Plague?’

But Jael turned to him with a reassuring smile. ‘Ratish said someone’s been spreading rumours, causing trouble. There’s sickness about but he sees no signs of a plague.’

Fyn didn’t look reassured. ‘Ratish?’

‘The physician. He told me when he stitched me up. There’s nothing to worry about,’ she added, turning back to the little man. ‘What is your name?’

Pye hesitated.

‘You don’t have a name?’ Jael smiled. ‘Nothing your mistress called you?’

‘Pye. My name is Pye, and I, I wasn’t spying on you. No! I... I came to find out what had happened to the Queen Kalina. I wanted to know if she still lived.’

‘How thoughtful. A dedicated man indeed. And yes, as far as I’m aware, she’s very much alive.’

Pye looked relieved, and now he edged backwards, seeking an escape.

Though Jael stepped towards him. ‘The dreamer’s helper,’ she murmured, her smile turning cat-like. ‘Fyn, why don’t you escort Pye back to his chamber so he can pack, for when the sun comes up, he and I will be going on a long journey together.’

* * *

Helga stared at the symbols in the fire, now bleeding before her, and then she was back in Tuura, a novice dreamer, short and pimply, awkward, and self-conscious about everything.

She had been desperate to learn about symbols and magic, though she’d always struggled to believe in her own power, despite any praise she received. After leaving Tuura, she had rarely worked with magic. She had used symbols as protection to keep her family safe, though after her daughter had died, she’d had less faith in everything.

Even her dreams.

But with the fort under attack and needing to help the king, she had to put her doubts aside. Her only flesh and blood was sitting watching her, his safety dependent on her ability to be of some use again.

Looking closer now, trying to uncover what was lurking in the darkness, Helga’s eyes burst open, seeing a hooked symbol burning amongst the flames.

* * *

Gerald Hogen was sixty-three years old. His vision had deteriorated, the discomfort in his feet and back had intensified, and he struggled to move quickly, so by the time he had lumbered back to the ramparts to find the king, he couldn’t speak.

Standing before him, Axl tapped an impatient toe, ready to shake some information out of the man, which Gerald sensed, and he quickly blurted out: ‘The dreamer... she’s seeking... answers!’

Axl scratched his cheek, sensing Ragnar’s impatience in the distance. ‘Answers?’ He was furious that Helga didn’t already possess answers, for answers were needed now. Though seeing that his steward had nothing else to say, he sent him back to the hall, returning to Ragnar. ‘What is it?’

‘They’re leaving!’ Ragnar called. ‘Whoever was in the forest is leaving, lord!’

Axl urged Ragnar to quieten his men, desperate to hear confirmation of that himself. Any noise was barely perceptible, though he did see shadows moving amongst the trees.

He frowned at Ragnar in confusion.

Had his enemy really heeded his words? Were they simply going to pack up and leave? And what about those ships in the harbour?

He felt vibrations in the rampart walk, turning to see Rexon running towards him. And just the fact that Rexon had come himself and not someone in his place told Axl that something was wrong.

‘They’re... not there!’ Rexon shouted, pushing past warriors who tried to turn out of the lord’s path.

Axl headed towards him. ‘What?’

‘The ships! There are no crews! No one’s aboard!’

Staggering to a stop, Axl shook his head. ‘But... there were men! I saw men moving!’ Though he immediately doubted himself, wondering if that was true. What had he seen in those flashes of firelight? Shadows?

Rexon pulled up before him, needing ale; his throat was painfully dry. ‘I did, too, though we struck them with catapults and arrows. Some of the ships are sinking, but there’s no movement. No men to be seen. No one jumped overboard that I saw. No splashes. Nothing.’

Axl tried to make sense of things. He turned back to the forest, remembering that taunting old voice. ‘They want to play games,’ he mused. ‘Making us look in the forest, in the harbour. And then?’

‘Then they carry out their plan,’ Rexon surmised. ‘Some way to get inside while we’re looking in another direction.’

A confused Axl tugged on his beard. ‘We stay where we are. Stay on the walls and wait for dawn. We’ll see clearly then.’

Rexon thought that a sensible approach, and nodding, he turned to leave.

‘Ensure the men remain alert,’ Axl told him, still unsettled. ‘And send Erling for more. I want everyone on the walls. Every weapon too. Eyes on the harbour, eyes on the forest. No one sleeps tonight.’ He patted Rexon on the shoulder. ‘I’ll go down to the square, ensure we’re ready down there too.’

‘It makes no sense. It feels like a game.’

Axl agreed, though he wouldn’t play it. Let them defeat themselves, he thought angrily. Let them remain outside his walls, playing their game.

They would not get in. He would see to that.

* * *

Eadmund entered a fragrant garden in search of his wife, just drunk enough to be content.

Happy.

He felt so happy.

Turning around, Jael looked pleased to see him. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Went to check on Bolder. He refuses to leave the ship, so I took your physician to see him.’

Eadmund had explained about his helmsman friend, Bolder, who had been struck by an arrow as they’d entered S’ala Nis’ harbour. ‘And what did Ratish say?’

Eadmund’s smile faltered. He held a goblet of wine, though looking down, he realised he didn’t want any more. Turning around, he left it on a stone bench. ‘Not much, though what he did say wasn’t good. Apparently, the arrow damaged a few important things that...’ He trailed off, feeling morose, and not wanting to feel morose around his wife, he sought to brighten his mood, reaching for her arms.

But Jael backed away, remembering Thorgils squeezing her until blood coursed down her back. ‘I’m sorry. It doesn’t sound good.’

‘We’ll see how things are in the morning. Mattie’s staying with him.’

Jael nodded, having heard all about Mattie too.

‘And you? How about some sleep, or...?’ Eadmund’s smile returned as he touched her swollen cheek.

‘I’ve missed that smile,’ Jael murmured, kissing him, her cut lips brushing his bristly moustache, a shiver of desire rippling through her aching body. She stroked his shaven scalp. ‘Where did your hair go?’

He laughed. ‘I was infested.’

‘With lice?’

‘Mmmm.’

Jael eyed him. ‘And they’re all gone?’

‘All gone. Along with my hair.’

‘Which will grow back.’ She thought of Sigmund then, remembering her dream of Oss with Eadmund and Ayla, and her face changed.

‘What is it?’

Jael shook her head. ‘Just thinking about the children. And home. We have to get back, though I need to find Ronin Sardis and his dreamer. I need to –’ She sighed heavily, as though her body had suddenly become aware of all it had been through. Every limb was heavier, every wound aching acutely. She stared at her husband with a pained expression now. A shadow dropped over him, and then he was gone, and she saw her father sitting before the pyres again. He was in Andala, she realised, in front of the King’s Hall.

Gripping Eadmund’s hand, she closed her eyes, shaking her head to keep him quiet; he had questions she couldn’t answer now.

She walked to the pyres, inhaling the intense smoke. The mournful howl of a woman could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the choked sobs of those who watched in disbelief.

Her father rose, coming forward to meet her, and there they stood on opposite sides of the smoking pyres. Jael wanted to call for water, for someone to extinguish the flames; they were scalding her legs. Sweat streamed down her face as though she lay amongst the shrouded bodies, soon to be ash.

‘Hurry.’

The weeping cries reached a loud crescendo, and Jael barely heard her father. She leaned forward again.

‘Hurry. You must hurry home.’

She reached out, wanting to know more, but he was gone and she stumbled, dropping her head, looking down to see Axl’s face staring up at her.

* * *

‘We must go,’ Helga told the boy. He peered at her with those enormous dark-brown eyes, so much like his mother’s. Blinking at him, she felt worried – something so unfamiliar that she was jolted by surprise. ‘I must find the king.’

‘Come on, Gully,’ Linas said pointlessly, for the dog was already waiting at the door, tail sweeping the doormat.

Glancing over her shoulder, Helga peered at the flames, still seeing flashes of that strange hooked symbol. There was something familiar about it, though despite her best efforts, she couldn’t drag any clues from the shadows.

Tucking her bundle of herbs under one arm, she used the other to shoo Linas to the door. ‘Stay close and keep quiet,’ she ordered. ‘I will take you to the hall, and then I’ll go and find the king.’ Grabbing the door handle, she felt a spark, hot and painful, on her palm. Flinging her hand away, she looked down at it in surprise.

‘What happened?’ Linas wanted to know, turning from the closed door to his muttering grandmother.

She ignored him, and still feeling that sting on her palm, she grabbed the handle again. This time, she felt nothing, though it wouldn’t turn. She jiggled it, trying to move it back and forth, but it didn’t budge.

Linas wrinkled his nose. ‘Is it stuck? I can try!’

Helga shook her head. ‘It’s not stuck. No.’ Glancing around, she was reminded that there was no back door, no other exit. Though there was a window, and aiming for that, she warned Linas to stay put.

‘Are we going to climb out the window? I could!’

But touching one of the shutters, Helga felt that same spark. And soon, just like the door, she realised that the shutter wouldn’t open. She touched the wall, experiencing another stinging pain in her hand. ‘Step away from that door!’ she snapped. ‘Come! Bring the dog to the fire. You stay there. Both of you.’

‘Are we trapped?’ Linas whispered, eyes peeling open even wider. ‘Is someone trapping us?’

‘Yes.’ It would have been easy to pretend, though she wouldn’t lie to the boy. ‘Yes, it appears so.’

‘Why?’ Linas asked, making himself at home in Edela’s fur-lined chair, wrapping one arm around Gully, who sat obediently beside it.

‘Someone wants me out of the way,’ Helga breathed as the clouds in her head finally parted. ‘Someone who wants to hurt the king.’

* * *

‘What did you see?’ Eadmund wondered, watching his wife twist away from him, her tanned face noticeably paling. ‘Something bad?’

The vision had vanished, though the crackling pyres and her father’s pleading voice still echoed in Jael’s ears. She remembered Axl’s ghostly face, absent any life. His eyes had been fixed open, staring up at her in horror, as though his death had been a shock. A terrible surprise.

Memories of their last time together flooded her mind. She started shivering and couldn’t stop, losing her focus, thoughts mashing together, and then a squeeze of her hand and she looked at her husband, smelling jasmine, and then him. ‘Axl is in danger, I... I want to go to Andala. I need to go home.’

Eadmund saw fear in her eyes, and he remembered Raymon. ‘Of course. Soon as the sun’s up, we’ll head for Andala.’

Jael wanted to leave now, though no one would move as fast as she wanted them to, mostly drunk or asleep or lost somewhere on the island. Dawn would be here soon enough, and in the meantime?

Eadmund squeezed her hand again. ‘You need sleep. I’ll find us a chamber, but Jael, there’s something I have to tell you. Something you need to know.’

She stared at him in surprise, and then she felt it herself. ‘Raymon!’

3

In the depths of the night, Edela woke with a groan.

They were sleeping on board Sea Queen, which hadn’t been especially comfortable, though the familiarity of the ship and its crew was at least reassuring. Still, Edela was struggling to relax, conscious that Raymon Vandaal was in a bad way. His shoulder had been cut open – a vicious blow – and he had drifted in and out of consciousness.

Feeling worried, she had sent Zen for the physician.

Eager to be of service, Tarkel had come at once, and after cleaning and stitching the wound, he had smeared it with a strong-smelling paste of animal fat, ale, and honey. And wrapping it securely, he’d plied Raymon with a tincture to help the pain.

Despite that, Raymon had remained restless and in some discomfort, which had kept Edela from remaining asleep for long.

Looking up, she saw an exhausted Bertel, who appeared gaunt as he hung over her, offering a hand. For once, she took it, and soon she was inhaling the warm air on her way to the stern, where Raymon lay beside a sleeping Siggy.

‘She only just fell asleep,’ Bertel murmured. ‘I thought it best to let her.’ He saw Edela studying Raymon with a furrowed brow. ‘What do you think?’

Edela sighed. ‘I think we are too old for this, Bertel Knutson. All this danger? Far too old.’

He cocked his head, eyeing her with a bemused smile. ‘Yet I have never seen anyone as powerful as you, Edela. Not on a battlefield, not in the temple. You may have lived for many years, though I would suggest you are more powerful than you have ever been. Me? Much less so.’

She smiled now. ‘We do what we can with what we have. And yes, I can’t deny that I’ve been trying to get better.’

Bertel laughed. ‘Better? Yes, I think you are better.’

Edela eased herself down to the deck, touching Raymon’s cold cheek. He looked pale, she thought, though the night was warm. He responded to her touch with a flutter of eyelashes, and Edela thought of Axl. He did look more and more like Axl, she saw, like his father, and she felt the tug on her heartstrings that had become so familiar and painful.

That desire to be home.

The deep, aching longing to hold her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. To be fussed over by her daughters. To sit in her chair and warm herself by the fire in the familiar comfort of her cottage.

Blinking, she focused again on those busy eyelashes. ‘Raymon?’

Bertel dropped down beside her, bumping into Siggy, who rose with a shout, waking up Zen, who lay nearby.

‘What? What happened?’ Siggy burbled. ‘I’m here!’

‘Go back to sleep,’ Bertel muttered, watching Edela place her hand on Raymon’s head. ‘How is he?’

‘Well, perhaps we ask him ourselves? Raymon? Can you hear me?’ Edela asked, shuffling closer, back throbbing. She had fallen to the deck after her spell had ended and felt bone sore. He didn’t answer, and she frowned. ‘Raymon?’

Those fluttering eyelashes parted to reveal a pair of bloodshot eyes. Strained and tired, too, Edela thought, nudging Bertel, who, as usual, was far too close.

Raymon peered at her in confusion. She watched thoughts coming and going, his frown deepening and then relaxing. Shoulders tightening, he appeared to want to sit up before his head dropped back to the deck and his eyes closed.

A more awake Siggy stood up, moving around to Raymon’s right.

Zen came over to see what was happening, soon joined by Korri. Around them hung a heavy silence, occasionally interrupted by the gentle slap of water or a ship butting a pier. The familiar creaks and groans they had all become used to merely faded into the background.

‘He’s not hot,’ Edela told her gathered audience, smiling at Korri. ‘Though that shoulder?’ Raymon had been stripped to the waist, covered in a fur, and she had found older wounds on him – one of which smelled bad – as well as his sore tooth. He can’t have been feeling good at all. ‘Zen, you can go for the physician again when the sun rises, but for now, we must try and get some more sleep.’

Zen nodded, eyeing Siggy, who beamed at him.

It had felt strange when they’d parted from Korri and his crew, Zen, the ships and the animals. And now, back together with Bertel and Edela, everything felt right.

Especially with those Silurans finally dead.

She glanced over her shoulder, seeing the prone figure of the former King of Iskavall, wondering what they were going to do with him now.

* * *

Dense clouds captured the moon and stars, depriving the Andalans of seeing without braziers, torches, and fire arrows. Though what they revealed only added to the confusion.

Their enemies, who had appeared in the harbour and the forest, had vanished.

Axl had come off the ramparts into the square, where he’d found Gerald, tasking him with organising food and ale. It would be a long night, for no one would sleep while an enemy prowled outside. He thought of Helga, confused as to why she had disappeared, and still not seeing her, he called to Gerald. ‘Where is the dreamer?’ But his steward only shrugged at him before turning away to answer a question from one of the cook’s helpers.

Axl stood in a square of braziers that crackled loudly, orange flames blazing. Looking up, he hoped to see a bright web of stars, though he saw only clouds. Helping himself to a cup of ale, he gulped it down, barely present.

What was going on?

Was Helga working against him? Helping his enemy?

Spying a familiar face, he strode forward. ‘Torun!’

A surprised Torun turned to face his king with a bobbing head. ‘My lord?’

Axl glanced over his shoulder, though it was impossible to see anything in the glare of those braziers except bright splashes of light and dark shadows swimming about. ‘Have you seen either of those Rosby men? The ones from the docks?’

Torun shook his head. ‘Not tonight. No, lord.’ He frowned. ‘Do you think this is something they’ve been planning? Hardar and Emmet?’

Axl shrugged. ‘Likely whoever’s out there are their allies. Go and find Ragnar. Tell him I said to give you ten men, then go and find those two spies and bring them to me. Do it now.’

A nodding Torun quickly spun on his heels, heading to a guard tower. Watching him go, Axl’s breath caught in his throat. Intense heat rushed up his chest, flushing his neck and then his face. Familiar feelings of panic vibrated in his arms, heart racing, but clenching his fists, he sought to push it down, to drive it back.

Not now.

He couldn’t lose hold of himself now.

* * *

Gunnhild had a tight hold on Helga, a tight hold on her spell.

The cottage was locked. Secure. The king busy, his men occupied.

And now she could finish the hapless old woman and her rat boy.

Since making her home in Hallow Wood, the dreamer had taken coins from villagers and lords, though killing Helga Brugen was something she would do for pleasure alone.

For this was personal.

* * *

Sitting by the fire, stroking the dog, Linas looked calmer than Helga felt.

She stomped around the tiny cottage, struggling to draw answers from her muddled thoughts. She had tried three symbols already, seeking to break whatever spell had imprisoned them. Whoever had cast it sought to prevent her from helping Axl Furyck – a talented dreamer, for she couldn’t break through that magic.

‘What about the axe?’ Linas suggested, desperate to be useful. ‘I could do it! I could break the door!’

Ready to scoff at his suggestion, Helga instead cocked her head. The axe was light and short, easy for a boy to wield, so she nodded. ‘Try it then, but be careful. Don’t rush.’

Linas immediately rushed to the door, where the axe leaned against the wall, ready to be carried outside to chop wood. He had happily taken on that chore since they’d arrived. He loved weapons of every kind, and as he chopped, he imagined himself as a mighty warrior hacking down his enemies – one of the king’s men.

Now he scooped up that axe, wrapping both hands around its smooth, well-worn haft. And carefully checking that Gully was far away and that his grandmother was watching, he swung back slowly, releasing the axe with a shout. The blade bounced off the wooden door, Linas’ hands trembling so violently that he could no longer hold it.

Helga shouted a warning, and stumbling forward, she shoved him out of the way, watching the axe strike the floor where Linas had been standing.

‘Wh-wh-what happened?’ Linas stammered, eyes on the door. ‘Wh-what happened?’

Helga laughed out loud, surprising her grandson. ‘Someone is playing a devious game!’ She swung around, shaking with rage, though quickly tensing her body, she sought to get a hold of herself.

She was a dreamer in a dreamer’s cottage.

There had to be something she could use.

Some way to set them free.

* * *

There were benefits to being free, Jael had discovered, appreciating many in the hours since she had headbutted Dessalene Sardis and made her escape, but the one that had made the greatest impression on her was comfort.

To be comfortable.

Slavery was discomfort from the first crack of dawn, through the night and into the bright, harsh sunlight again. With fetters tearing the skin on her wrists and ankles, a rough homespun dress scratching her wounds, sleeping on the floor, eating vomit-inducing food and drinking muddy water...

All of it had left her crawling in her own skin, going insane.

But here, in this bed, lying on her side, facing her husband, Jael remembered comfort. The mattress was soft, supportive, and welcoming. It cradled her aching body like a mother gently holding her newborn. She felt a loosening of tension, her limbs releasing and lengthening. Her breathing slowed, tight shoulders sinking into the mattress, and if everything hadn’t hurt so much – in her body and her heart – she would’ve almost felt happy.

‘I still don’t understand,’ she said. The shock of Raymon’s death had shaken her. That she wouldn’t have known something like that? The death of her own brother? ‘In a fire? And Getta? What of Getta?’

‘I don’t know. That’s all I heard. Ollsvik’s hall burned down with Raymon inside. He didn’t escape.’

‘And this new king?’

A frowning Eadmund struggled to recall anything from his time in Iskavall. ‘Storen? Storgan?’ He didn’t know for certain. ‘Storgard. Someone Storgard.’

Jael knew the name – one of the many ambitious families who’d sought to unseat Iskavall’s king. And by the sound of things, they finally had.

Raymon was dead, she feared that Axl was soon to be dead, Ronin Sardis was preparing to exterminate her entire family, and she was too far away to help any of them.

‘We’ll head to Andala as fast as we can,’ Eadmund assured her.

‘You should go to Oss.’

Eadmund shook his head, taking her hand. ‘I won’t leave you again.’

Jael frowned. ‘I have to go to Andala, but we need to know that the children are safe.’

‘Of course, so Thorgils will go. He’s desperate to get back to Isaura anyway. I trust him to look after the children, just like I trust Bram and Biddy and Ayla. They won’t let anything happen to them.’

A yawning Jael said no more. A towering wave of tiredness was rolling towards her, the mattress working to ease her tension, to soothe her pain, and soon she felt her heavy eyelids closing, finally lost to her exhaustion.

* * *

Axl returned to the harbour wall, scratching his head, desperate for dawn to reveal more. He’d started yawning, working hard to conceal it, for no one wanted to be led by a man ready for his bed. And lead he had to. So, pushing back his shoulders and blinking open grainy eyes, he found Erling, who wasn’t concealing his yawning at all.

‘What do you think?’ Erling asked with a sleepy sigh. ‘Is it a trick? Dreamers?’ And then, looking around, he frowned. ‘And where’s your dreamer? She certainly acted as though she had all the answers, so where is she now?’

Axl didn’t want to even think about Helga, who hadn’t been seen since she’d stomped out of the hall – and that was hours ago. ‘We’ll know where we stand come dawn, dreamer or not.’

Running a hand over his short hair, Erling’s attention drifted back to the harbour, wondering if he saw hints of the wrecked ships rising out of the sea. Though in the next moment, any certainty was gone. ‘Fog,’ he noted with a frown.

Axl could see the fog coming in, knowing it would make everything more challenging, and suppressing a scream, he left his friend behind, heading for Rexon.

Rexon turned as the king approached. ‘Nothing to see, nothing to hear,’ he reported, feeling as frustrated as Axl looked.

‘Where are they?’

‘Who?’ Rexon sighed. ‘Our invisible enemies?’ He was shattered after his journey from Saala, desperate for a long sleep, though he needed to keep Andala and Axl safe more, for Saala stood no chance if Brekka’s capital fell.

Puffing out a breath, he turned away, hands resting on the wall. ‘It makes no sense, unless it’s some sort of distraction. Though to achieve what? There’s no one in the forest, no one in the harbour. What are they hoping to distract us from?’

Axl didn’t know. ‘Keep alert. I doubt they’ve finished their games yet. To come all this way and simply go home? What would that achieve?’ And with that, he turned away, determined to go and get answers from his missing dreamer.

* * *

A desperate Helga hunted around Edela’s cottage, peering into every pot and jar, rustling through her shelves, shooing away a nest of cockroaches, and even checking under her bed. Until, finally, she found what she was looking for in the chest at the end of Edela’s little bed: saksum.

The mere discovery of that powder opened Helga’s eyes, for saksum was only used in dark magic. So, if Edela Saeveld possessed it, what did that say about her?

Ordering Linas back to his bed, she sprinkled a little of the dark powder into a wooden bowl, bringing it to the table. Adding splashes of water, she made a paste, inhaling the bitter scent until her eyes began watering, soon streaming down her flushed cheeks.

Taking the bowl to the door, she painted a symbol on her forehead, whispering a protective chant – one of the few she knew by heart. She had thought to counter the symbol with one of her own, though she quickly saw that she had to enter the darkness herself. Which gave her pause, for Helga knew little of dark magic, if any.

Though dipping two fingers into the black paste, she painted symbols on the door and around the walls, seeing the paste steaming as it touched the wood, as though it was hot.

Helga herself felt strangely cold, as though lumps of ice were sliding down her back. She shuddered explosively, sharp pains shooting up her legs.

‘What’s wrong?’ Linas called, wrinkling his nose – the smell of the paste made him feel sick. ‘Grandmother!’

She ignored him, not needing the distraction. She hoped the symbol would draw out her enemy, forcing her to reveal herself, though hearing the high-pitched tone of fear in her grandson’s voice, Helga glanced back at him.

‘Out there!’ Linas cried, pointing at the window. ‘Something’s on fire!’

Now Helga wheeled around, the dark symbol running down her forehead, eyes on the fire before the furry chair. She lifted them higher to the shutters barring the window, where she saw a flicker of light. And smoke.

She could smell smoke.

* * *

Axl hurried down the familiar paths to his grandmother’s house, wishing he was going to retrieve Edela rather than the rude and surly Helga, who had done nothing but snort and sniff at him since she’d arrived.

What help had she offered?

What insight was she providing now?

His mother had been right after all – he shouldn’t have trusted the woman.

That she had just turned up and offered to help? For a reason, he thought angrily. Her own reasons. And what were they?

He swung around the corner, muttering to himself, seeing more fog, inhaling an intense wave of smoke.

* * *

Watching the king leave his walls behind, Gunnhild’s eyebrows rose, though seated at her table, she remained calm.

She brought her second bowl towards her now, and chanting in whispers, she blew a breath on the scatterings of ash, bones, and root, watching them spark alight again as though roused from a deep sleep.

She could see figures now – silhouettes of warriors – and using her fingers, she started moving them around.

* * *

Ragnar Olveggen had remained alert since those ships had first been spotted in the harbour, searching for some clue, an answer to what was happening. He’d bitten his short nails until a couple bled, yet he’d kept biting them, unable to stop.

Those men, concealed in the forest, had slipped away from sight.

Their leader had bellowed his threats and then vanished.

He scratched his head, not enjoying the game.

Striding down the walk, over the main gates, aiming west, he tried to shut out the worried murmurs of his men as he passed, listening instead for signs of movement from the forest. He heard nothing but the gasping barks of a fox and some distant hooting of an owl. He saw the fog creeping around thick-trunked trees like misty snakes. And fiddling with his new arm guard in frustration, he hurried on, lifting his eyes to the clouds, which appeared to be sinking over the fort as though at any moment, despite it being summer, Thorlaf, God of Winter, would send a dump of snow to cover them all.

And then a familiar noise echoed amongst the trees – a creaking, snapping sound – and Ragnar was quickly running, calling to his men. ‘Catapults!’

* * *

Axl heard the shout, soon followed by more, and he turned around, all thoughts of the dreamer and the smoke swept from his mind.

4

‘Grandmother!’ Linas shouted, shuffling off the bed and rushing to a barking Gully.

Helga tore the sheet off her grandson’s mattress, and hurrying back to the kitchen, she shoved it into the bucket of water. Lifting it out, she squeezed it, throwing it at her grandson. ‘Cover yourself! Stay low and cover yourself. Over here!’

Linas hurried forward, dropping to the floor and obediently draping the wet sheet over his head. Gully started barking at the window, annoying Helga, who was trying to think.

She drew her knife and creaked down to the floor, dipping her blade into the fire before hurriedly marking a row of symbols in an exposed floorboard. Pulling back, she lifted her head and chanted loudly, though not loudly enough to be heard over the barking Gully, who did not stop.

Helga closed her eyes, attempting to shut him out, desperately seeking a way to escape the cottage, though waiting in the darkness, she found only fear – hers, Linas’, and Gully’s.

Struggling back to her feet, she spluttered and coughed, hearing Linas doing the same. Shutters barred the window, and the door wouldn’t budge. She saw smoke pouring through gaps around the window and under the door. ‘Keep that over your head!’ she growled before coughing some more.

Nothing was working.

Nothing she’d tried was working!

She suddenly felt old and useless, unable to keep Linas safe. And the king, she remembered. She had promised to keep him safe too.

A section of the ceiling collapsed on top of Linas’ bed in a burning heap, and now Helga screamed, rushing to her grandson, one eye on him, one on the thatch, which she could see smoking above her. ‘Help!’ she cried as Gully ran to the door, still barking. ‘Someone help!’

* * *

Axl had turned away, aiming for the square, when he heard barking.

He inhaled the smoke.

He heard screams coming from up high, from all around, as the fog pushed down the street towards him.

Everything told him to keep going to the square. His men needed guidance. Something was happening, and he needed to be there, though he remembered the missing dreamer, and Gully, who would be with Linas.

And now Axl turned back around, running towards Edela’s cottage.

* * *

Gunnhild snarled, furious at the big-eyed boy and his big-mouthed dog. Furious at herself for not anticipating the amount of trouble they would cause.

Though, she reminded herself, even if Axl Furyck and his entire army came running, there was nothing their mortal hands could do.

Not against her magic.

She saw the glowing symbols in the bowl on her left, working to strengthen their bonds.

And now, turning to the bowl on her right, she blew a breath into it, white like fog.

* * *

Rounding the corner, distracted by what was happening on the walls, Axl saw the horrifying sight of Edela’s cottage on fire.

He could still hear barking, and now a wailing child and a screaming old woman. ‘Help!’ he cried, seeking to draw everyone from the surrounding cottages. ‘Fire!’

A door opened, and Axl’s head snapped around as he ran. ‘Get water! Bring water!’ he ordered, seeing a familiar face. ‘Get help!’ He thought of Helga, regretting his anger at her, and his missing grandmother, whose life was going up in flames, as he burst through her rickety old gate, surging up the path.

The thatched roof and at least one of the walls were on fire, but the door itself was untouched. He grabbed the handle, which sparked at him, burning his fingers. ‘Helga!’ he screamed. ‘Open the door!’

‘Can’t,’ she croaked between coughs. ‘Magic...’

Shit, Axl thought. Shit.

‘You have to try!’ he shouted. ‘Do something! You can do something, Helga!’ Spinning around, he saw a pair of old brothers, Edela’s longtime neighbours, scurrying up the path with buckets of water, their wide-eyed grandchildren following. ‘Around the side! Go around the side!’ Axl told them, sucking in a mouthful of smoke. ‘Get a... ladder!’ he called to one of the old men. ‘We need to douse the thatch!’ And with a nod of his white head, the old man flung his water over the flames licking the wall and hurried back down the path. ‘Helga!’ Axl coughed, the stinking smoke clogging his throat. ‘You have to try! Think of the boy! You must try!’

* * *

Despite Ragnar’s warnings of catapults, which had rallied the entire fort, no boulders were launched from the forest.

Nothing struck the ramparts or the square.

Though everyone remained alert, searching through the intensifying fog.

Rexon had charged around to the western wall, wanting to ensure that it wasn’t some distraction. He’d sent Erling to check on the main gates and Nils Gropen back to the harbour.

He’d also heard those familiar creaks and the gut-twisting whistle of arrows. Though whoever thought to terrorise them remained concealed in the trees, playing their games.

No boulders.

No arrows.

No men.

What was going on?

Urging his men to be quiet, Rexon hoped to hear some sign of their attackers, though despite the loud panic in his own head, nothing stood out.

Except the eerie silence.

* * *

Helga could barely hear over the barking dog.

She feared for all three of them, feeling little relief that Axl Furyck had come to their rescue, for despite all his shouting, there was still no escaping the cottage.

‘Try again,’ Linas urged between spluttering coughs, slumped at her feet. He held out an unsteady hand to Gully, who became quiet, hurrying to lick and comfort the weak boy.

Helga spun away, returning to her bowl of black paste.

‘Helga, hurry!’ came Axl’s croaking voice through the door.

She saw a vision of him kicking it, calling for an axe, though she knew that magic couldn’t be shattered by an ordinary blade. It would only be conquered by more effective magic.

She thought of the protective amulet she had given the king, wishing she’d saved it for herself. Though remembering the symbol carved into it, she had an idea.

Bent over and coughing, she glanced at a limp Linas before staring at Gully. ‘You keep that boy safe,’ she grunted, and shuffling to the kitchen, she reached for a tiny jar of dried agrimony. Leaving the bowl on the table, she uncorked the jar, sprinkling the herbs into her paste. Stirring it quickly with a finger, she picked up the bowl and hurried to the fire, hearing the terrifying crackle above her head, fearing that at any moment, the roof would collapse on them all.

‘Hurry!’ she heard outside the window.

‘It’s not working!’ came another voice.

Helga held the bowl in trembling hands over the fire, and closing her eyes, she disappeared into the dark place inside her mind where magic was made.

And there she found two symbols waiting for her.

One, a hook, and the other, a knotted rope.

Eyes springing open, she swung around, nearly falling over the stool. And reaching the door, she dipped a finger into the paste. Bending down, she pushed away the doormat and started drawing on the worn floorboards.

When she was done, a coughing Linas helped his grandmother back to her feet. She swayed unsteadily, overcome by the intense smoke. Gully was there, too, butting her with his body, and soon the old woman was steady again. ‘Try,’ she croaked at the boy. ‘Try now.’

Though Linas didn’t need to, for at that moment, Axl Furyck kicked open the door, hitting Helga, who wobbled in surprise before dropping back onto the floor with a grunt.

‘Grandmother!’ Linas cried, eyes watering, the dense smoke burning his throat and blocking his nose. He grabbed her, panicking, though the king seized him by an arm, throwing him outside.

Gully remained, tail wagging as Axl took Helga’s arm and pulled her to her feet, helping her out of the cottage. She tipped forward, the smoke trapped in her throat making it hard to catch her breath. Her lungs ached, feeling oddly heavy, and she couldn’t speak. Though there was no need to. Linas was safe, the dog was safe, and she had broken the spell.

And now, as Axl hurried her and Linas down the path, away from the flaming cottage, as the thatch collapsed in a rush of sparks, towering flames shooting into the dark night, she saw the danger unfolding on the ramparts.

‘Go,’ she panted, turning to grab Axl’s arm. ‘Attack... hurry.’ And finding herself on the flat road, Helga Brugen let go of the king and fell to her knees. ‘Hurry!’

Eyes bulging, Axl ran away from the collapsed dreamer, her panicking grandson, and the panting dog, away from his grandmother’s beloved cottage, towards those men who sought to take his fort, his crown, and his life.

He remembered Jael’s dream, though he quickly shut out all thoughts of defeat.

He thought instead of his father.

And picking up his pace, ignoring a desperate urge to cough and a painful need for ale, Axl Furyck, King of Brekka, ran around the corner, aiming for the square.

* * *

Their mysterious attackers, who had drawn Andala’s warriors to the western wall, threatening an assault, had once again disappeared.

Peering over the wall onto the path, Rexon saw nothing. Lifting his eyes, he stared into the forest, trying to see something amongst the dark silhouettes of trees and creeping fog – any sign of movement or a flash of light. He listened, seeking to hear what he couldn’t see, but standing back, he realised that there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

* * *

Gunnhild stood, pushing away her bowls with a snarl.

Her four helpers waited, silent in servitude, hands clasped in front of their homespun dresses and tunics. Knowing better than to make eye contact with their mistress, the two women and two men kept their attention on the floorboards.

The dreamer spun around with wild eyes, not seeing them. Her mind wasn’t in the cottage but with Helga Brugen, still very much alive in Axl Furyck’s fort.

She couldn’t believe it.

To have been outwitted by that blustering fool?

Yet, while the dreamer lived, she posed a threat to Mutt Storman and their plans for Brekka.

And that wouldn’t do at all.

* * *

Down on the road, away from the burning cottage, everyone was fussing over Helga, which annoyed her, though unable to stop coughing, she couldn’t tell them to go away. She had been plied with water, helped back to her feet, and now her would-be-rescuers were intent on making her come with them.

Some were still throwing water at the cottage, hoping to dampen the flames. Others had given up, seeking instead to help the dreamer and her grandson. They offered blankets and food, a place to stay, but Helga wanted none of it. ‘Can’t you... hear?’ she eventually managed to bark at them. ‘Can’t you see? We are under attack! Let me... go!’ And grabbing Linas’ hand in an effort to steady herself, she nodded, urging the boy on.

Gully ran ahead of them, the useless pleas of Helga’s neighbours soon fading into the distance.

‘You’ll go to the hall,’ she told her grandson, trying to catch her breath, not even acknowledging what had just happened. ‘There will be much to do. Be useful, and if you can’t be useful, get out of the way.’

Linas nodded. ‘Where will you go?’

‘Where I’m needed. Whoever tried to stop me didn’t count on you befriending that useful dog, did she?’ Helga felt shaky, but looking at the energetic figure of Gully bounding ahead of them, soon swallowed by the fog, she almost smiled. Squeezing Linas’ hand, she leaned towards him. ‘Take the shortcut. I’m sure you know it.’

And winking at her, Linas called to Gully and made a sharp left turn.

* * *

Having reached the harbour wall, out of breath and coughing up smoke, Axl found Erling, who relayed what had happened. ‘But no one’s here? Still?’

‘They were,’ Erling insisted, soon joined by Ragnar. ‘We all heard them.’

‘But what did you see?’ Axl wondered. ‘Any weapons or men? Did they fire on us?’

Ragnar shook his head, his earlier confidence now riddled with holes. It was like nothing he’d encountered before. Crewless ships that vanished? Catapults that released no boulders and an army they couldn’t see, led by a man who appeared little more than a ghost?

He feared magic, though he wasn’t prepared to lead his king there.

Not yet.

Axl wanted to pry open his lips and drag out his opinions. ‘What exactly did you hear?’ he demanded.

‘Catapults, lord. Sounded like arms creaking back, like boulders unleashed.’

‘And arrows,’ Rexon put in, arriving with a frown. ‘A storm of arrows coming for the wall. It was real enough to have us reaching for our shields, but then nothing. Nothing came.’

Having a dreamer for a grandmother, Axl didn’t doubt the power of magic, though he remembered the man yelling at him from the forest. He had sounded real enough – a man of flesh and blood.

Hadn’t he?

The guard tower door creaked open again, and Helga came tottering out, panting as though she’d run around the fort and back.

Axl met her. ‘What happened at the cottage? Who did that?’

She batted away his enquiries with scowling impatience. ‘A dreamer is... helping your enemies,’ she warned breathlessly, having understood more on her journey to the ramparts. ‘What happened here... a distraction.’

‘Distraction for what?’ Erling wanted to know, suddenly inhaling the intense smoke rising from the woman as though she was a walking pyre.

‘To kill me.’

Axl blinked, turning to look at Rexon, seeing surprise in his eyes.

‘A dreamer is helping your enemies,’ Helga repeated, coughing again. ‘And the last thing she wants is me getting in her way.’

‘Though she didn’t succeed,’ Axl murmured. ‘You stopped her.’

Erling was too surprised to scoff.

But hearing his doubts, Helga swung around. ‘Someone hid symbol stones outside Edela’s cottage, and when the signal bell rang, I was drawn back there. Locked in by a dreamer, who set the cottage alight.’ Trying to clear her throat, Helga stepped back as two men lugging a cauldron of steaming pitch passed by. Beady eyes bursting open, she turned to Axl. ‘The spies! We must find them.’

‘I sent Torun after them, though he hasn’t returned. Can you find them?’

Helga shrugged. ‘I can try.’

Axl grabbed her forearms, steadying the woman, who was struggling to breathe. ‘You must find out what this dreamer is up to before it’s too late. She’s broken through your symbols. She has found a way into the fort, and who knows what that means.’ And with a final look of concern, he released her arms and made to pass, though Helga blocked his path.

‘Brekka is rising against you, my lord. Your enemies grow emboldened. Your sister is gone, your brother is dead, your father too. You are the only Furyck in Brekka now. The only one.’

Axl blinked, feeling the unsettling truth of her words, and with a nod, he turned around, squeezing past the dreamer, heading for the harbour tower.

Helga watched him go, inhaling a ragged breath, certain she could hear a woman laughing.

5

Jael felt trapped, as though someone had hold of her.

She saw Argo Kosta’s face looming above her and she couldn’t move. Her legs were heavy, her arms wouldn’t rise. She couldn’t feel a weapon in her hand.

She was stuck!

Breathless, she pulled herself out of the dream, feeling stabbing pains in her back. And suddenly aware that Eadmund was sound asleep beside her, she gritted her teeth, rolling until she was lying on her side, pain flooding her body in waves. Chest heaving, she almost laughed. Then, remembering Raymon’s death and her vision of Axl, she felt sad. Worried. She thought of Rigg, too, seeing him dead in a pile of bodies. He would be furious about that, she thought with a smile, though he’d be pleased that Alek had lived.

And now wide awake, trying to distract herself from the pain, she thought of Oss and Milla Ulfsson.

Memories of the girl nagged at her, and unable to fall back to sleep, Jael left the chamber, creeping down the stairs into the grand foyer, decorated with extravagant mosaic scenes. She thought of Ronin Sardis, who had threatened her, and his wife, who had planned to cut her throat, and feeling strange, she turned abruptly into the throne room.

Sleeping, snoring bodies lay scattered across her path, wine and sweat infusing the night air with an unpleasant sourness. Dawn was still hours away Jael saw as she aimed at the open doors, heading outside. She tripped over a goblet, gasping at the jolting pain in her back, annoyed that she hadn’t seen it. And then the air became sweeter, and she saw Arras sitting on a bench before a pool of water, staring into the distance.

He appeared so still that Jael thought he might be asleep, though as she approached, he turned to her.

‘You’re up early,’ he grinned, and she saw he had a tooth missing.

‘What happened?’ she frowned, pointing to her own teeth.

Arras laughed. ‘Some arsehole. Hit me with the haft of his knife.’ He spat, still tasting blood. ‘Though I’m no young man looking for a wife, and I’m sure my men won’t care if I’ve got a new smile.’ He patted the bench beside him, but Jael shook her head. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, seeing her worried frown. ‘Some reason you’re not sleeping, or –’

‘I barely saw you tonight. To talk about what will happen. About what did happen.’

Used to her abruptness now, Arras stood. ‘Something’s troubling you, Jael. What?’

Ignoring him, she carried on. ‘You’ll stay here now? Restore this place? Free everyone?’

‘According to Inesh Seppo, that’s what I must do. It’s my destiny.’ Though he shrugged, unsure how he felt about that.

‘What? To become a king?’

‘A king?’ Arras laughed. ‘I’m not sure these people need another king.’

‘They need a good king. They can’t go from Kalina to chaos. You need to be a leader, and if you don’t propose to be a king, then what?’ She started walking, too twitchy to stay still.

A thoughtful Arras followed her. ‘It’s something to think about, though not yet. Besides, I don’t think the actual king will be pleased about that. I doubt he’ll just stay wherever he’s escaped to while his daughter’s a prisoner here.’

‘Exactly,’ Jael said, turning to him. ‘Which is why I’m taking her with me.’

Stopping abruptly, Arras’ mouth gaped open. ‘You are?’

Jael nodded. ‘Her and the dreamer’s helper. I’m taking them both. One less reason for Ronin Sardis to return here. One more reason for him to come after me.’

‘You want him to find you?’

‘I need him to. He plans to wipe out my entire family. I’m sure he’s not the only one, but he seems to have more resources than most, more possibility of doing what he says. I had a dream, I keep having the same dream about my family. I fear he will do as he said, and I... I found out that one of my brothers is already dead.’

Arras touched her arm. ‘I’m so sorry.’

An uncomfortable Jael drew it away. ‘And then there’s my children. My daughter, in particular. She’s a Furyck. My son, he had another mother, but Bo?’

Realising this was leading somewhere, Arras remained silent.

‘The girl in Tuura, the one who helped you capture me? We haven’t spoken about it, but now that girl is on Oss with my children. Is she working for Ronin Sardis? For Dessalene?’

Not understanding the path Jael had suddenly turned down, Arras shook his head. ‘What girl?’

‘The blonde-haired girl. Milla. She led me to you that night. She took me into the forest where you were waiting. She helped you.’

Arras remained confused, frowning intensely. ‘We tracked you. I had a dreamer’s help, a voice in my head guiding me, not a girl. She was with you,’ he remembered. ‘Not me.’

‘But she smiled.’

‘Pardon?’

‘You shot me with those darts. I fell to the ground. My eyes... I saw Milla before my eyes closed, and she was smiling.’

‘At you?’

Jael nodded.

‘So you thought –’

‘You’re saying that she wasn’t helping you?’ Jael was confused. ‘But she smiled at me!’

‘I’d never seen the girl in my life, but she wasn’t smiling, that I do remember. She was crying and pleading.’ And recalling that, Arras was reminded of what he’d done, feeling ashamed. ‘She begged us to leave you. To go and leave you. She wasn’t smiling. You must have been hallucinating.’

Jael squinted at him, hearing someone vomiting in the distance.

Thoughts fracturing, she started doubting herself.

Could Arras be right?

She hoped he was, though that niggling feeling, the gut instinct she’d always relied upon, insisted that he wasn’t.

That there was something dangerous about Milla Ulfsson.

* * *

After roaming the fort, searching for clues, Helga aimed for the hall, desperate for something to drink.

An excited Gully was the first to greet her when she pushed open a door.

Gerald was next, with a flurry of questions she merely scowled at. She saw no sign of Linas at first, but he soon ran out of the kitchen to give her a smoky hug.

‘I had a sausage!’ he declared with a smile as though it were just another day. ‘Do you want one?’

Helga shook her head. ‘Bring me ale, boy. Something to drink. Anything.’ And with a coughing groan, she fell onto the nearest bench.

Preparing for an influx of injuries, Gerald had ensured that all tables and benches were pushed against the walls, setting the fire pits ablaze, which made everything far too hot, and Helga was immediately more breathless than ever, regretting that she’d thought to come inside. Though the seat was welcome, as was the ale Linas rushed to her, slopping a little over her lap.

She guzzled it down, closing her eyes. ‘Go and be helpful. I must think. You go now and take the dog.’ And elbowing Gully, who kept putting his paws on her knee, she drew in a shaky breath.

Resting her head back against the wall, she continued to take long breaths, feeling her heart steady itself and eventually slow down. The bleating voices that had hammered her since she’d arrived soon dulled to a more pleasing drone. They were helpful, too, becoming an almost rhythmic sound, drawing her deeper into the darkness.

Where she saw a cottage in a clearing, dwarfed by enormous trees.

She could smell rosemary and mint – pleasant smells – and then death, which had her shivering.

The vision faded, and Helga tried to retrieve it without luck.

Eventually, she opened her eyes, and seeing Linas watching her with an open mouth, she called to him. ‘Help me up, boy. Yes, yes, no fussing, just help me up and get back to work. I must go and find the king.’

* * *

Axl found his cousin, Aedan, who had been in the square helping to organise their weapons’ stores. He didn’t have a permanent role in the fort, choosing instead to farm a plot of land outside its walls. Though he was always ready to help when needed.

He had a wife and three children, living in a house they shared with his mother, Branwyn, and his first priority was to care for them. Kayla and the children were safe inside, his mother was in Angard with Gisila, and now he was doing his part.

Though Axl wanted more.

‘I want you to take a wall,’ he said, wishing dawn would hurry along, wanting to tear away the mask of night to discover what was truly going on. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, so I need men I can trust up there.’

‘Of course,’ his cousin grinned. ‘I said I’d always be here when you need me.’ Aedan Byrn was a quiet, steady man of twenty-five, skilled with horses and weapons – just the person Axl could rely upon now.

‘Good. Grab some ale, find something to eat, and get up to the harbour wall. Rexon’s in charge there, so he’ll talk you through things. Though maybe get Kayla and the children into the hall first.’

Aedan nodded. ‘I will.’

‘Astrid’s in there with Gerald, and Helvor’s in the kitchen. Likely they’ll need another pair of hands.’

‘I’ll do that, then I’ll find Rexon,’ Aedan promised. And patting his cousin on the shoulder, he made to turn away. ‘You need a bath,’ he grinned. ‘Smells like you’ve been roasting on a pyre!’ And with that, he was gone.

Axl watched as Aedan strode through the braziers, feeling strange. For a moment, they became pyres, and he saw himself lying on the biggest one of all, going up in flames.

‘My lord! We found those men! We took them prisoner!’

Axl blinked, and a triumphant Torun was before him, his youthful face glowing in firelight. ‘You have? Good! Show me where they are.’

* * *

Jael was exhausted, though after her conversation with Arras, she couldn’t sleep. Her back hurt too much to even consider lying down, so she walked around the palace, thinking about Dessalene, wondering what plans the dreamer would make next.

She felt regret about not killing her. And Ronin Sardis.

Though there had been a revolution to start.

And smiling now, Jael saw a familiar figure aiming for the stairs. ‘Planning to steal some treasure?’

Turning around with a wobble, Thorgils Svanter let out a rumbling laugh. ‘Steal? Me? But I’m just an honest man, simply searching for a place to rest my head.’

Jael took to the stairs beside him. ‘Not sure there’s anywhere big enough for that head,’ she grinned.

He peered at her. ‘I’m sorry about your back. Is it alright?’

‘Not really, but you’re all here, I’m free, and now we can leave. My back will heal.’

Thorgils nodded, gripping the railing, thinking that the stairs were slippery. Looking down, he couldn’t see what they were made of, though nothing practical. In fact, they were deadly.

‘Do you want to hold my hand?’

Turning to her, Thorgils was confused.

‘If the stairs are too slippery for an old man like you, I can help.’

Thorgils thought about shoving her, watching as Jael now frowned and stepped back before grinning again. ‘I’d forgotten how annoying you could be, digging around inside my head.’

‘It would take me the rest of the night to find what you’ve been hiding in there,’ Jael retorted.

‘Though you don’t look ready for sleep.’

They reached the top of the stairs, and Jael looked back down. ‘No, I think I’ll just keep walking until the sun comes up, so if you’re looking for somewhere to lay that big head, Eadmund’s got a space in the queen’s chamber.’

Thorgils whistled. ‘The queen’s chamber? Doesn’t sound right for me. I’ll find something less grand.’ And gently taking hold of Jael’s arms, seeing her flinch, he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’m glad we finally found you, Jael Furyck. Nothing ever feels right when you’re not there.’

A snorting Jael brushed away his words, though as she watched him go, she felt strange – an odd mix of joy and sadness. She was saved, but somehow it felt like only a brief reprieve, and she feared that what lay ahead would be harder and more devastating than anything that lay behind her.

Sighing and feeling her aching back once more, she turned down a corridor, wondering if she could find her way to a balcony, wanting to get a proper look at S’ala Nis under the stars.

* * *

Torun and his ten armed men had captured the spies from Rosby.

‘I saw Hardar, my lord,’ Torun explained in a rush. ‘Just by chance. So we followed him, and sure enough, he went to meet Emmet. I suppose to talk about what was happening.’ And then, realising that he was the only one talking, Torun closed his mouth and bobbed his head at the king.

Who barely noticed, for his attention was on the two men seated at the table in the cottage, which was dark, bar a single lamp burning between them. Axl didn’t recognise either man, but knowing they were from Rosby – Brekkans – he was incensed. The cottage was too small to achieve much in, and realising that, he ordered both men taken to his stables.

‘I’ll meet you all there,’ he told his men. ‘And Torun, I want you to go for Gunter. Make sure he brings his tools.’

In a flicker of flame, Axl saw fear in the eyes of the prisoners.

And then he heard the rasping tones of Helga calling his name.

Stepping outside, he saw the dreamer heaving in a breath before him, hands dug into her hips. He moved aside as the men brought the prisoners through the door, and Torun headed off to find Gunter Loke – a blacksmith by trade, though a man who had served as a torturer for his father when such skills were required. And turning around, he waited for Helga.

Approaching him, she eyed the men walking away. Recognising the two spies, she lifted her eyebrows, turning to the king. ‘You have sent for a torturer?’

‘Of sorts. Gunter. He’ll get something out of them.’

‘Though I can do so quicker,’ Helga offered. ‘Without the need for blood.’

Axl stared at her. ‘Is that why you’ve come?’

She nodded. ‘That, and I think I saw something of the dreamer.’

‘You saw her?’

‘Not her, no. A cottage in a forest. I had a sense it was hers, at least.’

‘And?’

Helga’s throat burned, and though she was certain she’d already drunk a bucket of water and ale, she was desperate for more. ‘I’m not sure, but those spies may be able to tell us more,’ she muttered, seeing a glimpse of the two men. And now her eyes hardened. ‘I will make them tell us more.’

* * *

After her plans for Helga Brugen had gone awry, Gunnhild had slept fitfully, up before the cocks and crows.

Leaving her cottage behind, she sought the cool silence of her garden. And inhaling the welcome scents that greeted her, she soon felt at peace again. Looking up through tangles of dark, leafy branches, she saw the moon, and smiling, she opened her arms wide, bathing in its luminescent glow.

It was no defeat, she decided, dropping her head and rolling her shoulders.

No defeat at all.

Helga had been lucky – a bumbling old crone – and likely she would soon defeat herself.

Cackling now, Gunnhild left her garden behind, deciding to wake up her servants and see about breakfast.

She was ravenous.

Walking past a ramshackle collection of sheds, inhaling the rank odours coming from within, she cocked her head.

And with a smile, she decided that she didn’t feel like breakfast after all.

It was time to pack.

* * *

Axl had his men find a table and four stools, and he sat on one while Helga and the prisoners, Hardar and Emmet, perched on the others. The stable doors were barricaded by men with axes, whose stony expressions were as much of a deterrent as their weapons.

‘You’ll tell me what I want to know, or my dreamer will uncover it herself. And if that fails, my torturer will cut the truth out of you. He’ll leave your ears and lips till last though...’ Axl threatened darkly, meaning every word.

Hardar, a wild-eyed, nervous young man, appeared suitably intimidated, ready to blurt out everything.

The older man, Emmet, sat back on his stool, lifting his bearded chin with a look of disdain. ‘So everything we’ve heard about you is true then? You Furycks think we are nothing! Not people. Not worthy of your care or kindness.’

Narrowing eyes flashing with anger, Axl leaned forward, slapping the table. ‘My lord!’ he growled. ‘You will address your king as my lord!’

Emmet spat on the ground, and interrupting the posturing, which wasn’t getting anything achieved, Helga cleared her throat. ‘They will not tell you, my lord.’ She didn’t think that was entirely true, for Hardar’s thoughts were almost shouting at her, though his friend was exerting a strong influence. And deciding to circumvent that, she grabbed Hardar’s hand, closing her eyes.

He opened his mouth, and Emmet started shouting, making a great fuss. Axl ordered his men to gag him so Helga could get to work. And eventually, Hardar closed his eyes too.

Helga was immediately in a dingy hall, the tang of ale souring the air. Too much ale, she thought. Drunken men. She smelled vomit, too, and turning her head, she saw a miserable-looking servant with a bucket and cloth.

Which wasn’t why she’d come.

Moving away from the servant and her unpleasant task, she headed to the high table where the man in the tallest chair commanded an audience of some ten men.

Hardar was there.

She didn’t see Emmet.

‘It’s all about the garrison now,’ the man was saying. The lord, Helga guessed, for he spoke with authority, enjoying how the men hung on his every word. He was square-jawed and blue-eyed. A handsome, dark-haired man in his thirties. ‘How many men to leave here when we go north?’ He turned to look at a tall older man, seemingly eager for his opinion.

‘Not many,’ the man replied gruffly, stroking an impressive black beard. ‘We’ll need our best for the battle to come. Leave the boys and the old men here. With the ramparts, they’ll have little to do.’

There were murmurs and nods amongst the gathered men.

Though Hardar looked worried. ‘What about the king, my lord? Won’t he know we’re coming? Won’t he see?’

Henk Layborg, Lord of Rosby, laughed. ‘According to our good friend, Mutt, his dreamer will take care of that. Our job is to simply be at Trelleg in numbers, to secure the South, from Hallow Wood to Saala. That will be our new border. The first step. And once that’s in place, we’ll push on to Andala, and then all of Brekka will be ours.’

The image faded, and once again, Helga inhaled that sour ale, feeling an urgent need to cough.

Blinking open grainy eyes, she saw Hardar peering at her. Turning, she saw his friend gagged and wriggling against his restrainers. And now she stood, seeking out the curious eyes of Axl Furyck, who stood with her, following the silent dreamer out of the stables.

6

Jael watched the slow movements of the Hestians cringing with aching heads as Ulf barked orders at them to pick up their feet. She felt slow herself as she headed his way, shielding her eyes from the rising and already scorching sun. ‘You must have had a good sleep?’ she called as she approached.

Ulf turned with a smile, though seeing the state of the queen, he frowned. ‘I did, and you? You look like you fought another battle in your dreams!’

Jael laughed, feeling odd but certainly relieved to see those she knew. To be heading home. To be free. ‘Likely I did, knowing me, though I can’t remember if I won.’

‘Well, you’re here, so I’d say so,’ Ulf grinned before frowning at one of his men. ‘We’re not helping ourselves to anything!’ he snapped, pointing him back to the docks. ‘Leave that there! On the bench! That’s right!’ And shaking his head, he drew his attention back to Jael. ‘Sure you won’t come to Angard? Karsten would like to have you there. Although...’ And now his frown deepened. ‘I’ve no idea if we’ll even make it for the wedding.’

‘Whatever the case, Bayla will think you’re heroic,’ Jael assured him. ‘And Karsten wouldn’t care. As long as his goblet is topped up, I doubt he’ll notice who’s there.’

Ulf laughed. ‘You’re not wrong. He’s doing the right thing marrying Freya Valens, though it’s not what his heart wants.’

Hearing a familiar voice, which gave her a pleasant shiver, Jael turned to see Eadmund heading towards them with Thorgils and Kolarov. She turned back to Ulf. ‘Then I’m sorry for Karsten. Hearts can be quite demanding.’

‘True. Though so can mothers,’ Ulf chuckled, missing Bayla.

‘So are we taking the fleet with us?’ Thorgils asked to the surprise of Ulf, whose mouth dropped open.

He eyed Jael.

Who frowned at Thorgils. ‘We have to go to Andala first. I’ve got a bad feeling.’

‘Oh?’ Ulf looked concerned. ‘Though won’t Axl be in Angard?’

‘I have to go to Andala,’ she repeated. ‘Though we won’t need your ships. You’ve done enough, so go and enjoy whatever’s left of the wedding.’ Thorgils clapped Ulf on the back as he headed past him to Bone Hammer, wanting to see how Bolder fared, while Jael turned to Kolarov. ‘And you, my friend? Where are you headed to? You could go to Angard with Ulf, stay here with Arras, or come back to Andala. It’s been a while since you were there, I think.’

‘Oh, yes, yes, it has. Not since your father...’ A troubled Kolarov looked torn, drumming his fingers on his lips. He’d woken up imagining that he would be delivered back to Castala, though there was now a sense of urgency, so the king and queen wouldn’t be taking a leisurely route back home.

‘Think quick,’ Eadmund warned. ‘You’ll have to make your decision now, Kolarov. You know my wife won’t wait on you.’

Jael grinned at the explorer, lifting her eyes to her husband, where they lingered.

He stared at her, fearing it was all a dream. Though in a dream, he wouldn’t have seen her this way. For despite being dressed in a new tunic and trousers, her face was battered, her back ruined. She was sunburned and shattered, swaying slightly, barely standing.

Kolarov coughed, breaking their spell. ‘Andala feels right, I think. I should come with you.’

Jael was glad. ‘Likely I’ll need you, so that’s good.’

And puffing up his barrel of a chest, Kolarov looked especially pleased to hear it.

Thorgils returned with a thoughtful look. ‘Raal will take the helm. Bolder’s not doing so well. He won’t stay,’ he added, seeing Eadmund ready to argue. ‘Wants to die in Brekka, apparently.’

‘Well, let’s hope it won’t come to that,’ Jael said. ‘He sounds like a useful man, and for whatever lies ahead, we’re going to need every useful man we can get.’

Eadmund nodded distractedly as Arras and Nico Sikari arrived, bringing their prisoners: Kalina Sardis and the dreamer’s angry little helper whose name he’d forgotten. The well-dressed man was hopping with rage, attempting to wriggle out of Nico’s firm grip, though where he thought he could escape to with warriors lining the docks, Eadmund didn’t know.

‘You can’t cage me like an animal! I’m not an animal!’ Pye squeaked sharply, eyes shifting to Jael. ‘I saved you! Your life! You can’t kidnap me!’

Jael ignored him, focusing instead on the silent queen, who seethed with tight-lipped rage. ‘I want them secured well away from Bolder. He doesn’t need to listen to that noise.’ She smiled at Kalina, who, like Pye, wore a pair of fetters – not magical ones, for Jael certainly wanted Dessalene looking for her stepdaughter. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured the queen as Arras helped her down the pier. ‘You’ll soon be enjoying all the comforts the Slave Islands has to offer!’

Kalina was too weary to feel disgusted by the thought of it.

She felt scared too.

According to Jael Furyck, her father and Dessalene had sailed away, leaving her to this humiliating fate. At first, she’d thought it unbelievable, so much so that she’d decided it simply couldn’t be true. Though the truth had greeted her with the rising sun, and she could no longer escape it.

Her father was gone, and she was in fetters.

A slave queen.

She tripped on her dress, stumbling, feeling Arras’ grip tighten around her upper arm. She could smell his musky sweat, feel the strength in that muscular grip, and her body quivered. He was so close, touching her, and yet –

‘You will take my throne,’ she snarled at him. ‘Was that your plan all along, Arras Sikari? To steal my throne? My isle?’

Arras kept walking. ‘You will answer to the gods, Kalina,’ he said dismissively, aiming her at Bone Hammer. ‘Only they can help you now.’

* * *

After Helga had explained what she’d seen while holding the spy’s hand, Axl had called a council meeting, barely able to contain himself.

It was late or early, he no longer knew, though he was simultaneously exhausted and filled with an urgency to make plans.

The thought that his enemies were planning to steal his kingdom? Not just make a fuss, not just seek some sort of reward, but actually take Brekka?

He waited alone in the meeting chamber as Helga checked on her grandson and Gerald rounded up Rexon, Ragnar, and Erling, his father’s words ringing in his ears: ‘Being a Furyck is both an honour and a death sentence, for we are born with a target on our backs. Every one of us. Not a day will pass when someone isn’t thinking about killing us and claiming our throne. Not a day...’

Erling entered first, leading the rest of the men, and then Helga, bringing up the rear and closing the door.

They took their seats, and Axl began without formalities. ‘I’ve caught two spies in the fort.’

That captured everyone’s attention, three pairs of sleepy eyes suddenly more alert and fixed on their king.

‘They’re Rosby men. Henk Layborg’s,’ Axl went on. ‘Sent here to spy for the lord and his ally.’

‘Who is...?’ Rexon asked impatiently.

‘Mutt Storman, as you suspected,’ Axl said, turning to his dreamer. ‘They intend to push north, to make a stand at Trelleg. They seek to cut off the South from Hallow Wood to Saala, and if they get their way, Southern Brekka will soon be theirs. They will have their own kingdom.’

A surprised Erling eyed Helga. ‘And you found this out? How?’

Helga glowered at him. ‘I held one of their hands. I saw what his lord has been doing and what he intends.’

Now Erling rounded on Axl. ‘But how do you know any of this is true? I just have to ask. What are we even doing? Relying on visions and dreams?’

Axl turned to his friend, offering a glacial smile. ‘After Helga told me what she’d seen, I returned to the stables and demanded the man tell me what he was doing in Andala. Under pain of torture, he revealed exactly what Helga had seen. Their stories matched perfectly.’ Moving on quickly, he now focused his attention on the two men who didn’t have a problem with his dreamer. ‘We need to decide what to do.’

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

At first, Axl had imagined gathering his army and getting after them all.

But thinking it through, the question became how?

Men were coming from the South, though he had to think where to place his own men, for a move in one direction would expose a flank in another.

Were they all going to meet at Trelleg?

Scratching his head, he knew he needed more information, and his eyes once again found Helga.

‘Oren Storgard remains in Ollsvik,’ Ragnar said. ‘According to our scouts and our own spies.’

‘Well, let’s hope he stays put,’ Axl growled. ‘I don’t want to fight a war on two fronts.’

‘Then that has to be the goal,’ Rexon suggested. ‘To defeat Mutt Storman and his traitors at Trelleg. Defeat them and secure Brekka before Oren Storgard gets a whiff of any problems. Likely he’s hearing rumours, but we can’t give him a reason to invade now. We have to leave here with everyone we can take. With everything we’ve got.’

Axl turned to Ragnar, who appeared less certain.

‘It’s a risk to leave the fort, my lord,’ the cautious garrison commander warned. ‘Who’s to say how far the treachery goes? Is it only the South we have to worry about –’

‘Though if we stay here, we risk being surrounded,’ Rexon interrupted, eyes on Axl. ‘Besieged. No choices will be ours then. You can’t hold onto the kingdom from inside these walls. Not by remaining on the back foot. You can’t. You have to go out and meet your enemies. Crush them. Treachery is a disease that will spread until it devours your reign. You must take your army to Trelleg and finish it there.’

Axl knew Rexon was desperate to free the South so he could return home to discover the fate of his family. And it seemed that there was no longer any choice in the matter.

Though the question now loomed before him like a great lake.

How?

* * *

Jael was in a hurry to leave S’ala Nis, feeling the pull of Brekka more acutely as the sun intensified and the ships were readied. She had ensured that Alek was comfortable on board Bone Hammer next to Bolder, who he would keep an eye on with Mattie’s help. Ratish had ensured they had a kit of supplies, though he’d privately suggested to Jael that there was little hope for the helmsman.

Kolarov was on board, arguing with Thorgils.

Fyn, she saw as she turned around, shielding her eyes from the sun, was trying to mediate. Mattie popped up and peered at her with a curious frown before disappearing again. Eadmund was securing the prisoners and struggling with a squirrelly Pye, who refused to sit still.

Though despite everyone’s fussing, Bone Hammer appeared ready.

Ulf was taking longer to organise the Hestians, many of whom still weren’t accounted for. He shrugged at her from near Beloved before turning around to bark at one of his tardy men.

Jael turned back to see Inesh Seppo waiting to speak to her. He blinked slowly, a smile brightening his brown eyes, though she had no smile for him and merely stared.

‘You are ready to go, I see,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps you are not sure if you are ready at all?’

Jael saw Arras and Nico in the distance, wanting to say goodbye, though she needed to speak to the seer. ‘You knew all of this would happen? Did Noor tell you?’

Inesh became thoughtful. ‘He posed a few riddles suggesting such things would occur. Not about what the queen would do to him, though. I imagine he saw what would happen and sought to shield you from her wrath. He had told me of the woman who would come to free the slaves. He dreamed of you for many a year.’

A surprised Jael felt strange. ‘I didn’t trust you.’

Inesh’s smile returned, lighting up his face. ‘Then I was doing my job. Dessalene Sardis is a truly dangerous woman. At the sacrifice, we had to work hard to hold back her power. When you meet again, you must be prepared for that, Jael Furyck. Do not seek to confront the woman alone. I am confident she will not be so arrogantly blind next time.’

Jael wanted that next time to be right now. She wanted to wipe out every threat to her family, but who knew where the dreamer and Ronin Sardis had gone...

Hopefully, not to Andala.

She flinched, a stinging pain in her back making her toes curl. ‘And you? Arras will need your help and guidance.’

‘And he will have it. We will rebuild the isle together. Make it into a home for those who want it. All of them. Which won’t come easy. The army will follow Arras, though. He is a man they respect. And those who don’t? Well, we have plenty of ships.’

Jael nodded. ‘I wish you luck.’ Unexpectedly, the seer touched her forehead, closing his eyes. She frowned at him as he murmured words she didn’t understand.

And when he opened his eyes, he stared at her.

‘May all the gods bless you, Jael Furyck,’ he smiled, his eyes shifting from the queen towards her husband, where they lingered. ‘You have forged a great reputation through pain and sacrifice. Your name is known throughout Varmyr. Your father’s daughter, and Furia’s. A Furyck.’

Jael peered at him, wondering what he’d seen.

‘A Furyck,’ Inesh Seppo repeated, bobbing his head and holding her eyes for a moment before turning away.

* * *

A new day may have dawned in Andala, though the strange events of the night before lingered like dark clouds hanging over an oddly quiet fort. There was no real understanding of what had happened, though suddenly, no one felt safe.

The council meeting had ended with no decisions made. In the end, they had simply been too tired, and the king had decided to reconvene later that afternoon when they possessed more information and, hopefully, some clarity.

As she shuffled through the hall after Gerald, Helga was pleased about that, feeling only muddy uncertainty in her own mind. And smoke.

So much smoke.

Axl and his men had understandably focused on the threat of Mutt Storman and his allies, though she was more interested in the dreamer who had tried to kill her, still thinking about the vision of the cottage in the forest. It had given her a chill to see it, a great shiver of worry, and she was desperate to see more, certain it was the clue she needed to uncover most of all. Though too tired to even think, she returned her attention to the chamber Gerald had led her into, suddenly becoming uncomfortable. ‘It’s far too big,’ she grumbled at the steward, eyes sweeping the luxurious room. ‘There’s only the boy and me –’

‘And Gully!’ Linas interrupted, immediately jumping onto the large bed and encouraging the dog to do the same.

‘Get down!’ his grandmother snapped. ‘That is not your bed.’

A tired-looking Gerald suppressed a sigh of annoyance. ‘This will be yours for now,’ he said firmly. ‘The best place for you, according to the king, who chose this chamber himself.’ Though he didn’t agree with such a choice. It was Gisila and Gant’s and not at all suited to the grubby dreamer and her wild grandson.

‘Well, then.’ Helga didn’t say any more, but she turned to Gerald with a look that soon had him on his way. And when he’d gone, she shut the door with a groan.

‘I don’t feel tired,’ Linas said behind her. ‘I don’t want to sleep!’

‘Though you didn’t sleep all night,’ Helga reminded him. ‘Besides, just resting will help. Shoo that dog outside and come and lie down with me.’

Linas wrinkled his nose, though he knew that look, and dragging his feet, he opened the door, reluctantly pushing a surprised Gully outside. Turning around to his grandmother, he opened his mouth.

‘No. Come and lie down now. The quicker you do, the sooner you’ll be back outside running around.’ And too tired to go on, a shattered Helga flopped down onto the expansive bed, at once appreciating the quality of the mattress. It made keeping her eyes open an even more impossible task, and soon her head dropped to the side and she started snoring.

* * *

Ayla Adea had woken up feeling nauseous.

She had almost forgotten how cold summer on Oss could be, and wrapping herself in her winter cloak and fur neck warmer, she headed out of her cottage, deciding that a walk around the fort would set her right.

She hadn’t dreamed of anything especially disturbing, but a feeling had grown until it had unsettled her, driving her from her bed.

The morning was grim, and she walked with care, weaving around back alleys, past the gardens, inhaling smoke as morning fires were lit, watching it creep upwards to merge into grey clouds. She heard busy voices coming from the square as Ketil and his family prepared for another day.

She kept walking until she was at the gates, thinking she would go down to the beach, though seeing Bram in the distance, looking out to the harbour, Ayla wrapped her cloak around her chest and headed towards him.

Bram Svanter turned as she approached, quickly offering a smile, though seeing the disturbed look in her eyes, he was soon frowning. ‘What is it?’ Resisting the urge to touch her, he simply leaned her way, wanting to know what had happened.

‘Something,’ Ayla breathed, eyes drawn to the tall stone spires guarding Oss’ harbour.

Bram followed her gaze. ‘Someone’s coming? Here?’

Ayla shook her head, turning it as a vision pushed through the darkness. She clutched Bram’s arm, blinking. ‘You need to prepare the ships. We’re going to need them.’

* * *

Deep in a dream, Helga found herself in Andala.

She recognised the white-haired old woman as Edela Saeveld, who looked decades older than when she’d last seen her in Tuura. The younger, dark-haired woman with the lush curls, she didn’t know, though she wasn’t either of the dreamer’s daughters.

‘What are you working on? In that book?’ the woman murmured, peering over Edela’s shoulder. ‘Symbols?’

The cottage looked as it had before the fire had torn through it, and Helga experienced a rush of nausea at the thought of what might have been. Of Linas’ body lying amongst ash and charred wood.

Then, focusing, she sought to understand what she was being shown.

‘I want to learn more,’ Edela told the woman, turning to her with a twinkling smile. ‘After what happened at the Vale and here, I could have done so much more.’

The woman looked sad, moving towards the fire, where she added a log. ‘So you are writing down what you’ve seen in your dreams?’

‘Partly that, but also... ideas.’

Helga sensed that the old dreamer wasn’t telling the truth, though the dark-haired woman appeared distracted as she picked up a poker, moving the logs around until the flames flickered brightly.

Returning the poker to its stand, she turned back to Edela. ‘You will have your own book then? Like the Book of Darkness?’

Edela laughed. ‘Not quite as dark as that, I think.’

‘But dark?’

‘It must be, mustn’t it? Light alone will not conquer the darkness. I must understand how to become the darkness itself. That is what is in here. What I hope to create.’

The woman frowned. ‘Something like that must be hidden away. Kept safe.’

‘Indeed.’ Edela dipped her quill into the pot of ink and sighed. ‘That is what I wanted to talk to you about. If something were to happen to me, Ayla, I want you to know where I have hidden it. It must not fall into the wrong hands.’

Ayla nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll do whatever I can to keep it safe. You know I will.’ She glanced around the cottage. ‘And where will you hide it then? Somewhere in here?’

The women faded, and Helga remained standing in the cottage, now just blackened embers and logs. The acrid smoke clawed at her throat, and she felt a desperate need for liquid. Anything. Though shaking the distractions away, she heard the echo of Ayla’s last words.

‘Somewhere in here?’

* * *

‘S’ala Nis won’t be the same without you, Jael Furyck,’ Arras said to the queen, who looked exhausted and impatient as she shuffled her feet beside Eadmund.

Jael didn’t smile; she felt worried about everything. ‘Well, your isle has put me off the sun for life. I’ll never complain about the cold again!’

Beside her, Eadmund scoffed loudly.

Ignoring him, Jael held out a hand to Arras. ‘I can’t say I enjoyed my time here, though thanks to Argo Kosta, I’ll have a permanent reminder of it.’ And despite the pain, she grinned. ‘I’m glad to be leaving you in charge and the slaves freed. That’s something.’ Glancing from Arras to Eadmund, she saw him nod.

‘A little more than something,’ Arras smiled, clasping her hand. ‘Just a little. You changed their lives. All our lives.’

Jael shrugged. ‘I just made a big noise. The slaves earned their victory themselves.’

Neither man thought that entirely true.

‘Write to us,’ Eadmund said. ‘We’d like to hear how you enjoy being a king.’ He laughed, knowing what work awaited the man, not envious in the slightest.

‘Not a king,’ Arras insisted. ‘Not... yet.’

Jael shook her head. ‘We’ll see. I wish you luck, whatever happens.’

‘And you. Good luck with Kalina. I fear you’ll be needing it!’

Jael thought so too. ‘Though she is just a worm. A worm on a hook, waiting for a big fish. Perhaps a wolf?’ She watched as Eadmund clasped Arras’ hand.

‘Be careful, Jael,’ Arras warned. ‘Both of you. You’ve wounded the wolf, and he won’t be happy. You were Ronin Sardis’ prize, his prisoner, though you claimed his isle, and now you’re stealing his daughter. He will come for you with everything he has. And believe me, he has a lot.’

Eadmund looked worried, but Jael merely nodded at Arras and turned away. ‘I shall write to you!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘And tell you how I killed him. Him and his wife!’ And with a wink, she headed towards Bone Hammer, aching shoulders pushed back, neck lengthened, head in the air.

Arras watched her go, grabbing Eadmund’s arm before he turned after his wife. ‘Make her understand, Eadmund. Ronin Sardis will go to the ends of Varmyr to make her pay.’

Eadmund’s eyes hardened. ‘I’ve no doubt he’ll try to, though he’ll die in the attempt,’ he promised with a snarl. ‘We will both see to that.’

7

Having forced himself to take a quick nap and gulp down the breakfast his cook, Helvor, insisted he eat to fortify himself, a still groggy Axl left the hall, wishing he’d done neither.

He had wanted to find Ragnar and Rexon, seeking to carry on their discussion about Mutt Storman, though he’d been accosted by a trio of worried merchants who had spent the evening fearing their ships would be set alight. They sought answers from the usually cordial king, though tight-lipped and terse, Axl had sent them on their way with few assurances.

According to Rexon, there were no enemy ships in the harbour now. Not even the wreckage of them.

Further unsettled by that, Axl crossed the square, eyes lowered, not wanting to deal with more problems, too busy working on his own.

He didn’t notice Gully bounding up behind him or Linas charging alongside, and soon they were overtaking him.

Axl glanced around, seeing Helga waddling further back, glowering more intensely than ever.

‘You saved us!’ Linas called excitedly, waving an arm in the air. ‘From the fire! You saved us, my lord!’

Axl’s smile was weary. ‘I think your grandmother did that. She was the one with the symbols, wasn’t she?’

‘We’re going to see the cottage!’ Linas told him.

Axl felt hesitant to do so, fearing such a devastating sight.

‘Run along,’ Helga snapped at the boy. ‘Take that dog and go to the cottage. I need to speak to the king.’

Axl fell in beside the dreamer. ‘Did you see something? About the fire?’

Helga shrugged. ‘Who is Ayla? A dark-haired woman. Lots of curls.’

‘She’s a dreamer. Why?’

‘And you know her? Trust her?’

Axl nodded at her, then at some of his people in passing, encouraging them with a smile that appeared to have little effect on their fretful faces. His focus was everywhere – on Helga, on the men calling to each other atop the walls. He saw Rexon pointing angrily at Erling and the catapult crews restocking their boulders – nothing to concern him – and now he returned his full attention to Helga. ‘Yes on both counts. Ayla spent a lot of time here, staying with Edela. They were very close.’

‘Your grandmother made a book of spells and symbols. Did you know of it?’

‘A book?’ Axl stepped over a hole, scratching his head. ‘Recently?’

Helga nodded.

‘I don’t think I knew that. Perhaps she had books, but... I’m not sure.’

‘It seemed like an important book. Dangerous in the wrong hands,’ Helga mused, eyeing the king. ‘She hid it in her cottage.’

Axl turned right, feeling surprised. Up ahead, he watched Gully take off after another dog, and Linas soon struggling to catch them both.

Helga grunted, though she didn’t speak again until they reached the wattle fence, broken as Edela’s neighbours scrambled to save her cottage.

They hadn’t succeeded.

It was almost entirely gone.

Axl’s eyes, grainy and tired, blinked open in horror.

The sight of that smoking ruin was so upsetting that it robbed him of his voice. He stared at it, hearing Edela and Jael, his mother and Aleksander – a lifetime of memories buried amongst the smouldering ash.

Biddy. His father. Amma.

Turning away, he thought he would vomit. Instead, he shook his head, blinking tears from his eyes.

Beside him, Helga’s attention remained on the blackened ruin. ‘We must find that book,’ she muttered, as though to herself, eyes fixed on the path. ‘I must find it.’ And hitching up her dress, she pushed through the broken gate, heading for what had been the front door.

Axl remained frozen to the spot, seeing his grandmother waving to him from the garden, struggling back to her feet with a smile and a laugh. He saw smoke twirling from the thatch, promising a blazing fire and a hot tea.

It had smelled strongly of lavender.

Lavender and apples.

And Edela.

Who, like her cottage, was gone, perhaps never coming back.

And closing his eyes, he let his tears fall.

* * *

The physician returned to examine his patient as sunlight streamed down on Sea Queen.

His daughter had remained in their shop, so Edela assisted him as he checked his stitching and examined Raymon’s other wounds. Siggy watched intently over her shoulder, not shying away from the exposed flesh and blood.

Bertel wasn’t as enthusiastic, heading to Korri, who had returned to Sea Queen after seeing to his second ship. ‘What news?’ he called.

‘No one’s looking for those Silurans from what I could discover! That was certainly all of them!’

Bertel’s shoulders remained knotted as Korri hopped over the shield rack with a thump, smiling at a bleating Nellie. ‘So we are free,’ he said blankly. ‘Whatever that means.’

Korri shrugged. ‘Either way we have to choose our next destination. Have you spoken to Edela?’

Bertel shook his head. ‘She’s focused on helping Raymon Vandaal.’

‘A king?’ Korri still couldn’t believe it. ‘On my ship?’

‘Not a king anymore,’ Bertel muttered. ‘He ran away from his throne. Now he’s just a man hiding from his responsibilities. From his people. And his family.’ Though remembering the choices he’d made in his own life, Bertel soon closed his mouth. Turning around, he saw Edela coming with Siggy, who had left Tarkel to finish up.

‘Korri!’ Edela smiled, pleased to see him. ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes, just wondering where to next?’

Edela’s face fell, and she looked confused. ‘Well, I...’ She turned to Bertel, then Siggy.

‘If the Silurans are dead, can we go home?’ Siggy wondered with big eyes. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Zen, the goat, and the cat. She saw the vast city in a haze of sunlight and smoke and felt strange, remembering the temple and the awful girls in Tuura.

Realising that she didn’t want to go home at all.

‘Well,’ Edela repeated, aware that all eyes were on her. And now she straightened up, remembering the fetters Iker Rayas had clamped around her wrists and the silver disc Siggy had been tricked into putting in her purse, and she shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. I believe I must go and hunt that woman down. The woman who sent the Silurans after us. I must find her.’

Everyone blinked at the dreamer in surprise.

‘Find her?’ Bertel looked the most surprised of all. ‘And where do you think she might be?’

‘Well, Iker Rayas was taking me to her. To Kadak, apparently.’

‘Kadak? Where in Kadak? It’s a rather large kingdom from memory. And what are we going to do with him, Edela? The king?’ Bertel grumbled. ‘I think it’s best we leave him with that physician. We can’t care for him.’

Edela poked his arm. ‘Is that so? You would leave a fallen man behind? And not just any man but a Furyck. The rightful King of Iskavall.’

Bertel became flustered, so Korri intervened. ‘I’m happy to take you where you need to go, Edela. Hopefully, we’ll find a way to make some coins. We’re entirely wiped out. Robbed in the desert, then robbed by our men here.’

‘Oh, yes, you were saying. I am sorry to hear that.’ Edela patted his hand, eyeing him sympathetically. ‘Though I imagine you could find a few coins aboard that Siluran ship, and we’ll do our best to earn our own way, won’t we, Bertel?’

‘Our own way? But Edela –’

‘Kadak!’ she decided cheerfully, slipping her arm through Siggy’s. ‘I’m sure more will be revealed there.’

* * *

Axl and Linas used sticks to sift through the warm ashes until they reached the burned floorboards, where Linas discovered one marked by a tiny symbol. It reminded Helga of the stones in the garden, and she looked on with interest as Axl used his knife to lift up the floorboard, which, as expected, revealed a cavity below.

And a small leather-bound book tucked up inside.

Eyes bulging, Helga bent down, gently picking it up. Blinking now, she stood, turning in surprise to see Eren Venberg standing at the bottom of the path, staring up at them.

Though seeing that she was discovered, Eren immediately dropped her head and scurried away.

Axl didn’t see her. His attention was on the book. ‘If my grandmother hid it, she didn’t want anyone finding it.’

Helga shrugged. ‘Though she isn’t here, and we need all the help we can get.’ Looking up, she sensed that the king wanted to take it from her, though soon his shoulders appeared to drop. ‘She wrote a book to help, that’s what she said in my dream, so I imagine she’d want me to have it for now.’

Axl nodded, sensing that was true. And only a dreamer would get some use out of it, so it was better to be in Helga’s hands than those of the woman who’d tried to kill her. ‘See what you can find,’ he said, spotting the ruins of his grandmother’s chair crumbled before the fire pit. He imagined her flapping a hand at him, telling him not to worry – not about her or the book.

Though it was impossible.

Still, Helga was here, and he needed to start trusting her. ‘Come and find me if you discover anything. I’ll be...’ He wasn’t sure. ‘Everywhere,’ he decided eventually, knowing how much there was to do. ‘I’ll be everywhere.’ And with that, he left the dreamer and her grandson behind, heading down the path to the road, inhaling the smoke, thinking of Mutt Storman and his plans for Brekka.

* * *

Mutt Storman wasn’t used to so many people.

It had been eleven years since he’d been tossed out of Andala by the tyrant king, Ranuf Furyck.

Two of his most loyal friends had gone with him, though they’d fallen out almost immediately, going their separate ways. After that, Mutt had forged his own path, building a new life. He hadn’t sought to make a home in another fort or village, knowing how loyal Ranuf Furyck’s lords were to him. Though over the years, he’d met up with a few outlaws, joining together. More falling outs had ensued, and he’d found himself entering his sixtieth year mostly alone.

Until the dreamer found him.

The ravishing Gunnhild, a woman of such beauty that the mere sight of her took his breath away. She wasn’t giggling and girlish like the women who used to catch his eye. She had lived and wore the evidence of that life like a cloak of confidence that shimmered under moon and sun.

It was mesmerising.

She had entranced him with her generous brown eyes, her deep, lush voice, and her promises most of all.

His future, she had insisted, would look so different in her hands.

Though glancing around the camp, nestled amongst a forest of tall pines, Mutt wasn’t so sure. He was becoming annoyed, watching as Axl Furyck’s traitor lords fought amongst themselves, arguing over how their attack would proceed.

Discounting him.

Though who had called them to this noble quest in the first place? Who had shown them how corrupt and greedy their king was? The king and his entire family?

Yet now he was to be dismissed like some servant? As though they’d forgotten all he had done to get them here?

That every step, every victory had been at his direction?

Led by him?

Mutt was outraged.

Picking his nose, he snarled in anger, and wiping it down his freshly washed brown tunic, he tried to focus on the day ahead. Leading men didn’t come naturally, and he was struggling to control his temper. He’d killed one man who’d dared question him, though he knew he couldn’t carry on so recklessly. Those lords were looking for a reason to advance their own ambitions, and he couldn’t hand them an opening.

Henk Layborg, Lord of Rosby, approached with heavy footsteps. He was stocky and muscular but an impatient, brittle man, fuelled by the fear of discovery. And despite knowing that Mutt’s dreamer was providing a veil of secrecy, he doubted the woman’s effectiveness.

And Mutt’s truthfulness.

For no one had seen the dreamer but him.

‘How long are we to wait?’ Henk grumbled. ‘For your friends? We cannot sit on our hands forever, Mutt. Rumours will spread. Axl Furyck will be alerted to our plans. We may own the element of surprise now, but we won’t for long.’

Mutt laughed, covering his annoyance as they walked through the camp, though his eyes hardened to stone. ‘Leave the fretting to the women and the planning to me. Impatience will only bring failure. What? You think we proceed with half an army? Run off like children after a treat? No, if he gets wind of anything, Axl Furyck will organise his men and crush us all. We stay here and wait, as I’ve already said. United, we stand a chance. More than a chance.’ Reaching one of the servants, he gave her a squeeze, dipping a filthy finger into a cauldron of stewing apples. He sucked his finger, eyes brightening. ‘I’ll have that on my porridge,’ he said to the woman before turning back to the sharp-eyed lord. ‘We stick to the plan, and soon there’ll be no more Furycks in Brekka.’

* * *

Axl left Helga and Linas behind, soon forgetting the book and the cottage as his mind turned to what would come next. Mutt Storman obviously had a reason to want Andala in flames, but what explained his lords and friends turning against him? Against his family?

Was it truly a fallout from bad harvests and sicknesses, or was someone sowing seeds of discontent amongst his people?

Perhaps both, he thought bitterly, seeing Rexon entering the square, now being cleared by Gerald and his servants. There was no sign that anyone had been in the forest. No tracks from catapults or siege towers had been discovered – nothing that indicated an army had trampled through the undergrowth, snapping branches and flattening bushes – leaving everyone to assume, with some discomfort, that it must have been a dreamer weaving magic.

Playing games.

Erling arrived behind Rexon, and having been arguing for much of the morning, they glared at each other.

Ignoring their tension, Axl turned to Erling. ‘Any news?’

‘Just more of the same. No reports of any damage or any sightings of actual men or horses. Or even ships. Despite what we heard and thought we saw, there’s no evidence anyone was actually here.’

‘There’s nothing we can do about dreamers or their plans,’ the Lord of Saala said dismissively. He was usually an agreeable man, though the strain of what had happened to his family and his long, often terrifying journey from Saala had him short-tempered and sharp-tongued, in need of a deep sleep, a hearty meal, and a good cry.

Erling looked ready to argue, though Axl held up a hand. ‘Rexon’s right. We should expect the dreamer to be watching, listening to whatever we’re talking about. There’s little we can do about that.’

‘So what use is Helga?’ Erling wondered snidely. ‘I thought her symbols were supposed to protect us? And yet she’s let a dreamer into the fort. A dreamer who can burn down cottages! And who’ll be next?’

Axl grabbed Erling’s arm, sensing that beneath his friend’s anger lurked fear. And knowing that fear bred fear, he needed to stop him here and now. ‘We have to work together to protect the fort, to choose our next path. If Mutt Storman walls off the South?’ He shook his head, tasting smoke. ‘We must prevent that from happening.’

Erling held his breath, glowering at Axl.

Axl’s feet hurt. His chest was a nest of prickles, his neck locked in a vice, though he smiled at both men, wanting them to see confidence. ‘We must come together to defeat our enemies. We have to. This kingdom, these people are mine to defend, my birthright, my duty, and I will not let anyone take it from me.’

* * *

Edela thought of Axl as she took Raymon’s hand, wanting to see a glimpse of her grandson, though nothing would come. That frightened her, though she knew her path led far away from Osterland, and so until she felt a sense of completion, she had to keep walking down it. Finding Raymon had been important, she decided, rubbing her knee – first one knee, then the other. She had fallen to the deck with a crash during her battle with the Silurans, and they both ached.

Siggy had made her a tea using a mix of the herbs Tarkel had left, and touched by that, she now dropped Raymon’s hand and picked up the wooden cup. Bertel, Zen, and Korri had taken the crew to search the Silurans’ ship and to hunt for opportunities to earn coins. Bertel thought the merchants would be looking for strong arms to ferry their goods from ship to shore, and though he could barely lift his arms, he hadn’t wanted to remain behind with Edela, holding Raymon Vandaal’s hand.

Edela smiled, pleased by the changes in both her companions, though not necessarily by the ones in herself. She frowned, becoming troubled. She had killed those Silurans, saving them all, though she feared she had also killed a part of herself. A part she would never reclaim.

Raymon groaned, eyes fluttering open.

He groaned some more, trying to move, though Edela placed a hand on his arm, seeking to calm him. ‘You are safe, Raymon. We have stitched your wounds, and the physician gave you a tincture. The pain is being held at bay. There is nothing to panic about. There now, stay still. There is no need to panic.’

‘But my arm!’ Feeling odd sensations, a groggy and confused Raymon did panic. ‘My arm!’ He moved his left arm, seeking to grab his right.

From where Siggy was playing with Alvi, the cat, she looked up, hearing the disturbance. And hurrying to her feet, she was soon at Edela’s side.

Raymon could now feel his right arm, and it soothed him, his body sinking back onto the bed of furs. ‘What happened?’ he asked, seeing the girl peering at him with curious eyes and an open mouth, mostly masked by a wild bush of curls, and then Edela beside him, who was familiar and comforting. ‘Where am I?’ He first thought he was on the Silurans’ ship, trying to piece together what had happened, but nothing looked as he’d remembered it.

‘On board Sea Queen, a delightful vessel owned by our good friend, Korri. He brought his men to fight the Silurans. They saved us,’ Edela told him.

Siggy frowned, knowing that wasn’t quite how things had gone. And staring at Edela, remembering the sight of her floating in the air, red magic sparking from her hands, her mouth gaped open some more.

‘And those men?’

‘They died,’ Edela said simply. ‘Killed. And we are safe and free.’

‘Kadak,’ Raymon sighed. ‘I was... going to... Kadak. I have to... go!’ Panic engulfed him again, and he started wriggling.

‘But we are going to Kadak, my lord,’ Siggy told him, remembering Lina for the first time in a while, knowing she was likely a queen. A queen whose husband had taken Raymon Vandaal’s throne.

Raymon looked confused. ‘But I –’

‘You can’t run away,’ Edela insisted. ‘Not in this state. You can’t stay here either. You need help, for a while, at least, so you must come along. We will leave tomorrow.’

‘But I... why do you want to go to Kadak? What is happening, Edela?’

‘I am going to find the woman responsible for all this mess in the first place,’ Edela smiled. ‘We can talk on the way about where you want to go, but for now, we simply must follow the path where it leads.’

8

On board Bone Hammer, sailing for Andala, Eadmund sat beside a silent Bolder, whose face was the colour of fresh snow. He looked cold, though sweat pooled in the lines on his forehead, gathering in his moustache and eyebrows. ‘We’ll get you to Brekka,’ he promised quietly. ‘Raal’s got everything under control. You get to take it easy this leg. Just lie back while we serve you ale. We’ve got barrels of the stuff. Wine too. And food. The queen’s been very generous.’ Looking over his shoulder, he saw Kalina sitting like an annoyed statue in the distance, flapping a hand at a hovering Pye, who seemed unable to stay still.

Bolder tried to laugh but could only croak. His body hurt from the top of his head to deep in his belly, and now he grimaced. ‘Sea burial,’ he decided with a slow wink. ‘Seems fitting. Better than... stinking up the... ship.’

Mattie approached, wanting to check Bolder’s wound.

As she gently lifted his arm and nudged down his bandage, Eadmund looked for hope in the dreamer’s eyes, though he saw nothing but sadness. He smiled encouragingly. ‘So you’ll sleep in the deep then? That’s your plan? To escape what’s coming?’

Bolder frowned, having spent much of his time since they’d arrived in S’ala Nis asleep. ‘Coming?’

‘Jael’s taking us to Andala. She’s got a bad feeling. And a bad feeling usually means a battle of some sort, and you want to miss that?’

Bolder chuckled, shivering now.

And noting that, Eadmund looked around, seeing Jael’s new friend, Alek, holding out a fur. He took it with a nod, draping it over the helmsman, who was already covered with two.

‘A battle for Andala?’

Eadmund wasn’t sure, but he kept on chatting as though he was. ‘Something like that. And you know how the Furycks feel about Andala.’ Looking up, he saw Jael coming, one hand out to steady herself. The wind was fresh, and her hair was a tangled mess, whipping around her face. She smiled, and Eadmund blinked as though she was a vision from a dream.

Jael watched him for a moment before turning her attention to Alek, who appeared to be shivering. ‘Where’s your fur?’ Alek looked Bolder’s way, and Jael nodded. ‘Are you cold?’

‘A little, but I’ve got legs, Jael. I can find something warm if I need to,’ he insisted as she squatted before him, looking uncomfortable. ‘And you? Perhaps you need a fur and a lie down?’

‘Me? I’ve far too much to do,’ Jael grinned.

Alek shook his head, peering at her. ‘And how’s your back?’

‘Still there, but Kosta’s not, so my back won out in the end, didn’t it?’

‘And Rigg? I keep thinking about poor Rigg. About those who sacrificed everything for their freedom and failed. They’ll never see their homes again. Never see their families.’ Alek sank back against the gunwale, oblivious to the icy wind or the creaking ship thumping the waves.

‘Though I’d still make that choice, wouldn’t you? To stay there and die or try and escape? I’d still make that choice.’

Alek nodded. ‘So would I.’

‘You need to fix your mind on what comes next. We all do. There’ll be time to talk about S’ala Nis when we’re done.’

‘Done?’ Alek didn’t understand, though Jael soon left him to it, wanting to talk to Kalina.

Thorgils stood as she passed, nearly knocking her over. Reaching out, a grimacing Jael snatched his arm. ‘Are you trying to kill me? Is that your plan?’

‘Kill you and what? Marry Eadmund?’ Thorgils grinned. ‘Of course. It’s been my plan all along!’

Jael laughed. ‘Get out of my way, you annoying lump.’ And stumbling past him, she headed for Kalina, who was batting away Kolarov’s attempts at conversation with a sneer and a snarl.

Jael opened her mouth to speak, smelling smoke.

She turned around with a furrowed brow, seeing flames and darkness.

Her feet were bare, dug into cold sand. She tasted salt in her mouth, smoke pumping up her nose until she felt the urge to cough.

Screams as men fell before the backdrop of flames.

She heard whistling arrows – dull thuds as they struck flesh, a harder crack when they shattered bone.

The sound bore down on her until she was shaking.

‘Jael? My lady?’ Kolarov called, struggling back to his feet, fearing something was wrong. ‘Jael?’

His loud voice drew the attention of those in the stern, and soon Eadmund was moving down the deck towards her. Though a blinking Jael’s attention wasn’t on her husband but on the dreamer, Mattie, following behind him.

* * *

Linas was so determined for Gully to be his dog and his dog alone that he worked hard to ensure he was always well-fed. He’d seen other people feeding Gully, noticing how happy that made the dog, who’d appear less interested in Linas for a time, abandoning the boy in the hopes of more food.

And not wanting to lose him for even a moment, Linas had surrendered his supper to the dog, much to his grandmother’s annoyance.

‘Have you seen yourself, boy? All teeth and bones? And that dog’s belly almost scraping the ground? Hmmph.’ Helga shook her head and stomped out of the hall, leaving Linas stewing in her wrath while she went in search of answers to her many questions.

Who had placed those symbol stones outside the cottage?

And what were they after?

Killing her?

It seemed so, for that fire hadn’t started itself, and she certainly hadn’t locked herself into the cottage.

She thought of her dream of Edela’s book.

It was a strange dream to have had, but she’d had it for a reason, and now Helga’s mind was fixed on what answers might be lurking in those vellum pages. She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost slammed into Erling Venberg, who had rushed around a corner like a runaway prisoner.

Feeling herself tipping, she flung out an arm, seizing Erling’s sleeve. In trying to avoid her, he lost his balance, and they tumbled to the ground in a grunting heap.

‘I...’ Shaking his head, a dazed Erling quickly sat up. ‘Are you alright?’

Helga stared at him, pushing herself off the ground as though in a trance. She didn’t blink, her eyes locked on his.

And without waiting for an answer, Erling stood, offering a hand to help her up. Helga didn’t take it, still staring at him, and eventually, Erling was forced to continue on his journey.

He felt disturbed, glancing briefly over his shoulder at the old woman, who remained in the dirt, peering after him.

* * *

Jael’s jewellery had been stripped from her by Marsa’s eager helpers when she’d arrived at S’ala Nis, though she’d managed to retrieve it before they departed, and now, she slipped one of her amulets over her head, handing it to Mattie.

Staring at the two bronze axes, which she assumed were for Furia, Mattie looked confused.

‘I need you to help me find answers,’ Jael explained. ‘Something is wrong with my brother.’ She thought of Raymon, feeling another wave of sadness. ‘Axl. He’s... something’s wrong that I can’t see. Andala is warded with symbols, or perhaps it’s just me, but I can’t break through them. I’ve been trying since yesterday, though I’m not much use as a dreamer. I need help from someone who knows what they’re doing.’ Jael saw a flicker of fear in Mattie’s large hazel eyes. She saw a twitch of the woman’s red nose, though she also saw her nod, and that pleased her most of all. ‘You were helpful, Mattie. Fyn told me about what you did, so I know this isn’t beyond you. Go sit in peace somewhere.’ Glancing over her shoulder, she frowned at Pye hopping around the bow. ‘Over there,’ she said, pointing the dreamer back to the stern. ‘See what you can find.’

‘I, I’ll try, my lady.’

‘Good. Call me Jael, and hurry to it. I need to understand what’s happening. What I can do.’

And if it’s too late, she thought.

If it’s too late to save Axl.

* * *

Linas was wide-eyed and not tired at all, which, Helga insisted wasn’t true, and she pushed him back down on the bed.

The bed itself was more comfortable than anything she’d slept in, though the chamber was far too large for Helga’s liking. She didn’t enjoy being in it at all. It smelled like the former queen: floral and nauseating. The bedding was finely worked, even down to the sheet. The rugs beneath her feet were lush, beautiful tapestries decorated the old walls, but she felt on edge, doubting she’d be able to relax.

Sighing heavily and realising that the only way to make Linas sleep was through the dog, she let Gully sleep on the bed. ‘Though he’ll be getting off when I come in,’ she warned sharply as the dog attempted to clean her face with his slobbering tongue.

‘It’s quiet,’ Linas whispered. ‘What does that mean?’

Helga snorted. ‘Mean? It means everyone is asleep but you!’

‘No, they’re not,’ Linas insisted. ‘I can hear people in the hall.’

‘Though I thought you said it was quiet?’

A thoughtful Linas peered up at his grandmother, whose strong arms were still trying to push him down onto his pillow. Relenting, he watched her face. ‘It’s quiet in my head. I don’t hear any noises.’

‘Inside your head? Bah!’ And pulling the fur over Linas’ chest, Helga stood, feeling so unsteady that she nearly lost her balance. ‘You need a friend. Someone with only two legs,’ she added, eyes on the dog, who lay down and kept still as though hoping she wouldn’t notice he was there. ‘Someone to talk to. That would see the end of your voices. Now, get some sleep. Both of you.’ And with that, Helga blew out all but one of the lamps and left the chamber, quietly closing the door.

The odd silence in his head kept Linas awake for some time. He tried to talk to Gully, though the dog appeared asleep. The bed was enormous, though he barely noticed. He felt bored, sweeping his legs back and forth across the sheet, hoping to wake Gully up. He flopped onto his stomach and then onto his side, rolling into a ball. He’d slept that way as a little boy, he remembered – curled into his grandmother, her arm holding him tight.

His body finally became heavy and still, his eyelids fluttering; he could no longer keep them open.

Blinking, he suddenly heard noises in his head.

Men’s voices.

And hopping out of bed, he was pleased to see a wide awake Gully hurrying to join him by the door.

Glancing over his shoulder, Linas saw his cloak, hearing his grandmother’s grumbles in his ears. She wasn’t in here sleeping; she was helping the king. And Linas was certain there was something he could do to be helpful too. He patted the dog, bending down to his ear. ‘We have to be quiet, Gully. We have to slip away before they know we’ve gone.’

* * *

Once they’d left S’ala Nis behind, the sea had been mostly calm, and after a long day, nearly everyone was sound asleep.

Though not Jael.

Eyeing Kalina, she wondered what Ronin Sardis would do now.

Fyn had told her about the wolf ships and the fire walls, and exposed out at sea for what would be at least a twelve day journey to Andala, no one felt entirely safe. Though Jael hadn’t just taken Kalina to draw Ronin Sardis to her – she had wanted a form of protection, hoping the king was more fond of his daughter than his hasty escape from S’ala Nis suggested.

Jael thought of Inesh Seppo and his warnings about Dessalene.

The dreamer hadn’t appeared that affectionate towards her stepdaughter, she remembered, mind wandering. Perhaps they should have swapped Bone Hammer for one of Ulf’s catapult ships? Eyes on the white-capped waves, she focused on their rhythmic motion as the ship rolled over them.

Tilting back her head, she saw clouds gathering, and dropping it, she flinched, seeing Eadmund approach.

‘Worrying?’ he asked with a grin.

Jael sighed. ‘Thinking about Dessalene and what she might be planning. It’s a long journey.’

Eadmund exhaled a cold breath. ‘Mattie helped us before, and now we have you with us.’

‘And I can do what? Magic? Hmmph. I’d rather have a sword.’ And looking down at the sword and belt Arras had given her, Jael felt strange all over. She had found clothes before she’d left – a pair of dark blue trousers and a tunic, made of linen – and though soft, they scratched her new stitches. Though, she reminded herself, they were not that horrible grey dress. That was at least an improvement.

‘You need sleep,’ Eadmund murmured, feeling tired himself.

‘It won’t come. I’m too tense.’

‘We could lie down together?’

Jael laughed. ‘That would hardly encourage me to sleep, Eadmund Skalleson,’ she said slyly, provoking a laugh from him too.

He carefully slipped an arm around her waist. ‘If not sleep, then relax. We’ll just lie down,’ he repeated, seeking to soothe his uptight wife, though she soon slipped out of his grasp, shaking her head. ‘No, you sleep if you want. I think I’ll have a talk with my friend, Pye.’ And turning away from a surprised Eadmund, she headed down the ship, aiming for the dreamer’s helper, who sat with his head back against the gunwale, eyes closed.

* * *

Linas slipped through the kitchen door behind Gully, past Helvor’s helpers who were arguing about what had happened to the last of the smoked trout.

The thought of smoked trout made Linas’ belly rumble, regretting that he hadn’t saved any supper for himself, though soon the noises in his head drew his attention away from his empty belly towards what he’d left the hall to do.

To find the danger, he reminded himself.

To help his grandmother and the king, he needed to find the danger.

Eyeing the kitchen door, which he’d only just closed, Linas wondered about heading back inside and returning to his bed. It was what his grandmother would want. She would want him to be safe, but when he turned back to Gully, he saw that the dog had bounded away, tail wagging. So, with an excited shiver, Linas scrambled after him. ‘Gully!’ he hissed, eyes darting left and right, seeing cat eyes shimmering in the darkness. ‘Gully! Wait for me!’

* * *

Jael took Pye away from Kalina, who remained sleeping.

Pye didn’t protest, for Jael Furyck was who he needed to speak to most of all. Only she could help him, he was certain. Only she would listen.

Though when they found an empty space along the starboard gunwale, it was the queen who did all the talking.

‘I can help you,’ she said. ‘We can help each other, Pye. You want to go home to your dreamer, don’t you?’

Pye bristled with annoyance. Being reunited with Dessalene was all he’d thought about since she’d abandoned him, though now?

He knew he didn’t want to be a prisoner, locked in fetters, but did he really want to grovel before the dreamer who had mocked him and then tossed him away? He wasn’t sure he did.

‘I don’t want to kill you,’ Jael added. ‘You aren’t my enemy, Pye. You’re only in those,’ she said, pointing to the fetters, ‘because of the fuss you’ve been causing.’

Pye peered at her like a wary cat, assessing whether the stranger with the open hand was a friend or an enemy. And though he’d spent years by the side of a dreamer, he had no insight at all.

‘All I need is for you to share what you know about Dessalene and Ronin and their plans. That’s all.’

Pye jerked away from her, hitting his head. ‘No! I won’t! No!’ he snapped angrily, fear throbbing in his chest. ‘She is powerful. She –’ Cutting himself off abruptly, Pye dropped his head, pulling his knees to his chest and hiding his face.

Jael didn’t react, though she was suddenly burning with curiosity. ‘Do you have tattoos?’ she wondered. ‘Any symbols on your body?’

Pye threw up his head. ‘Why? What for?’

Though Jael only shrugged.

‘Do you think the dreamer branded me? As her property? A slave?’

‘Well, in truth, I’ve no idea,’ Jael said, and seeing a glimmer of metal, she touched his arm, pushing back his wet sleeve to reveal an arm ring. ‘What’s this? Who gave you this?’

Pye pulled his arm away, cradling it against his chest.

He didn’t answer.

Though Jael didn’t need him to. She grabbed the arm ring and tugged it off, ignoring Pye’s bleating protests. ‘The thing is, Pye, there are two dreamers on this ship. Two dreamers who don’t need your tongue to move to find out what’s inside your head.’ She held up the arm ring, seeing it more clearly in a glint of moonlight. ‘I merely wanted to give you the chance to choose a side. You can go back to Dessalene, or you can make a fresh start. It’s entirely up to you.’ And with a smile, Jael stood, swaying above the little man. ‘Thank you for this, though. I shall see what I can find.’

Pye stared after her in horror. ‘But... but I –’

Though Jael didn’t turn around as she headed for Eadmund, finally having a reason to lie down and close her eyes.

* * *

Distracted in the darkness, Linas had tripped over, scraping his knees. Gully had come back for him then, though the boy hadn’t even bothered to dust himself off before he was scrambling away, following the voices in his head.

They were angry, and they sounded in a hurry.

Men whispering and hissing at each other.

Someone had fallen over, he thought, becoming confused. He kept running, turning down darker and darker alleys, not quite sure where he was heading. The moon was no help now, and he splashed in a puddle of what smelled like a latrine, still wondering exactly how he was going to help.

Though he just knew he could.

He could.

And as he thought it, Linas stopped beneath the covered porch of a workshop, seeing a faint glow in the distance, seeping through the door of a shed.

Whispering at Gully to stay quiet, he patted the dog’s head, watching as two men came out of the shed, motioning for others, who soon emerged from the shadows, joining them. Its big door squeaked and then closed again, but not all the way, and Linas started creeping forward with a thumping heartbeat, suddenly feeling very thirsty.

He was sure he’d seen those men working at the docks with the man who’d arrived at the fort.

The one his grandmother had been watching.

* * *

Holding Pye’s arm ring, Jael lay beside her husband, too tired to notice the wet deck and the soggy fur. She shivered, already missing the heat, though after only a few grumbles, she fell asleep, slipping into a dream.

She saw Pye immediately, hiding behind a door, which puzzled her. He hunched over silently, ear pressed to that door, eyes bulging with interest.

Eavesdropping.

Jael turned away from him into a chamber lit by a handful of lamps. Their flames glowed like gold, warm and yet slightly ominous, and she was on edge as she walked, hearing the murmuring voices of two women in the distance.

She recognised Dessalene immediately – the dreamer’s hair flaming in the lamplight, swishing as she spoke. ‘Mistress, I –’

‘There is much at play, Dessalene, though that is not new. What matters is getting the woman alone. I have seen that she will soon go to Alekka, finally drawn away from the safety of her islands. It will be the perfect time to...’

The voice became impossible to understand, and Jael moved quickly now, past extravagant pieces of furniture, over soft rugs and around tables, desperate to reach the women before her vision faded.

‘We have help in many quarters, of course. Friends in Alekka, in Osterland, the Fire Lands. We must get Edela Saeveld away from her, though. Out of the way entirely. All the dreamers must go. You will reach out to Kalina, for S’ala Nis will make the perfect prison. Ronin will want that...’

Jael’s lips parted, craning her neck, though she didn’t want to move any closer now, fearing exposure. It was a dream, something that had already happened, she knew, though her body vibrated, sensing danger.

‘I will see to it, Mistress.’

‘Though be warned that if your stepdaughter fails to have Edela Saeveld killed, I shall have to intervene. That woman cannot be allowed to live. The death of the Furycks is our goal, though it will never be accomplished while that old crone still breathes.’

The voices faded, though Jael remained in the dark chamber.

And now she turned around, once again seeing the quivering figure of Pye hiding behind the door.

9

Helga flapped a calloused hand at Gerald, who kept offering her warm milk. Reading his thoughts, she could tell he wanted her gone from the hall. And though she didn’t think she was taking up much room, seated in a corner, studying Edela Saeveld’s book, she decided that a chatty Linas was better company than a fussing Gerald.

And ignoring the steward, she pulled herself out of the chair, almost smiling at the thought of that comfortable mattress, which would surely soothe her aching legs. As long as she could move the boy and his dog out of the way.

Yawning now, Helga passed the kitchen, tucking the book under her arm, mind fixed on her bed. Though inhaling sharply, she turned away from the corridor leading to the bedchambers and pushed open the kitchen door instead.

* * *

Axl had spent his evening walking the ramparts, fearing the mysterious dreamer would return for another night of games.

He hoped Helga would find out who she was and what she wanted, and most importantly, a way to stop her.

Likely she was helping Mutt Storman, he thought, which made the disgruntled outlaw a much more challenging adversary. Axl couldn’t discount him, couldn’t dismiss him, for he had drawn enough support to feel confident about claiming most of Brekka.

And if he did?

The always present pit of fear stirred in his belly. Though fretting wouldn’t help, and nor would watching the forest and waiting for a dreamer to pounce. The best thing he could do was to get some sleep. After one sleepless night, he was struggling to feel any certainty about his next steps, going so far as to cancel his afternoon council meeting. He hadn’t wanted to sit at the table, feeling confused and indecisive. He needed some sleep, hoping it would set him right for a better day tomorrow.

Making decisions was the hardest part of being a king, and this decision, more than any other, Axl feared, would decide Brekka’s fate.

He blinked, feeling grit in his eyes – like sand.

‘Nils! You’ve got the wall!’ he called. ‘I’ll see you in the morning!’ And with a quick look around, Axl dropped his head and aimed for the guard tower.

* * *

Helga left the hall through the kitchen door, having received no helpful information from the servants. One said he might have seen the dog recently, though he couldn’t be sure.

Stepping down into the alley, Helga smelled fish and slops, which muddled her thoughts as she tried to picture where Linas might be.

She heard someone whistling in the distance and felt a pain in her heart, fearing for the naughty child – her only kin. And though the fort wasn’t under attack, he was an eight-year-old boy who shouldn’t have been creeping around it at night.

Shaking her head, she turned left, guessing the boy had headed for one of the towers, wanting to see what was happening on the wall.

* * *

Linas told Gully to stay. He had to stay now and wait for him.

Gully did as he was told, tail sweeping the dirt, excited but obedient, watching as the boy crept towards the shed.

Gulping down mouthfuls of fear and excitement, Linas knew something was happening. He trembled with anticipation, knowing the men were up to something in that shed.

Creeping closer, he wanted to see.

He remembered the shed now. It was where something important was kept, though he couldn’t remember the name of it. It was a secret, he thought, an important secret, so what were these men doing here in the dark? They were whispering inside the shed but making a lot of noise moving back and forth, boots scuffing the dirt.

Reaching the shed wall, Linas pressed his face to the wooden palings, opening one eye wide as he peered through a crack.

There was a wagon – he saw that first. A big wagon, half-covered with cloth. He could smell something strange. It didn’t smell like anything he knew, but it was bad. Trying not to gag, he focused again, eyes sweeping the shed. Four men were loading the wagon. A horse was attached to it, facing the doors, and it looked unhappy, Linas thought. Or angry. Its white ears flicked around, nostrils flaring.

Maybe it didn’t like the men?

Linas thought they were bad men, and then, seeing two men lying bound in a corner, he knew that was true.

Heart thudding in his ears, he straightened up. ‘I have to go back to the hall,’ he told himself in a whisper. ‘My grandmother. I have to –’

And then he was hauled into the air, legs dangling helplessly, eyes seeking Gully.

* * *

Helga reached the guard tower nearest the harbour gates, suddenly feeling a cold hand on her shoulder. It touched her like ice, though when she spun around, no one was there.

No man or woman or child.

Though she felt Linas’ panic.

And then her own.

* * *

‘What are you doing, boy?’ the gap-toothed man grinned at Linas, who he’d dropped back to the ground, keeping a hand clamped around his scrawny wrist. ‘Spying?’

Linas shook his head, fear tying his guts in knots. He tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat was too big. ‘I... I was lost.’

The man laughed, earning a grumble from another man who’d arrived with him.

‘We’ve no time for it, Goran. Kill the boy. Kill him, and let’s go,’ he hissed angrily, heading for the shed, wanting to get inside before he was spotted. Glancing over his shoulder, he growled at his friend. ‘We have to get the sea-fire loaded before anyone else comes along.’

Linas’ eyes almost popped out of his head. Mouth hanging open, he trembled, trying to protest but unable to find any words. The man named Goran looked unsure, he thought, watching him reluctantly unsheath his knife. He saw the blade glint menacingly and tried to tug his arm out of that firm grip. ‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Help! No! Help me!’

The hesitant Goran quickly became annoyed, his need to silence the noisy boy overcoming any squeamishness he felt at killing a child. And twisting his knife, he aimed for Linas’ throat.

Gully took him in the leg, locking his jaw around Goran’s ankle, and surprised by that, the man released his hold on the boy, who fell backwards, plopping onto his arse before scrambling onto his feet and running into the arms of his grandmother.

Goran swung around, trying to stab Gully, though the black dog released his bleeding ankle, now missing a chunk of hairy flesh, and retreated to where Helga stood, growling.

‘You thought to kill a boy? My boy?’ Her beady eyes shifted from a grimacing Goran to those men making noises inside the shed, which she knew contained the precious sea-fire. ‘Well, that’s a mistake you won’t make twice.’ And taking out her own knife, Helga stepped forward. ‘Go, dog!’ she snapped. ‘Go!’

* * *

Axl found Rexon passing the hall, wondering if he was sleepwalking, for he hadn’t responded to his call.

Eventually, Rexon turned around with a blinking smile. ‘Sorry. Half asleep,’ he sighed. ‘Just not asleep enough.’

‘Do you want some ale?’ Axl asked, motioning to the hall doors. ‘Or wine?’

Rexon shook his head. ‘I tried lying there, but it just felt so strange. Last bed I slept in was my own, with my wife.’

Axl could certainly relate to that. ‘Maybe Helga could see something?’ he suggested, eyes full of sympathy.

‘Maybe,’ Rexon mumbled, unsure how he felt about the dreamer. ‘Though it won’t help me sleep tonight.’

‘No...’ Axl didn’t know what else to say, though Rexon quickly bobbed his head, leaving the king behind.

Watching him go, Axl’s shoulders dropped, and he turned up the hall steps, ready for his bed, though like Rexon, he dreaded lying there alone. Hand on the door, he heard barking and glancing around, he saw Gully bounding towards him.

* * *

Hearing the commotion, Goran’s friend had returned, furious to see that he’d drawn the dreamer to the shed. ‘Gut the witch!’ he hissed, not wanting to reveal their presence to anyone out walking the alley. The torchlight leaking from the shed cast a modest glow, though he didn’t know who was lurking in the shadows. The two men who’d been guarding the sea-fire were dead, though what if others were coming along, checking the fort? ‘Fucking kill them,’ he snarled, unhooking his axe. And holding it up in his right hand, he took a step forward.

Linas screamed loudly, clinging to his grandmother. ‘Help! Help us!’

Helga pushed him away. ‘Get to the hall! Warn the king!’ And though she sensed his great reluctance to leave her, the boy was soon running into the shadows, hopefully taking a shortcut to the hall.

* * *

Axl didn’t know why he was running after Gully, though remembering what had happened the previous night, he didn’t think he had any choice.

He should have been with Linas – that was the first thing that had stuck out.

The dog should have been sleeping with Linas.

Unless Helga had simply tossed him outside? Though if that was the case, Gully would’ve found another bed for the night. It was late and unusual for him to be roaming about.

And barking?

Rounding a corner, he bumped into Ragnar.

‘My lord?’ Ragnar exclaimed, stumbling. ‘I...’

Axl’s eyes darted past him, not wanting to lose sight of the dog. Though not waiting for him, Gully slipped around the next corner. ‘Come on!’

Ragnar was confused. ‘Is something happening, lord?’

‘No idea! Only Gully knows!’ And with a shiver of unease, a grinning Axl disappeared after the dog, Ragnar close on his heels.

* * *

Walking Andala’s ramparts, looking for a place to be alone, Rexon shivered, squeezing his eyes open and closed, seeking some energy and resolve, and seeing a glimpse of his wife cradling his beautiful children, he found it.

‘My lord!’ came an unexpected voice.

And looking down into the square, he saw the boy, Linas, calling up to him. ‘What are you doing?’ he growled. ‘Where’s your grandmother?’

‘The king!’ Linas cried. ‘The... sea-fire!’

A confused Rexon’s eyes swept the silent square.

‘Men are trying to steal it! From the shed!’ Linas added, watching as the lord swung around, calling to his men.

* * *

‘You intend to do what?’ Helga snarled. She brandished her knife, seeing the bigger man laugh. His younger, gap-toothed friend looked less enthusiastic, and she focused her attention on him. ‘Steal the sea-fire? Take it to Mutt Storman? You are working for him like your friends, the spies?’

A wide-eyed Goran stepped backwards, fearing what the dreamer could do.

Hearing the commotion, more men had come out of the shed, leaving one of the doors wide open, light streaming into the quiet back alley.

There were six of them now, joining together like a shield wall before her.

Helga heard a horse whinny, seeing a glimpse of it tossing its head and the wagon loaded with sea-fire ready to go. ‘Though how were you going to get it out of the fort? And at night?’

‘Shut up! You shut up!’ And lunging at her, the man with the axe aimed at Helga’s throat.

Axl’s knife took him in the head, and he staggered momentarily before falling sideways with a thump.

Helga stumbled away, leaving Axl and Ragnar to move forward, both men now unsheathing swords. Opposite them, Goran and his five remaining conspirators drew their own weapons.

‘It won’t be an even fight!’ one of the men crowed from the back.

‘Even?’ Axl snarled. And though he knew that was true, he thought they could at least make a go of it. Then the second shed door opened, and three more men stepped out, gripping axes.

Separating, they started moving, seeking to outflank the king and his commander.

‘Finish them here and dump their bodies with the others! We ride to Mutt in the morning with the king’s head!’ came the order.

Axl was so outraged that he stopped thinking about the fight.

That these men would so casually discuss killing their king?

He couldn’t understand it.

Shaking his head, he glanced at the dreamer. ‘Helga, leave!’ he ordered, lunging for the nearest man. And scuffing the ground with his extended left leg, he pushed forward onto his right, stabbing him in the belly. Shrieking, the young man staggered, falling to the ground. Rolling quickly, he tried to wriggle away, but Axl was over him, driving his sword into the man’s back as he sought to rise.

Though Helga wasn’t going anywhere except towards that shed. She could hear the horse becoming more disturbed, and she needed to shut the doors to keep the sea-fire safe. She saw danger everywhere, and brow furrowed, arms working, she barrelled past the fighting men, who took no notice of her as she slipped past the clashing weapons and aimed for the shed.

Rexon arrived with a surprised shout, seeing the fight taking place in the alley.

He saw Axl under attack on two sides by three men and Ragnar fighting off four, and he ordered the guards he’d pulled off the ramparts to get stuck in and help their king. Dragging a knife from his belt, he flung it at the man aiming to launch an attack on Axl’s rear – a risk, but one that paid off as that man jerked to a stop, one hand rising as if to touch the knife he could feel, pushed into his head, and then he was falling, arm dropping helplessly to his side.

Helga saw the new arrivals, surprised but relieved that Linas hadn’t come with them, and now she just needed to slip past these men and get to the shed.

Seeing her coming, one of the men blinked in surprise, lips parting as if to ask her a question, though soon his attention was drawn away by Ragnar Olveggen, who attacked him with his sword.

Knocked into by the twisting tangle of fighting men, Helga stumbled, leaning heavily on her right ankle. And then her eyes were back on the shed and the restless horse, pawing the ground inside.

‘Stop the witch!’ one of the attackers cried. ‘Get her!’

Pushed from the side, Axl fell onto Rexon. Looking up, he saw two men heading for his dreamer. One flung an axe at the woman, which missed, skewing wildly. ‘Hold here!’ he shouted, back on his feet and slashing his sword at a man who curled away from him. Dropping low, Axl scooped up a knife, and running again, he flung it at the back of the man nearest the dreamer.

It missed.

‘Helga! Look out!’ Axl bellowed, though she didn’t respond, seemingly oblivious to the danger swirling around her. Axl could hear the horse inside the shed now, though his thoughts were fractured, struggling to comprehend the sheer amount of danger unfolding in the alley. Then, seeing a glint of something, he turned, watching a blade spiral past his face. Everything slowed down, every thought stuck in his head, every word trapped in his mouth. He tried to call out to Helga, but no sound would come.

Before him, the dreamer appeared to flinch, and then Axl saw her moving, trying to escape that knife, though she was a heavyset woman, and her body didn’t respond with speed.

The knife took her in the back, and with a jolt and a stagger, she toppled forward.

Axl’s eyes lifted from the fallen dreamer to Rexon, who was pointing at the shed.

‘The horse!’ he shouted, though it was too late, and in the next moment, the panicking horse burst out of the shed, the wagon loaded with all of Andala’s sea-fire bouncing wildly along behind it.

* * *

Gully had raced back to find Linas, who had been waiting obediently on the hall steps, feeling worried.

Very, very worried.

The voices in his head were so loud now that he slammed his hands over his ears, trying to understand them.

And then he saw the dog appear out of the darkness, tongue flapping, bounding towards him.

Linas ran to meet him, ready to put his arms around his neck, though Gully wasn’t waiting, soon turning around and running away.

My grandmother, Linas thought, terror flooding his veins.

What has happened to my grandmother?

* * *

Axl couldn’t see to the dreamer, who lay fallen on the ground, knife in her back.

Two of the sea-fire thieves remained alive, bloody and unsteady on their feet, and deciding that three of Rexon’s men could finish them, he ordered everyone else after the runaway horse and wagon. ‘Ragnar! Head for the square! Get more men and cut it off!’ Though running down the alley, how remained a growing question.

How to stop a runaway horse carrying liquid that could set the entire fort alight.

‘Hurry!’ he urged, sheathing his sword, seeing Rexon beside him now. ‘We have to stop that horse!’

10

Linas slowed down as he approached the alley where those bad men had tried to hurt him, though Gully raced ahead of him into the light.

The alley was empty now.

Apart from all the bodies.

‘Gully!’ he hissed, not sure he wanted to go any further. Though he soon recognised one of the bodies. Bigger and rounder than the rest, Linas ran to it with terror in his eyes. ‘Grandmother!’ he screamed, all thoughts of danger gone. ‘Grandmother!’

Dropping to his knees, he saw Gully licking her cheek. He bent low, trying to move her head to see if she was breathing. He saw the knife in her back and thought about pulling it out but quickly shook his head. ‘Are you alright?’ he whimpered, eyes flooding with tears.

‘I would be if that... dog would stop... cleaning my face,’ came a familiar grumble as Helga groaned, and with some effort, lifted her head, turning it towards the boy.

Reaching down, Linas found her hand, and squeezing it, he started sobbing.

‘You need to go and... find someone,’ she said, thinking of the hall. ‘Find that Gerald. I’m sure he’d love to come and help.’

Linas didn’t let go of her hand.

‘Go on now, get going. I’ll just... lie here, and yes... you hurry now. And watch out for that horse.’

Standing up, Linas scrubbed the tears from his eyes, wrinkling his nose in confusion, but hearing another grumble from his grandmother, he turned to go. ‘I won’t be long!’ he promised, running in one direction while looking in another. ‘Just wait there! I’ll be back soon!’

* * *

Hurrying into the square, Ragnar ordered every man off the walls. And once they were standing before him, he divided them into two groups, sending half to erect barricades along the main roads leading to the square and the other half to quickly put out every brazier. ‘There can be no flames!’ he bellowed. ‘No fire anywhere!’

He could hear shouts in the distance, hooves clacking over cobblestones, too, and realising he’d see more from above, he hurried to a guard tower.

* * *

Axl and Rexon were close behind the horse and wagon now. The horse had become spooked, taking corners quickly at first, though it had been forced to slow down as the alleys became shorter and narrower.

‘Head west!’ Axl shouted, motioning to Rexon. ‘Block it off! Send it towards the square!’ It was the safest place, he thought – away from all the houses.

Rexon took half their men with him and turned left.

‘Faster!’ Axl called to the remaining men, his heart hammering a warning in his ears, every step jolting through his body.

He couldn’t lose the sea-fire.

He couldn’t.

* * *

Stalking the harbour wall, Ragnar finally saw the horse thundering down one of the roads leading to the square, the wagon bouncing behind it. The moon was bright, thankfully, for the square had now been plunged into darkness, and Ragnar could see what needed to happen. ‘Hassi!’ he barked. ‘Move the barricades! Feed it into the square! Sander, Elric! When he’s in, get in behind and block his escape! Hoff! Go for some rope! Try and catch him! Bows and arrows too!’ And shaking his head, heart pounding, Ragnar Olveggen ran for the stairs.

* * *

Everyone was moving towards the square now, including the horse. Axl could hear that over the steady rhythm of his panting. And then he could see the wagon bouncing wildly before him, wheels clattering down the alley. He heard the odd cracking noise, fearing how many jars were being lost on that wild ride.

The horse appeared to be slowing down, though.

Axl hoped that meant its panic was subsiding and that Ragnar had the square ready and waiting for it.

The horse continued its steady, slower pace, aiming for the wide expanse of the square, calmer now. Then a curious Andalan opened his door, jerking out a glowing lantern to see what all the noise was about, and surprised by that, the whinnying horse threw back its head, trying to change direction, to get away from the light.

Though there was nowhere to go.

The wagon twisted left, right, and back again, eventually tipping over, its cover flying away. The sea-fire jars smashed into each other as they hit the ground, the terrified horse, finally defeated, flopping down onto its side.

* * *

After Gerald and his junior steward – a sixteen-year-old named Col – had helped the injured dreamer back to the hall, Gerald had sent him for Astrid, the healer.

Helga detested the fussing, though with Linas chattering on one side of her and Gerald plying her with fortifying wine and blankets on the other, she could see no easy escape.

The knife in her back restricted her movements, and she was mostly breathless and unwilling to speak, which was how Astrid found her when she arrived. The healer was dressed in a simple blue dress and apron, wearing her familiar blue headscarf, a few strands of light-brown hair curling around a friendly, middle-aged face.

Helga had spoken to her a few times, and the healer smiled kindly as she called for more lamps and boiling water.

Helvor left to sort out the water, while Gerald sent Col to find out what was happening in the square.

‘You’ve had a rather eventful evening,’ Astrid smiled.

‘Men were trying to steal the sea-fire!’ Linas told her. ‘I found them, and one of them caught me, but my grandmother came and saved me! Those men are all dead now!’

Astrid was surprised. ‘The sea-fire? And what men are these?’

Though before Linas could burble on, Helga lifted her left hand. ‘The sea-fire is lost,’ she moaned, feeling the pain where the blade was stuck like a shot of fire in her body. ‘You... tell Gerald. He must find the... king.’

* * *

As the stunned horse was unshackled from the wagon and carefully helped back to its feet, a devastated Axl had shouted for everyone to stay in their houses, ordering them to blow out every flame and douse every fire. Though it would certainly have helped them to see.

Rexon was beside him, squinting. ‘We need to cover it,’ he muttered, already smelling the stinking liquid seeping into the dirt.

Axl agreed, knowing he would have to rouse many from their beds. They needed to dig the sea-fire down so deep that no spark could ignite it. Dirt and gravel and...

He shook his head.

His men were before him, seeing if any jars could be salvaged. Sea-fire was a potent, powerful weapon, and going up against Mutt Storman and his army of traitors, Axl had been planning to take at least half of it with him.

And now, without his grandmother, there was no way to make any more, for only she knew the recipe. Which, in hindsight, hadn’t been the wisest decision on his part.

‘There are four, my lord!’ one of his men called, standing up with two of the jars in question. ‘Just the four.’

‘Four?’ Axl’s heart sank, though he tried telling himself that it was better than none. ‘Well, take them back to the shed and secure them there. I... Rexon, you go with him. See to those men. Bring their bodies into the square. We’ll burn them tomorrow, along with the spies. I want everyone to see what happens to those who betray their king.’ And now he started shouting orders, for they had to work quickly to secure the leaking sea-fire.

One spark, one strike of lightning, and the fort would go up in flames.

* * *

Eadmund’s fingers were icicles. He wanted gloves or a fire – something warm. Then glancing at Bolder, who lay dying beside him, he quickly stopped worrying about being cold.

Mattie came to check on the helmsman, crouching down with a thoughtful look and Eadmund saw something in her eyes that made him shiver.

Dropping to her knees, she took one of Bolder’s hands, and lifting it to her lips, she kissed it, placing it across his chest. Taking his right arm, she crossed it over his left. And now she brought the furs up to cover them both.

Resting a hand on his forehead, she closed her eyes, feeling him leaving. ‘Furia will welcome you to her hall,’ she breathed. ‘You’re a fine man, a brave man, Bolder Oysten. You will have a place with her loyal warriors. She is ready to welcome you now.’

Eadmund felt terribly sad. Leaning forward, he gently squeezed Bolder’s shoulder. ‘And your men will have a place in my hall or in Andala’s. I will ensure they are well looked after. And Bone Hammer. She’ll ride the waves under Raal. You know she’ll be in good hands.’

There was no movement at all, and Eadmund feared Bolder had gone. Then the helmsman sucked in an almighty breath, eyes bursting open, expelling a groan of something like pain.

And then nothing.

He lay there, staring at the sky or at something that neither could see, eyes peeled open, dry lips parted.

Eadmund looked up at Mattie, who had tears in her eyes.

‘He has left now,’ she said quietly. ‘He has gone.’

They didn’t speak, listening to their own thoughts and to the sound of the sea slapping the hull, the wind a whistling drone.

‘And where would we be if we’d never met Bolder and Bone Hammer?’ Eadmund wondered with a sad grin.

‘Still in Tuura,’ Mattie suggested. ‘Likely still arguing over what to do.’

Leaning over Bolder, Eadmund gently closed his eyes. ‘Fair winds, my friend. Fair winds until we meet again.’

* * *

Axl returned to the hall, wanting to check on his dreamer. Rexon had reported that she wasn’t at the sea-fire shed, and he’d half-feared she was dead. Though entering the hall, he’d been greeted by her sour face, Linas’ big grin, and Gully’s flopping tongue, and he’d sighed with relief. ‘You’re alive.’

‘Well, yes. And your sea-fire?’ Helga wondered, though peering at the king’s face, she saw her fears confirmed.

‘Gone. Apart from four jars.’ Looking up, Axl saw Gerald shuffling towards him with a goblet, and grateful for his always attentive steward, he offered a nod of thanks, taking a long drink. ‘Four jars,’ he repeated when he’d finished, handing the empty goblet back to him.

‘Is that bad?’ Linas asked, full of energy despite the late hour.

Helga had remained on her stool by the brazier after Astrid had left, having removed the knife and sewn her up. She had become light-headed, the pain oddly tiring, barely able to shoo Linas away.

‘Well, it’s not good,’ Axl told the boy. ‘Not when we need to go and attack our enemies.’

‘Can you make more?’ Linas wondered.

‘You need to be in bed,’ Helga snapped. ‘As do I.’

Axl offered her a hand. ‘I can take you.’ Though seeing the dreamer shaking her head, he stepped back.

‘The cook has offered. A decent woman. Said she’ll see to me when the time comes. Go and find her, boy.’

And with Linas out of the way, Axl frowned at his dreamer. ‘Are there any more? Any more spies and traitors in the fort? Can you find out?’

Helga nodded, feeling a pain running from the base of her neck to her tailbone. ‘I hadn’t suspected more. I wish I had.’

‘Well, it’s too late now. The damage is done, though we need to remain alert. We both do.’

Seeing Helvor coming with Linas, Axl tried to blink open his eyes. He felt ready to fall into bed, though there was too much to do to sleep now. The sea-fire spill needed to be covered, and he wasn’t about to lie in his bed and sleep while everyone worked long into the night. ‘I’m glad you’re alright, Helga,’ he said, staring at that immovable face.

She appeared to nod. He couldn’t tell, though with a crooked grin, he turned and headed out of the hall.

* * *

Eadmund bent to his wife, wanting to feel that she was alive.

Bolder had felt dead long before he’d died, and Eadmund wanted to be reminded of life. Touching Jael’s cheek, he whispered to her, not wanting to wake her but wanting her to know how much he loved her.

If she was awake, she would make a fuss and grumble at him and eventually move away. He smiled, wondering if that was still true? Perhaps her time as a slave, far away from her home and family, had changed her?

He almost laughed, watching as she started wriggling away from him. But she was only making space.

‘Lie down,’ she murmured, eyes closed.

He lay beside her, resting a hand on her hip. She slipped her arm under his, moving closer until their noses almost touched.

And then she opened her eyes. ‘I’m sorry about Bolder.’

Eadmund didn’t speak.

‘Furia will watch over him. She will take him to her hall. I believe that. She rewards those who help the Furycks. Well, some,’ she added after a pause. ‘Those she can.’

‘What will happen in Andala?’

‘I can’t see. All I see are those damn pyres. They taunt me. That and –’ She cut herself off, tired mind and loose tongue ready to reveal her dream of Eadmund and Ayla.

‘And?’

‘Just... Edela.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘Edela?’

‘As long as I’ve known my grandmother, she’s been in her cottage up the path, opening her door...’ Jael closed her eyes, longing for some sign, some vision of Edela. ‘I think about her always. That she’s just vanished? In all there is to worry about, I worry about her the most.’

‘You do?’

‘Of course. Axl’s surrounded by an army, inside a fort. He can use a sword, he’s a king, but Edela?’

Eadmund smiled. ‘I think you’ve forgotten who your grandmother is. She’s not an ordinary old woman. Not one to shy away from anything.’

Jael opened her eyes, keeping them open as he kissed her.

‘Just like her granddaughter. The strongest person I know.’

* * *

Edela had been at sea so many times recently that she had finally conquered her lifelong fear of it. There’d certainly been little choice in those moments of panic when they’d taken to river or sea. And though there was still something unsettling about being on a ship, thinking of the icy water lurking below, she had too many things to worry about to dwell on it for long.

She had woken after little sleep, quickly becoming uncomfortable, and getting up, had taken a seat on a chest.

Bertel soon joined her. ‘You again,’ he grumbled.

She laughed. ‘Yes. Me again.’

‘Did you have a dream?’ he wondered, making himself comfortable beside her.

‘No, not tonight. Just restless. My hips aren’t happy with the comforts on offer,’ she chuckled. ‘If this journey is to carry on much longer, I shall have to buy a mattress!’

Bertel grinned. ‘Oh, how I long for a mattress. If I ever return to Osterland and find my stashes of coins, that is what I shall spend them on. The most luxurious mattress I can purchase. Even if it means I have to sleep outside!’

‘Well, let’s hope you can afford a house too.’

They sat in silence for a while – a comfortable silence only on offer to those who had become true friends.

‘I did have a dream last night,’ Edela said. ‘Another dream of Osterhaaven, I think.’

Bertel turned to her with a frown. ‘To have so many dreams about the place is rather odd, Edela. Don’t you think?’

‘It’s happened before,’ she remembered, mirroring his frown. ‘Mmmm, it has certainly happened before that I was fed little breadcrumbs about the past. Like a mystery to solve.’

‘And did you solve it in the end?’

Edela looked crestfallen. ‘No, not entirely. Not until it was too late.’

Bertel looked surprised. ‘And what is this mystery about then? What did you see?’

‘An argument between a king and a queen. And another man,’ she remembered. ‘The king was cruel and violent. I didn’t like him.’

‘The King of Osterhaaven?’

‘I can only guess so. He hit a woman who was likely his wife. A man rushed in, and they started fighting. Though...’ And now Edela remembered more. ‘The woman was pleading with them to leave. That it was time to go.’

Bertel raked his beard with cold fingers. ‘Well, if it’s all the same mystery, it must be The Flight. You are seeing The Flight.’

Edela thought so too. ‘Though the question is why? What does it all mean?’

‘It must be about the Furycks,’ Bertel surmised in a low voice. ‘This whole thing is about them, isn’t it? So maybe something that happened on Osterhaaven is important somehow? A clue? And if you keep dreaming of it, it means that the clue is still waiting to be found.’ He stood, holding out a hand. ‘Come along then. Best thing you can do is try to get back to sleep.’

Edela snorted, though he wasn’t wrong. So, with a shrug, she took Bertel’s hand, letting him escort her back to her crumpled fur.

‘You can have mine,’ he offered. ‘If it would make it more comfortable?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d hardly be able to sleep with all your moaning.’ Though she was smiling as she turned away, now flapping a hand. ‘Goodnight, Bertel Knutson. I shall see you in the morning.’

* * *

Despite the late hour, Linas wriggled beside his grandmother, flopping about like a fish.

‘Would you like to sleep on the floor?’

He became still then, turning over to face her. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘It would hurt less if you lay still,’ she groaned. ‘Yes, that’s better.’ And now, eyes closed, Helga decided she was tired enough to overcome the throbbing pain in her back. Though something niggled at her, and she opened her eyes, staring at the boy, who was looking at her as though the sun had risen and he’d been awake for hours. ‘Why did you leave the hall? Why were you at that shed?’

Linas blinked, lips knitted together, though seeing his grandmother frown, he tried to explain. ‘It was the noises in my head. I heard them. I needed to go and find them.’

‘What sort of noises?’

‘Voices. They were voices, but I...’ Linas shrugged. ‘Those men wanted to kill me!’

‘They wanted to kill me too,’ Helga chuckled. ‘Though we’re the ones lying in our bed, aren’t we?’

‘But we didn’t save the sea-fire.’

‘Not all of it, but who knows how much use those four jars might be. Perhaps everything...’ And now her eyes refused to stay open, and within a few heartbeats, she was sinking deep into the mattress, sound asleep.

Linas sat up, and leaning over the bed, his eyes met Gully’s, hearing his tail thumping the floor. ‘Come on,’ he hissed. ‘But be quiet. You have to be quiet.’ And he lifted up the fur, patting the mattress, smiling as the dog jumped up and lay down beside him. Linas dropped the fur over him, tucking Gully in tight. ‘There you go, boy. You saved me,’ he whispered, stroking his back. ‘And my grandmother. You saved us both.’ And with a kiss on the dog’s head, Linas Brugen lay down and finally went to sleep.

PART II

RIPPLES

11

Amma stood patiently while her two servants finished dressing her.

Today was the wedding of Karsten Dragos to Freya Valens. Though after enduring days of tedious pre-wedding festivities, she felt like simply heading to the harbour and going home. She hadn’t imagined that a wedding could be so demanding. Her own wedding to Axl had been over in a day, but King Herold Valens seemed intent on creating the impression that his family was the most important in all of Osterland. And to illustrate that point, he had hosted a series of feasts and celebrations worthy of the gods.

Shoulders heaving, she looked up as Getta and Gisila entered the chamber, their faces reflecting a similar exhaustion.

‘And what will be next?’ Gisila groaned as Getta closed the door. ‘More speeches? I’ve never heard a man talk about himself so often. You’d think Herold Valens was the one marrying Karsten Dragos. His poor wife! Have you seen her face? She looks carved out of stone, as though he has simply bored the little thing to death!’

Amma cringed, fearing Gisila was being too loud. She glanced anxiously at the balcony doors, wide open and welcoming in another warm, sunny morning, fearful that her mother-in-law’s voice was carrying out into the square where some Angardian gossip would ferry her words directly to the king.

Getta groaned. ‘I feel half dead myself. I can’t face any food today, nor wine. It’s all been too much. Have they nothing better to do in this kingdom than eat, drink, and talk about themselves?’

Amma heard her complaints, though her sister’s usually dull eyes were bright with energy, and despite what she was saying, Getta appeared to enjoy feeling important again, like the queen she had once been.

Gisila rolled her eyes. ‘And the food? It’s so rich, so sweet, it turns my stomach. Can the man not do anything with a light touch? His clothes, his hair, his hall... I fear for us all today! Imagine what he has planned? Perhaps Daala herself will be here to preside over the ceremony?’

Amma smiled. ‘That would be quite a feat.’ Now she grimaced, feeling her belly. ‘Though I agree with you about the food. I thought my sickness was behind me, but I’ve felt nauseous since yesterday.’

‘That will be the suckling pig. What a performance that was!’ Gisila laughed. ‘The honey and roses? Best you only nibble today. I think we could all take that advice.’ She came forward to inspect her daughter-in-law, pleased to see colour in her cheeks and her belly becoming more pronounced. She had done well, for the journey from Andala had been challenging, though the comforts of Angard’s castle and the attention of her servants had set her right again, and now she was blooming.

Slipping an arm through Amma’s, Gisila dismissed the servants and led her to the door. ‘We can always use you as our excuse, can’t we, Getta? The poor queen must rest. She must protect her child.’

‘Exactly,’ Getta agreed as they exited the chamber. ‘I think you’ll be starting to feel like that rest around the time Herold Valens stands up to make a speech.’

And chuckling, the three women, gowns swishing the freshly swept flagstones, hurried down the corridor.

* * *

Jael was bored.

She stood in Bone Hammer’s stern, eyes on the waves, ready to scream.

Being patient was a challenge, even now, but long sea journeys were the worst. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape to. Looking out, she saw a landscape of peaking waves, blue and green, some tipped with white, rising and falling in a nauseating rhythm – over and over again.

Alek joined her with a smile. ‘Thinking about jumping?’

Jael did jump, not having heard him approach. ‘Possibly. It might be faster if I swam.’

Alek gripped the stern, blue eyes glittering with excitement, for unlike Jael, he was enjoying every moment of this new life. This freedom. And out here, alone on the sea, it felt like the freest place of all. ‘Are you worried about your brother?’ he asked.

‘I’m worried about many things,’ Jael admitted, turning to him. ‘Mostly because I’m helpless here. I can’t do anything to protect anyone.’ She looked down at her hands, seeing the wounds healing around her wrists, which were almost starting to look like the rest of her arms again. They had been at sea for five days, and she was feeling better overall in her body, though her mind was becoming a knotted tangle of frustrations.

‘I don’t think Ronin Sardis would try to kill your brother,’ Alek said thoughtfully. ‘Not when you have his daughter. Surely he would want her back?’

Jael turned to where Kolarov was walking with a surly Kalina. She shrugged. ‘Though he left her behind on the isle amidst a battle. If that was my daughter, I would’ve fought my way back to her. You’d have done the same if it was one of your boys.’ Turning back, she saw Alek nod. ‘So no, I don’t feel confident that he cares enough to want to claim her. I hope he does, but I don’t feel certain.’

‘And you plan to kill him?’ Alek asked, flinching as a jet of seawater splashed him. He shook his head, stumbling as he stepped back. ‘But he’s powerful, Jael.’

‘Mmmm, so people keep saying, but what if I’m powerful too? He has gold and palaces and a dreamer wife. Maybe more...’ she added, remembering her vision of the woman Dessalene had called her mistress. ‘But what if I’m powerful too?’

Alek touched her arm. ‘I believe you are, but just be careful. Inesh Seppo said as much, didn’t he? Going up against Dessalene next time will be dangerous. She will want revenge upon you.’

Jael laughed, turning to see Fyn coming towards them with cups of ale. ‘Well, I’m beginning to wonder who doesn’t?’ She ran a hand over her mouth and then her hair, sweeping it away from her face. ‘It doesn’t matter, though. None of it matters. We just need to get to Andala.’

And thinking of Andala, Jael’s mind went to Axl and then Edela.

Dessalene’s mistress had sounded intent on killing her grandmother – on hunting her down and murdering her. And though Jael knew she had to get to Andala and to her children, not a day went by when she didn’t think of Edela, desperate to know if her grandmother was still alive.

* * *

Edela felt half dead.

She had barely slept since that night in Castala when she’d killed Iker Rayas and his Siluran warriors. At that moment, she had been filled with a dark energy, as though bolts of lightning were surging through her limbs and pulsing in her head. Her heart had thumped out a frightening rhythm, with an intensity that had left her fearing it would simply explode, unable to take such a strain.

And though the odd sensations had abated, their memory lingered inside her, and rest was difficult to obtain. She felt no peace, just a constant tension, as though she stood on the brink of a disaster that, at any moment, would consume them all.

‘You must eat,’ Bertel muttered beside her, chewing vigorously. He had caught two fish, and Zen had caught another three, and Gerulf, the cook, had hurried to fry up a mouthwatering meal of salty fish and perfectly runny boiled eggs. ‘I won’t take no for an answer,’ he added, nudging her trencher closer.

Edela thought that everything smelled delicious, and it certainly looked moreish, though she had no appetite at all.

Not since Castala.

Seeing her reluctance, Bertel lifted his eyes to where Siggy was talking to Raymon Vandaal, watched over by Zen. Korri was eating his breakfast with some of his men while Alvi, the cat, prowled nearby, hoping for fishbones. ‘You will waste away, and how will that go?’ Now Bertel put down his own trencher and joined Edela on her chest. ‘We’re all on this journey at your behest. We’re following you, our leader. So what will happen if you falter? To us? To poor Siggy? Hmmm?’

He was sitting too close as usual, his fishy breath all over her face, and Edela turned away with a scowl. ‘I will not falter. I’m just –’ She cut herself off, turning back to Bertel, and now she took his hand. He looked surprised, soon hearing her voice in his head. ‘In Castala, something happened to me. I made that magic, but it didn’t go away. The darkness... I fear it is inside me now. Perhaps forever?’

Bertel squeezed her hand, keeping his mouth closed. ‘We are all a mix of dark and light, though, aren’t we?’ he thought. ‘All grey. And sometimes we are more one than the other. We are always changing, as that around us changes. Do not fret, Edela, you will not lose yourself. You cannot.’

Edela felt a steadiness in his hand – a steadiness that she was missing. ‘Though you lost yourself, didn’t you? All those years ago?’

‘I thought I did, but in truth, I think I merely looked away from myself. Turned my back on who I was. I felt ashamed, so I chose not to see. I was always there, I just... didn’t want to see me.’

Edela’s body heaved, and she felt a sudden loosening of the unbearable tension. She offered him a crooked smile. ‘Perhaps you are not so ill-suited to being an elder after all?’

He grinned at her. ‘Perhaps, though the truth is, Edela, I am a warrior. A truly terrible one now. Like a rusty weapon tossed onto a midden heap. But it’s who I am in my heart and soul. At my very core. I can’t change that any more than you can change being a dreamer. A good dreamer. You’re not evil, and you never will be. You are just using your gifts to fight those who wish to hurt us.’

‘So that makes me a warrior too,’ Edela decided, hearing her stomach growl. She let go of Bertel’s hand, turning away as Siggy stood, waving to her.

‘Oh yes, I would say so,’ Bertel said, grabbing her trencher. ‘And a warrior needs her strength, for the fight is only just getting started.’

Thinking he spoke the truth, Edela shuddered, eyes on Siggy, who now turned away, returning her attention to Raymon.

Raymon peered up at her. ‘You are fond of Edela.’

Siggy nodded. ‘She’s looked after me. She helped me find my path.’

‘To being a dreamer?’

‘More than that,’ Siggy decided with a furrowed brow, sitting back down beside the king. ‘She’s helped me believe in myself.’

Raymon stared at the girl, surprised that she’d ever lacked self-belief. She was confident and cheerful and seemed to know her own mind. ‘So you know what you want?’ he asked. ‘Where you want to go?’

‘Go?’ Siggy laughed. ‘Wherever Edela and Bertel go, of course. They’re my family now. As long as we’re together, that’s where I’m meant to be.’ And now she stood again. ‘I’ll see if there’s any more. Gerulf usually hides a plate or two of extras, just in case. You need to eat, my lord!’ And she bounded away before Raymon could protest.

He watched her go, eyes drifting from the curly-haired girl to Edela and Bertel talking in the stern, and he felt a pain in his heart, thinking of his dead son, and for the first time in weeks, his wife, Getta.

* * *

‘You look ravishing,’ Hal Harbak declared, leaning down to whisper in Getta’s ear as she stopped before a table of silver goblets lined up in perfectly straight rows. A tense-looking servant hovered nearby, eyes on those goblets, ready to tidy the rows if anyone should upset them. ‘I think you’ve even managed to outshine the queen today.’

Getta turned to sneer at him, thinking he was poking fun at her, though he stared at her with earnest blue eyes, and she became flustered. ‘Have you nothing better to do?’ she grumbled, glancing around the hall, where yet another pre-wedding feast was underway. Herold Valens was an enormous man in both girth and height, of the mind that everyone should have an appetite as lusty as his own.

‘As it happens, I don’t,’ Hal sighed, straightening up. ‘I can’t face another mouthful, and there’s no one I wish to talk to. This wedding can’t come quickly enough.’

Getta nodded. ‘Though I’m not sure Karsten Dragos agrees.’ And now she offered her companion a smile, motioning to where the King of Hest swayed drunkenly beside his tight-lipped mother, who appeared to be telling him off.

Hal chuckled. ‘Well, I can’t blame the man. If they’d dressed a horse in a gown, it would’ve been a far more attractive proposition, for horses make loyal companions. You can talk to your horse, spend time with your horse, but Freya Valens?’ He shuddered.

Getta edged closer. ‘You seem quite friendly with her cousin. Looking to make a match yourself?’

‘Me?’ Hal thought of Eren, back in Andala. ‘No. I have my eyes on another prize,’ he purred, looking up as the King of Helsabor strode into the cavernous hall, his golden crown squeezed onto his big bald head, his belly cinched tightly with a bejewelled belt. Despite the warm weather, he was draped in ermine and velvet, with tight woollen trousers tucked into polished dark leather boots and sparkling rings on every finger. He looked like a man who’d been preparing for this moment his entire life.

‘Eat up! Eat up!’ he bellowed in that deep, booming voice his guests had come to know far too well. ‘The bride intends to take her time, so while we wait, let us eat!’ And taking his own advice, he shooed away a fussing servant and headed to the high table, eyeing the salted ox tongue.

Gisila came over, rolling her eyes. ‘Do you think it would be rude to leave tomorrow morning? Before dawn? I’ve had quite enough of all this diplomacy. Surely we’ve done enough?’ She looked from Getta to Hal, who had been strangely pleasant company away from Erling. Then thinking of Erling, Gisila remembered his parents, who she would have to sail back to Andala with and she helped herself to some wine.

The waiting servant hurried forward, pouring it for her before rearranging everything into perfect order once again.

‘I think we need to stay another day,’ Getta warned. ‘If we leave too early, it would undo all the good favour we’ve earned.’

Gisila agreed, though she was eager to return home. Not just because their journey had been tiresome but because Karsten had told her about Jael. She was desperate to know if Eadmund and the Hestians had managed to rescue her. There was still no sign of Ulf, who had promised to join Bayla in Angard, which had both Bayla and Gisila fretting.

Though it was Jael, Gisila reminded herself, sipping her wine. Her daughter, who knew how to get herself out of many a sticky situation.

* * *

Pye had been surprisingly consistent in his stubbornness, and though it annoyed Jael that he wasn’t more forthcoming, she couldn’t help but admire the man’s commitment to his dreamer. He was loyal to a fault, though she still couldn’t understand why.

She joined him as he hunched over near the mast, head down, seeking to escape the wind. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I ate.’

Jael smiled, sitting beside him. ‘We’ve many days ahead of us, Pye. You don’t have to keep up this wall. I can help you. You’ve nothing to fear from Dessalene now.’

He flung back his head in horror. ‘But you’re a dreamer! You’re a dreamer and you say that to me?’

She saw fear in his bulbous eyes for the first time and touched his arm. ‘Do you think she can reach you here, on this ship?’

He tugged his arm away, slipping a hand under his leg. ‘She made those flames in the sea,’ he hissed. ‘She set the sea on fire!’ And unable to sit still, he pulled his hand out from under his leg and started nibbling a nail.

‘Though Kalina is on board,’ Jael reminded the terrified man. ‘Dessalene won’t hurt her, will she?’ She didn’t feel entirely confident about that, and staring into Pye’s eyes, she could see that he concurred. ‘Besides, it’s not Dessalene seeking to kill me, is it? It’s her husband...’ She leaned closer.

‘He blames your family.’

Jael was surprised but worked not to show it, hoping he would say more.

Anything.

She held her tongue.

‘He was always angry about what your family took from him. He said they took his life. His rightful life.’ Pye didn’t mind talking about Ronin Sardis, who was a cruel brute of a man.

‘My family took something from him?’ Jael was puzzled. ‘I’m not sure anyone even knew his name.’

Pye shrugged. ‘He will not stop until he destroys you. Until he has his revenge.’

‘Revenge for what?’

Though Pye didn’t know and now he looked around. ‘I think I would like something to eat.’

Jael didn’t answer, scouring her memories for any clue as to what might make Ronin Sardis seek revenge, once again hearing her father’s voice warning her to hurry home.

* * *

Herold Valens, triumphant father of the bride, loomed over Gisila like an enormous oak, with a trunk-like neck and thick boughs for arms. Grinning at her, he wrapped one arm around his daughter, Freya, a sullen, plain woman of twenty-four, nearly as tall as her father. She looked much like a tree herself, though more of a thin sapling bowed by a strong wind. She had no hips to speak of, no bust; she was entirely shapeless.

Herold wrapped his other arm around Karsten, who swayed slightly, eyes bloodshot and without focus.

And seeing the state of him, Gisila wondered if the King of Helsabor was, in fact, holding his new son-in-law up. ‘A wonderful ceremony,’ she said sweetly. ‘I am sorry Axl missed it, though I’m sure you understand the importance of protecting your kingdom.’

Karsten didn’t appear to understand anything Gisila was saying, though Herold narrowed his eyes. ‘I wasn’t surprised by what happened to the Vandaal boy. Your husband’s bastard.’

The distastefulness of his remark, delivered with a wet-lipped grin, left Gisila shuddering, though she continued to smile. ‘Well, Iskavall has certainly maintained its reputation as the most unruly kingdom in the land.’

Herold laughed, belly jiggling, slapping Karsten on the back. ‘Though one less Furyck is better for Osterland, wouldn’t you say, Son?’

Karsten stared at Gisila before turning to his bellowing father-in-law. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He turned back to Gisila with a wink, his eyes showing some awareness now. ‘Though if it wasn’t for the Furycks, none of us would be here in the first place, would we? They forged the path our families followed.’

Herold didn’t appear to appreciate that comment, his high, hairless forehead puckering into a truculent frown, which suddenly eased when he heard someone plucking a lyre. Squeezing his daughter, he pushed her towards her husband. ‘You must dance!’

Freya eyed Karsten, who ignored her until Herold slapped him on the back again, soon sending them on their way.

Gisila wanted to escape with them, and she scanned the hall, seeking her sister or even Kamilla Venberg to rescue her. Though no escape and no rescuer loomed on the horizon, and she remained trapped with the king.

‘Your son is little more than a boy himself,’ he growled with a smile. ‘I do hope he fears better than his brother. And his sister. Whatever has happened to her?’ He shook his head in mock concern. ‘A troubling set of circumstances, to say the least. I do fear what it bodes for your family’s future, my dear. Though never fear, you will always have a reliable ally in Helsabor!’ And with a bob of his big square head and a final, knowing look, the king lumbered away.

Gisila watched him go, feeling tears coming, fearing for her son, her daughter, and her mother. Wishing they were all back in Andala, together again.

12

Jael wasn’t listening to Thorgils ramble on beside her. She was distracted, trying to uncover the reason Ronin Sardis believed the Furycks had taken something from him.

‘I think Isaura’s dead.’

Jerking back into the moment, she turned to him. ‘What?’

A solemn-looking Thorgils sighed. ‘I think we’ve been too lucky. We’ve had too much luck, and now?’

‘Too much luck?’

‘The children, they’re all healthy. And Isaura... Casper Vellek’s wife died last spring. Bernt Gripping’s daughter and son over the winter. Aina Starlsson miscarried. Jesper Trask lost his thumb. And us?’

Jael smiled sympathetically. ‘It’s hard being far away, feeling helpless.’

He nodded, pulling his flapping cloak closer, peering at her bruised face. It was healing, and she looked more like herself, though he saw pain in her eyes and could only imagine what her back looked like.

‘But you need to remember that Mattie and I are dreamers, so something like that? We would have seen something, had some clue, I promise you. And as for luck? You lost Isaura for years, and she was forced into a marriage she didn’t want. She lost babies then, so maybe all this good luck is making up for all the bad luck? Have you thought about that?’

Thorgils just stared, fear shining in his eyes.

‘You will see her again, I promise. I feel it.’

‘You do?’

‘I feel certain about nothing right now, but I promise you, I’m certain about that.’

‘Why?’

Jael faltered, squirming. ‘Well, I...’

‘Tell me. Please.’ Thorgils leaned closer, sensing she had a secret.

Jael’s eyes shifted to Eadmund, talking to Raal in the distance, then back to Thorgils. ‘I had a dream when I was on S’ala Nis... about Eadmund. He was married to Ayla.’

Thorgils snorted loudly, drawing the attention of those nearby.

‘Shut up,’ Jael snapped. ‘Ssshhh.’

‘Married to Ayla?’ Thorgils hissed. ‘Why? Where were you?’

‘Dead. I was dead. And so was Bo.’

‘Dead?’ Thorgils glanced around. ‘When was this?’

‘I don’t know, but I saw Isaura in the dream with Elina. She was older than when I last saw her, I’m sure. That’s what I wanted to say. You were in the dream, and so was she.’

Thorgils didn’t know what to think. Relief mingled with confusion, and he shook his head. ‘You were dead?’

Jael stared at him.

‘And it was a real dream?’

‘Felt that way.’

‘It won’t happen. We won’t let it happen, Jael. The gods put you and Eadmund together. They won’t tear you apart. They wouldn’t. And as for you? You’re Furia’s daughter. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you.’ Though hearing his words echoing in his ears, Thorgils realised that Furia had let Jael be captured, made a slave, almost sacrificed...

He shuddered.

‘Course not,’ she murmured, tilting back her head to take in the sky, seeing the clouds darkening. And thinking of Furia, she wondered if the goddess was still watching over her.

* * *

According to one of Korri Torluffson’s men, they would arrive at the city of Pechik in the Kingdom of Kadak the next day, the news of which had unsettled Edela entirely.

She inspected Raymon’s wound with a deep frown, causing him to frown himself.

‘Is it bad?’ he asked with a grimace. At first, it had felt as though his arm was hanging on by a thread. The pain was still overwhelming at times, but he had started to feel more like himself. More whole. He didn’t want the wound to suddenly turn.

Edela’s frown eased, and with a smile, she shook her head. ‘No. No, it’s healing well,’ she promised, rolling down his sleeve. ‘I was just thinking about Kadak and whether I’ve made the right choice. I wasn’t myself after that night, after what happened. Perhaps I acted hastily, bringing you all here to face another enemy? I...’ She sat back, feeling nauseous, hearing a bellowing laugh from Korri, who had organised everyone into a joke-telling competition – even a highly reluctant Bertel, who appeared to be enjoying himself.

Raymon leaned back, straightening his arm. ‘I don’t pretend to know what you’re doing, Edela,’ he sighed. ‘But you’ve come all this way, so it would be a mistake to go home without answers.’ Now Raymon felt strange himself, certain he never wanted to go home again. ‘Though after what you’ve told me of your journey, I fear what is waiting for you. If it’s truly the woman who caused all the trouble in the first place...’

‘Though if I don’t find her? Confront her? What else will she do, and to who?’ Edela felt as though she was always standing at a fork in the road, having to choose which way to go, confident that one path led to answers and the other to danger. Though perhaps they both led in the same direction, she realised. ‘You mustn’t worry,’ she said, smiling now. ‘Of course not. Your journey is your own.’

Despite his injury, Raymon had enjoyed his time on Sea Queen. Korri was a likeable, gregarious man, Bertel was entertaining, and Siggy was friendly and eager to help. And then there was Edela, who felt like family. And as much as he no longer wanted a family, he couldn’t deny that her presence had provided a comfort he hadn’t experienced since his mother’s death. She cared about him, she was kind to him, and she wanted to help him, and all of it was a balm for his desperate unhappiness.

He wanted to say yes, that he would go with them.

But he couldn’t.

‘I’m grateful for your help, but I must find my own path,’ he said instead.

Edela heard his thoughts, and she smiled sadly. ‘Well, there’s still time to change your mind. Still time to pick a different path.’ And with that, she pulled herself onto her feet. ‘Oh, I long for my dear old cottage and my cosy little bed. I –’ She stopped suddenly, feeling strange.

‘Edela? Is something wrong?’

Shaking her head, her visions evaporated. Sometimes, they swept in like dark clouds, and she feared that everything was about to go wrong. Or perhaps it already had? ‘Nothing. No, it’s nothing at all.’ And turning away from him, she swallowed, fearing she was lying to them both.

* * *

After supper, Linas couldn’t wait to go to bed, and Helga had no clue as to why.

‘To have a dream,’ he told her, watching his grandmother narrow her beady eyes until they looked like two black stones.

‘Boys aren’t dreamers. They’re not. And nor are you.’

‘But I heard voices. That night! I knew I had to go to the shed, and I found those men. It’s because I knew!’ Linas was bright-eyed, almost bouncing in the bed, where Gully stood beside him, scrunching the fur into a more comfortable shape.

‘It’s because you were a nosy snoop,’ Helga grunted, still feeling the stinging pain in her back where the knife had struck. It was a nagging discomfort that had ruined her ability to sleep, and she was more short-tempered than usual. ‘Creeping about when you should have been in bed like other boys. Other boys who aren’t dreamers either.’

‘Was my mother a dreamer?’

Sitting in a chair by the fire, Helga had no interest in continuing the conversation. Edela’s book was on her knee, and she wanted to dig into it further, which wouldn’t be possible with her excitable grandson rabbiting away. ‘She was not. No.’

‘But I am!’

‘You aren’t. Now, go to sleep before I sling that dog outside for the night. You want to cuddle him? Then close your trap and lie down, or else he’ll be sleeping in the square.’ That silenced the boy, she was pleased to see, watching as he slid down in the bed, turning to wrap a skinny arm around the dog, who had curled into a big black ball.

‘Goodnight, Grandmother.’

‘Hmmph.’ Helga exhaled loudly, and creaking back in the chair, she opened the leather-bound book, impatient to find clues as to what would come next for Andala and her king.

* * *

‘Is your sister alright?’ Hal wondered, pointing at Amma, who stood amongst a group of women in the distance.

Getta turned, seeing Amma talking to the Queen of Helsabor, though she looked pale, gripping the table. She hurried away from Hal, certain there was something wrong, not noticing that Hal had followed her.

‘Amma?’ Getta reached her sister, bobbing her head at the queen – a young, mousy woman whose voice she’d not heard once during their stay. ‘Are you unwell?’

A dazed Amma turned to Getta, feeling all at sea. The hall appeared to be moving around her; even the flagstones beneath her feet felt as though they were shifting, made of mud, not stone. She held out a hand, which trembled violently.

‘Come and sit down,’ Hal urged, fearing she was about to faint. And as he grabbed hold of her, she collapsed against him, head back, eyes closed.

‘Amma? Amma?’ Getta called, touching her sister’s face. ‘We need to get her to a chamber. Somewhere we can lay her down.’

Gisila hurried over with Bayla Dragos.

‘What happened?’ Bayla wanted to know. ‘Did she faint?’

Gisila looked at the Queen of Helsabor, who stood nearby as a silent observer. ‘Where can we take her? We must take her somewhere private.’

The queen blinked nervously but didn’t speak. Looking around for a servant, she called the man over, whispering her instructions.

The servant, wearing an elaborate red tunic, bowed to the Brekkans. ‘If you’ll come with me, I will show you to a chamber.’

Bayla squeezed Gisila’s arm. ‘I shall tell the kings what has happened.’

Though Gisila didn’t hear her as she turned after Amma, now limp in Hal’s arms.

The baby, she thought.

What has happened to the baby?

* * *

That night, Jael returned to her dream of Ayla and Eadmund.

Talking about it to Thorgils had stirred up her fears that her dream would come to pass. She had escaped S’ala Nis, she was free, but the spectre of her death loomed like a dark cloud in the sky.

She couldn’t shake it.

A pregnant Ayla, the flaming pyres, Raymon’s death.

She collected everything before her in a great heap of worries.

And Axl – he needed her.

Each day that passed brought with it a warning that her brother needed her too.

Perhaps it was her ego talking, she thought distractedly?

That everyone needed her help?

But Axl was a king. A man.

He didn’t need her at all.

And yet...

She saw a pregnant Ayla again, sitting on her throne, and she felt sick. Rubbing her eyes, Jael sought a different dream. She wanted answers, to find her grandmother, to discover more about Dessalene’s mistress and Ronin Sardis, to –

‘Hello, Jael.’

Jael stiffened, goosebumps lifting on trembling limbs.

‘Busy, busy Jael. Always in a hurry trying to save everyone. Though can you be in two places at once?’

Jael turned around, seeing twinkling stars in a dark sky.

She felt a presence. The voice wasn’t in her head. It was before her, around her. She turned again, feeling cold.

‘Long ago, I had a family too. United in love and blood. A family who cared for each other. Who protected one another.’

‘Who are you?’

‘I am nothing, and yet, everything. I am everyone.’

The voice was familiar, edged with steel, laced with threat.

‘And what do you want with me?’

‘To kill you, of course. Doesn’t everyone want to kill you, Jael Furyck? You and your family? I imagine it feels that way. All those who seek your power, your fame, your fortune... they all wish to rid Varmyr of you.’

The voice was moving, and Jael turned sharply, seeing nothing.

She felt a hand on her arm, and it was squeezing.

‘Though know that I will always be first in line. Sleep now, but not too soundly, for we will meet again soon.’

* * *

Herold Valens sent his personal healer – a gaunt, middle-aged man called Osvald – to tend to the Queen of Brekka, who had remained unconscious as night fell. She had been taken upstairs to her own chamber, far away from the festivities, which had become rowdy down in the hall.

The king had remained to oversee the celebrations, sending his wife to check on the condition of his guest.

Gisila had sent the queen on her way with news that she had not improved. In fact, she appeared to have worsened.

‘She is pale,’ the dark-haired healer murmured as though speaking to himself. Having swept into the chamber with an air of superiority, he’d made no eye contact with anyone, keeping his attention on the unconscious queen. ‘Though hot here and here,’ he added, pointing to her head and feet. ‘She has eaten something that has disagreed with her!’ he declared suddenly, and for the first time, he acknowledged Gisila, Getta, and Hal, who stood expectantly on the opposite side of the bed. ‘A purging is the obvious answer. I shall prepare an emetic and have it sent up directly.’

Getta eyed the man, who seemed to twitch with impatience as though he, too, wanted to be downstairs enjoying himself; he was already backing up to the door. ‘Do you think she ate something bad?’

But not wanting to suggest that his king and benefactor had served spoiled food to his guests, the healer was quickly shaking his shoulder-length dark hair. ‘Not bad. No, no, she has consumed something that disagreed with her. That her body could not tolerate. Especially in her state. The female sex is weak, and a pregnant female much more so.’

Gisila was incensed by this condescending man’s manner, which may have been welcomed by a boorish Herold Valens but was certainly not wanted here. ‘And the baby?’ she asked, fearing the answer.

‘I have no concerns for the baby. Your daughter-in-law –’

‘The queen,’ Gisila snapped.

‘Yes, of course. The queen is vulnerable whilst carrying her child, though she will recover quickly once she expels what ails her.’ And now he reached the door, and after a curt bob of his head, inviting no further questions, he was gone.

An open-mouthed Gisila turned to Hal, who hovered beside Getta, looking uncertain as to whether he should remain. ‘You need to go back downstairs. It will not do for gossip to spread. Make it known that the queen is quite well and resting. Enlist Kamilla Venberg and Bayla Dragos to help you. No one’s as good at spreading gossip as those women.’ She almost smiled, knowing that she now counted Bayla as a friend, though seeing the terrible pallor of her daughter-in-law’s face, she became still. ‘I don’t trust that healer,’ she hissed to Getta as a silent Hal took his leave.

Getta frowned, having similar reservations about the man. ‘Though he has experience with such matters. We must do as he says.’

‘Up until a point,’ Gisila decided, becoming untethered now. A knock on the door was followed by someone calling her name, and recognising Branwyn’s voice, Gisila bid her to come in.

Her sister entered the chamber with a large bowl she’d commandeered from the kitchen. ‘I passed the healer, though he wouldn’t tell me anything. How is she?’ And placing the bowl on the nearest table, Branwyn hurried to the bed, the worried crease between her eyebrows only deepening upon a closer inspection of the queen.

‘He thinks she ate something that disagreed with her,’ Getta said dully, head throbbing.

‘Ate something?’

Gisila could feel a cool breeze blowing in from the balcony. She flicked a hand at one of Amma’s servants, wanting the doors closed.

Branwyn touched Amma’s forehead. ‘She is feverish. Can you become feverish from something you ate?’

‘If it’s spoiled, I expect you can,’ Gisila said before throwing up her hands. ‘I don’t know!’ She scratched her head, pulling out one of the pins securing a braided loop of hair, which now tumbled loose. ‘I just wish we were home. I wish Axl was here.’

* * *

In her desire to help the king, Helga had gone to bed clutching a long stick of hawthorn she’d carved symbols into. She had slipped another stick under her pillow and tucked one under the sheet by her feet. The symbols were based on ideas she had found in Edela’s book. The dreamer had certainly been digging deep, crafting magical weapons, and after reading the book, Helga sensed that Edela had been expecting a terrible battle. As though an army of darkness would descend upon the Kingdom of Brekka, leaving her alone to protect it.

Yet now she was gone, and Helga was the only dreamer in Andala. A dreamer who had spent much of her life hidden away in a forest, learning nothing new, only honing the knowledge she had acquired in Tuura, which felt insubstantial for the challenges ahead.

Though shutting away her doubts, she focused on the path before her. It was shaded in dappled sunlight and bordered by bluebells – a pretty, pretty sight. Helga usually had little time for beauty, but in all that had felt so dark, it drew her attention, reminding her of her cheerful grandson, who would surely have pointed it out.

She hurried down the path, smelling smoke, thinking of the dreamer who had sought to kill her. Then there was nothing but smoke, and she pulled up, feeling it tickling her throat. The smoke was as thick as slabs of stone, creating a wall. Though remembering the symbols she held onto, Helga squeezed her hands into fists and pushed on with a grunt, dispersing that smoke now as she moved through it.

And finally, emerging into a clearing, she found that cottage again...

13

Woken by the shrieking wind, Eadmund had watched his wife pacing up and down the ship, seeing her familiar frown. Eventually, realising that he wasn’t going to fall back to sleep and that she wasn’t about to stop pacing, he got up to find out what was wrong.

She turned, seeing him stumble as the ship struck a wave.

He held out an arm as he approached, gripping the shield rack. ‘Are you alright?’

Jael’s eyes were drawn to the symbol carved into the ship.

Daala’s symbol.

Fyn had shown Mattie how to draw it, knowing that the symbol had worked well for them over the years, for not even Raemus’ Followers had been able to see past it.

Yet Jael had seen past it.

She had seen Bone Hammer coming to S’ala Nis with Eadmund and Arras on board. According to Mattie, the symbol had been carved into the Hestian ships as well, yet Jael had seen them too.

So what did that say about its power now?

Or her own?

That voice, the woman, hadn’t been in her head. She had been on the ship.

Though how was that possible?

‘Fine,’ she muttered distractedly. ‘Just... busy.’

A sleepy Eadmund blinked at her. ‘Busy?’

Jael rubbed her eyes, spying the dreamer lying in the distance beside Kolarov. ‘Go back to sleep,’ she told her husband. ‘I have to talk to Mattie.’

* * *

Entering the cottage, Helga’s eyes were strained.

One small candle burned, the room a hazy fug of darkness. She heard mumbled voices, as though they were underwater, and shaking her head, she tried to sharpen both her vision and her hearing.

Now she saw the fuzzy silhouette of a woman talking to what sounded like a man. And leaning forward, she started to make out what they were saying.

‘No, no, but that is not how it will go!’ the woman laughed. ‘Patience is something a child learns. A man should already know how to command himself. To hold himself back in those moments of great import. Such as now. A single battle is but a step up a tall ladder. Each victory will propel you up another rung. And up that ladder, I will help you. I will. Of course, I will.’

The man was silent, which Helga took as a sign of anger.

A raven flew through the cottage window, startling her, and settling on the back of a chair, it opened its wings, flapping angrily.

Now she couldn’t hear the woman or the man.

Only that bird, who squawked loudly at her.

She felt dizzy. Nauseous.

Though she needed to know who the woman was. There was something familiar about her. Perhaps? The voice was a mumble, her figure a blur, though Helga’s body vibrated with certainty.

The raven launched itself off the chair, aiming at her, black wings flapping, and soon Helga was falling.

* * *

Otter crept over to Jael’s lap, away from a snoring Kolarov, immediately making himself at home. She absentmindedly started stroking him, her attention on the dreamer, who was squinting at her with tired, confused eyes.

‘So the symbol doesn’t work?’ Mattie whispered, glancing around. ‘Are we in danger?’

‘I’m not sure on either count,’ Jael admitted, glancing over her shoulder, pleased that Eadmund had returned to their bed of furs and that no one else appeared awake. ‘I think we’re going to be in danger until we do something about Dessalene, but that voice didn’t belong to her.’

‘Was it her mistress?’ Mattie wondered. ‘She sounds powerful.’

‘Perhaps, though we have each other,’ Jael reminded her. ‘I’m not sure what use I am, but hopefully, I can do something. Dreamers can share their power, I remember my grandmother saying, so whatever comes, we can work together.’

‘Comes?’ Mattie was suddenly wide awake. ‘At sea?’

Jael hated being at sea; any weapons she was familiar with were useless. There was nowhere to defend from, no protection at all. ‘You’ve kept everyone safe until now, Mattie. We both need to remember that.’

Mattie swallowed. ‘I... I’m not sure it was me. I remember what happened, but I... I don’t feel it was me, that I knew what I was doing, that I chose to do it.’ Shaking her head, she dropped her eyes to her hands, wishing she had a pair of gloves. She had a warm blue pair that matched her cloak. Why had she left them behind?

At home.

In her cottage.

Jael touched her hand. ‘Though you did it anyway. I’ve learned over the years not to obsess over how I’ll do something but just to trust that when the time comes I’ll know.’

‘But you –’

‘Are no different than you. I’m not. You have power, and you’ve shown that you know how to use it. That’s enough. Besides, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about them,’ Jael murmured, motioning to the sleeping crew and to Raal at the steering oar. ‘It’s up to us to keep them safe.’ She recognised Alek, bundled up in furs, head back against the gunwale, mouth open. ‘It’s up to us to get them back to their families.’

Mattie nodded, watching as Jael stroked Otter. ‘I think I should try and dream. I want to see what’s out there.’

‘Good. And I’ll do the same. But don’t worry. Just stay alert.’

* * *

Since the night the sea-fire was destroyed and Helga had been wounded, Axl’s plans had slowly taken shape, and with his council’s support, he’d decided to leave for Trelleg, preparing for a full assault on Mutt Storman and his traitors.

The outlaw had fomented hate and rebellion amongst his people. He had gathered an army that, according to Helga and the dead spy, intended to take the bulk of his kingdom.

There was only one answer to that. One solution.

War.

Axl could see it clearly, and though he feared leaving Andala in Ragnar’s hands, he couldn’t escape the truth of what needed to be done.

Passing the harbour gates, locked for the night, he yawned, thinking of The King’s Axe, missing those carefree times with Erling and Hal. He remembered their table, the ale, the laughter and jokes. For a short time, there’d been no problems, no worries about his wife or his lack of heirs.

He’d been free from it all.

A frowning Axl headed to the square, knowing he should find his way back to the hall and sleep, though his legs soon took him to the road leading to the ruins of Edela’s cottage. He didn’t know why he wanted to go there, though it felt as though the moon was leading him, for the path to Edela’s had always been the path to answers. He passed her moon-watching bench, where his grandmother had often sat at night, and he felt desperately sad.

Helga had come to help him, though talking to her was an effort. She glared at him as though she despised him, as though she knew how weak and ineffective he truly was. How treacherous. How disloyal.

Axl sighed heavily, thinking of Amma.

Tiredness made him morose and irrational. He stumbled now, kicking out at a rock, cursing it.

And looking up, he thought he saw someone moving ahead of him. Heart beating faster now, Axl picked up his pace, and soon he came alongside a cloaked figure.

As it turned around, he saw that it was Eren.

She screamed, and backing away, she flung out a hand, her hood slipping back, revealing shining black hair.

‘It’s me,’ Axl said. ‘It’s alright.’

Eren swallowed. ‘I... I didn’t hear you.’

‘I’m surprised,’ he smiled. ‘I’ve been making enough noise, muttering away to myself.’

‘Oh? About what?’

She had always been so easy to talk to, he thought. And then he remembered that she was carrying his child, for talking to Eren had always led to other things...

Stepping back, he shook his head. ‘What are you doing here? It’s late.’

‘I can’t sleep. I thought a walk might help. It’s been like this for a while now. That night when I thought we were under attack, I...’ Tears flooded her eyes, shoulders heaving. ‘I was worried whoever it was, whatever it was, would happen again. Perhaps for real?’

‘Isn’t Erling with you? I thought he was staying.’

‘Sometimes. Other times, he’s checking the fort, I suppose. I don’t know. He’s not always there, but even if he was, I’d still feel this way, I’m sure. Just unsettled.’

‘Why don’t I take you back to your cottage?’ Axl offered. ‘You shouldn’t be out alone.’ And remembering those spies from Rosby, he hoped they’d caught the last of them.

A nodding Eren wiped her eyes. ‘Though I can find my own way.’

‘It’s fine, and I’d feel better knowing you were safely home.’

She dropped her head, hiding her smile, pleased to hear it.

* * *

Gisila sat with Amma, leaving Getta to sleep.

They had taken turns staying up with the queen, who was only getting worse.

She had started thrashing around in the bed, becoming more feverish. It was as though she was hallucinating. She never opened her eyes, but they seemed to be working hard beneath her lids, twitching from side to side. Occasionally, she cried out, almost rising off the bed.

Getta groaned, pushing herself off the chair she had reluctantly curled into. ‘What’s happened?’ she called. ‘Has something happened?’

‘I sent Branwyn to find that healer. She’s on fire. His emetic hasn’t worked. She hasn’t even been sick.’

A sleepy-eyed Getta grabbed a lamp from the table nearest the chair and brought it to the bed. Holding it over Amma’s face, she saw her sister glowing with fever, her nightdress wet through. Reaching out, Getta touched her head, recoiling in surprise. ‘She’s so hot.’

‘Mmmm.’ A frowning Gisila stood on the opposite side of the bed, watching as Amma started writhing again, arching her back.

‘She’s in pain,’ Getta said, placing the lamp on the bedside table, and running a hand over Amma’s hair, she tried soothing her sister. Though now Amma groaned, curling onto her side, reaching for her belly.

Gisila’s heart sank.

Branwyn opened the door, ushering in someone they hadn’t seen before. She looked from Gisila to Getta and then to Amma before turning back to her silent companion. ‘This is Norah. She’s here with the Lord of Kerras. A healer. I found her in the kitchen. She offered to help, and she has a tincture,’ Branwyn explained, shepherding the dark-haired woman towards the bed.

Gisila looked thrilled to have help that wasn’t Osvald’s. ‘You are young,’ she said, seeing the healer more clearly as she approached. She had a pleasant countenance, with a look of sympathy in her pretty blue eyes that Gisila warmed to immediately.

Norah smiled. ‘Perhaps, though I have more than twenty years experience caring for my lord and his family. They trust me to look after them. It’s why they take me everywhere they go.’

‘And the tincture?’ Gisila asked. ‘What is it for?’

‘Your sister said the queen’s emetic hadn’t worked,’ Norah murmured. ‘Perhaps the king’s healer made a mistake? In which case, I have a tincture I always use to bring down fever. Garlic, ginger, tulsi leaves. Some amala too. Though I will need to examine the queen myself.’ And now, a confident Norah moved past Gisila, reaching Amma. She touched her forehead, then became very still. ‘We must sit her up. More pillows, please. And more light. If you open the curtains, we can let in the moon. Also, every lamp you can find.’

A knock on the door barely registered, though one of Amma’s servants opened it to a sleepy Hal, who hovered in the doorway.

‘I heard noises through the wall. Is something happening?’

Gisila and Getta ignored him, busy with the healer. Branwyn, though, hurried him inside. ‘She is getting worse. Her fever is dangerous now. I’ve never felt such heat.’

Hal looked concerned, turning from Branwyn’s worried face to the bed. ‘What can I do?’

Branwyn peered at him. ‘No doubt there’ll be a lot of questions. Perhaps handle those? We need to focus on Amma.’ And turning away from Hal, she hurried back to the bed.

* * *

As morning dawned, gloomy and wet, Bertel Knutson was rendered speechless by his first sight of Pechik.

It wasn’t what he’d been expecting after the bright, bustling cities of Castala and Bakkar. Pechik was mountainous and gloomy, the highest reaches of the city hidden in a sheath of grey clouds. The harbour was a narrow inlet, tricky to navigate and dotted with rocks – some scattered with broken strakes. It was busy, too, angry traders shouting at those who sought to take their precious berths. Though after much manoeuvring, Korri’s useful helmsmen had found moorings for both ships, and then the crews had set about getting their bearings.

With nothing left to sell, Korri’s primary focus had changed to earning coins. He wouldn’t be able to get back in the trading game until he was able to make a purchase. There’d been little to find on Iker Rayas’ ship, which had Korri convinced that someone had already helped themselves. Raymon had plenty of coins to offer, and offer them he did, but the proud Alekkan refused to take even one. He felt responsible for his failures in Castala, and choosing to lead by example, he took his men on a hunt for opportunities, leaving Edela, Bertel, and Siggy to look after their patient. Though, after the long journey from Castala, Raymon was eager for them to stop worrying about him. The pain had lessened each day as his ability to use his arm had increased, and he was eager to focus on what would come next and on what his plans might be.

They had been unable to find rooms to rent, for summer was busy in Pechik, and used to sleeping on board, that was no hardship. Though as they continued to explore the mountainous city with its never-ending steps and narrow, winding roads, the question of what they were doing in this strange new kingdom lingered.

For everyone wanted to know why they had come.

Edela clung to Siggy, who pulled her up the road like a mule towing a cart. The dreamer had found it amusing at first, though she’d quickly stopped chuckling, reserving her breath for the steep climb.

‘Hold on, Edela!’ Bertel snapped behind her, where he was attempting to assist a prickly Raymon, who didn’t want or need his help. Still, Bertel clung to the young man’s arm, trying to tug him along. ‘You’ll roll down the mountain like a ball of yarn! There won’t be much you can do!’

Edela grunted, unable to reply, nudging Siggy to the right, where she’d spotted a road leading somewhere flat.

It was raining heavily, and she spat out a mouthful, hearing squelching as she walked, feeling water rising in her boots. It wasn’t cold, which was something, but that almost made it worse. Cold rain was refreshing, but this felt oppressive and heavy, and unhappy about all of it, she leaned on Siggy, who helped her up to the road.

‘We should stop here!’ Bertel called from behind them. ‘Take a moment!’ And seeing that Siggy was doing just that, he turned to Raymon, who finally flung off his arm and strode past the old man as though the climb had been no effort at all.

‘We should have brought Zen along,’ Edela panted as her companions arrived. ‘He could have carried you, Bertel!’

Bertel frowned at her, hair dripping rain into his squinting eyes, and now he dropped forward, hands on his knees, unable to argue.

Raymon’s eyes drifted down the road, taking in the houses perched along the sides of the cliffs. Straining his neck, he saw how much higher the mountains went. And in all this rain? ‘Why are we here, Edela?’ he asked. ‘What are we searching for?’

‘A clue,’ Siggy told him. ‘Isn’t that right, Edela? We’re searching for another clue.’

Bertel rolled his eyes. ‘What we’re doing is walking into a trap, if you ask me. We killed those Silurans, we were free, and now?’

‘Now we must find the woman who sent them,’ Edela insisted, spying what appeared to be a tavern in the distance, and bustling away, she was soon followed by Siggy.

Raymon remained, turning to an exhausted Bertel with the offer of an arm.

Though not wanting to be helped by their invalid patient, Bertel straightened up, inhaled a breath, and headed after Edela.

‘We need to ask some questions!’ she decided, turning around with a cheerful grin. ‘That’s what I think. We ask if anyone knows about those Silurans or a powerful woman. There would be somebody who knows about that, wouldn’t there?’

‘Perhaps the tavern?’ Raymon suggested. ‘There’s always useful information to be found in a tavern.’

And turning to him with an open mouth that soon filled with rain, Bertel’s eyes lit up, thinking that was the best suggestion he’d heard in days.

* * *

Norah, the helpful healer, stood and stretched as dawn awakened the sleeping city of Angard. It was mostly quiet, apart from a few noisy birds announcing the new day, though it wouldn’t be for long. ‘I must go and see to my master,’ she said with a yawn. ‘I have to prepare his morning tonic.’

Gisila stood with her, feeling like a wrung-out rag blowing on a line. ‘And what about the queen? What will happen to her?’

Tucking strands of dark hair behind her ears, Norah turned to Amma with a thoughtful smile. ‘She is peaceful now, resting, which will assist the healing process. The tincture has helped calm her, though her fever is still strong. I will come back after breakfast and bring more herbs.’ She patted Gisila’s arm as she headed to the door. ‘Do not worry, my lady, there is much we can do.’

Getta followed her. ‘But what is wrong? Can you tell us that? What is wrong with her?’

Norah shook her head. ‘Not yet, but more clues will be revealed soon. You cannot help your sister if you are not calm yourself, my lady. Look for the clues so you can help me when I return. And I will,’ she added. ‘My lord enjoys a nap every morning without fail. I shall come back then.’

Gisila, Getta, and Branwyn stared at the closing door, weighed down by weariness and worry. Hal had left with the servants to organise food and to update their hosts.

They turned to each other, fearing the worst.

Sickness was a part of life. It was expected, unpleasant, but knowable.

This wasn’t that, and they all felt it.

This was something much more serious.

And, they feared, in their shared silence... deadly.

* * *

‘Storm’s coming,’ Raal informed Jael.

Jael liked Raal, who was around fifty and flat-nosed with a permanent frown and a silent steadiness she’d quickly warmed to. Helmsmen tended to forge their own paths, reluctant to take advice, especially from a woman, though Raal had offered little in the way of resistance. He was communicative when it counted, appeared willing to listen, and kept to himself otherwise.

The ideal combination in Jael’s book.

Bending down, she picked up Otter, who had been rubbing against her leg. Having gotten to know the cat since their departure from S’ala Nis, she sensed that he was worried.

Mattie was sound asleep between Fyn and Kolarov, who were whispering over her. Eadmund was walking around the ship with Alek, who became so stiff from lying and sitting that he tried to keep on the move. Pye was talking to Kalina, who, as usual, was ignoring him, and Thorgils had one arm around the cook, certain that the man had something to spare. She frowned at him, giving him a look that he quickly ignored, and turning around, he started whispering in the cook’s ear.

‘A storm? How bad?’ Jael wondered absentmindedly, smoothing Otter’s wet head.

‘Can’t say, though maybe one of you dreamers might have a better idea? My lady,’ Raal added.

Jael tipped back her head, seeing the menacing clouds gathering like warriors before a battle. The wind had certainly picked up, for Bone Hammer was now charging over the waves like an angry Tig. She smiled sadly, seeing herself on Oss.

On land.

Oh, how she missed the steady reliability of land.

And reaching out to grab Raal as the ship jerked violently to starboard, she gasped, immediately looking at the cat, who bounded out of her arms, scampering back to Mattie.

Mattie, who had just woken up and was staring at Jael.

14

Gisila left Amma’s chamber, seeking fresh air and a moment to think.

She didn’t find it in the castle, which remained in a state of upheaval as the King of Helsabor’s guests prepared to depart, servants scurrying up and down the stairs and racing around corners. So, heading outside, she searched for somewhere private. It was a warm afternoon, airless and still, making her sleepy. She couldn’t remember snatching more than a few hours sleep since the wedding, which was two days’ ago now.

Amma was worse.

She hadn’t opened her eyes.

Hadn’t eaten, hadn’t drunk, hadn’t spoken.

She held her belly, lying on her side.

The king’s healer, Osvald, had come again, dismissing their worries, barely answering their questions, and leaving them with another emetic to help Amma purge whatever was making her so ill.

Gisila had promptly sent him on his way, wanting nothing further to do with the arrogant man. She thought of Astrid in Andala, and her mother, her steps becoming even heavier. And her worries. They were a burdensome weight now, almost impossible to carry.

She walked with little awareness of where she was until she found herself near the busy harbour, where ships were being loaded with chests and guests. Sighing, she saw Death Weaver and longed to go home, where everything was familiar and where, hopefully, her husband waited. Though shaking her head, she turned away, deciding to return to the castle.

It would not do to leave Amma for long.

‘Gisila!’

Spinning around, Gisila saw a weary-looking Ulf Rutgar limping towards her with a beaming smile. ‘Ulf?’

He came forward, clasping her arms and kissing her cheek. ‘Thought I’d be too late, though I promised Bayla I’d make an effort to come.’

‘Tell me about Jael!’ Gisila demanded, caring about nothing else. ‘Is she safe? Did you see her? Rescue her?’

Ulf saw the tears in her eyes and felt his own coming. ‘Yes! We did. Though Jael mostly rescued herself. She’s on her way to Andala with her husband.’

Gisila collapsed against him, feeling his arms wrap around her, tears streaming down her face. ‘Oh, Ulf! She’s alright?’

‘Well, a little bruised from memory, a bit broken, but you know your daughter. She was victorious.’ And now he stepped back, smiling down at Gisila. ‘She led the slaves in an uprising. Freed them all. And now she’s free herself, with Eadmund, and they’re going to Andala.’

Gisila couldn’t believe it. Tears rolled down her cheeks, stinging her grainy eyes. She frowned. ‘Why Andala?’

‘Ulf? Ulf Rutgar!’

They heard Bayla’s sharp voice and turned to where the former Queen of Hest was almost running towards them, hitching up her dress, eyes fixed on the weary helmsman.

Ulf’s eyes lit up, though he took a moment to answer Gisila. ‘Think she was worried about your son. Had a bad feeling, she said.’

And now Gisila’s heart, which had been thumping with joy, started racing with fear.

* * *

Neither Mattie nor Jael could determine why the approaching storm had them feeling strange. Though strange they both felt, which didn’t comfort Thorgils, who, being hungry, was more fretful than usual.

‘But what could it mean? That dreamer again? Dessalene?’ he muttered, eyes on the gathering clouds before dropping them to glare at his queen.

Ignoring him, Jael turned to Eadmund. ‘Raal thinks we’re near Eastern Hest. We’re heading for Skorro if he’s right. We need to try and make it there.’

‘Skorro?’ Eadmund felt a sense of relief, feeling another step closer to home, though he was becoming as unsettled as Thorgils. ‘And you think we’ll make it?’

Jael saw waves in her mind.

Not the ones in front of her, but bigger ones – towering walls of dark waves.

She blinked the images away, offering a confident smile. ‘I think we can. Hopefully, the Hestians won’t fire on us!’ And now she winked at a worried-looking Thorgils, seeking to escape them both.

Kalina called out to her in that shrill, unpleasant voice everyone on board had come to despise. ‘What is happening? You must tell me! What is happening?’

Kolarov, who had become a sympathetic supporter of the queen, hurried to her side. ‘A storm, my dear. Yes, that sky promises a great challenge to our reliable little vessel. She has taken us from north to south and back again, though is she able enough to defeat whatever Ver intends to throw at her?’

Kalina grabbed his arm. ‘What are you babbling about, man?’

‘The Oster God of Weather! For we have left our own gods behind now,’ Kolarov grinned. ‘Though there are many in Osterland who will protect us, like Ver. A wise and benevolent deity!’ he called loudly, bald head tilted back, dripping water. ‘A friend to kings and queens alike, and to those who serve him!’ And now he dropped his head, inhaling a deep breath, trying to still his jumping nerves. Rain came down in sheets, and blinking, he ran a hand over his scalp.

‘No one moves!’ Raal shouted. ‘Hold your places! And tie down anything you don’t want to lose!’

‘Why is there always a storm?’ Thorgils grumbled. ‘Never just plain sailing, never clear skies. There’s always a storm seeking to kill us all.’ Though with a sigh, he turned away, sensing he would get nothing more from a tight-lipped Jael.

Jael remained with Eadmund and Mattie. ‘That root you told me about? See if Kolarov has any more.’ And sending the dreamer on her way, she turned back to Eadmund. ‘I have to stay with Mattie now. Whatever’s happening, we need to be together. You stay safe and look after yourself.’

Despite his own worries, Eadmund smiled. ‘You think we’ll be swimming?’

Jael clung to his arm, feeling it vibrate. ‘I hate swimming.’

‘Unless the water’s hot.’

‘Well, when the water’s hot, I make an exception.’

Eadmund kissed her, moving his lips to her ear. ‘Is something coming for us? Not just the weather?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I’ve had a bad feeling for days, but I honestly don’t know.’ She stepped back, running her hands over his wet head before kissing him again. ‘Just look after yourself. Please.’

Eadmund nodded, deciding to join Thorgils. If anyone was going to take his mind off the approaching danger, it was his moaning best friend. ‘I’d say the same to you –’

‘Though you know me?’

‘Mmmm, well enough to know you don’t listen to anyone, Jael Furyck. Still, look after yourself for me.’

She smiled at him as the rain became heavier.

The wind had been howling for hours, now sweeping that icy rain towards them as Jael turned away, smile dropping with the fall of the dark clouds, fearing what was coming.

* * *

Gisila headed back to the castle, her relief about Jael now tempered by a new fear for Axl. It wasn’t especially new, she supposed, but it had been reignited by Ulf’s words.

Why had Jael decided to go to Andala? What had she seen?

The thought of what might have happened left her so distracted that she didn’t see Kamilla and Ebert Venberg walking towards her until Ebert reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Oh!’

Kamilla peered at her with a concerned frown. ‘Has something happened? Is it the queen?’

Gisila’s mouth hung open as she debated what to reveal, though she was so tired that she couldn’t pull together anything coherent. ‘No. I mean, yes. I... we have to delay our return home. We... can’t –’

Ebert frowned. ‘Is there anything we can do? Any way we can assist you?’

Gisila stared at him as though not seeing anyone. ‘It would be useful if you could inform Herold Valens,’ she decided after a long pause. ‘I must return to the queen, I, I can’t...’

‘Of course. Yes, I will find him immediately,’ Ebert said, pulling back rounded shoulders and lifting his droopy mouth into something resembling a look of purpose.

‘But what ails the queen?’ Kamilla wondered quietly. ‘Something we should know?’

An immediately more alert Gisila noticed the busy eyes of her sometime friend.

Gossip, she thought.

The woman just wants gossip.

Her eyes hardened. ‘It’s likely something she ate, though it’s impossible to guess what with all the food on offer!’ she smiled, projecting more certainty now. ‘I expect her to recover quickly, though with the baby, extra caution is being taken. Naturally,’ she added, stepping away, eyes now returning to Ebert. ‘Thank you for your help. I shall be in touch when I know more.’ And bobbing her head, a trembling Gisila strode away.

* * *

After a busy day, Korri and Zen joined Edela, Bertel, Siggy and Raymon for supper in a poky tavern clinging to one of Pechik’s sheer cliffs.

It was still raining, and their wet clothes were steaming as they bent over bowls of hot, fishy soup.

Zen slurped his soup down in just a few mouthfuls, and tearing a slice of bread into small pieces, he mopped up what was left of the broth.

‘Quite tasty,’ Edela decided, licking her lips, which hummed with spice. And seeing that her companions were nodding, she carried on. ‘You must have been working hard to have such an appetite,’ she said to Zen. ‘Or perhaps that’s simply being a young man?’ She chuckled, turning to smile at a stony-faced Bertel, who hated Pechik more than any place he’d ever visited in his life. She could hear his thoughts as he sat beside her in his damp tunic, seething with unspoken rage, and for some reason, it made her smile all the brighter.

‘We made a lot of coins today,’ Korri mumbled between mouthfuls of bread. It was thin and chewy but filling, and he looked almost as cheerful as Edela. ‘It’s so busy down at the harbour. And in this weather?’

‘They say it’s always like this in summer,’ Zen put in, watching Siggy fussing over Raymon Vandaal, who looked perfectly capable of tearing his own bread.

‘Who says?’ Bertel demanded to know.

‘The crews,’ Zen explained. ‘Summer’s always wet.’

‘Is it?’ Bertel looked mortified.

‘I think it’s a nice change,’ Edela smiled, continuing her habit of taking the opposite position to whichever one Bertel adopted. ‘After all that sand and sun, how pleasant it is to have some rain. To see something green.’

‘Green?’ Bertel shook his head, wanting more soup.

‘Well, we’re no longer in the Fire Lands, are we?’ Raymon muttered, almost to himself. Then, hearing silence, he looked up, seeing five pairs of eyes staring at him, for he had barely offered a word during the conversation.

‘Did you find any clues?’ Korri wondered, eyes shifting to Edela.

‘About the mysterious mistress? Not today,’ Edela said, shaking her head. ‘Though we did come across something that might interest you. Mines.’

Korri’s eyes lit up. ‘Mines?’

‘Oh, yes, they mine sapphires here. Rubies too. The mines are all in Western Kadak, though. Up and over the mountains.’

‘We saw an enormous ruby,’ Siggy put in. ‘It was beautiful.’

‘It was,’ Edela agreed. ‘The sort of gems that would go for high prices where you come from.’

Korri’s eyes sparkled. ‘Is that so?’

‘Come with us tomorrow and we’ll show you,’ Edela promised.

‘Back up the mountain?’ Bertel sighed. ‘How delightful.’

Korri grinned at him before turning back to Edela. ‘And in return, I have some information that might be useful to you.’

‘Oh?’

‘There’s an alley off the harbour where you can get all sorts of supplies. Vellum and knives, tinderboxes and combs. We went down there today and came across an unusual shop. Looked very old,’ Korri said, seeing Edela sit up straight. ‘The man sells books and scrolls. Nothing we were interested in, but his shop... when I saw it, I immediately thought of you. He’s a scribe. He wasn’t interested in the likes of us, though he seemed knowledgeable enough.’

‘That does sound interesting,’ Edela decided, nudging Bertel.

‘Down at the harbour, you say?’ Bertel said with rising curiosity.

Zen smiled at him, eyes darting to Siggy, who was once again staring at Raymon Vandaal as though no one else was present. He turned back to Bertel with a frown. ‘Down the mountain, as flat as can be.’

‘Well, that does sound like a good idea,’ Bertel murmured. ‘Now, why don’t we order another round of soup before young Zen here starts eating his bowl?’

* * *

When Gisila returned to the chamber, Amma was stripped naked and Norah was examining her closely. ‘What is happening?’ she asked in a panic, all thoughts of Jael and Axl fleeing her mind. Turning around, she hurried to close the door.

Branwyn was quickly at her side. ‘Norah is looking for clues as to what might be wrong.’

‘And I have found it,’ the healer declared, straightening up and covering Amma with a sheet. She turned to the three women with a worried frown. ‘I have been given word that I will be leaving in the morning, but I will do whatever I can to help the queen until then.’

‘But what did you find?’ Getta wanted to know, ready to shake the woman, who spoke the common tongue with a strong accent, very slowly and deliberately.

‘Poison.’

The women blinked at the healer in horror.

And realising that she had some explaining to do, Norah turned back to the bed and uncovered Amma once more. ‘Here,’ she said, stooping down and slightly lifting one of Amma’s legs, she revealed a series of red dots behind the queen’s right knee. And moving her finger, she showed how they formed a line, travelling down to her ankle, which was thick with fluid. The same clues could be seen on her left leg. ‘There is more here,’ Norah explained, gently rolling Amma onto her side, revealing the scattered rash of red dots in the small of the queen’s back.

Gisila was gobsmacked. ‘Poison?’ she whispered. ‘Intentional poison?’

Norah nodded. ‘It can only be intentional, my lady, for this reaction is one I know of personally. I have seen someone poisoned with hessweed before.’

‘Hessweed?’ Getta threw a hand over her mouth, flinging it away as Amma suddenly cried out.

And jerking up her head, she vomited a mouthful of blood.

* * *

Andala’s market was in full swing, though Helga Brugen stood amidst the shouting, shifting, colourful crowd, empty basket over her arm, barely aware of the ground beneath her feet.

She was still thinking about her odd dream.

She sensed that the dreamer was powerful, working to keep her away from the information she needed to find. For it wasn’t just the dreamer’s identity Helga sought to discover. She needed to know more about Mutt Storman’s intentions.

His plans.

A man bumped into her, eyeing her angrily, though Helga didn’t even turn his way.

* * *

Amma’s bed was covered in blood.

Though she had stopped vomiting some time ago.

It wasn’t that.

Gisila held her hand, smoothing the queen’s damp hair away from her pale face. Much of Amma’s body was covered in the red rash now, though her face remained a ghostly mask.

Her eyes fluttered open occasionally, filled with terror, closing quickly.

Gisila wondered if she knew what was happening.

The queen groaned and gripped her belly, writhing in the bed.

Norah was still there, helping them.

Helping Amma.

Though it was too late for her baby.

The healer took away what remained of it – a bloody mess. She wrapped it in cloth, carefully and gently, folding it up like a precious package, which she placed in her basket.

None of the women spoke.

Outside, the sounds of the city were quieter now, their fears becoming loud.

‘The rash is on her arms,’ Branwyn said dully, pointing to Amma’s wrist. Against the ivory sheet, it was as bright as fire. ‘What does it mean?’

Norah returned to the bed with a look of concern. ‘Hessweed is a plant so poisonous that simply inhaling its leaves can kill you.’

‘And you think this is it?’ Getta whispered. ‘That someone fed it to her somehow?’

‘You do not harvest such a plant in error,’ the healer warned, touching Amma’s wrist, feeling the raised bumps, so hot and intense – she could almost see them spreading before her eyes. ‘You cannot. If you don’t know how to handle it properly, it will kill you.’

‘I have never heard of it,’ Branwyn admitted, dipping a cloth into a bowl of water. She wrung it out and placed it on Amma’s head. ‘Where does it grow?’

‘Where I come from, in Kerras, it grows in the mountains. High in the mountains. But here in Helsabor, I do not know.’

Gisila didn’t want to think about that. She wanted to know how they were going to save Amma. ‘You gave her something to help, to purge it, and she vomited, so why isn’t she getting better?’

Norah’s eyes were full of sympathy as she turned to the queen’s mother-in-law. ‘Our bodies respond to challenges in many different ways. A plague may kill four members of a family, though others do not even fall ill. For some, poison is more powerful, and perhaps... perhaps the queen was already feeling unwell?’

Getta knew that was true, and her heart sank. She held Amma’s hand, trying not to cry, though her vision blurred and her lips quivered. ‘She has been unwell for some time. With the baby,’ she added, eyes drifting to the healer’s basket.

Norah nodded. ‘I will go and make a tea, something to soothe her. Something to hopefully break her fever.’ She eyed the door. ‘I will not be long.’

All eyes remained on Amma, nobody following the healer to the door.

Though waiting outside the door was Hal, and with a cough, he came inside.

A scowling Gisila turned to him. ‘You shouldn’t be here. It’s not right.’

Hal backed up. ‘I...’ He saw the bloody sheets, the pale queen, and the tears in Getta’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ And now he dropped his head, turning to leave.

‘Wait!’ Getta called. Leaving the bed, she hurried to him, and silently taking his arm, she led him onto the balcony.

A speechless Hal was staring at her in surprise when she spoke.

‘Amma lost the baby,’ she began, speaking plainly. ‘And now she may die.’

Hal was shocked.

‘The healer says she’s been poisoned.’

‘Poisoned? On purpose?’

‘It appears so. The plant can only be harvested by those who know how to handle it. It’s deadly.’

‘What plant?’

Getta wondered what she was doing, trusting a buffoon like Hal Harbak, though he had been surprisingly supportive since Amma had fallen ill. And even before that, he’d been protective of them during their time in Angard. ‘Hessweed. Norah doesn’t know if it grows here, so I need you to find out. Discreetly. You have to enquire discreetly. We must find out who has done this.’

Hal’s mouth hung open, though eventually, he nodded. ‘I can try. I will,’ he added, seeing Getta glowering at him. ‘I will. And the queen? Amma?’

Now Getta burst into tears, looking over the balcony into the great void of darkness. And stepping forward, Hal placed a hand on her back, pulling her into his arms.

15

Jael and Mattie remained talking while those around them tried to sleep.

Despite the rumbling storm, even Otter had his eyes closed, tucked up beside Kolarov.

The wind buffeted them like Biddy beating a fur over a line, and the pit of nausea in Jael’s stomach swelled until she feared she might have to stand up and vomit.

She tried to take her mind off the nagging sensation by talking to the dreamer. ‘Above or below?’ she asked.

Mattie’s tired eyes were suddenly alert. ‘Do you think something might be below us?’

Jael laughed. ‘You never thought about it? Truly?’

Mattie had been focused on the storm, reminded of the fire walls, and she hadn’t given any thought to what might be lurking beneath the ship. ‘Well, I...’

‘Above or below makes no difference,’ Jael insisted. ‘Danger is danger. We just have to find ways to counter it.’ She sighed, leaning back, realising how truly strange the last few weeks had been. She wanted to stroke Tig, to rest her head against his face, to be soothed by that familiar black muzzle. Then she imagined Bo wrapping her little arms around her leg and Sigmund grabbing her hand, wanting her to come and see something.

When you were a mother, there was always something to see.

She thought of Biddy complaining about the holes in her trousers, suggesting she have a dress made for formal occasions, then rolling her eyes as she shuffled away.

The hall and her chair and the high table and the fire pits. The smoke-stained ceiling and the ale-soaked floor.

Snow up to her knees and the frozen waterfall.

Hot water and cold nights and stars in the sky.

Looking up, Jael couldn’t see any stars, just dark clouds in a dark sky, and beneath her, a dark sea.

And what would come next, she wondered?

What would come for them here?

* * *

After reading Edela’s book, Helga realised that to discover more about the mysterious dreamer, she needed to go into a deep trance – something she had never attempted before – and for that, she needed help. So, after Linas had fallen asleep, she had left the hall in search of Astrid, the healer. They had spoken often since Helga’s injury, mostly discussing herbs and remedies. The healer was an intelligent, informed woman, steady and practical, and Helga was pleased when she agreed to assist her.

‘It won’t take long,’ she promised, bringing Astrid into what had become her second, more private chamber, where she could be entirely alone. This one she had requested herself, and it was smaller and barely furnished, apart from a bed, table, and chairs. ‘And you don’t have to do much.’

‘I’m happy to help,’ Astrid smiled, glancing around.

‘It’s a trance that I must enter. A deep one. And to do that, I need someone to drum for me. To feed my herbs into the fire. To keep me safe.’

‘Safe?’ Astrid turned to look at the closed door, which Helga had bolted.

Helga grunted, stomping towards the fire burning brightly in a brazier. ‘When I enter the trance, I will no longer be here. Not my spirit, at least. My body will be vulnerable. Do you understand?’

A nodding Astrid watched the dreamer laying out various sprigs of herbs on the table. She glanced at the brazier, then at the familiar-looking drum waiting on a stool. ‘I will do what I can.’

‘Good. The life of the king and everyone in the fort depends on me finding answers, so we’d better hope I return in one piece.’

* * *

After supper, Edela had to be helped down the great mountain of steps leading back to the harbour, where she would be sleeping under the shelters Korri and his crew had constructed from sealskins and waxed cloths. The thought wasn’t appealing, for the rain now had a chill to it, and as she walked, clinging to Zen, who was almost lifting her off her feet, she looked longingly at the tiny cottages they passed, where golden light emanated from hanging lanterns, leaking through shutters and under doors. It looked so inviting. So homely.

She imagined that Zen was leading her to one of those cottages, where smoke rose from a tiled roof and a porch offered shelter. She would go inside and remove her wet boots, warm her numb toes by a hot fire.

There would be a tea.

Skullcap and passionflower, she thought wistfully.

There would be a chair lined with a soft sheepskin and a thick fur to drape over her knees.

And then she would –

‘Korri!’ Bertel cried out ahead of her, his voice sharpened with panic. ‘Korri!’

And feeling Zen tense beside her, Edela heard the clash of blades.

* * *

With Astrid feeding herbs into the brazier and then taking up a steady rhythm on the drum, Helga slipped into a trance. She had chosen a selection of herbs recommended in Edela Saeveld’s book. Through reading the book extensively, Helga had gotten to know the woman. They had crossed paths in Tuura decades ago, though Edela had seemed aloof to the younger dreamer – almost self-important – especially when her pretty daughter had left Tuura to marry the Furyck king.

Without knowing her in any meaningful way, Helga had always disliked her.

Though reading her spells and notes, seeing her work in the book and her quest for answers, she had almost formed a friendship with the woman.

It was a peculiar feeling that distracted her, and she squeezed her hands together, regaining focus. Upon entering the trance, she had returned to the forest clearing and the cottage. It was dark, and she could smell meat cooking – a delicious, rich tang perfuming the air. The cottage beckoned, a path of moonlight inviting her to the porch, where an orange cat sat watching her.

Though ignoring the porch and the cat, Helga headed around the back of the cottage into the darkness, now smelling animals. She saw the outline of fences, a stable, a collection of sheds. She almost fell over a tree stump, perhaps used for chopping wood.

She was in a backyard, nose working hard, ears open.

There was a pervasive reek of shit in the air now, fragranced with a hint of death.

Turning to the stables, she felt a pull, as though something lurked in there, demanding her attention. Instead, she headed right to where the moon had returned, and now she pulled up before an enormous ash. The tree was leafy and large, its thick boughs reaching across the yard like gargantuan arms. Though Helga’s attention was soon drawn to what was hanging from those boughs. And as she stepped closer, her vision sharpened, and she saw, to her disgust, that it was bits of people: arms and legs and heads, hung like offerings.

The smell was worse than any latrine. Worse than death.

It smelled dark and evil – a horror of an odour that left Helga gagging.

Hearing laughter, she turned back to the cottage, seeing its back door wedged open, revealing a pool of golden light.

More laughter drew Helga’s attention towards the door, and she stepped closer, fearing that every footfall sounded like a giant’s approach.

It was a trance, she reminded herself. Just a trance.

Though remembering the bodies hanging from the tree, she remained alert, fearing what was waiting inside.

Creaking open the door and stepping with care, she entered the cottage, soon seeing a man and woman eating supper at a table aglow with candles.

The cottage interior had a pleasant feel, with comfortable furnishings and a plentiful supply of lamps. Helga saw two fires and windows draped in thick curtains. Rugs covered the floorboards, and there was a door to another room –perhaps a bedchamber – and a kitchen that appeared well-stocked.

Now, she focused on the woman, seeing her first from behind. She appeared slight, with narrow shoulders and a straight back covered in a thick mane of chestnut hair.

She heard her voice, girlish and immediately familiar, and she froze as though doused in ice water.

She started trembling.

Eventually, Helga moved around the table, not wanting to believe it was real.

Gunnhild?

Helga couldn’t stop staring.

Gunnhild’s companion was staring, too, his eyes drawn to her pale bosom, accentuated by a pretty blue gown cinched at the waist. Now focusing on him, Helga saw a wreck of a man dressed in rags and animal skins. He revealed a few missing teeth as he ogled the dreamer, and those that remained were stained a dark, muddy brown. He had a sparse head of matted grey hair, long past needing a wash. He seemed uncomfortable at the table, and when his eyes weren’t roaming the dreamer’s body, they were jumping to the open door.

Gunnhild pushed a small glass phial across the table towards him.

‘What’s it for?’ the man grunted, sniffing.

‘One drop of this in a well and minds will change,’ Gunnhild purred, eyes sparkling. ‘The Brekkans will finally see the truth. They plod through life, lying to themselves about their circumstances, about who’s to blame for all that’s going wrong, though this tincture will lift the veil from their eyes, and they will find a target for their ire.’

‘Axl Furyck.’

‘Indeed,’ Gunnhild smiled. ‘For he is not suffering, is he? Those inside his fortress are generously fed and cared for. He stays there with the Andalans, his true people, not concerning himself with the lives of those suffering in the rest of his kingdom. Not the Northerners or the Southerners or those on his borders, scraping about to feed their families. They will see because you will show them, Mutt dearest. We both will.’

‘And this silver you promised?’ Mutt grunted, his hungry eyes finally lifting from Gunnhild’s lightly freckled bosom, now seeking clues in the dark corners of the cottage.

‘Oh yes, there will be chests of it when you succeed. But first you must raise the people and lead them to victory. Victory over the Furycks.’

Mutt’s hard eyes shone at the thought of it.

Helga’s attention was fixed on him, and she didn’t notice until it was too late that Gunnhild had grabbed hold of her hand.

* * *

Edela slipped over as Zen let go of her, hurrying down the steps to where Bertel had shouted. In the dark, an unsteady Edela had reached for what she thought was a wall, which had turned out to be a dog, and down she went, onto her knees.

Hearing her cry out, Zen turned back for the dreamer, but Siggy charged past him, sending him on his way. And reaching Edela, she pulled her to her feet. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Men,’ Edela groaned, feeling blood oozing down her legs, though the pain of her fall had rushed to her head instead, and she reached a hand to it, grimacing. ‘Men have come!’

Frightened by that, though seeing little from the lanterns moving like fireflies up and down the mountainous steps, Siggy sought to get Edela to safety.

‘No!’ the dreamer barked. ‘Hold me up.’ Whatever was happening, Korri and his men needed to see. So, pushing herself upright, she used her knife to nick the top of her little finger. Painting a dot of blood above her right eye, she blinked it, chanting, before placing a drop of blood above her left eye. And finishing her chant, she sheathed her knife and clasped her hands together.

The shouting became louder, and holding onto Edela, Siggy thought she could hear men coming towards them. Glancing over her shoulder, she feared someone was hiding in the darkness, waiting to pounce. Rain ran down her back, filling her boots, and she wanted to move. To get to safety.

Looking at Edela, she couldn’t see what was happening.

Nothing, Edela suddenly realised. Nothing was happening at all.

‘Something’s wrong,’ she hissed. ‘Siggy, I... you need to help me. Over there!’ she cried, pointing at the glowing lantern hanging from a porch. She saw a bench outside a cottage and needed to get to it, hoping that sitting down would help.

‘Aarrghh!’ Bertel shouted, knocked over, elbow slamming onto the stone steps. His sword fell from his hand, his arm shaking. Seeing a glimmer of steel, he sought to retrieve it, only to have it kicked away by a looming shadow, who bent down, revealing a pair of menacing eyes peering at him over a mask.

‘You made a mistake coming here,’ the man warned with a laugh. ‘For here is pain and death. That is all that waits for you in Kadak. As you shall soon find out.’ And now he bent lower until Bertel could smell garlic and wine, and with a threatening glint in those dark eyes, he slashed Bertel’s cheek with his blade.

Flicking out a leg, Bertel kicked his knee, hearing a grunt as the man stumbled. He wriggled, rising onto his knees, punching his attacker in the stomach. His hand struck armour, immediately numb, but carrying on, feeling the man start to recover, Bertel bent lower and punched his balls.

Now he moved with speed, and scooping up his sword, he scrambled onto his feet and drove his blade into the man’s side.

* * *

Helga tried to move her hand, though despite her diminutive size, Gunnhild’s grip was as strong as a man’s, and she couldn’t.

‘Did it help you, Helga? To see how it all came about? How I tasked that rotting old outlaw with tearing Brekka apart? Did it help you make sense of things? To know what will happen next? What will come for your friend, the king?’

Helga shut out Gunnhild’s words, focusing on trying to release herself from the woman’s hold.

It was a trance, which she controlled.

It was her trance. She was seeing what she had brought into her mind – a vision gifted by the gods; at least that’s what she’d always believed.

The gods were showing her what she needed to know.

Looking down at Gunnhild’s hand, she felt her own power return, and flinging it away, she stepped back, staring at the dreamer. ‘It did. I see it all very clearly, Gunnhild. You. What you have become without your... friends.’

Gunnhild laughed. ‘Creative, dearest. I have become creative.’

‘To what end? A return to the Darkness?’

‘Darkness?’ Gunnhild scoffed. ‘No, I learned my lesson there. Now I seek other, more earthly pleasures.’

Helga peered at her, feeling odd. Looking more closely, she could see that Gunnhild had barely aged. Perhaps it was the candlelight or her fading eyes, but the dreamer looked at least twenty years younger, while she felt decades older, deprived of energy, hope, and joy. ‘Pleasures? What? Chaos?’

Gunnhild’s eyes gleamed. ‘Oh yes, chaos is pleasurable. The idea of moving all the little people around? And with dear Mutt’s help, I have turned Brekka on its head. The Furycks have had their own way for far too long. It’s time for them to go.’

‘You seek to hurt the Furycks?’

‘Me?’ Gunnhild shrugged nonchalantly. ‘I get paid for my help. What I want doesn’t come into it.’

‘So this is about riches?’ Helga growled. ‘Then the King of Brekka will pay you more to undo the damage you have wrought.’

Gunnhild’s beaming face collapsed with rage. Her smooth cheeks suddenly sagged, her lips pursing, heavily lined. ‘Help a Furyck? A Furyck?’ she spat. ‘But they deserve all that comes their way. Axl Furyck and that sister of his, that murderous bitch? No, I will never help a Furyck, and nor will you.’ Gunnhild lunged at a surprised Helga, who stumbled backwards, not wanting the dreamer’s hands on her again. ‘Perfect!’ she exclaimed, stepping back and clapping her elegant hands. ‘You are such a gullible fool, aren’t you? So innocent and trusting...’ And now she made a point of looking down.

Helga followed her gaze, seeing, to her horror, that she was standing inside a circle of symbols.

* * *

Korri, Zen, Raymon and Bertel fought off their attackers, sending those still standing running.

Siggy had seen glimpses of what was happening, relaying information to Edela, who sat on a small bench in the rain, looking like a drowned cat: white hair stuck to her head, cloak sodden and heavy, dragging her shoulders down.

She looked up as Bertel hobbled towards them. ‘You are injured,’ Edela realised, trying to stand, but feeling unsteady, she dropped back to the bench.

‘Are you injured?’ Bertel wondered, shaking off a fussing Siggy and coming to Edela’s side. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing,’ she said dismissively, attempting to stand again, this time with some assistance from Bertel. ‘I lost my balance.’

There was little use waiting around in the rain, so retrieving lost weapons and lifting up dripping hoods, they trekked carefully down to the harbour, returning with some relief to Sea Queen.

Korri’s crew was busy trying to keep the rain off their bed furs by securing more cloths and hides across the deck until it resembled an enormous tent. Edela was grateful for their efforts, and once she’d been hoisted into the ship by Korri, she made for the shelter, trembling all over. Siggy was behind her with Bertel, who was grumbling about the slippery steps, though he soon stopped thinking about steps when one of Korri’s men offered him a cup of ale. And taking it into the sheltered stern, he took a seat beside Edela, whose legs he could see were bleeding profusely.

Reaching up, he felt his own wound, stinging on his cheek, feeling foolish for being knocked over so easily. His confidence remained high, though, for he had finished off two men after that.

Zen tore strips off his tunic, helpfully handing them to Siggy, who had lifted up Edela’s dress and now sought to bind her wounds.

Korri brought over a lantern, hovering beside Edela, and Siggy could see that they were just gashes.

The lantern illuminated Bertel’s face, and Korri frowned at him. ‘We’ll need to find something for that. Might need stitches.’

Though Bertel shook his head, seeing Raymon Vandaal watching him with a strained look. He was bleeding, too, from a cut on his hand. Korri had a bloody nose, and it appeared that only Zen and Siggy had escaped unscathed.

‘What did they want?’ Raymon wondered. ‘To rob us?’

‘They didn’t try to,’ Korri said. ‘Not me, at least.’

‘Me either,’ Zen put in.

‘I think they wanted to capture us,’ Bertel told them. ‘One of my attackers promised pain and death in Kadak. That soon we would find out.’

Korri looked surprised. ‘He spoke to you?’

‘Oh, yes. He had me on the ground, spat out his warning, then took his knife to my face.’

Korri turned to Edela with a worried frown. ‘And what happened to you?’

‘Me? Well, I simply injured myself,’ she chuckled. ‘And then I took a seat. Let you all save me this time.’

Bertel peered at her, seeing mostly shadows but thinking that she sounded strange. Her voice was higher, her laughter slightly hollow. He shrugged, offering her the ale.

Edela thought something stronger was needed, though she sipped the ale as Siggy knotted the bandages. And wanting everyone’s attention on other matters, she sought to draw it back to Bertel’s encounter with the masked man. ‘Who wants to hurt us?’ she mused, eyeing her companions, enjoying the ale and a reprieve from the rain. Her knee ached painfully, and she felt unsettled, wondering what had happened to her magic.

Perhaps not her magic, she realised.

Perhaps the spell in Castala had simply drained her?

‘Someone who knows what we’re about,’ Bertel warned. ‘Someone who knows why we’re here. I expect they’ve been following us since we arrived.’

More ale was delivered, and Korri handed cups to Raymon and Zen. He wanted to check on his men, but first, he needed to understand what Edela wanted to do.

‘Then it means we’re in the right place,’ the dreamer declared confidently. ‘We are right where the answers lie.’ She peered up at Bertel’s face, now contorted in surprise. ‘What? Do you think we should be scared off by those bullies? But surely this is more important than that?’ Now she looked at Korri. ‘Of course I don’t want to put you in danger. Any of you. If you wish to leave, then you must go. I will not hold you here.’

‘Korri!’ someone called, and turning away, Korri disappeared, leaving everyone else to answer Edela.

‘I think we need to know why those men came after us,’ Siggy decided. ‘And you need to finish your journey, Edela. We can’t give up now.’

Zen nodded. ‘Korri will want to stay,’ he promised.

Siggy thought so, too, and she smiled at him before returning her gaze to the king.

Bertel sighed loudly, draining his cup, and Raymon said nothing, still unsure how he was going to extract himself from this motley crew. He didn’t want any part of it, though he could hardly sail away on his own.

Edela pulled herself up on Siggy’s arm. ‘We should sleep, and in the morning, we’ll start with that scribe Korri mentioned. Perhaps he’ll have some answers?’

* * *

Helga emerged from her trance with an explosive sneeze.

She lurched forward, almost into the brazier, still flaming brightly before her.

Dropping the drum, Astrid hurried to help her. ‘What happened? Helga?’

Inhaling the smoke puffing from the brazier, the dreamer tried to swallow, but her mouth felt as though she’d been eating sand.

Everything felt strange.

She was vibrating, her head thumping painfully.

Holding out a hand, she saw that it was steady.

Though inside her...

She shook her head. ‘Nothing,’ she said blankly, staring at the concerned healer. ‘I... found nothing.’

16

In the depths of the stormy night, Bone Hammer’s crew had been woken by the anxious dreamer and the concerned queen, who wanted them to stay alert.

Everyone had questions as they moved about, though barked at by Raal, who had returned to the steering oar after a brief nap, they held their places, waiting to hear what was happening.

Though soon, many felt it.

Eadmund was quickly by Jael’s side, flanked by a sleepy Thorgils. ‘What’s under us?’

Jael didn’t know. ‘Nothing good, I expect.’

‘But you feel something?’

A nodding Jael turned to Thorgils. ‘Get the crew to hunker down. I have to speak to Raal.’ She glanced at the dreamer. ‘You need to try and find out what it is. Did you get that root from Kolarov?’

Mattie nodded, digging into her purse. And pulling out a thin sliver of it, she popped it into her mouth.

‘Go to Kolarov and stay safe. Try and find out what’s down there.’

‘What is happening?’ came Pye’s high-pitched wail from near the mast. Bone Hammer was bow down, diving over a wave, and he’d tried to make it up to where the meeting was taking place, only to lose his balance. Now he clung to a rope, legs slipping under him, terrified that the ship wouldn’t rise up again. ‘What –’

Bone Hammer slammed into the sea then jerked up, and losing his grip on the rope, Pye rolled down the deck to where Jael stood, a drenched ball with bulging eyes.

Eadmund dragged him to his feet. ‘You need to stay still!’ he growled, holding on to the man. ‘It’s no time to be wandering about!’ And then he was lunging for the shield rack, drenched by a blast of sea spray.

‘What’s happening?’ Pye demanded again.

‘We don’t know!’ Jael snapped, regretting that she’d brought the annoying man along. ‘But you need to grab hold of something! Now!’ And stumbling to the right, Jael seized the rigging as Bone Hammer was slapped by a wave. Pye tumbled away from Eadmund, who swung around, cracking heads with his wife.

Opposite them, a crouching Kalina was screaming. In the stern, Mattie shrieked, clinging to Otter as cups clattered across the deck, fearing Bone Hammer wouldn’t regain her balance.

Raal hung on the steering oar, shouting at the ship, urging her to come back up. His hands burned with the effort, back breaking, knuckles turning white as he bellowed in desperation, drowned out by the wind.

Everyone held their breaths, praying to their gods, urging them to grant them some much-needed luck.

Head thumping, fears rising, Jael joined them, wanting to reach Furia.

Hoping the goddess hadn’t abandoned her family.

* * *

Edela thought about taking Bertel’s hand so they could speak privately, though those around them were asleep, and the rain had become loud, drumming the covers above their heads, and she didn’t imagine anyone could hear her.

Bertel was fidgety beside her, complaining about his cut cheek, which Edela wouldn’t stitch until she could see better, and that wouldn’t be for some hours yet. But mostly, he was feeling uncertain about their decision to remain in Kadak.

Hearing his thoughts, Edela leaned towards him. ‘And what if we leave?’ she muttered. ‘Leave here as they want and run away? But you know who sent me away from Osterland, Bertel. I wasn’t chosen because I give up easily. Quite the opposite. I believe I was set this task because, much like my granddaughter, I will not be stopped.’

A surprised Bertel lengthened his neck as he peered down at the dreamer. ‘Yet you didn’t stop those men attacking us, and why is that, Edela? I’m becoming used to you swooping in to rescue us, so why didn’t you?’

Edela didn’t look at him, eyes on the cat, who appeared soaked as he sought a new place to sleep. ‘Well, it seemed little more than a skirmish, and I didn’t want to announce myself as a dreamer. I thought you’d approve of that?’

Bertel studied her, unable to see those busy blue eyes he’d come to know so well, though he thought she sounded evasive. ‘Yet someone knows who we are, and what will that mean? Perhaps they’re listening to everything we say?’

Edela chuckled. ‘Well, then, let’s bore them to tears. I have a terrible bunion I must take care of. And you? Do you have any ailments besides that cut of yours?’

Bertel heard the amusement in her voice, though he was worried, and feeling his cheek, he thought he had every reason to wonder who knew they were here and what they intended to do next.

* * *

From where Thorgils sat, Jael and Mattie appeared deeply worried. The storm was intensifying, and though it was dark, the keening wind and crashing thunder kept them all alert and waiting.

Fearing what would come.

Thorgils was hungry, annoying everyone with his complaints.

Beside him, Pye had gone quiet, too exhausted to do anything more than listen. The ship was moving erratically, and he was struggling to keep his balance, constantly sliding into the big man.

‘If you’d like a cuddle, you just need to say!’ Thorgils grinned. Looking up, he saw Jael looming over them, dark hair swirling around her like writhing snakes.

She bent down to Pye, reaching for an arm.

He recoiled, scrambling to his feet, but grabbing his leg, Thorgils kept him still.

‘I want to take the fetters off!’ Jael snapped.

‘Off?’ Pye looked surprised, holding out his arms. ‘Why off?’

‘Because you’ll sink, man!’ Thorgils laughed. ‘Once we’re in the sea, you’ll have one last gulp of air, and that will be that!’

Pye’s eyes shone with fear. ‘But I...’ He looked around, seeing the wet crew taking off swordbelts and armour, huddled together, faces in shadow. ‘I can’t swim!’

Jael sighed, unlocking the fetters and dropping them to the deck. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? I should have left you for Arras to deal with. No wonder your dreamer left you behind!’ She turned to leave, wanting to get back to Mattie. They had both been trying to drag something out of the darkness – to no avail. There remained a feeling of building pressure, a presence that neither understood.

Pye gaped after her in horror. ‘But, but, what will I do?’ he demanded of Thorgils, barely aware that the cumbersome fetters had been removed, and then he was sliding again, this time away from the big man.

Who grabbed him by the collar. ‘You can hop on my back!’ he laughed. ‘I’ll swim for us both.’

Pye stared at him aghast before turning around, seeing Kalina, wondering what would happen to her.

Eadmund had been left to deal with the queen, unlocking her fetters too. She was just as terrified as Pye, though much angrier with it. ‘Why isn’t your man doing something?’ she grumbled, pointing at Raal, who stood rigidly, gripping the steering oar nearby.

Eadmund eyed her irritably. ‘Doing something? He’s doing what he can! The sail’s down, everything’s tied down, and he’s got a firm hold on that oar. What do you advise? Do you have some knowledge of sailing through this sort of weather?’

Kalina pursed her lips, sucking on them, and stumbling forward, she cried out, falling onto Eadmund.

He pushed her back against the gunwale. ‘You stay there! Hold onto the rigging!’ he ordered, fearing the wind was strong enough to pick him up and toss him overboard.

Cloak streaming behind her, Jael made her way back to Mattie, who was panicking about her cat. She had commandeered Fyn to look after him, and now they were both attempting to stuff an uncooperative Otter into a satchel. Kolarov sat below them, issuing directives that everyone ignored, occasionally grabbing a worried-looking Alek, whose mouth was closed. ‘You’ll only frighten the poor thing,’ Jael grumbled, pulling open the satchel. ‘Here, come on, Otter.’ And with a firm hand, she pushed the wet cat inside, tying the flap around his head, which poked out as he miaowed in complaint.

‘Is it tight enough?’ Mattie fretted, eyeing Fyn, doubting her decision to give him sole responsibility for her precious cat. Fyn showed her that the satchel was strapped tight to his body, and though she felt no better, she knew there was little more she could do.

Jael wanted to talk about other things. ‘Have you seen anything?’

Mattie shook her head.

‘Fyn, go sit with Thorgils and Pye,’ Jael said. ‘Pye can’t swim. Just remind Thorgils about that. He may have to tie him on!’

A swaying Fyn peered at her through a wet fringe. ‘You think we’ll be swimming?’

‘I don’t know.’

That didn’t reassure Fyn, who nodded anyway and headed to where his cousin was trying to comfort a panicking Pye.

‘What is this feeling?’ Jael sighed when he’d gone. She turned to Mattie. ‘What are we feeling?’

‘Something big,’ the dreamer said. ‘That’s what I feel. A giant presence. It’s like clouds in my mind. Enormous clouds.’

Sitting pressed into the stern behind them, Kolarov and Alek exchanged a worried glance.

‘One of us needs to get some sleep, to see what we can find in our dreams. You’re more likely to find answers than me,’ Jael suggested, motioning to Mattie’s fur. ‘You need to try again.’

Mattie stumbled away from the queen with a nod, ears throbbing with the icy wind that was busy trying to tear her clothes off her back. She couldn’t imagine how she could even think, let alone sleep in the deafening gale.

Watching her go, Jael squatted before Kolarov and Alek, grabbing her hair and stuffing it down her cloak. ‘One of you can sleep, but the other needs to remain alert. Take turns.’

They nodded at her with blinking eyes.

‘Dawn can’t be far away,’ Kolarov decided, wrapping his cloak around his belly. He missed Otter’s warm body and edged closer to a noticeably shivering Alek. ‘A new day will reveal what we’re facing.’

Jael hoped he was right, wishing they were near Brekka and safety.

* * *

Amma thought she saw a light.

She had thought it was night, for everything was so dark and heavy around her, like a blanket someone had draped over her. Too heavy to move.

Sometimes, she felt as though there was no air. That she was gaping, open-mouthed like a fish out of water – big glassy eyes seeing the end.

Other times, she feared she was drowning, sinking, and that it wasn’t a blanket covering her but the ocean. The dark, cold, heavy ocean, pulling her down to the seabed.

She didn’t know what she’d find there.

Rocks and sand and creatures?

Panic had her trying to take a breath, though when she did, her mouth was fire, her throat was flames, her chest was embers – all of it melting her.

Too hot. It was so hot!

She saw Axl, and he was dead, and their baby was dead.

Flames and flames.

Nothing but flames.

Pyres, she saw, blinking more into view. Axl was on a pyre, clutching the tiny bundle.

They would be together now. All of them.

Together.

Asa would open her arms and take them to her. She would bring them together.

They would be a family.

Amma’s tears burned her cheeks, though she didn’t have the strength to cry.

She focused again on that light.

It was golden, as though a door had been cracked open, welcoming her forward.

Axl would come, someone told her. She needed to come inside and wait for him. Their babies would be there, and soon Axl.

She needed to come inside.

She needed to come home.

* * *

They sat up all night, taking turns as they had done since Amma had fallen ill.

Though as the sun rose out of the darkness, and while the moon still hung in the sky, Gisila, Getta, and Branwyn slept...

* * *

Axl had no appetite at breakfast.

He wanted to hear from Helga, he worried about Amma, he was full of doubts about their upcoming departure for Trelleg and their plans for Mutt Storman.

He felt nauseous, oblivious to the servants bustling around the table, bringing jugs of buttermilk, trays of bread, and smoked fish. Someone opened the hall doors, and a golden light flooded inside.

He turned in surprise, almost blinded.

And looking into that light, he suddenly felt afraid.

* * *

It was Getta who woke first.

She made a sound like a cry, as though something had happened. Though looking up from the bed, she saw Gisila and Branwyn slumped in chairs with their eyes closed.

Gisila’s servant had entered the chamber with fresh water and was opening the curtains. Getta blinked at her with sore eyes, turning back to look at her sister.

She shivered.

Norah had left in the early hours of the morning to prepare for her departure, though Getta didn’t need the healer to tell her that her sister was dead.

Her shivers became explosive, jerking her limbs.

Horror rendered her mute.

Tears flooded her eyes, and reaching out, she took Amma’s hand, almost dropping it immediately – it was colder than ice, absent any softness.

It was death.

Reminded of her mother, whose dead hand she had once held, and her son, whose dead body she had cradled, she let out a wretched cry.

Roused from her sleep, Gisila almost fell out of the chair, tripping over a boot as she lunged at the bed. ‘No!’ she cried, not needing to ask questions. ‘Oh, please. Oh, Amma!’

Branwyn shook herself awake, moving without being conscious, and soon she, too, was at Amma’s bedside, seeing clearly that the queen was dead.

There was a waxen look to her face, which had changed colour since she had last seen it properly. Still pale, it was now oddly yellow. She put her hands to her face, bursting into tears.

Getta’s gut-wrenching sobs drew Hal into the chamber from where he had been dressing for breakfast. He rushed in wearing only a tunic and clutching his trousers, seeing the three women in tears around the bed, the weeping servant looking on.

And he thought of Axl.

* * *

Helga was acting strangely, Axl thought as the dreamer and her grandson joined him for breakfast.

He was glad of the company, though her silence meant that Linas did all the talking. Eventually, Axl had to tell the boy to start eating, or his breakfast would get cold.

Helga blinked, as though finally returning to the hall. She scowled at her fidgeting grandson, who was almost bouncing in his chair, before turning her gaze on the king.

Her eyes suddenly softened, lingering there.

‘Did you see something in your dreams?’ Axl wondered, reaching absentmindedly for a slice of rye bread. Then, remembering that he wasn’t hungry, he left it on his plate. ‘Something to help us?’

‘No. Nothing to help us.’

Her answer didn’t reassure Axl, and nor did her odd, slightly gentler tone.

‘So you didn’t have any dreams?’

Helga frowned. ‘I entered a trance before bed, though it revealed nothing. The herbs in the smoke were powerful, and I slept without waking.’

‘Oh.’ Looking up, Axl saw Ragnar enter the hall, and he sat up straighter, hoping for good news.

Bowing his head, Ragnar hurried forward. ‘Scouts have returned from Ollsvik, my lord. It’s just more of the same. Your spies say Oren Storgard’s fixated on his new hall, his new wife, and his fleet. His mind’s nowhere near Brekka. Not that anyone’s seen or heard.’

Axl nodded, stroking his beard. It was good to hear. ‘Perhaps I need to send a note?’ he mused. ‘Instead of treating him as an enemy, perhaps I consider forming an alliance?’

‘But, but didn’t he kill your brother?’ Linas piped up, soon glared at by his grandmother, though the boy’s curious eyes remained on the king.

Who turned to him. ‘Well, I’m not sure about that, though if I want to keep us safe, I have to find a way to live peacefully with him, don’t I?’

Linas nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘Or you could kill him and be the King of Iskavall too!’

‘You can get down,’ Helga grumbled. ‘And take yourself outside. Go on now. Last time I checked, you weren’t on the King’s Council.’ And grabbing her grandson by the sleeve, she aimed him at the doors.

Axl laughed. ‘Though when you’re older, Linas,’ he called after him, ‘I shall certainly have a place for you!’

The boy looked happy to hear it, soon charging through the open doors with Gully behind him.

‘I think it’s worth sending the note, my lord,’ Ragnar decided, shuffling his feet. ‘But perhaps after we return from Trelleg? It’s best we keep our minds there. On those men planning to take your kingdom.’

17

Off the western coast of Hest, Bone Hammer’s crew was greeted with a new horror, for dawn had revealed a sea of towering waves capped with white peaks that appeared to be growing in size.

Eadmund stood behind Raal, gripping the gunwale, though still unable to prevent himself bumping against the tall helmsman as the ship dove into the waves before bucking up again.

Raal turned to the king. ‘We’re moving like a runaway horse! Approaching the Widow’s Peak!’

‘What?’ Eadmund didn’t understand. ‘I thought we were coming up on Skorro?’

‘Passed it in the night!’ Raal told him, having seen that familiar island as little more than a lump in the distance.

Eadmund’s mouth dropped open. ‘But we can’t get through the Widow’s Peak in this!’ He shouted at the moment the wind suddenly dropped, seeing more than one pair of sleep-deprived eyes snap to him.

Including his wife’s.

Jael was soon at his side, cloak streaming behind her, hair blowing away from a concerned face. ‘The Widow’s Peak?’ She thought of what Hest looked like around that treacherous maze of stone spires – only sheer cliffs and a defensive tower offering no respite. Either way, a wind this powerful was sure to drive them towards the rocks.

If they made it that far.

‘We’re flying!’ Raal told the queen, who tipped forward, just grabbing her husband.

Now her hair whipped around her face, covering her eyes. Shaking it away, a frustrated Jael tore off the hem of her tunic. She handed a flapping strip of cloth to Eadmund. ‘I need you to braid my hair, or I’m going to hack it off with my knife!’

He grinned, taking the cloth and tucking it into his belt. ‘Come here then.’ And pulling her around, he tried to grab her whirling hair.

‘The Widow’s Peak,’ Jael muttered, remembering her last time sailing through those spires. ‘Well, at least we don’t have Haaron Dragos firing at us from that tower!’ She could feel Eadmund behind her, his hands working to get her knotted hair under control. Suddenly, she could see and she sighed, barely exhaling, feeling a tightness in her chest. Thorgils appeared sound asleep, one arm around a fast-blinking Pye, Kalina on his other side. Kolarov sat by Alek, working to distract them both with tales of his favourite adventures. Fyn had brought a well-secured Otter to visit a worried Mattie, who was feeding the cat a little cheese.

The remainder of the crew sheltered beneath blankets, furs, and cloaks, knocking into each other as the ship rose up and down.

‘Ouch!’

‘Sorry,’ Eadmund smiled, tugging her hair again.

‘You’re pulling it out of my head,’ she grumbled. ‘I think you’re missing the point.’

‘I need a comb!’

‘There’s no time for a comb, man. Just do your... ouch! Eadmund!’

She was so distracted by her now giggling husband and his fat fingers that she didn’t hear Raal at first. ‘What did you say?’

‘The clouds!’ he called. ‘They’re strange! Like a wall coming at us!’

A shivering Jael pulled away from Eadmund, eyes on those clouds.

Which, she immediately saw, weren’t clouds at all.

‘It’s a wave!’ she yelled, never having seen something so vast in her life. ‘Hold on!’ Eadmund was open-mouthed behind her, and she turned to grab him. ‘I love you!’ she cried, kissing him. ‘I love you!’ And then she was gone, her hair immediately coming undone, pushing up the deck towards a standing Mattie.

‘Jael!’ Mattie screamed, eyes bulging, terror freezing her.

‘We will climb it! We will climb!’ Jael bellowed as everyone started to panic. ‘We have to hold on! Fyn! Get everyone awake! Thorgils!’ Jael swung around. ‘Tie Pye onto you!’ Swinging back, she saw a panicking Alek and Kolarov, though she didn’t know how to help everyone. And then she focused on Mattie. ‘We’re going to save the ship. You and me together!’

Eadmund heard his wife, fearing that this was the last time they would ever see each other.

‘We’re rising!’ Raal bellowed. ‘My lord! Tie me on!’

And fumbling with cold hands, Eadmund rushed to secure the helmsman to the steering oar.

The wave almost blocked the sky.

It was the sky.

Every member of the crew was gripped by the certainty that they couldn’t survive it.

Jael blocked out her doubts and theirs, grabbing hold of Mattie and pushing her down into the stern, where she worked to tie them both onto the ship. She was in two minds about it, but their only hope was to climb that wave, and no one could afford to fall out on the way up. ‘Hold onto me!’ she called, now sitting back. ‘Use me, Mattie!’ The wind whipped the sea across the deck and into her face until she could only squint. Fyn turned to glance at her, and she saw his terror before she closed her eyes, desperate to find a way to help.

The giant wave came closer, and Bone Hammer started climbing.

* * *

‘I think we stay close to the ship today,’ Raymon said, which, he could see, pleased Bertel, who nodded vigorously as they left Sea Queen behind. ‘Better to avoid those men.’

Edela had stitched Bertel’s cheek, giving him a more ruthless look, and he stroked his sword hilt, not wanting a fight but feeling prepared for it.

The rain had stopped, but they were still steaming in their damp clothes as they said farewell. Bertel had decided to stay with Edela, Raymon, and Siggy, while Korri and Zen would head back to work with the rest of the crews, hoping for another profitable day.

They would remain in Pechik for now but stay alert to further trouble.

Of which, Edela was certain, there would be plenty.

She hurried ahead of them, eager to get to the scribe’s shop. Korri had given instructions and now waved as he headed in the opposite direction towards the harbour master’s shed.

‘You must stay the course,’ came a voice, and Edela swung around to where Siggy blinked at her.

‘Edela?’

‘Did you... say something?’

‘Me? No.’

Shaking her head, a disturbed Edela forced a smile and turned back around.

‘You must stay the course, dreamer. Do not fail me now. Your enemies are my enemies, though I cannot help you here...’

Furia, Edela thought, feeling that voice vibrating through her body as though the goddess was inside her.

Bertel nudged her. ‘The road’s this way, woman. You’re pointing out to sea!’ And shaking his head, he hurried past her to walk with Raymon.

Edela wanted to hear more, though nothing else came.

Her eyes drifted to the steaming harbour, swathed in ribbons of mist. Tilting back her head, she saw a heavy bank of clouds already closing in, feeling strange.

* * *

The wave approached like the Goddess of Death, bearing down on them with ice-tipped fingers.

Bone Hammer rose to meet it, her silent, white-knuckled crew bracing themselves as best they could - gripping brackets along the gunwales, tying themselves on wherever possible, hands wrapped around the rigging when it wasn’t, and clinging to each other when there was no other option.

The ship was quickly almost vertical as it climbed the massive wave, endless jets of sea spray firing over her gunwales, drenching them all.

Jael clung to Mattie and to the rope she’d tied around her middle and secured to an iron bracket in the stern. She felt her hand trembling on one side and Mattie nearly breaking her bones on the other.

The wind was a drone, her heart thumping urgently inside her head as she started counting.

Beside her, a panicked Mattie tried to slip into the darkness, though fear was like a bright light inside her body. It blinded her as she pushed on, seeking darkness. When the wolf ships had come, and the dreamer had trapped them with her fire walls, she had saved them.

She could hear Jael’s voice in her ears, reminding her of that.

‘Your strength, Mattie. And mine. You must combine them. Unite us.’

Feeling herself tipping back until she was almost lying on the stern, Jael heard Kolarov cry out, fearing for his precious cabinet. He had quickly stuffed a few items into his pouch, but there had been little time to secure the cabinet itself. She feared for the man, though she couldn’t come out of her trance – it was the only hope of saving them all. ‘I have to let go!’ she called to Mattie, and tightening her grip on the rope as a chest tumbled past her, just missing the dreamer, she unsheathed a knife, cutting her left palm. Now she reached over to Mattie, who extended her right hand. Jael sliced a mark across her palm, hearing her yelp, head tipping back now.

‘Hold on!’ Raal screamed before them, voice strained with terror as more chests and Kolarov’s cabinet tumbled past him.

Pye shrieked, clinging to Thorgils.

Thorgils couldn’t hold onto him. He was facing the starboard gunwale, rope wrapped around both wrists, feeling himself tipping sideways. Beside him, Fyn’s jawbone felt ready to snap. Otter was still in the satchel, though it was sliding across his chest, and he didn’t have a free hand to secure the cat, hoping he would hunker down and hang on.

He looked around, past Eadmund, to where Jael and Mattie clung to each other in the stern – the stern that was now rapidly falling away, revealing a wall of seething water and a massive drop below.

He hoped they were secure.

Jael felt herself sliding, tightening her grip on the rope, which burned her skin, ripping it, the wave now thundering all around the ship.

‘This child will be a girl,’ she heard a woman say. ‘A daughter, made in my likeness, imbued with fire and ice. I will give her the strength of a warrior and the sight of a dreamer, so she can protect my people with both her mind and body. She will be mine until her final breath, and I will always be her goddess...’

Jael’s left hand, clutching Mattie’s, felt oddly hot, the dreamer’s vibrations coursing down her arm.

With her eyes closed, now lost deep in a trance, Mattie felt light-headed, as slippery as ice. As Bone Hammer climbed, with Raal tied to the steering oar and her crew hanging on for dear life, she left them all behind and entered the wave.

Someone shouted ahead of her and then over her before that sound faded away.

Shouting and panic hummed around her, and beside her, she felt the strength of Jael Furyck like a steady oak.

‘You have to pull us over the wave, Mattie!’ she heard her urging. ‘Pull us up and carry us down!’

Mattie saw the fire walls. She had stood over them as a giant, her breath as powerful as the strongest wind.

Now, she felt like a serpent, sleek and slippery.

She saw herself plunging into the water, dropping down, feeling the cool sensation of rushing liquid surging past her ears and bubbling up her nose. A brief flash of panic was quickly replaced by a sense of calm relief.

Her body was snake-like, undulating with ease.

She twisted left, then right, rolling into a ball before extending and turning up towards the ship.

Eadmund’s head was wrenched to the left, wanting to see his wife. He feared he would simply tumble out of the ship like the baskets and chests. Beside him, Pye was sobbing, fearing he was about to fall, though the howling wind and the thundering wave were louder, and all Eadmund could see was his open mouth and his eyes, shining with terror. Thorgils kept shifting away from him, and Eadmund feared for his friend. He gave him a brief nod, watching as a gulping Thorgils closed his eyes.

He was thinking of Isaura, Eadmund knew, eyes snapping back to Jael, wanting his wife to open hers. Tightening his muscles, head thumping with the effort, he started praying to Ran. The sea goddess was a malevolent creature, likely not interested in his pleas, but he made them nonetheless, for who else had the power to save them now?

Another man lost his grip, and shrieking, he tumbled down the deck.

Spinning through the air, he hit the mast. Eadmund heard a sickening snapping noise and then nothing but the roar of the sea, as though it was claiming victory.

He felt himself slipping, sliding towards the stern, and he tightened his grip on the gunwale bracket, fearing he would pull it off.

With her eyes closed, Jael saw her children playing with Ido and Vella, running in a circle, covered in dust and dirt, beaming with joy. They ran and ran until everything became a blur, turning from brown to black, and then she was plunged into darkness. The screams on board Bone Hammer, the threatening growl of the wave and the wind disappeared, and she was somewhere else.

She was in Andala, and Axl was calling to her.

She had to hurry, he warned.

She couldn’t be late.

Steering oar shuddering in his hands, eyes stinging, Raal was struggling to stay the course. Bone Hammer was like a galloping horse who’d lost control on a frozen lake, hooves slipping and sliding, and riding her, he needed to be a steadying hand – to hold her in check while she regained her footing. Jerking to the side, he bit his tongue as one of the crew lost his grip, falling past him.

Three had gone now – a horrifying warning of what might soon befall them all. Feet slipping in wet boots, standing on a wet deck, he reminded himself that he was tied onto the steering oar – his fate and Bone Hammer’s now one. ‘Hold on!’ he screamed into the great abyss of his fears, face slick with water as the ship kept climbing. ‘We’re getting close to the top! Hold on!’

Kolarov was trying to, wishing there’d been more rope to go around, for he certainly didn’t have enough. Beside him, Alek was like a piece of vellum, almost floating in the air. He wanted to reach out to him, fearing his rope wasn’t secure, that it would come undone, and he would be lost like those other men – a blur of cloak and water rushing past.

And who would be next?

Who would be the next to fall?

Jael squeezed Mattie’s hand, feeling the dreamer trying to release her grip. The heat had gone from it, too, and fearing what that meant, she peeled open her eyes, peering at her, then past her to where she saw a dark shadow moving in the water.

* * *

The scribe’s shop was so dark and dingy that Edela didn’t see the raised door frame, immediately tripping over it and tumbling inside. Behind her, Raymon just managed to grab her arm, steadying her.

‘Be careful, Edela,’ Bertel scolded, soon tripping himself. He turned to look down at the door frame, which appeared ridiculously high, as though the scribe intended to embarrass those who came inside. Behind him, Siggy stepped carefully, and soon they were all inside the narrow shop, taking up most of its scant floor space.

To the right, shelves ran from floor to ceiling, housing numerous scrolls and oddities. On the left, more shelves, where books were stacked amongst jars and a collection of curios that drew everyone’s attention.

A skull caught Siggy’s eye, and she turned away from the scrolls, wondering why a scribe would need to display such a thing.

Edela barely noticed, for her eyes were on a short man with shining black hair who had emerged from behind a lattice screen with a knowing look. And curling a stubby ink-stained finger in her direction, he bid her to follow him.

* * *

Deep in her trance, Mattie felt herself swimming beneath the ship as it climbed the wave. She felt at one with the sea. Her fears had left her, the serpent’s body fluid and graceful.

The wave grew even steeper now, as sheer as a wall. Water flung back from it, showering Bone Hammer and her petrified crew.

Raal felt her faltering, tipping backwards, as though she had lost the fight, her heart gone, becoming limp. ‘Lean forward!’ he yelled at her and at the crew. ‘Push forward!’

Thorgils’ eyes were closed. He didn’t want to look at the wave or the ship or even his friends. He only wanted to see the faces of his family. He wasn’t here, drenched and shivering, his body threatening to fly away from a ship struggling to hold on. He was at his table with his baby daughter in his arms. His pregnant wife was kissing him, and his children were arguing over who had the biggest slice of cake.

He heard no screams, saw no terror, felt no cold.

He was by his fire. He was safe.

‘We’re cresting it!’ Raal bellowed, eyes peeled open, eyelashes dripping, seeing that they were nearing the top of the towering wave. And then?

Then?

Jael heard him, and eyes closed again, she sought to reach Mattie. Squeezing the dreamer’s hand and feeling a spark of connection, she saw a dark shape in the water again.

And in that presence, she felt the dreamer.

Mattie didn’t know what was happening, though she could see Bone Hammer above her, and now she pushed up, wanting to guide the ship over the wave and ease her down to safety.

In that moment, as they crested the giant wave, Eadmund saw a flash of light, as though the clouds had parted, revealing a glimpse of the sun. ‘Hold on!’ he urged, watching Raal shift suddenly, from leaning forward to pulling back. ‘We’re going over!’

Fyn’s body shunted forward now, the satchel rushing up his chest, threatening to slip over his head. The cat miaowed, scratching his face as he slid out of the satchel. ‘No!’ he shouted, releasing a hand from his rope. And flinging it out, he grabbed for the cat.

Seizing his tail.

Mattie heard Otter’s frantic miaowing, fearing for him, and her focus faltered. Now she was no longer in the water but back on the ship, watching her beloved cat dangling from Fyn Gallas’ hand.

She pushed back into the trance, diving with urgency now, up and under Bone Hammer until she could feel the keel like a blade, resting on her back.

‘Pull back! Pull back!’ Raal yelled as they drove down the other side of the wave like flying off a cliff. His wet boots slipped, and he almost tumbled over the steering oar as he tried to halt the ship’s rapid descent. She was moving so quickly that the wind burned his cheeks, his breath sucked from his lungs. And before him, he saw the frothing dark water beckoning her end.

Pye clung to Thorgils, arms clamped around the big man’s neck, slowly choking him. He was tied to him but feared that the rope would come undone.

Thorgils tightened his grip on his own ropes as the ship now plunged over the wave, diving with such speed that tears blurred his eyes. Beside him, he felt a screaming Kalina slide away. They’d been shifting back and forth as the ship rose and the wind blew, but now he sensed that she was slipping away for good. ‘Hold on!’ he warned through gritted teeth.

But, left hand coming off her rope, Kalina swung away from him, tears in her eyes. ‘Aarrghh!’ she cried. ‘Help!’

‘Hold on tighter!’ Thorgils shouted at Pye, releasing a hand and flinging it towards Kalina, but he was too late, and she rolled down the deck, banging against the mast. Thorgils watched, holding himself and Pye up with one hand now as she howled in pain, rolling again until she came to a stop, her dress catching on an oar. And there she hung, over the waiting sea, like a sheet blowing on a line.

‘Pull up!’ Raal urged the racing ship, seeing the sea rising to meet her far too quickly for his liking.

Hearing him, Mattie surged forward until she felt her head emerge from the water, imagining the ship still resting on her back. Her back was long enough to support its length, strong enough to carry its crew to safety. She heard their panic but felt only a sense of peace now as she pushed back against the rushing water, slowing everything down.

Kalina hung in the air, hearing her dress tearing, desperate to close her eyes, but wanting to know when they hit the water. She held her breath, seeing the seething waves ready to claim her. And then her dress tore all the way through, and she was screaming, falling towards them.

Jael’s eyes were on the queen, watching her arms flailing, dark hair sweeping around her face as she tumbled towards the water, immediately lost from view.

‘Brace!’ Raal yelled, tipping forward as Bone Hammer’s dragon head prow plunged into the sea.

The impact flung a few more forward, including Thorgils, who was almost face-first on the deck now, Pye beside him, howling in his ear. ‘Hold on!’

‘Pull up!’ Raal shouted, jerking over the steering oar, but recovering quickly, he worked to drag it back. ‘Up!’

Eadmund’s grip loosened, and he rolled down the deck, smacking heads with Thorgils, who flung out a hand, grabbing his arm. ‘Eadmund!’

Jael’s eyes snapped to her husband, who, she now saw, was barely hanging on. Kalina had been flung from the ship, some of the crew were lost. Fyn barely had hold of the cat, Thorgils had both himself and Pye secured with just the one hand, and beside her, the dreamer was shaking violently.

Bone Hammer plunged deeper, smacking the waves and diving into the sea.

Everyone held their breaths.

And then she was up, her dripping dragon prow rising out of the water.

18

Edela left her companions behind, ignoring Bertel’s concerned frown as she followed the dark-haired man through a narrow corridor and down a handful of steps into a much larger chamber. Here, she was blinded by intense light, and squinting through it, she saw two large desks surrounded by towers of candles and an old man with long white hair and a wary gaze peering at her.

He held a quill in one hand as though poised to write, and with the other, he ushered her inside. Her guide soon departed, and Edela was left in the presence of the man she knew to be the scribe.

He now used a large hand to motion her closer.

‘You should not be here,’ he said in a deep and steady voice. ‘Not in Kadak,’ he added. ‘It is no place for a nosy old woman like you.’

An offended Edela struggled to form a reply. ‘And what do you know of me to make such a claim?’

‘Enough.’ The scribe placed his quill on the table, and wiping his hands on a well-used cloth, he stood.

He was a tall, imposing man, and Edela stepped back. ‘I am not here to cause trouble.’

The chuckling scribe led Edela to a table, where two stools waited. He pulled out one for her and took the other. ‘From my understanding, you are trouble itself, Edela Saeveld.’

Edela blinked. ‘You know my name. How?’

Not answering her question, the scribe took a seat. ‘I am Tor Leander,’ he said instead, and reaching for a small bowl, he pinched his thumb and index finger together, lifting them to his nose and sniffing – first one nostril and then the other. Now, he pushed the bowl towards his guest. ‘Kayim powder. Sharpens the mind.’

Edela shook her head, still wanting her answer. ‘How do you know me, for I haven’t given my name to anyone.’

‘Word travels on the whispers of many gossips in Pechik. A place too dangerous for you and your hapless friends.’

Edela was starting to dislike this man immensely. She thought of Bertel, regretting that she’d ever considered him condescending. ‘Our business is not yours, and your opinions about it should be kept to yourself.’ Remaining standing, she saw that she was wasting her time, for the scribe had nothing but insults for her. Though Tor Leander grabbed her hand, holding her still, and Edela stared into his dark eyes, unable to look away. He didn’t blink, and she heard his thoughts clearly.

The tension in her shoulders eased as she tugged her hand away. ‘I haven’t received a welcome this unpleasant before. First, my friends were attacked, and now you welcome me into your shop only to insult me. If you did not wish to waste your time, why invite me to speak to you?’

Tor Leander’s long nose twitched as he let go of Edela’s hand. ‘I wanted you to hear a warning from someone less threatening.’

Edela snorted. ‘And you think you are less threatening because you don’t come at me in the dark, wielding a knife?’

He smiled, watching her cheeks flush pink. ‘Let us start again. You have come to Kadak seeking answers, and I merely wish to warn you off doing so. We are not enemies, Edela, though I need you to know how many enemies wait here to send you on your way. Do not delay your departure. Go as soon as the weather clears, or you will regret it.’

Edela saw a flicker of fear in the man’s intense eyes, and she remembered what she had heard of his thoughts: ‘I am being watched. Play this game with me now, and we will both stay safe. I have information to share, but not here and not now.’

Edela narrowed her eyes. ‘So you will not help me?’

The scribe laughed. ‘I just did. The best help I could possibly provide.’

‘Well, then, I thank you for your time,’ she snapped haughtily, shaking her head as he made to get up. ‘There’s no need to stand. I can show myself out.’ She eyed him sharply and made to turn, feeling him bump her from behind. Stumbling, she lost her balance, falling onto her grazed knees with a yelp.

The scribe lunged forward to help her, which incensed Edela further. She struggled back to her feet, brushing off his efforts, feeling him force a scrap of vellum into her right hand.

Straightening up with a shake of her head, feeling a stinging pain in both knees, she nodded abruptly and hurried out of the chamber, eager to return to her friends.

Tor Leander watched her go, his long face a stony mask, his eyes returning to the table where he helped himself to another pinch of kayim powder.

* * *

As Bone Hammer righted herself, those on board remained in shock. Fyn dropped Otter, who shook his tail and bounded up the watery deck to where Mattie had her eyes closed.

Jumping to his feet, he leaned over the gunwale, searching for Kalina as Raal called for everyone to stay still, and there, amongst the frothing water, he saw a white dress. So with a look over his shoulder at Thorgils, he jumped onto the shield rack and dove into the sea.

Jael was on her feet, watching him disappear. Quickly ensuring that Kolarov and Alek were alright and that Mattie was waking out of her trance, she hurried across the ship. Ignoring Raal’s complaints, she stumbled to the gunwale, watching Fyn disappearing under the swelling waves.

She saw Kalina’s white dress and then a head popping out of the water, covered in wet hair, arm raised, before sinking again.

Eadmund hurried to her side, eyes on the sea, though scanning the waves, there was no sign of Fyn.

Raal was shouting at Thorgils to stay where he was, and for once, Thorgils did as he was told.

‘Can you see them?’ he called across the ship. ‘Can you see Fyn?’

* * *

Everyone was surprised to be ushered out of the scribe’s shop so abruptly, though not unhappy about it. The shop had been suffocating, with little space to move around. The fresh air, though muggy, was at least refreshing, and they took a few welcome breaths, wanting to know what Edela had discovered.

‘He was an unpleasant man who knew my name,’ she revealed, leading everyone away from the shop. ‘Quite fond of himself and his opinions. He wouldn’t help, just told me to be on my way,’ she revealed, disappointing them all.

Bertel was shocked, though not entirely surprised. ‘Why does everyone know your name? And here? So far from Tuura?’

Raymon glanced back at the shop, hearing the scribe’s assistant locking the door. ‘Be on your way? From Kadak?’

‘Oh, yes. We are not wanted here, it seems. He told me to set sail immediately.’

Siggy looked worried, gripping her hands in front of her grey dress. ‘Do you think it’s that woman? Iker Rayas’ mistress?’

Edela turned away from them, looking down the old cobbled alley. The shops were mostly still closed, though she saw the odd pair of eyes staring out at her. She turned back. ‘I’m not sure, my dear, though we shall not be deterred. Unless she’s the Queen of Kadak, she can hardly tell us what to do.’

Raymon glanced at Bertel, who shook his head.

‘There are rules, Edela. Hierarchy,’ Bertel muttered.

Turning to him, a confused Edela frowned. ‘What are you talking about? Hierarchy?’

‘Well, your grandson is a king, your granddaughter is a queen. Surely you know what it means, woman? We are nothing here. Not nobles, not elders, and certainly not queens. We cannot go where we like and enquire as we wish. That much is now clearly obvious. To remain here would be dangerous. Think, for once, about others! This quest you have embarked upon... haven’t you noticed that you are not alone? You have never been alone, Edela, yet you march ahead with all the care of a toddler, not stopping to think what might happen to the rest of us. And for what? For what?’ Bertel’s rising voice had silenced everyone, and realising it, he became silent himself.

Edela inhaled sharply, feeling an aching discomfort in her knees, and with one look at a red-faced Bertel, she turned and hobbled away.

* * *

Fyn’s eyes were wide open and stinging, though the sea was so murky that he couldn’t make out much. He remembered swimming into the dark tunnel on S’ala Nis and felt confident that he could hold his breath longer than he’d ever realised, so he dove down, kicking hard, searching for the queen.

He had seen her, more than once, but a wave would come and upend everything, and by the time he could see clearly again, she had gone from view.

Sometimes, he thought he heard voices above, calling for him.

And then he imagined Mattie swimming ahead of him, pointing the way. She was like a goddess, he thought, seeing her golden hair slithering before him. And then, blinking, he saw a golden fish leading him towards where he could clearly see a pair of legs thrashing about.

Grabbing one, Fyn pulled himself up on Kalina, dragging her down. She was gulping, panicking, but with one arm secured around her, he drove them upwards, breaking through the surface. Head flung back, he sucked in a much-needed breath of cold air, and hearing voices, he turned until he could see Jael and Eadmund waving to him from Bone Hammer. ‘Hold on,’ he gasped. ‘Just hold on, and I’ll... get us back on board.’

* * *

Scurrying away from her surprised companions, Edela quickly found her way to the nearest latrine. Ignoring the fetid odour and watching her step, she stood in a corner, back to the door, unfurling the crumpled scrap of vellum Tor Leander had pushed into her hand.

The words had bled together in her sweaty palm, though she made out enough to understand that he wanted to meet privately to discuss things further.

Edela ripped up the note, and tipping the shreds of vellum into the fly-ridden latrine hole, she hurried outside, back to her companions.

* * *

Gisila left Amma’s chamber that afternoon, having organised to meet King Herold, Karsten Dragos, and Freya Valens, wanting to explain what had happened to their hosts before gossip spread. Feeling emotionally overwrought and so tired that she could barely walk straight, she asked Hal to accompany her.

During their time in Angard, he had surprised her, though she didn’t waste a moment comparing this Hal to the one she had known in Andala. She just needed his support.

They arrived at the King of Helsabor’s meeting chamber, off a corridor from the main hall, and were welcomed in by the king, who offered a sympathetic smile. ‘Ahhh, Gisila, I have been thinking of you and your family. And the queen, how is she?’

‘Dead,’ Gisila said plainly as Hal hovered behind her, eyeing a bleary-eyed Karsten Dragos and his morose-looking bride. ‘She died this morning.’

Herold Valens looked genuinely mortified by such a development. That a visiting queen would die in his castle? And not an old lady but the pregnant wife of the King of Brekka? He froze, mouth ajar, mind whirring.

Karsten stepped forward, and sharpening his gaze, he took Gisila’s hand. ‘I am sorry. So very sorry, Gisila.’

Tears flooded Gisila’s swollen eyes, pale lips trembling. For a moment, she couldn’t speak, though she had much to say. ‘The Lord of Kerras’ healer helped her while she was ill. She saw that the queen had been poisoned. She showed us the evidence. There was a rash and...’ Gisila couldn’t stop sniffing now as her nose started running. Beside her, Hal whipped a napkin off the table and handed it to her.

‘Poisoned?’ Karsten shook his head. ‘By what?’

‘Hessweed,’ Hal said as Gisila blew her nose, trying to compose herself.

Karsten was stunned, turning to stare at his father-in-law, who shook his head.

‘Who did you say this healer worked for?’ Herold Valens asked. ‘The Lord of...?’

Gisila looked up. ‘Kerras.’

‘Kerras?’ The confused king glanced at his new son-in-law. ‘I’ve never heard of the man. Or the place.’ He turned to his daughter, who looked on with interest. ‘Did you invite someone from Kerras, wherever that is?’

Freya shook her head, stepping forward. ‘I am sorry for your loss,’ she offered dully. ‘Though there was no Lord of Kerras here. Not invited by my family, at least.’ She eyed Karsten with barely concealed loathing.

Ignoring her, Karsten frowned. ‘Nor mine. I’ve never heard of the place.’

Gisila turned to Hal in surprise, clutching the napkin. ‘But I... who was the woman? Who was she?’

* * *

A still-trembling Kolarov revived Kalina with a few drops of jara, which made her dislike him even more. She sat beside him like a drowned dog, all wet hair and dripping clothes, coughing and spluttering, unable to get the vile taste out of her mouth.

Though she did feel unusually alert.

‘You are saved, my queen!’ a loud Kolarov went on, oblivious to Kalina’s annoyance. ‘By our chivalrous Fyn!’ And now the explorer turned his eyes up to a bedraggled Fyn Gallas, who was being wrapped in furs by Jael while Thorgils tousled his hair, making jokes.

Pye, who had been untied from Thorgils, hopped about like a freed rabbit, fussing over the queen, who ignored him. Her eyes were on Jael, staring at her accusingly, blaming her for everything.

Eadmund turned away from that scowl with an enormous sigh, legs wobbling. They were sailing towards the Widow’s Peak, and he knew their journey wasn’t about to get any easier. Heading to Raal, whose big hands looked raw, he patted him on the back. ‘Do you want some ale?’ The helmsman laughed, the first time he’d heard him appear anything other than annoyed.

‘Unless someone had a barrel strapped to them, I doubt there’s a drop left on board!’

That was bad news for Thorgils, who immediately left Fyn’s hair alone and stepped towards Eadmund with an urgent look. ‘We have to head for shore.’

‘If you think there’s a shore around here, your memories tumbled out of the ship, too, Thorgils Svanter,’ Eadmund scoffed. ‘Raal says we’re aiming for the Widow’s Peak, and you know what that means.’

Thorgils did, and he looked miserable.

Sailing through the Widow’s Peak with no ale seemed a dire prospect indeed. Though glancing over his shoulder at the swelling sea, relieved not to be sinking to the bottom of the ocean with the crabs and fishes, he tried to feel grateful. ‘What about the food?’ he wondered with renewed urgency. ‘What happened to all the food?’ Though not waiting for Eadmund’s answer, he set off to discover the state of things for himself.

‘Warm enough?’ Eadmund asked, hearing Fyn’s chattering teeth, seeing his lips turning black.

‘Toasty,’ he grinned. ‘Just t-t-toasty.’

‘I wasn’t expecting that,’ Jael said. ‘For you to risk everything for that woman?’

Fyn laughed, seeing Kalina’s pinched face, for she had certainly heard Jael. ‘I would’ve gone in for any of the men we lost, but there was no chance.’

‘No,’ Jael agreed, remembering that incredible climb. The hand of death had brushed her face in those moments as the ship had risen and she’d felt herself slipping away.

She saw Mattie in the stern with Alek, Otter licking her face, and she smiled, certain that the dreamer had saved their lives.

* * *

After the brief meeting with Herold Valens had concluded, Karsten followed a blind-sided Gisila out of the chamber into a corridor, ushering her and Hal out of the castle. They accompanied the King of Hest in silence, unsure what he wanted, not speaking until they were in the courtyard, leaving the castle behind.

Here, Karsten waved away two guards who sought to accompany him and headed into the crowds, not wanting to be seen or heard by those from the castle. ‘You need to go back to Andala,’ he told Gisila when they were surrounded by strangers. ‘You are not safe here.’

Gisila was so tired that she couldn’t think straight. ‘But the woman... she helped Amma. She –’

‘Likely she’s the one who poisoned her,’ Karsten said, brushing aside the pointy elbow of a woman who was trying to get past. ‘And what if you’re next?’

Hal grabbed Gisila’s arm as people pushed in from every side, surprised by the urgent impatience of the crowd, though perhaps now that the wedding was finally over, they had been let off Herold Valens’ leash?

‘Next?’ The thought of being in danger hadn’t occurred to Gisila, and now she realised where Karsten was leading her. ‘But I can’t go now. Getta and Branwyn and –’

‘Your servants can organise everyone, but for now, you need to get on your ship and stay away from anyone in the castle. If Amma was poisoned, she was poisoned in there.’

‘My sister –’

‘I’ll get her myself,’ Karsten promised. He eyed Hal. ‘And do you trust this man? What’s your name?’

‘Hal Harbak. The King of Brekka’s friend. His oldest friend.’

‘That’s hardly an endorsement,’ Karsten snarled, narrowing his eyes, wondering what he thought himself.

‘He, he has been supportive,’ Gisila said. ‘I trust him.’ Though saying that, she feared she couldn’t trust anyone. The hum of the crowd moved closer until she felt panic rising. Though hurried along by Karsten and Hal, she soon reached the docks, where she immediately recognised Death Weaver.

‘Do not go anywhere,’ Karsten warned Hal. ‘Keep her on board, and I’ll send for your family.’

‘Amma,’ Gisila said pleadingly. ‘Her body, I –’

‘I’ll have her brought to you. Please, Gisila, just stay here.’ And with that, Karsten turned away, striding down the pier, soon lost in the crowd.

The helmsman was on board, where he had stayed with his crew, awaiting word about the queen. ‘My lady?’ he asked, coming towards Gisila with confusion in his eyes. ‘Are we leaving?’

‘Yes, prepare to depart for Andala. We... we will be taking the queen home.’

19

They had little time to recover and inspect their damage and losses, for soon the Widow’s Peak would be upon them, and though Jael had had enough danger for one day, she knew that getting through the spires meant they were only three or four days from Andala.

Raal remained at Bone Hammer’s steering oar, showing no sign that he’d just driven the ship up a cliff and over a mountain.

Turning towards the bow, Jael shivered, remembering the feeling of the stern dropping away beneath her, fearing that those she loved would soon be tumbling past, lost to the ocean.

She saw the sodden queen, busy combing her wet hair with trembling fingers.

A furious Kalina dropped her eyes, turning away to where Kolarov was offering her his fur, though it was dripping with water, and a scowling Kalina flicked a hand at him, wanting him gone.

Pye came scurrying up to Jael. ‘We have damage!’ he called. ‘There is damage to the ship!’

Turning around, Jael wasn’t surprised to hear it. ‘How bad?’

‘They’re working to plug the holes now, but we must find land. Somewhere to land before it’s too late!’

Jael grabbed his arm, feeling them both tipping. ‘We’ve no choice but to go through the Widow’s Peak. There’s no land around there, so best you get ready again.’

‘Ready?’ Pye’s shoulders dropped in despair.

‘The wind’s strong. The storm’s abating, but the wind is still strong, so Raal will have work to do. Do what you can to help, then find a place out of the way.’ And leaving Pye behind, Jael thought to find out about the holes. She stopped by Kolarov, who looked up at her with despair in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry about your cabinet,’ she said sympathetically. ‘I know how much you loved it.’

Kolarov almost burst into tears, though flanked by two queens, he managed to hold himself together. ‘I have a... few things,’ he mumbled, voice breaking. ‘Yes, I... have a few.’

With a nod, Jael headed away, soon coming to Thorgils and Alek, who were arguing over how to stopper the holes. Ignoring them, she found Eadmund, who had been consoling one of the crew who’d lost his brother.

Eadmund gripped her arm, looking sad. ‘Rolf was a good man. Especially good at dice. And the others? I can’t understand what happened. That wave? What was it?’

‘Warunda tells a tale about a wave like that,’ Jael remembered with a frown. ‘He calls it a titan wave, sent by Ran to drown her enemies.’

‘Well, I can see how that would work,’ Eadmund sighed, tension becoming painful in his body now. He felt stiff all over, and looking down, he saw that his palms were raw. ‘Though we were lucky.’ And now he peered at his wife. ‘Weren’t we?’

‘Lucky to have Mattie. Very lucky. She took us over, held us up, brought us down. That was her.’

Shaking his head, Eadmund didn’t understand. ‘Mattie?’

Jael kissed him, holding her hands to his face. ‘I thought that might have been it.’

‘So did I. I can’t believe the last few months. Years of nothing but arguments over fences and roaming livestock, and then?’

Turning away, Jael sneezed, seeing Mattie talking to Fyn. ‘And then our world turned upside down. Perhaps the gods are bored, so they’re amusing themselves by watching us suffer?’ She held Eadmund’s hand, squeezing it. ‘It’s hardly entertaining to watch us be happy, is it?’

Her face blanched suddenly, mouth dropping open, and Eadmund took her by the shoulders. ‘Jael? What is it?’

She turned away from him, feeling odd. Her mother and her aunt were on a ship. Getta was there.

And Amma...

She turned back to Eadmund in horror. ‘It’s Amma. She’s dead. I... I don’t know what happened, but she’s dead.’

* * *

As the afternoon lengthened and the sun turned a rich gold, Bayla and Berard found Karsten by a fountain inside one of Angard’s maze-like gardens.

‘The king has been searching for you!’ Bayla huffed, weary of the city now. ‘And you are doing what? Hiding from your wife again?’

Berard sighed beside his mother, having been dragged around on the hunt for his absent brother like a pet dog.

‘I am thinking,’ Karsten murmured. ‘It’s impossible to think inside the castle or anywhere near Herold Valens. The man barely takes a breath. He’s everywhere.’

‘Thinking?’ Bayla glanced around, seeing matching benches. Her shoes were new and pinching her toes, and she hurried to take a seat. ‘What about?’

‘Amma Furyck is dead.’

‘Dead?’ A horrified Berard blinked at his brother. ‘When did this happen?’

‘Earlier,’ Karsten said, still feeling strange. ‘She was poisoned.’

Bayla was immediately back on her feet, striding to her son. ‘Poisoned?’ she hissed. ‘Here? By who?’

‘Well, if we knew that, there’d be something to discuss. Though the fact you haven’t even been informed about her death is interesting in itself.’

Berard didn’t understand. ‘But who poisoned poor Amma?’

‘I sent them back to Andala. I took Gisila and her family out of the castle and put them on their ship. Someone killed the Queen of Brekka. Here,’ Karsten breathed, peering from one confused face to the other. ‘There was a woman posing as a healer. She offered to help Amma. Said she worked for the Lord of Kerras.’

Bayla was confused. ‘Who?’

‘Exactly,’ Karsten said. ‘There is no Lord of Kerras, and the woman has disappeared.’

‘So likely she poisoned her?’ Berard surmised.

‘Though she can’t have acted alone. Some stranger?’ Karsten shook his head, running a hand through his long blonde hair.

‘It makes no sense,’ Bayla decided. ‘She was no more than a girl. A poor pregnant girl, and someone thought to murder her?’

‘She’s a Furyck,’ Berard said. ‘And after what happened to Jael, and Edela going missing? And Raymon Vandaal?’

All three turned as one of Herold Valens’ servants appeared, bobbing her head at Karsten. ‘My lord, I’m sorry to interrupt, but the king requests that you join him in his treasure room.’

Karsten glowered at the woman, though biting his teeth together, he nodded. ‘You may tell your king I will be there shortly.’

The servant left as Bayla drew Karsten closer. ‘I think it’s time for us to go home. Let us not delay. Perhaps this poisoner only had the Furycks as their target, but perhaps not.’

Berard nodded eagerly, wanting to see Meena and the children.

‘Find Ulf and have him ready the ships,’ Karsten told his mother. ‘I shall go and find my wife and have her prepare.’ And with a disgusted shudder, he kissed his mother’s cheek, patted his brother’s arm, and disappeared down the path.

* * *

Bone Hammer had been patched up and reordered by the time they reached the dangerous waters surrounding the Widow’s Peak, where the wall of stone spires stretched across the Adrano Sea, from Southern Brekka to the burned lands of Osterhaaven.

It was growing dark, the last of the sun now leaking from the sky, which gradually turned a leaden grey.

The storm had long since departed, though the wind was up as they approached the first spire in near silence, all eyes fixed on the dark maze ahead.

Jael sat with Mattie and Fyn in the stern, Alek on her left, cuddling Otter, who had become in great demand to keep the crew warm. The cat seemed to enjoy all the attention, though Kolarov appeared rather put out that his furry companion was being passed around like a bowl of nuts. Though he was far enough away with Kalina and Pye that no one could hear his indignant grumbles.

Jael was struggling to stay seated, though she knew that anyone wandering about the ship would only distract Raal and unbalance Bone Hammer, just as she needed to focus on getting through the spires.

Despite the holes being plugged, the deck was awash with water, sloshing back and forth, and Raal had sent four men to help the bailer.

One hung from the dragon prow, calling back to the helmsman, who nudged the steering oar this way and that.

Jael feared night would fall before they were all the way through. And looking up, she saw a shadow drop over them as they passed by one of the enormous jagged stones.

Beside her, Alek could feel the sea tugging the big-hearted ship towards the spires. Shoulders tight, jaw clenched, he doubted he would take another breath until he was on land.

Jael was quiet, thinking about Amma. At first, she’d hoped she was just imagining things, though she had quickly seen more: her mother had been sobbing with Karsten; an emotionless Getta stood beside Hal Harbak, who awkwardly tried to console her; and Branwyn had been there with Kamilla Venberg, trying to look after them all.

Is this what was making her want to head for Andala?

The pull of her children was strong. She felt a pain in her body at being apart from them for so long, so for her to choose Andala over them?

Was this it?

The waves were getting bigger again, nausea swelling in the pit of her stomach.

The waves, the spires, the thought of what was happening to her family...

If Amma was dead, how had it happened?

* * *

An exhausted Gisila sat in stunned silence beside Getta in Death Weaver’s stern, the wind tangling her dark hair.

She didn’t notice.

Bustling about the ship, Branwyn was organising supper, though there appeared little interest in food or conversation. Everyone on board was conscious of the dead queen, wrapped in a shroud, lying on a bed of furs.

A queen murdered by her enemies.

And who were they?

‘Do you think it has anything to do with Raymon’s death?’ Gisila wondered quietly, eyes once again drifting to her daughter-in-law’s body. It was still such a shock to see her like that.

Lifeless.

Never would she smile or speak again. She would never hold Axl’s hand or his heart.

She would never be a mother...

Tears came as she remembered the sweet, sad girl, who had tried so hard to give Axl an heir, but who, ultimately, had failed.

Getta’s surprise drew her out of her silence. ‘Raymon?’ she croaked, and clearing her throat, she turned to Gisila. ‘Raymon was killed by Oren Storgard. It was no surprise. No king’s ever lived to old age in Ollsvik.’ It felt strange to speak of her husband – strange to think she had ever had a husband and child. ‘I can’t imagine it would be anything to do with him.’

‘No,’ Gisila supposed. ‘It’s just that dream of Jael’s... is this part of it? For whoever killed Amma killed Axl’s only heir too.’ Her eyes drifted to where Branwyn was talking to Kamilla Venberg, thinking of Erling, which led her back to Axl. ‘Axl will be devastated. I... I don’t know how this happened. Was it my fault?’

A morose Getta looked surprised. ‘Your fault?’

‘That healer? I wasn’t thinking clearly when I let her in to help us. Herold Valens’ man was so rude, so unhelpful that when Norah came along, I –’

‘It wasn’t your fault, Gisila. We all trusted her. We believed her. She worked so hard to help, and that Osvald? His emetics didn’t make Amma better. We thought we were helping Amma. We –’ She started crying, quickly rushing a hand to her face, covering her eyes. ‘She didn’t deserve such a terrible end. She was always so good.’

Gisila wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. ‘She was always so good,’ she agreed, in tears herself. ‘And my son loved her so much.’

Getta tensed, knowing what Axl had been up to with Eren Venberg and perhaps even while they were gone? While Amma was dying? Perhaps he had been in her arms? In her bed?

‘What is it?’ Gisila wondered, sensing Getta pull away.

Getta turned to look at her, sniffing, though eventually, she shook her head. ‘Nothing. I... it’s just, after Raymon. Now I have no one. No one at all.’

‘That isn’t true, Getta. You have a home in Andala. You will always have a home there. I will look after you, and so will Axl. Of course we will.’

Getta was so surprised by Gisila’s kindness that all thoughts of Axl’s betrayal left her mind.

‘We have gone through hard times before,’ Gisila said, wishing Gant was beside her, holding her hand, saying everything she was now saying to Getta. ‘And we will get through this too. Jael is coming home. That’s something. She is coming home, and now we just need to find Edela and...’ Tears came in a flood then, and she lost all hope, no longer able to console Getta or herself.

* * *

Jael tried to distract herself as Raal and his men worked the ship through the spires, the sky turning ever darker.

Beside her, Alek stroked Otter, and on her right, Mattie was oddly quiet.

She was exhausted, Jael realised, turning to her. ‘What happened before? With the wave?’

Mattie jumped, her empty belly growling as she turned to the queen. ‘I’m not sure. When we were trying to escape the fire walls, I imagined myself as a giant. This time, I was a serpent slipping under the water. I carried the ship on my back. I felt it. All of it.’

Jael looked up as one of the crew shouted at the helmsman. ‘How?’

‘I don’t know,’ Mattie confessed. ‘It’s not something I could ever do before, but the danger... I feel something when it comes. I feel –’

‘Powerful?’

Mattie nodded. ‘I want to protect those I care about.’ She felt a sudden urge to look Fyn’s way, which surprised her, and instead she kept her eyes on Otter. ‘To keep people safe.’

A frowning Jael placed a hand on the deck to steady herself. ‘And why did the wave come? Was it magic?’

Mattie didn’t know. She wondered if her husband had died in such a wave, or her father? Were they simply a part of nature, like the rain and the wind, or were they something darker, driven by magical forces or by the gods themselves?

‘You are a powerful dreamer, Mattie,’ Jael whispered. ‘You can’t go back now, not in your mind or with your magic. You must keep going forward. You will be drawing attention to yourself. Enemies will be watching, so you can’t go backwards.’

‘Backwards?’

‘Return to your village with your cat. Dig in your garden and make your teas. You can be much more useful than that. You can go to Andala and help my brother.’ And thinking of her poor brother, Jael felt bereft. ‘My grandmother is gone. I have no sense she has returned, and Andala will need a dreamer. The king will.’

Mattie was gobsmacked. She clung to Jael as Bone Hammer was shunted by a wave, Raal shouting at someone to light a torch – the man in the bow was now struggling to see enough to guide his helmsman. ‘But I –’

‘You are more than anyone ever told you, Mattie. More than you told yourself. And now is the time to claim your identity, to be a part of what is to come.’

‘To come?’

Jael sighed. ‘My dreams warn of trouble ahead, perhaps already here? Whatever the case, we need help. Your help. My grandmother has a cottage. You could stay there with Otter until she returns. She would want that, I think. She would want Axl to have some help.’

* * *

In the stables, brushing Eiyo, Axl thought of Gant, wondering what had happened to him. He’d sent twenty men to find him, though in a forest as large as Hallow Wood, he feared they stood no chance.

Gisila would return with Amma and Getta soon, and what was he going to say to her? She would be devastated.

To lose her mother, daughter, and husband?

Stroking Eiyo’s cheek, he leaned against her, remembering that it was Gant who had taught him how to ride as a boy. Not his father. His busy father, the king.

Gant who had been there, wherever he turned.

Gant who never thought he should’ve been the king. Because he knew, Axl guessed. He knew him.

And now?

Retrieving the small apple he’d stuffed into his pouch, Axl held it out to an expectant Eiyo, and with a final rub of her head, he left the stall.

The stable boy grinned at him. ‘Finished, lord?’

‘All finished, Orm. Take her to the northern paddocks. We’re leaving day after tomorrow, so I want her safe. And keep her away from Ulfari!’ And thinking of Erling’s notoriously foul-tempered stallion, he winked at the friendly boy and headed outside.

Still feeling odd.

Alone.

That was it, he realised.

He was alone.

As he walked, heading to the hall for supper, people bobbed their heads and offered greetings. And though he replied in kind, he felt little pleasure or friendship, just a great emptiness that came from being alone.

He’d made plenty of mistakes in his twenty-three years, but one of the biggest had been discounting the importance of family. His family, who were all gone, and who he had a growing fear he would never see again.

PART III

SILVER AND GOLD

20

Gant had been drifting in and out of consciousness for days.

He thought he was already dead.

His men certainly were.

Their dismembered bodies rotted around him, including that of Osgar, whose screams had led them into the clearing.

How long ago was that?

A mousy woman shuffled into the barn once a day with food and water. The food was an unrecognisable slop lacking flavour, though the water was fresh, and he sensed that whoever had captured him sought to keep him alive. Which made no sense when he looked at the decomposing bodies.

He tried to ask questions of the woman, though she pointed to her mouth, and opening it, he saw she had no tongue. Hurrying away, she left him to his thoughts, which meandered like a river. His legs were chained to a post in the middle of the stable. He could lie down, and he could move into a corner to relieve himself – adding to the foul odours of his dark and fetid prison – though after so long, he mostly remained still.

He was stuck here, a prisoner. And what did that mean for Rexon and the rest of his men? Had they made it to Andala and warned Axl of what was heading his way? Or had they been too late?

Sinking into a dark hole of despair, Gant feared the latter.

And dropping his head, he returned to the post, where he leaned back and closed his eyes.

* * *

That evening, confident that everyone on board Sea Queen was asleep, Edela prepared to leave the ship, though distracted by her troubled thoughts, she didn’t notice Zen, who sat up, turning to her.

‘Where are you going?’ he whispered, wide awake and scratching his head.

‘I have a... meeting,’ she hissed.

‘A meeting?’ A confused Zen stood, creeping towards her. ‘With who?’ He was a thin young man, seemingly growing by the day, and he stooped over like a drooping willow.

‘Someone who has information for me,’ Edela said, not wishing to endanger the scribe. ‘I won’t be long,’ she added, and turning around, she left Zen behind, boots padding softly across the deck.

‘I’ll come,’ he decided, not posing it as a question.

Edela turned with an annoyed frown, though she saw determination in his eyes and knew that an argument would only delay her and likely cause more people to wake up. She nodded, motioning for him to hurry, and realising that getting out of the ship on her own would prove a challenge, she was glad of his assistance.

Zen hopped over the gunwale, then reached back to Edela, silently lifting her down onto the pier. Looking over his shoulder, he wondered if their departure had been discovered, though the dreamer wasn’t waiting to find out. And realising that she was already leaving him behind, he turned and hurried to catch her. ‘Where are we going?’

‘To meet someone who has information.’

‘About what?’

It was raining again, and there was no moonlight. The rain had also doused many of the torches lighting the harbour, and turning to Zen, Edela grabbed his arm. ‘I need to go to the scribe’s shop. Do you remember where that is? We must go quickly. Around the back.’

‘Though it’s slippery, Edela. We can’t move too quickly.’

She nodded, feeling tense but eager to meet Tor Leander, desperate to hear what he had to say.

* * *

When Bone Hammer had turned away from the last stone spire, an exhausted Raal had finally smiled, sagging forward in relief.

Now the helmsman was having a much-deserved sleep under a mountain of furs, trying to block out the sounds of the crew, who, despite their own exhaustion, were noisy and talkative as they discussed the strange events of the day.

Jael found her way to Eadmund, and to Thorgils, who was pointing out the need to head to shore to caulk the ship, which appeared to be leaking in a worrying way. And food, he’d added, as though it was merely an afterthought. They certainly needed food.

It was typical of Thorgils to lead with his stomach, though Jael didn’t think he was wrong.

‘If we’re trying to get you to Andala quickly, we won’t do it half-dead,’ he insisted. ‘Or by swimming.’

Eadmund grinned, relief finally slowing down his overworked heart. ‘I’m sure Fyn and the queen can tell us how cold the water is.’

‘So we need to pull in somewhere,’ Thorgils carried on.

Jael nodded. ‘Raal has his man aiming for the coast. We’ll need to wait for morning, though, to see where we are. It’s been a wild day.’

‘One I didn’t think we’d see the end of,’ Eadmund yawned. ‘One I never want to repeat.’ He wrapped an arm around Jael, who immediately edged away from him. ‘Sorry.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s just sore today, though I’d rather have a sore back than be lying at the bottom of the sea like those poor men.’

Thorgils sighed, having gotten to know one of them quite well. ‘It’s the luck of the gods, isn’t it? Only they decide who to pluck away from their homes and families. Who to plunge to their deaths...’ He quickly became morose, fearing he might be next.

‘Though lucky for us, we’re travelling with a friend of the gods,’ Eadmund told him.

A confused Jael frowned. ‘I doubt any god would consider me a friend.’

‘Not you,’ Eadmund smiled. ‘I think most gods would probably drown you, but some of them, at least, seem to like Mattie.’ He winked at his wife, who shivered before him.

‘I’m trying to convince her to stay in Andala and help Axl,’ she said.

Eadmund remembered poor Amma, who he’d always been fond of. ‘He’ll need a lot of support. It’s hard to lose someone you love.’

And having his own pregnant wife to worry about, Thorgils nodded sadly. ‘Though he’s a king, so he has no choice but to carry on. To do those things kings have to do. Find another wife. Hope she can give him heirs.’

Jael snorted. ‘You think it’s that easy? That he can just forget Amma? Move on like it’s nothing? And you call me cold-hearted!’

‘Well, I couldn’t do it, but I’m not like you and your brother. Not like Eadmund here. I don’t need a wife. No one cares whether my name lives on, but a Furyck? Or a Skalleson? You have to think about your legacy. You need heirs to carry on your name, for without your name, what becomes of your kingdom?’

A sighing Jael didn’t want to talk about it. ‘I’m going to check on Kalina,’ she said, turning away before either of them could say another word.

It wasn’t that she thought Thorgils was wrong. In fact, she knew he was right, but it was too soon to think about such things. Yes, kings needed heirs and wives to give birth to them, but they weren’t without hearts, without feelings, and Jael knew that Amma’s death would hit Axl harder than anything that had happened in his life.

* * *

Edela urged her young companion to pick up his pace, fearing she would be late for her meeting.

Zen had guided her around the back of the scribe’s shop, where he unlocked a gate, fearing that the rusty screech had awakened every neighbour and certainly any enemies keeping watch.

Edela nibbled her bottom lip, feeling impatient as he eased open the gate, leading her into the backyard. She wanted to hurry past him, though it was pitch black, and she blinked rain from her eyes, forcing herself to be patient. And then, feeling a jolt, she grabbed Zen’s sleeve, tugging it. ‘Be careful!’ she warned, inhaling a rank smell. ‘I don’t have a good feeling.’

Zen turned to the dreamer in surprise. He wanted a torch. The darkness was so dense that he could almost feel it as he turned back and stepped into the yard, eyes shifting left and right, seeking to make a path for them both to safely follow.

Still gripping his sleeve, Edela shuffled her feet rather than picking them up, hoping that gave her less chance of falling. Though she was soon falling anyway, landing on top of Zen, who had tumbled over what appeared to be a dead body.

* * *

Bertel woke up, needing to pee. The urge was intense, though he was so groggy that he fell over his own feet, and slamming down onto his knees, he managed to wake everyone sleeping around him.

Seeing that it was Bertel, most went straight back to sleep, though Raymon peered at him with one open eye. ‘Are you alright?’ Over the never-ending rain, he’d heard noises and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep.

An embarrassed Bertel brushed off his enquiries with a gruff reply.

And leaving the former king behind, he found the night bucket, eventually returning wetter and more alert, fearing he wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep.

Raymon was sitting up, staring at him. ‘Edela’s gone.’

Now Bertel was wide awake, and swinging around, he saw the empty fur beside Siggy. ‘Where is she? Did you see?’

‘Zen’s not here either,’ Raymon added, not answering his question.

Bertel’s head continued its swivelling search of the ship. ‘But where are they? Where did they go?’

* * *

The smell became more intense down on the ground, and far from being masked by the rotting odours from the alley, Edela could certainly smell death.

But whose?

It was dark, and her attempts to seek light the night before had failed, so she dismissed the idea of trying again. Instead, she used her hands to feel the face of the dead body, soon feeling a hairless cheek, lips, and a small stub of a nose. ‘It’s not the man I am meeting,’ she said at last. ‘He is an old man, but this feels more like a boy. Perhaps he had another helper?’

Holding out a hand, an anxious Zen tugged Edela to her feet. ‘We have to go.’

She peered up at his silhouette, not even seeing his eyes. ‘Go? But my meeting!’

‘After this?’ Zen shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous.’ Hearing the loud hoot of an owl, he spun around, seeing someone standing in the open doorway, the owl appearing to sit on his shoulder. He had no sword, but reaching for his knife, he shoved Edela behind him. ‘Stay where you are!’

‘We have little time,’ the man said dismissively. ‘Edela, if you still wish to meet, we must hurry.’ And as the owl flapped impatiently on Tor Leander’s shoulder, he held out a hand, ushering the dreamer and her companion back through the garden and into the alley.

* * *

In desperation, Bertel woke up Siggy, wondering what she knew or what she may have seen, though the groggy and surprised girl could only shake herself awake and shrug.

‘If Zen is with Edela, she’ll be safe,’ Siggy insisted eventually. ‘They must have gone somewhere together.’

A worried Bertel cupped his chin, frowning intensely. ‘But do we trust the boy?’

Korri had arrived after asking the crew for information. ‘Zen? We do. I do, at least. We crashed into his life, not the other way around. He’s only here because of us.’

Bertel supposed that was true. ‘Though where could they be? And why?’

Raymon’s shoulder was throbbing as he frowned. ‘Perhaps she doesn’t want to put anyone else in danger? She spoke to that scribe alone today, and maybe he told her more than we realised?’

* * *

Tor Leander led Edela and Zen on a dark and winding journey in and out of the rain until he reached a door, where he hastily knocked, turning around to check that his companions were still with him.

There was dirt beneath her boots, Edela realised, wondering where the scribe had taken them. They hadn’t climbed many steps, so it was near the harbour.

The door opened a crack, just enough for Tor Leander to get his hand inside, and despite the person’s best efforts to shut it, the tall scribe soon barged into the house, Edela and Zen hurrying to follow him out of the rain.

‘Who else knew I was meeting the dreamer?’ the scribe snarled at the man Edela soon recognised as his assistant – the short man with the dark hair. He was cowering before his master now as though he feared being struck.

‘I, I don’t know what you mean,’ came his simpering reply as he crouched before his unwanted visitors, arms bent above his head.

‘Don’t know what I mean? But Garni is dead, and certainly whoever killed the boy mistook him for me!’

‘Dead?’ the scribe’s assistant exclaimed, visibly shuddering. ‘But I...’ And now the man’s eyes snapped to Edela.

‘You thought they would kill me?’ she suggested, having read his thoughts. ‘You sought to help them? Whoever you told?’

‘Not sought to, no. I must. They... don’t trust you, Master,’ the man whimpered, returning his attention to the scribe. ‘They don’t trust you, and they make me spy for them.’ He glanced at the door, feeling sharp pains in his chest. ‘They threaten my children, my sister. If I do not pass along word of your comings and goings, I am warned of what will happen.’

‘He is telling the truth,’ Edela surmised, glancing around the modest house, seeing no sign that the scribe’s assistant was enriching himself through his betrayal.

‘You will make yourself scarce,’ Tor Leander warned the man. ‘Go outside.’ And turning to the door, he opened it, ushering in the rain. Now he looked at Zen. ‘And you can go with him. I want him watched, kept far away from me.’

Zen narrowed his eyes, trusting no one, but Edela sent him on his way with an encouraging nod.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she promised. ‘Don’t forget what I did to those Silurans.’

And mostly reassured, Zen headed outside.

‘Take a seat,’ the scribe said abruptly when the door had closed. Rain was drumming on the roof and splashing down the smoke hole, sizzling the embers of the solitary fire. It wasn’t cold, though it was dark.

Edela helped herself to a chair, wanting to get on with things. ‘Why did you wish to meet? You warned me away, and now?’

Tor Leander sat before her, squeezing water from his long beard onto the floor. ‘I have more warnings to give, dreamer, for I am surprised you came to such a place as this. Kadak is no friend to you and your companions.’

A frowning Edela gripped her hands in her lap, feeling troubled.

‘The kingdom wasn’t always this way, though once the mines were discovered, greed became the only currency here. Greed and violence. The king has not been seen for years. His soldiers issue directives they say come from him. They proffer scrolls as proof of life, though I...’

Edela leaned forward. ‘You have your doubts they do?’

‘Indeed, for I have been writing the king’s words for nigh on four decades. I know him so well I could be inside the man’s head. And what has supposedly come from him these past few years doesn’t sound like him at all.’

Edela was puzzled, unsure how this related to her.

‘I fear that he is missing or dead and that a woman has something to do with it. Perhaps a woman who has something to do with you?’

‘What woman?’ Edela asked, edging closer, her heartbeat quickening from a steady trot to a thundering gallop.

‘She has no name,’ Tor Leander said, eyeing the door. ‘None that I am aware of, but everyone calls her the Mistress. Some suggest she is the king’s lover, others say she is a witch who has cast a spell over him, but whatever the case, since she arrived two years ago, we have all lived in fear, absent any sight of our king.’

Edela felt a tingle at the back of her neck. She stared up at the man, unblinking.

‘There is certainly talk that she knows magic and that she –’

‘Yes?’

‘Consults a tree.’ Now the scribe snorted. ‘It sounds silly to say.’ Though he saw that the dreamer’s mouth had gaped open.

Edela was stunned, thinking of Aggralaia and the bone tree, which had just been an illusion, a trick. Though what if there was a real tree? ‘I must find her,’ she breathed. ‘I have come to Kadak to find her.’

The scribe became still, his eyes sharpening.

‘We have little time,’ Edela hurried on, dismissing his unease. ‘So please, tell me where I can find this woman. Is she here, or must I go further inland?’

‘I sought to warn you off, dreamer, not to point you straight at her!’ Tor Leander exclaimed. ‘Before your arrival, word was spread by the dardong’s henchmen to be on alert for a white-haired Tuuran dreamer sailing with a crew of Alekkans. So when I saw you enter my shop today, I knew you would not have long.’

‘To live?’

‘I expect so. Your companions are not prepared for what awaits them. And do you truly wish to place them in harm’s way?’

Edela felt the weight of responsibility descend upon her like a mountain, though she still had to ask: ‘But where can I find this Mistress? I must know where to find her.’

21

Back on board Sea Queen, Korri, Bertel, Siggy, and Raymon stayed up, waiting for the missing dreamer to return.

Bertel had wanted to go and find her, though Korri insisted they had no chance in the darkness, and they could hardly go knocking on doors, hunted by enemies, with no idea of where Edela might have gone.

‘So we wait,’ he decided, braiding his wet beard. He had combed his hair until it was free of knots and now sat before Bertel, working his fingers in a steady rhythm. ‘And we trust in Edela.’

Raymon thought to say something, wanting to offer some comfort to Edela’s worried companions, but he didn’t feel it was his place.

He didn’t feel he belonged at all.

He had thought to go to Kadak to escape Edela and continue his quest to reinvent himself, to become someone else. Though getting injured had scuppered his plans, and he was growing uncomfortable, knowing he had to find a way to escape his rescuers.

But when?

Siggy turned to peer at him, a frown making a straight line between two thick eyebrows. ‘I have no family,’ she said as Bertel started arguing with Korri. ‘My mother took me to Tuura, to the temple, two years ago. She left me there because she knew she would die. And when she was gone, I had no one else. At thirteen, I was alone in the world.’

Raymon’s attention was entirely on Siggy now, wondering if she had been listening to his thoughts.

‘I believed I would always be alone after that. That no one would ever love me or care for me again. I told myself I didn’t need them to, that I would make my own way, and I thought I meant it.’ Her frown deepened as she remembered her former life at the temple and those mean girls. ‘I thought I didn’t need anyone, that being strong meant you never needed anyone. But when Edela took me away from Tuura, she saved my life, and then she gave me a new one.’ Tears flooded Siggy’s eyes, though she didn’t attempt to wipe them away. ‘Her and Bertel, and now Korri and Zen. None of us have anyone, but Edela has made us feel like a family. As though we have her caring for us and us caring for her. Perhaps you will find that you can be happy alone, though perhaps you will regret that you never gave this a chance?’ And now Siggy did wipe her eyes, standing up, hoping to see Edela and Zen coming, not noticing that Raymon Vandaal was sitting with his mouth open, staring up at her.

* * *

Tor Leander gave Edela every scrap of information he had of the Mistress’ known whereabouts, resigned but fearful for the old woman. And standing as her young companion came back inside with his mournful-looking assistant, he offered his hand. ‘It is dangerous for me to be seen with you, so we will not meet again, though I wish you well, dreamer. And whatever you do, take your best to that woman. Do not think she will allow a mistake. From what I’ve heard, she is as deadly as a tiger, so expect her to pounce.’

Zen’s eyes widened as he looked from the scribe to the dreamer, who appeared to simply shrug off his words as though they were said in jest.

‘Well, I would expect nothing less,’ Edela chuckled. ‘Now, we must leave before we cause further trouble. I am sorry about the boy. Sorry for your loss.’

Tor Leander bobbed his head, eyes snapping to his pitiful assistant, who now opened the door, ushering his unexpected visitors back into the rain.

* * *

The rain became heavy, and unable to sleep, Mattie shivered beneath her wet cloak.

Otter had found his way back to his old friend Kolarov, and she missed his warmth. Beside her, Fyn offered her his fur. She shook her head, not wanting to deprive him of it, especially after his swim.

She smiled now, amazed that at the end of such a day, she was still sitting on the ship. She thought of Bolder, imagining him standing at the steering oar, proud of his beloved Bone Hammer for coming through her trials mostly unscathed.

She saw Fyn glancing at the former queen. ‘You must still be cold,’ she said. ‘After that swim?’

Fyn turned to her with a grin. ‘A little.’

‘I’m not sure a woman like that deserved your heroics, though. The amount of people she’s killed?’

Fyn frowned. ‘Killed?’ He hadn’t heard much about the queen since their departure from S’ala Nis. Most of the talk had been about Kalina’s father and his dreamer wife. ‘She had people killed?’

‘She did. Many people, including Noor of the Dragon Blood Tree. All her husbands too. You know that,’ Mattie told him, determined to wipe that grin off his face. ‘Arras told us.’

Fyn nodded, turning back to the pretty queen with a more critical eye. ‘Who would do such a thing?’

‘Well, marriage isn’t for everyone.’

Fyn laughed. ‘I suppose not. Eadmund said that when he and Jael were first married, he feared she would come for him in the night with her sword.’ He smiled, feeling wistful for home, and as his mind wandered back to Milla, his grin spread until it revealed a dimple.

‘You are a clueless man!’ Mattie snapped. ‘To always go hunting in the wrong places! Don’t you possess any instincts at all?’ And with that, she stood, determined to go and retrieve her cat from the greedy explorer.

Fyn stared after her in confusion, not hearing Thorgils turn over and fart loudly beside him.

* * *

Zen hurried Edela back to the ship, where they were greeted by a tense welcoming party. They saw relief on the faces of Bertel, Korri, Siggy, and Raymon, though annoyance too.

‘I am sorry to have woken you all,’ Edela said apologetically. ‘It wasn’t my intention. I... couldn’t sleep.’ She avoided Korri’s searching eyes and Siggy’s, instead seeking Bertel’s.

And hearing her voice in his head, Bertel nodded. ‘Well, it’s one thing to stroll around the ship to get yourself back to sleep, but to walk around this dangerous place? And after last night?’ He shook his head. ‘You should have known better.’

‘I expect so,’ Edela said with a rueful smile. ‘Though now I feel quite weary. Bertel, perhaps you could help me to my bed? I fear I may simply keel over if left to my own devices.’

He nodded, leaving Zen to be questioned by a curious Siggy, and an unsatisfied Korri and Raymon to return to their beds.

‘I’m so tired,’ Edela yawned as Bertel took her to the corner where her furs were piled near Siggy’s. She glanced at a chest, inclining her head. ‘Though perhaps you could tell me what I missed while I was gone.’ Taking a seat, she patted the chest next to her. And when Bertel had made himself comfortable, she secretly took his hand, keeping their hands hidden beneath her cloak. Closing her mouth, she began. ‘I met with the scribe. He slipped me a message when I saw him in his shop. He feared he was being spied on, and he was right. He asked me to meet him at the back of his shop tonight, but when Zen and I arrived, one of his assistants was lying there dead.’

‘Dead?’ Bertel exclaimed, forgetting that he was supposed to merely listen and think. He covered up his outburst with a coughing fit before becoming quiet again.

‘We discovered his other assistant had been under orders to spy on him,’ Edela continued.

‘Under orders from who?’

‘I don’t know, but likely the woman we are looking for. Her name is unknown, though she is referred to as the Mistress. The scribe said we are likely to find her in Western Kadak. She has no known fixed abode, but they have mines out west, and the king has a palace there. He thinks it is the place to look. We must head to Harsoo, a port town, and hopefully, uncover more information there.’

Bertel’s thoughts fell silent then, and Edela squeezed his hand, wanting to spur him on.

‘But who is she, Edela? This woman? You make it sound as though we’re going for a visit, though I don’t imagine she’s someone we want to meet.’

Edela thought of what Tor Leander had said. ‘Mmmm, she certainly sounds dangerous, but I will not shy away from her. After coming this far? I would regret it the rest of my days. Wouldn’t you? Turning from a battle?’

‘A battle?’

Edela shrugged. ‘Whatever is coming, it will be some sort of fight, though I am ready for it.’ She felt a pang of guilt for lying, though she couldn’t reveal that her magic had left her, for no one would agree to go with her then.

Siggy returned, and Edela soon slid her hand away from his, talking to the girl as she left the chest to try and sleep.

Bertel stared after the dreamer, feeling troubled, and despite all she had shared, he feared that she was keeping something from him again.

* * *

In the hours before dawn, no one was asleep on Bone Hammer, for despite the exhaustion of the day, it was impossible to relax.

Jael had ordered Raal to keep them hugging the coastline until they came to the Brekkan town of Borsund. Borsund had a fort, a beach, and a lord she knew well. It was the perfect place to stop and resupply. The ship was taking on water, but not enough to cause the helmsman concern, so he concurred, and they carried on.

‘How far away is Borsund?’ Pye wanted to know, following Jael up and down the deck with a steady stream of questions.

‘We should arrive before midday. Perhaps.’

Pye’s belly was so empty it was becoming painful. He squeezed cold hands together, remembering his former life.

An orphan’s life.

A lonely life spent on the streets of Bakkar, where the fight to claim enough food to survive was likely to get you killed. He’d lived that life for nearly thirty years before Dessalene had pulled him from the gutter like a filthy rag. Her servants had washed and fed him, dressed and groomed him, and the dreamer had put him to work.

And despite what had happened on S’ala Nis, Pye would never forget that.

He would never betray her.

‘You’ll eat well there,’ Jael promised, eager to feel the earth beneath her feet. It had been a long, wet, and cold journey, and though she was desperate to be in Andala, she would much rather have ridden there. Leaving Pye behind, she aimed for Mattie. ‘Have you seen anything? I need to know what’s happening in Andala or whether my brother is even there.’ She remembered what she’d seen of Amma’s body and a ship, and there’d been no sign of Axl, so she felt confident that he’d remained in Andala. And with Raymon’s death and an aggressor now on the Iskavallan throne, that made sense.

Mattie stood, almost losing her balance as a gust of wind swept between the two women. She grabbed hold of Jael, seeing something strange, though with hair sweeping around her face, Jael didn’t notice, and Mattie was staring at her calmly when she finally tucked it behind her ears. ‘No, I’ve seen nothing inside the fort.’

Jael had been hoping for something, though Mattie’s words didn’t come as a surprise. ‘Perhaps they know in Borsund? About what’s going on?’

‘What’s there?’ Mattie wondered, feeling hungry herself.

‘It’s a small place with all you’d expect to find. As long as they’ve got enough food to shut Thorgils up for a few days, I’ll be happy.’

‘Water’s flooding in!’ someone called to Raal. ‘It’s a big hole!’

‘Stay where you are!’ Raal snapped as half the crew prepared to go and inspect the damage themselves.

Eadmund was nearby, close enough to see that they had a real problem. ‘It’s pouring in!’ he cried. ‘We need to plug it fast!’

And just like that, there was no peace of mind again.

* * *

Most went back to sleep after the interruptions, but not Edela.

She sat alone, removed from her sleeping companions, not wishing to disturb them again.

Though she remained disturbed herself.

She was in two minds. The first, a compulsion to track down the Mistress and uncover the truth of her intentions. The second, to give up entirely and ask Korri to sail her back to Andala.

For the most part, she charged ahead, mind set on doing Furia’s bidding. But at times like these, where the silence and darkness were both complete, she felt afraid and worried.

She had two daughters, three grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren.

They would be beside themselves with worry, and knowing Jael, perhaps even on her trail, putting themselves in danger too.

That was something she’d barely considered, but of course they would seek to find her. To help and save her.

And would that lead them here?

The water lapping Sea Queen soothed her rising tension, and soon her shoulders dropped, and she sighed heavily, not feeling any better.

‘Jael,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t come. Don’t come after me, for I am gone now, perhaps never to return. My darling girl, you must stay and look after everyone in my place. Especially your mother...’ Tears came, head dropping as she thought of those fiery green eyes and the argument she knew her granddaughter would make about that. She could almost hear her voice, feel the heat of her anger, and through her tears, she smiled, thinking of her little cottage and her fur-lined chair by the fire.

And finally, as the first glow of dawn cracked the darkness, a sleepy Edela Saeveld lay down and closed her eyes.

* * *

As soon as the latest leak had sprung, Raal had calmly pointed them to shore, eventually beaching Bone Hammer as the sun beamed down on them. And jumping out of the ailing ship onto shingle, Bone Hammer’s crew almost fell on their knees, grateful to have finally made it to land.

The wind was up, but the air was warm on skin that had been rippling with goosebumps for days.

Even Jael turned her face up to it with a smile, something she had never imagined doing only days earlier.

Beside her, a relieved Alek laughed. ‘I never thought I’d miss it. The sun.’

She grinned at him. ‘Never. Though it doesn’t have that same burning intensity here, does it? It’s just pleasant.’ Alek started to cry, and Jael watched as he fell to his knees, kissing the shingle.

‘Home,’ she heard him say through wretched sobs. ‘I made it home.’

Eventually, she helped him to his feet. ‘Now we walk, which will no doubt make us miss the sea!’ And turning to the battered Bone Hammer, she felt grateful that Eadmund had found such a sturdy vessel to get them to S’ala Nis and back again in one piece.

In the distance, Eadmund was unsteady, rolling his neck and stretching his back as Thorgils tried to organise everyone to hurry. ‘How far are we from Borsund?’ he asked with an exhausted yawn. The sun was so warm he felt like lying on the grass for a nap.

‘Hours walking, I’d guess!’ Jael called to him. ‘We’d best make a start!’

Thorgils swung around in horror before lifting his eyes to the sky. ‘Hours? Hours? Well, if we don’t move quickly, it’ll be dark before we get there. And what about the gates? Do they have gates?’

Ahead of him, Jael nodded. ‘From memory they do!’

‘Then we have to hurry! You want to be eating bugs and leaves tonight?’

Jael stretched out her arms, wincing.

‘They’ll have a bed for us,’ Eadmund promised, smiling as his wife turned and headed back to him. ‘A king and queen? And a Furyck at that? They’ll have a bed for us.’

‘Tired are you?’

Eadmund smiled at her. ‘Exhausted.’ And now he took her hand, squeezing it.

‘Come on!’ Thorgils cried desperately as Raal fussed over the ship, and his crew gathered every remaining weapon.

‘I hate to leave her!’ Raal called to Jael and Eadmund. ‘Who knows what will happen to her now?’

Eadmund felt bad about that, too, knowing Bolder wouldn’t want to lose his beloved ship. They had pulled her high up on the sand, securing the mast, oars, and sail, and though she was a wounded animal, that didn’t mean a desperate band of warriors wouldn’t come along and help themselves.

‘We’ve no choice!’ Jael told him. ‘You can’t stay here! We need you!’ And it was true, for once they reached Borsund, she would ask Edd Arnsten for a ship. Eadmund might be after a comfortable bed, though she sensed there was no time to waste.

They simply had to get to Andala.

* * *

After taking her daily tour of Andala’s market and seeing nothing of interest, Helga walked back to the hall in silence beside her talkative grandson, who was telling her about the boys who would be leaving with the army. She had stopped listening some time ago, distracted by a nagging feeling that had grown since she’d woken. It was a sense that she’d forgotten something important, which wasn’t unusual at her age, though with so much at stake, she certainly couldn’t let something fall through the cracks of her ageing mind.

Linas looked up at his grandmother with a squint. ‘But won’t you need to go along? And if you do, I’ll have to come too. I’m only eight. I’ll have to go with you!’ He tugged her dress, patched in so many places now that it was hard to tell its original colour.

Gully roamed ahead of them, occasionally stopping to sniff the ground or bark at a cat.

Linas kept tugging that dress, wanting an answer.

Helga felt dazed as she looked down at the persistent boy. ‘I won’t be going along. Why would I?’

Linas was confused. ‘But how will the king find his enemies without you? How will he see the danger?’

His grandmother laughed, brushing his hand away and pointing him towards the hall, where her thoughts had turned to Edela Saeveld’s book. The boy needed to be fed, but at that moment, she felt an overwhelming urge to simply lock herself in her chamber and read it. ‘We must organise supper.’

Linas shook his head. ‘It’s not supper time yet, Grandmother. And how will the king find his enemies if you’re not with him?’ he repeated, as determined as Gully with a bone.

Helga took his hand. ‘An early supper will suit us both.’ And without answering or even acknowledging his questions, she hurried the boy back to the hall, her mind fixed on the book.

* * *

An impatient Thorgils offered to be first through the gates when they arrived outside Borsund, but Jael held him back.

Everyone was starving. They had walked for hours on unsteady legs, and the idea of benches, and tables laden with ale and hot food was almost too much to resist.

‘But we need to know that it’s safe,’ she told her impatient friend. ‘And you’re not the man for the job.’

Behind her, Kalina sighed loudly, tapping her foot.

Jael ignored them both, and looking around, she found Fyn and Alek standing side by side. ‘Fyn, take Alek. Go in and get the lay of the land.’

Fyn looked keen to get going, though beside him, Alek was surprised.

‘You’re Brekkan,’ Jael told him. ‘Fyn’s not. Best you go along to make sure he comes back.’

Thorgils snorted. ‘Likely he’ll find a bench and a pretty servant, and that will be that!’

His cousin frowned at him and made to head off.

They had stopped in the forest, concealed from those on Borsund’s walls, and just seeing the men patrolling the fort had given Jael a sense of unease, remembering the problems Axl was having in the South.

Though surely a man as loyal as Edd Arnsten wouldn’t turn against his king?

‘Keep an eye on the gates,’ Eadmund warned. ‘Say you landed down the coast. That you have men who need a bed for the night. Something like that.’

Fyn nodded, stepping away from him, stomach growling.

‘And save some ale for us!’ Thorgils warned with a scowl.

His cousin winked at him before turning around and clapping a far less certain Alek on the back as they headed out of the trees.

‘What is it?’ Eadmund wondered, seeing Jael’s frown. ‘You’re worried?’

‘I might be,’ she told him, chewing her bottom lip. ‘Something feels a bit off.’ And turning around, she saw Mattie talking to Kolarov, motioning for the dreamer to join them.

‘Is something wrong?’ Mattie asked, eyeing Jael, then Eadmund. And looking past them, she saw Fyn heading away with Alek. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Fyn’s going to see if it’s safe. He won’t be long,’ Eadmund said.

‘Safe?’ Mattie had become so tired on their long walk from the abandoned ship that she’d given little thought to any danger that lay ahead. They were in Brekka, far from the Fire Lands now. She hadn’t thought to feel wary. Not yet.

‘My brother’s had trouble down here, in Valso, from memory, though we need to be certain the trouble hasn’t spread,’ Jael muttered with a shiver. Here, in the trees, absent any sun, she felt cold again.

Mattie frowned. ‘Though I don’t feel anything.’ She glanced around, wanting to be sure that Kolarov was watching Otter.

Jael turned to Eadmund. ‘Keep an eye on things here. Mattie and I should go and see what we can discover.’

‘Well, I’ll keep an eye on Thorgils,’ Eadmund promised with a laugh, motioning to his friend, who was barely holding himself back from galloping after Fyn and Alek.

Though ignoring them both, a thoughtful Jael led Mattie deeper into the forest.

22

Having sent Linas to the kitchen, where Helvor, the cook, promised to keep him busy till supper, Helga headed to her private chamber, locking the door. The late afternoon sun blazed through a small window on the opposite side of the room, and not feeling cold, she didn’t waste time on a fire. Linas would likely be hammering on the door soon enough, so she wanted to make a start.

Though sitting at the table, her urgency about looking in Edela’s book evaporated, her mind going blank. She shook her head, turning to look at that bright sun, which blinded her.

And for a moment, she remembered her dream.

A forest. Hallow Wood, she thought.

There had been a clearing and a cottage and –

The sun slid behind a cloud, the chamber darkening, and Helga’s hold on her vision was gone.

She turned back to the book and opened it at the first page, starting to read out loud.

* * *

The smell of food almost overpowered the familiar aroma of ale, though Alek and Fyn looked at each other with shining eyes, like two children let loose in a baker’s.

A drunken man clapped Fyn on the back. He seemed angry, and Fyn didn’t react, though Alek slunk back immediately, not wishing to get involved.

‘I don’t know you,’ the man slurred in Fyn’s face. He had a thick moustache, dripping with ale, and shaking his head, some of those ale drops landed on Fyn.

Fyn held his ground. ‘We just arrived.’

‘From where?’ the man snapped, eyeing Alek suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’

He was loud, his questions drawing the attention of others.

‘Spies? Are you spies?’ the drunken man shouted. ‘Are you spying on us?’

The hall, which had been buzzing with conversation, fell into a deathly silence, all eyes on the newcomers.

Alek spoke up quickly. ‘Our ship sprang a leak. We left her down the coast and walked here.’

‘Just the two of you?’ Another, older man came forward now, holding an arm out to keep his drunken friend back. He had short blonde hair, a matching beard and a slightly cross-eyed look.

Alek nodded. ‘My lord wanted the rest to stay with the ship. We were sent out to see what was nearby. I thought we were near Borsund.’

‘You’re from around here?’

Alek shook his head. ‘Further north, past Andala. A place called Stora.’

‘And you’re here? Why?’

‘We were trading in the Fire Lands, on our way home with a shipload of goods, though we struck a mountain of a wave. Lost everything. Men too. We made it through the Widow’s Peak, but our ship...’ Alek sighed, suddenly feeling as weary as he was pretending to be. ‘She didn’t have any more in her.’

The senior, more sober man nodded. ‘The sea can be a real bitch. I lost a brother a year ago. He’d gone to Kalmera in search of treasure. I don’t see the appeal myself.’

Alek grinned. ‘Well, coming back empty-handed, I’m beginning to think you’re right.’

‘I’m Helmer. Come and find a bench,’ the man offered. ‘We’ve plenty of room since our lord headed north.’

Fyn had questions, though he left Alek to ask them, following behind the Brekkan in silence.

‘North? I can’t say I know what’s going on,’ Alek said. ‘I’ve been gone nigh on a year.’

‘To stop the king,’ Helmer explained, motioning to a bench, and turning to find a servant, he sent the woman for two bowls of stew. ‘To stop Axl Furyck.’

Alek took the cup Helmer was now pouring frothing, yeasty ale into. He didn’t hesitate, supping immediately. ‘Stop a king?’ He tried to sound nonchalant, though his heart had started racing. ‘Your lord?’

The man nodded. ‘The Furycks have been taking from us since the beginning, and now we’re putting a stop to it. The Furycks and their allies. We’re going to kill them all.’

Fyn drank his ale without blinking, thinking of Jael and the crew hidden in the forest, fearing that now this talkative man had them, he wasn’t about to let them go.

* * *

The silence, deeper in the forest and away from the crew, had helped an exhausted Mattie clear her mind, though she saw nothing to worry them.

Though opposite her, Jael felt odd.

‘Whenever I think of my brother, I feel danger,’ she said. ‘And now that we’re in Brekka, I can’t be sure where it’s coming from. Those in the kingdom or those outside it?’

‘You mean Iskavall?’ Mattie wondered, cutting off a piece of bark from a willow tree and sliding it into her purse.

‘Iskavall, Helsabor... somewhere else. I trust Karsten. He sent his fleet to rescue me, so I trust Hest, but the other kingdoms? I don’t have a good feeling. And not just about Axl’s neighbours. Kalina sent men here to kill dreamers, so who else is here, and what are they doing?’

Mattie frowned. ‘Sounds as though you won’t be going home in a hurry.’

‘Though I need to,’ Jael sighed impatiently, turning to look back to where they’d left Eadmund, Thorgils, and the crew. ‘I’ve other matters to take care of. Like finding Ronin Sardis.’

‘I’ve a feeling he will come for you,’ Mattie said, now spying a catnip bush. It was growing dark, though the forest was a cornucopia of familiar scents that had her alert and busy. She headed towards the bush, bending down with her knife.

‘Good. I can’t wait till he does.’

‘Though it would be wrong to think he’ll come with ships and warriors seeking a battle. I don’t see that. Not with the dreamer. Next time, they’ll be smarter.’

Jael looked away, thinking.

‘He’s a powerful man, by all accounts, and yet you were captured by Arras and his crew. Not an army. You were surprised.’ Mattie gulped, fearing she had crossed a line.

But turning back, Jael only stared at her. ‘I was. And you think I will be again?’

‘I think you should expect to be.’ Above the tree canopy, it became so dark that Mattie could no longer see the queen’s face.

‘Though not here, I hope,’ Jael grinned, still feeling on edge. ‘Come on, Fyn and Alek should be back soon. Hopefully, with good news!’ Though saying it was an effort, and her head started to ache as they made their way through the forest towards the crew, whose eyes remained on the fort in the distance, eager for news.

* * *

The ale’s potency had taken a severely malnourished Alek by surprise. Having drunk mostly murky water for years, he’d quickly become drunk. Not even a few mouthfuls of a moreish rabbit stew had taken the edge off, and he was swaying beside an impatient Fyn, who wanted their host to go away so they could slip out of the fort.

He feared it was too late. That the gates would be shut and that nothing would be possible before morning. And if that was the case, he hoped Jael wouldn’t try anything.

According to Helmer, the Lord of Borsund had taken his army north to meet the king. And the men left behind? They’d done nothing but spit their hatred of the Furycks since they’d arrived.

Jael couldn’t come here – there were too many of them.

She couldn’t come inside.

Beside him, Alek had become more and more verbose, and Fyn was forced to nudge him, leaning down to give him a warning.

‘What did you like about the Fire Lands?’ Helmer asked Alek. ‘I’ve never been myself, though I’ve heard it’s a paradise for those strong enough to survive.’

Though Alek shook his head. ‘Fool’s gold,’ he slurred. ‘An illusion. It’s a pit of greedy snakes baking under a murderous sun. Do you know how many men I lost there?’

Fyn edged closer as though reaching for the ale jug, but under the table, he pinched Alek’s leg, wanting to shut him up.

‘Lost?’ Helmer was becoming drunk himself.

‘On the isle!’ Alek blurted out. ‘If it wasn’t for Jael –’ He cut himself off, staring in horror at the man, who had heard him perfectly.

‘Jael?’

Helmer was loud enough that a few ears pricked up, eyes once again turning to the strangers.

Fyn laughed. ‘There was a man called Jael. A helmsman. Came to our rescue in Kalmera.’

‘A man?’ Helmer narrowed his eyes, seeing Alek’s cheeks flushing red before him. ‘What man?’

‘He had a ship,’ Fyn hurried on. ‘We’d been fleeced of everything, lost our men. He took us to safety.’

‘Though I’ve only ever heard of one Jael,’ Helmer said slowly. ‘And though she acts like a man, she’s certainly a woman. A Furyck bitch.’

Alek had quickly sobered up, working to command his tongue. ‘I’ve never met a queen,’ he grinned, masking his rising discomfort. ‘And a Brekkan queen in the Fire Lands? No, this Jael had a belly like an old bear and a beard to match!’ He laughed now. ‘Unless the queen has run away for a new life? I’m not saying she hasn’t, but if it was her, she had an impressive disguise!’

Fyn laughed with him, picking up the ale jug, and leaning forward, he topped up Helmer’s cup, noticing that though the man was now smiling again, his eyes had hardened.

* * *

‘Gates have closed,’ Eadmund said, coming back to his wife.

Who looked concerned.

‘Likely they’re too drunk and full to move,’ Kolarov decided, winking at an unimpressed Thorgils.

Thorgils threw up his hands. ‘You should have sent me to keep an eye on Fyn! He’s got the brain of a bird, that one.’

‘Though Alek seems like a steadying influence,’ Kolarov suggested. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘They can’t get out now,’ Jael decided, ignoring them both. ‘Whether that’s good or bad, unless Mattie or I can see something, we won’t know anything till morning. Best we find somewhere to get comfortable.’ She turned to Eadmund. ‘We need to set lookouts.’

‘I’ll organise that. You and Mattie see what you can do.’

Jael nodded, seeing Otter bounding towards them, and stopping by Jael, he started rubbing against her leg.

* * *

Left alone while Helmer dealt with a problem, Fyn had hissed at an unhelpfully drunk Alek to keep quiet, deciding that only he could get them out of the fort and back to their friends alive. Helmer and his men had taken some time to be convinced that the name Alek had blurted out had nothing to do with Jael Furyck. Fyn wasn’t sure they were convinced, though they’d stopped asking questions.

‘You’ve been very hospitable,’ he told Helmer, who returned to their bench with an enormous belch. He looked like a strong man and a hard one, too, his expression turning from easy-going to battle-ready in the blink of an eye. ‘We’ll return to our friends and bring them back with us tomorrow.’

‘No need,’ Helmer said, slapping Fyn on the back. ‘Gates are closed for the night, so you and your friend can hunker down here. There’ll be a bench you can lay your cloak on, and in the morning, I’ll send a couple of men back with you. You can take a few supplies as well. They’ll patch you up, and you can be on your way north.’

Alek glanced at Fyn with an open mouth, though Fyn didn’t look his way. He grinned at Helmer. ‘We’ll take you up on that, though our crew won’t be happy to think we’re enjoying a roof and some ale while they’re curled up on the sand. I can always tell them you made us sleep outside!’

Helmer laughed with him. ‘After the time you’ve had, sounds like you deserve it.’ He nodded to one of his men, who joined him, and soon they left the hall.

Alek sagged beside Fyn, opening his mouth to speak, though Fyn immediately looked away, raising his cup to another man who watched them warily. ‘We’ll get back to our friends tomorrow,’ he told Alek. ‘Unless one of them finds us first.’ And turning to meet his eyes, he felt certain they were both thinking of Jael.

* * *

‘Something’s wrong,’ a frowning Jael decided, returning to Eadmund.

Kolarov, who was bending to sit on the bed of leaves he’d just made with the addition of some gathered moss and his cloak, soon straightened up and hurried forward.

Eadmund looked from Jael to Mattie, who cradled Otter. ‘What sort of wrong? Did you see something?’

‘No, but Otter’s unsettled and Mattie and I both feel strange. Fyn and Alek aren’t back either. None of it gives me any confidence. We need to move.’ And thinking quickly, she spun around to where Thorgils was watching Kalina. ‘If you want to see your father again, keep your mouth closed. You too, Pye,’ she growled at the little man, who shrugged innocently at her. ‘You may think it in your best interests to escape or call for help, and maybe it is if you want to be used for entertainment in there.’ And though they couldn’t see the fort in the darkness, Jael still pointed to where she thought it was. ‘Something’s gone wrong, and we need to move.’

‘Where?’ Thorgils wondered, one arm on Kalina, who kept trying to shake him off.

‘Well, we can’t go back to Bone Hammer. We can’t get horses...’

‘So we steal a ship,’ Eadmund suggested, eyes shifting to Raal.

They’d already scouted the ships moored along Borsund’s beach. The beach was watched over by warriors patrolling the rear wall of the fort. Tall and made of stone, it offered the perfect view of the fleet.

‘Mmmm.’ Thinking it over, Jael motioned the crew closer. There were thirty-two of them, though a handful – Mattie, Kolarov, Pye and Kalina – were no use in a fight.

She shook her head, realising that Mattie could certainly be of some use.

‘We need a distraction. Something to make them look away. Raal, you and the crew head to the beach and wait for me. Kolarov, you go too. You need to look after them.’ And she pointed to their prisoners, who ignored her.

Kolarov could feel a stabbing pain under his ribs, and he grimaced. ‘But what about Fyn and Alek?’

‘Fyn will know to stay alert, he’ll be ready, and he can always throw Alek over his shoulder if he has to,’ Jael grinned, calling Mattie over. ‘You need to give the cat to Kolarov.’ And seeing that he would have a lot on his hands, she smiled at the explorer. ‘You keep alert too. If this works, we’ll be leaving in a hurry, and if it doesn’t, you’ll have to make a quick escape yourselves.’

Kolarov nodded with worried eyes, wishing Mattie was coming with them, though Jael was going to need the dreamer’s help. ‘Be careful,’ he whispered, taking the cat and turning to find the rest of his charges. ‘Come along, follow me.’

Kalina turned to glare at Jael, though she also took her words to heart, for while Jael Furyck kept her safe, albeit away from her family, she was in no danger of being raped, which couldn’t be said for a fort of drunken warriors. Snapping at Pye, she ordered him to stop standing on her dress and to move with speed.

‘What are you thinking?’ Thorgils asked as the crew trekked after Raal. The helmsman was a big man, though unusually quiet. He hoped it wouldn’t be too much for him.

Ignoring him, Jael turned to Mattie. ‘What magic can you make, because we’re either going with magic or fire.’

‘Well, I... I can make sounds.’

Eadmund was intrigued. ‘Sounds?’

‘Sometimes I would see bands of men coming towards my cottage. Whether they wanted food or silver or me, I don’t know, but I never let them get close enough to find out.’

‘What sort of sounds?’ Jael asked.

‘I need a fire,’ Mattie said, and with a nod, Thorgils turned around to organise that.

‘Further into the trees!’ Eadmund called after him. ‘I’ll go help,’ he offered, turning after his friend.

‘I can make the sound of warriors. I thought it would scare off any brigands if they thought there were warriors nearby, so I can make the sound of an army.’

‘Well, that sounds useful,’ Jael decided. ‘Though we need to be quick. If we can draw their attention to the gates, we can get down to the beach.’

Mattie nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Good.’

‘And Fyn? Alek?’

‘Well, we shall soon find out if Fyn Gallas truly is my man,’ Jael mused, turning away from the dreamer. ‘You get to work with Eadmund and Thorgils, then come to the beach. I’ll see if I can get Fyn.’

* * *

Fyn stood and stretched, encouraging Alek to do the same. And seeing the weak man wobble unsteadily beside him, Fyn grabbed his arm. ‘Latrines?’ he asked a nearby man, who seemed to be leaving the hall.

‘I’ll take you,’ the man offered.

And though that was helpful of him, Fyn was desperate to disappear into the fort and find a way out, so bending to Alek, he whispered in his ear.

When they made it outside, down three steps, of which Alek managed to trip down two, they followed their guide as he led them across a modest square towards an alley. Looking up, Fyn could see a number of warriors patrolling the ramparts. When they’d entered the fort earlier, it had appeared emptier than he would’ve expected. Now he could see that a garrison had been left in charge. Though it wasn’t small by any means, and it wasn’t just old men and boys either.

As they entered the dark alley, he nudged Alek, who bent over as though vomiting, making quite a good impression of retching sounds. Though Fyn soon saw that it was no pretence, and disgusted by that, he stepped back.

Their guide turned around, not wanting to linger. ‘Around the corner, to the right. You’ll find it soon enough. Just follow the smell!’

‘Thank you!’ Fyn called.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alek groaned, standing up to wipe his mouth. ‘I don’t know what –’

‘Ssshhh,’ Fyn hissed, certain he heard something. ‘This way.’ And not following the guide, he turned and headed back down the alley, aiming for the square.

A disoriented Alek stumbled after him, soon dragged along by an impatient Fyn. He started groaning, but Fyn hushed him, listening for that sound again.

An owl cooed, he heard a woman shrieking in anger, men muttering in the distance, and then Helmer appeared from the shadows, and seeing Fyn, he pointed.

* * *

Jael headed through the trees, ears open to whatever Mattie was conjuring up behind her, to any disturbances coming from the fort, and for any sign of Fyn.

She made her way towards the beach, to where Raal was waiting with his crew, concealed in the trees.

‘Mattie will make a distraction,’ Jael told him. ‘But I need to help Fyn and Alek. Where are my archers?’ And as three men stepped forward, armed with bows, quivers of arrows strapped to their backs, she looked around. ‘I’m going to run for the nearest ship to get some rope. Keep watch on those ramparts. Any trouble and you bring down those men, understood?’

The archers nodded in unison, and ignoring a fretting Kolarov, who was about to suggest that she reconsider, she turned to Raal. ‘Soon as you see the men on the ramparts turn away, get that ship in the water.’

He nodded.

‘Wait for Eadmund, Thorgils, and Mattie.’

Raal looked confused. ‘Not you?’

‘I won’t be far behind. Just get the ship in the water.’

Kolarov spluttered something Jael didn’t hear, for she was too busy running across the beach.

* * *

Fyn dragged Alek behind him as he ran. ‘We need to get to the ramparts,’ he decided.

‘What?’ Alek panted, knocking into him.

‘We’ll have to jump.’

Now Alek staggered. ‘But those men?’ His head pounded, he wanted to vomit again, and every step reminded him of the mistake he’d made by drinking that ale. Though there was nothing for it now. He was either with Fyn or on his own, and Alek knew, despite his thick head, that he had a greater chance of living if he stuck with Fyn Gallas.

‘This way!’ Fyn cried, urging Alek to the right, eyes darting around, seeing men on the ramparts looking down into the square.

‘Head for the beach side!’ came a voice in his ears. ‘I’m coming for you!’

And recognising Jael’s voice, Fyn dragged a panting Alek towards the rampart wall, heart thudding in his chest.

23

Thorgils and Eadmund had argued over how to start the fire – an argument quickly resolved by Mattie, who sided with the king even though Thorgils had the better approach.

It didn’t matter – flames were flames.

And soon a little fire was glowing from a heap of sticks and moss on the ground, circled by a few rocks. ‘I need to cast the spell!’ she said far too loudly. And realising it, she muttered to herself, becoming nervous. ‘Stay still and quiet behind me,’ she hissed. ‘But listen out, please. I... have to close my eyes.’

Mattie turned her back on them, and Eadmund nudged Thorgils away, giving her some space.

Both men drew their swords, the sound of which immediately set Eadmund on edge. ‘What do you think Jael’s doing?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘Something dangerous. She won’t leave Fyn in there. Me? I’d make him dig his way out. Serve him right if he’s mucked everything up for the rest of us.’ Though despite his grumbles, he felt worried about his cousin. He hoped Jael knew what she was doing.

An unexpected noise had him spinning around, sword flashing.

It sounded like an army was clattering through the trees, bridles jingling, hooves thumping.

‘What the –’

‘It’s Mattie,’ Eadmund told him, holding out an arm. ‘Mattie’s doing it.’

‘Mattie?’ Though not quite believing it, Thorgils searched the trees, eyes peeled open, gripping his sword.

* * *

The moon dashed out of the clouds, shining brightly on Jael, who was suddenly exposed on the beach. Though hearing a commotion to her left, she sensed that Mattie had started her spell. Looking up, she saw those men on the wall turning away, and turning herself, she motioned for Raal and the crew to hurry.

The first ship was newly arrived, still wet and reeking of the sea. Throwing herself over the shield rack, Jael saw benches instead of chests, which was helpful. The mast wasn’t up, though Raal and his crew would be able to work quickly to hoist it, and the sail, too, which was rolled up near the yard. But what she’d come to find was some rope.

She spotted a few coils in the stern. And hurrying forward, she tripped, almost tumbling onto her knees. The ship rocked as Raal jumped inside, ordering the archers to head to the bow, out of the way.

They needed to be quiet, to find their places quickly. Those who’d remained on the beach would push them into the sea, but everyone else needed to ready the oars.

Grabbing a coil of rope, Jael jumped off the gunwale, dropping down to the sand, which was handy, she thought, eyes darting up to the stone wall as she hurried to tie a knot.

* * *

‘How long will it work for?’ Eadmund asked, pushing Mattie ahead of him towards the beach. ‘How long do we have?’

The dreamer bit her tongue as she fell over an enormous tree root, yelping. ‘I – ouch! Until the fire goes out or until I –’

Eadmund heard shouting coming from the fort and a signal bell being hammered loudly.

That was a start.

Now he just had to hope that Raal could organise the crew before anyone in Borsund’s fort figured out what was happening.

* * *

Taking the stairs two at a time, Fyn was soon standing on Borsund’s ramparts.

He aimed in the direction of the beach, but hearing what sounded like an army in the distance, he swung around, feeling confused.

Behind him, Alek was struggling. Still drunk, still weak, he couldn’t speak.

‘What’s happening?’ a man called to Fyn, coming forward.

‘An army!’ Fyn called back. ‘We’re under attack!’

‘What? Axl Furyck?’

Though Fyn only shrugged and the man was soon on his way, urging his companions along with him.

Fyn hurried to the wall overlooking the beach, quickly seeing how flawed his plan was. It was a longer drop than he’d anticipated and looked rocky in places, from what he could make out. And though he would’ve happily suffered a few broken bones to get out of the fort alive, he wasn’t sure Alek would fare as well.

‘Fyn!’

Not certain if that was actually Jael or just her voice in his head, he turned to Alek, who appeared to have heard her and was hurrying to the wall.

Looking down, they saw Jael flinging up a rope.

It was heavy and didn’t reach, quickly dropping back down to her. Snarling in annoyance, she stepped back and flung it up again.

Alek moved out of its way, but fearing the rope to freedom would drop again, Fyn lunged, just managing to catch it. Jael had tied a knotted loop, and now he dropped it over one of the battlements, securing it tightly. Grabbing Alek, he turned him around, aiming him at the rope. ‘Be careful, but move quickly,’ he urged. Hearing noises on the beach, he could see a ship being dragged into the shallows. And turning around, he heard men arguing up on the ramparts and down in the square.

* * *

Eadmund and Thorgils delivered Mattie to the new ship as it splashed into the sea, and quickly hoisting the dreamer over a gunwale, they hurried back up the beach to help Jael.

‘You hold!’ Eadmund hissed at Raal, who had taken his place at the steering oar. ‘Do not go without us!’ He ran back through the cold sand, struggling with his footing.

Beside him, Thorgils had his eyes on the ramparts, seeing Alek making a very slow descent down the rope. And squinting, he feared that the man had actually stopped moving. ‘He needs to shift his hands!’ he snapped. ‘He’s just swinging there.’

Jael thought so too. ‘Alek!’ she hissed. ‘Move your hands!’

Mattie could hear the sound of her spell playing in her ears like a song, keeping time with her heartbeat, which was urgent and demanding. She sat beside Kalina and opposite Kolarov and Pye in the stern, out of the way, hoping everyone would hurry.

Raal was hissing orders at his crew, though despite it being a new ship, there was a familiarity about where everything was located. The moon remained bright, which was both helpful and unsettling, and they moved with speed, those who’d pushed the ship into the shallows soon jumping in to take up their places.

Alek’s seemingly stalled descent down the rope had captured everyone’s attention, including Mattie’s, who had been slow to realise that she could no longer hear the noises in her head.

And with a sinking realisation, she knew that her fire had gone out.

* * *

Up on Borsund’s ramparts, an impatient Fyn couldn’t do any more to urge Alek down the rope. He didn’t think it would hold them both, so he had to wait his turn.

His mouth had gone so dry that he could no longer swallow. The moon shone a beaming light down on him, and he realised in horror that whatever sounds had drawn the garrison’s attention towards the gates had stopped.

In that silence, Helmer was shouting, seemingly trying to decide what to do.

Fyn’s heart was bursting in his chest. Leaning out over the wall, he hissed at Alek. ‘Hurry or I’m coming down!’

Jael ran to the rope, immediately climbing, knowing that Alek had the strength of an old man on his deathbed. The strain of climbing ran down her raw palms to her arms and all the way to her back, which burned anew. ‘Come down slowly!’ she called. ‘Alek, take off a hand. I’m here.’ She moved with speed, reaching him quickly. And releasing one hand, she grabbed his ankle, hoping to gently tug him down.

* * *

Watching aboard the ship, Mattie feared for Fyn. She gripped Otter to her chest, hearing his plaintive miaows.

Opposite her, Kolarov had turned all the way around. ‘He needs to jump.’

Watching the ramparts, Pye agreed. ‘Though it’s a long way. He’s a tall man, but it’s a long way...’

* * *

Despite Jael’s help, Alek was moving too slowly, and Fyn had now attracted the attention of two men who had returned to their positions. One called out, raising a hand, not immediately recognising him as a stranger.

Fyn held up a hand in return. ‘What’s happening? Who’s here?’

He couldn’t look over the ramparts now, though he hoped Jael could hear that he was in trouble. That men were coming.

‘No idea!’ one of the men grumbled. ‘Someone, though. Need to see who’s around!’ Then suddenly realising that Fyn was the stranger from the hall Helmer had been concerned about and not one of his friends, he shouted. ‘Hey!’

* * *

‘Drop down!’ Jael hissed, sensing Alek was close enough to the sand now. She dropped first, yanking his leg as she let go of the rope, guaranteeing that he would follow her. He landed awkwardly, and she pulled him to his feet, shunting him towards the ship. ‘Archers!’ she called, waving her hands at the men in the bow. ‘Cover Fyn!’

* * *

The approaching guards didn’t have bows that Fyn could see, so he took the risk of grabbing the rope and launching himself off the ramparts. Swinging out wildly, he soon swung back, hitting the wall with a painful thump. And seeing Jael running for the ship with Alek, he shimmied down the rope with speed. The men above him had raised the alarm and were now working to try and both untie and saw through the rope.

An arrow took one in the head, and toppling over the wall, the man knocked into Fyn, who started swinging again, nearly losing his grip. The other man straightened up, struck in the chest, collapsing where he stood.

Fyn heard footsteps and more shouts, knowing he was running out of time. So, spinning around, he used his feet to push off the wall, and when he could no longer see the rocks below him, he flung himself onto the sand.

Jael turned to see him jumping to his feet and then arrows striking the sand around him. A running Fyn ducked, covering his head with one hand as he aimed for the ship. Eadmund ran for Alek while Thorgils hurried to help Fyn, and Raal’s archers worked to hold back the men on the wall.

And soon they were on board, dripping wet and out of breath, with Raal at the steering oar, calling time for the rowers, who worked quickly to get them out of range of Borsund’s archers and finally on their way to Andala.

* * *

Axl sat on his bed, staring at the lamp burning in the corner of his chamber. The flickering amber light illuminated the tapestry he had looked at since he was a boy. There were many such tapestries in the hall, some hundreds of years old, but this one had always been his favourite.

It told the story of Arnor Furyck and his wife, Brekka, the first king and queen of the land that would eventually become Osterland. After fleeing the devastating volcano in Osterhaaven, they had brought their people to safety, building them a new home.

The Brekkans admired King Arnor as a heroic, selfless leader, and in the tapestry, embroidered with threads of red, gold, and green, he slashed his sword and fought off his enemies, the Tuurans, who had not wanted to give his people sanctuary. Though King Arnor had fought for them, defeating the Tuurans and taking their land.

But it wasn’t those scenes that drew Axl’s attention, it was the ones of him with his family. With his son. He looked proud of him and happy in his company.

Shaking his head, Axl turned away, imagining the face of his own father scowling at him with disapproval. That he had let it come to this? That the kingdom stood on the brink of destruction because of him?

Running a hand over his beard, Axl crawled under the furs, turning to face where Amma should have been lying. He imagined her combing her long hair. He saw her pale cheeks and rose-coloured lips.

Her smile as she turned, reaching out to him.

It was hard to stop worrying about her, though he kept imagining the feeling of lifting her out of Death Weaver, placing her on the pier and seeing her belly. In his mind, it had doubled in size, and she was beaming with happiness at being back home.

He would leave for Trelleg in the morning, feeling both excited and nervous at the prospect of what he would face there. He’d long needed to be a king to all of Brekka, regretting that he’d stayed inside the fort, listening to his friends. It had been an error, though one he couldn’t undo. Mutt Storman had used his absence to seize power, turning allies into enemies, and all he could do now was try and stop him.

And he would. He would stop him and all the traitors.

He would make his father proud.

Turning to blow out the lamp, he lay down, trying not to think of Eren Venberg and the secret that could destroy everything.

* * *

‘I’m so sorry,’ Alek kept repeating, having spent the first part of their journey vomiting into the sea. Now he stood beside Jael, struggling to keep his balance.

Jael grinned, having heard his rambled tale of what had happened inside Borsund. Looking at Fyn, she doubted he would’ve been so forthcoming about Alek’s misadventures, though he was busy being examined by Mattie and comforted by Otter.

‘I shouldn’t have sent you in,’ Jael admitted, nudging his arm. ‘It’s my fault, Alek. I should have thought through what might happen. Though I’d never have imagined this. That Borsund would become an enemy?’

‘And not just them,’ Alek sighed. ‘It sounds as though most of Brekka has taken up against your brother. At least in the South.’

‘Led by who again?’

‘Mutt Storman,’ Alek said, breathing ale all over her. He kept belching then apologising, occasionally glancing at the gunwale as the ship leapt up and over the waves before smacking down again.

Apart from Fyn and Alek, no one had eaten or drunk anything, and they were silent and tired, wondering what lay ahead.

‘Mutt Storman,’ Jael mused. ‘He killed a girl, I remember, and my father threw him out.’

Eadmund had joined them. ‘And what? He’s seeking revenge?’

‘It didn’t sound like it,’ Alek decided. ‘According to the man we spoke to, everyone hates the Furycks, and Mutt Storman is helping them get justice.’

‘Justice? He wants justice for them?’ Jael laughed. ‘Maybe he’s a dreamer? Maybe he’s put a spell on them all?’

‘I don’t think men can be dreamers,’ Alek frowned, not realising that Jael was joking.

‘Though we know one, don’t we?’ Eadmund said.

Jael nodded. ‘We do, but no, Mutt Storman was a real bastard, only ever out for himself. He was a talker, I remember. Had a big mouth. No, he’s not out to help anyone but Mutt Storman. But how has someone like that built an army? He was outlawed and what... he’s become as rich as a king?’

Eadmund shrugged. ‘Whatever the case, we can’t offer much help with one ship. We need to head to Oss and get the fleet.’

Jael was thoughtful, looking towards Mattie. ‘I think you go. Drop me at Andala and you go.’

Eadmund stared at her in disbelief. ‘Oh, just you and your sword? Against Mutt Storman and every warrior in Brekka?’

‘Sounds like a fair fight,’ Thorgils grinned as he arrived, pulling back a hand to slap Jael on the back.

She eyed him suspiciously, edging towards her frowning husband. ‘Near Andala then. Fyn and Mattie too.’

‘How near Andala?’ Eadmund wanted to know.

‘Wherever makes you stop asking questions,’ Jael said, and with an impatient grunt, she headed to the stern to check on Fyn.

He was smiling at her, which was a good sign.

‘Nothing’s broken,’ he assured his queen.

‘That’s good to hear because you and I are going to Andala.’

Mattie looked up in confusion. ‘Aren’t we all going?’

‘Well, you are, too,’ Jael said, and looking around, she wondered who else she should take with her. ‘But Eadmund needs to go back to Oss for the fleet, and while he does that, we need to see what trouble my brother has gotten himself into.’

Fyn looked pleased, though Mattie appeared uncertain.

‘It will be dangerous,’ Jael warned, ‘and I’m not your queen, Mattie. I can’t make you come. You can go to Oss and stay safe there or find your way back to Tuura if you want.’

‘No, no,’ Mattie said, becoming flustered. ‘But Otter. I... I don’t like putting him in so much danger.’ Her eyes shifted to the cat, who had curled up on Kolarov’s lap.

And having been eavesdropping, Kolarov piped up. ‘I’m happy to take him with me to Oss. He’ll be safe there.’

‘With you?’ Jael turned with a frown. ‘No, you’ll be coming with me, Kolarov Radic. I need you to look after the queen and our annoying little Pye.’

Kolarov started. ‘You’re taking them?’

‘Well, I’m not sending them to Oss. Wherever I am, they’re going to be. I may have to deal with whatever is happening in Andala, but I want Ronin Sardis’ attention fixed on me.’

* * *

As Korri’s two helmsmen steered their ships into a sheltered cove that night, desperate for some respite from a never-ending downpour, Edela sat in silence, eyes on Raymon.

They had left Pechik behind that morning, and though he’d come along, she sensed that he had little desire to stay with them.

He turned, seeing her staring at him, immediately looking back to Siggy, who was chatting away to him.

Edela felt sad, though he was a man and perfectly capable of choosing his own path. ‘That sand looks rather appealing,’ she murmured to Bertel, who yawned uncontrollably beside her. ‘A more comfortable bed, perhaps?’

‘Wet sand?’ he huffed. ‘Yes, it’s exactly what I’ve been dreaming of, Edela. A cosy bed of wet sand!’ And now he looked away, refusing to meet the dreamer’s searching eyes.

Despite her own renowned insight, Edela was surprised by his moodiness. ‘Are you mad at me?’

Bertel swung around with a hiss. ‘Mad? Mad? You nearly died in Castala, woman! We all did. All of us. If those Silurans had had their way... and then in Pechik? And you want to keep going, expecting us to follow you and be happy about it?’ Bertel violently scratched his beard, becoming incensed. ‘It’s just... it’s arrogant of you to be so, so... reckless!’

A few heads turned their way, though most were focused on the ship. Sea Queen’s helmsman was already calling for men to jump out and pull her onto the sand.

Edela blinked at him. ‘Arrogant? Well, I...’ And soon she was frowning.

‘To carry on making assumptions that we should follow you? As though our eyes remain closed, and only you can see!’ Bertel swung around to her, lowering his voice. ‘I know what you’ve told me, Edela, but I...’

She saw fear in his eyes, but not fear for himself or the others. It was, she realised, in that moment, fear for her.

She patted his hand. ‘I won’t let anything happen to me.’

‘To you?’ Bertel jerked back. ‘But I wasn’t talking about you!’ he insisted. ‘Why is everything about you?’

‘Bertel Knutson,’ she whispered. ‘Stop being so loud. We are here, on this journey, for whatever reason, sent by you know who. I can hardly stop now. And what? Disappoint our friend?’

Bertel inhaled loudly, sitting as though made of stone, though his wild eyebrows twitched.

‘I do not expect she would look favourably on any of us,’ Edela went on. ‘Would she?’

‘Edela?’ Korri called, coming towards them. ‘It’s time to go!’

Edela stood with a wobble, reaching for Bertel’s hand. She felt a spark of connection, seeing him lift his eyes to meet hers. And now she smiled. ‘Please don’t worry. I will do everything I can to stay safe.’

He held her hand, rising to his feet. ‘You’re an old lady. Have you forgotten?’

She laughed at him. ‘An old lady who recently murdered a band of Silurans. Besides, if you’re that worried about me, why complain about having to come along? I may have use for you one day.’ And with a wink, she turned towards Korri, who slipped an arm around her shoulder and moved her towards the gunwale.

Bertel stayed, staring after the dreamer.

He was bound to her now and wouldn’t turn from her side. In his heart, he knew that, but he feared for her, sensing they were getting ever closer to the woman who wanted Edela dead.

24

King Oren Storgard woke before dawn with a thumping head.

His mouth was dry, and grumbling at his wife, he pointed at the ale jug.

Lina hurried to it, filling a silver goblet in such a rush that she slopped ale onto the table. She had been awake for hours and was anxious to anticipate her husband’s needs before his temper flared, for she had quickly learned that keeping Oren happy was her most important job of all. He delighted in cruelty, and when he was out of sorts, he took pleasure in making her cry, so anticipating his needs and bending to his will were the essential tools she needed to survive. And in their forest camp, far from Ollsvik, that had become an even greater priority, for without his comforts, the king was more prone to angry outbursts than ever.

‘Ensure the cook prepares bacon for breakfast,’ Oren instructed his wife with mostly closed eyes. He had drunk strong mead the night before and felt sharp pains stabbing into his head, making it hard to think. ‘I mustn’t be late for my meeting,’ he added. ‘You will accompany me today.’

Lina stiffened, lengthening her long neck. Her servants had woken with her, and she was elegantly dressed in a yellow gown, freshly washed and perfumed. Her blonde hair had been braided into thin plaits, woven around her head and tucked into a bun, upon which her modest golden crown sat.

She looked ridiculous.

The servants seemed to think so as they whispered behind their hands, eyeing her with barely concealed amusement.

She thought wistfully of her time in Tuura when she’d been a girl gossiping with her friends instead of sleeping. A girl who had rolled her eyes at her stern teachers who had tried to teach her how to do the most wondrous things. She had been cared for in the temple by those who’d had her best interests at heart.

And now?

Now, despite her mother accompanying her, and her many servants pampering and preening her, Lina felt alone.

No longer a carefree girl. Suddenly, a woman.

A queen.

Lifting her eyes and removing all feeling from them, she nodded. ‘Yes, Husband.’

‘Good. Now hurry along and find the cook. I’m starving.’ And with that, Oren turned to his freshly polished boots, ready to put them on.

* * *

Axl mounted his horse, pushing his boots into the stirrups, turning to gaze at his torchlit hall. He saw Eren embracing Erling and quickly turned away. He found Rexon, who looked thinner than when he’d arrived in Andala, his face drawn, his eyes haunted, though when he lifted them, Axl saw a fiery anger blazing in them. Nodding at him, he suddenly remembered a handful of things he should have done, though there was no time now.

They simply had to leave.

Ragnar came up to the king’s horse, patting her cheek and checking her bridle. ‘We’ll be fine, my lord,’ he smiled encouragingly. ‘And we’ve got your dreamer. You go and leave us to worry about Andala. Put an end to all talk of rebellion and return home victorious.’

His words stiffened Axl’s spine, and he sat prouder in the saddle, wanting the Andalans to see a king ready to fight for them – one who had sworn to protect them, leaving them in the capable hands of an experienced man like Ragnar Olveggen. ‘Good luck,’ he said. ‘And may Furia watch over you.’

Ragnar nodded, ignoring his doubts, for he wanted the king to leave with confidence. ‘And you, my lord. And you.’

Axl’s attention shifted to his dreamer, who had a firm hold on her grandson’s hand as he hopped about beside her. ‘Keep searching for clues, and let Ragnar know if you find anything. Anything that might help us. He can send men after me.’

‘I will.’

‘And you take care of your grandmother, Linas. She’ll need your help watching the fort.’

Linas became oddly still, the weight of the king’s words like a great stone dropping into his hands. A responsibility. He clasped them together, nodding with an open mouth.

And though there was more to say and endless amounts still to do, Axl lifted an arm in the air, indicating for Rexon to get their columns moving.

To Trelleg.

Where Brekka’s future would be decided.

* * *

After a long breakfast enjoyed in the privacy of their tent, the King and Queen of Iskavall mounted their horses, leading a party of twenty men into a sun-dappled clearing, where a woman waited, flanked by two odd-looking servants in tattered clothes.

Tightening her grip on the reins, Lina trembled, feeling darkness emanating from the woman like smoke. She was attractive and smiling, dressed in a beautiful red cloak, though Lina saw that ominous darkness and she felt afraid.

Oren kept his men back, and after dismounting, he lifted his wife off her horse. Placing a hand on her lower back, he ushered her towards the woman. ‘My wife, Lina,’ he said upon reaching her. ‘And this is Gunnhild, my very good friend.’

Lina hurried to try and shield her thoughts from the woman, who was certainly a dreamer. Her prominent brown eyes, her knowing smile, the little titters she made as she looked her over were all for show.

All for Oren.

But Lina saw at once how dark and dangerous she was.

‘How delightful,’ Gunnhild purred with a coy tilt of her head. ‘Such a charming young woman. My lady,’ she added after a deliberate pause.

‘You have come a long way,’ Oren said. ‘And for that, I am grateful.’ Now he turned, indicating for his men to bring forward the chest of gold he had promised the dreamer.

Gunnhild smiled, eyes gleaming. ‘Though I came to offer you more. Another way I can help, perhaps? It would cost you a chest of silver to match the gold. A bargain, I’d suggest!’

An intrigued Oren lifted his head, looking past the smirking dreamer as she snapped her fingers. And soon, two hulking men emerged from the trees, dragging a man whose shoulder-length grey hair hung over his face. He looked filthy, his fetid odour immediately borne towards him on a warm breeze.

Oren had no idea who he was, though Lina gasped behind him. ‘What?’ he demanded, turning to his wife.

‘Gant Olborn.’

Oren spun back around, now seeing that which was familiar. He had known Gant, who’d been a frequent visitor to Ollsvik over the years.

Gunnhild smiled triumphantly. ‘Oh, yes, Gant Olborn. Married to Gisila Furyck. Her beloved third husband. Quite the prize, wouldn’t you agree?’

Oren did agree, though he held his ground, maintaining a look of disinterest. ‘And you want silver?’ He laughed dismissively. ‘To do what, Gunnhild? You live in the forest with your creatures. What do you need so many coins for?’

Gunnhild’s smile was a mask that revealed nothing to this self-obsessed king, whose insolence made her burn with rage. ‘I am seeking to build a new life,’ she said simply, offering nothing further.

Oren laughed. ‘So no more Raemus then? How surprising!’

Gunnhild pressed her lips so tightly together that they almost turned white. ‘As I have assured you, lord king, I have long since renounced my past for a brighter future. A golden one, in fact.’ And with a flick of her chestnut mane, she ordered her helpers to take Gant back into the trees. ‘Though, as you say, I have quite enough for my own needs, and if you have no use for the man, I can certainly find something for him to do!’

Gunnhild struck Lina as a truly evil creature. She could almost see Edela standing there, urging her to do something. Gant was Edela’s son-in-law; she would care what happened to him.

Beside her, Oren was thoughtful. Having something to hold over the King of Brekka would make things interesting, for Axl Furyck had a reputation as a sentimental boy with a weak grip on the throne. He looked back at his men. ‘I shall consider your offer and send word!’ he called. ‘You will remain nearby?’

Carrying on, Gunnhild smiled. ‘Yes, for a time. We both know I have other matters to attend to.’

‘And Axl Furyck’s dreamer?’ Oren wondered, having thought there would be more to their meeting. ‘What of her?’

Now Gunnhild spun around, brimming with venom. ‘The dreamer is mine,’ she assured him. ‘There is no need to worry about her.’

* * *

Linas and Gully followed a busy Helga around the fort like shadows.

She took little notice of them, determined to oversee everything in the king’s absence. Ragnar Olveggen appeared a sober, alert man, though his thoughts gravitated towards his warriors, their weapons, and the fort’s defensive structures. Helga was on the lookout for other issues – the sort that went unnoticed by men in armour. She was seeking more spies and any sign that the dreamer who’d sought to kill her had further games to play.

‘What about your book?’ Linas said, trotting up to match his grandmother’s relentless pace. ‘Can you make a spell to protect us? All of the fort?’

Helga peered at him. ‘My book? The book is not mine, as you well know. I’m borrowing it until its rightful owner returns.’

‘But where did she go?’ Linas wanted to know, seeing a cat, and sure enough, Gully soon bounded past him, barking joyfully. He jerked his head, ready to follow, though he wanted his answer. His grandmother was a dreamer, and he didn’t want to think that bad things happened to dreamers.

‘She is on a journey. Gone away.’

‘By herself?’

Helga increased her pace, seeking to leave her distraction behind. ‘Your dog has gone. You’d best hurry after him before he eats that cat.’ Though she couldn’t shake him, and Linas carried on beside her, his skinny legs moving quickly to keep pace with his grandmother’s thumping stride.

‘If she’s old, why did she go away by herself?’

‘Perhaps to get some peace from her family?’

Linas smiled toothlessly at that grumpy face he loved so much. ‘I don’t think she would. I think she loves her family. I saw her. I don’t think she wanted to go anywhere.’

Helga stopped as though hitting a wall. Wheeling around, she grabbed Linas’ arm. ‘You saw her? Where? What are you talking about, boy?’

* * *

Gant had listened to the dreamer’s conversation, quickly deducing that she was working to help Oren Storgard. The woman lived in a modest cottage inside a dark and gloomy wood with a pack of mute helpers.

She dressed like a lady and dressed them as beggars.

He guessed they were bound to her in some way, for there was a look in their eyes when they brought him food that was disturbingly familiar.

He’d feared she would bind him, too, though she’d mostly left him alone.

He wasn’t sure what he wanted the new King of Iskavall to do.

Buy him or kill him?

If he was dead, there would be nothing to hold over Axl, though if he was alive, he still had a chance of helping him. He had no knowledge of what had happened since he’d left Rexon behind and headed into Hallow Wood. He didn’t even know if Rexon had made it back to Andala alive.

And if he had?

The men dragging him hadn’t spoken, though responding to their mistress’ wishes, they pulled him back into the trees as though he was a dead animal they planned to carve up.

The dreamer soon followed, walking to where they’d set up camp, with a tent for her and beds of leaves for everyone else. Gant was quickly tied to the tree he’d been secured to earlier, arms uncomfortably stretched behind him, left to sit on a thick root protruding through a carpet of pine needles. He was desperately thirsty and aching with hunger, though he didn’t ask for anything. ‘You made a deal with the weakest king in Osterland,’ he said instead, his voice an old-sounding rasp. ‘A man who what? Has sat on his throne for weeks?’ He tried to laugh but ended up coughing. ‘Axl Furyck can offer you more –’

Gunnhild scoffed loudly, now turning to eye him. ‘Do you think me a fool? A dreamer? No, I made my alliance based on my knowledge of how things will go. Your stepson will not survive, so whatever you think Axl Furyck has to offer will soon be the King of Iskavall’s. The King of Iskavall and Brekka. And what does that make him, I wonder?’ Touching a finger to her chin, she feigned bemusement. ‘Ahhh, yes, the King of the North. And then?’ Now laughing, she swept her red cloak around, aiming for her tent.

Gant watched her go, only realising after she’d disappeared that he was holding his breath. And with a loud sigh, he sank back against the rough bark of the tree, dropping his head.

* * *

Oren rode back to his camp, ignoring his wife, lost in his thoughts. He was a shrewd man, not given to recklessness. He had plotted Raymon Vandaal’s downfall with precision, not revealing his hand too early as many had, failing with a lack of foresight.

No, he had waited patiently.

His uncle had left him a vast fortune, and he sought to use it prudently, seeing the fulfillment of his ambitions as a long journey rather than a short trip. He had already paid the dreamer a vast sum to help him claim Brekka’s throne, though did he need Gant Olborn?

Turning to his wife, he narrowed his eyes. ‘And you? What did you think of Gunnhild’s offer? You remember the man, I expect, so what is your opinion?’

Lina hadn’t prepared an answer. Her hands tightened around the reins, watching her horse toss her white mane. ‘Opinion?’

Oren was too thoughtful to be cross at her dazed timidity. ‘I need you to see,’ he murmured instead. ‘Do I really need the man?’

Lina’s eyes became blurry.

She feared tears were coming and she wanted to pinch herself, but the trees before her faded, and she saw Gant talking to Edela. He kissed her head and she chuckled, smiling up at him.

‘Soon you’ll have to carry me up my path,’ Edela said.

‘Perhaps we attach a rope to the door?’ Gant grinned. ‘You could pull yourself up?’

‘Well, it would give me stronger arms,’ Edela laughed. ‘All the better to stir my cauldron!’

And then she was gone, and Gant sat by a dark-haired Axl Furyck. ‘Your father made you his heir, Axl. I had thought you weren’t ready, but I was wrong. You will make a good king.’

‘And what would Furia think?’ Axl wondered with a deepening frown. ‘Of me?’

Gant smiled. ‘She would think you’re her blood, and she would trust you to watch over her people. As do I.’

Oren snarled impatiently, taking a hand off the reins to grab Lina’s arm, and the visions retreated.

‘Answer me, woman!’ her husband snapped. ‘I have asked you a question, and I demand a prompt answer! Do I need Gant Olborn? What do you see?’

‘You should give her the silver!’ a terrified Lina blurted out. ‘He is... b-b-beloved by his family. Axl Furyck will not want anything to happen to him. You... you can use him.’

‘And yet I have an army of men at my command.’

‘When you are the King of Osterland, you will have more treasure than you can imagine,’ Lina reminded him quietly, and seeing a gleam in Oren’s strange green eyes, she saw that she had pleased him.

‘Mmmm.’ Sitting forward, he soon became lost in his thoughts, no longer seeing his wife. ‘Mmmm.’

* * *

Helga grabbed Linas, wanting to know what he was talking about.

That he had seen Edela Saeveld?

And where?

‘Outside her cottage,’ Linas said. ‘She was digging.’

Helga tried to understand what that meant. ‘Did you dream this?’

Linas shook his head.

‘And the woman... did she have white hair?’

Linas stared at his grandmother, mouth open, hearing Gully barking in the distance and some boys calling out. He thought he recognised the voices of the boys who liked to tease the dog by offering him stones to eat, and he wanted to go.

Helga tugged his arm. ‘You will answer me.’

Linas shook his head. ‘She looked old, like a grandmother. Like you!’

‘You are sure she didn’t have white hair?’

‘She didn’t! She didn’t!’ And now Linas wriggled out of her grip, though sensing his grandmother was troubled, he didn’t run away.

‘And you truly saw a woman digging in the garden?’

Linas nodded. ‘She planted something. I saw her plant something in the garden!’ Now he couldn’t contain his urgency any longer, and spinning away, he ran after the dog. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that his grandmother wasn’t even looking his way.

In fact, she had turned around and was walking in the opposite direction, aiming for the hall.

* * *

Edela made her way to Korri, stumbling down onto a chest opposite him.

The morning sky was clear, though she felt cold, shivering as she resettled her cloak.

He looked up at her with a smile, pulling on a sock. ‘Are you well, Edela?’

‘Quite,’ she said. ‘Circumstances as they are.’

‘Well, it’s an adventure like no other!’ Korri laughed. ‘Though I’m not opposed to it. To travel this far from Alekka?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll have some tales to tell when I return home, that’s for sure.’

‘And you think you will? Go back to Alekka?’

Korri honestly didn’t know, for he often thought of Anna, the curly-haired shoemaker from Bakkar. He shrugged.

‘Well, whatever the case, I wanted you to have this,’ Edela said. And reaching into her purse, she pulled out a polished sapphire.

Korri blinked at the glowing blue stone before lifting his eyes to the dreamer. ‘But... how did you get it? And where?’

Edela winked at him. ‘Oh, the scribe gave it to me. It’s worth a small fortune, apparently. The local ruler gave it to him as a payment. A way to buy his loyalty. Though the scribe wanted it gone from his possession, not wishing to be beholden to the man. I thought it the least I could do.’ She chuckled now. ‘He said it would sell for a few chests of silver. Perhaps even gold?’

‘And you want me to have it?’ Korri shook his head in amazement, hesitant to take the stone Edela handed him.

‘There is no one I want to have it more, Korri Torluffson. You have been a true friend, and I wish to repay your kindness. Without you, none of us would be here with a chance to –’ She cut herself off, feeling little confidence in anything she was doing, just spurred on by a need to keep going.

Though Korri barely noticed, attempting to push the gleaming gem back to the dreamer.

She pushed it straight back. ‘If you sell it, you can pay your men. Perhaps tempt more to join you? Though it’s entirely up to you.’ And now she sat back, slipping her hands under her legs so that Korri had no choice but to hold the stone himself.

‘It’s very generous of you, Edela. Too generous.’

‘Hardly!’ she laughed. ‘I’ve almost gotten you killed, and your luck certainly hasn’t been enhanced by my company. Besides, it guarantees me a loyal friend with a number of happy men ready to come to my rescue again. Perhaps?’

Korri nodded. ‘More than perhaps, though that was guaranteed already. I didn’t need this to want to help you.’ And finally, he slid the stone into his pouch. ‘Though I will certainly take it with thanks, for we are underpowered. Two ships and barely a crew between them? We need men quickly.’

‘Or perhaps you sell the other ship?’ Edela suggested. ‘If it’s too cumbersome? Put all your energy back into Sea Queen.’

Korri had been thinking as much, for merely having more didn’t guarantee a better life. In fact, having the two ships had brought him more worries.

‘Well, I shall leave you to think on that while I try and rally my companions.’

Korri stood to help her up. ‘Do they need rallying?’

‘Oh, yes. Bertel is fretting, Siggy is fussing, and Raymon appears ready to jump overboard and swim away. I think if his shoulder was better, he would!’

Sea Queen was struck by a wave that had them stumbling sideways, though Korri had a firm grip on Edela and steadied them both. ‘Stay strong,’ he told her, guiding her back down the deck to where a frowning Bertel had seized the shield rack. ‘And believe in your path. It’s taken you this far, so you can’t give up now.’

25

When she’d left Tuura for the final time, Gunnhild had stolen two sacred bowls from the old temple. They were said to have been forged by Aros, God of Fire, and feeling their power humming beneath her fingers, she believed that was certainly true.

The bowls were cast in bronze, engraved with images of Thrula, Aros’ most famous dragon. But though they were ancient, powerful vessels, they were only ever the foundation for her magic.

Gunnhild’s servants had secured the tent flap, tying it closed and leaving her in peace. They had organised her herbs, lit a fire in the brazier, unpacking her vellum, ink, quills and a selection of knives.

And now she was ready to get to work.

She had a task to complete for Oren Storgard, but first, she needed to ensure that Helga wouldn’t get in her way. Gunnhild had trapped the old witch and bound her in that trance she had foolishly thought to enter, though she lacked confidence that such a binding would hold. At times, Helga still appeared curious, and that concerned her.

Adding a few lumps of resin to one of the bowls, she took a taper of vellum and lit it in the brazier before dropping it into the bowl. It sparked immediately, a bright explosion of blue and gold. Inhaling a sweet, woody scent, she was at once in Andala, where Helga stomped around like a troll, that familiar frown carved into her face.

Gunnhild hadn’t thought it possible for her to grow any uglier, but the old hag had proven her wrong.

Reaching for her knife, she held it in the flames before cutting across her index finger. Marking a symbol on the bottom of her second bowl, she listened as the babbling boy told his grandmother everything he had seen.

* * *

Upon reaching the hall, Helga had headed to her private chamber, disturbed by her conversation with Linas.

She was certain he couldn’t have seen Edela Saeveld – the old dreamer had left long before they’d arrived – so who had it been? The woman who’d tried to kill her?

Despite what she’d told Linas, she feared her grandson had inherited her gifts. And though she didn’t want that life for him, she could hardly deny that he’d seen things in the past. Scratching her chin, she pulled Edela’s book onto the table, seeking a way to draw out her enemy.

And finding a spell she thought might work, she began the process of collecting the ingredients required, darting in and out of the chamber, making a few trips to the kitchen garden and Edela’s garden too. Eventually, she stood, panting over the table, where everything she needed was arranged before her.

Glancing over her shoulder, making sure the door was bolted, she thought briefly of Linas, wishing she’d brought him inside the hall. Helvor and her helpers doted on the boy, who remained impossibly thin despite their best efforts to fatten him up. And becoming distracted now, Helga drew her attention towards her knife, which she picked up, carefully nicking the top of both index fingers.

And with one more look at Edela’s book, she started painting symbols on the table.

Feeling an odd heat that had nothing to do with the fire behind her, Helga looked up, seeing what appeared to be a dark cloud rising from the floorboards. She inhaled a pungent smell that quickly caught in the back of her throat, making her cough.

And then a woman, standing before her.

An elegant woman in a red cloak with glistening chestnut hair.

‘Helga!’ Gunnhild smiled. ‘You called?’

* * *

Edela joined Raymon, who leaned over Sea Queen’s stern with a thoughtful frown. ‘I was just telling Korri you would jump overboard if your shoulder was healed, though I’m not sure it is. Not yet.’

A surprised Raymon flinched, not having heard her coming. He looked from the dreamer to the water churning in the ship’s wake. ‘I’m not sure I’d jump. Why would I?’

Edela patted his arm. ‘You’re afraid I will try to take you back to Osterland with me. Back to Getta. To your brother and sister.’

Raymon thought about denying it, though she was right. ‘You don’t have the power to,’ he said instead. ‘Well, perhaps you have the power to put a spell on me, to make me do what you want, but I don’t think you would, Edela. You’re not that sort of dreamer.’

‘Are you so sure?’ she laughed. ‘According to Siggy, I rose above that ship like a dark witch, turning the sky black. Perhaps I am entirely that sort of dreamer now?’ Her smile vanished, and she feared the truth of who she had become.

Or what.

Hearing the concern in her voice, Raymon turned to her. ‘You’re on a path you believe will help people. Isn’t that right?’

‘I do want to help, any way I can. I hope you believe that, Raymon.’

A shout went up and the helmsman soon barked at everyone to stop moving as he made a sharp turn, aiming for a narrow opening newly revealed between two great cliffs.

Raymon turned towards the bow, eyes widening in surprise.

‘To Harsoo,’ Edela breathed, becoming oddly nervous.

Raymon was quiet beside her, taking in the enormity of the sight. It was as though the cliffs had parted, allowing them to enter a secret lair.

He felt uneasy.

And turning around, he feared he was going in the wrong direction.

Not away from the trouble that had shadowed him but towards it.

* * *

A confused Helga, having no memory of their previous meeting, didn’t understand what she was seeing. ‘Gunnhild?’

‘Yes. You came looking for me, and here I am!’

Helga’s bloody fingers tingled, resting on the symbols she had painted on the table, ready to wipe them away. ‘But I thought you were dead. You and your Followers.’

Gunnhild laughed. ‘Me? No, I had the great fortune to miss the debacle at the Vale. Would you believe I was too ill to attend? I was on my deathbed ironically, yet I lived while they died. How tragically sad!’

Though she looked delighted, Helga thought, feeling stranger by the moment.

A sudden pain had developed between her eyes, spreading across her forehead. She took a hand off the table, touching her temple.

‘Dearest, are you unwell?’ Gunnhild wondered cheerfully. ‘You do not look well. I think you need to sleep. It’s always the answer in cases such as these. We can’t have you becoming confused, can we? Not when there’s so much to do.’ Gunnhild stared at the dreamer, narrowing her eyes until Helga stood and mutely headed towards the bed, blood now dripping from her fingers, smeared on her head.

She walked as though her body was not her own, as though her limbs were making their own decisions.

Hearing the boy coming, Gunnhild glanced at the door.

The handle turned, but the door didn’t open.

‘Grandmother? It’s me! Linas! Are you there? I thought something was wrong, so I came. Are you in there?’

‘You are so tired, Helga,’ Gunnhild whispered into the dreamer’s ear, stroking her hair as she lay down. ‘So very tired. You must rest now, so send the boy to play.’

Helga felt the hand, hearing that soothing voice. ‘Sleeping!’ she groggily called out. ‘Must sleep!’

Outside the door there was only silence, and then footsteps trotting away.

Gunnhild dropped her shoulders, taking a breath, and now she turned to the old dreamer, blowing cool air onto her face. ‘No more thoughts of me, Helga. No more thoughts of how to protect the fort or your king either. There’s no need for you to worry at all.’ And waiting until Helga closed her beady little eyes, Gunnhild scanned the chamber, seeing the book on the table. She strode towards it, holding up a hand, immediately feeling its dark power. And bending down, she sought to turn the page.

Though it wouldn’t budge.

She felt an odd tension in the book – nothing she could control. It was an unfamiliar feeling, though she had little time to indulge it, so with one final look at a silent and sleeping Helga, she closed her eyes and vanished from the chamber.

* * *

Siggy’s eyes were full moons as she took in the incredible sights Western Kadak had to offer.

The sun was setting, and the light bathing Sea Queen was infused with a gentle golden glow. It filled her with a sense of peace for the first time in days. They were sailing towards Harsoo, where more danger likely waited, though here, easing down the narrow river, penned in by neck-breaking cliffs, Siggy was in a happy mood.

The cliffs were dotted with tiny houses, narrow roads were carved into the stone, and she saw people pulling donkeys and carts, some carrying children on their shoulders.

Ships streamed ahead of them in a row, like ducklings after their mother, all sailing in the same direction. The water was calm, they were going impossibly slowly, though nobody seemed to mind.

Beside her, Zen was open-mouthed. ‘How do they live up there?’ he wondered, craning his neck. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘They have to live somewhere,’ Siggy supposed. ‘Maybe this is all they know?’

‘I wouldn’t want to,’ Zen decided, shaking his head.

Siggy turned to see Edela and Bertel nearby, pointing at a magnificent statue that reminded her of Sibella, Goddess of Wisdom, though this woman carried a torch and had a smile on her face as though lighting their way. ‘But aren’t the Tudashi mountain people?’

‘Mountains are one thing, but those are...’ Zen shook his head. ‘How do you climb up there?’

Alongside him, Bertel was just as confused. ‘How do they not fall down?’ he muttered, longing for the flat fields of Tuura. ‘Some drunken cobbler wandering home from market? How does he not fall off that cliff?’

Edela chuckled. ‘I expect they’ve learned how to adapt. And perhaps they don’t imbibe?’

‘Well, it would make sense!’ Despite his uncertainty about what lay ahead, Bertel felt encouraged. Pechik had been a foggy, soggy mountain, but seeing the sun had raised his spirits, its inviting glow ushering hope into his mind.

Hope that finally something would go their way.

* * *

Gant had taken one wrong turn after another in his attempt to get back to Andala, and now he sensed he stood at a crossroads.

He thought of Gisila, who would be beside herself with worry. And Axl? With those fools Hal and Erling as his advisors? They were only out for themselves, seeking to secure greater pieces of Brekka’s pie, and Axl had always been far too tolerant of their greedy ambitions.

Thoughts wandering, feeling the ache in his arms, desperately trying to relieve a spasm in his right foot, Gant hadn’t heard the horses arriving, but looking around, he soon saw that the dreamer had emerged from her tent, smoothing down her lustrous hair and eyeing him with a victorious glance.

His hands were soon untied, and he was helped up by his minders – two men, just as mute as the dreamer’s female servants but bulkier and more threatening. His ankles remained tied together, so he could only shuffle slowly as they dragged him through the trees and out into the clearing, where the flame-haired King of Iskavall stood waiting with a chest of silver.

* * *

In the moonlight, Jael saw that they were sailing past Gods’ Point.

She thought of Aleksander.

Then Eadmund was beside her, and she was turning to him with a smile. The feeling of seeing him continued to surprise her. Despite all the danger and uncertainty, it made her happy to see his face.

‘Are you sure about this? We could all go back to Oss. There’s no need for you to stay here,’ her husband frowned.

‘But Axl’s in danger. The kingdom is. I need to do everything I can to find out what we’re facing. Not just to help Axl but to keep our men safe. I’m asking them to come and save Brekka. That’s nothing to take lightly.’

‘No,’ Eadmund supposed, moving closer until his arm rested against hers. ‘Are you cold?’

‘Surprisingly, I am,’ she grinned. ‘Though don’t you dare put your arm around me.’

‘So you think your back gives you an excuse now? Another reason to avoid me?’

Jael shrugged. ‘It’s a rather painful excuse, likely not worth the trouble.’

‘Though you made that bastard pay.’

Jael leaned against him. ‘I want you.’ She lifted her face, seeing moonlight on his. ‘I want you, Eadmund. Now and always, I do.’

Eadmund’s smile made his eyes sparkle. ‘Well, that’s convenient, for you have captured my heart, Jael Furyck.’

‘So much so,’ she went on, ignoring him. ‘That I am considering... only considering, slightly considering... having another child.’

Eadmund’s smile vanished, his face lengthening in shock. Grabbing her arms, he pulled her closer. ‘Another child?’ he breathed. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, being pregnant is...’ Jael poked out her tongue, making him laugh. ‘I don’t want to do it, but we should have more Skallesons. What happened to Amma made me realise that we should. I don’t want your father’s line dying out after all he went through. It’s important. I promised him. He trusted me.’

Eadmund kissed her. ‘He did and he was right to, but we have two children. It’s maybe enough? Unless you’ve seen something?’

Jael shook her head, remembering her dream of Oss. And suddenly feeling strange, she stepped back.

Eadmund wasn’t convinced. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, if you don’t want to then we can –’

‘No, no, I want to,’ he grinned, his smile returning in force. ‘Thorgils will soon leave us behind. Apparently, Isaura wants ten.’

Jael wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. ‘Ten? Children? How is that something anyone would want? Now ten dogs I’d understand, ten horses, but children?’ A bemused Jael kissed her husband, ignoring, for just a moment, her tormenting dreams. ‘You can put your arms around me,’ she decided. ‘Just not like Thorgils would.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘Like Thorgils? Ha! I think he’s learned his lesson now. Likely you’re free from his hugs for a while, so you’ll have to make do with mine.’ And reaching around her lower back, watching her face, he held her gently, feeling the blissful relief of having his wife in his arms again.

* * *

A newly purchased Gant was roughly bundled into a cart and taken to Oren Storgard’s extensive camp, where everything became horrifyingly clear. For it appeared as though the entire Kingdom of Iskavall had moved into the forest.

He saw siege towers, catapults, wagons packed with weapons and supplies.

And his heart sank, fearing what it meant for Brekka and Axl.

He recognised a few faces, most quickly turning from him, either in embarrassment or disgust – he couldn’t tell.

Though one didn’t, and as he was pulled along, the man approached, holding out a hand. ‘My lord,’ he said, acknowledging Oren. ‘You’ve caught an interesting fish there. The King of Brekka’s right-hand man.’

Oren looked from Mutt Storman to Gant. ‘Once, perhaps, though never again. We shall soon see what the king really thinks about him.’

‘Though I imagine that’s not the king you had in mind, was it, Mutt?’ Gant snarled. ‘Likely you’re thinking of Ranuf, who tossed you out like the lump of shit you always were.’

Mutt lunged at him, quickly pushed back by Oren, who had no time for petty squabbles. ‘We have work to do. You have work to do!’ he reminded his surly ally. ‘And Gant is mine. Not to be touched or even spoken to by you.’ Though seeing that Mutt had maintained the posture of a wolf preparing to strike, he growled. ‘Understood?’

Mutt didn’t blink, though he took one step back, still eyeing Gant, allowing the king to carry on.

Tugged away, Gant had little choice in the matter, though he twisted his head over his shoulder to see Mutt Storman glowering after him. Turning back, he watched an over-dressed, middle-aged woman totter out of a tent. He pulled up in surprise before the two guards yanked him forward.

Oren nodded at the woman. ‘Aunt! I have a special task for you.’

Recognising Gant, Thora Storgard staggered in surprise. Though recovering quickly, she smiled at the king with an agreeable bob of her head. ‘Of course, my lord.’ Her tiny eyes darted to Gant, where they lingered for a moment, brow furrowing. He had been a frequent visitor to Ollsvik over the years, especially when Ranuf Furyck was king, so to see him like this? She didn’t understand what was going on.

‘Our old friend Gant has stumbled upon hard times, captured by a dreamer who sought to dispose of him, though I’ve offered him a reprieve. A chance to redeem himself,’ Oren grinned. ‘So I want you to ensure he is fed and watered. He shall be kept in a tent, out of everyone’s way, and only you shall tend to him.’

‘Me?’ a horrified Thora gasped, still wondering why she had been brought all the way from Ollsvik like a servant. She had never been one of those wives who’d desired to go to war with their husbands. No, she had been content to remain at home with her comforts and her servants, enjoying the peace and order.

Though her new son-in-law had been insistent, and even Lina had appeared eager for her company.

But this? To be treated as a jailer?

Though wilting under the insistent glare of the king, she nodded with an explosive shiver, which shook her perfectly curled ringlets like leaves on a tree.

‘Good!’ Oren turned in a circle, and finding one of his stewards hovering in anticipation, he ordered the man to prepare a tent for his prisoner.

‘You wasted your silver!’ Gant promised. ‘No Furyck will sacrifice Brekka. Not for love, not for their own happiness. There is no one you could offer up as a sacrifice. No one!’ he spat, furious with the mess he’d made of things, not wanting Axl put in the position of having to choose. And Gisila?

Oren eyed him sharply. ‘You’d better hope you’re wrong, or I may as well take my knife to you now.’ And peeling back red lips, he hissed before laughing and walking away.

26

Helga woke with a gasp, surprised by the darkness.

She didn’t know where she was or when it was, but she was lying on top of the bed in her private chamber, fully dressed. Dragging herself into a sitting position, feeling a pain in her jaw and a thundering ache between her eyes, she swayed, trying to gather her thoughts.

It was cold and she shivered, looking around for Linas – not smelling him or his dog.

She glanced at the door as though hearing a knock.

An echo of a memory.

Something stirred like a shadow, though as she tried to grasp hold of it and draw it closer, it evaporated. Gone.

Rubbing her nose on the back of a cold hand and feeling a strange heaviness in her body, she rose, staggering to the door. She grabbed the handle, though it wouldn’t turn.

She saw that the door was bolted, and further confused, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing Edela’s book open on the table.

Fingers fumbling, Helga unlocked the door, heading down the silent corridor to the chamber she shared with Linas, and there she found the boy sound asleep in the bed, Gully’s tail thumping the mattress beside him.

Linas woke up immediately, peering at her with half an open eye. ‘Grandmother!’ And now he sat up as though he’d never been asleep. ‘Are you better?’

She shook her head. ‘Better?’

‘You said you were sleeping, but you didn’t wake up. And it was supper, and me and Gully were hungry, but Helvor looked after us. She fed us some soup, and then she put us to bed. She said you would come when you were finished.’ Leaning forward, Linas slipped his hands around his grandmother’s waist, squeezing her. ‘So are you finished now?’

Helga didn’t answer.

She stared as if at nothing, unsure of what had happened.

* * *

It had started raining as soon as Korri and his men had decided to hunker down for the night on the ships.

Edela laughed as Bertel tried to prop up the sealskin roof that kept falling down, splashing him with rain. ‘Why don’t you just hide under your fur like me? You’d waste less time!’

‘It looked a drier place when we arrived,’ Bertel sighed. And taking her advice, he flopped down beside the dreamer, lifting his fur over his head. ‘Though we don’t appear to have much luck wherever we go. I don’t want to stay on the ship, Edela. We need a real roof!’

The rain was louder than Bertel’s complaints, which Edela was grateful for, and she closed her eyes.

‘Though will anywhere be safe?’ he continued. ‘This woman will be watching us, won’t she? Seeing us coming like hungry fish towards bait.’ Wiping the rain from his eyes, he glanced at Edela, frowning. ‘And how will we stay safe?’

Edela wriggled around, trying to get comfortable, and finally lying on her side, she yawned. ‘Well, if you stop talking to me, Bertel Knutson, I shall attempt to have a dream and figure that out.’

Bertel didn’t utter another word, leaving Edela in silence, the rain thudding against the roof like a drum, like a heartbeat, taking her into a deep, deep sleep.

* * *

Tied to a tent pole, arms burning, Gant was weak, exhausted, yet no sleep would come.

He’d spent hours trying to loosen his bonds and failing miserably. He needed to escape, though there was nothing in the tent – just damp grass, the pole, and him.

After his capture in Hallow Wood and the miserable death of his men, he’d assumed that the dreamer had some terrible end in mind for him, but he’d never imagined this.

He wished he had a piece of vellum and a quill, overwhelmed with a desperate need to tell Gisila how deeply he loved her; how his every waking thought was of her, and his last moments – they would be all about her too.

He closed his eyes, seeing her holding out a hand.

Then blinking and wide awake, he cursed himself for giving up, for entertaining even one defeated thought. Oren Storgard and Mutt Storman had united, and that would only mean terror and death for the people of Brekka and for those he loved.

He had to do something.

He had to escape.

And realising it, Gant pushed himself onto his knees and started working the rope again.

* * *

Edela stood in a burning building, seared by crackling flames.

They blew around like a storm of fire, and she threw up a hand to shield her face.

People were screaming in the distance as beams collapsed and walls crumbled.

Edela felt the urgency to leave herself, though she knew it was only a dream.

A dream she wanted to stay in, for there were answers here. Of that, she was certain.

Looking around, she saw that she was in a palace. Above her, the high ceiling appeared to be trembling, dust falling like snow. The floor was covered in colourful mosaic tiles, and around her, she caught flashes of gold and crystal sparking in firelight.

Servants attempted to rescue precious possessions, while others insisted they abandon their efforts and hurry.

‘The ships are leaving!’

‘We must go! Now!’

Their terror was palpable, and she heard a crash as someone dropped a vase, scattering coins over the tiles.

The coins rolled across the floor towards Edela, some spinning, one catching the light. Bending down, she scooped it up, turning it over. She saw the profile of a man on one side, and around his portrait she could make out a word: FURYCK.

* * *

It took a while for Helga to settle Linas down, and eventually, desperate for some peace, she allowed Gully to stay in the bed beside him.

‘Did something bad happen?’ Linas whispered, lying on his side, hand tucked under his cheek. ‘Were you having a bad dream?’

Helga lay on her aching back, staring at the ceiling. ‘Bad dream?’ She frowned. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Because you didn’t come. You didn’t come for me.’

Hearing fear in his voice, Helga turned to the boy. ‘It takes a lot of work to dream. You might think it’s sleeping, but it’s not that. It’s walking around and digging around and searching for answers. And sometimes, I need more sleep. That’s all. I’m old.’ Helga was making up stories for herself as much as for Linas, for she had no idea what she’d been doing. Edela Saeveld’s book had been open, so perhaps she’d read something that had put her into another trance?

Perhaps she had done something to herself?

‘What about the men?’ Linas whispered.

‘Men?’

‘The ones who tried to steal the sea-fire. What if there are more?’

‘I see no more,’ Helga grumbled. ‘I’d say if I did.’

‘Maybe I’ll see some? I saw those men!’

‘No, you didn’t. You’re not a dreamer. You’re a boy with a big imagination. You hear things, you imagine things... that’s all.’ Linas became silent beside her, though she could hear his thoughts like a pack of horses running through a forest. ‘If you’re going to keep talking, you may as well lie on the floor, for I won’t have any dreams with you nattering beside me. And how can I keep us safe then?’

‘But, but –’

Helga sat up, ready to hoist him out of bed.

‘I’ll be quiet!’ Linas promised, rolling over and hugging his knees to his chest. He smiled at Gully, who licked his face.

Helga stared at the back of his head with a worried frown before closing her eyes, desperate to understand what had happened.

For surely something had...

* * *

Morning crept across the sky like golden whispers, and Jael woke up, doubting everything she’d planned. She gripped the gunwale with force, as though climbing that wave again, her knuckles turning white. Seeing Pye approach with a yawn, she turned to him. ‘Have you decided to tell me everything?’

He peered at her in confusion. ‘No.’

‘Well, perhaps I’ll send you to Oss after all. We have two expert torturers there. A man named Uli and his son. They can tie you up in their barn and bleed you like a pig. Might be the only way.’

A horrified Pye became tongue-tied. ‘I... you... no, I...’

Jael smiled. ‘Yet with me... you would be well cared for by me.’

‘Well cared for? What? Put to work as your servant?’

‘Is that what you want? To be a servant? Servant to a queen?’

Pye looked away, feeling nauseous.

‘I can protect you from Dessalene,’ Jael promised, seeing Eadmund trying to nudge Thorgils awake in the distance. ‘I defeated her in S’ala Nis. You’re here, with us, on the winning side. That’s surely something to consider?’

And with a frown, Pye did consider it, though he soon shook his head. ‘You don’t know her. She has a...’ He dropped his head, whispering the rest.

Jael squatted down, taking his hand. And pulling him close, she asked him to repeat himself.

‘Mistress,’ Pye breathed. ‘She has a mistress.’

* * *

As they readied to leave Sea Queen that morning, Bertel was fussing with his swordbelt, having lost so much weight that he needed to punch another hole in it.

Gulping down a mouthful of ale, Korri came to a stop beside him. ‘I’m going to look for someone to buy the sapphire,’ he told him, running his eyes over the harbour. ‘And the other ship. I thought about finding more men, even buying a third ship, but it isn’t what I want. I don’t see myself as a merchant in a gold-trimmed cloak. I still want to know everyone’s name. I want to think we can all sit around a fire together. I don’t want to be a leader of strangers.’

‘Well, you must have had a good sleep,’ Bertel chuckled. ‘You’ve woken up with a clear mind.’

Korri laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘I’m not sure about that, but it feels like the right thing to do.’

Bertel thought so too. Having the two ships had become a burden, and after their losses in Castala, the crew had become stretched. ‘Well, that will keep you busy, and as for us?’ he mused, eyes drifting to Edela, who stood by herself, looking lost. ‘I expect we’ll find our way around. See what information we can pick up.’

‘I wish you luck. Here’s hoping you find what you’re looking for.’ And aiming at the helmsman, Korri was on his way.

‘Yes, here’s hoping,’ Bertel muttered, watching as Edela lifted her eyes, holding his gaze.

* * *

Axl was only half-listening to Rexon, for he had slept badly, his stomach waking him throughout the night. He guessed it was the mutton stew he’d eaten for supper and decided to forgo breakfast. He felt so tired that his mind skittered like a newborn foal, from worrying about Andala, to fearing an ambush, to regretting that he didn’t have a food taster, for what if someone had poisoned him?

He cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Though perhaps he had?

Sighing, he couldn’t remember, seeking to focus again as Rexon reviewed their plans.

They stood in a tent, sides rolled up, rain drumming on the roof. Their camp amongst the trees was sheltered, though the steady sound of the rain was a reminder that they were in for a soggy ride.

‘Once we reach Vallsborg, we’ll send men to Tenby. Arvid’s already taken his men to shore up Harstad, which will give us our own wall of defense. I wish Mutt Storman luck trying to expose our flanks,’ Rexon said, leaning over the map he’d stretched across a table, weighed down by rocks.

‘What about Rissna?’ Axl wondered. ‘There’s always been a lot of Iskavallans there. What if Oren Storgard hears that we’ve left Andala and gets his own ideas?’

Standing beside him, chewing a flatbread, Erling frowned. ‘According to Hal, the border settlements are in good order.’

That was true, though Axl remained riddled with doubts.

‘We can only trust what we’ve heard and what our spies and Hal have seen,’ Rexon carried on. ‘They say Iskavall is not our problem. If we waste time fearing it is, we’ll fail to focus on what’s staring us in the face, and when we reach Trelleg, it will be Mutt Storman and your disgruntled lords.’

The thought infuriated Axl, focusing him now. He stroked his beard. ‘It makes sense. The only trouble I see is if that dreamer is helping our enemies. They’ll see us coming then.’

‘Well, you don’t need a dreamer for that,’ Erling suggested with a grin, and finishing off the flatbread, he reached for his ale. ‘Surely the man will have scouts out, same as us. They had spies in the fort, so who knows how many more have been coming and going.’

It wasn’t a comforting thought to end on, though there was little doubt it was true. Mutt Storman would be expecting them one way or another, so they had to get to Trelleg as quickly as possible.

* * *

In Oren Storgard’s camp, they were making plans for war.

Gant could hear that as Thora sat before him with a squeamish look on her pale, freckled face, spooning thick porridge into his mouth. ‘Is there milk or water?’ he spluttered, having only just managed to gulp down a hard lump. ‘It’s a little... hard to eat.’

Thora’s eyes flickered with irritation, not used to being treated like a servant – not by the king and certainly not by this man. Still, looking down, she could see that things would go faster if she added a little milk. So, without a word, she left the tent, soon returning with a cup. Pouring milk into the bowl, she stirred for a time, trying to break up the lumps, with limited success, for the porridge was now stone cold.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ Gant said, trying to befriend the woman. He’d spoken many times to both her and her husband in Ollsvik, and he hoped to remind her of their acquaintance, certain that his path to escaping led through Thora Storgard. ‘And I’m sorry for this,’ he added, inclining his head towards the bowl. ‘It’s not what I would ask you to do.’

Thora started, ringlets trembling. She was a nervous woman, and sitting alone in the tent with this smelly, filthy prisoner made her desperately uncomfortable.

‘I was sorry to hear about Stein,’ Gant added. ‘That was a surprise. A man as formidable as him? I have good memories of my time in Ollsvik. Of our many conversations.’

Thora eyed him warily though she heard no insult in his words. ‘He was a good husband,’ she said, thin lips quivering. ‘A fine man and a respected lord, though he was ready for his end. He would not fight it.’

‘And is this what he wished? For his nephew to be king?’ Gant wondered between mouthfuls, grateful for the milk, though it didn’t make the porridge any more palatable.

Thora lifted her head. ‘Of course! What choice was there? To be ruled by a Furyck?’

Gant chuckled. ‘Raymon? But he was a Furyck in name only. He was a Vandaal, born and raised in Iskavall. You know that, Thora.’

Hearing her name spoken so casually, Thora was once again reminded that she had known this man well. She couldn’t understand what Oren intended to do with him and why. ‘Though blood cannot be denied. It can’t. No matter what you say now, that boy was plotting with his brother. We all knew that!’ Looking down, she scooped up the last of the porridge, desperate to be on her way.

Though Gant sat back, not wanting her to leave. ‘Oren may be the king now,’ he murmured, ‘but if he attacks Axl, he will fail. Likely die. And what will that mean for your family? You don’t think the Holsunds and Rosviks will sit back and bide their time, do you? You know Ollsvik as I know Ollsvik, and we both know that you and your daughter will be tossed out like yesterday’s scraps once Oren is defeated.’

Now Thora stood, pink-cheeked and bubbling with annoyance. ‘Which will be no concern of yours, for you will be long dead!’ And turning around, black dress swishing, she aimed for the tent flap.

‘Wait! Thora!’ Gant hissed. ‘Please. You can help me.’

She jerked her head around as though he had slapped her. ‘Help a Brekkan?’ And now she smiled, revealing tiny little teeth. ‘But haven’t you heard? Soon, there will be no Brekka, only Iskavall. Only the North. Though that won’t trouble you, for you and your family will all be gone!’ And with a tremulous titter, she swept out of the tent, leaving a horrified Gant staring after her.

27

Siggy kept staring at Raymon Vandaal as they walked, almost tripping over a dead cat. And then, noticing the poor animal, she felt sad. Turning around, she scooped it up, placing it off the road, wishing there was time to bury it somewhere.

Edela smiled at the girl, holding out a hand. ‘You need to stay focused,’ she said.

‘Focused?’ Siggy once again sought out Raymon, who walked ahead of them with Zen. Looking back at Edela, she saw a twinkle in the dreamer’s eyes. The sky was heavy with clouds, though they still appeared bright and full of amusement.

‘On what might be waiting ahead. And behind. We both need to see, don’t we? And now that you’ve discovered your confidence, we have twice the vision.’

Siggy wrinkled her freckled nose. ‘I don’t know if I have any confidence, Edela. Though I will try!’ And with that, she bounded away, soon pushing between Raymon and Zen.

Edela laughed. ‘I fear I have no chance of claiming her attention now.’

A puzzled Bertel turned to her. ‘Why do you say that?’ And seeing Edela inclining her head to the trio ahead of them, he shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t think so. She’s a girl. She just likes the company.’

Edela peered at him. ‘She’s a young woman, or haven’t you noticed?’

‘Me? I’m too busy looking for who’s coming to kill us next!’

Seeing a cart clattering towards them, Edela moved to the right, clasping Bertel’s arm. ‘Looks like a square ahead,’ she said, disappointed to feel the first drops of rain, and looking up at the low-lying clouds, she felt sure it wouldn’t be the last. ‘Kadak must be a very fertile place!’

Bertel was about to answer when someone rushed him from the right, shoving him towards Edela, who fell onto the road. And tumbling onto her, Bertel’s attention went to the dreamer first and only then back to the man, who had bent down and cut his pouch from his belt before turning and running away.

Seeing what was happening, Raymon flung out a leg, tripping the scampering thief as Zen and Siggy ran back to help his victims.

Raymon drew his sword, swinging it down to pin the man to the road. Though looking closer, he saw a boy with sharp cheekbones and terrified eyes. ‘Get up!’ he growled angrily, jabbing his sword. ‘And drop that!’ He inclined his head to the pouch, and fearing the glinting tip of the blade, the boy did. He held out dirty hands in supplication, looking frightened, and Raymon felt sorry for him, now stepping back. Though the boy winked at him, and spinning around, he disappeared into the crowd, Zen quickly on his heels.

Edela was shaken and bleeding, having scraped her cheek on the cobblestones. Though it was Bertel she was worried about. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked as Siggy pulled her to her feet.

Bertel looked around as he stood, feeling his ankle give way, seeing no sign of the thief or Zen. ‘I thought you had him!’ he called to Raymon, who shrugged, heading to help.

‘You’re bleeding, Edela,’ Siggy fretted, trying to examine the wound on her cheek. ‘You could have broken something!’

Edela laughed. ‘I think I’m made of wood for all the tumbling over I’ve been doing lately. And not one broken bone?’ And edging away from Siggy, she tried to get some sense out of Bertel. ‘What happened?’

‘That man! He cut off my pouch! Stole my last coins!’ Bertel huffed, picking up his ruined belt, not understanding how he hadn’t ended up cut himself, though he’d certainly twisted his ankle.

‘He was a boy,’ Raymon said, handing over Bertel’s pouch. ‘A skeleton.’

An incensed Bertel barely noticed his pouch had been returned. ‘I don’t think so! He had the strength of a man. The way he pushed us over?’

‘Well, he pushed you over,’ Edela reminded him. ‘You’re the one who knocked me off my feet.’ And feeling the blood running down her cheek, she dug into her purse for a scrap of cloth and held it to her face.

Zen soon returned, dragging the thief behind him.

And despite the drizzly gloom, Bertel could clearly see that he’d been accosted by an emaciated boy. ‘What were you doing, stealing from me?’ he snapped at the boy, who came up to Zen’s shoulder, noting his protruding collarbones and sunken eyes.

Those eyes darted around as he shrugged, not understanding.

‘He doesn’t speak the common tongue,’ Edela realised, and pushing past Bertel, she smiled at the boy, who was dressed in filthy rags. ‘I’ll see what I can find out. If you can hold him still,’ she said to Zen, who nodded. Raymon came up to take his other side, and removing the cloth from her bleeding cheek, Edela handed it to Siggy, using both hands to hold onto the boy’s arm. His blinking became frantic now, eyes shining with real fear. ‘It’s alright,’ she soothed. ‘I won’t hurt you.’ And now she closed her eyes.

Siggy looked on, not wanting to interrupt, though the cut on Edela’s face was bleeding again.

Edela didn’t notice, for she was busy walking through the thief’s mind.

She saw him cornered in a dingy alley by a pair of heavy-set warriors wearing bronze armour. They appeared to be twins, with the same thick mops of brown hair and lifeless brown eyes.

Before them stood a small, wiry man, his olive skin glistening with an oily film as he leaned out, teasing the boy with an enormous silver coin. ‘You take the old man’s purse and you get this,’ he promised with a smile, revealing a mouthful of silver. And now he held out his other hand. ‘And for the old woman’s, you get two! Two coins and the dardong’s gratitude, which is worth more than a chest of gold.’

Edela blinked, vibrating all over. She smiled at the boy and turned to a limping Bertel. Digging into his pouch, she held up a silver coin, pointing at Bertel with her left hand. Then, diving back into the pouch, she pulled out another coin, pointing to herself.

The boy’s eyes rounded as he stared at the old woman, who dropped the coins back into Bertel’s pouch and returned her hands to his arm while looking into his eyes.

‘Take us to the dardong,’ she said into his mind, hoping he would understand her. ‘Show us where he is and you will have two coins from me.’

The boy blinked at her in surprise, understanding perfectly.

The dardong was a bad man, the most dangerous man in Harsoo, though seeing that he was caught either way, he nodded.

* * *

Lina decided to visit her mother while Oren and Mutt Storman met with the lords. She was struggling to keep herself busy or to even look busy, which was a worry, for her husband tended to snap at her whenever he found her being idle.

She stared at the prison tent, where Thora sat outside looking bored.

It was unsettling to think that a man of Gant Olborn’s status had been bought by Oren and was now his prisoner.

It suddenly felt very real.

So far all she’d seen was her husband and his allies discussing their plans.

She had seen glimpses of the future he spoke of, though she hadn’t wanted to believe it was even possible. Osterland’s borders had been settled for hundreds of years, so to upend everything like an invading barbarian?

It made her fear the future.

Afraid for any children she would give birth to.

Bobbing her head at her mother, she took a seat beside her. ‘I don’t imagine you saw yourself tending to a prisoner when you came along.’

‘No, I did not,’ Thora hissed, furtive eyes scanning the camp. And seeing no sign of Oren, she turned to her daughter, speaking openly. ‘Though for all that it irritates me, it is a bold move. You have married an ambitious man, Lina. But will it succeed? Brekka isn’t Tuura, and according to your father, the Furycks possess the strongest army in Osterland. And what will that mean for us?’ Leaning closer now, she lowered her voice. ‘What have you seen, Daughter? What do you know?’

Lina didn’t trust her mother, who had always been a silly, selfish woman.

She was silent for a time, thinking. ‘What do you want most of all, Mother? What would make you happy?’

A surprised Thora froze, certain she’d never been asked the question before. Her jaw slackened, mouth dropping open, and she stared up at her daughter with sagging jowls. ‘Well, I... I wish for you to be a famous queen, admired by all. A great queen with many sons. Tall, strapping sons! And a daughter,’ she added with a tittering laugh. ‘You must give me a granddaughter!’

‘And Iskavall?’ Lina wondered. ‘What of Iskavall?’

Thora didn’t understand the question. ‘Well, Iskavall has always been ruled by weak men. Your father said as much, didn’t he? So for Iskavall, I wish for the Storgards to reign. To become the new Furycks. To replace the Furycks! And you?’ she asked, looking for clues in her daughter’s eyes. ‘What have you seen in your dreams, Lina? I know Oren wants more from you. As a dreamer, he expects much more than tidbits. You must guide him, my darling. It is your duty as his queen and his dreamer.’

Listening from inside the tent as Thora Storgard raised her voice, Gant felt a flutter of hope. Thora was lost to him, as stupid and self-centered as he remembered, though it didn’t sound as though Lina shared her mother’s desires.

The girl had looked scared and sad, as though she wasn’t a part of it all. And listening to her, he thought he might have found an ally.

If only there was some way he could reach her.

Some chance he could speak to her...

* * *

‘This man you saw talking to the thief? Who was he?’ Raymon asked from Edela’s right, eager to protect her from another attack. His shoulder had healed enough now that he felt some confidence about his ability to do so. Enough to keep her safe from more thieves, at least.

On his other side, a still-limping Bertel was alert, lips pressed together, eyes darting back and forth, determined not to be made a fool of twice in one day. He kept glancing at the thief, now tugged along behind him by Zen, surprised by his size and youth.

‘The man? He was no one, I’m sure. Just a bully seeking to bribe the boy. He was working for another. A dardong...’ Edela mused, watching her step; after her fall, she already felt a little unsteady on the cobblestones.

‘Dardong? And why did he want to rob us?’ Raymon wondered.

‘Well, I expect he’s doing someone else’s bidding. In magic, it’s helpful to possess an item of the person you seek to reach. So, just as in Pechik, it appears our arrival was expected.’

‘We should find Korri and the crew,’ Bertel suggested, eyeing Edela.

‘Though they have their own matters to attend to,’ she reminded him, seeing a family of small children squeezed onto the back of a donkey. They were laughing, though the poor donkey didn’t appear to be enjoying itself. ‘I don’t plan to confront the man,’ she added, looking up at Raymon. ‘Just to know where we can find him. I don’t intend to rush in and assault him!’ Though thinking it through, a grinning Edela wasn’t sure that was entirely true.

Glancing to her left, she saw the boy pointing to where a large stone house rose prominently from a mound of rocks, as though overseeing the entire town. She saw men in bronze armour and pointed helmets surrounding the house, similar to those from her vision, and she came to a stop. Turning to the boy, she bobbed her head in thanks, instructing Bertel to pay him.

Bertel felt reluctant to reward a thief, but once again seeing the sad state of the boy, he pulled out the promised coins.

The frightened boy quickly snatched them from his hand, and released by Zen, he scuttled away.

Bertel frowned. ‘What now?’ he asked, turning back to the dreamer. ‘Do we launch an attack? Capture those men and make them bring us their lord?’ He was joking, though he half-feared Edela would take him seriously.

She was ready to laugh, though she saw symbols marked around the compound. They were small, hidden amongst patterns carved into the stone walls, though Edela could feel their presence, knowing she was locked out.

And that the only way into the dardong’s mind was through his front door.

* * *

A starving Thorgils was amazed to realise that he was only a day away from being reunited with Isaura and the children.

It didn’t seem real. That he would finally hold her in his arms again? Smell her, feel her, kiss her...

So, despite his desperate hunger, he kept his complaints to himself, instead remembering the taste of Ketil’s meat sticks and his favourite eel stew. He would eat it with slices of soft, warm bread and a giant mug of ale with a frothing head. He could almost see the glow of a fire from the comfort of his chair with a child on each knee, racing to see who would be the first to braid his beard.

‘What’s wrong?’ Jael asked, moving down the ship towards him. ‘Eadmund thinks you’re ill.’

‘Ill?’ A dazed Thorgils squinted at her, holding up a hand to block out the sun. ‘Why does he think that?’

‘Because he can hear your empty belly but not your complaints, so something must be wrong.’

A laughing Thorgils turned to look over the port gunwale, eyes on the sea, which remained frustratingly calm. After wishing for that calm for days, he wanted a blast of wind to propel them towards the Nebbar Straights, where they would be swept towards Andala and then Oss. ‘Just eager to see my family.’ He leaned on the gunwale, excited butterflies fluttering in his empty belly. ‘Though I wish you were coming. I’m sure your children do too.’

Jael frowned, feeling guilty for choosing Andala over Sigmund and Bo. ‘My children will grow up knowing what sort of mother they have. I may not always be there, but it doesn’t mean I’m not with them.’

Thorgils nodded, thinking of his own dead mother. She had never been particularly caring or interested in him, though he did miss her. ‘Good mothers are hard to find, so I’d rather have one who loves me, even if she does tend to wander towards trouble.’

‘Trouble? That doesn’t sound like me,’ Jael grinned, sweeping hair back from her face and tucking it behind an ear. ‘Just don’t spend too long kissing and cuddling because I’ll need that fleet back promptly.’

Thorgils stroked his beard. ‘Hopefully. Unless you go and get yourself killed first.’

‘That’s encouraging!’

He laughed. ‘You’ll do whatever you’ve a mind to do, Jael Furyck. Though as your friend, I do worry. Eadmund would be such a pain if anything happened to you.’

‘He would,’ Jael agreed. ‘Though there’s always Ayla.’

‘Don’t say that. Don’t,’ Thorgils muttered. ‘You have to let it go. It wasn’t a real dream.’

She shrugged. ‘Either way, it won’t change what I have to do here.’ Her eyes had drifted away from Thorgils towards the sea, thinking of Gant for some reason.

And clutching the shield rack, she started shivering.

* * *

‘How long will they take to arrive?’ Oren fumed at the Lord of Rosby, hands gripping the table he stood over. ‘Are you Brekkans always so slow?’

They were expecting men from Hendeby and Verra, and from Saala too.

He had already welcomed warriors from central Brekka, with more arriving by the day, though he was acutely aware that those further south were yet to arrive. ‘I don’t intend to be pushed onto the back foot,’ he snapped, seeing that Henk Layborg’s mouth had opened, though no words had come out. Now he turned to Mutt Storman, Gunnhild’s little pet, serving as his right-hand man. ‘I sent word when?’

‘Twelve days ago, my lord,’ Mutt replied, mirroring the king’s frown. He felt uncomfortable in the man’s presence, always on edge. He had his own ideas for how things should go, though around Oren Storgard, he’d had little chance to voice anything.

‘Twelve days ago and what? They take this long?’

Henk eyed Edd Arnsten, the Lord of Borsund – a crotchety old barnacle of sixty-five. Barrel-chested and square-faced, he barely raised a lip or an eyebrow as he stared at the king with sullen eyes, brooding like a storm. He was happy to be here, happy to lead his men against Axl Furyck, though nobody could tell.

‘I would expect them today, lord,’ Henk offered. ‘If not tomorrow, which gives us time to prepare a coordinated attack.’

Edd Arnsten nodded. ‘It’s a long distance to travel. With supply wagons and catapults, they won’t move quickly. Especially if it’s wet.’

Mutt scratched his chin, just as impatient to begin as the king, though he wanted to do it right.

Oren agreed, though he was doubtful he’d ever see the bulk of his allies, fearing half had changed their minds. Seeing Lina in the distance, eyes downcast, he turned from the table. ‘Carry on,’ he instructed. ‘And send word when they arrive. I want to know as soon as they get here!’ Quickening his pace, he reached Lina, who looked up just before he snatched her arm.

She made no sound, though her eyes became fearful.

‘Wife! And what have you seen of our missing friends? Are there problems? Defections? What is happening?’ he demanded, speaking quickly, and still gripping Lina’s arm, he hurried her towards their tent. ‘I need more from you than muttered vagaries. I demand to know exactly what is going on!’ He thrust her inside, pleased to see they were alone. ‘Tell me what is happening.’

Lina didn’t understand. ‘With your men?’

‘Of course! I thought you could read my mind?’

Put on the spot, she became nervous and muddled, trembling before him. ‘It’s that I –’

‘Yes?’

‘There is a lot to s-s-see,’ Lina explained, attempting to step out of his hold, though he only squeezed harder. ‘And I... what about your dreamer? I thought she was helping.’

Oren laughed. ‘Gunnhild is only here for the coins. Besides, she has her own plans now. And why do I need to ask her when I have you, my lovely wife?’

Lina wasn’t sure how to answer. ‘Your men are close,’ she said. She had seen glimpses of armies on the march, though she had no idea who they were or where they were even going. Though knowing such an answer would displease her husband, she sought to sound a more optimistic tone. ‘Tomorrow. I... they will arrive tomorrow.’

Oren looked relieved, immediately dropping Lina’s arm. ‘And Axl Furyck? What of him?’

‘The king is on his way to Vallsborg,’ Lina told him, becoming nauseous.

Oren smiled, turning to the tent flap. ‘Good. That is very good indeed.’

28

That afternoon, Edela and Bertel met Korri and his men back on Sea Queen.

Edela saw that they’d had a successful day, for despite the miserable weather, their faces glowed with happiness.

And ale.

‘Not ale,’ Korri told her with a wobbly grin, revealing those unusual teeth marked with symbols. Turning around, he found the helmsman. ‘Gunter! What was the drink called?’

‘Goh-gli!’ the helmsman called back.

‘Exactly! Gee-goh,’ Korri slurred, turning around with a stumbling flourish. ‘It was delicious.’

‘Seems that it was,’ Edela chuckled.

He peered at her suddenly, his drunken smile straightening into a worried frown. ‘What happened?’ he asked, reaching out an unsteady hand. ‘Your face?’

‘Oh, that would be our thief,’ she told him. ‘A boy sent to steal from us. If it hadn’t been for Raymon and Zen, he would have gotten away. Poor Bertel was on the ground, quite useless, and I was no better.’

Bertel muttered something Korri couldn’t understand, though he saw Edela rolling her eyes. ‘You were robbed?’

‘An attempted robbery,’ Edela clarified. ‘Though our poor thief had little choice in the matter. He was no more than a skeleton. All bones and eyes.’

Korri swayed unsteadily before her, nodding as though he was listening.

‘I wanted to talk to you about taking your men back to the place, though I’m not sure you’ll be much use today.’

Korri hiccuped, attempting to see only one Edela. ‘Place?’

‘The dardong’s lair.’

‘The what?’

Edela laughed. ‘I think you’d better sit down, Korri.’

He didn’t argue, a sudden pain searing into his eyes. It was as though the sun was only an arm’s length away, and for a moment, he couldn’t see. He swayed down onto a chest, closing his eyes.

‘You sit there and we’ll figure out a plan,’ Edela murmured. ‘By the time we do that, I’m sure you’ll be ready to help.’ And now she turned towards Raymon and Bertel, eager to get to work.

‘Plan?’ Korri called after her. ‘To do what?’

* * *

As supper drew nearer, Helga found the healer in the kitchen garden, helping herself to a few herbs.

Hearing footsteps, a smiling Astrid straightened up. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, seeing a pained look on the dreamer’s face. ‘Your back?’

‘I came for sage,’ Helga grunted, touching the base of her throat. ‘Feels like fire in here. Not sure what I’ve eaten but something that didn’t agree with me.’

Turning around, Astrid cut a few big leaves off the nearest sage plant. ‘Here,’ she said, handing the bunch to Helga. ‘Chamomile is good for that too.’ And sweeping her dress behind her, she bent down, using her knife to cut through some flowering chamomile heads. ‘You can make it into a tea, though I’m probably telling you what you already know.’

Seeing her kindness, Helga almost smiled. The healer was a good woman, and she felt a connection – hints of possible friendship – though such things were so foreign to her now that she ended up scowling.

But she had to confide in someone.

Seeing that the dreamer had frozen, Astrid took a step towards her. ‘Shall we go to my cottage? It’s private there, and I can make the tea, and then perhaps we can talk about what’s troubling you?’

Helga, who wasn’t one to be swept along by anyone else, stared helplessly at her before eventually nodding. ‘Yes. Yes, I think we should.’

* * *

They had beached the Borsund ship in a cove north of Andala. All warmth had drained from the afternoon sun, and it felt cold under the trees where they were making a camp for the night. In the morning, Eadmund would take the crew to Oss, leaving Jael behind.

He didn’t feel particularly happy about her plan.

Peering at his wife over the fire he’d just brought to life, he watched her scanning the forest. ‘You’ll need to be careful when you reach the fort. What if a dreamer’s involved?’

‘A dreamer?’ Jael hadn’t considered that. With no Ayla or Edela in Andala, she hadn’t spent much time worrying about dreamers other than Dessalene. Her belly growled, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. ‘No, I’m not worried about dreamers. I’m worried about the children. You need to warn Ayla to watch Milla.’ Looking around, she checked if Fyn was nearby, though it was so dark away from the fire that she wouldn’t have been able to see if he was. She’d been meaning to talk to him about Milla since S’ala Nis, though she’d never found the right moment.

Leaning against Eadmund, she lowered her voice. ‘I know what Arras said, but I can’t get it out of my mind.’

Eadmund frowned. ‘Perhaps I bring her back with us, just in case?’

Jael wasn’t sure about that. ‘No,’ she eventually decided. ‘No, if there’s something there, I’d rather know where she was. Let Ayla get to work on her. See if she can find something. And tell Biddy not to let those children out of her sight.’

‘I will. Anything else?’

‘You could make us a nice bed of leaves. We may as well try to sleep.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘That I will happily do.’ He heard the sharp voice of Kalina Sardis in the distance, grumbling about having to sleep in the dirt, feeling grateful to have married a woman like Jael Furyck.

* * *

Leaving Korri and his crew to sleep off their goh-gli experience, Edela gathered Bertel, Raymon, Zen and Siggy into the stern, seeking to plan their next steps.

‘We have to assume that this woman, the Mistress, knew we were going to Pechik, knew we were coming here, and she’s been trying to stop us. As far back as Tuura,’ Edela added, wondering if that was indeed true. ‘Well, perhaps not stop us,’ she mused, remembering Iker Rayas’ words. ‘Perhaps capture us? Or, at least, me.’

‘So we’re exactly where she’s wanted us all along,’ Bertel pointed out, inspecting his ankle, which appeared to have doubled in size.

Edela remained silent.

‘And you think the thief’s master will lead us to her?’ Siggy asked. ‘That he will tell us where to go? The... dardong?’

Edela hoped so. ‘He is certainly working for a dreamer, or at least for someone who knows symbols, for I cannot see into his compound. I am locked out. He sent that boy to steal from us, so it makes sense that he knows the Mistress.’ She took a breath, becoming tense. ‘The boy says the dardong never leaves his compound, so we have little choice but to go to him. Though to be safe, we must wait for our army to be fully awake.’ And motioning to the snoring crew, she chuckled.

Bertel frowned. ‘And how many men did this dardong have? What did you see inside?’

‘Only a handful. Many more were outside, obviously. We saw those. But inside, there didn’t appear to be many.’

‘And what can you do, Edela?’ Bertel asked. ‘We’re going to need something from you.’

Edela stared at him, nibbling her lips, and though she had many thoughts, she didn’t utter a word.

* * *

Helga didn’t know where to begin, so for a while she just looked on as Astrid bustled around her cottage. There was a brightness about it, a cleanliness and order that were pleasant to experience, and Helga’s aching head eased as she enjoyed a reprieve from all that troubled her. Though when she’d been sitting at the healer’s table for some time, cradling a cup of sage and chamomile tea, she felt it all coming back, and she started to frown. ‘I fear I am unwell,’ she admitted quietly. ‘That something is wrong. In my body,’ she added. ‘I don’t feel myself lately. Not for some time. I... I’m forgetting things.’

Astrid nodded sympathetically, taking a seat. ‘I see. Is there anything else troubling you?’

‘I’m tired, and my head never stops aching. And the fire here,’ she said, once again touching her throat.

‘And you’ve seen nothing yourself about what might be wrong?’ Astrid asked, sipping her own tea.

‘Nothing, which tells me it’s something beyond any skills I have. It’s some disease deep within me. I... something similar happened to my husband.’

Astrid remained quiet, sensing that Helga wasn’t used to sharing anything about herself; she was almost having to pull each word from her mouth.

‘He became tired and forgetful, complained about the same sort of things, then one morning he didn’t wake up. I had no warning. No dreams about him.’ She shook her head, feeling further unsettled, though the memories were more than twenty years old now. ‘The doors opened to dreamers are gifts from the gods. That’s what they taught me at Tuura. And when they remain closed? Well...’ Helga shook her head, running a finger over her lips. ‘And the boy. Linas. When I go, he’ll be alone. He’ll have the dog, but a dog won’t cook him a meal or darn his trousers or knit him new socks for winter.’

Astrid smiled sympathetically. ‘Perhaps it’s not an illness, but something magical? Something to do with that trance you entered?’

Helga blinked at her and the clouds swept from her mind.

Her symptoms had been bothering her for days, and she had linked them to the memory of her husband’s demise, but now?

A suddenly wide-awake Helga realised that the healer may have put her finger on something.

* * *

Oren rode off with a handful of men as the sky darkened, light rain starting to fall. A surprised Lina didn’t know where they were going, though she suspected he was going to meet that dreamer again. And hoping he would be gone for some time, she hurried towards the prisoner’s tent. On seeing the king disappearing, Thora had instructed one of her servants to take her place while she relieved herself. Which was only an excuse, for she sought to escape the confines of the task and the rank smell emanating from the tent until Oren returned.

And having seen this, Lina came with ale and shooed the servant away, promising to wait for her mother’s return. The young servant disappeared quickly, and with a nod to the two armed guards, Lina slipped into the tent.

Gant looked up in surprise, expecting Thora but seeing the new Queen of Iskavall instead.

In the darkness, Lina trembled nervously as she approached, holding out the cup of ale. ‘My mother is otherwise occupied,’ she said, stepping closer. Gant’s hands were stretched behind him, tied to the tent pole, though she didn’t know what the man was capable of. He looked older now, though he had a reputation as a capable warrior.

‘Help me escape,’ he croaked desperately. ‘You’ll have a chance then.’

Lina didn’t understand.

‘To be free.’

She hurried the cup to his lips, more curious than scared. ‘I see bad things,’ she whispered. ‘For Brekka.’

‘Brekka?’ Gant was shocked into silence, though recovering quickly, he knew there was little time. ‘Brekka will hold. She is ancient and powerful. The Furycks...’ He saw doubt in Lina’s eyes but hurried on. ‘Your husband... men like him, cruel men, they care little for people. You see that, don’t you, Lina? I remember you. You used to play in the hall with your friends.’

Lina barely heard him. ‘I was with Edela.’

‘Edela? In Tuura?’

‘Yes. There was an attack. Tuura was attacked, but we escaped.’

Gant was stunned. ‘But where is she? Is she safe?’

Lina returned to her last memories of the dreamer. ‘My husband, he sought to capture her in Ollsvik, to use her against Axl Furyck. Though she escaped. Her and Bertel and Siggy. I don’t know where they went, but I feel they’re no longer here. I had a vision of them on a ship. I think they’re far from Osterland. Gone far away.’

Gant didn’t know how to feel. ‘Edela helped you at Tuura? She taught you?’

Lina nodded. And then, fearing that Oren had returned suddenly and was waiting outside the tent, she glanced around. ‘My husband, he –’

‘Will make your life and those of everyone in Iskavall miserable, Lina. You must know that. Help me. I can get to Axl. We can stop him. You know we can. It’s why you’ve come.’ Gant had no idea what he was saying; he was simply desperate to get through to the girl.

Though dropping the cup on the ground, spilling the last of the ale, a quivering Lina turned and ran out of the tent.

Where she bumped into Oren.

He pulled up in surprise. ‘What were you doing in there? Where is your mother?’

Lina shook her head. ‘I... she wasn’t here when I came. He was calling for something to drink. I don’t know where my mother is. I took him some ale.’

Oren rolled his eyes, his anger at Lina shifting quickly towards his delinquent mother-in-law. And then he caught sight of Thora, strolling out of the trees with one of her servants, laughing in that ear-piercing cackle he despised so much. And leaving Lina behind, he headed in her direction.

Lina soon saw her mother freeze, blinking fearfully, though she wasn’t sure how to help her. Oren was a vicious bully who’d become emboldened since taking the throne. He’d masked his worst traits in his hunt for power, and now that he’d claimed it, he felt no need to conceal his true self from anyone. People either did what he wanted, or he made them regret it. And thinking of Gant Olborn’s words, and Edela, most of all, Lina scurried away.

* * *

Edela took Siggy’s hand while supper was being prepared, leading her to a quieter part of the ship. As well as indulging in a large quantity of the strangely named drink, Korri had managed to sell the sapphire, and with part of its proceeds, he’d purchased enough food to feed them generously for days, including a large quantity of prawns and clams. Gerulf was now making them into a soup, with more advice than he wanted from Bertel, who seemed particularly interested in the exotic black clams.

‘Tonight will be dangerous,’ Edela said, seeing that Siggy was already shaking her head. ‘It will, so you must keep as far back as possible. You and Zen. He will look after you.’

‘Look after me? But I can look after myself, Edela. You know that.’

‘Yes, I do. I know it very well. But I fear that this woman, whatever she is, will discover what you mean to me. My fear is that she will try to get to you, to Bertel, to anyone I care for. That makes you vulnerable, and I must focus on getting as much information from this dardong as possible, not spending my time worrying about you.’

Siggy didn’t understand. ‘But how will you do that without your magic?’

‘I never said I had no magic,’ Edela hissed. ‘Why are you saying that?’

Siggy lowered both her head and her voice. ‘You didn’t say it, but I know it’s true. I do.’

‘What are you two arguing about?’ Bertel asked, having been sent on his way by Gerulf, and seeing the two conspiratorial dreamers, he butted in between them.

‘Well, nothing now,’ Edela huffed. ‘Do you want something?’

‘Only a decent meal,’ Bertel grinned, mouth watering. ‘And if Gerulf listens to me, I’ll soon have one. And you? Have you been working up some spell? Something to help us tonight? We’ll need it, Edela. We can’t go in there blind. It’s a reckless plan, riskier than anything you’ve come up with so far. You’re going to need to be at your best.’

Edela felt Siggy’s eyes boring a hole in the back of her head, and her cheeks flushed in annoyance. ‘You needn’t worry. I’ll have something ready.’ She spun around, urging the girl to hold her tongue, knowing how Bertel liked to fuss.

‘Perhaps I can help you?’ Siggy suggested. ‘We could come up with something together?’

Edela eyed her sternly. ‘Yes, I think so. Two heads are better than one.’

‘Especially when those heads belong to dreamers,’ Bertel said, and deciding to check on the cook again, he limped away, belly growling.

‘I can help,’ Siggy insisted before Edela could argue. ‘And I want to. Help you. Any way I can. I won’t say anything, I won’t, but we need to come up with something quickly.’

And realising she was right, an embarrassed Edela nodded.

* * *

Helga returned to her private chamber that evening, seeing Edela’s book waiting for her.

She had continued to feel strange throughout the day, more distracted than usual, and she hadn’t remembered to come back to it. She’d thought about it often, though the urgency would quickly dissipate and she’d move on to something else.

Though now, having put Linas to bed, watched over by Gully, she had come back into the chamber to consult the book.

The open page drew her attention, and she recognised the symbols marked on it, experiencing a flicker of a memory. Though it was gone quickly and her thoughts soon raced ahead to what she had come looking for: answers as to whether she had been damaged by the trance.

And to how she could heal herself from whatever was ailing her.

* * *

After retiring to her tent that evening, Gunnhild decided to check on Helga, furious to see her once again returning to that book. The book still intrigued her, and she felt a desire to take it for her own.

And as for Helga? The old witch had surprised her.

She had underestimated her strength, for here she was again, seeking answers, apparently fearing that something was wrong.

Though as Gunnhild watched, she saw Helga sigh so heavily that her shoulders curled forward, head drooping, sinking towards the table.

‘You are tired, Helga,’ she murmured, stirring a finger around her bowl, hearing it hum. ‘So very tired. Old and tired and not well at all. It is sad, but I... I think you may be dying. What will you do with the boy, dear Helga? It’s all you should be thinking about now,’ she breathed. ‘Not Andala, not Axl Furyck, but your own mortality, for time is slipping away from you now, old friend...’

* * *

Sitting alone in a corner of the stern, Edela closed her eyes, seeking answers to what was wrong with her.

She still had dreams, she could still hear people’s thoughts. In many ways, she still felt like a dreamer, but she was certain that her magic had gone. And despite anything she may have discussed with Siggy, the very real fear that she wouldn’t be able to protect them all plagued her.

She had driven them towards danger, for after her efforts in Castala, she had felt confident in her abilities. Her power had grown, aided by knowledge and experience, so she hadn’t expected it to be taken from her.

Is that what had happened?

Or was she just depleted? In need of time to recover?

The darkness in her mind produced no answers, no voices, no guidance.

Just silence.

And as a dreamer, that terrified her most of all.

‘Edela?’

She blinked open tired eyes, seeing Korri motioning to her.

‘Are you ready? It’s time.’

‘Yes, yes, I am,’ she lied, pulling herself to her feet. ‘I’m ready to go.’

29

Listening to the angry hooting of an owl in the distance, Lina lay in her bed, grateful for the freedom it afforded her.

In the tent, she and Oren slept in single beds, which, though it displeased him, didn’t stop him from taking what he wanted from her every night.

Lying there, feeling cold and uncomfortable, Lina’s mind wandered back to Gant Olborn, tied up in his tent. She remembered the occasions the former King of Brekka had visited Ollsvik. He had come with only a small contingent of men, though Hugo Vandaal had always made a point of throwing an impressive feast. He would have musicians playing, and there would be dancing. Ranuf Furyck had been a stern, intimidating man, though Gant had always offered a friendly smile.

She had met Axl Furyck a few times, and his sister, who had been just like her father and not at all interested in dancing.

Now Axl was a king, and his father was dead, and soon he might be dead too.

And Gant?

Lina knew what her mother would advise, she knew what Oren wanted, but when she closed her eyes, she imagined Edela’s face.

In the short time she had known her, Lina had come to value Edela’s opinion more highly than anyone’s.

She had felt miserable at the time, though she often thought wistfully of those days she had spent on the run from Tuura, wishing she was still with them; wishing she had been kinder to Siggy, who needed guidance, and perhaps even a friend; wishing she had listened more to Bertel and Edela.

Now wondering what she was going to do...

* * *

A golden moon revealed that Harsoo’s market square was mostly deserted, bar the odd drunk and a few workers hurrying home. Cats chased each other, and ignoring them, dogs felt free to gobble up the scraps left over from the day’s market.

A fully-armed Korri led the way over crunching gravel, walking beside Bertel. He had left Gerulf, the cook, and skeleton crews to guard his ships, though he’d kept the bags of coins he’d earned from the sapphire with him, not intending to be made a fool of again.

Upon reaching the square, he’d divided his men, leading half, while Raymon took charge of the other. Bertel had chosen to stay with Korri, Edela, and Siggy. Zen had gone with Raymon, who would lead his men around the back of the dardong’s compound while Korri slipped into the shadows, aiming to take Edela, Siggy, and Bertel around the side, where steps led up to the main door.

He knew their enemies would have plenty of weapons, but they didn’t have a dreamer.

Hearing Korri’s busy thoughts, Edela gulped, lacking confidence in the plan she had made with Siggy. It seemed almost childishly simple, though she feared it wouldn’t work.

‘Are you alright?’ Siggy whispered beside her. ‘You don’t seem alright.’

‘Ssshhh,’ Bertel hissed, limping up to them. ‘You’re too loud.’

Siggy didn’t think so and she was about to protest when they heard a rattle.

Holding up a hand, Korri halted them.

And then a cat, skittering past, soon chased by another, eyes shining like coins in the moonlight.

There was enough moon to see glimpses of terror on each other’s faces.

In desperation, Edela pinched her arm, trying to wake herself up.

Yes, she was old, but, she reminded herself with a strained breath...

She wasn’t dead yet.

‘Keep going,’ she urged. ‘We need to get to the steps before I start.’

* * *

Raymon suddenly doubted his ability to lead Korri’s men, injured as he was. Competing thoughts darted around his mind, fighting pointless battles, though realising that these men were relying on him, he sought to focus. Turning to Zen, he inclined his head to the steps leading to the rear of the dardong’s compound.

Zen shook his head, pointing to where he could hear movement.

Raymon’s men froze, sensing problems, hands covering weapons, not wanting a glint of metal to reveal their presence.

Raymon turned, listening, soon hearing footsteps himself. Blinking rapidly, he glanced at Zen, holding a finger to his lips.

* * *

Edela saw flames. She felt hot.

And then a spark, igniting inside her body. And more.

It felt as though someone had lit a great bonfire inside her.

‘Siggy,’ she whispered, turning to the girl, who hovered behind her. ‘Take your knife and cut across your palm like I showed you. I will do the same.’ She shuffled closer. ‘You have power that I can use. We must combine our power now.’

A nervous Siggy unsheathed her knife and sliced across her palm, sucking in a breath as the pain bit.

Edela did the same before grabbing the girl’s hand. ‘Be ready,’ she told Korri. ‘I can’t promise anything will happen, but if it does, you will know.’

* * *

The dardong’s men were leaving the compound in droves, and Raymon didn’t know why.

He heard nothing except his racing heart, though he made his men crouch down behind a low wall, listening to the thundering footsteps moving in the opposite direction.

He heard weapons, too, deciding this was a guard unit being sent out on a mission.

Perhaps to the harbour, he mused fretfully.

Though to get there, they would have to pass Korri, Bertel, Siggy and Edela.

* * *

The golden moon suddenly vanished, and unable to see, Korri’s ears pricked up, hearing footsteps. He swung around to Bertel, who unsheathed his sword, head swivelling.

Korri drew his own sword, certain it was more than a handful of men, and those men were coming down the hill, directly towards them. He spun around to Edela and Siggy, though they had their heads bowed, holding hands, and he couldn’t quietly get their attention.

The footsteps were coming closer; the men sounded in a hurry. He gulped down a sudden rush of nerves, hoping the dreamers would be quick.

* * *

Raymon knew the plan, though he ignored it, now leading a surprised Zen and the rest of his men back down the hill, keeping close to the low wall, hunched over.

He turned back to Zen as rain started falling, urging silence.

* * *

The men were nearly on them.

Korri felt raindrops, or perhaps sweat dripping, for his back was suddenly so hot. He glanced around, convinced that he felt flames.

And then he saw it: fire in the distance.

It was hard to get his bearings in the dark, though he thought those flames were coming from down at the harbour.

And fearing for the ships, he turned his body, feet shuffling.

He heard the dreamers’ murmuring chants and remembered Edela’s words:

‘Be ready.’

Was this it? he wondered. And then a voice in his head called back:

‘Yes. Now!’

The men who’d been marching towards them started calling to one another, rising voices growing loud with concern.

Korri heard noises coming from the compound, and soon doors were dragged open, and more men came running out.

He waited, listening as those men started turning around, changing direction. Holding his breath, he wanted to be sure. And hearing nothing further, he motioned to his crew. ‘We go.’ Looking up, he heard more footsteps and saw, to his relief, that it was Raymon with the rest of their men.

The return of the golden moon lit up Raymon’s surprised face, though he was soon focusing again as Korri hurried his men forward, all of them keeping low.

‘Is it Edela?’ Raymon asked.

Korri nodded. ‘A useful distraction, but we’ll have to move fast.’

More doors opening and slamming shut, footsteps heading away from them, shouts of surprise, and eventually, the compound fell silent.

‘Take your men around the back,’ Korri told Raymon. ‘When we burst in, whoever’s left may run. You’ll need to hold them there.’

Raymon nodded, and returning to his men, he turned them around, marching them back up the hill.

Siggy had her eyes closed, aware of the movement around her but not involved in any of it. She felt the gentle pressure of Edela’s hand, hot against hers, their blood mingling. The sensations were odd. She feared her body was jerking, for her insides were hopping like fleas. The heat was hard to bear, and she was suddenly so thirsty.

Edela had repeated a chant in her ears until it flowed from Siggy’s tongue.

‘Can you hold the magic now, Siggy?’ she heard Edela say in a voice that echoed loudly inside her head. ‘Can you keep the chant going on your own?’

Siggy almost cried out that she couldn’t. Though removing herself from the panic and taking a moment to feel what was true, she nodded. ‘Yes.’ And now she felt Edela pull her hand away, though the heat remained, and eyes still closed, Siggy clasped her hands together, holding them in front of her grey dress. Rain was falling, though she didn’t feel it. She felt the flames she was making down at the harbour.

Bertel stared at Edela as she released Siggy’s hand. ‘You will be careful in there,’ he growled, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Expect trouble.’

A dazed Edela offered half a smile. ‘Oh, you needn’t worry about that.’ And turning away in a hurry, she stumbled after Korri and his men who were heading up the steps towards the dardong’s compound.

* * *

Raymon moved with speed, conscious that his shoulder had started throbbing. He thought of the tincture Edela had been dosing him with, and then his mind was clear as he turned to Zen. ‘Let’s go.’ His men rose around him, any lingering nerves evaporating as he crept up the steps to the back of the compound, keeping low.

There was a gate, and for a moment, he feared it would be locked, though he remembered it opening and closing noisily. He hadn’t heard the sound of a key turning.

Hearing nothing coming from inside, he motioned for Zen to move past him and open the gate, holding back the rest of his men. The boy followed orders, keeping calm. He was silent as he padded quickly across a narrow courtyard, one hand on the gate. He pushed, half-expecting resistance, though it opened with barely a noise, and he stepped inside a courtyard shrouded in darkness.

Turning to Raymon, he motioned him forward.

* * *

Keeping Edela close, Korri glanced over his shoulder, pleased that the harbour still appeared ablaze.

Edela didn’t follow his gaze, feeling impatient. ‘Hurry.’

A nodding Korri turned back, pushing open the side gate, which squealed loudly. He heard a voice and moved quickly, not wanting anyone coming out of the compound now.

His men ran past Edela, following him, trying not to bump the dreamer.

And managing to keep to her feet, an unsteady Edela hurried after them.

Korri burst into the house, knocking the door into the face of the man who had been about to open it. Hit in the forehead, he stumbled backwards, shouting a warning before Korri could grab him.

‘He’s telling them to get help!’ Edela panted, too out of breath to say much more. ‘The rear door!’

The man’s warning had drawn four armed guards into the entranceway, and Korri’s Alekkans were soon entangled in a battle.

Grabbing the dreamer’s hand, Korri pulled her down a short corridor into what appeared to be the main chamber, where an enormous man was struggling to get out of his chair. He sat behind a table, illuminated by a towering candelabra, glistening with sweat. His bulbous eyes snapped towards one entrance and then the other, as Zen arrived with a handful of men.

‘Raymon’s got trouble around the back!’ he warned.

Korri led the dreamer forward. ‘You’ll need to be quick.’

‘You must restrain him,’ Edela pleaded as Korri moved around her, pushing the enormous slug back into his wide chair. Zen came up to his other side, sword drawn, aiming at the man’s wobbling neck rolls.

‘Hello,’ Edela said between breaths, immediately noticing the dardong’s terrible odour. ‘I’m only after a little information. Tell me that and we’ll be on our way.’

The dardong shook his head, acting as though he didn’t understand her.

He shouted at her.

‘Tudashi!’ Zen exclaimed in surprise.

The dardong was just as surprised, now turning to the boy and speaking his native tongue. ‘And you are?’

‘Someone who will kill you if you don’t answer the woman’s questions,’ Zen warned. ‘I can translate, or you can speak the common tongue, for a man like you in a place like this? You are sure to know it.’

The dardong sneered at him, carrying on in Tudashi. ‘You think I will give you my help? You certainly need it, boy, but what can you offer in return?’

‘Your life,’ Zen snarled, disliking everything about this man. The dardong reminded him of lords he had known in Tudash – dangerous, greedy men addicted to power. ‘Tell us where the Mistress lives, and I will gift you your life.’

The dardong’s laugh was deep, and he spat, his countenance changing, too angry to play games with this boy.

Edela’s smile had vanished too. Zen had tried valiantly, though now it was her turn. ‘In Castala, I killed a crew of Siluran warriors with my magic. Thirty men. I did that without a blade. These men here may threaten you, but I will be the one to kill you. All of this?’ Edela mused, shrugging nonchalantly. ‘All you have built here? Who will have it when you are gone? Your men will be gone too. I will see to that. So perhaps I will gift it to those slaves you captured? The young children you use as thieves? Perhaps...’

The dardong’s eyes blazed, and Edela began to feel anxious, knowing Siggy wouldn’t be able to hold the spell indefinitely. So if this man wouldn’t talk, she needed to find her own answers. ‘Take his rings!’ she told one of Korri’s men.

The dardong jerked in surprise, ready to slip his hands under the table, though Zen nudged the tip of his sword towards his neck, and he quickly relented, holding out his hands while the man wriggled off his many golden rings.

‘You have no value to us now!’ Edela declared dismissively. ‘I can find out everything I need to know from these.’ And taking the rings from Korri’s man, she tipped them into her purse. ‘You may kill him,’ she said to Korri. ‘I’d rather not waste my energy.’

The dardong’s eyes now shone with fear. ‘No! No!’ he panicked. ‘I can help you! Tell you where to find her! The Mistress, she pays me. Sends me messages! I do her bidding. I... it is profitable, though there are other ways to earn a coin.’

Edela turned back around. ‘You have this much time,’ she snapped, pinching her fingers together. ‘So tell me what you know of her and be quick!’

* * *

The rain was intensifying in the alley where Bertel stood beside Siggy, who swayed silently before him. Four of Korri’s men had remained, keeping watch, shoulders hunched up to their ears, though there was no protection from the downpour.

Lightning sheared through swirling clouds, and looking up, Bertel heard a loud clap of thunder.

Siggy shuddered before him, mouth gaping open.

Watching her, Bertel’s own mouth fell open. ‘But...’

Siggy swung around, rain splashing her cheeks. She turned back, blinking at him, though it was the sudden darkness in the distance that had caught Bertel’s attention, for whatever illusion the girl had been conjuring had gone, and the harbour had been plunged into darkness.

* * *

The thoroughly annoying, determined-to-be-unhelpful dardong was mumbling before her, sometimes using the common tongue, other times Tudashi. And though Edela was listening intently, her attention was suddenly on the rain hammering the roof.

And on Siggy, whose panic alerted her to what had unfolded.

‘You have run out of time!’ she bellowed, surprising her companions. ‘We are all out of time!’ And now she shot a glance at Korri, eyes twitching with worry. ‘I shall have to kill you myself,’ she hissed, moving past Korri. ‘Go,’ she told him. ‘Get to Siggy and Bertel.’

Korri nodded and left, leaving Zen in charge.

Edela approached the dardong, placing a hand on his sweaty forehead. She felt disgusted, though she held her hand there as he wriggled and argued. ‘You have one last chance. One!’

‘Bhyan!’ he blurted out, certain he felt pains in his chest. ‘She is at the king’s palace! The main road leads there. To Bhyan!’

Edela tucked that information away and closed her eyes, pressing down harder with her hand. And now she brought her face towards the dardong’s, feeling him surrender as she started chanting.

30

Dawn brought fine weather and goodbyes as Raal prepared his crew for a fast journey across the Nebbar Straights.

Jael stood talking to Eadmund on the sand, though her eyes were on the clouds, which appeared to be reaching across the sky like large pink hands. She thought of the gods often now, wondering what they had planned for her family.

Nothing good, she feared, turning her attention back to Eadmund. ‘Kiss the children for me,’ she told him. ‘And the dogs. And the horses.’

‘Anyone else?’ he laughed. ‘Askel? Ketil? Bram?’

Jael didn’t smile. ‘Come back fast, but come back ready. Do what you have to to be ready. And don’t forget the sea-fire. We might need it. You’ll have to keep it safe.’

‘Of course. And you stay out of trouble. Don’t go wandering into forests where strange men are waiting to capture you.’ Eadmund was making a joke, still smiling, though suddenly aware that he was leaving her again. ‘Are you sure?’ he added after a long pause. ‘Sure you want to stay?’

‘Yes. I need to. Make Ayla get rid of her symbol stones. And you. I want to be able to reach you if I need to.’

‘I’ll be quick.’

Jael kissed him. ‘Good.’

She saw Thorgils watching them, and leaving Eadmund behind to round up the stragglers coming out of the trees, she headed towards him. ‘Perhaps you won’t return?’

‘Me?’ Thorgils was surprised. ‘Oh, you mean Isaura?’ He laughed. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Though I could hardly let Eadmund come back on his own. Like a puppy, he is, all flapping tongue and wagging tail. You know him. He needs me.’ And now he winked at Jael, patting her shoulder. Her frown didn’t ease and he bent his head. ‘It was just a dream,’ he promised. ‘It was, Jael.’

‘Though just in case, look after him.’

‘When haven’t I? You know I will.’

‘I know. Now hurry!’ she called, pushing him towards the ship. ‘Hurry back!’ She glanced over her shoulder at the rise above the sand where Kolarov waited with Fyn, Kalina, Mattie and Pye. A strange group of companions, she thought, lifting her hand to Raal, looking as stoic as ever at the steering oar, before turning to Alek. ‘Are you ready for a wild ride?’

‘Wild?’ A pale-looking Alek didn’t appear ready at all. He was still frail and had agreed to go back to Oss with Eadmund, where Biddy would feed him up and fuss over him until he was strong enough to return to Stora and his sons.

‘The Nebbar Straights.’

‘Oh.’ Laughing now, Alek shook his head. ‘It’s been years since I crossed it, though the memory is still strong.’

Jael wasn’t surprised. ‘Well, I wish you luck!’ She turned to go, taking a last look at her husband, who was watching her. Their eyes met, neither looking away. Jael felt strange, for every time she thought of the future now, she saw those pyres and Ayla sitting in her chair.

‘I can stay,’ Alek offered.

‘You can, though it makes sense to go back with Eadmund. You’ll sleep in a real bed, eat some real food. And here? Well, I don’t imagine we’re in for much fun.’ And once again eyeing her remaining companions, she laughed. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ Lifting a hand in the air, she held it there, watching Eadmund do the same, and with a heavy heart and a shudder of worry, Jael turned around and headed across the sand.

* * *

Edela hadn’t been able to fall asleep after they’d returned to the ships. She doubted many had. She had put a spell on the dardong, erasing any memory of their visit from his mind, and they had managed to slip away, taking the long route back to the harbour.

The dead bodies left in their wake would alert him to trouble, but hopefully, he wouldn’t know who’d caused it.

She was still wet through, still shivering as the new day dawned, though mostly with worry, for it wasn’t a cold morning. Though, fearing her magic was weak, she couldn’t shake a lingering fear that the dardong’s men would be scouring the harbour, coming to attack them at any moment.

Korri was trying to quieten a noisy Nellie, who bleated impatiently. The goat had become used to Siggy’s attention and quite spoiled by it, and she refused to settle until the girl came to milk her. Eventually, giving up, he headed for the dreamer, who appeared to be sleeping as she stood, eyes fixed on the rising sun. ‘Storm’s passed,’ he said with a tired grin. ‘That’s a relief.’

She peered at him with worried eyes.

‘Is something wrong?’

Edela’s smile barely flickered on her tense face. ‘Last night was dangerous,’ she sighed. ‘For you and your men. I don’t wish to put you in that situation again. We made it back in one piece, but what will come next?’ And now a look of certainty steadied her gaze. ‘So we will leave you here, Korri. There is no need for you to accompany us to Bhyan. You have your coins, your well-earned coins, and I want you to take them and live your lives. Here, we will part.’

Korri was stunned. ‘But I thought –’

‘This woman, the Mistress, whatever she is, I am sure she doesn’t care about you. But if you stand in her way? If you stand beside me?’ Edela shook her head. ‘No. You and your men must go on your way, Korri. You must.’ She felt tears coming, having grown fond of the man.

But it was the right thing to do.

Korri frowned at her. ‘When will you go?’

‘As soon as we’ve eaten. We must. We will draw our enemies away from you and the men.’

‘But the danger?’

‘Is not yours,’ Edela insisted. ‘If I could, I would leave Bertel and Siggy behind, too, though I feel we are sworn to each other now. I will need them.’

Korri thought so too. ‘And Raymon?’

Edela shrugged. ‘I shall try to encourage him to come with us. It would be safer.’

‘Do you think he’s in danger?’

‘I fear he is, so yes, I hope he will come along.’

‘I don’t want to leave you, Edela. I don’t think I should,’ Korri admitted, taking the dreamer’s hand.

She flinched, feeling her cut, and he made to let go, though she held on. ‘But you will,’ she said with a determined smile. ‘And you will come and visit me one day in Andala, in my cottage. I shall make you a tea.’

Korri laughed. ‘I should like that. I should like that very much indeed.’

Nellie bleated again, and soon Siggy was there, all curls and sleepy scowls, soothing the goat with gentle pats. She glanced at the dreamer, feeling puzzled. ‘Are we going somewhere?’

And with a sad smile, Edela nodded. ‘Yes, so hurry up now and milk that goat. I’ll go and wake Bertel.’

* * *

Jael had seen nothing of Axl in her dreams.

Nothing of Andala.

Though after a sweet and sour breakfast of strawberries and sorrel foraged by Kolarov and Mattie, they’d set off towards the fort, accompanied by the unpleasant sound of Kalina’s complaints.

Apparently, she was used to being carried everywhere – in a carriage, a salon chair, on a horse – for she certainly wasn’t familiar with using her own two feet.

Even Pye, who had driven the crew away with his constant squawking, had been quiet on their march, focused on conserving his energy. It was still early, and he was tired, though also resigned to having no control over what would come next.

Flight was futile, so he had finally given in.

But Kalina?

She believed she had found an ally in Fyn Gallas and she walked beside him, petitioning him to take her side.

On Fyn’s other side, Mattie kept rolling her eyes, struggling to listen to the pathetic woman.

Ahead of them, Jael walked with Kolarov and Pye.

‘Shouldn’t we try to get horses?’ Pye asked, struggling to match Jael’s pace. He’d never seen such a fast walker. And not just fast but impatient. She never looked over her shoulder, never cared to slow down for anyone else. She acted, for the most part, as though she was entirely alone.

They had left the beach immediately upon saying goodbye, heading for tree cover, and there they’d remained, following forest paths as Jael led them towards Andala.

‘The only horses we could get would be from someone’s farm,’ she warned. ‘And do you see a farm around here?’ Glancing at the little man, she raised her eyebrows.

Pye frowned, thinking she was much nicer when her husband was around.

Perhaps it was all an act? For him?

Jael’s sudden snap of her head as she returned her gaze to him soon relieved Pye of any negative thoughts towards the queen.

On her other side, Kolarov was dabbing his forehead with a damp cloth.

‘You’re hot? Already?’

‘It is hot,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think?’

She smiled. ‘No.’

Kolarov looked confused, glancing at Pye, who shrugged.

‘My job is to get us somewhere safe for the night. Somewhere close to the fort,’ Jael grumbled, wishing everyone would shut up. ‘We can’t get killed or taken before we’re even near Andala.’

‘Killed?’ Kolarov swallowed, beady eyes skipping through the trees.

‘According to those men, Brekka has risen against Andala, so we can’t be sure of anyone. Not at a farm,’ she said to Pye. ‘Nowhere.’

He stared up at her before being distracted by a black rabbit bounding across the path ahead of them. He felt hungry, starving, watching the tiny rabbit disappear into the undergrowth, imagining it cooking on a spit. ‘And how long do we wait? And watch?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I can’t say. Let’s just close our mouths, save our breath and keep walking. All this talking will tire you out.’ And deciding to lead by example, Jael stopped talking and lengthened her stride.

Behind her, Fyn picked up his pace, turning to Kalina with an encouraging smile. ‘Jael’s trying to get us to safety.’

‘Safety?’ she scoffed. ‘By dragging us deep into a forest of brigands and murderers?’ She spun around, fearing who might be behind them. Ahead, the path was dappled with sunlight, behind them, a cave of trees as dark as night. She thought she saw movement and stared for a moment before feeling Fyn’s hand on her arm, yanking her forward.

‘You have to watch where you’re going!’ he snapped, having just saved her from tumbling over a tangle of roots.

Turning her face up to his, she blinked. ‘But I –’ And once again, distracted by the fear of what was lurking behind her, Kalina turned around, walking quickly, not wanting to be left behind.

* * *

Raymon was surprised by Edela’s decision to leave Korri and his men behind, though he thought it made sense. It was easier to be spotted in large numbers, and he’d begun to feel as though everyone was looking at them.

It seemed like the right time for partings of every kind.

He’d opened his mouth, ready to insist that he was well enough to continue his own journey, when Edela grabbed his arm.

‘I think it’s safer for you to stay with me.’

‘Safer?’ Raymon didn’t understand. ‘Why?’

Glancing around, Edela pulled him towards the shield rack, hearing Bertel arguing with Siggy nearby. ‘I was sent away from Osterland because of the Furycks,’ she whispered. ‘Something to do with protecting them, with keeping them safe. I... don’t quite understand, but my path led me to you, and not by chance, Raymon. I am certain of that. You are a grown man, not in need of my hand to hold, though I am asking you to carry on with us nonetheless. I feel that I must attempt to keep you safe somehow.’

Raymon laughed. ‘Though you’ve said that you’re going towards danger, Edela. Surely I’d be safer taking a ship and leaving you behind?’

Edela stared at him, knowing in her bones that he should be with her, though what could she do?

‘I am not, nor have I ever been a Furyck,’ he insisted. ‘And I’m no longer a Vandaal either. I am a ghost, a shadow. Nothing to anyone. It may not be what you want, but it’s what I want. Me.’

And thinking how self-obsessed and blind the young could be, Edela sighed. Looking up at him, she could almost hear Furia’s growling disapproval. ‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘You should follow the path of your own making, and I promise not to try and dissuade you again. Though if you could just accompany us as far as Bhyan. We could part there. I could certainly use your help,’ she added with blinking eyes. ‘With Bertel’s twisted ankle, I’d feel safer with you along.’

‘Zen’s not going?’

‘Korri seems to have taken him on. He won’t leave his side.’

Raymon glanced around the ship, seeing Siggy fussing over Bertel’s ankle; he appeared to be struggling to stand. ‘And how far away is Bhyan?’ he wondered.

‘Not far,’ Edela assured him. ‘We would buy horses.’

‘Horses?’

‘It’s not far, though they would make the journey faster.’

Raymon frowned. ‘And then?’

‘You go on your way.’ Edela’s smile had her face aching now. She didn’t feel joyful – just desperate. ‘I won’t ask any more of you, I promise. Nothing.’

Raymon knew the dreamer had wound him around her little finger, yet he found himself unable to stop nodding anyway.

* * *

Beryth Ulrik hadn’t been surprised by the arrival of the king that morning, for he had sent scouts ahead to alert her. And, it seemed, to ensure that he would receive a friendly welcome.

Axl smiled brightly at the stout, red-cheeked Lady of Vallsborg, though his eyes remained wary. ‘You are well, Beryth?’

She peered at him just as warily. ‘I am concerned, my lord,’ she said slowly, arms twitching by her sides. ‘I’ve heard many strange accounts lately, though I’d no idea I had a rebel army on my doorstep, which, according to your scouts, I do. The rebel army of a man who wants to be my new king! I wrote many times, though I never heard back. I assumed you had everything in hand.’ Now Beryth frowned, realising that with the arrival of Andala’s army, everything was certainly not in hand.

Not at all.

Axl’s mind had been swimming in pleasantries, desperate for ale, though now he blinked in confusion. ‘You wrote to me?’

She nodded, evening up the silver brooches holding up her best apron, realising that she should have put on something more formal for a visit from her king. Though with a fort to run and an army of children to chase around, what she chose to wear on any given day was of little interest to her. Whatever was mostly clean was usually the answer. Though perhaps not today.

Looking down, she saw a spot of grease from her breakfast, and licking a finger, she started working at it. ‘You never received my messages? I did think it strange. I was going to come to Andala myself, though with the odd things I’d been hearing, I felt I should stay.’ She started to frown, though catching a glimpse of a familiar face, she smiled. ‘Rexon Boas!’ And now she turned to the Lord of Saala, seeing the tension in his handsome face.

‘Beryth,’ he said, bobbing his head. ‘You look well.’

‘And you...’ she mused, cocking her head as her chickens clucked around them, scared into a feathery huddle by the gathered men. ‘You look tired.’

‘Saala has fallen,’ he said by way of explanation.

Beryth was horrified. ‘And your family?’ Though seeing the haunted look in Rexon’s eyes, she didn’t need an answer. Quickly leading the men inside, she shepherded Axl and Rexon towards the nearest table, where a selection of beverages waited before two serving women, who bobbed their heads at the king.

Axl avoided the mead and the wine, choosing a goblet of ale instead. And after a long drink, he wiped his mouth and beard, seeing the questions in Beryth’s eyes. ‘Mutt Storman. Perhaps you know the man?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Beryth grumbled. ‘That’s the source of my trouble. That man, trying to unsettle folks who want nothing more than a dry summer and a chance for the seeds to take. His men come here and try to plant seeds of a different kind, hoping to grow a rebellion. They seek out the disgruntled, those who lost family members to the sickness, trying to turn them against me. Against you.’ She shook her head, hands on hips. ‘Martha! Get those chickens outside!’ she called to one of the serving women, seeing that her loyal flock had followed her inside.

The young woman sprang into action, and soon the chickens were flapping their wings as they raced back through the doors, which eventually closed, immediately darkening the hall.

‘I do apologise, my lord,’ Beryth chuckled. ‘They’re worse than my children.’ She nodded at the other serving woman to top up the king’s goblet. ‘Now, Mutt Storman... what are we going to do about the man?’

‘It’s not just him,’ Axl sighed. ‘Henk Layborg has turned against me. Edd Arnsten in Borsund too. And more. They’ve joined together, and now they’re marching on Trelleg.’

Beryth didn’t understand.

‘They’re meeting there,’ Rexon explained. ‘They intend to fortify the South, starting at Trelleg and spreading from the border to the coast.’

Beryth’s mouth dropped open. ‘But Trelleg’s –’

‘A day’s ride from here,’ Axl finished. ‘Yes. Though they won’t stop there. Once they unite their forces, I imagine they’ll march on Andala. They’ve had the help of a dreamer, and likely that’s given them more confidence than is warranted, so we must act quickly to crush them at Trelleg.’

‘And will you have the men?’

‘I believe so,’ Axl said. ‘I’ve got my Andalans and I’ve sent word as far north as Verrak. Loyal Brekkans will come.’ Though just saying the words had him doubting himself, for how far had Mutt Storman spread his poison?

Beryth motioned to a servant, who poured her a cup of mead. ‘And Henk Layborg truly turned against you?’ Seeing Axl’s nodding head, her cheeks became even redder. ‘That traitorous bastard!’ she exclaimed, knowing his family well. ‘And for what? Does he seek to wager his very life against the Furycks? But the Furycks are Brekka!’

It was loyal of Beryth to say, and though Axl appreciated her support, he was less interested in her outrage and more interested in what she had to offer in terms of weapons and men. It was one thing to send a note outlining what she had to hand but quite another to part with it.

‘And the poor King of Iskavall,’ Beryth went on, feeling unsettled. ‘Raymon. I was so sorry to hear about what happened.’

Axl nodded. ‘It was a surprise, yes.’

‘And what of this new king? Oren Storgard?’ Beryth was already frowning as she spoke. ‘Another problem?’

‘I would say so, though he remains in Iskavall, tending to his own matters. I have to put down Mutt Storman before I consider what trouble he’s going to be.’

‘So you’ll need my warriors,’ Beryth decided. ‘And weapons.’ And with a determined look, she turned her guests around and led them out of the hall.

* * *

Bertel tapped a foot, wanting Siggy to hurry along.

Goodbyes were never easy, but the girl had become emotional, hugging the goat, the cat, Korri, and many of the crew. And then Korri again.

And now she was saying goodbye to Zen, and Bertel’s back was starting to ache.

He wanted to get moving.

Edela felt strange about parting, telling herself it was the right thing to do, but when she looked at Korri, with his kind grin and moist eyes, she started to doubt her decision.

Behind her, Raymon appeared ready to run, and turning around, she gave him a confident smile. ‘We’ll find those horses. That will make a nice change, won’t it?’

He stared at her and didn’t speak.

Siggy eventually returned, leaving Zen on the ship holding Alvi, the cat. Her head was bowed, big curls covering her face as she moved to stand by Edela.

Bertel started nodding, feet shuffling as he grasped Korri’s hand. ‘You’ve been endlessly understanding,’ he grinned. ‘I’m not sure anyone else would have been quite so tolerant.’

Korri laughed. ‘I’ve never had such an adventure! And I’m glad of it. I hope we’ll see each other again. I truly do.’ His eyes shifted from Bertel to Edela, and now he took the old dreamer gently in his arms. ‘Stay safe. That’s what I wish most of all, Edela. That you stay safe so I can claim that cup of tea.’

She squeezed him, feeling tears coming. ‘I shall very much try to. You will like it in Andala, and I happen to know the king.’ Pulling back, forcing a smile, she felt like sobbing, suddenly broken-hearted, as though she would never see her cottage again.

Siggy finally looked up, wiping her eyes, and taking Edela’s hand, she squeezed it.

‘Well, come along,’ Bertel said, feeling a little emotional himself. Clearing his throat, he stepped back, turning to Raymon. ‘Those horses won’t buy themselves!’ And with that, he was on his way down the pier, not looking back.

* * *

Some of Oren’s missing men arrived that afternoon, much to his relief, though he projected only anger as he stomped towards them. ‘How nice of you to wander in!’ he snarled, flapping a hand at the tense-looking man who had dismounted his horse, bent in place.

Straightening his back, he heard clicking, feeling both relief and pain. ‘My king,’ the new Lord of Saala said with a bowed head, shooting glances at Mutt Storman, who remained silent behind the man he assumed was the king. ‘I apologise for the delay. The weather –’

‘The weather?’ Oren flung back his head, peering at the sky, which was cloudy but fair. Looking down, he eyed the dishevelled man, smelling damp. ‘You choose to blame a summer shower for your late arrival?’ Now he scratched his hairless chin, circling the man with accusatory eyes. ‘Should I doubt my instincts about you, Mutt? For you are the one who recommended these men. Chose them for these roles...’

‘No, lord. No, we –’ Mutt cut himself off, feeling the ground beneath him ripple with danger. One hand on his hilt, he steadied himself. ‘It’s always been the way, especially transporting anything more than a horse, I –’

‘Enough!’ Oren spat. ‘I don’t wish to hear excuses. We are here with a job to do. I am, at least! And I will. History will judge us by our successes. And those who fail?’ He turned to Mutt, lips curling with distaste, for despite the man now dressing like a lord, he still had the look of an animal.

And he stunk like one too.

Sweeping his cloak around, Oren strode towards the tent where he’d gathered those lords and commanders who had arrived, ready to finalise their plans.

For tomorrow.

PART IV

REVELATION

31

Mattie hurried up to Jael that afternoon as the clouds thickened and the forest darkened. ‘I saw your brother!’

Jael stopped abruptly, grabbing her.

Walking behind the queen, Kolarov stumbled to a stop with Pye.

‘Well, not your brother, but his men. A man. Erling?’

Jael nodded encouragingly. ‘What was happening?’

‘He was talking to another man. He didn’t like him,’ Mattie murmured. ‘Rexon?’

‘Rexon?’ And for a moment, Jael feared that Axl was far from Andala. ‘Where were they?’

‘Riding in a forest. I don’t know where. They were talking about the king. About whether he’d left too many men in Andala. About whether they had enough with them.’

Jael blinked. ‘So Axl was with them? Not in Andala?’

‘They weren’t in Andala, no,’ Mattie said, still trying to tease out the memories of what she’d seen. ‘The man with the dark hair. Erling? He spoke of wanting enough men to crush...’ She trailed off, losing the thread entirely.

‘Crush?’

‘I didn’t hear,’ the dreamer admitted. ‘It became mumbles then.’

Fyn and Kalina came to a stop, wanting to know what was happening.

‘Axl Furyck appears to have decamped,’ Kolarov told them. ‘So we’ll be arriving to an empty fort.’

‘Not empty,’ Mattie frowned. ‘They feared they’d left too many behind.’

Now Jael was frowning. ‘So the army left the fort with the king?’

The dreamer nodded.

‘Recently?’

Mattie’s nod became more of a shrug.

‘It’s good news!’ Kolarov decided, absent any real evidence. ‘If your brother had been worried about an imminent attack on Andala, he’d hardly have left, would he?’ He peered at Jael, trying to encourage her to agree.

Though Jael kept frowning. ‘Unless,’ she murmured. ‘Unless he couldn’t see what was coming. Unless it was all a trick...’

* * *

Bertel felt highly disconcerted about Edela’s plan to simply ride towards this mysterious woman’s palace, though it made no sense to doubt the dreamer. He knew, as Edela knew, that Furia had sent her on this journey. And by continuing to loudly doubt Edela, he’d realised that he was questioning the goddess herself.

So he had resorted to loud mumbles of disapproval instead.

Edela had done her best to ignore him on their journey, which had been slow and uncomfortable. Bertel and Raymon had purchased two ponies and two horses, food and waterskins, and they’d joined the crowds heading out of town on the only road to Bhyan. It was narrow, rising up a mountain initially and so busy that they’d plodded along under a suddenly fierce sun, disturbed by flies, dust, and Bertel’s constant muttering.

They’d been forced to ride single file for much of the morning, but after they’d crested the mountain and made it down the other side, the road had widened, cutting through green fields and lush meadows full of people hard at work.

There was much to look at, though eventually, Raymon’s attention was drawn to Bertel, who rode alongside him. ‘Is something wrong with your horse?’

Bertel blinked at Raymon before looking down at his black and white gelding, who’d proven to be an unpleasant ride, less interested in the road ahead and more concerned with nipping whoever got close. ‘He’s either hungry or ready for a fight,’ he muttered, once again tugging the beast away from Raymon’s steadier black mare.

Raymon grinned. ‘Let’s hope he’s just hungry.’ Though seeing the horse’s eyes rolling madly, he doubted it.

Behind them on two tubby chestnut ponies, Edela and Siggy were happier, riding side by side in a comfortable silence. Siggy was lost in her thoughts, sometimes thinking of Zen and what he would be doing, other times eyeing Raymon and wondering how long he would stay with them.

He didn’t seem to want to.

And then she thought of Lina, wondering if she was now the Queen of Iskavall. And wanting to know if Edela had seen anything of her, she turned to the dreamer.

Edela was squinting in the glaring sunlight, attempting to keep her thoughts in order. They often returned to Jael, seeking her guidance, knowing that her granddaughter wouldn’t sit back and let an enemy run roughshod over her. If someone was threatening the Furycks, Jael wouldn’t give them a moment’s peace.

It was the right thing to stop the Mistress, Edela knew. It was.

Though was she strong enough to?

She had made magic with Siggy, but she feared she was still weak and incapable of doing so on her own.

‘Edela?’

Edela turned to the girl, who was peering at her curiously. ‘Yes?’

‘You weren’t listening,’ Siggy explained. ‘To me.’

Edela blinked in surprise. ‘I am sorry, though my hearing’s only getting worse. Oh, to be young! Enjoy all you have, dear Siggy, for one day, you’ll end up like me. Coming apart at the seams!’

‘But you’re more powerful than any of us!’ Siggy insisted. Edela didn’t reply, though her silence was a statement in itself, so she changed the subject. ‘I was asking about Lina. Have you seen what happened to her? Is she the Queen of Iskavall?’

‘I haven’t seen anything about poor Lina,’ Edela admitted. ‘I’ve wondered about her myself, though nothing has come to me. I fear for the girl with a husband like that Oren Storgard.’ She shivered, seeing Bertel attempting to drag his bad-tempered horse away from Raymon’s again. ‘He does concern me.’

‘A dreamer can help a king,’ Siggy mused. ‘But if the king is bad?’

‘Oh yes, if the king is bad that dreamer can help him do great evil. Especially a dreamer who barely knows her own mind.’ She saw Siggy’s worried eyes and offered a smile. ‘Though Lina has the strength to fight back, to do what is right.’

‘Do you think she will?’

Though Edela could only shrug, knowing she had enough problems of her own without worrying about what was happening in Osterland. She just had to hope that Axl, Gisila, and Gant had everything under control.

And that Lina would find a way to rein in her vile husband.

* * *

That afternoon, Lina brought her mother a bowl of dried plums and hazelnuts. Though a sulking Thora merely scowled at her from her chair outside Gant’s tent. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’

‘Hungry? You’re lucky I still have a tongue in my mouth after what you said to the king. Deary me, but I didn’t think I’d raised one such as you! A traitor to her own mother? A betrayer of our sacred bond? But I nearly died giving birth to you. And for what?’ And shaking her head at the bowl, Thora sank back into her chair, steaming with rage.

Lina stared at her, the bowl wobbling in her hand. She felt permanently nauseous, her body always vibrating as though it was trying to warn her that she was in danger.

She felt in danger.

Not content to enjoy what he’d only recently claimed, Oren was hungry for more. And to where would it lead?

Sometimes, she saw him as the King of Osterland. Other times, he lay dead, his body bloody before her. Though which was the truth, and which was just a desperate desire to be free?

She loathed his voice, his touch, his anger. Not a moment passed when she felt able to be herself, to relax and smile, for she felt watched.

By Oren.

By his dreamer.

Oren had sought Gunnhild out long before he’d become Iskavall’s king – she knew that now – and he had paid her handsomely. To do what, Lina wondered, unable to see anything herself.

What did he want the dreamer to do?

Sighing, she looked down at her still-pouting mother.

Now she was a queen, it seemed that their positions had reversed – that she was the mature adult and Thora the petulant child. ‘I did not betray you, Mother. It was your choice to leave your post. It had nothing to do with me.’ And with a glance at the tent, seeing a vision of Gant tied up inside, she placed the bowl on the grass and turned to leave.

‘Wait! Lina, you will wait!’ Thora squeaked, hurrying off the chair so quickly that it toppled over behind her. Reaching her daughter, she grabbed her arm. ‘They are to attack tomorrow?’

Lina turned back to her. ‘Yes.’

‘And what of it? What have you seen?’ Her voice was a strangled hiss as she glanced around, not wanting to see her son-in-law. ‘Will we be victorious?’ she asked, her sharp fingernails now digging into Lina’s arm.

An annoyed Lina pried them away. ‘Oren’s dreamer promises a great victory, Mother. She says my husband will become the King of the North. And that that will only be the beginning.’ Lina repeated the words often told to her by Oren, whose eyes would gleam madly as he repeated them, though hers were dull and lifeless.

‘And you? You are a dreamer yourself, so what do you see?’

Lina saw her pathetic mother before her, thinking only of herself, and she stepped away with a frown. ‘I think Oren will get his wish. The King of Brekka will die.’ And with one last look at the tent, Lina turned her head and walked away.

Inside the tent, Gant had been listening to the women, desperate for more insight. Trying to free himself from the rope tying him to the tent pole had left his wrists bleeding. There was nothing more he could do – not without a blade. And then? Then he would need a horse and...

Head dropping forward, he tried to think, to push his thoughts towards someone.

Someone who could help.

* * *

Helga walked into the forest with Linas and Gully.

The fort was enormous, though her grandson had been raised in a forest and needed to be set loose regularly, or he became a fidgeting ball of questions.

‘Though do not go far!’ the dreamer warned as boy and dog scampered away. Her attention was soon claimed by a crown of giant horse mushrooms circling an elm tree.

She saw a flash of Edela bending down with a basket.

‘I shall make you a pie. Mushroom and mutton! What do you think?’

The grey-haired man behind her laughed. He swept hair away from his eyes, holding the bridle of a white horse. ‘You think I need a pie?’

‘One of my pies? Oh yes, I think you do, Gant Olborn. You’ve always been too skinny for my liking.’ And now Edela turned around, showing him her basket, brimming with mushrooms. ‘You know you didn’t need to come with me today. I can still walk!’

Gant offered his hand, pulling Edela back to her feet. ‘And who’s to say I’ve come along for you?’ he grinned. ‘Perhaps it’s me I’m worried about?’

Edela’s smile vanished. ‘Everything is strange,’ she said, sadly now. ‘Without Ranuf, there is a void. Just a gigantic emptiness. Perhaps like it was for Daala and Raemus in the beginning? Just darkness...’ She wobbled now, tears in her eyes.

Steadying her, Gant sighed. ‘Axl isn’t ready to be king.’

Edela bit her lips together.

‘Jael is lost. Ranuf’s death, it’s...’ Tears blurred Gant’s eyes. ‘Jael isn’t here, not as she was, and I have to...’

Looking up at him, Edela offered a pat and a smile of encouragement. ‘You have to look after Brekka, I know. I’ve been in this family for decades now, so I know how it goes. Always Brekka. Always the Furycks.’

‘It’s what Ranuf would want.’

Edela blinked in surprise. ‘For you to support his brother?’

‘Axl has no support, Edela. None. If he tries to challenge Lothar and I side with him?’ His sigh was lengthy, and he turned to his horse. ‘I must balance what is best for Ranuf’s kingdom with what is best for his children, and if Axl tries to challenge Lothar now, I believe he will die.’

Edela blinked, though she feared as much herself. ‘You are a loyal man, I know, and you must do what you believe is right. Axl will be the king, I see that, though how he gets there is up to the gods, to Furia, for I am blind to it.’

Gant nodded. ‘I just wanted you to know that no matter what you see or hear, Axl, Jael, and Brekka are always on my mind. I will try to keep them all safe. I will.’

Helga blinked, the vision evaporating, and looking down, she saw the mushrooms again before Gant Olborn’s grey eyes returned to her, and they were full of fear.

* * *

Kalina Sardis was wild with anger, finally reaching the end of her patience. ‘I have gold!’ she screamed. ‘Gold to buy all the ships you want! Gold for weapons and armour! Gold!’

Everyone stopped walking, turning to look at her, apart from Jael, who carried on.

And seeing that she wasn’t waiting, Fyn tried to hurry the former queen along. ‘Jael doesn’t want your gold,’ he told her, grabbing her arm. ‘She wants your father.’

Kalina’s feet throbbed so intensely that she refused to take one more step, and Fyn was soon forced to tug her forward.

‘What are you doing?’ he grumbled.

‘Stopping here. I am stopping here!’ she shouted furiously. ‘The Queen of Oss has come! The Queen of Oss has come to save her brother!’

Jael didn’t break her stride, and Kolarov almost had to gallop to catch her. ‘My dear Jael, she will alert the hounds of Venusta herself with that cacophony!’

Jael thought so too. ‘Tell Fyn to gag her,’ she said, carrying on.

Kolarov nodded, wheeling around and trotting back to Fyn. ‘The queen says you must gag the woman,’ he panted, not meeting Kalina’s eyes.

‘Grab her!’ Fyn warned, sensing that Kalina was going to run for the trees, though a surprised Kolarov was too slow to move and Kalina bolted.

Jael kept walking, Pye hurrying to keep up with her, head twisted over his shoulder. ‘But aren’t you worried, my lady?’

‘About Kalina?’ Jael laughed, feeling only urgency. ‘If Fyn Gallas can’t wrangle that woman without my help, what use is he? No, she’s acting like my daughter throwing a tantrum, and if I even acknowledge her, what do you imagine will happen?’ Turning to Pye, she winked. ‘Let Fyn deal with her.’

And Fyn was trying to, though it was Mattie who eventually stopped the escaping Kalina, flinging out a leg and tripping her.

Kalina screamed as she fell, screaming louder as Fyn flipped her over and pinned her to the ground, urging Mattie to wrap a strip of cloth around her mouth.

Mattie happily did so, not wanting the queen sending out more warnings to their enemies, for the closer they got to the fort, the more certain she was that Andala was in deep trouble.

* * *

Lina hadn’t been able to escape her husband, who had caught her slipping between two tents, and there he pinned her, holding her wrists down by her legs.

‘Where are you going?’

Lina blinked rapidly. ‘The forest. To... relieve myself.’

Releasing her with a push, Oren shook his head. ‘A queen squatting over pine needles? Have you forgotten who you are? Who you are to me, to these people, to my men?’ Now he grabbed her chin, tilting it sharply. ‘Are we like them? Like the servants who cook our food and make our beds? Are we like them, Lina?’

A trembling Lina shook her head.

‘No! For they are no better than animals,’ Oren hissed. ‘Put here to serve us, their king and queen, chosen by the gods. They serve us, they look up to us, they worship us. But if they see us acting like them?’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘You are a queen!’ he shouted. ‘My queen! And if you cannot act in a manner befitting your position, I shall have to confine you to your tent. Is that what you wish?’

‘No.’ Lina’s voice was a faint squeak, which she could see inflamed her already raging husband. ‘No,’ she repeated, scrambling now. ‘I... I will do as you say.’

‘You will, of course, for don’t forget Gunnhild.’ He saw the surprise on Lina’s face, laughing now. ‘What? You think I paid her all those coins for a few small favours? No, I may have a dreamer wife, but I’m under no illusion that you’re any use to me right now, Lina. That’s why I have Gunnhild. She is watching over me, looking out for me, loyal to me. If anyone thinks to go against me, to betray me... well, I will know in a heartbeat.’

Lina didn’t understand. ‘How?’

Oren lunged at her. ‘Are you even a dreamer, girl? To not know a thing like that? But Gunnhild can speak into my mind! She can send me messages, awake or asleep. It’s how we communicate, she and I. She is an invaluable friend.’ And releasing his wife, leaving her trembling before him, Oren stepped back, holding out a hand. ‘This way,’ he said. ‘Back to our tent.’

And seeing she had no choice in the matter, Lina dropped her head and started walking away, all thoughts of helping Gant Olborn gone from her mind.

* * *

Edela’s mind was a hive of buzzing bees, distracting her from any useful thoughts.

She rode beside Raymon, who kept pace with her, though she sensed that he was growing impatient.

‘Will the Mistress be watching, do you think?’ he wondered suddenly, breaking a lengthy silence. Looking up, he saw that the sky was strange. Half appeared almost black, signalling an impending storm, the other half a cheerful blue, as though the sky gods were locked in a battle for the afternoon’s weather.

Edela smiled up at him. ‘I should say so.’ And now she frowned. ‘I don’t think we’ll make that village by nightfall.’

Seeing nothing but the red dirt road stretching before them, Raymon shrugged. They had been riding up and down mountains for much of the day, so this flat stretch, though rocky, was welcome, though it certainly didn’t suggest that a village was nearby.

Up ahead on the right, Edela could see trees, and her eyes lit up. ‘Perhaps we head into the forest soon? Make camp there?’

Overhearing her, Bertel nudged his horse between them. ‘But that’s no ordinary forest, Edela. Who knows what sort of creatures live in there?’

‘Snakes!’ Siggy suggested from behind them. ‘I imagine there are snakes!’

‘Maybe a tiger?’ Raymon grinned, having discovered what Edela knew quite well – that getting a rise out of Bertel was easy.

‘What? A... tiger? But you can’t think that’s a good idea!’

‘Well, we have you to protect us. You and your sword,’ Edela said. ‘I’m sure we’ll be quite safe.’ And thinking of safety, another thought popped into her head. ‘I want to make new symbol stones. Something that might help shield us from view.’

Bertel frowned. ‘And you think you can? Stop her seeing us?’

‘I can certainly try,’ Edela mused, then realising that her three companions were watching her with bated breath, she cleared her throat. ‘Oh, yes! Whatever this woman has, I can guarantee she’ll be no match for me!’ It was a ridiculous boast and Edela squirmed in the saddle, though she couldn’t cower from the Mistress – not from an enemy who sought to kill her.

The path she was on led one way now.

There was no turning back.

32

‘How are you feeling, Helga?’ Astrid asked, coming out of the hall, where she had been visiting the cook with a remedy for an ingrown toenail.

Helga stared at her as though she was speaking from the other side of the fort, which concerned Astrid, who leaned towards her. ‘Still not yourself?’

Helga Brugen had never wanted anyone’s nose in her business, though she was beginning to fear for her senses. She scratched her head, looking down at her basket of mushrooms, remembering her vision in the forest. ‘Tell me about Gant Olborn.’

Astrid couldn’t have been more surprised. ‘Gant?’ she spluttered.

‘I keep seeing images of the man. I don’t know why.’ Not looking at the healer, Helga’s brow furrowed into deeper and deeper rows.

‘He’s missing,’ Astrid said. ‘So perhaps you’re being led to where he is? To clues?’ She placed a hand on Helga’s arm. ‘I have something you could try,’ she whispered. ‘Something that might reveal the answer.’

‘Try?’

‘A mix of herbs Edela made before she left for Tuura. Come. It may help you. Something to... awaken your mind.’

Linas had disappeared inside with Gully, though now he returned with questions about supper. Helga frowned at him. ‘Ask Helvor to feed you. I... I will go with the healer.’ Linas opened his mouth to ask another question, though Helga barely noticed as she followed Astrid down the steps and across the square towards her cottage, hoping the woman was right.

* * *

Jael walked through the forest towards Andala surrounded by voices from the past: her father’s, Aleksander’s, her older brothers’ – all of them dead. She heard Gant and Axl and even Eadmund in the trees.

And Edela.

Edela, who had dragged her into the forest repeatedly as a child, desperate to ignite some spark in her granddaughter, some interest in those things she found interesting herself.

To no avail.

She was a stubborn woman, Jael thought with a smile, for surely as a dreamer, she’d known exactly who her granddaughter was?

Behind her, she heard a grunt as Kalina stumbled again, though she hadn’t looked at the former queen since her loud tantrum and wouldn’t until she had use for her.

Mattie approached, limping slightly.

‘Are you hurt?’

‘Just blisters. Nothing a bit of calendula wouldn’t cure.’

Jael smiled, realising that Edela would have known that. ‘We’re here,’ she said, surprising the dreamer.

‘Andala?’

‘Well, nearby. This is where I like to ride, or it was before the fire. We’re not far.’ Lowering her voice, she glanced around, seeing blackened stumps and broken trunks. ‘It’s a good time to see what dangers lie ahead.’

Mattie nodded. ‘I keep wondering what we can do. What help we can be.’ Looking over her shoulder, she saw Kolarov’s pained expression, one hand to his back. A petulant Kalina was shaking her head with Fyn scowling beside her, and Pye dragging his feet at the back. ‘I’m not sure we’re the rescue party your brother needs.’

‘No,’ Jael laughed. ‘No, we’re not, but Eadmund will come with Oss’ fleet. That’s the real rescue party. We just have to hope he can get those ships on their way in time.’

* * *

Bram Svanter was on his way to his king as soon as Eadmund jumped down onto Oss’ sandy foreshore, squinting in the last of the sun. Hands open, he inclined his head towards the ship, seeing Thorgils coming but no sign of Fyn or Jael. ‘What’s this?’

Eadmund’s attention was quickly on the slippery black stones of Oss’ windswept beach, which immediately sought to slow him down. Though having lived on the island his entire life, he had an uncanny ability to keep his balance. ‘I need you to ready the fleet. That’s Raal,’ he said, pointing to the helmsman, who waited on board with the rest of the crew. ‘He’ll need food, ale, weapons. Make sure he has it. And Bram, ready the ships. We’re going to Andala.’

* * *

Astrid showed Helga to a chair, removing her cloak and hanging it on the back of the door, covering a series of symbols.

‘Are they recent?’ Helga asked, pointing to the door.

Astrid smiled. ‘Yes. Edela added a few before she left. She tends to do that wherever she goes. Whenever she has a new idea.’ And now she became thoughtful, fearing for her friend. ‘I’ve worked with her since I arrived. We developed all sorts of remedies together. And Ayla too.’ Leaving Helga in the chair, Astrid stirred the embers under her cauldron, carefully adding a few small pieces of kindling. And then she headed to the kitchen shelves, where she pulled out a little pottery jar, stoppered with a cork lid. ‘This is what I told you about.’ Taking the jar to Helga, she removed the lid, holding it out for the dreamer to sniff.

‘Borage,’ Helga began. ‘Calendula.’ And then she paused, frowning, knowing there were ingredients in the herbal mix she didn’t recognise at all.

‘We have many merchant ships docking in Andala, so we can access ingredients from all over Varmyr. I can’t remember the names of what she has in here, though they are potent herbs for entering trances.’

‘Wormwood, mugwort, they suffice,’ Helga sniffed, turning away. She made to stand, deciding that she needed to follow her own path, not whatever this was.

Edela Saeveld and her were on entirely different pages.

They were entirely different dreamers.

‘That’s what Edela thought until she tried this mixture. It took her into a far deeper trance than anything she’d experienced before. She feared its potency. It’s why she asked me to keep it here, safe, until she returned, though I never saw her again.’

Helga was confused. ‘She tried it? These herbs? And saw what?’

‘I don’t know, but whatever it was disturbed her enough that she decided to head to Tuura the next day,’ Astrid said, replacing the lid and making to return the jar to the kitchen shelf.

Though Helga held out a hand. ‘I keep thinking I’ve seen something, noticed something, heard something, but in the blink of an eye, it’s gone. I can’t find anything in my dreams, but this?’ she murmured, eyeing the jar. ‘It might help.’

Astrid stared at her. ‘They’re very potent herbs. When Edela used them, she ensured that I was with her.’

‘Of course. But we need to act fast before I... I will see to the boy and return when it’s dark.’

‘Here?’

Helga’s eyes went to the healer’s cloak, covering the symbols.

‘Yes, here.’ And now she stood. ‘I won’t be long.’

* * *

After a day spent organising Vallsborg’s garrison, Axl was grateful for the opportunity to sit down. Though despite the generous feast his hostess had provided, he still hadn’t regained his appetite, and his plate was full before him, which a distracted Beryth didn’t notice as she took her seat.

She had returned to the table, having dealt with one of her children, looking decidedly worn out by the experience. Wrangling a stray hair back into a thick braid, she sat down, immediately reaching for her wine. ‘My Rolf thinks he’s old enough to go with you. Sixteen, he is, and stupid with it. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but he’s always taken after his father, and look at how that turned out.’

Erling was confused, though neither Axl nor Rexon sought to enlighten him.

Not in front of Beryth.

Though she happily did it for him. ‘My husband, the last Lord of Vallsborg. Killed by his lover, the foolish man. Never could say no to a generous pair of hips, that one. Rolf’s a shy thing but just as daft. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long.’ And throwing back the entire goblet of wine, Beryth motioned for her steward to pour her another.

Axl smiled. ‘Rolf should do what his mother says. I know my mother would say the same.’

Beryth grinned. ‘We women know our children. At sixteen, you’re still a boy, but eighteen? By then, you’re thinking like a man.’ She glanced over at her gangly Rolf, all arms and legs. He appeared to be sulking, complaining to one of his friends, and turning around, Beryth laughed. ‘Though he’s still scared of his mother, so he’ll do as he’s told.’

‘He’ll have work to do here,’ Rexon warned. ‘Once we leave, you’ll need to stay alert.’

Beryth nodded, eyeing the king. ‘And Andala, my lord? I hope you’ve left a full garrison there?’

* * *

They could see Andala’s great stone fortress through the trees now, searching for any signs of trouble. Night had fallen, though braziers along the eastern wall revealed its mighty stature. Mattie felt dwarfed by it, having never seen something so large and impressive before.

Jael stood beside her, explaining the layout of the fort. ‘There’s double the amount of men I’d expect to see up there,’ she muttered, turning back to Fyn.

It was encouraging, though perhaps also worrying.

‘What will you do?’ Fyn asked, though he wasn’t the only one who wanted an answer to that question. Even Kalina had stopped wriggling and was staring at Jael.

Who scratched her head, listening to her empty belly growl. ‘Wait till morning,’ she decided. ‘We’ll take turns keeping watch. Mattie, you should try and dream. We need to be certain it’s safe.’

Kolarov was starving, convinced that he could smell meat roasting, though he also didn’t want to end up captured by an enemy. ‘It makes sense,’ he sighed, thinking of the berries he’d foraged on their walk – hardly enough for one person. Perhaps there was a chance Fyn could use his bow and –

‘No fires,’ Jael said. ‘We can’t afford to draw any attention. Make yourselves comfortable. If things go well, you’ll have a hot breakfast come morning.’

The thought of hot food was enough to make an exhausted Pye almost jump with delight, and eager to fall asleep, he started looking for a place to lie down. Kolarov was of the same mind, though Kalina just stared at Jael, having convinced herself that she would rest in a bed that night – likely some straw mattress in a wooden box, but at least a bed.

And now?

Fyn dragged her away, giving her no opportunity to complain.

Watching them go, Jael’s attention was soon drawn to Mattie, for the dreamer was frowning intensely, staring at the fort. ‘What have you seen?’

Mattie shrugged, feeling Otter vibrating against her leg, and bending down, she picked him up. He nuzzled her neck, purring in her arms, though her frown didn’t ease. ‘Nothing, though I feel something.’

‘So do I,’ Jael admitted quietly. ‘Which is why I’m not hammering on the gates. Believe me, I want a bed and a hot meal as much as everyone else, but something feels wrong.’

Mattie agreed. ‘I found some dandelions today. They’ll help my dreams,’ she said, motioning to her purse.

‘Well, you do that and I’ll take first watch. That will leave Fyn with the enviable task of watching Kalina.’

Mattie’s nose twitched. ‘She’s...’

‘Mmmm, she is,’ Jael chuckled. ‘Though I need her if I’m to draw her father to me.’

‘But won’t he come after you anyway?’

‘Perhaps, though this way, I have something to hold over him. A reason for him to remain cautious.’

‘Will you kill her?’

Jael peered at the dreamer. ‘I’ll have to wait and see. If she becomes a liability, if she puts us in danger, then yes, I won’t hesitate to.’

Mattie turned to Kalina, not wanting to think about that, and then she was on her way, feeling the soothing rhythm of Otter’s purring working on her tired mind.

* * *

Helga returned to Astrid’s cottage after ensuring that Gully was watching Linas and that Gerald was keeping an eye on them both.

She felt tense and oddly fearful.

For as many years as she could remember, she had maintained a solid grip on her world and the few things that encompassed it. She had focused on caring for the boy and keeping them both safe, away from strangers, and far from danger.

She had kept alert, sharpening her mind like a blade, yet now it felt dull, incapable of the tasks that lay ahead.

Something was wrong, and no amount of thinking would reveal what.

Everything she sought lay hidden behind a thick bank of clouds, and staring at Astrid’s brazier, legs crossed in front of her, feeling every one of her sixty-two years, Helga hoped that Edela’s herbs would help disperse them.

Astrid brought the pottery jar to the fire, where she’d placed her drum. ‘I’m not sure how much to use,’ she confessed, glancing at the locked door. ‘I imagine Edela wouldn’t be shy, but she –’

‘Is more experienced than me?’ Helga suggested gruffly. ‘A better dreamer?’ The healer looked embarrassed, though Helga only shrugged. ‘I imagine she is, though I don’t seek to be anything other than what I am. The gods chose me, though I’ve never known why. Never known what good my gifts have been or what use. When I needed them most, they failed.’

Astrid looked confused.

‘My daughter. She died birthing the boy. It wasn’t something I saw or felt, it just happened. All I could do was watch. After I’d tried all I knew, all I could do was watch, so I don’t feel that my gifts have ever been of much use. Not even now.’

Astrid stared at her with sympathy in her eyes.

‘I need to protect the fort,’ Helga said, clearing her throat. ‘I came to do so, and yet?’ She shook her head.

Astrid offered her the jar. ‘You should decide. There is always doubt,’ she added. ‘I feel it myself. Those I can’t save... there are so many, but I still believe the gods have a purpose for me, so I carry on.’

‘And you think this purpose will be revealed to you one day?’ Helga wondered, eyes shifting to the circle of soapstone lamps arranged on the floor. She smelled fish and sheep fat and felt strange, remembering her cottage in the forest and her daughter’s ghostly face as life left her. ‘Do you think you will know?’

‘I choose to believe so. Yes.’

A nodding Helga dropped her eyes to the jar of dried herbs. The blend of aromas was astringent, unpleasant, and strangely unfamiliar.

She wondered if Edela Saeveld knew what she was doing.

Though scooping up a handful of the herbs and tossing them into the fire, Helga guessed she would soon find out.

* * *

Jael watched Mattie sleeping, so tired that her eyes ached.

She closed them a few times, trying to wake herself up. Then realising that strategy wouldn’t end well, she stood and tipped back her head, eyes on the stars. They sparkled in waves across the sky, and she thought of all she had survived since she’d left Andala in search of her grandmother.

And how much had changed.

Her dream of the pyres had started it all, and though she kept wanting to believe that it hadn’t been a vision of the future, what had happened since had revealed the horrible truth of it.

Raymon and Amma were dead. So was Axl’s heir. She had barely survived her time on S’ala Nis, and Ronin Sardis had promised to kill every member of her family. Not to mention whatever voice she’d heard on the ship – another threat she had to deal with.

She was used to attacking every obstacle like a hammer. But now?

Fyn joined her. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No. Just thought I’d better stand up.’

‘I can take over. I’m not tired.’

She smiled, seeing him suppressing a yawn. ‘I’ll be fine. And besides, rather you than me watching Kalina.’

Fyn grinned. ‘She’s not easy.’

‘No, but hopefully having her will make sense in the end. Something might go our way.’

Fyn heard Mattie thrashing about on the ground, and his attention shifted.

Jael patted his arm. ‘She’s dreaming.’

‘I...’

‘You?’

Fyn peered at her. ‘Nothing. She’s helped us... Mattie.’ He saw Jael watching him and became uncomfortable. ‘I feel sorry for her, that’s all.’

‘Sorry for her?’

‘She’s in love with a dead man. A man she can’t have. I just... I feel sorry for her. She’s living in the past, thinking she can change what happened somehow. That she can bring him back, and they can be together again.’

Jael felt some sympathy for the dreamer then. ‘It’s Mattie’s life, and she can spend it any way she wants. Besides, I don’t blame her. When you love someone that deeply, life without them loses meaning. It’s understandable that she wants to return to when they were together. You might think she should move on, but why? Why does she have to? She loved her husband and maybe she only wants to love his memory for the rest of her life. It’s her choice, Fyn.’

‘But she’s so unhappy.’

‘Though you can’t save her from that. You can’t. No one can. Now go back to that annoying woman and leave our dreamer dreaming. It’s the most important thing she can do.’

* * *

Helga felt a burning sensation clogging her throat.

The desire to cough distracted her, though confronted with a wall of woolly clouds, she pushed on, seeking a way through.

The smell of the strange herbs was in her nostrils.

She remembered Edela’s burning cottage and thought she could smell smoke too.

The beat of Astrid’s drum was a loud reminder of what she was trying to achieve, and so, shutting out all distractions, Helga focused on trying to part those clouds.

It was all that mattered now. Her life depended on discovering what lay behind the clouds.

Her life and Linas’ life, and the King of Brekka’s life too.

The intensity of that revelation surprised her.

Voices rushed at her like playing children, loud and sharp, talking over one another so that she couldn’t make out any words. She felt an urgency in them, though, a sense that people were in a hurry.

Loud jingling sounds.

Snorting.

Horses, she thought distractedly.

She inhaled sweat now. Sweat and filth. Grass and night.

And shivering explosively, Helga’s eyes sprang open.

She was in a tent.

Shivering some more, she turned her head, seeing a man lying on the ground.

Tied to a post.

33

Mattie had gone to sleep with Andala in her mind.

Before they made themselves known in the morning, she had to ensure it was safe. Jael felt it was, but it was her job to confirm it. Though as she looked around with squinting eyes, she couldn’t see any sign of the fort.

She was in a forest.

She was in the forest.

And for a moment, she doubted she was asleep.

This was the forest they were camped in outside the fort.

Before her, an owl winked – brown and large, with curious yellow eyes. He sat on the branch of an alder tree, studying her with a twitching head before launching himself into the air.

Remembering her dreams of S’ala Nis, she was soon in the air herself, seeing nothing but dense tree cover as the enormous fort disappeared to her right.

Andala.

This was certainly Andala.

She thought of Otter lying beside her, his purring a steady drumbeat against her chest.

Jael Furyck was keeping watch.

Fyn was with Kalina, Kolarov, and Pye – all six of them camped in the woods.

Yet, she was leaving them behind.

Fear trembled her arms, her wings, for she was flying, swooping low now, seeing that yellow-eyed owl coming to land on another branch – this one up much higher.

She landed beside it, eyes sweeping a clearing where she saw an enormous camp of tents, fires blazing before each one, and down the middle of the clearing in orderly rows too.

She saw horses and armour glinting.

A man with flaming orange hair emerged from the largest tent, a golden crown on his head. He turned to a young woman, kissing her. The woman looked unhappy, as though she would cry.

Mattie felt her fear, her sadness, and something else...

Then the young woman looked up at her, and Mattie could hear her thoughts.

* * *

The sleeping man wriggled onto his feet, nearly tumbling over, appearing to forget that he was tied to the tent pole.

Helga immediately recognised him as Gant Olborn.

‘Water,’ he croaked. ‘Please... I... please.’

Assuming he was speaking to a servant, she moved out of the way, though no one was there.

‘Can you hear me?’ Gant rasped. ‘I must have water. If your king wants me to live, I –’

Helga blinked. ‘You can see me?’

Gant didn’t understand. ‘You’re here, aren’t you? Why wouldn’t I be able to see you?’

Helga’s mouth hung open, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of what to do. ‘Where are you?’

Gant was becoming more confused by the moment. ‘Where? I’m here, in front of you, woman.’

‘And where is here? Where are we?’

Gant straightened up suddenly, seeing the woman more clearly as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. ‘Who are you?’

‘I’m in Andala,’ Helga said. ‘A dreamer.’

Gant’s eyes almost popped out of his head. Hearing voices outside the tent and the squeaking sounds of Thora Storgard approaching, he lowered his voice to a desperate whisper. ‘Oren Storgard and Mutt Storman will attack Andala. They’re working with a dreamer called Gunnhild. She captured me in Hallow Wood and brought me here. Sold me to Oren Storgard. He will try to bribe Axl to save my life, but Axl... he needs to –’

‘Gunnhild?’ Helga’s mind suddenly went blank. She started vibrating.

‘Are you listening, woman? You must tell Axl. Oren Storgard. He has men from all over Brekka. Mercenaries too. They will attack Andala. Today.’

‘Gunnhild,’ Helga repeated, feeling strange.

‘What is happening?’ Gant growled. ‘Can’t you hear me?’

Helga felt herself drifting away from him as though something was tugging her back towards Astrid’s cottage. She shook her head, dropping it, submitting to that urgent demand to leave.

To go.

Not to help

Not to remember...

‘Trelleg!’ she shouted suddenly, eyes springing open as the tent rushed away from her, and Gant Olborn turned into a blur. ‘The king has taken his army to Trelleg! He thinks Mutt Storman is waiting –’

‘What are you doing?’ huffed Thora Storgard, coming into the tent with a lantern, a cup, and an unimpressed scowl. With the army heading off on their march to Andala, she had been dragged from her bed and sent to ready the prisoner. ‘I was to wake you. You will be fetched soon.’

‘Soon?’ Gant looked up at her in horror. ‘They’re leaving now?’

Thora nodded. ‘I have water.’ She placed the lantern on the grass, and moving closer to Gant, she showed him the cup. ‘It’s all you’re getting, so don’t ask for more.’ And holding it out, she studied the man.

Gant lunged forward, knocking into her, spilling the water.

‘Oh! You fool!’ Thora snarled, dropping the cup. And throwing up her hands, she turned to leave.

‘No! Wait! Please! I must drink,’ Gant begged. ‘If you have any mercy in you, Thora, please. I’m sorry, I just... need some water.’ He started coughing, bent over, almost retching now.

Thora had turned back to the tent flap, wanting to be anywhere else, though fearing the man would keel over and leave Oren raging, she hurried to the water jug, taking it back to him. Bending down, she reached for the cup, inhaling his rank odour. Distracted by that, she didn’t see Gant coming, unable to stop him smashing his head into hers. And down she went, dropping the jug, water seeping into the grass, soon forming a puddle.

Gant’s throat was stripped of all moisture, though he had no time to bend down and lick like a dog.

He had to get going to Trelleg.

* * *

Helga emerged from her trance with a low moaning sound that woke Astrid up. She had been lost in a trance herself, deeply affected by the herbs and her own tiredness.

‘I... help me,’ Helga pleaded, unable to see. She rubbed her eyes in a desperate attempt to wake herself up. For a moment, she was in her cottage in the woods. She smelled fresh bread, and she saw her smiling daughter making a soup with their winter stores. It was snowing, and she was knitting by the fire.

Then a blinking Helga saw a different fire and a different woman, and she stared at her with tears in her eyes.

‘Helga? You’re safe. You’re here. You’re safe in Andala with me,’ Astrid said.

And staring at her, Helga started crying.

* * *

Gant knew he had to work quickly, though his pounding head, exhaustion, and desperate thirst weren’t making things easier.

Thora lay in a heap on the grass, and he feared at any moment, she would wake up and start squawking, so he needed to escape now.

The dreamer’s warning echoed in his ears, soon becoming a heartbeat.

Trelleg, Trelleg... he had to get to Trelleg.

Using his teeth, Gant had dragged Thora’s eating knife from its scabbard. He moved around the tent pole, dropping to the ground, and turning, he used his bound hands to find the knife. Picking it up in his right hand, he forced it up inside the rope and started sawing.

* * *

‘Where is your mother?’ Oren asked Lina as they left their tent in the middle of the night, heading into the camp, now abuzz with activity. ‘I told her to wake our prisoner, though I’ve my doubts she can be relied upon to even do that. How your father endured her company all those years, I’ll never know.’

‘He kept her in the house,’ Lina explained, barely able to keep her eyes open, certain she had slept for less than an hour. ‘It’s where she is best suited, he always used to say –’ Cutting herself off, she saw a glimpse of something that startled her.

Walking slightly ahead of his wife, Oren’s attention was on leaving and he didn’t notice. They were half a day’s march from Andala, and to get there before dawn, they needed to leave with haste. Haste and silence, for despite Gunnhild’s protections, he feared an Andalan scout would stumble upon them and hurry away to his king, who had been tricked into going to Trelleg.

He thought of the dreamer in the red cloak, growing in confidence now, certain his coins had been well spent.

‘Move!’ he hissed at the stragglers ahead of him, who appeared half asleep or fully drunk. ‘Move out of your king’s way!’ And with that, he turned back to Lina. ‘Go and find Thora. I want my prisoner ready to leave!’ And seeing that Lina was merely staring at him with a gaping mouth, he snapped his fingers in her face. ‘Go!’

Lina stumbled away from him, turning around, her eyes immediately finding Gant’s tent, and feeling Oren watching her, she nodded obediently, heading that way.

* * *

Gant was struggling.

He was so tired that his hands were shaking. He had cut himself several times and now his fingers were bloody and the knife was slippery, and nothing was happening as quickly as he needed it to.

He had to escape the tent before it was too late. He needed to find a horse and ride hard for Trelleg. But first, he had to escape his bindings.

Teeth gritted, hand squeezed around Thora’s knife, he heard a groan, seeing that the woman was stirring.

‘Ohhh,’ she moaned. ‘Ohhh.’

Gant’s instinct was to freeze, though he simply had to keep going.

The tent flap opened and Lina came in.

Their eyes met and Gant’s mouth eased open.

Lina blinked at him, then down at her mother, who lay on the ground, barely conscious. ‘Mother!’ she cried, and kneeling on the grass, she pulled Thora into her arms. ‘Are you alright?’ And now she soothed the woman with a soft chant, stroking her hair. Thora’s head sank into her daughter’s lap, her eyes closing, once again slipping into a deep sleep.

Lina stared at Gant, who finally cut through the last of the rope, letting it fall to the grass. He stood up with a silent groan, mouth wrenched open, blood dripping from his hands.

He heard a voice, a plea, which confused him.

Lina wasn’t speaking, her lips were pressed together, but he heard her voice in his head, loud and clear.

He shook it, knowing he had to leave, but that plea came again.

So bending with a brief smile of thanks, Gant Olborn smashed his head into the Queen of Iskavall’s. And with a look of regret, he tucked the bloody knife into his trousers, lifted up the back of the tent, and slipped out into the night.

* * *

Jael was at Mattie’s side when she woke. ‘What is it? What did you see?’

Otter scampered away towards Fyn as Mattie sat up with an open mouth, head thumping. She winced, holding up a hand, trying to see the queen. She could hear her voice and the impatience in it, but she saw only darkness.

Jael shook her. ‘Mattie?’

‘They’re coming,’ Mattie whispered. ‘There’s a camp nearby. Tents and men and horses.’

‘Whose camp? Who’s coming?’

‘A king. A man with orange hair. He had a crown on his head. He... kissed a woman, his wife. They had the biggest tent. He was a king.’

‘Nearby?’ Jael spun around. ‘Get up! Everyone on your feet!’ She turned back to Mattie. ‘You saw them leaving their camp now?’

Mattie scrambled to her feet, suddenly nauseous, and pushing away from the queen, she hurried to a row of brambles and vomited.

Pye was quickly by Jael’s side, hopping up and down. ‘What is it? What is happening?’

‘We need to get into the fort,’ Jael said, certain of what Mattie had seen now. ‘The King of Iskavall is coming.’

* * *

Having been calmed by a cup of cold peppermint tea, Helga gathered her scattered senses, explaining to Astrid what she had seen. And soon both women were on their way to Ragnar Olveggen’s house.

Despite the darkness, Astrid knew the way well, having birthed his youngest child. She was friends with his wife, Greta too. ‘Gant,’ she kept repeating, fear bubbling inside her. ‘What will they do to Gant?’

‘Hopefully nothing if the man makes an escape,’ Helga muttered, feeling strange alongside her. She had been jolted by clarity that was both welcome and unsettling. There was much to do to save Andala, though she couldn’t stop thinking about Gunnhild.

‘And can he?’ Astrid wondered, finally seeing Ragnar’s door. She passed the lantern to Helga and hurried up the steps. ‘Escape? Can he get to Trelleg and find the king?’

Helga peered at her. ‘I hope so,’ was all she could say, seeing a glimpse of the flame-haired king wearing his golden crown.

Certain he was riding for Andala.

* * *

Oren’s horse was saddled, and he was ready to mount the impatient beast, who skipped sideways, eager to escape the confines of the camp.

So was his master.

Though Lina hadn’t returned and Oren was livid.

First Thora and then his wife?

What were the silly women doing?

Though he soon saw a glimpse of a guard running towards him, arm in the air, and behind him, two more, helping what looked like Lina and her mother.

Oren spun away from his horse, running himself.

‘Lord!’ the guard called. ‘The prisoner has escaped!’

Oren had quickly guessed as much, incensed with rage. ‘Send men after him! He can’t have gone far! Surely not?’ His eyes snapped to a groggy Lina and then Thora. Both women had bloody noses. ‘What were you doing? Helping him?’ he spat, resisting the urge to slap his wife. She was unsteady on her feet, supported by one of his men, standing beside her sobbing mother. ‘Take them away! Take them to my tent! Do not let them leave!’

Swinging around, he immediately forgot about Gant Olborn, for even if he escaped with his life, where would he go?

He certainly didn’t know where Axl Furyck had gone.

And if he tried to run back to Andala, he’d be killed with the rest of them.

They just had to leave. Now!

* * *

Eadmund lay in bed surrounded by sleeping children and snuffling dogs, unable to sleep himself.

On his left, Bo stirred, mumbling, and reaching out, she found her father’s arm, climbing it until she was tucked into the crook of it like a little black cat.

Looking down at her, Eadmund thought of Jael and felt only worry.

But Jael wasn’t a little girl. She wasn’t vulnerable and helpless. She was capable and smart. Ready to kill.

Though her disturbing visions taunted him, and he feared that just like Raymon and poor Amma, Jael’s luck might have finally run out.

* * *

Jael gathered her small party together, surprised that, for once, Kalina had nothing to say.

She appeared fearful, waiting for her to speak.

‘We’re going into the fort, but you have to be quiet,’ Jael said, eyeing Pye and then Kalina. ‘It’s dark and they’re not expecting anything but trouble, so let’s not cause any. You don’t want a stray arrow hitting you.’ Turning to Fyn, she took the bow he handed her, lifting it over her head and settling it against her back. To that she added a quiver of arrows.

‘Did you see enemies in the fort?’ Kolarov panicked, tapping Mattie’s arm.

‘I didn’t see the fort,’ she told him, picking up Otter and attempting to stuff him into his satchel. Without dropping his gaze, Kolarov started helping her. He had become fond of the cat and gently stroked his head before pushing him down.

‘We’re just being cautious. Come on.’ And seeing that Fyn had secured Kalina, Jael shepherded Pye ahead of her. He reminded her of an excited boy at times, though now he had the appearance of a frightened dog with his tail between his legs, not wanting to move at all. She pushed harder. ‘Just stay quiet and you’ll be eating a hot meal before you know it.’

That was enough to motivate everyone, she saw, and after that, there was only silence as they left the trees behind and headed onto the path that led to Andala’s gates.

* * *

Helga and Astrid waited downstairs in Ragnar’s main room, listening to floorboards creaking above their heads.

The servant, who they’d woken and who had then woken Andala’s garrison commander, offered various beverages and seats, though a polite Astrid and an impatient Helga refused everything, only wanting to see her master.

Soon Ragnar was thumping down the stairs, eyes snapping from the healer to the dreamer, hearing his wife coming behind him. ‘Have you news? Something you’ve seen?’

Helga nodded, moving towards him. ‘I saw Gant Olborn.’

Ragnar’s surprise stopped him. ‘Gant? Here?’

Helga shook her head. ‘A prisoner of Oren Storgard. He’s in a camp nearby.’

‘Nearby?’ Ragnar breathed, hearing his wife gasp. She came around to his side, holding onto him. ‘Oren Storgard is nearby? But the scouts reported that he hadn’t left Ollsvik. We’ve had no word.’

‘It’s what Gant told me,’ Helga explained. ‘I saw him. Spoke to him. Oren Storgard has his army and Mutt Storman’s camped nearby. They are coming today.’

‘But –’ Ragnar’s mind immediately went to numbers. Everything was numbers when your job was to protect a fort. Warriors, weapons, stores – all of it relied on numbers.

And Ragnar Olveggen immediately knew that he didn’t have enough.

* * *

Oren Storgard appeared to be a man who’d thought of everything except how to keep his horses safe, Gant thought with some relief as he rode away from the camp, hearing the odd shout behind him but nothing more.

In the dark forest, afforded little moonlight, he’d chosen the first horse he’d come across, far away from any guards, who had been called back into the camp. The horses had been only loosely corralled with rope fences. Gant thought about undoing them and letting the horses go, though he couldn’t afford to draw any attention to his escape – he had to get to Axl.

Part of him wanted to head straight for Andala, desperate to protect his wife, though he knew Gisila wouldn’t stand a chance if Axl couldn’t get the army back in time.

How many men did Oren Storgard and Mutt Storman have?

And what about Gunnhild? What were her intentions?

Gant’s horse was a frisky grey mare, fast but reckless, and in the dark, he was soon focused on trying to keep her away from trees that occasionally lurched out of great blurry shadows. He’d already bitten his tongue twice, tasting blood in his mouth.

He suddenly wondered if it was a trick. He didn’t know the woman who’d appeared in his tent – he’d never seen her in his life. She’d said Trelleg, which made little sense. And deciding that he needed to know more, he thought he would stop at Vallsborg and ask Beryth Ulrik, who was sure to know if anything was amiss. The fastest road to Trelleg, avoiding the tricky mountain paths, led through there anyway.

Yet how far away was he?

He’d heard mention of the Iskavallan army being half a day’s march from Andala, so that put him maybe a day and a half from Vallsborg. Though those men would be moving at walking pace and he had the benefit of a fast horse. He would push her hard and hope to get there in a day.

A day...

Gulping down his worries, tasting blood again, Gant dropped his head and clung on, urging the mare to go faster.

34

‘Open the gates!’ Jael called up to the guards on the ramparts, one of whom immediately picked up a flaming torch, shining it over her. ‘It’s Jael Furyck! Can you see me? The King of Iskavall is coming to attack you! He’s on the march, coming now! You must let me in!’

The guard appeared stunned, as did his companions, none of whom answered.

‘Open the gates!’ Jael repeated impatiently. ‘Who is in charge? Ragnar? Have him come if you don’t believe me! Though I’ve no idea why you wouldn’t! What? You think I’m tricking you? That this is some trick?’ Then realising that their caution was admirable, she offered more information. ‘I was captured! Taken from Tuura, but I escaped, and now I’m back to help! Get Ragnar! If he’s still in charge? Bring him to me! He’ll listen to me!’

The guards conferred amongst themselves, and though no one spoke, she heard someone leaving.

‘Such a mighty queen,’ Kalina sneered. ‘Begging outside her family’s mighty fortress like some unwanted urchin?’

Jael ignored her, though Mattie answered on her behalf. ‘Is that what you’d expect from your warriors? Stupidity? No wonder you’re the queen’s prisoner and not the other way around.’ And grabbing hold of her tongue, she fixed her attention on the gates, desperate for them to open.

Listening for warning sounds of horses coming through the woods.

* * *

The young man from the watch found the commander on his way to the main gates. ‘My lord!’ he cried, seeing the dreamer and Astrid, the healer. And confused for a moment, he forgot why he’d come.

‘Who’s here?’ Ragnar called, fearing it was just as Helga had seen.

‘She says she’s the queen. Jael Furyck!’ the man called back, running now.

Ragnar glanced at Helga, who appeared to freeze beside him. ‘Jael Furyck? Did you see this?’ Helga shook her head in confusion. ‘So it could be a trick? If Gant said he was captured by a dreamer, it could all be a trick like before? A way for us to open the gates?’

Astrid turned to the silent dreamer, hoping she had an answer.

‘We certainly can’t open the gates without knowing the truth,’ Helga said eventually.

‘And can you determine it?’ Ragnar wanted to know. He urged the dreamer forward now, towards the gates.

‘I can try,’ Helga muttered, glancing at Astrid. ‘What do you know of her? Something personal? Something few others might know? Without touching her, I can only try...’

Astrid nodded. ‘I do. I can tell you some things.’ And she bent her head to the dreamer as they hurried to the gates.

* * *

Isaura Svanter woke in the night with a pain in her belly, knowing her child was coming. She had feared she would go into labour from worry alone, convincing herself that Thorgils would never return. But now he had, and in their brief time together, her heart had reclaimed its other half, beating strongly again.

Though he would be gone before dawn and the thought of what he would sail into had left her tossing and turning.

Her baby, too, apparently, for he had decided to come early.

Thorgils had sent one of the servants for Ayla and Biddy, returning to Isaura’s side while she called out a steady stream of instructions to the children and the remaining servant.

She wasn’t unprepared. She had everything within reach. And clinging to Thorgils, feeling his beard brush her cheek, she knew that was now true. She had everything, and feeling a rush of emotion that brought tears to her eyes, she peered up at him. ‘Our luck –’

‘Will hold,’ he answered. ‘Though that baby had better be quick. I want time for breakfast before we leave.’

She grinned at him, tears now rolling down her cheeks as their daughters argued in the distance and Mads complained about being hungry. ‘Though if something goes wrong, I want you to know –’

‘That we are one,’ Thorgils told her. ‘And always will be. I know. I will always know, my sweetheart. Our love was fated by the gods, for we found our way back to each other. And our luck will hold. It will,’ he promised, kissing her salty tears. ‘I came back just in time, and that’s a good sign.’

She moaned beside him, writhing now, and feeling a flutter of fear, he squeezed her hand.

* * *

Jael wasn’t a patient person at the best of times, and though she was unhappy about being left outside the gates, she couldn’t fault the guards for seeking to keep Andala safe.

Soon more people appeared on the ramparts.

‘Well, this looks promising,’ Kolarov decided with a glance over his shoulder, hoping things would now move with speed.

‘My lady?’ Ragnar called down to Jael. ‘I hope you can understand our need to know it’s truly you! There’s a dreamer causing trouble! We’ve had a lot of trouble!’

‘Ragnar? Yes, of course! It is me! Ask anything you want!’ Jael saw a woman she didn’t recognise standing beside him, and then someone she did recognise. ‘Astrid?’

‘Jael! Is it really you? We thought –’

‘I was captured in Tuura! Taken far from Osterland, but I escaped! It is me! I’ve come to help!’

Now the other woman spoke, her voice like a clap of thunder. ‘I am Helga. A dreamer. Tell me about Harstad,’ she said. ‘Astrid knows. She is here because she knows what happened in Harstad. But you? Tell me.’

Jael felt as though someone had punched her in the stomach, and she stepped back with a jolt.

Fyn took her arm. ‘They could ask something else.’

But Jael shook him off, just wanting to get inside. ‘I lost my baby in Harstad! Is that what you want to know? About my baby?’ It was painful to talk about, and for a moment, Jael was there with Astrid and that tiny body wrapped in a blanket, tucked into a basket. ‘What else? She died and then...’ She saw Aleksander’s worried face - his desperate dark eyes.

She saw Thorgils holding a baby in his arms.

Blinking, she ran a hand down her face, unaware that everyone was staring at her. ‘Her name was Lyra. My daughter.’

Helga felt it herself, though she turned to see Astrid nodding with tears in her eyes.

And then Ragnar was running, ordering his men to open the gates.

* * *

Woken by Isaura’s servant, who had drawn Biddy from her bed, Eadmund had left his children sleeping and hurried to see what was wrong.

He felt for Thorgils, remembering those sensations of excitement and expectation mingled with terror – something his friend had been feeling all too acutely of late.

It was bad timing, though.

And with a tired smile, he left Biddy to head for Isaura while he went to wake up his cook, wanting to get an early breakfast for his men underway.

* * *

Hearing that Jael Furyck had arrived in the middle of the night had roused a number of Andalans from their beds. They both feared the worst and felt a lift that she was still alive.

Though Jael was too busy for greetings, and she had no time for explanations, listening intently as Helga revealed what she had seen of Oren Storgard’s camp.

She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Gant? He’s missing too?’

Helga nodded.

‘So who is here?’

They were talking by the main gates, which had been secured once Jael and her party had hurried inside.

‘Rexon went with the king,’ Ragnar said. ‘My lady.’

‘Why Rexon?’

‘Saala has fallen to Mutt Storman’s men.’

Jael was stunned by the disaster unfolding in Brekka, not understanding how it had gotten so bad so quickly. Though there would be time to wonder about that later, she realised. And now, seeing her cousin Aedan, she smiled, thinking about his mother and her own. He made to embrace her, but Jael shook her head, standing back. ‘I was whipped,’ she explained with a shrug. ‘A lot.’

He looked horrified to hear it, but seeing that Jael didn’t want to discuss it, he hurried on. ‘Mother’s in Angard with Gisila. Amma and Getta too. They won’t be back for days yet, I expect.’

And remembering what she’d seen of Amma, Jael just stared at him.

‘Tig’s here. With your horse,’ Aedan added upon seeing Fyn and smiling broadly. ‘They’re all here. Axl hadn’t organised sending them back to Oss yet.’

Jael felt a lift, a burst of sunshine in the darkness. Though there was no time for a reunion yet. There was so much she needed to know. So much she needed to do. ‘Astrid, can you take my friends to the hall,’ she asked, turning to Kolarov. ‘You need to take Otter. Mattie, you and Fyn stay with me. Kolarov, watch over Pye and Kalina. Ensure they remain in the hall.’

Kolarov liked the sound of that, and taking Mattie’s satchel, with her miaowing cat still secured inside, he slipped it over his head and followed the woman named Astrid across the dark square.

‘Mattie is a dreamer,’ Jael told Helga. ‘She saw Oren Storgard’s camp. She saw him leaving it now.’

A usually stoic Ragnar had started blinking rapidly, which Jael noticed when she turned to him. ‘I need to know everything. What you have on hand, and who. Fyn, go up to the ramparts. Keep watch from there. Tell me if you see anything. Ragnar, have someone ring the signal bell. We’ll need to clear the harbour. Anyone sleeping in their ships or in the taverns, any merchant worried about their goods, will have to come inside. Same goes for the settlements nearby. Send out a handful of men. Have them go as far west as the Langsten’s and the Strupen’s in the east. I know Old Ada can’t hear now, so they’ll have to go inside every home and help those who need it. Bring the horses in from the paddocks, the livestock too. I imagine they’ll be here before dawn, so there’s little time.’

Ragnar kept nodding, making a list in his head.

‘And my brother. You’ll need to send men after Axl. Gant may get away, may have a chance of finding him, but we can’t rely on that. Have them leave now. They shouldn’t take the main road, though, or they’re likely to encounter our enemies.’ Ragnar opened his mouth to speak, though Jael carried on, turning to Helga. ‘I’ve not been able to see anything inside the fort, nor has Mattie. Is that you?’

A slightly dazed Helga could still smell smoke from the trance. Smoke from the burning cottage too. She watched as Jael’s eyes popped open.

‘The cottage! What happened to my grandmother’s cottage?’

‘It burned down,’ Helga said. ‘I couldn’t escape, we couldn’t, until your brother... there were symbols outside. On stones in the garden. I... a dreamer.’

‘We had men in the fort, too, my lady,’ Ragnar added. ‘Spies from Rosby. They tried to steal the sea-fire.’

‘What?’

‘It was destroyed, all but four jars, of which your brother took two.’

‘Two?’ Jael couldn’t believe it, though there was no time to dwell on what they didn’t have. They didn’t have an army, they didn’t have sea-fire, but they did have four walls, an able garrison and Gant, who, if he escaped, would be on his way to Axl.

She headed to the hall, encouraging everyone to walk with her, seeing Andalans coming out of their homes and then the familiar face of Axl’s steward.

‘My lady!’ Gerald cried in surprise. ‘You are safe!’

‘I am, though we have work to do, Gerald. The King of Iskavall will be here before dawn. You must prepare the hall. Get Helvor into the kitchen. Get everyone up. I want lamps burning, fires blazing, and water on the boil.’ Turning to Mattie, she grabbed her arm. ‘You and Helga need to work together. We have to know if this dreamer has done her part or if she intends to do more. I would’ve suggested going to Edela’s cottage...’ She felt a desperate fear for her grandmother – a distance she didn’t know would ever be bridged.

And then she blinked, realising that she had to try and reach her brother.

* * *

Riding at the head of his army as it slithered through the forest in the dark, Oren felt unexpected tremors of nerves.

To attempt something of this scale so early in his reign would either set it alight, glowing like the moon above his head or render it ash, swept away and quickly forgotten. Though he would not be timid or take cautious steps towards what he’d always known would be his destiny.

His plans had been coming together for years.

Detailed plans, thoughtful plans, ambitious plans.

And this was only the beginning.

Beside him rode Mutt Storman, quietly gnawing his mangled lips like a man riding to his own pyre.

‘You have doubts?’ Oren called. ‘Is that doubt I hear?’

Mutt turned to him in surprise, not having opened his mouth. ‘Lord?’

‘Your silence. It’s as loud as any spoken word.’

Mutt’s eyes returned to the path, which, though illuminated by the moon, still demanded a great deal of concentration. He shook his head, chuckling. ‘I’ve always been a quiet man before battle. I like to get my thoughts in order –’

Oren laughed over him. ‘And you truly think this will be a battle? With the forces we’ve gathered? But Axl Furyck has been lured away, just as I planned! He has a mere skeleton defending his precious Andala, barely a quarter of what we’ll be bringing, so we simply have to knock on the gates. And knock on them we will!’ Oren felt a lift, Mutt’s nerves diminishing his own, for he certainly didn’t want to compare himself to this man. A mere underling? Something Gunnhild had dragged out of the forest? He was a tool and had been useful, but there was no point to him. No future for him either.

‘And Gant? If he gets words to Axl Furyck?’

Feeling impatient, Oren relaxed his hold on the reins, giving his horse more freedom, and soon their pace increased. ‘And how would he do that? No, I imagine the man’s thinking he can outride us to Andala, so we’d better not let him!’ And shifting the reins into his left hand, he waved his right in the air. ‘Come on!’

* * *

Axl had only slept for an hour or so before being woken by a nightmare.

He’d been inside Edela’s cottage, which had been locked and on fire, and he hadn’t been able to escape, the fire eventually devouring him whole.

He was no dreamer, but some dreams were so vivid that he had a hard time believing they weren’t real or a harbinger of some terrible event to come.

His heart was still racing as he left Vallsborg’s hall behind and headed across the empty, dark square. The fort’s walls were a mixture of stone and wood, the ramparts nowhere near as protective as Andala’s. He climbed the stairs, wanting to take in the surrounding woodland, fearing that their enemies were encircling the fort.

He had never thought such a thing before – that his own people wanted him dead.

Though now it was all he could think about.

He was surprised to see Erling standing on the ramparts, looking out over the paddocks, where horses and cattle stood like statues or lay like lumps of rock. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

Erling turned to him with a grin. ‘Not drunk enough.’

‘That doesn’t sound like you.’

‘Just a bad feeling, I suppose,’ Erling decided. ‘Of what’s out there. And you?’

‘Much the same. I want to leave early, to get on the road before dawn. We can do that, can’t we?’

‘Before dawn? You want to drag the men out of here with empty bellies? But Beryth’s daughter told me about the cook’s roast apple hotcakes. I was looking forward to those.’ Erling glanced back over his shoulder at those paddocks again.

‘Expecting someone?’

His friend shook his head. ‘Hopefully not, though it’s disconcerting, isn’t it? Not knowing who wants you dead?’ And now he looked into Axl’s eyes, frowning intensely.

Axl shrugged. ‘I can’t argue with that, but why not get some sleep? I’ll keep an eye on things and get everyone up.’ He saw Erling raise his eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, there’ll be enough time for your hotcakes.’

‘You won’t sleep yourself?’

But Axl had already turned around, and all Erling saw was his friend’s hand in the air, waving him away.

* * *

It was Astrid’s second time on the drum that evening and she was groggy with tiredness, not to mention all the smoke she’d inhaled from Helga’s earlier trance.

Jael peered at her. ‘I’m not sure I can even do this. The dream walk...’

‘Though you’ve done it before under pressure, haven’t you? I remember.’

Sitting on the floorboards of Astrid’s cottage, smoke tickling her throat, Jael knew that was true.

‘And this is your brother, your blood. It will be easier, won’t it? More... natural?’

Jael shrugged, glancing around the circle she had made of stones and flaming lamps. She peered at a tired-looking Astrid, who sat with the drum on her knee, watching expectantly, and then at the fire. ‘You have the herbs?’

The dreamer reached behind her, picking up a bundle.

‘Alright then, add them to the fire.’

* * *

Everything in Andala was new to Mattie, who could smell porridge cooking in the kitchen, her empty belly responding with need.

Though it was the woman before her that demanded her full attention.

Helga.

She wasn’t a talker, but disturbed by all the noises in the hall and the loud signal bell ringing, her grandson had hurried out of bed and done enough talking for them both.

‘My grandmother saved us from a fire!’ he told Mattie, finding the time to give Gully a vigorous rub. ‘We were locked in the cottage, but she saved us! And then we found a book. It was under the floor!’

Mattie assumed he was exaggerating, though the dreamer didn’t correct him. ‘Book?’ she asked. ‘What book?’

‘It was Edela Saeveld’s,’ Helga told her. ‘I found it hidden in her cottage. I’ve been searching for ways to help.’ Now she shooed Linas and the dog away. ‘Go and be useful, but do not leave the hall.’

A cheerful Linas was immediately on his feet, hurrying away.

Mattie watched him go, blinking suddenly. ‘He’s a –’

‘He’s a boy,’ Helga snapped. ‘Nothing more.’ And with a gaze of iron, she stared Mattie down.

‘Of course, I only –’

‘He’s just a boy.’

Mattie nodded.

‘We need to see what’s happening, though there’s no hope in here,’ Helga said, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Come to my chamber. We can shut most of this nonsense out.’

Standing, Mattie followed the gruff woman across the hall, down the corridor and into her private chamber, where Helga pointed to the table.

‘That’s the book. Edela’s book.’ She waited for Mattie to sit before taking a seat herself. ‘Though I’ve no idea why I keep coming back to it,’ she admitted, that frown starting to clear. ‘Magic was never in me before. I have little experience of it.’

Mattie at once felt a kindred spirit, though she remained silent, urging Helga on.

‘There is more going on here than I understand, but you should know it,’ she decided, placing her hands on the table. She saw mangled fingernails, age spots, veins and warts, feeling the rough callouses of a tough life. ‘The dreamer who captured Gant Olborn, the king’s stepfather... she was my friend.’

Mattie hadn’t been expecting that. Leaning forward, her lips parted. ‘Your friend?’

‘I thought she’d died years ago. She was a Follower, you see. I thought she’d died in all that happened at the Vale. Her name is Gunnhild. She...’ Helga’s eyes snapped to the fire, which had popped, and there they lingered, seeing memories of her life dancing in the flames.

Mattie saw that the dreamer had frozen. ‘Do you think she will come? Here? To help the King of Iskavall?’

Helga slowly looked back at Mattie. She thought her a handsome woman with a brisk determination about her. Plump and petite, she was full of fire. ‘I don’t think the king is her motivation. I fear it might be me.’

‘Oh?’

‘I just... strange things have been happening. I want you to know, in case something happens. I want you to know my story.’

35

Jael emerged from her trance with a cough and a frown.

Her head hurt and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink.

Though getting up from the floor, Astrid soon returned with a cup of water. ‘Drink.’

And Jael did, not speaking until she was finished, and then she jumped to her feet with a groan, feeling every lash of Argo Kosta’s whip. Bending over, she coughed some more as Astrid opened the door, letting out some of the smoke. ‘I couldn’t find him,’ she admitted. ‘Axl. It didn’t work.’

Astrid looked worried. ‘And when will the Islanders arrive?’

‘By evening, I hope,’ Jael croaked. And taking her empty cup to the kitchen table, she helped herself to the jug of water, drinking it in one big gulp. ‘Don’t worry, Andala’s not made of twigs. She can hold on.’ And now she ran her hands through her knotted hair, which hung around her face like tangled curtains. ‘Do you have a comb? I’m not going to be able to see soon.’

Astrid smiled, hurrying to find her favourite whalebone comb, which she brought back to Jael. ‘Let me do it. You sit down and tell me what will happen and what I can do to help.’

Jael frowned.

‘It will only take a few moments, and I can braid your hair too. Just sit.’

And finding herself doing as she was told, Jael took a seat by the fire, her mind darting to Axl and then to Mattie, hoping the dreamer would uncover some clue about what was coming.

* * *

Helga knew there was little time to sit about chatting, though she needed to explain about Gunnhild – especially if the dreamer sought to meddle again. She didn’t want to fall prey to another game. Mattie needed to know everything they were facing.

‘Gunnhild and I started at the temple together,’ she began. ‘She was smarter than me, quicker to learn, so I leaned on her. She was shy at first, so she leaned on me. We became close friends.’

Mattie had many questions already, though she kept her mouth closed.

‘Life at the temple was hard, as I’m sure you know, though we had each other until Gunnhild fell in love with one of the elders. A strange man, decades older than she was. Ugly. Mean. I never understood it. She was young and beautiful, admired by many, and she chose him?’ Shaking her head, Helga felt eighteen and indignant again. ‘I’d always thought there was something odd about him, though Gunnhild married him and shunned me. She didn’t need me anymore, so she acted as though I no longer existed. I became obsessed with finding out why. I missed her, I’d lost her, and I didn’t know why...’ Dropping her shoulders, Helga felt that old emptiness, the seething jealousy return.

For a time, Gunnhild had been her whole world.

‘I eventually discovered that her husband and their friends worshipped Raemus. I couldn’t understand it. That dark god? It wasn’t the teachings of Tuura. It made no sense. Though the deeper I dug, the more I drew them to me. I was naive, foolish. I didn’t see the danger until it was too late and I was hauled up before the elderman, branded a traitor. I told him everything I knew, and he did nothing except threaten me. And then I realised that he was one of them too.’

‘Them?’

‘Followers,’ Helga said. ‘Raemus’ lackeys. There were so many of them that everywhere I turned, I found another dark soul. In the end, I didn’t know who to trust, I didn’t see the point in continuing my fight, so I left. I made my way into the forest and started again. I never went back.’

‘Not even after what happened at the Vale of the Gods?’

Helga shook her head. ‘I’d never trust that place again. Never.’

‘Though Gunnhild survived?’

‘She was on her deathbed, apparently. She didn’t make it there. She lives in Hallow Wood, takes coins from lords and kings, though she’s still the same dark creature she was when I left Tuura. Her heart is still evil.’

‘So she won’t stop,’ Mattie decided. ‘Not until she sees the end of you.’

And though she didn’t say, Helga thought she was right, fearing what that might mean for them all.

* * *

Eadmund passed Thorgils’ house, wondering what was happening with Isaura. He shivered in the darkness, seeing Bram coming towards him, wearing his favourite red woollen hat.

‘Feels like winter in the air!’ Bram grinned, then hearing a scream, he blinked at Thorgils’ front door. ‘Any news?’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘Though Isaura has terrible timing.’

Bram laughed. ‘More likely that son of hers.’

‘You think it’ll be a boy this time?’

‘I think Mads will have something to say if it’s not! But either way, healthy and happy is all I care about, for both mother and baby. That woman is determined to breed an army, though there’s always risk involved.’

‘In everything,’ Eadmund murmured, looking towards the gates, fixed open now as the Osslanders, roused from their beds, ferried weapons and supplies down the hill to the harbour.

‘No wind,’ Bram muttered, tipping back his head to take in the stars. ‘That’s not like Oss.’

Eadmund had been feeling it himself. His cloak wasn’t flapping and twisting around his legs, he couldn’t hear that familiar whistle in the distance, and despite the early start, he began to fear for their prospects of a quick dash across the Nebbar Straights.

‘She’ll pick up,’ Bram promised, hearing another scream. ‘Perhaps Ver’s just holding his breath, wanting to see what will happen in there?’ And with a nod at Thorgils’ house, he went on his way.

Eadmund saw Ido and Vella bounding towards him, followed by Milla Ulfsson. It was dark, but as she got closer, he saw that she was smiling.

‘I came to see if I could do anything!’ she called. ‘My lord?’

He eyed her, hearing doors slamming and women calling to their husbands, reminding them of what they’d forgotten. ‘Biddy and Ayla will have things under control,’ he assured her. ‘And Isaura’s got her servants. Best you see what you can do to help ready the ships.’

‘And the children?’

‘I’ll collect them and take them to the house. They can play with the Svanters. Biddy can keep an eye on them then.’

He was cold, his words clipped, and Milla’s smile retreated. She bobbed her head, becoming nervous. ‘Thank you, my lord. I’ll go and see what I can do.’ She made to move past him, but Eadmund held out an arm.

‘What happened in Tuura? When Jael was kidnapped? What was your part in it?’

Milla blinked in confusion. ‘My part?’ She shook her head. ‘I had no part, my lord. I... I heard the noise. I wish I hadn’t. I thought I should tell someone. I...’ She buried her face in her hands.

More noises could be heard from the house, and the girl was sobbing loudly before him, and Eadmund felt confused, knowing he was no match for dreamers or gods, whose plans would always remain a mystery to him.

Shaking his head, he let the crying girl go. ‘Do what you can to be helpful. We can talk more about this when Jael is back. Until then...’ And unable to think of anything else to say, Eadmund turned away, heading for the hall, not noticing the dogs bounding along at his heels.

* * *

Inside the house, Thorgils was growing worried.

Though she hadn’t been in labour long, Isaura was in agony. He saw Biddy and Ayla exchange worried glances, and he started to feel a bright glare of fear at the corners of his eyes.

A cold hand gripping his shoulder.

‘The baby is big,’ Ayla explained, sensing his worry as she worked to tie back Isaura’s golden hair. ‘Isaura knows this. Both Biddy and I have told her as much. Very big. Likely a boy.’

Holding on to the bedpost, Isaura nodded. ‘A giant like his father,’ she panted.

‘He’s big, and he’s coming fast,’ Biddy said, laying sheets on the floor, seeing Isaura starting to arch her back again. ‘Steady your breathing now, there you go. He doesn’t need to be in such a hurry. His father will still be here, won’t you?’

‘I will,’ Thorgils promised, not at all torn. If it were a simple choice between staying with Isaura and going with Eadmund, he knew which he would choose. Though thinking of Fyn and Jael, he felt momentarily conflicted. His wife screamed, flinging back her head, and his thoughts clarified. ‘I’ll be right here, so there’s no need to hurry. Just take your time now. Both of you, take your time.’

Biddy dropped to her knees, a lamp in her hand, wanting to check the baby’s progress. ‘Stay still,’ she urged. ‘Thorgils, keep her still.’ She heard Ayla coming, taking Isaura’s other side, and seeing clearly, she gasped. ‘Oh, he’s certainly coming!’ she called up, and now she turned around, reaching for her jar of rose and mugwort balm. ‘Isaura, no pushing yet. Short breaths.’ And dipping a finger into the balm, Biddy turned back around and hurried to apply it.

Isaura could feel the intense pressure increasing by the moment. It was starting to burn, and she wanted to make it stop.

Her legs were wobbling, and she leaned on Thorgils, feeling the bulky strength of him beside her. ‘Aarrghh...’ she moaned.

‘Suck in a big breath for me,’ Biddy instructed. ‘Ready? Inhale... that’s it... now slowly breathe out and push, Isaura! Bear down and push!’

Leaving Thorgils to support his moaning wife, Ayla dropped to her knees opposite Biddy, wanting to help.

Above them, Isaura gripped the bedpost as though she would tear it off the bed, tears stinging her eyes, teeth gnashing together, jaw tight. ‘Oh,’ she groaned, mouth wide open, body vibrating. ‘Aarrghh!’ And then the burning pain seared through her body like flames, and she stumbled.

‘Again!’ Biddy urged. ‘One more! One more big push!’

Thorgils could feel the tension rippling through Isaura’s body, the effort she was making taking such a toll. He wanted to help her, to give her some of his strength, to push for her and with her, but all he could do was hold on and be a wall for her to lean on.

Isaura had not been in labour long, but she already felt spent. She feared she would die. If she couldn’t deliver this big baby, her son, she feared that she would die and leave her children without a mother and her husband without a wife.

And in the clarity of that moment, she imagined Jael.

Thorgils had told her of Jael’s fight on S’ala Nis and the one in Alekka, though Isaura knew of all the others. She couldn’t use a sword, she never would, but she wouldn’t let anything happen to her children. She would do what she knew, what she could.

She would push this baby out now!

And with an animal-like howl that rang through the house, loud enough to reach Oss’ hall, Isaura Svanter bore down with everything she had and delivered her red-haired son.

* * *

Jael headed up to the wall overlooking the main gates, where Ragnar was focusing his efforts. Despite the heavy cover of night, she felt more awake. Astrid had given her cheese and ale while she braided her hair, and stopping for a moment to eat and drink had sharpened her tired thoughts.

‘They’ll march through the forest and then what?’ she mused. ‘A frontal assault on the main gates? Is that all he intends? If he’s camped nearby, he won’t need to stop and take a breath. Likely he’ll come at once. He knows Axl has gone because he had his dreamer send him away,’ she mused, almost talking to herself. Turning to Ragnar, she frowned. ‘I want traps outside the main gates and on the paths outside the eastern and western walls too. We’ve little sea-fire until Eadmund gets here but plenty of fire arrows, so let’s put them to good use. Head down and get to work on that. I’ll stay here and think of anything else we can do.’ She turned after him. ‘And gather everyone into the square. The warriors, that is. And their weapons. Everything. I want to look us over. See what we’ve got.’

Ragnar nodded, anxious about what lay ahead but pleased that the queen was here. It was what her father would have wanted – to see a Furyck defending Andala. And though it gave him a lift, in the back of his mind remained the fear of how many men Oren Storgard was bringing and whether they had enough to hold him out.

At least until the Osslanders arrived.

* * *

‘He’s hairy,’ Eadmund grinned at his teary-eyed friend, who cradled his newborn son in his arms. ‘Like his father.’ He clapped Thorgils on the back, relieved that everything had gone well. ‘And Isaura?’

‘Biddy’s stitching her up,’ Thorgils said with a wince.

‘You and your big-headed family.’

‘It’s true, and I’m sorry for it,’ Thorgils shrugged, seeing his son’s red forehead pucker ominously, his tiny pink lips making unhappy shapes.

‘Give him to me!’ Isaura called from the bedchamber at the first hint of a cry.

The children were all trying to get a look at the baby, who had been named Ned in honour of Thorgils’ father, and he had to sweep them aside as he carried the now mewling infant to his mother.

Bo was the only one who hung back, turning to her father. ‘Mama? I want Mama.’

Eadmund bent down, picking her up. ‘I’m leaving soon to go and get Mama,’ he said, kissing her cheek and brushing hair away from her face. ‘She’ll be back soon.’

But Bo burst into tears, shaking her head. ‘No, no. Mama, no!’ And throwing her arms around her father’s neck, she clung on.

* * *

It took some time for Ragnar to organise his garrison into the square, and while that noisy exercise was being carried out, Jael and Fyn were checking the readiness of each wall.

They met over the harbour as the darkness lingered. There was no sign of dawn, and likely not for hours yet.

‘I can’t think of anything more we can do to prepare,’ Fyn said quietly, sensing that Jael was lost in her thoughts.

‘The scouts mightn’t find Axl for days and then days more to get back. He might be able to ride fast, though his men will mostly be on foot.’

‘Though the Islanders are coming,’ Fyn grinned, feeling relieved about that. ‘At least our Osslanders. They’ll help.’

Jael frowned. ‘The Iskavallans will number around two thousand, but with Brekkan forces added to that? Eadmund will bring close to six hundred with Raal and his crew. He’ll call on the islands to fight, but they won’t be able to respond immediately, and against all those men? We need Axl.’

‘And if he doesn’t come?’

Jael turned away from the harbour, crossing the walk, leaning down to look into the square at the garrison amassed in tidy lines. ‘Well, we’re going to have to think of something. Something to disrupt Oren Storgard’s plans.’

* * *

It was intensely dark when Axl waved goodbye to a tired-looking Beryth, ordering his Andalans, now bolstered by a hundred Vallsborgians, to follow him through the gates. He intended to reach Trelleg by supper, where they would set up camp, awaiting the arrival of Mutt Storman and his army of traitors.

And if they were already there?

Well, he wouldn’t hold back, for though a night’s rest would be preferable, he certainly intended to respond to any threat with urgency.

In theory, it was a sound plan, though Axl was struggling to imagine what would happen after that. How many Brekkans would he have to kill to quash this flaming rebellion?

He felt a chill, turning as Erling rode up the line to join him.

‘Did you try the hotcakes?’

Feeling tense and nauseous, Axl shook his head.

‘Worth waiting for!’ a happy Erling called, licking his lips. ‘That and Beryth’s daughter, Kaia. She was quite the find. Daughter of the Lady of Vallsborg?’

Axl laughed. ‘You think that would impress your mother? I imagine she’s found you a princess in Angard.’ Though thinking about Kamilla Venberg led him to thoughts of Eren, and he quickly changed the subject. ‘It’s important we keep our heads today. We knew Beryth would be a friend, but out here?’ He glanced to his left, across a paddock, seeing a dark fence of trees. ‘Rexon and his men were chased out of Rosby. He lost men to their archers. Horses too. You head back and take charge of the belly of our line. Ride with Olaf.’

Erling didn’t look pleased, for Olaf Lund tended to spit as he talked, his beard always littered with crumbs. Though he nodded, seeing how tense his friend was.

‘Keep your eyes open,’ Axl warned. ‘We all need to keep our eyes open now.’

* * *

Andala’s garrison was mostly made up of men, though Jael saw a few women too – some little older than girls – lined up amongst them. They looked determined, proud of the weapons in their belts and eager to do their part.

She thought of Tig, desperate to find him, though there was simply too much to do, and if she didn’t prepare the fort, they stood no chance of being reunited.

‘The Iskavallans will be here soon! The Iskavallans and the Brekkan traitors!’ she called, walking up and down the rows. ‘And before they arrive, I need volunteers for something that will take us out of the fort and into danger!’

Ragnar’s eyes, which had been critically surveying his warriors, suddenly jumped to Jael in surprise.

Standing nearby, Fyn smiled, a shiver running up his spine, knowing what she was planning.

‘Do not volunteer if you’re not confident in your abilities, for your body will lie in the woods for your family to collect! I do not seek heroes but competent men... or women!’ she added, coming face to face with a young woman who looked around Fyn’s age. She had the appearance of a mangy dog, wearing an eye patch and a tattered cloak over mismatched armour that was far too big for her. ‘If you waste my time, you will hurt our chances and the chances of those you love in this fort! I have no time to indulge childish fantasies!’ Jael growled. ‘But if you’re skilled with a bow and clear-eyed in the dark, I want you standing over here by Fyn and Aedan!’ And leaving that to unfold, hopefully at speed, Jael walked to Ragnar, who stared at her in confusion. ‘I want to take out their siege towers and catapults,’ she explained.

It sounded good in theory, though Ragnar only frowned. ‘But how will you get back inside?’

‘We’ll aim for the harbour gates. Oren Storgard will be too busy putting out his fires to worry about us.’

Ragnar’s mouth eased open, his head starting to turn.

Jael placed a hand on his arm. ‘Axl will return, even if Gant doesn’t reach him. Once he reaches Trelleg and finds no enemy waiting, he’ll return. We just need to pull every string, play every trick, use these walls and our knowledge of Andala to our advantage until then.’ Closing his mouth, Ragnar nodded, apparently seeing the sense in that, and happy to have him on board, Jael smiled. ‘You have the wall. Until I return, you have all the walls!’ Turning back to Fyn and Aedan, she saw them inundated with volunteers. ‘We only want twenty!’ she called. ‘Ten each! Weed them out! I’ll be back after I check on Mattie!’ And with that, she turned and headed to the hall.

* * *

Galloping at speed in the chilly darkness, Gant didn’t want to stop, though he was becoming so tired that he kept seeing his much-missed bed instead of the road ahead. He imagined the warm arms of his wife and her gentle, welcome touch.

His thoughts extended towards Andala, where he guessed Gisila would soon be waking up. She looked so pretty in the mornings, he remembered, with those sleepy eyes and tousled hair.

Then his horse threw back her head, and Gant’s eyes sharpened on the end of the forest and the great open field that would soon expose them both.

He urged her on, then realising she was more likely complaining about being thirsty than alerting him to the end of the tree cover, he turned back into the forest, heading for the stream.

They both needed a drink, a rest, a moment to stretch.

But not for long.

For if they were going to reach Axl before Oren Storgard took Andala, they had to hurry.

36

Jael found Mattie with Kolarov in the hall. ‘Anything?’

The dreamer shook her head, brow furrowed. ‘Helga and I both tried, though there’s nothing new to tell you. Oren Storgard and his army are coming. They’re close.’

Jael thought so too. She looked at Kolarov. ‘Where’s Kalina? And Pye?’

Kolarov pointed to the far corner of the hall, where Kalina had fallen asleep, curled up in a chair. Opposite her, Pye was sleeping just as soundly with his mouth wide open.

‘That’s a relief,’ Jael sighed. ‘A reprieve for now.’

‘I won’t let them out of my sight,’ Kolarov promised. ‘And you? How are things looking out there?’

Jael grabbed a slice of bread from a nearby platter. ‘Ragnar’s got everything under control, so I’m heading out of the fort to cause a little trouble.’

Mattie and Kolarov stared at her in confusion.

‘Leaving?’ the explorer spluttered. ‘Us?’

Jael nodded. ‘I’m taking Fyn and some volunteers and heading into the forest to distract our enemies.’

Mattie blinked. ‘But there are so many of them. How many are you taking?’

‘Twenty,’ Jael said between mouthfuls of bread. Helvor had worked fast, for it was warm and soft – the tastiest thing she’d eaten in weeks.

‘Twenty?’ Mattie was horrified.

‘Are you going to keep repeating everything I say?’ Jael laughed. ‘I have to go. Watch those two,’ she added, inclining her head to Pye and Kalina. ‘I’ll be back soon. Any problems, try and reach me.’ And now she gobbled down the last of the bread, nodded at Kolarov, gave Mattie an encouraging smile, and headed out of the hall.

* * *

His always-busy wife had made numerous improvements to their fleet since her arrival on Oss, and preparing to depart from the torchlit beach, Eadmund felt grateful for it.

Like Karsten, four of his ships possessed catapults, and four more had wooden houses to shield their archers. Though, unlike Karsten, he had a store of sea-fire, gifted by Edela, that had been gathering dust in a locked shed for years.

And now?

‘Careful with them!’ he warned the men carrying the specially designed trays the jars were packed into. ‘Do you want your queen hearing that you dropped the sea-fire?’ And turning around, he squinted, eventually seeing an enormous silhouette turn into a red-eyed Thorgils Svanter. ‘Better?’

Thorgils shook his head. ‘No idea! But I have a new son!’ His grin was so wide it stretched from ear to ear. ‘A new son and an exhausted wife, and I’m leaving them behind!’

‘Well, you’re leaving to make them safer,’ Eadmund promised. ‘Any threat to Brekka is a threat to the islands.’

Thorgils didn’t think he was wrong. Eyes drifting across the beach, he saw Raal preparing the Brekkans with help from his uncle. ‘Looks like Bram’s on Red Ned.’

‘He is. Says you’re going with him, apparently.’ Eadmund could hear Beorn aboard Jael’s favourite ship, Sea Bear, bellowing at his men not to make such a mess. He couldn’t see much, if anything, though he could certainly feel that the wind hadn’t picked up. ‘We’re going to need your big mouth to blow us there.’

Thorgils had noticed the odd lack of wind himself. ‘The Straights has never let us down, and I’ve just eaten an enormous breakfast, so that’s sure to guarantee a rough ride. Always the way!’

‘You managed to fit in breakfast?’

‘Course. You think these arms are going to lift themselves?’ And curling his right arm, Thorgils proudly showed off his bicep.

Though Eadmund had already turned away, waving at Bram, calling for him to gather the helmsmen together. They needed to be of the same mind, aiming at the same goal, and knowing how stubborn and ornery some of them could be, including, and mostly, Beorn, Eadmund wanted to remind them of who was in charge.

Jael, he thought with a laugh.

Always Jael.

* * *

Fyn had chosen twenty warriors, including the young woman with the eye patch. Her name was Petra, and she had little to say. She barely blinked as she stood near the harbour gates, listening to instructions from the queen.

Jael pointed to a man she knew well, though she’d never considered him a friend, for she’d only ever had one friend growing up and that had been Aleksander. ‘Bader, you’ll lead Fyn into the forest. Head north, to the other side of the road. I’ll keep to this side with Aedan and our men. Our job is to find siege towers, catapults, and battering rams. We’ve only got one jar each, so we have to hit something worthwhile,’ she said, now focusing on Fyn, who stood before his volunteers. And seeing him nod, she turned back to Bader. ‘You’ve got everything you need to make a fire?’

Bader nodded, patting the satchel strung across his chest.

‘And you’ve all got fire arrows?’ Jael asked, watching as every volunteer turned to show the queen their quivers. ‘Good. Stick together. We’re not going out there to be caught or captured or to draw anyone’s attention. We just want to dent their confidence and limit their chances of breaking in.’ Pleased to see most heads nodding, Jael turned to the guard in charge of the harbour gates. ‘Be ready to let us back in,’ she told the man. ‘Work with Nils Gropen on the wall. I’ve told him to watch out for us.’

The guard nodded, indicating for his men to remove the locking beam.

Blowing out a breath, Jael could feel the bread like a lump in her stomach now. Turning around, she saw Ragnar coming. ‘How are they doing in front of the gates?’

‘Working fast,’ Ragnar told her. ‘Doing what they can to make it unpleasant for whoever seeks to get that close.’

‘Good. Once they’re finished, bring everyone inside and start work on the barricades. Talk to Helga,’ she said. ‘We may need her again.’

* * *

Shifting in his saddle, Oren’s tension was rising, and though he was impatient to be at Andala, he called a halt to their progress and sent his steward for wine. Beside him, Mutt Storman’s odour had intensified. ‘Still nervous?’ he mocked. ‘But why? Do you doubt me?’ And now his eyes sharpened, suddenly devoid of all humour.

Mutt shook his head. ‘Not you, lord. I don’t doubt you, though Axl Furyck, once he hears...’ Mutt had always been a suspicious man, believing in no one, not even himself. He’d grown up with a pessimistic father, who’d made it clear that nothing good would come his way. That there was no path to riches, fame, or happiness for the likes of him. And though Mutt had scoffed, his life had been a series of disasters, and now, despite the surprising opportunities Gunnhild had offered, he had a growing sense of impending doom. The cloud that had hovered over him since childhood felt heavier and darker than ever.

‘Once he hears with what?’

Mutt didn’t understand.

‘Hears with his ears?’ Oren laughed. ‘But if those ears are attached to his dead body, what use are they going to be?’

* * *

Leaving the fort behind, Jael and Fyn went their separate ways, hearing the gentle thud of the harbour gates closing behind them.

Immediately running, Jael led her cousin Aedan and their ten volunteers across the cobblestoned docks, staying close to the harbour wall, down a path edging the forest and then quickly into the forest itself, at once masked by tree cover. It was still dark, and that was a shield in itself.

As she ran, Jael listened for signs of their enemy in the trees. Instead, she heard her father’s growl of displeasure: ‘A queen stands above those she rules, for she is not one of them, Jael! You must survive. Understand that most of all. You are a Furyck, so whatever happens, you must survive!’

But despite his warnings over the years, driving herself to the front of everything was a habit she was yet to break, and though she glanced over her shoulder with a twinge of regret, there was little she could do about it now.

Bow and quiver bouncing against her aching back, carrying the precious jar of sea-fire, dressed in armour that didn’t fit with a sword that wasn’t her own, she tried shutting out all that didn’t feel right. Which at that moment, far from home and worried about every member of her family, was mostly everything.

She saw a glimpse of the flame-haired man.

Oren Storgard.

He was close, she sensed, almost feeling his breath on her cheeks. He lurched out of the darkness at her, red lips parting, eyes bright with amusement.

‘Your brother will die,’ he hissed. ‘You think you are so clever, Jael Furyck, but your brother will still die.’

And then it wasn’t Oren Storgard but a woman in a red cloak, voice dripping with venom.

Though blinking and shutting out everything that wasn’t before her, Jael lifted her head and plunged into the dark trees.

* * *

Linas approached the little man with the funny name. ‘Do you want a slice of bread?’

Pye had woken in a foul mood, spent of all energy and good humour. He stared at the beggar boy as though he’d crawled out of a ditch. ‘What are you saying?’ he muttered irritably, for the boy was chewing as he spoke.

‘Bread,’ Linas mumbled, pulling the half-eaten piece out of his mouth to show the man. They were the same height, and he felt confused. ‘Do you want some?’

Though despite being hungry, Pye petulantly shook his head.

‘He’ll have some,’ Mattie snapped, bustling past. ‘Bring him a plate and some for the queen.’

‘Queen?’ Linas stared up at the pretty dreamer with the big eyes. ‘Is she really a queen?’ And now he pointed to a dishevelled Kalina, who slept in the corner, watched over by a fretful Kolarov.

‘Well, she was. Now she’s a prisoner,’ Mattie said, bending down to wink at the boy. ‘The prisoner of a real queen.’

‘Is she bad?’ Linas asked, feeling troubled.

‘She is not bad!’ Pye spluttered indignantly. ‘She was overthrown. Captured! She is the daughter of Ronin Sardis!’

Linas didn’t understand, and shrugging, he left to find Pye some bread.

‘And you still think you’re on the right side?’ Mattie wondered, poking a red-cheeked Pye, trying to get his attention.

‘Do you think I should be on the side of my captor?’ Pye huffed.

‘I think you were abandoned by a woman who never cared for you,’ Mattie told him with a deep frown, and now she gripped his arm, seeing more. ‘A woman you hoped would care for you, though she never did and she never will. I’m sorry to tell you that, Pye. If you want to feel anything other than shame or desperation or a need to be loved by a vile creature like that dreamer, then make a different choice. Choose a different path.’

Pye was staggered. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. ‘What have you seen? Of me? What do you know?’

Though hearing Helga calling her name, Mattie merely shook her head and left him behind to wonder.

* * *

Jael called Aedan to her. ‘You hold the rear. Be my eyes and ears, and keep them quiet and focused,’ she added, nodding to their volunteers, who seemed acutely aware that they were far outside the protection of the fort and its archers now.

Her cousin nodded. ‘Be careful.’ He winked at her, knowing it was pointless to suggest such a thing, though he hoped she might listen anyway. ‘And good luck.’

Jael turned away as Aedan headed to the rear, deciding she would need it. She kept forgetting the damage done to her back and now feared it would hamper her ability to throw – at least silently.

Hearing horses in the distance, she stopped, holding up a hand.

Listening.

* * *

Oren had hoped to get his men to Andala’s gates long before dawn, seeking to unleash his surprise attack, though he saw the first glow of it through the trees ahead of him, revealing signs of the fort in the distance.

Despite that disappointment, he felt a rush of energy surge from his feet to his head. It was so intense that he stood in the stirrups, feeling a lift.

Dawn, he thought, remembering Gunnhild’s last gift to him.

The most expensive one of all.

He had been wrong to pay the greedy witch for Gant Olborn – it had certainly turned out to be a mistake – though she would make up for it in other ways, he knew, turning to Mutt Storman. ‘Tonight, we will toast our victory inside those walls.’

Mutt nodded obediently, wishing he’d drunk more ale, feeling stabbing pains in his belly that made him want to head for the trees. The dreamer had offered him riches and another chance. She had promised to deliver Axl Furyck on a plate so he could feast on his long-desired meal of revenge. Though now he feared he would die here, beside this arrogant king, who wouldn’t care who he sacrificed in his quest for total domination.

When Mutt had been in charge, when he had led the Brekkan traitors, he’d felt powerful and everything had been possible. But in Oren Storgard’s hands? The man was half his age, lacking any real experience. Mutt had ridden into battle beside Ranuf Furyck, fought off and defeated the Hestians time and time again. And the new King of Iskavall? He seemed more interested in looking the part than showing any particular skill for leadership. He barked and snapped and strutted about in his shining armour, but what could he actually do?

Tightening his grip on the reins, Mutt tried to strengthen his resolve, knowing he was exactly where he’d chosen to be. And if his life was to end at Andala, then he would die knowing he’d played his part in destroying the Furycks.

Now he smiled, ignoring the pains in his belly, his doubts, and his resentment of the man leading him.

It didn’t matter.

They simply had to take Andala.

* * *

Standing in a clearing, watched over by the last of the stars and her four mute helpers, Gunnhild was making magic.

They had worked together to create a path of bonfires between rows of spindly birches and thick pines.

Nine in all.

The fires flamed and crackled, creating an abundance of light.

At the base of every trunk lining that path, Gunnhild had placed a symbol stone and a sliver of obsidian.

Thirty-six in all.

She strode towards the middle bonfire – the largest – where two buckets waited. And into the first of those buckets, Gunnhild dipped a hand.

Pulling out a hand.

Throwing it onto the fire, she reached back into the bucket, now lifting out a foot, repeating the process until she had emptied both buckets of their parts – teeth and hair, boots and armour.

Eyes.

And finally, she picked up a spear that lay in the grass, moist with dew.

Holding it reverentially, she chanted, almost silently, eyes closed. And opening them, she threw the spear onto the bonfire, watching its flames spurt into the sky, higher than any tree nearby, as though reaching for the moon itself. And then the flames were extinguished, and the clearing fell silent, claimed by the lingering night.

Anticipation made any thought or movement impossible.

Gunnhild’s body tensed until she felt made of obsidian herself, and turning in expectation, she caught a hint of movement amongst the trees to her left.

And now she blinked.

Seeing eighteen pairs of eyes staring back at her.

* * *

Axl had led his army out of Vallsborg before dawn, determined to reach Trelleg by sunset, though he soon realised it would be a stretch with so many to accommodate. He was riding Eiyo, though most were on foot, and as well as catapults, there were supply wagons to contend with – always given to break down at the most inconvenient moment – so he had to rein in his impatience and keep his temper in check.

And think of other things.

Like Gant.

Gant, who should have been riding beside him, peppering him with advice that he would only later realise had been valuable. He smiled wryly, then hearing an odd noise, he frowned. Searching the trees, he thought it had grown darker, which, as dawn approached, was the opposite of what should be happening.

Everything appeared strangely blurry. Perhaps fog?

The trees were merging into walls, and squinting, he tried to sharpen his vision, though the walls remained. Tilting back his head, he saw the clouds driving down towards them, and glancing back at the men riding just behind him, he watched in horror as a spear took one of them in the neck.

37

The horses Jael had heard were carrying scouts, riding into the trees ahead of their king’s arrival.

The decision was hers, and she made it quickly.

Turning back to her volunteers, finger to her lips, she nodded at Aedan, trusting him above everyone else. He hurried up the line towards her as she handed the jar of sea-fire to the girl, Petra, and pulled her bow over her head, nocking an arrow. ‘Do not drop it,’ she hissed before turning to her cousin. ‘There are two of them. You go right. On me,’ she mouthed, moving away as Aedan nodded. ‘Wait here,’ she whispered to the rest of their party.

Pulling back her bowstring, pain twitching up and down her spine, she crept forward, fearing that every step in the darkness would reveal her presence. Sometimes, she saw a patch of moonlight on the ground, fearing exposure from above too. She walked with caution, hearing nothing behind her and nothing from Aedan, who stepped just as quietly away from her.

The air had a chill to it, and Jael shivered as she stopped behind a tree, taking a breath. There was nothing to see, just the sound of the horses and now men talking in hushed voices. Inhaling another breath to steady herself, she waited, searching for those voices in the darkness.

One man was moving her way, his friend heading for Aedan, and exhaling now, she swung out from behind the tree, aiming just ahead of where she’d heard that voice. Releasing her arrow, she felt the tension in the bowstring slacken as it sped away.

A dull thud and a surprised shout followed, and Jael took a step forward, nocking another arrow. She aimed almost immediately, firing above where she could hear a horse panicking. Now she heard the same thud but no noise from her target. The horse whinnied, and Jael moved forward again, listening as something crashed to the ground.

A body, she knew, dropping her bow over her back and edging towards the frightened horse with soothing words. She wished she had an apple or carrot to tempt it, fearing it would bolt straight back to the king’s army. And remembering she was a dreamer, she sought to get inside the horse’s head.

To her right were more surprised shouts and whinnying, which upset the horse she was trying to catch. Carrying on both murmuring and seeking to soothe the horse with her mind, she held out a hand, eventually feeling a hairy muzzle blowing on it.

She found the horse’s bridle, gently feeling down to the reins. ‘There you go. Ssshhh now,’ she murmured, hearing nothing from the man who’d fallen from the saddle, though she could smell that he wouldn’t be causing any problems.

Not waiting for her cousin, she led the horse back to the huddle of volunteers, handing it to one of the men. ‘Kari, you stay here. Keep the horse quiet.’

Aedan soon joined her, leading his own horse, which didn’t surprise Jael, who knew how good her cousin was with four-legged beasts of every variety. ‘We need to keep moving,’ she whispered as he handed off the horse to Kari. ‘Come on.’ And spinning around, Jael led everyone deeper into the trees, searching for their enemy.

* * *

Bader had hurried Fyn and his volunteers away from the fort and into the forest, where they crossed the road to the main gates. There was no noise – no owls, foxes, nothing rustling near his feet or above his head – which Fyn took as a sign of impending danger.

Eager to be helpful, Bader pointed to the trees, suggesting that a few of them could climb and attack from there.

Fyn shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth the risk. Instead, he urged the men to hide behind trees and bushes – anything to shield them from view.

And now, finding his own spot with a clear view of the road, Fyn Gallas clutched his jar of sea-fire, waiting for the enemy to arrive.

* * *

Rexon’s heart was in his mouth as he spurred his horse up the line. He had seen a commotion at the front of the column near where Axl was riding.

But in the darkness, he couldn’t see the king.

More spears flew into the mounted Andalan warriors, who dropped from their horses, slapping them away, half turning left, half right, drawing shields from backs and calling to the archers.

‘Axl!’ Rexon yelled. ‘Axl!’ Dropping his head, he felt the whoosh of a spear skimming it, wishing he was wearing a helmet. He saw a flash of the king, and getting closer, he dismounted, shooing his horse away. Though the loud panic suddenly consuming the Andalan army had most of the horses in a muddle and she didn’t get far. Some reared up, others darted out of the line, but some merely spun in circles, getting in everyone’s way.

The whinnying horse blocking Rexon’s path had been speared in the rump, swishing its tail and throwing its head. Noticing the strange black spear, he made to grab it, to pull it out, though the terrified horse bolted away.

And with his path clear, Rexon hurried to reach the king.

He found a dead archer, helping himself to his bow, and dropping the man’s quiver over his back, he quickly drew an arrow. Nocking it and pulling the bowstring in anticipation, he found Axl, who was grabbing his shield off his horse.

Turning around, Axl was relieved to see him. ‘Go to the –’ A spear shot between them, both men veering backwards. ‘Centre! Go back to the centre!’ he shouted. ‘It’s coming from the trees! An ambush! Take your men west! I’ll go east!’ And waiting to see a nod, which wasn’t easy in darkness that appeared to have intensified, Axl turned back to see Erling running towards him.

Their visibility was hampered further by a thick mist, now blocking off any view of the trees and, with it, their enemies.

Axl thought of Helga back in Andala, regretting that he hadn’t brought her along. Wondering who was out there.

Or what...

* * *

Jael heard Oren Storgard’s army coming down the road that would take them to Andala’s main gates.

It was hard to conceal the movement of so many warriors, weapons, and horses. And despite a likely attempt at stealth, thudding hooves and jangling bridles soon drew their attention – Jael’s most of all.

Sea-fire was risky in a forest, though the trees could grow again, and lives, once extinguished, were lost forever; she knew that all too well.

Once again holding the jar of sea-fire, she thought of Fyn, knowing he would wait on her.

Turning back to Aedan, she crouched down. ‘Light the fire.’ Shifting her gaze to the archers, all armed with fire arrows, she lowered her voice further. ‘Once your arrows are lit, I’ll throw the jar. Aedan, you give me the signal. Just a hand wave. If the fire goes out, then two hands.’ Her cousin nodded and she stood, slightly bent, hoping dawn wouldn’t come too soon.

Above her head, she saw the moon hovering, surrounded by a web of clouds, its light faint and intermittent. Beside her, Aedan pulled out his tinder box, emptying his satchel of kindling, moss, and wood shavings onto a clear patch of earth behind the boulder.

Jael turned away, bending lower, creeping through the trees.

* * *

Ragnar Olveggen prowled the ramparts, eyes peeled open. The first hints of dawn were visible, and blowing out a strained breath, he now focused on listening.

His men were chatting in loud whispers, and turning to them with a frown, he watched as they closed their mouths. He felt oddly warm, tugging at his tunic, feeling the weight of his mail shirt like a burden on his shoulders, pushing them down. Everything niggled at him, seeking to distract him from the important task that lay ahead.

The dark forest was a blanket under which their enemy was hiding, and until dawn truly announced itself or the dreamers spotted something, they were blind.

Mind wandering, he thought of Axl, hoping the king would find his way back to Andala before it was too late.

* * *

In the darkness, Axl couldn’t see their enemy.

Just rows of trees fencing off the road.

Though as he looked closer, eyes watering with the effort, the trees appeared to be moving, as though they weren’t trunks and branches but arms and legs.

He didn’t understand, looking down his arm to his hand, gripping his sword.

He barely saw it; there was no glinting blade.

He was choked in darkness so thick he could almost taste it.

‘Erling!’ he called, certain he could hear his friend nearby, but the voices drifted away from him as the darkness became denser.

Heavy.

Turning back, Axl tightened his grip on his sword, pulling his shield closer.

He needed to command his men, though he couldn’t even see them. ‘Eyes open!’ he ordered, unblinking as he stepped off the dirt road and onto the forest floor.

The wall of trees moved again, changing shape, and he saw trunks and people moving out of them. A shadow jerked ahead of him, dark arm like a spear, chopping down as it lunged.

‘No!’ Axl screamed, dragging himself out of its path. He feared he’d moved too slowly, but the shadow slipped past him, driving its spear into the earth.

It spun around with frightening speed, and turning himself, Axl saw a flash of green eyes and a face he thought he knew. ‘Osgar?’

* * *

After Mattie had left her private chamber, Helga remained. She had locked the door, which had been opened several times, mainly by Linas and Gerald, who had fired questions at her like arrows.

She needed silence.

And despite the noise coming from the hall, she managed to find some in her mind.

Sitting at the table, eyes closed, hands on Edela’s book, she saw a glittering symbol in the darkness. Eyes open now, she flicked through the vellum pages until she recognised one matching what she had just seen.

A familiar symbol – one she knew well.

She touched it, running her fingers over the faded green lines.

And then a spark of light and she saw the king himself, under siege in a forest.

* * *

Moonlight flashed through the tree canopy, and Jael caught her first glimpse of the enemy: dark silhouettes borne forward on shapeless horses. She kept listening, wanting to hear a wagon or a siege tower, though mostly she heard horses thudding in an almost stupefying rhythm. Alert as she was, she was suddenly aware of her deep exhaustion. Then, hearing a squeaking sound, she was as tense as a wolf ready to pounce. Hidden behind a tree, gripping the sea-fire jar, she needed to judge what was possible in the dark.

Though it wasn’t as dark as it had been. Glancing over her shoulder, Jael saw that dawn was coming. Seeing was helpful, of course, but being seen?

Turning back as the moon continued to shine, she counted six siege towers, all packed together, rolling forward in unison.

Smiling, she remembered something Gant had once told her: ‘War is not usually won but lost, so be the leader who makes the least mistakes.’

Heart thudding, Jael decided to get closer, edging towards a wide trunk, pulling back behind it as the army clattered past. And looking over her shoulder, she saw Aedan waving a hand at her.

Smelling smoke, she knew it would soon be drifting towards Oren Storgard and his men, alerting them to her presence. So, turning back, she stepped out from behind the tree, launching the jar at the nearest siege tower.

Slipping back behind the tree, Jael heard a crack and a shout, watching as her archers rose with flames flickering from the tips of their arrows, hearing another bang in the distance and more disturbances amongst the army, which quickly became confused as to what was happening.

Arrows zipped over Jael’s head as she ran, crouched over, hearing shouting behind her now. She saw Aedan motioning for her to hurry and then the ground coming for her as she was flung forward by an ear-shattering explosion.

And then darkness.

* * *

Riding near the front of his column, enjoying the cover of a mostly dark sky, Oren was suddenly jolted in the saddle, no longer focused on what lay before him but on what had just happened behind him.

An explosion.

And then another.

The siege towers on fire.

The folly of keeping them together was revealed in the sparking flames spewing high into the dark sky, and below them, rushes of amber light, flowing like lava, consuming every tower.

‘Abandon them!’ he shouted. ‘Abandon them!’ Turning to Mutt Storman, he snarled. ‘Get back there! Move the men away from those towers! We have to attack now!’

Turning back, inhaling the foul stench of that smoke, Oren realised it wasn’t just pitch but likely sea-fire – something he’d planned to steal for himself.

The signal bell rang ahead of him, rousing every Andalan from their beds.

And furious about all of it, he yanked his horse around, ordering his men to keep marching forward.

* * *

Jael dragged herself out of the mossy carpet she’d skidded headfirst into, just missing a clump of rocks. Aedan had run to her, helping her to her feet, though she was only slightly dazed and soon shook him off, running herself. ‘Back to the harbour,’ she hissed. ‘Heads down, weapons ready, and follow me!’

* * *

Inside Andala’s hall, Linas had hurried to Mattie when the signal bell had started ringing. ‘They’re here! My lady, they’re here!’ Though remembering she was a dreamer, he imagined she already knew that.

Hearing how excited the boy was, Gully started barking, annoying everyone who was trying to think.

He certainly woke Kalina, who didn’t know where she was for a moment.

‘Come here!’ Kolarov bellowed at the boy. ‘Here! Out of the way with that dog. Everyone will have important work to do now, and they don’t want to be tripping over you.’

Linas turned with a frown, studying the beady-eyed explorer. ‘I need to find my grandmother!’ he decided, scampering away, leaving an open-mouthed Kolarov with his hands on his hips.

‘What do you see?’ Pye chirped, hurrying to Mattie’s side. ‘Are we under attack?’

She nodded. ‘The forest is on fire.’

‘We’ll be burned to a crisp!’ Pye fretted.

‘Go and sit with Kolarov,’ Mattie growled. ‘And look after Otter for me. I want to know he’s safe from that beast.’ And now she eyed Gully, whose tongue flopped out of his mouth as he grinned at her.

Pye was too frightened to move, though Mattie shoved him firmly in the direction of the explorer, whose feet remained planted on the floorboards, head swivelling around.

Helvor, the cook, bustled out of the kitchen, wiping her sweaty face. ‘I need a pair of arms, and yours look useful enough,’ she told Kolarov. ‘You can carry a cauldron of oil up to the wall. We need to start getting them on the move.’

‘Me? I, ahhh...’ Though unable to resist the tall woman’s intense stare, Kolarov was soon on his way, holding his back. ‘And how big is this cauldron?’

Mattie watched him go, seeing Pye and Kalina now sitting alone. ‘If you’re smart, you’ll stay there. If not, I can’t guarantee your safety.’ And with that, she headed towards the corridor, wanting to find Helga. She moved at speed, head down, not noticing Helga emerging from a chamber.

‘Watch out!’ the dreamer barked at her, flinging out a hand.

Mattie looked up in surprise. ‘We’re under attack!’ she exclaimed.

A frowning Helga was unhappy to hear that. ‘So is the king.’

‘The king? You saw him?’

A nodding Helga pulled her back into the chamber. ‘It’s magic,’ she panted. ‘Gunnhild.’

‘Attacking the king?’

‘I have herbs,’ Helga muttered, shutting the door. ‘A powerful mixture Edela made before she left. It’s how I spoke to Gant Olborn. He saw me. He was wide awake, not dreaming. We spoke.’

Mattie glanced at the fire. ‘And you have more of these herbs?’

Helga nodded, seeing the dreamer hold out her hand. ‘No, no, it can’t be you. If this is Gunnhild, I must stop her. But...’ She swallowed. ‘Stay with me. If anything happens, I... Linas.’

‘Of course,’ Mattie said, following Helga to the table. ‘I’ll stoke the fire.’ She glanced around. ‘I can tap the table and hum. It will help.’

Helga barely heard her, aiming for the jar of herbs.

She hadn’t known how much to use on her first try, but now? Now she would use every last one of them, for to try the impossible, she would need all the help she could get. ‘I have to sit on the floor,’ she murmured in a voice she didn’t recognise.

No, she did. She did recognise it.

It sounded like herself when she was a girl.

38

As the sky turned an inky blue, Jael hurried her warriors back to the fort, leaving the siege towers blazing behind her. She could feel Oren Storgard’s rage burning just as brightly as she stopped, sending Aedan to the front so she could take up the rear. The sea-fire was still exploding, and the Iskavallans were in a state of disarray, disturbed from their quiet march, plans upended.

She doubted the loss of the towers would paralyse them for long, though it was better to make the first move, knocking Oren Storgard onto the back foot.

Hurrying in the dark, Jael stumbled into a hole, twisting her ankle.

Wincing, she hobbled on, head twisted over her shoulder, though there was no sign of anyone following them.

Heading out of the trees, she was soon on the familiar path running along the western wall, hoping to see Fyn emerge behind her.

* * *

Mattie saw the flames in her mind. She could smell the strange smoke.

The King of Iskavall was riding for the gates, bringing an enormous horde of men.

She thought of the fort. Of Fyn and Jael outside it.

And Otter. Would Kolarov keep a close eye on him? She didn’t know the boy, and there was that big dog –

‘You must be here!’ Helga snapped, holding the pottery jar in two trembling hands. She had folded up a bed fur, kneeling on it with a jagged frown. ‘Your thoughts are yours to control, so control them. If you cannot help me, I fear for the king, and it is the king I came to Andala to save.’

A surprised Mattie drew her attention back to the snarling dreamer. Her cheeks warmed, and though she felt tempted to snap back, she quietly took her place on the floor. Pulling a chair towards her, she started to tap out a rhythm. Opposite her, Helga appeared hesitant as she lifted the jar to the fire, as though still in two minds. ‘You should use all of it,’ Mattie suggested. Helga didn’t reply, though she saw the dreamer nod as she tipped the dusty contents of the jar over the flames, watching them spark and hiss, an unusual, bitter smell immediately rushing up her nose. Mattie spluttered, coughing loudly. Though sensing Helga’s urgency, she tapped more forcefully, humming in time, seeking to create a driving rhythm to help the dreamer into a trance.

For life had a rhythm.

Each morning and night, each season. Over and over again, the days and months and years repeated themselves, going around in circles. Never-ending circles of life and death.

Circles in the body.

In the mind...

The herbs sizzling in the flames had created potent smoke that pulled Mattie’s thoughts into long threads so that she was soon struggling to remember what she was doing.

The dreamer reached out to her, grasping her hand, then Mattie was no longer in the chamber.

No longer in Andala at all.

* * *

Trapped between two rows of trees, the Andalans were under attack by an army of warriors, though Axl feared they weren’t even men. In scant glimpses of moonlight, he’d seen arms and legs, torsos and faces, and they’d all looked the same.

All like Osgar, one of the men lost in Hallow Wood with Gant.

There was no awareness in their eyes, just a hungry glint as they slipped in and out of the shadows, slashing their lethal obsidian spears.

He heard shouts and grunts echoing around him, becoming louder and more urgent.

Axl had tried to order his men into a defensive formation, though he had no chance of being heard. The shadow warriors moved at such speed that they generated a humming noise, like wind, so loud that his ears started ringing.

He kept spinning, calling out to those nearby to watch their backs. He saw a creature coming – at first, just a blurry silhouette. Holding his breath and squeezing his sword, Axl slid out of its path, and swinging around, shield protecting his left side, he jabbed at it.

The shadow warrior turned with speed, and bringing down his spear, he cleaved the blade in two.

A horrified Axl dropped his broken sword, stumbling backwards, now working his shield to block that vicious spear. The creature spat, driving his blade down with both hands, cutting through the shield as though it were a sheet of vellum.

Jerking his arm out of the shield grip, Axl flung the remnants of it away. He needed another weapon, and desperately trying to find one, he turned and started running. ‘Rexon!’ he shouted breathlessly. ‘Erling?’

Head twisting as he ran, seeing the shadow warrior coming, he finally caught a glimpse of his army again, tangled in ribbons of mist.

He needed to reach them.

To find a better, stronger weapon.

And thinking of what they’d brought along, he remembered the sea-fire.

* * *

‘You’re limping,’ Fyn noted when he caught up with Jael.

Who looked past him, pleased to see that he’d brought everyone back. ‘Did you find a battering ram?’ she asked, ignoring his question.

Which was no surprise to Fyn. ‘No. I hit the catapults. I didn’t see a battering ram.’

Jael frowned. ‘Nor did I, though we put an end to their siege towers.’ Though suddenly fearing that wasn’t entirely true, she held her tongue as they hurried towards the harbour gates, signalling to be let inside.

The gates were quickly opened, then immediately closed and secured with the locking beam.

Ears ringing, ankle throbbing, Jael strode towards Gerald, who waited with a tray of what smelled like ale, and taking a cup, she drank deeply. ‘Thank you,’ she said when it was empty, the smoking sea-fire having stripped her throat of all moisture. ‘Now you’ll need to go and find another twenty cups,’ she smiled. ‘And send them up to the wall.’ She saw Kari leading the horse she had captured – the other one he’d handed off to Petra. ‘Take her to the king’s stables,’ she told him. ‘I’m sure there’ll be a stall free near my horse.’ The sky was lighter now, and she could see that the mare was as black as Tig, with a white star on her forehead.

She watched her go before turning to Fyn and Aedan. ‘Oren Storgard’s brought a formidable force. Did you hear it? The noise of them?’

Aedan frowned. ‘All from Iskavall and Brekka?’

‘I don’t know.’ And shrugging, Jael turned to the archers. ‘You did well! Now head for Nils on the wall. The ale will find you soon enough.’ She nodded at her cousin and headed off, ignoring her limp and not breaking her stride. ‘Oren Storgard’s a wealthy man now,’ she said to Fyn. ‘Likely he’s got mercenaries too.’ Which was a worry she couldn’t ignore, for Andala had a garrison of four hundred, and every man Oren Storgard added to his army gave them less chance of holding him back.

Beside her, walking just as quickly, Fyn had heard the thundering approach of their enemy himself. Eadmund would return with nearly six hundred, though without Axl and his army, they would still be outnumbered.

‘We have the fort,’ Jael said, patting him on the back. ‘And as it stands, unless they’ve brought more siege towers, they’ve no way of getting in. Now come on, let’s get up to the wall and see what our annoying neighbour has to say for himself.’

* * *

Sea-fire smoke choking his throat, siege towers and catapults disintegrating behind him, Oren was furious as he pulled up in view of Andala’s main gates. Slivers of light breaking the cover of darkness highlighted the contours of the ramparts before him, the intense heat of the fire warming his back. Being ambushed infuriated him. With a dreamer wife and having showered Gunnhild in silver and gold, he’d imagined coming to Andala equipped with more insight than this.

And yet?

With a violent shake of his head, he turned to Henk Layborg, riding on his right, determined to carry on, knowing that not every surprise would belong to the Andalans. Nodding at the dark-haired lord, he watched as he peeled off with his men, heading west.

Despite the terrible beginning, the Andalans hadn’t managed to touch his battering ram, which he’d ensured was transported near the front, just behind him. And now he smiled as one of the wagons turned after Henk Layborg and his Rosby men.

In the burning glare of the sea-fire, their arrival, seemingly expected, was now exposed for all to see. He ordered his men to prepare, hearing a signal bell ringing. And remembering the dreamer Gunnhild had supposedly neutered inside the fort, he hoped she proved more successful in putting down Axl Furyck.

* * *

Axl wanted to see the sun, even a glimpse of it, though the darkness lingered, and it was becoming noticeably colder. He shivered, reaching Erling, who had been knocked to the ground, striking his head.

Touching it, Axl felt blood.

‘Watch out!’ his friend screamed, and Axl jerked around, lunging to his left as one of the shadow warriors swung down with a spear. It struck the road, and a weaponless Axl flicked out his leg, tripping the creature as it came again. It fell, and scrambling forward, he aimed to steal its spear. Though tightening its hold on the weapon, the shadow warrior was soon back on its feet, eyes flashing as it unleashed its spear at the vulnerable King of Brekka.

* * *

Mattie had imagined that Helga would go searching for Axl Furyck and his army, though she hadn’t expected to go along. Though now both dreamers stood amongst tall pines and birches, eyes on a long clearing, where a red-cloaked woman swept up and down a row of bonfires, chanting.

Beside her, Mattie could feel Helga vibrating. Turning to her, she saw that her mouth was open, her eyes bright with shock. This was Helga’s trance, and she had come to save Axl Furyck, though Mattie felt concerned. She touched the dreamer’s arm, not feeling anything. It was as though she wasn’t there. ‘Helga?’ she breathed. ‘Helga?’

But Helga didn’t hear her. She heard nothing but the girlish laughter of Gunnhild as they lay in their beds, sharing gossip in the dark; as they ran out of the temple, freed from their chores; as they swam in the river and braided each other’s hair – a lifetime of memories that had filled Helga’s heart.

Gunnhild, who she’d thought was dead.

Dead to her, at least, but here? Now?

‘You have no power,’ she heard a familiar voice snarl. ‘I don’t know why the gods ever made you a dreamer, Helga, for you are weak and pointless. What can you even do? Why are you even here?’

Helga blinked, feeling something touch her arm, and looking to her left, she saw Mattie staring at her with panic in her eyes.

‘The king,’ Mattie hissed. ‘We came to help the king!’

* * *

Axl crawled under a wagon, leg bleeding. A spear had opened up his left calf, and though he feared it was a bad wound, he was numb to any pain, his fears far more demanding.

He thought of the sea-fire again, though in the darkness, he was disoriented, with no idea of where the wagon carrying it might be.

Hearing an ominous roar in the distance, he crawled out the other side of the wagon, seeing a forest of legs – many running. Grabbing an abandoned sword, he was quickly on his feet and limping. Seeing a shield and fearing it was useless, he scooped it up anyway, wanting some form of protection, however temporary it might prove to be.

He saw Rexon wielding two swords, fighting off one of the shadow warriors. He was moving so fast that the spear couldn’t touch him, which was the best approach, Axl thought, blood running down his leg, knowing how deadly those blades could be.

Spinning around, he saw two more shadow warriors running for him – identical to the one fighting Rexon.

Magic, he thought, remembering the dreamer who’d tried to kill Helga.

It could only be magic.

Slipping his hand out of his shield grip, heart racing, Axl flung it at the shadow warrior, its iron rim striking its spear. The noise clanged in his ears, the spear flying from the creature’s hand. Running forward, Axl skidded across the ground, screams like a storm crashing around him, and as the shadow warrior recovered, bending towards his fallen weapon, Axl seized it, driving its deadly tip up into that familiar face.

* * *

An entranced Gunnhild watched the battle unfolding between her warriors and Axl Furyck’s terrified army.

True power, she knew, resided in magic.

She had abandoned Raemus and his dreams of returning to the great void of darkness.

She had abandoned every god, every goddess, every worthless, pointless, flawed deity that sought to manipulate pitiful humans into worshipping them.

The years! Oh, the years she had wasted in the service of such craven fools when she could have spent that precious time serving herself and her own desires.

And now she would.

She had chests of silver and gold, her loyal helpers, her home in Hallow Wood, and after years of trying, she had finally crafted her own warrior – a creature more powerful than any living man – forged in darkness and blood, pain and death.

She had chosen Osgar to be the face of her shadow warrior – a handsome, strapping young man. He may have died crying, begging for his life, though it had not been sacrificed in vain.

No, in death, he would be far more heroic than in life.

For Osgar, the loyal Andalan warrior, would kill Axl Furyck and his army, ending the king’s chances of ever saving Brekka.

* * *

Jael glanced over her shoulder, seeing a deep orange glow rising from the harbour wall, illuminating the battlements. She heard the army coming through the forest, hungry flames eating the siege towers and catapults – a great crackling noise that gave her a lift. Though her attention kept being drawn back to that rising sun.

They could all see more clearly now, and as Jael turned around, she thought of Eadmund, hoping he was already at sea. And if that was the case, the Nebbar Straights’ notoriously vicious winds would have him at Andala by supper.

And they could certainly hold on until then.

Once again, she glanced over her shoulder.

And now she turned her entire body around, frowning.

Beside her, a watchful Ragnar was curious. ‘Is something wrong, my lady?’

‘Just thinking about the Osslanders,’ Jael muttered, and then she realised that that wasn’t why her mind was on the harbour. ‘I think Oren Storgard’s bringing a fleet,’ she mused. And running a hand over her mouth, she closed her eyes, trying to bring images into her mind, though it remained only a feeling. A nagging sort of feeling. ‘I think they’ve got ships,’ she repeated, and eyes open, she turned to Ragnar.

He became still. ‘Sailing from Ollsvik?’ And now he stroked his beard. ‘We should expect it.’

‘Aedan!’ Jael called, motioning to her cousin, who was deep in conversation with Nils Gropen. ‘Take charge of the harbour wall. They’ll have more plans than we can currently see, so I need you to stay alert.’

He nodded, heading there immediately.

‘Prepare the catapult crews!’ she shouted after him, her attention quickly wandering back to the main gates, where she could see that the new King of Iskavall had stopped, waiting at a safe distance. ‘He wants to talk,’ she guessed, whispering to Ragnar. ‘Fyn,’ she hissed. ‘You head east. Ragnar, go west. Let him talk, let me distract him, then let’s hit them with a volley of boulders. Three each.’ The two men nodded and Jael stepped forward. She still had a bow over her back and a quiver of arrows. And now she ducked behind one of the battlements, nocking an arrow.

Keeping the bow down by her legs, she stepped out and smiled. ‘You have come! I’ve been looking forward to seeing the man who killed my brother and thought he would come here and what? Take Andala? Though I don’t expect you were planning to see me!’

A gaping Oren Storgard almost fell over his horse’s nodding head. He had stopped him, tightening his hold on the reins, though the impatient beast wasn’t happy about that. He shuffled his hooves, nodding his head, seeking to move forward. And as a surprised Oren loosened his hold on the reins, he did take a few steps before his distracted master yanked him to a halt.

Oren had met Jael Furyck once, the memory leaving a lasting impression. She had been rude and arrogant, thinking too highly of herself to even speak to him, as though she didn’t see him.

Though he remembered her.

He burst out laughing as his men became silent around him. He heard the panic of those still trying to escape the burning siege towers, though the men near him, his men, had hushed immediately. ‘Jael Furyck! This is a surprise! And here I thought you were already dead! Dead and gone like your grandmother! Dead like your only brother will soon be! I sent him away! Sent him to his death, in fact! For though you may not be a very insightful dreamer, mine certainly is! So crow all you like, slave queen, but your brother is dying as you stand there smiling, thinking you’ve gotten the better of me!’

Jael held her position.

She remained in his line of sight, her smile fixed in place.

Though her arm started trembling.

* * *

Mattie sensed decades of pain flooding Helga’s body as she stood frozen by her side, staring at the clearing. She could feel waves of doubt, self-hatred, and loss. The woman had the manner of a snarling dog, defensive and snappy, but Mattie saw how much pain that surliness masked.

How much unhappiness.

She nudged her arm. ‘Helga, there is no time. If you can’t, then I –’

Helga spun towards her, spitting. ‘No!’ She gripped Mattie’s hand. ‘You will take care of my boy. Promise me you will. My boy and his dog.’

Mattie was too surprised to speak, but sensing her agreement was needed to spur Helga into action, she nodded. ‘I will. Yes, I will.’ Helga eyed her for a moment, and Mattie saw tears, she heard her doubts, and she squeezed her hand. ‘I have done the most extraordinary things,’ she whispered. ‘And I know, more than I ever did, more than I ever believed, that magic lives within us. It waits for us. We are made by Lydea, Goddess of Dreamers, and Efli, God of Magic. We are their tools, and when they choose to help us, everything is possible. Everything.’

Helga didn’t blink, she didn’t nod, but tugging her hand out of Mattie’s, she turned towards the clearing, striding away.

* * *

Rexon found Axl.

He was limping, with so many cuts on his face that blood was pooling in his mouth, running down his chin. He spat, wiping a hand across his lips, out of breath and panting. ‘What are they? Not real! They look like Osgar. They all look like Osgar!’

They backed up to a tree, Axl with his obsidian spear and Rexon with a bow, nocking an arrow with shaking hands.

‘Magic,’ Axl panted, wiping his nose. ‘Has to be that dreamer. You need to... find a spear. It’s the only way.’ Hearing someone screaming for his mother, he jerked the spear at one of the two shadow warriors that had followed them.

Rexon aimed for the other, disturbingly identical to its mate, shooting it in the face. The arrow speared its cheek, though it didn’t even flinch as it pounced, yanking Rexon’s bow from his hand and crushing it like a child’s toy.

And now it lunged for Rexon, grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him into the air.

39

‘Stop!’ Helga shouted in a voice she feared wasn’t strong enough to convey her intention. She tried again, coming closer to the row of bonfires, now seeing others standing near the trees. They looked like servants, she realised, sensing that they couldn’t speak. Mute.

Not dreamers.

And focusing again on Gunnhild, Helga sought to strengthen her voice. ‘You will stop!’ she bellowed.

Watching from the trees, Mattie knew she couldn’t intervene, though she felt the urgency of the situation, fearing that Axl Furyck and his army didn’t have long. She saw glimpses of the Andalans fighting off the dreamer’s strange warriors, but with those vicious black spears tearing them apart, they had little chance. And thinking of Andala, she knew Jael Furyck and the garrison had no hope without them.

Closing her eyes, she urged Helga on, wanting to infuse her with confidence, not noticing that Gunnhild’s helpers had spotted her, all four of them now heading her way.

* * *

Boulders crashed through the trees, the catapults’ creaking arms snapping back and forth, though Jael watched as Oren Storgard held his position, untroubled. Not ordering a response.

Flashes of the rising sun soon revealed that their enemies were out of range. And if the Iskavallans were out of range of the catapults, they were out of range of the archers too.

Cursing her haste, she called a halt, not wanting to waste a single weapon. Though Oren Storgard would eventually have to come closer if he wanted to break inside. And realising that the man likely had more than one idea about how to do that, she started thinking.

* * *

A seething Gunnhild spun away from the fires towards her old friend Helga Brugen. ‘Well, aren’t you becoming adventurous, dearest! To have found me here? And how did you achieve such a feat, I wonder? Something in that book? Something your imaginary friend, Edela, cooked up for you? Hmmm? I would be intrigued if it wasn’t so fucking annoying!’ She spat venom as she thumped forward, all charm and grace ripped away from her pretty face now. She was pure rage. Rage and passion and hate. ‘Go away, Helga! Go back to your motherless boy and your doomed fortress, for you will not survive this night here or there!’

Helga’s body felt unnatural. She wasn’t really here.

Not in the clearing.

Her senses sharpened so that she could hear tiny branches snapping far in the distance, Mattie’s heart beating wildly somewhere behind her, and Gunnhild’s mouth-breathing servants, who appeared to be heading around to stop her.

Though she couldn’t turn to warn her.

She had come to stop Gunnhild.

To stop her killing the king.

* * *

Slipping away from the spear threatening to slice him to ribbons, Axl stumbled, almost falling over. He had to keep one eye on the creature coming for him and the other on the one attempting to squeeze the life from Rexon. That dark spear came for him again, and Axl tipped backwards, tripping over a body, and falling, he pushed his hand down into its open chest. Screaming in horror, he jerked his bloody hand away, flipping over and crawling with speed towards Rexon. Reaching him, he raised his spear, driving it into the side of the shadow warrior holding Rexon in the air.

It let out a guttural roar that shook the earth, dropping Rexon and turning to Axl, who thrust the spear into the shadow warrior’s belly. And scrambling to his feet, he rose up and stabbed the creature’s neck. Feeling more coming behind him, Axl spun around, desperately jabbing one in the face. Pulling out his spear, he drove it into another’s chest. They wore armour of some kind, yet it was no match for the obsidian blade, and the creatures fell before him.

Behind him, Rexon’s attacker collapsed on top of him.

Hearing his groan, Axl swung around, hurrying to his side. ‘Rexon! Move!’ he barked.

A breathless Rexon tried to lift the body off him, though it was as heavy as a stone wall and lacking strength, he couldn’t. The weight crushing his chest soon had him unable to breathe at all.

Aware of another shadow warrior coming behind him and Rexon dying before him, Axl dropped his spear and started dragging the dead creature off his friend. ‘Come on!’ he urged. ‘Help me!’ He couldn’t see Rexon’s face, but he could hear him groan. ‘Hurry!’ Pulling back, he felt cool air as the shadow warrior swung for him, black spear glinting in a welcome burst of light. Jerking to his right, Axl scooped up his own spear, shifting it into his left hand and slashing the creature’s leg.

He didn’t see the one coming behind him.

Though he heard a groggy Rexon calling his name in warning.

But it was too late, and as Axl tried to turn, another shadow warrior loomed over him, slashing him across the face.

* * *

‘What childish magic is this?’ Gunnhild laughed angrily, seeing her fires dimming. ‘And you plan to do what, woman? Bore me to death? Is that your grand scheme? Or perhaps the truth is that you have no plan? None!’ She laughed happily now, seeing Helga’s look of surprise. Helga may have thought she had warded her fort and herself from prying dreamers, though she had achieved nothing of the kind, and Gunnhild could read every one of her panicked thoughts as she stepped forward.

Behind the dreamers, Mattie’s position was becoming untenable.

The four servants were coming towards her on each flank. Some held knives, which was unsettling, though others just stared blankly at her with unblinking eyes, which terrified Mattie most of all, for they appeared under some sort of spell. She reminded herself that she wasn’t even here. She was sitting back inside a chamber in Andala’s hall, inside Andala’s fort, which was under attack and desperately in need of its king’s safe return.

And that wouldn’t be possible if she didn’t help Helga stop the dreamer.

She stepped back, remembering her efforts at sea, though feeling incapable of repeating them on land...

Now feeling Mattie far behind her, Helga moved forward, arms hanging heavily by her sides.

She remembered Edela’s book and all that she had learned. The old dreamer had written a powerful, insightful book – a way to counter the darkness by becoming the darkness itself.

Helga remembered her grandson and his dog, and opening her palms, she started chanting, bringing her hands to her lips. She felt the heat of her breath as she focused on her hands. Hands that could dig a hole, hands that could bake bread, make a fire, hold a child.

Hands that could break a neck.

The chant felt warm, like hot liquid poured down her throat.

In that chilly forest, dew glistening on the ground, golden light piercing the trees, Helga felt fire ignite inside her body as she now took both hands and held them out to Gunnhild.

Squeezing.

* * *

As the king went down, clutching his face, Rexon’s head cleared.

He pulled himself off the ground, grabbing Axl’s spear, which had fallen from his hand. He couldn’t catch his breath, the air mostly still squeezed from his lungs, though his body moved on instinct as he lunged for the shadow warrior, poised to finish the king, and with a shout, he thrust the spear into its back.

Dragging it out, he spun around, finding more creatures to contend with. Swinging wildly, he hacked at one, missing, allowing it to attack him. ‘Aarrghh!’ he screamed, feeling the lethal blade slice through his armour, cutting his arm. He skidded to the side, slipping away before it could strike him again. ‘We have to... hurry!’ he cried. ‘More are coming! Hurry!’

* * *

Gunnhild’s disturbing, tongueless helpers had joined into one large gang of four, pushing through the forest towards Mattie, not one of them blinking.

Lank hair falling over filthy faces, they stared at her with mouths agape – as though she was a meal they sought to devour.

Moving backwards, Mattie didn’t take her eyes off them, trying to think of what she could do. When she had made magic at sea, she’d simply become the giant and the serpent. She knew no chants, no –

And then she stopped, remembering everything she had told Helga.

Not having listened to a word of it herself.

If that magic had been in her at sea, it was in her here.

It must be.

Cracking her neck to one side then the other, she heard Gunnhild shouting from the clearing, now seeing a glaring light, stronger than the rising sun. Though her attention was soon back on the still-moving threat to herself: four pairs of arms, four pairs of legs, and four pairs of dull but determined eyes fixed on her.

She remembered Otter, almost feeling his warm vibrations against her chest as she held him close, stroking his soft fur.

Such a familiar rhythm.

She hummed along, imagining she was in her cottage in Sonderberg, wanting the door to open and her beloved Theo to walk through it and lift her into the air.

She told herself that his spirit was inside Otter, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted him to open the door and wrap his arms around her.

She wanted to feel him.

And now, turning her head, she saw every part of that old door. Every knot and mark. Symbols too. A protective wreath of blackberry, elder, and rowan hung on a hook. She saw the iron handle.

The door wasn’t locked; he could come in.

When he got home, he could just come in.

Holding her breath, feeling that purring intensify, she saw the handle turning. And now her heart skipped as she waited, watching, seeing the door open wide.

And there, covered in blood, holding out a hand, stood Fyn Gallas.

* * *

Gunnhild’s howling anger became choked sobs as she writhed before Helga, hands tugging at her throat, unable to breathe.

Tears flooded Helga’s eyes as she listened to her friend’s desperate pleas.

‘I always loved you!’ Gunnhild cried. ‘My sister. We were... sisters, Helga. I need your help. I... I am lost. You must help me. Save me!’

That voice was young again and sweet. Sweet Gunnhild, the prettiest girl, the kindest girl, her only friend.

She had never had one since.

Never had someone who had shown her such affection and –

She remembered the skinny arms that liked to squeeze her and the big brown eyes staring up at her as though she was loved more than anyone who’d ever lived.

Loved.

She was loved.

Feeling Helga’s resolve crumble before her, a laughing Gunnhild flung her hands away from her throat. ‘You foolish bitch! Soft inside and out! Stupid woman! Do you think you have the power to touch me?’ Dropping her shoulders, she strode forward, revealing that it had all been an act – her eyes free of tears, now shining with triumph. ‘I will show you real magic!’ she threatened, that smile twisting into a gruesome grin. ‘I will show you what it means to be a real dreamer!’

Further into the forest, hearing that triumphant screeching, Mattie feared for Helga.

She feared for those in the fort.

She saw the image of Fyn again, covered in blood, and she knew she had to hurry. So dropping to the ground, she used her fingers to make a circle, sweeping away twigs, bones, and leaves until she could feel dirt.

She drew the symbols that had appeared before her.

She had learned symbols in the temple. These were slightly different, though. Unfamiliar. They joined together, and she felt a charge up her arms as she stood. Unsheathing her knife, she cut across one palm then the other, dropping the knife to the ground, and running her hands down her chest, she started chanting.

Now calling out to Gunnhild’s entranced helpers in Tuuran, she warned them to stop.

They had to stop or she would kill them!

They kept moving, though, and Mattie dropped her bloody hands to the earth, her chanting becoming guttural as though she was from the earth itself. No longer at sea but here in the forest, she was one of them.

Her blood dripped into the symbols she had made, and seeing sparks in the earth, coming from her fingers, she stood, aiming her hands at her attackers. ‘No!’

* * *

Leaving the King of Iskavall to dither out of range, Jael headed for Fyn. She sensed everything was now a game and that Oren Storgard had come to Andala with the intention of commanding every piece on the board. Ragnar had explained the tricks that had already been employed, and she feared that this would end up becoming more of the same, especially if a dreamer was involved.

But Axl?

What had they done to Axl?

Reaching Fyn, who had waited by the catapult, ready for further orders, she took him to the eastern wall. ‘I want you in charge here. I’ve got Aedan on the harbour wall, Ragnar on the main wall, I’ll send Nils Gropen west, but I want you here.’ Now she pointed Fyn at the blackened forest, destroyed by fire some years before. ‘They could come through the trees or land at the cove and come down the path. Whatever the case, we have to anticipate an attack on every wall.’

Fyn nodded.

‘Call me if you see anything, and in the meantime, organise your archers. Ensure you have pitch, fire arrows, water, braziers. And watch the catapults too. They’ll turn wherever they’re needed, but they must have a supply of boulders at all times. There are messengers on every wall, so use them.’ And finally taking a breath, Jael turned away, eyes sweeping the main wall, where she spied Nils Gropen, ready to go and have the same conversation with him.

* * *

Erling found Axl and Rexon huddled near a wagon with four of their men, trying to decide what to do. ‘We’re overwhelmed!’ he groaned, bleeding from the head. ‘They’re... everywhere! We...’

Axl and Rexon were the only ones with obsidian spears, so Axl gave his to Erling. ‘Do what you can!’ he shouted, gritting his teeth. And grabbing the wooden siding, he threw himself up into the wagon, desperate to see how things stood. He wobbled, his bleeding leg vibrating, almost giving way, trying to keep his balance as he took in the full horror of what had befallen his army on the road out of Vallsborg.

Hints of dawn were breaking through the trees, and eyes sharpening, he saw the shadow warriors sweeping through their columns with precision and speed. There weren’t many, he thought. Perhaps fifty? But they were causing carnage, surging in from both sides of the forest, hacking their blades as though cutting through rows of troublesome brambles.

Erling started bellowing below him.

Wobbling some more, Axl almost fell as the wagon was shunted, someone’s screams choked off. He saw a spear coming for him. Jerking to the left, he fell off the wagon, landing on his shoulder, right in the path of a blood-covered shadow warrior, whose smile he could see as it lifted its spear, ready to claim a king.

* * *

Mattie didn’t stop to think about the dead bodies, quickly leaving them in her wake.

Gunnhild’s mute helpers had fallen before her as though struck by bolts of lightning. She glanced down at her hands, which burned. Though it was her feet she needed to focus on as she raced back through the forest towards Helga.

In the smoky clearing, Helga was on her knees, Gunnhild like a raging goddess above her, hair flowing in a strong breeze, her voice the wind itself. Helga’s arms were pinned helplessly to her sides as she jerked uncontrollably before her.

‘You are nothing!’ Gunnhild shrieked imperiously. ‘Nothing to me! Nothing to this world! The gods made you for their amusement only, you ugly dolt! Something to laugh at! Something to entertain them! Though I must deprive them of that pleasure, for you are in my way!’

‘Helga!’ came Mattie’s voice, and Gunnhild looked up in horror, realising that her useless minions had failed. And sensing that a more powerful opponent waited in the wings, she held a fist above her old friend’s head and then another, resting it on top of the first. ‘You thought to break my neck? To squeeze the life from me? Well, let me return the favour!’ And now the dreamer turned her fists in opposing directions, hearing Helga gurgle, watching her convulse before her.

Helga saw stars.

Her body, which had only moments earlier vibrated with powerful magic, now felt lifeless. Spent. In the darkness spreading across her eyes, she could almost see the Goddess of Death holding out a hand as though calling to her.

Your time, the goddess seemed to say.

It is your time.

‘No!’ Helga croaked, refusing to believe it. She would not let Linas grow up in a world of darkness. She would not abandon the boy before she did everything she could.

Everything.

And finally freeing her right arm, a screaming Helga brought it up, slashing Gunnhild’s hand.

The dreamer jerked back in surprise, feeling a searing pain. She dropped her arm, seeing blood. Blinking at Helga, she didn’t understand.

Struggling to her feet, taking advantage of the dreamer’s confusion, Helga slashed again, cutting her face.

Gunnhild howled, reaching both hands to her beautiful face, feeling the gaping wound, the pain, the blood. ‘What have you...?’

Reaching the clearing, Mattie saw that Helga had the dreamer in hand, so she changed direction, running instead to the fires in the circle, where she knew Gunnhild’s spell was still in effect.

‘What have you done?’ Gunnhild spat at her old friend, who swayed before her, revealing the piece of flint she’d concealed in her hand, marked with one of Edela’s symbols.

And now Helga saw the effects of that symbol working as Gunnhild’s skin started peeling from her arms and face. She continued to howl, though her voice became deeper, coarser, until she was rasping like a dying old woman. She sank towards the earth, hands spread out imploringly as she crawled forward.

‘Save me!’ she begged. ‘You must save me!’ And now she curled the fingers on her right hand, wrapping them around something.

Helga lunged forward, wanting to see what it was, though the flames blew out and the forest clearing was plunged into darkness.

* * *

The lethal spear hovered near Axl’s bloody face, aimed at his right eye.

At that moment, as everything slowed around him and before him, he saw Amma, her brown eyes full of fear for him. His mother’s.

And then nothing.

He blinked, pinned to the ground, unsure what he was seeing.

‘Axl!’ Rexon called.

And blinking some more, Axl saw a flash of light. The intense glare blinded him, and now he saw nothing but that light. He didn’t feel the spear or the icy chill of the creature who’d been bearing down on him.

‘They’re gone!’ Rexon rasped in amazement. ‘Gone!’

Shaking his head, a blinking Axl wasn’t sure that was true. The rising sun was pushing through the trees, though, and he could see no creature above him. Moving his aching body, he rolled away from one of his men, curled up dead beside him. Crawling now, he dragged himself towards Erling, who had sat up, shaking his head. ‘They’re gone,’ he breathed, touching his friend.

Erling winced. ‘Gone?’

Axl nodded, staggering back to his feet, seeing Rexon and other familiar faces – warriors shaking their heads, inspecting their injuries in the welcome dawn light. As confused as he was.

But relieved.

For whatever had come for them was no more.

And Andala’s king and her army would live to fight another day.

40

Back in the chamber, Mattie shook Helga’s arm, trying to bring her out of the trance. She heard shouting from the hall, knowing that they needed to refocus on what was happening in Andala, though the dreamer sat before her like a statue.

Mattie felt strange. The fire had died down, though the smoke lingered, and it was so vile that she gagged. Unable to stop herself, she started coughing, spluttering and then sneezing.

She made such a noise that before her, Helga finally blinked. ‘Perhaps you should open the door?’

Mattie peered at her. ‘You’re here?’

Helga wasn’t entirely sure, though soon she was coughing herself. ‘The... door,’ she croaked. ‘And water.’

A nodding Mattie hurried away from her, and soon the door was wedged open and the smoke began to disperse. She filled two cups with small ale, returning to the dreamer, who had stood and was shaking her head in disbelief.

Had any of that happened?

In a trance?

She thought of those herbs, now all gone, so powerful that she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

‘What happened?’ Mattie wondered. ‘Is she dead?’

Helga’s arm shook as she lifted it, revealing the sharpened piece of flint she’d cut Gunnhild with. She had carried it with her since she was a young woman – a way to keep herself safe. ‘I added one of Edela’s symbols to it,’ she mumbled, barely present. ‘I... she was dying. She appeared to be dying, but then...’ Helga trailed off, looking up at the dreamer. ‘I don’t know.’

‘We need to go,’ Mattie told her, remembering her vision of Fyn Gallas. ‘To see what else can be done. We just have to hope the king can gather his men and return quickly. I fear we’ll need him.’

Helga thought so, too, hoping he was still alive.

Hoping she had stopped Gunnhild in time.

* * *

The shadow warriors had disappeared.

Made by magic, Axl realised, seeing no sign of those obsidian spears now.

Though that magic, while it lasted, had been deadly.

Bodies were littered across the road and into the trees. Perhaps as many as a hundred, he thought, still dazed. Blood oozed down his cheek, and he held up a hand, turning to see Rexon coming with a waterskin.

‘Drink,’ he said.

Axl shook his head.

‘You need stitches,’ Rexon added.

‘I need to get everyone back on the road. I need...’ Axl couldn’t think, feeling lightheaded now. And remembering the wound in his calf, he looked down, seeing his trousers slick with blood that had been draining for some time. ‘Send for Edda,’ he mumbled. ‘I’ll sit over... there.’ And hearing his words tangling, Axl feared he would faint. His ears started buzzing, stars bursting before his eyes, intensifying as he dropped his head and hurried to a tree, where he stumbled down onto its rooty base.

He sat there, head bowed, trying to force himself awake.

Wanting to piece together what it all meant.

He thought of his own dreamer, wondering if perhaps she’d had the last laugh?

And shivering now, Axl Furyck allowed himself a pained smile.

* * *

Oren hoped to hear from Gunnhild, wanting some indication of what was waiting for him inside Andala – an encouraging word or confident prediction.

Though he heard nothing.

Jael Furyck was in the fort. With what? Her own forces? Her Islanders?

It didn’t matter, he told himself, like a parent encouraging a child.

What did it matter?

He was here, they were all here now, and the fight was before them.

They had stumbled at the start, but out of range of Andala’s archers, they had worked to reorganise themselves. Without his siege towers and catapults, left flaming and smoking behind him, plans had to change, and after a brief discussion, they had. So, with a smile and a raised arm, Oren sent his first ranks forward.

He would not join them; he couldn’t risk becoming lost to the fight. Instead, he would control everything from his position, remaining just out of range of Jael Furyck’s archers.

And thinking of archers, he turned in the saddle, ordering the commander of his own to take those men off the wall.

* * *

‘Is Ver unwell?’ a frowning Beorn called to Eadmund, lifting his eyes to the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. ‘What does he call this? A breeze? More like an old woman’s fart!’

Oss’ fleet of twelve ships, plus Raal and his stolen vessel, had set off before dawn with only a whisper of the powerful wind they were used to. It was so unusual that those on board Sea Bear kept their mouths closed, thoughts to themselves.

Tipping back his head, Eadmund saw that their sail looked confused about what to do – blowing into a belly at times before quickly sagging and twisting into a drooping napkin. He bit down on a toothpick, eyeing the helmsman. ‘We need something to help us!’ He thought of Mattie, who had bound the wind, helping them increase their pace as they’d approached S’ala Nis, though he hadn’t imagined they’d need help crossing the Nebbar Straights, which had always guaranteed a wild ride.

Running a hand over his head, he thought of Jael.

He trusted no one more than he trusted his wife, though she was only one woman, and despite all her gifts and talents, she was going to need help defeating whatever enemy threatened Andala.

* * *

Linas ran up to his grandmother as she emerged from behind the grey curtain. ‘Are you alright?’

Kolarov tried to call him back, though soon the dog was by the boy’s side, both of them crowding the old woman, who appeared pale and ready to topple over.

Beside her, Mattie looked just as unsteady. And that smell?

Holding a hand to his nose, Kolarov grimaced. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Helping the king,’ Mattie croaked, clearing her throat so loudly that her ears crackled. ‘Though I... think we both need to sit d-d-down.’ She had been trembling since she’d emerged from the trance, and now her teeth were chattering.

‘I’ll get a fur!’ Linas offered, helping his grandmother into a chair before disappearing down the corridor, leaving Mattie staring after him in a daze.

‘What happened while we were gone?’ Helga asked, sinking into the chair. Her mind felt stuffed with wool, and it was an effort to even show interest in something. She could barely keep her eyes open, fearing that she would drop off to sleep at any moment. The hideous smoke tainted her mouth and her nose. She had drunk small ale but still only tasted that strange smoke.

The hall doors swung open as an injured man was helped inside, head dropped to one side, an arrow piercing his chest. Turning around, Helga saw Astrid hurrying towards him and knowing how much the healer had helped her, she almost smiled. Turning back, she saw that the explorer was talking to her.

‘... and they appear to be attacking the walls. It sounds as though we’re warriors in an arena, surrounded by baying wolves!’ He rose out of his chair before slumping down again. Beside him, Kalina gulped down a cup of wine, looking tense. Pye was in the kitchen, having gone to offer his help, though Kolarov was certain he’d only gone to help himself to more food.

Though, for once, he didn’t feel like eating. He wanted to vomit.

* * *

After sorting out Fyn and Nils Gropen, Jael had returned to the main wall, met by a furious barrage of arrows. Popping her head out from behind a stone battlement, where she’d been sheltering, she saw that Oren Storgard had sent his first ranks towards the gates. Though without siege towers, what was he planning?

There was no sign of a battering ram that she could see, so it made little sense.

Helping herself to a spare shield, she swung it skywards as the next wave of arrows launched into the air. A few zipped over her head into the square, most hit the wall itself, and quickly looking around, she didn’t see any injuries. ‘Eyes open!’ she called. ‘And ears!’ Dropping her shield to her side, she sought out Oren Storgard, trying to understand his strategy, and then she saw it plainly. ‘Hold! Do not respond! Fyn!’ she shouted, turning to find him on the eastern wall. ‘It’s a distraction! They’re coming for the flanks!’ And after a flurry of instructions to Ragnar, she was gone, running towards Nils Gropen.

* * *

Gant feared he’d been riding asleep.

Blinking open aching eyes, he focused on the familiar road, seeing paddocks to his left and meadows on his right, leading to tree cover. He didn’t have time to feel worried. If there were enemies about, there was nothing to do but try and outrun them, though he couldn’t push the poor horse any harder.

More forest lay ahead, and as the sun rose, blinding them both, he was grateful for it. Seeing would help, though he was already sweating, stuck to the saddle.

He tried to think of these things, to feel his discomfort, hoping it would keep him awake long enough to make it to a stream. They would stop, drink, and he would splash his face with water and wake himself up further.

He planned to reach Vallsborg by nightfall, where he would swap horses and find out what Beryth knew. Perhaps Axl had even been there? It would make sense if he was on his way to Trelleg. And thoughts meandering, the road ahead of him blurring, he shook his head, trying to stay alert.

* * *

As the sun rose over Andala, Henk Layborg led his Rosby men out of the forest towards her high western wall.

This was his chance, he knew, spurred on by purpose and by the copious amounts of ale and mead he had consumed since he’d woken. Victory here promised a life surpassing anything possible under the iron-fisted rule of Axl Furyck, and failure, a death he refused to imagine.

From the wall, arrows sheered down on them like rain, though with shields locked in place before and above them, they were a moving house, those arrows meeting sturdy resistance. Henk heard the occasional shout, but he sensed no disturbance in their momentum, which carried them forward, step by step.

Hidden in one of the middle rows, holding his shield over the man before him, shuffling in time, he knew his job was to ensure that the battering ram made it to the main gates.

Though he was no fool.

Once the arrow storm had passed, more would come for them.

Fire, oil, pitch...

He could only hope there was no sea-fire.

* * *

‘They’ve got a battering ram in there!’ Jael shouted at Nils, who stood some distance from the queen on the western wall. She glanced at the catapult to her left, certain it had no chance of striking the approaching shield house now.

Nils came closer, nudging past an archer, who was silent, awaiting instructions.

Jael moved behind the man to meet him. ‘They’ll move it to the main gates. Get your archers to block their exit and bring them closer to the wall.’

A nodding Nils headed away from her, outlining the strategy to his archers, who were soon firing arrows at the approaching shield house, hitting those at the back and spearing the ground on the right. ‘Keep moving them closer to the wall,’ he told them quietly. ‘Make them hurry.’

Jael looked on, hearing muffled commands. Her view was of trees and shields and the path running alongside the wall. The shield bearers were aiming for it, she knew, for it was harder to fire on something directly beneath you. Turning around, she found Bader. ‘Have the pitch brought to me,’ she told him. And watching him nod and leave, Jael focused on what was beneath those shields.

She had seen the battering ram, but now she could see faces. One belonged to a square-jawed Henk Layborg, who had been a friend to the Furycks like his father and grandfather before him. In Rosby, Andala had always had one of her fiercest allies.

Shaking her head in amazement, she didn’t understand. Had Axl truly been that bad a king?

No, she knew.

None of this was about Axl. Any ill feeling amongst the Brekkans was the result of their uncle, Lothar, and his disastrous reign. It was about poor harvests, sickness, and magical dreamers. Her brother had made plenty of mistakes, but nothing to have warranted this.

‘Keep drawing them in,’ she hissed to the archers.

Glancing up, she saw how cloudy the early morning sky had become.

And looking down over the wall, she smiled.

* * *

Henk Layborg heard the warnings coming from the rear of the shield house as Andala’s archers pummelled them from above. Shoulders knotted, he urged his men to pick up their pace, demanding that they focus on what was before them – on what they had come to do.

Despite their unfortunate start, they had planned this.

They would approach the wall, too close to be threatened by the catapults. Reaching it, they would break off, the archers in the back rows targeting the Andalans, who, by then, would be leaning over the wall in an effort to strike them. And those archers would keep the Andalans busy while the battering ram was delivered to the main gates.

Where the king’s first ranks would be waiting.

‘Like a beetle,’ Oren had declared gleefully, thrilled with his plan.

Henk hadn’t been as confident, not liking the part where his men were in such close proximity to pitch, flames, and arrows while the King of Iskavall ordered them about from the comfort of his horse, far beyond the reach of his enemies.

Still, in command of the battering ram, his Rosby men would be the ones breaking into the fort.

And now Henk smiled, looking down at his boots, seeing that the forest floor was ending and that soon they would come to the path. ‘Head left,’ he hissed, watching his step. Sweat poured down his forehead, soaking his hair.

‘Can’t,’ someone called. ‘Archers.’

He heard muttering ahead of him – one word that stuck out.

‘Sticky.’

‘Back!’ he cried, immediately fearing he was too late. ‘Move back!’

‘Fire!’ came the bellowing cry from above.

And then nothing but flames.

* * *

An alert Fyn Gallas had his eyes fixed on the charred forest bordering Andala’s eastern wall, turning in surprise at the sudden explosion behind him, seeing flames shooting up past the western wall, immediately smelling pitch. He quickly turned back, remembering Jael’s warning. The blackened stubs would surely make spotting an enemy easier, though it was hard to hear much, for everyone appeared to be yelling. He could see far into the distance, though, eyes continuing to scan every stretch of the scrub.

He saw the young archer, Petra, coming towards him, though she didn’t speak until she was beside him.

Bending down, Fyn leaned towards her.

‘I can hear someone coming,’ she whispered. And stepping back, she inclined her head to the right. Fyn moved with her, not taking his eyes off the forest, though he soon realised that where Petra had pointed was towards the still vibrant bushes bordering the path to Andala’s cove.

* * *

‘Kill those men!’ Jael bellowed as Henk Layborg’s shield house fell apart, flaming men screaming as they threw away shields and ran to save their lives. Though not all of them, she saw, as some sought to rescue the battering ram, which had crashed to the ground in the panic.

Jael saw Henk Layborg himself, shaking flames from his tunic. Dropping to the ground, he rolled on his arm, putting out the fire.

She nocked an arrow.

Pulling back her bowstring, rigidly holding that pose, she swung the bow around, following him. He ducked behind a tree.

She waited, counting.

Twenty.

It would take twenty beats until he emerged.

Around her, men shouted about the gates; she heard talk of the battering ram. And while everything was important, demanding and urgent, Jael knew that armies without leaders struggled to recover from disaster.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

She held her place, feeling everything slow down, almost blurring.

Nineteen.

The hint of a hand, a nose.

And releasing the arrow, she felt her arms vibrating, watching as it sped from the wall, past flaming warriors, past those with shields.

Striking Henk Layborg in the side of the head.

Turning away, Jael ordered Nils to finish off the Rosby men.

And with that, she started running.

PART V

THE LONGEST DAY

41

Inside the hall, everyone surrounded the dreamers, wanting to know what would happen.

Helga was still struggling to breathe, ignoring them all.

The smoke, aided by Edela’s potent concoction of herbs, felt like it was inside her, writhing around her, and though she kept sipping ale and water and even some milk from the kitchen, she couldn’t stop coughing.

Opposite her, eyes snapping from the spent dreamer to the brazier between them, Mattie was becoming frustrated. The hall doors kept opening and closing as the injured were brought in and supplies were taken out. She wanted to be helpful, though since the trance had ended, she’d seen nothing at all.

It was as though she was no longer a dreamer.

It was such a disconcerting feeling that she kept standing up, wanting to head into the square, though every time she even thought about it, Helga barked at her to sit down.

‘We need our strength back,’ she told the impatient woman. ‘Our sight too. And until we get it, we’re liabilities to those on the walls. To those running around being useful too. Stay. You need to stay and recover.’

Mattie found it hard to say no to Helga, who made every suggestion sound like a command. And despite not having followed anyone’s commands since she was a girl, she didn’t argue.

Beside her, Linas sat on the ground trying to make peace between Gully and Otter. It didn’t appear to be going well, judging by the hissing sounds Otter was making, though Mattie was too distracted to notice.

She felt worried. It was nothing she could see.

No image or vision.

Just a terrible feeling that everything was about to go wrong.

* * *

Seeing men marching from the cove, through the forest and down the path, Fyn called Jael onto the eastern wall.

The appearance of another army wasn’t a surprise to Jael, and she watched their approach with interest, guessing it was three or four shiploads worth, perhaps a hundred and fifty warriors, which, though not a substantial amount, would still stretch their resources.

She saw no siege tower, no catapult, no battering ram.

Though she did recognise some of those banners as belonging to lords from the notorious island of Ahlyn, which meant that Oren Storgard had bought himself an army of mercenaries, armed to the teeth and ready to launch an assault on the shortest of Andala’s four walls. Though unless they could climb like a Tudashi, she didn’t fancy their chances.

The gaming board was becoming crowded, she realised, knowing that delay was a tactic worth considering, though the impatient King of Iskavall, already seeking to overthrow his neighbour, would likely not play along.

‘What about the dreamers?’ Fyn wondered.

‘Don’t expect anything from them. Or me,’ Jael warned. ‘This is war.’ She peered at him. ‘But who knows how to fight better than us?’ Worry lingered in Fyn’s eyes, and seeing it, she patted his arm. ‘This is Andala, home of the Furycks, and Oren Storgard will never get in here. Not while there’s breath in my lungs.’ And snarling now, she spun away, wanting to get back to the main wall. ‘You hold here! Let me know where they’re aiming for!’

Make it the harbour gates, she thought, thinking of Eadmund, desperate for the day to hurry along.

Make it the harbour.

* * *

Watching Henk Layborg’s disastrous attempt to deliver the battering ram to the main gates, it was apparent to Oren Storgard that things were going wrong.

Not to plan.

Not in the slightest.

He was heated by rage at the incompetence on display, wishing he could be every man in his army, every pair of hands, every pair of eyes. The poor judgement of those he’d put in positions of authority was staggering.

And yet, despite that flaming heat and crushing disappointment, he felt oddly calm, knowing that Gunnhild had seen his victory. She had seen him as the King of the North.

And one day, the King of Osterland.

And believing that day would come, he chose to feel only certainty as he sat there, forearms pulsing, tugging his horse back into line. His white gelding had been trained for battle, not spooked by noise or flames or by the seething panic of bleeding, dying men. Though he would not indulge the beast’s impatience.

Screaming orders, he demanded that those Rosby men still standing return for the battering ram, and wanting to offer protection, he sent for a messenger.

A boy was at his king’s side in a flash.

‘Tell Lord Kahl to bring more of his archers into the fight. Have them attack all three flanks. I want those men off the walls. Every one of them!’

And with a bob of his head, the boy was soon on his way.

Oren twisted from side to side, issuing more orders, though his focus remained on getting into the fort.

Once the gates were open, it didn’t matter who was waiting inside.

For he would be victorious.

* * *

The arrow storm coming from the Iskavallan archers had intensified, everyone on the main wall crouching behind the stone battlements, waiting for a break so their own archers could return fire.

‘At least we know they’re in range!’ Jael joked to Ragnar, who crouched beside her, coughing. The wind had picked up, driving the still burning sea-fire smoke towards them, mingled with the flaming pitch. Turning around, she saw that the eastern and western walls were under assault, too, arrows whipping over the square.

‘Those men are moving the battering ram!’ she warned, on the move again. ‘Nils! Light up the pitch! Ragnar, get the catapults going! They’re in range now, so crush them!’ She thought of Fyn, having heard nothing from him since he’d spotted the arrival of Oren Storgard’s mercenaries.

Nothing from her cousin on the harbour wall either.

Head bent, Jael moved quickly, having forgotten how long Andala’s walls were. She was used to Oss, which was much smaller and faster to get around.

Ducking, and stopping occasionally, hearing the catapults creaking into action behind her, she fixed her attention on her cousin. ‘Aedan!’ she called. ‘Turn the catapults! Aim them east and –’ An arrow flew past her nose. ‘West! We need to stop these fucking archers!’

He turned with a nod, immediately shouting orders.

Jael started coughing as Nils Gropen’s archers got to work with fire arrows, picking out every splash of pitch and setting it alight, determined to keep the battering ram on fire.

* * *

Mutt Storman had been given command of the Ahlyn mercenaries, bought and paid for by Oren Storgard – a man so wealthy he believed he could buy a kingdom or two.

Perhaps he could?

Mutt didn’t care. As long as Andala was taken from the Furycks, he’d die a happy man.

Meeting up with the Ahlyn men, he’d had to work to conceal his distaste, having had dealings with them before. The saying went that there was no such thing as an Ahlyn ally, and Mutt had never seen anything to change his mind about that. They were cutthroats and brigands – an island of thugs locked in a never-ending arm wrestle for power.

Though, he thought, with a smile, they would make the perfect targets for the Andalan archers.

Seeing the catapult turning towards them, he urged the men to move, for it wasn’t their time yet. ‘Back!’ he snapped. ‘Get out of range!’ And though he’d been instructed to hold his position and await reinforcements, he didn’t think it would hurt to loose a few arrows. ‘Archers!’ he called, turning to see two rows of twenty-odd men holding bows. ‘Move up to the front! Let’s bring those arseholes down!’

* * *

Axl’s army was in shock.

The ambush by the shadow warriors had been so terrifying that it was proving hard to focus on what needed to happen next.

Axl’s left cheek was slashed from ear to nose, his right calf opened up. Both wounds were bleeding profusely, so they couldn’t move yet.

There were multiple injuries and many dead bodies.

And a lack of clarity about everything.

Erling and Rexon flanked the king while he was stitched up by one of the healers. His teeth were gritted, eyes shifting about, feeling rain. The healer grumbled and he dropped his eyes, staying still. He sat on a stool, head tipped to one side, ready for a long sleep.

‘We should return to Vallsborg,’ Erling urged. ‘We can’t carry on like this.’

Rexon bristled. He was strangely light-headed, ears ringing as though still in a fight for his life. ‘Turn around and retreat? For what? If they’d been warriors of flesh and blood, would we need to go home? No, we’d care for our dead, tend to our wounded, and carry on. There’s no reason to treat this any differently.’

Axl agreed. ‘They want to stop us.’ He gasped, blinking as the needle dug in deep, trying not to imagine what his face looked like. ‘We won this battle somehow, but if we turn around and retreat, Rexon’s right. We can’t give our enemies even one victory, not one, so we’ll carry on. I’ll be sending the wounded back to Vallsborg. The dead too. The rest of us will head for Trelleg.’

* * *

Jael heard the thundering crash of Aedan’s catapults striking the forest in both directions, shattering trees and men, as she made her way down the harbour walk, aiming east. Skidding in a puddle of blood, she turned to one of her cousin’s men. ‘Clean this up! Your job is to keep it clean!’ she barked, turning away from the mortified young man, who hurried for his bucket of water.

Glancing at the sky, she saw that the sun was still some hours from its peak. She thought of Eadmund, hoping he would arrive before it set, then hearing a familiar shout, her attention snapped to the eastern wall and to Fyn.

Who had flung up a hand, then vanished from sight.

* * *

Waiting by the open hall doors, still debating whether she should go into the square and offer her assistance, Mattie heard Jael shouting Fyn’s name. She shivered, hands clenched into fists, and without looking back at Helga, Kolarov, or Otter, she ran into the square, hair streaming behind her.

* * *

Jael called for everyone to move out of the way.

Heart in her mouth, she ran to the eastern wall.

And there she found Fyn lying in a pool of blood.

* * *

It was bad, Mattie knew, having been gripped by a sense of impending doom for some time.

It was very bad.

She focused on trying not to trip – on not being struck by an arrow either.

A man fell from the harbour wall, impaled on the barricades, and mouth open, Mattie stared in horror, though knowing there was no hope for him, she turned away, aiming for the guard tower. The door was open, and hitching up her dress, she barrelled inside, pushing past those men hurrying out.

Charging up the dark steps, she slipped to the side as two warriors reeking of smoke came running down, nearly knocking her over. Back pressed to the wall, she waited, pains jabbing like a knife between her ribs. And then she was moving again, up the stairs and out onto the eastern wall.

* * *

‘Fyn!’ Dropping to her knees, Jael saw the arrow high up in his chest, near his left shoulder, at once fearing the worst. ‘Fyn!’ Panic sought to claim her, the ground beneath her feet becoming slippery now. His eyes were closed, his body still. He wasn’t groaning, not making any noises. ‘Help me!’ she shouted, turning to the nearest man. ‘We need to –’

‘Move!’ Mattie called. ‘Move!’ And pushing past heavyset warriors and busy archers, the dreamer soon reached Fyn and Jael. Seeing Fyn’s prone body, the arrow and the blood, she, too, felt a sudden loss of control.

Dropping down to the walk, she placed a hand on his chest, feeling no movement at all. Panic flaring, she straightened up, hands on Fyn’s head. Closing her eyes, Mattie shut everyone out, seeking answers in the darkness. She heard her heartbeat and the invasive noises of battle churning around her until they merged into a great humming whirlpool.

And in the darkness, she saw Fyn.

He stood outside a cottage, chopping wood with his tunic off, his many scars on full display.

She saw a blonde-haired girl with freckles approach him. Her smile was sparkling in the sunlight, though she was wrapped in furs, the tip of her nose bright red. ‘It’s freezing!’ she laughed. ‘Are you ill?’

Fyn swept his long auburn fringe away from his face, eyeing her with a smile in his eyes.

Mattie knew that smile well. He rarely used it on her. He saved it for his friends. For Jael. For those he loved.

Like this girl.

Milla.

‘I’m making soup,’ Milla said. ‘I just need to go to the hall for some herbs. I won’t be long!’ And with a hand in the air, she lifted her skirt out of the snow and headed away, trailed by an enormous dog.

Fyn swung down the axe, splitting the log. And then he threw the axe into the tree stump, turning to watch Milla go, and Mattie could see a thick pink scar on his chest near his left shoulder.

Blinking, she tried to focus on Jael. ‘We need to get him to the hall. Quickly! Leave the arrow where it is! Save that for Astrid!’

Jael wanted to help, though realising that she couldn’t leave, she stood back, urging the men lifting Fyn’s limp body to be careful. ‘And hurry,’ she added. ‘Please hurry him to Astrid.’

* * *

On board Red Ned, Thorgils had a bad feeling.

Bram could tell, and he drew his nephew aside. ‘What is it? You’re not one to keep your mouth closed this long.’ He grinned, though his blue eyes narrowed with concern. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Feels that way. Jael was strange before we left. She seemed worried about what was coming for Andala.’ The wind had finally picked up, blowing curls around his face, searing his cheeks and making his eyes water.

Bram nodded. ‘Sounds like we need to keep alert. Likely we’re going to sail straight into it.’

‘I hope so. I hope we’re not too late. What they’ve got in Andala? What if it’s not enough?’ Thorgils’ thoughts were all over the place. He remembered the feel of his son in his arms – that red-haired boy with the big bellow – and his wife, whose pretty eyes were pinched with pain.

He thought of Jael, who’d been hanging on by her fingernails for weeks, wondering if she had the strength for a battle now.

For he feared that was exactly what was waiting for them.

He could almost see her standing before him, hair whipping around her surly face, dark eyebrow raised at him. Though she wasn’t a goddess. A dreamer and a warrior, yes, but she wasn’t immortal.

She was a woman, hunted by enemies.

Who just might be powerful enough to beat her.

‘Come on!’ he called, turning to shout encouragement at the helmsman. ‘We need to get to Andala before supper!’ And though his attention now moved to food, he didn’t feel hungry.

* * *

Mattie hurried into the hall ahead of the men carrying Fyn, alerting Astrid and clearing a table for him. A surprised Astrid turned around, drying her hands as she walked to the table, watching the men lay Fyn down.

Kolarov bustled forward from where he’d been helping the healers, and seeing the arrow in Fyn’s chest and the blood soaking his tunic, he blinked at Mattie, lost for words.

Even Pye came over to see what was happening, quickly ordered to bring hot water and bandages.

Astrid bent to the arrow, carefully laying her hands around where it had entered Fyn, feeling his chest pulsing. Frowning, she looked up as Pye returned, struggling not to splash water everywhere. ‘You’ll have to move back,’ she said to Kolarov.

He nodded. ‘I, I... what can I do?’

‘Move down to his legs. He’ll need to be completely still when I cut this out. If it had hit anything important, he’d be dead already, but I can’t nick something while I’m taking it out. You can hold his legs. Put that down by his head,’ she told Pye, who hovered nearby. ‘Mattie, I need you to hold his left side.’

Mattie nodded, keeping a firm grip on her vision.

He wouldn’t die, she told herself, for she had certainly seen a vision of the future.

Fyn Gallas wouldn’t die...

42

On the eastern wall, Jael took charge, becoming distracted despite the unfolding chaos.

Seeing Fyn fall had been a shock.

She remembered the initial look of terror in Mattie’s eyes that had been replaced by a glimmer of confidence. Perhaps hope? Though she didn’t know.

She couldn’t be sure.

What she could be sure of was that before her, Mutt Storman was in charge of the mercenaries from Ahlyn. She almost laughed, wishing him luck in that endeavour, having experience of those men herself. They were raiders and reprobates and not given to following orders.

They hovered in the trees, their archers keeping busy, though Jael wondered what the point of them was.

Another distraction?

She didn’t know, though she couldn’t afford a surprise.

Finding the white-haired Fulk Easby– a man trusted by her father – she put him in charge and kept moving, trying to hear everything that was happening over the deafening roar. It was mostly impossible, though she had more senses available to her than anyone else, and though she hadn’t slept in days, she needed to employ them.

Reaching the main wall, she heard Oren Storgard shouting, demanding that someone try and hit her, and ducking her head, she ran on, arrows soon flying across her path, finally coming to a stop near a catapult.

‘Aim at the king,’ she told the crew’s foreman. ‘White horse, black cloak. You see him?’ She pointed to the rear of the armed Iskavallans. ‘Knock him from his horse and everything changes.’

The foreman looked uncertain. ‘He’s moving in and out of range, my lady.’

Which Jael could see herself. ‘I’ll draw his attention. You get ready!’ And seeing the frowning foreman nodding, Jael turned back, standing up straighter now and moving quickly.

Drawing an arrow from the quiver and her bow from her back, she dipped behind the battlement, waiting. Another wave of arrows approached, whistling past her, and when the danger had passed, she swung out into the open, aiming for the flame-haired king.

She immediately saw there was no chance of hitting him and sought to unsettle him instead.

Aiming to his left, she brought down one of the men standing guard before him. Quickly nocking another arrow, she took out the fallen man’s neighbour and then another on his right, shooting with speed, despite the burning agony in her back, until her quiver was empty and the King of Iskavall was screaming with rage for his archers to put her down.

And then she was gone, ducking behind the stone wall again as the catapult released its first boulder, flinging it at the bellowing king.

It wouldn’t hit him, but it would remind him that nothing he sought to claim would come without a bloody fight.

* * *

Kneeling beside Fyn, Mattie tried to steady her breathing, for to be of some use, she needed to be calm. She could feel Kolarov’s panic as he held down Fyn’s legs, though it was the steadiness of Astrid opposite her that she focused on.

She held Fyn’s hand, seeing his eyes fluttering, and fearing he was about to shake and shudder, she bent to his ear. ‘Just sleep,’ she whispered, remembering a chant she had taught herself as a girl. And now she started murmuring it in a gentle, steady rhythm, her lips near his ear.

Pye flitted back and forth between Fyn and Kalina, who sat by the brazier on the opposite side of the hall, helping herself to more wine. She had been drinking since dawn and was becoming steadily drunk. ‘They are taking out the arrow!’ he told the former queen.

‘And why should I care?’ Kalina snapped morosely, slopping wine on the floorboards. ‘Go back to your friends, you deformed frog, and don’t bother me again!’

Her voice was loud enough to draw the attention of half the hall, though only momentarily, for no one had time for Kalina Sardis.

And realising it, she became even more enraged, batting Pye away.

He didn’t need much encouragement, turning to find Linas bringing more ale to his grandmother, though she appeared to finally be on her feet.

‘Give that to someone who needs it,’ Helga barked at him. ‘And you,’ she said to Pye. ‘Go to the bedchambers. Take what lamps and candles you can find. We need more light in here.’ And now she glanced around, pushing back her sleeves, seeing what she could do to help. Her dreamer’s mind was useless – smoke still wrapped around her thoughts – though she had arms and legs, so she would put them to use.

* * *

Smoke swept up from the flaming pitch into Jael’s throat, and she bent over coughing. Turning around, sensing a pause for the first time since the sun had struggled out of the darkness, she took a breath, inhaling more smoke. It billowed across the path through the trees, revealing that Oren Storgard had once again drawn his Iskavallans back.

Dead bodies were littered across the path, and no one was running to pick up the battering ram, which lay abandoned near the western wall, splashed with pitch and still on fire.

Ragnar approached with a cup of ale and she took it with a grateful nod. ‘Any word about Fyn?’

She shook her head, struggling to stop thinking about Fyn, though it wouldn’t help to worry. ‘Knowing him, he’ll be back up here soon,’ she joked, eyes fixed on a point just past Ragnar’s head, watching as the catapult flung another boulder, encouraging the king and his men to stay back.

‘We can’t keep up this pace,’ Ragnar warned.

‘No,’ Jael agreed. ‘Tell the crews to slow things down.’ She handed back the empty cup and helped herself to another quiver of arrows, choosing fire ones this time. ‘Slow them down, then hold for now.’

Ragnar felt worried about what that would mean, though he nodded.

Turning away from him, Jael could hear the hum of warriors encircling the fort. She remained on high alert, though she couldn’t be in four places at once. ‘Expect them to come for the main gates again,’ she added, glancing over her shoulder. ‘I’ll ensure Nils keeps that battering ram on fire, and whoever thinks to claim it, too, then I’ll check the harbour.’ And moving past him, her mind once again returned to Fyn.

* * *

Mattie kept Fyn asleep with her chanting, Kolarov kept him still with his hands, and Helga held a lantern near Astrid’s shoulder so she could see more clearly. Mattie had taken up a handful of cloth, delivered by Linas, and was working with the healer, soaking up the blood at her direction.

There was a lot of it, though it would lessen once the arrow came out and Astrid stitched up the wound.

The healer was concentrating so hard beneath that burning lantern that she felt sweat sliding down from her hair. ‘My head,’ she urged. ‘Please wipe it.’

Carefully leaning over Fyn, Mattie dabbed her head before sitting back.

Astrid blinked, seeking to refocus, to see through the river of blood. The colour was draining from Fyn, the blood so much brighter now against his pale skin. Her arm was starting to tremble. Her muscles had been taut for too long, and she had been working so deliberately that she felt the unrelenting pressure take a toll.

She had to increase her speed.

Just a bit.

Gently pushing her knife in deeper, she edged it along the arrowhead, seeking to pull away the flesh just enough to release it. She heard people shouting for help, in pain and panicking, though she only had one pair of arms, and blinking, she refocused again.

The tip of the knife finally reached the end of the arrowhead for what she hoped was the final time, and now she nudged it gently, feeling it start to release. Handing her bloody knife to Helga, keeping her left hand secure on the arrow shaft, she took a deep breath, bringing her right hand around to meet it, and with a quick prayer to the Goddess of Healing, she gently started pulling.

* * *

It was a dance, Oren knew – each step a part of his overall plan.

It would not do to rush or panic as one thing or another went wrong.

His father had beaten such discipline into him as a boy.

A battle was not a war.

A war was waged by kings, for they had the mental fortitude to overcome long periods of upheaval, enduring great reversals of fortune. Battle was for lords, whose attention span was that much shorter. And no lord wanting to be a king, wanting to be a great king, could falter in a mere battle. He had to see all that lay before him like threads on a loom, and in command of that loom, he would weave a most glorious victory.

And just as he thought it, a trio of scouts rode up to him with good news:

Lord Edd Arnsten had arrived with reinforcements from Borsund and Folstad. And those men had come with fresh legs, more supplies, two catapults, and, best of all... two siege towers.

* * *

Astrid worked nimbly to stitch up Fyn’s wound. She’d checked it carefully, confident she hadn’t cut anything important. The blood flowing from the gaping hole had flooded as she would have expected, and mopped up by Mattie and steadily clawed back with her stitches, it had finally slowed to a trickle.

There was some relief in that, and she called orders to her team, asking Helga to lower the light and Mattie to change her cloth and soak up more blood. She sent Linas for a blanket and Pye for some honey.

And tying off the thread, she used her knife to cut through it, standing back with a furrowed brow and a now-shaking hand.

Helga lowered the lamp, feeling an ache in her arm. And with a grunt, she headed away, seeing who she could help next.

‘Will he be alright?’ Linas asked, coming back with his own fur. It smelled a bit like Gully, but he didn’t think the man would mind.

Astrid turned to him, Mattie peered at him, though neither woman said a word.

* * *

Stitched up and ready to go, Axl mounted Eiyo, who remained spooked and not at all interested in going in a straight line. She spun in a circle as Axl tried to soothe her, though she didn’t respond to his touch, now skittering beneath him in a state of distress. And she wasn’t alone. After what had happened, many horses appeared unhappy about carrying on.

An approaching storm wasn’t helping.

Thunder could be heard booming in the distance, streaks of lightning scything through the trees.

Though it wasn’t just the horses who felt disturbed, and staring at those trees, almost seeing the shadow warriors charging out of them, Axl shook his head, clearing his vision. His face and leg had started to sting – uncomfortable pricking sensations that made it hard to think. Though finally soothing Eiyo, he aimed her at the front of the column, fearing that if he didn’t get everyone back on the road to Trelleg soon, he was going to have bigger problems.

It was what his father would say to his mother when he’d been thrown from a horse as a boy. She had wanted to take him to the hall to tend to his cuts and bruises, whereas Ranuf had understood the greater damage done by time. Time, which had the power to corrupt minds and steal confidence. He had insisted his son take no more than a moment to shake himself off before remounting his horse, and Axl had benefitted far more from that than his mother’s sympathy and one of Helvor’s cakes.

And now, he had to instill that same discipline into his army. ‘We head to Trelleg!’ he called, occasionally turning to nod at a familiar face, hoping to convey a sense of confidence. ‘Where we will show Mutt Storman and his rebels what a true Brekkan looks like! A loyal Brekkan! A Brekkan fighting for his home and family!’ He thought of his own family then, wishing he could turn around and ride home. Though if he wanted to ensure their safety, he had to purge his kingdom of Mutt Storman and his traitors once and for all.

* * *

Tipping back his head, a drowsy Gant sensed that the sun had reached its peak, though it was such a cloudy day that he couldn’t be entirely sure. His horse seemed refreshed after a long drink and a nibble of grass, much to his relief. He’d drank from the stream beside her, stuffing handfuls of blueberries into his mouth before mounting again and driving her back onto the road.

He’d passed a few familiar landmarks, pleased to discover they were making better progress than he’d anticipated. And if they could keep up the fast pace, he felt confident they would reach Vallsborg long before supper.

* * *

Pye and Linas had been commandeered by Helvor, the cook, who had her new helpers ferrying food and ale to the healers and their assistants, as well as to the injured and their families in the hall. And knowing that those on the wall would be flagging, she organised food to be sent up there too.

Pye looked hesitant to leave the hall, and Linas was forbidden to do so by his grandmother, so the cauldrons of stew and trays of bread and cheese were left at the doors, a messenger sent to find Ragnar Olveggen, asking him to send help.

Kolarov licked his lips, his appetite returning, undaunted by the foul sights and smells in the hall. ‘Someone should tell the queen,’ he decided, helping himself to a bowl of stew and a spoon. ‘About Fyn.’

Mattie agreed. And seeing a pair of women arrive, immediately aiming for the waiting food, she hurried forward with a message to pass on to Jael. She felt confident that Fyn would recover, remembering her vision of him, though she wouldn’t say anything other than what had happened.

She feared being wrong.

Knowing that even a dreamer could make mistakes.

* * *

Mutt Storman and the Ahlyn men had undoubtedly brought with them fresh legs and a plan, though despite being a dreamer, Jael stalked the harbour wall, struggling to figure out what it was.

They remained at a distance, gathered amongst the blackened forest, out of range and taunting them.

At first, she’d feared they would fire the harbour, destroy the piers, the sheds, and the taverns, though she sensed that Oren Storgard was confident that it would soon be his harbour, his taverns, and his ships, so it made no sense to destroy them all in one self-defeating strike.

She guessed these men were aiming to take the gates.

Though with what?

Leaving the harbour behind, seeing nothing that needed her attention there, Jael was called to the eastern wall by Fulk Easby, who soon revealed the answer to her question.

‘New arrivals,’ he growled, eyeing the men marching through the charred forest to link up with Mutt Storman. ‘Southern bastards. And Edd Arnsten among them? You can see Borsund’s banner well enough. Acting like he’s proud of his betrayal! And what would his brother think of that?’

Ignoring Fulk’s grumbles, Jael focused on the arrival of those men, her attention quickly drawn to the approaching siege towers. ‘We need the pitch,’ she said, wanting to focus him. ‘You organise that. I’ll slow them down.’ Her temptation was to order a storm of arrows, though the day had hours left in it and she couldn’t afford to deplete their firepower so quickly.

‘Lord Arnsten!’ she called from the ramparts, seeing that familiar craggy face lift to her in surprise. ‘You have come here to die! A strange choice for a man who once called my father his friend!’

Had they all been tricked by the dreamer, Jael wondered? Poisoned by her magic?

She couldn’t tell, though she saw no sign, no clue that these men came to Andala as bound prisoners tied in magical knots.

She saw only hope and expectation.

A desire for glory and the riches of its reward.

These men had come to defeat her brother, and in his place, she would have to stop them.

A sour-faced Edd Arnsten ignored her, unsurprisingly, herding his Southern Brekkans towards where Mutt Storman had positioned the Ahlyn men.

Jael thought they might number four hundred now.

Holding up a hand, she walked past the quiet archers, keeping her voice even, not wanting to feed the flames of urgency. Under her guidance, they would have steady minds, steady hands, steady hearts. They would aim and fire with precision, loosing arrows that would hit every target. And that process started here, with her instructions. ‘Form into two rows. Once you have your place, stick to it. Row one will start under Fulk’s command, and as soon as their arrows release, row two will aim and fire. A constant rolling barrage of arrows. No respite. No fire arrows either,’ she said to the white-bearded Fulk, lowering her voice. ‘Save those for the pitch.’ And straightening up, hearing stomping boots and clattering shields signalling even more men coming, she nodded at Fulk Easby, leaving the archers in his capable hands.

Turning around, she saw a young woman coming towards her – one of Ragnar’s daughters, who had likely been helping her mother in the hall.

Heart in her mouth, Jael rushed at the girl. ‘Is it Fyn?’

Lise Olveggen nodded breathlessly, ducking as men shouted behind her, and soon the archers launched their first strike. ‘The arrow was taken out, my lady. He is resting. The dreamer, your dreamer, she said to tell you that he is resting now.’

Relief had Jael almost staggering. She exhaled, realising that she’d been holding her breath since Fyn had been taken from the wall. ‘That’s good to hear. Good,’ she kept repeating, and despite being acutely aware of every threat and danger, she didn’t move. Fyn Gallas had been by her side for nearly five years now – as good as family. If something had happened to him...

Lise had brought more than good news about Fyn, though, now offering the queen a tray of bread and cheese. Shaking her head, Jael stepped back to urge her on, knowing that those who’d been on the walls all night were in need of sustenance. She felt nauseous herself, the taste of pitch in her mouth, though realising that her attention was becoming harder to command, she grabbed some cheese, wrapping in it a slice of bread, and stuffing it into her mouth.

* * *

Carrying Fyn from Astrid’s table to a mattress on the floor woke him up, and crying out in confusion, he nearly unbalanced the men who had squatted to ease him down to the floor.

Kolarov was quickly at his side. ‘Now, now, Fyn Gallas, you can’t hurry back to that wall just yet. You’ve taken an arrow in the chest. You must lie down.’

Fyn peered up at the explorer with a pained frown. The left side of his body felt entirely frozen – he could barely open his mouth.

Mattie hurried over, wiping wet hands on an apron she’d taken from the kitchen. ‘What are you doing? You’re barely alive! You need to stay still!’ She was furious, wagging a finger, nodding for those men to lie him down.

Fyn was groggy, unable to argue, and relaxing his body, he soon felt the mattress beneath him.

Barked at by an impatient Helga, the men hurried away, joined by Kolarov, leaving Mattie.

Who crouched down with a scowl.

‘You nearly died,’ she hissed, voice breaking as Otter came padding over, ignoring her and aiming for Fyn. He rubbed against Fyn’s left side until he lifted an unsteady hand, stroking him. ‘You can’t go anywhere. Not yet.’

‘But Jael, I –’

‘Jael wants you to live! You’re important to her. Your father is coming, your cousin, and your king. Do you want to be dead before they get here?’

Fyn’s ears were buzzing so loudly that he mostly just stared at Mattie’s mouth moving aggressively. He watched her eyes, big and angry.

Why was she always so angry at him?

Did he truly annoy her that much?

He wanted to push off the mattress and head to the wall, but he couldn’t even push his eyelids open, and before he could take another breath, he had fallen into a deep sleep.

Mattie frowned at him, feeling a hand on her shoulder, and turning around, she saw Linas.

‘He’ll be better soon,’ the boy told her with a grin. ‘I saw that. He’ll be back on the wall when the king comes!’

‘You saw that?’ Mattie whispered, turning to him. ‘Because you’re a dreamer?’

A surprised Linas blinked at her, knowing what his grandmother had warned, and quickly dropping his eyes, he backed away. ‘No! I’m not!’ Turning around, he aimed for Gully, busy keeping Kalina Sardis company in the far corner of the hall.

Kolarov returned wearing an apron far too small for him, though he feared for his favourite tunic, which had already been through so much. ‘How is he?’

‘Asleep,’ Mattie said, eyes on Linas before returning them to Kolarov. ‘But better, I think.’

‘And will he live?’

‘I –’ Mattie cut herself off, and with a shake of her head, she quickly bustled away.

43

Leaving Fulk Easby in command of the eastern wall, Jael hurried to Ragnar, wanting to know what was happening in front of the main gates.

She was disappointed but not surprised to see another influx of warriors, who, having joined with Oren Storgard, now created a mass of men, armour, and weapons that took her breath away – Brekka’s once loyal neighbours and her lords, rising against their king.

Turning to Ragnar, Jael saw him frowning intensely, running a hand down his blonde beard. ‘Edd Arnsten’s focusing on the eastern flank,’ she told him, needing to get back on the front foot. ‘He’s got two siege towers. Fulk’s working the archers and soon the pitch. He’ll bring them down.’

Ragnar cleared his throat. ‘The king now has catapults. Two of them. And Nils says they’ve picked up the battering ram. Threw dirt over it and put out the fire. Enough of them were able to get it away from the wall, and now they’re bringing it through the forest.’

Disappointed to hear that, Jael shrugged. ‘Though we’ve still got four walls and two gates, which we’re more than capable of defending. You know that. And don’t forget we’ve got our own reinforcements coming. Men, ships, weapons...’ And sea-fire, she thought, hoping Eadmund remembered to bring it along.

And sea-fire.

* * *

Oren Storgard had embedded spies inside Andala long before he became King of Iskavall. Confident that he would claim Raymon Vandaal’s throne, he’d planned to start his reign aggressively, pursuing his enemies, knowing they would expect him to take months, even years, before he revealed his true intentions.

Though why wait until they felt comfortable?

Why wait at all?

So he had worked with Gunnhild, and Gunnhild had found Mutt Storman, who had poisoned the Brekkans against their king, causing a wave of mistrust and disharmony to flow from the South, rising to the North until it was ready to claim Andala itself.

His spies had revealed everything Oren had wanted to know about Andala’s capabilities – and her sea-fire stores most of all.

The Osslanders had sea-fire, as did the Brekkans, but no one else, for the secret of how to make the deadly liquid was kept by Edela Saeveld and her alone.

Oren had wanted those precious jars for himself, seeking to boost his chances of overcoming the Andalans, though his spies hadn’t delivered them to his camp in time. He feared the men had been discovered, perhaps killed, especially after the sea-fire attack on his catapults, though there had been no more. Jael Furyck had used pitch, fire arrows, boiling liquids and boulders.

It gave Oren a lift, for why hold back now?

If there truly was more sea-fire, why not use it now?

And deciding to trust his instincts, he raised his sword, ordering his catapult crews to unleash their boulders at Andala’s walls.

* * *

After a strange morning, the exhausted dreamers convened in Helga’s private chamber, seeking a moment of calm.

‘My thoughts are as stagnant as an old bucket of water,’ Helga groaned, sitting down with a thump. Resting her elbows on the table, she eyed the young woman. ‘And you?’

‘Not much better,’ Mattie admitted. ‘Whatever was in those herbs was powerful.’

‘Though it appears to have given with one hand and taken away with the other, for neither of us has anything to offer now, just when we need to.’

Mattie agreed. ‘So what can we do?’

‘Keep trying. What else is there? Keep trying to see what is coming. We need to pass on every scrap of information to the queen. If we can do that and help the healers, we’ll be doing more than most.’ Helga eyed Mattie, who appeared weighed down by her frown. ‘Fretting will never help, and worrying about what we don’t have won’t lead us forward, so one foot after the other and shut out the noise.’

Mattie nodded, staring at her.

Helga spoke with no warmth in her voice or her eyes. She was more like a hammer than a hand to hold, but something about the woman gave her comfort. She was certain, steady, and practical. There was no time for whimsy, wondering, or panicking with Helga. Her feet were planted firmly on the ground.

And already moving, Mattie saw as she stood, and with a nod, followed the dreamer to the door.

* * *

Now that Oren Storgard had two new catapults, kindly delivered by his Brekkan allies, he was hammering not only the main wall but, having pushed one further forward, he was now hitting inside the fort.

It was after midday, and the sun was becoming an infrequent visitor, sometimes glaring directly down on the events surrounding the ancient fort, at other times, appearing disinterested and retreating behind the clouds.

Jael was glad of it, hot all over, reminded of S’ala Nis and becoming annoyed.

Which was never a good thing, she heard her father bark.

Staying in command of yourself was essential for staying in command of your men.

Who were falling all around her, Jael knew, seeing more bodies carried from the wall, where Oren Storgard was claiming some success. He hovered in the centre of his men, always moving just in time to avoid an injury. Atop his horse, he was mobile, though around him, those warriors and archers penned in by their comrades and by horses, were unable to move in time.

Noting that, Jael scratched her head, eyes stinging.

Pitch smoked, billowing up to the wall, sometimes making it impossible to see. She rubbed her eyes, turning to Ragnar, where they sheltered behind a battlement. She didn’t feel as protected now that the king had catapults, though on the positive side, they now had more boulders to use themselves. ‘Let’s split our attention,’ she murmured. ‘You focus on the lower half. I’ll take the men from Stellan’s Oak back,’ she said, referring to the tree named after her older brother, in honour of him falling out of it on his tenth birthday and breaking both his arms; it was one of the many landmarks they used to mark the different ranges. ‘Have the dreamers gather herbs. Anything that smokes. Any resin they can find. Pinecones too.’ And smiling now, Jael nocked an arrow, spinning away from Ragnar. She had spied the Lord of Folstad with his bright red braids, and straightening up, loosing her arrow, she watched it arc over the wormlike rows of Iskavallans and Brekkans until it reached that chicken-necked traitor, taking him in the eye.

And now, ducking her head, she ran to the nearest catapult, desperate to wipe the smile off Oren Storgard’s face.

* * *

As things shifted in his favour, Oren vibrated with urgency.

Arms moving in every direction, his confidence rose as more Brekkans arrived. Men from Tornas and from Vanet – alliances he had forged over the past few months, offering promises of a better future. Some loyalty he had paid for, though thanks to Gunnhild’s efforts, others were eager to support the man who’d promised to defeat the Furycks.

The sheer number of warriors filling the path was so overwhelming that he imagined them as a great armoured serpent stretching from Andala all the way to Hest.

His smile brightened his ghoulish face, pale green eyes sparkling with energy.

This was everything he’d dreamed of.

There had been losses, though he discounted them all. Every man who stood before him had one purpose and one purpose only: to aid his ascent to ultimate power. And he would take the first step here, claiming the greatest crown of all.

Turning right, then left, he urged his flanks forward, seeing the blackened battering ram now being moved towards the main gates. And confident he had enough warriors to mount a serious assault now, he bent down, issuing orders to his steward, sending him on his way.

* * *

Inside the hall, Fyn sat up, drawing Kolarov’s attention.

He brought him a cup of ale and a frown.

And knowing he wasn’t about to get any help, Fyn pulled himself up on a bench, eventually standing with a gasp. The hall moved around him, and reaching out, he grabbed the nearest table, steadying himself.

Kolarov tutted beside him. ‘If Mattie sees you, she’ll tie you to a chair!’

Ignoring him, Fyn took the ale, wishing it was stronger. He peered at Kolarov. ‘How about some of that jara? If you’ve got any left?’

Mouth gaping open, Kolarov nodded. ‘Though I –’

‘My queen is fighting out there,’ Fyn gasped. ‘And I’m meant to be... by her side. It’s what I do, what she expects of me. It’s what I... expect of myself. We’re down on men. We need everyone who can fight.’ He felt a dull ache in his chest that rose all the way to his left ear. He couldn’t imagine lifting his arm, but he wasn’t going to lie in the hall while Jael was outside trying to save the fort. ‘Now if you’ll just give me a dose of that jara, I’ll be on my way.’

Kolarov left, and Linas came up to him with a bowl of nuts.

‘Are you going to fight?’ he asked in amazement. ‘But you nearly died!’

‘Though the gods spared me, didn’t they? Spared me for a reason. So I need to... show them something worthwhile, don’t you think?’

Linas nodded enthusiastically, helping himself to the nuts. ‘The queen is in trouble,’ he whispered, chewing with an open mouth. ‘Maybe you can tell her? Maybe you’ll see?’

A surprised Fyn blinked at the boy, who spun away, slipping through the crowded hall.

Kolarov returned. ‘Here,’ he grumbled, tipping a dribble of jara onto a wooden spoon. ‘I hope it helps, though a long rest would be more restorative.’

Fyn ignored him, more certain than ever that he needed to go. He poured the jara into his mouth, shuddering explosively. Though he licked the spoon, yelped at a sudden stinging pain in his chest, and with a nod to Kolarov, he went in search of his swordbelt.

* * *

On the main wall, Jael gathered her archers and catapult crews together.

‘Ragnar will focus his efforts on those coming for the gates. There’s no reason for them to hold back now. They’ve tripled their numbers since morning, and with the battering ram and catapults, they’re emboldened.’ Seeing flashes of fear in the eyes of those before her, she carried on, hoping to strike a more optimistic tone. ‘Though seeing is important, wouldn’t you say? So let’s make it impossible for them to see what they’re doing.’ She turned to where a group of men were hastily filling baskets with the rocks, herbs, pinecones and resin Helga and Mattie had gathered, and now she turned back to the catapult crews. ‘You’re going to aim these in a line from Stellan’s Oak to the other side of the path. Tar them with pitch first. Get as close as you can so the archers know where to strike. She saw men in each crew nodding, for they knew their range well.

Now she turned to the archers. ‘We need to make a wall of smoke that no one can see through. We have to separate their men, disorient them, and then keep firing. Once the smoke rises, swap out the fire arrows and keep going until I stop you. They’ll drop shields, they’ll lose formation, and we need to drive in and pick off as many as we can.’

Sea-fire, sea-fire, sea-fire, Jael thought, knowing that herbs and pitch were no substitute for that powerful weapon, though they had to try. And dismissing everyone with an encouraging smile, she headed east, needing to check on that wall.

* * *

Mattie came out of the kitchen as Fyn headed to the hall doors.

Recognising that tall figure, she bustled forward, working her elbows and clearing everyone out of her way. ‘Fyn Gallas!’ she snapped loudly. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Fyn froze, and swinging his whole body around, he blinked through a grimace, trying to wake himself up. He was slightly more alert after Kolarov’s jara, though the pain had intensified from a dull ache to hot, agonising flames. ‘Back to the wall. To help Jael.’

Mattie was furious. ‘But you nearly died! Don’t you care?’

‘That I nearly died?’ Fyn shrugged, wincing.

Which annoyed Mattie all the more. ‘And what help will you be to the queen? She’ll want to look after you. She’ll worry about you. You being there will distract her! She doesn’t need an invalid, she needs fighting men!’

Fyn grabbed the door, pulling it open. ‘Well, if she’s of that mind, then I’ll see you soon. Otherwise, thank you, Mattie, for all your help. I’m not doing this because I’m pig-headed, though no doubt I’m as pig-headed as every other Svanter. I’m doing it because it’s my job. I protect Jael, I help Jael, just like you dream. And if those men get into the fort, we’ll all be dead. You can see that, I imagine. And I might not be much help up on that wall, but I’ll be a damn sight more use than lying here, taking up space.’ And with a final look into those disapproving hazel eyes, Fyn let go of the door and disappeared outside.

Beside her, Kolarov came to a stop, sucking in his cheeks, though ignoring him, a furious Mattie shook her head and stomped away.

* * *

Jael needed to return to the main gates, wanting to run the archers and the catapult crews. She had hoped to only check on Fulk Easby, though his problems were becoming more demanding.

Mutt Storman and Edd Arnsten had combined their men into a formidable force. Working to deprive the western wall of its defenders, they’d driven forward with shields, protecting two ranks of archers, who picked off Andala’s defenders one by one. Now those shield walls had parted, allowing two siege towers through, loaded with armed men ready to strike. Some clung on with one hand, throwing knives. Others launched spears at those manning the western wall.

Seeing that the siege towers were still standing, Jael was furious. ‘What’s happening?’ she growled, throwing up a hand.

‘We’ve run out of pitch!’ a red-faced Fulk growled back. ‘Someone from the main wall took ours! I’ve sent for more, but it’s not coming!’

‘I’ll see to it. Have your archers bring down those towers. Try fire arrows. You’ve got oil? Boiling water?’

‘We’ve got hot water,’ Fulk said.

‘Then throw it at those men! Anything you can! I’ll get you more pitch and oil.’ Swinging away from him, she turned to yell at her cousin. ‘Aedan! Send some pitch! And quickly! Get oil coming too!’ Looking around, she saw a boulder strike the centre of the square. ‘And be careful!’ Turning back, she was surprised by a man who’d thrown himself off the siege tower, landing at her feet. He bounced up at her like an energetic child, knife clamped between his teeth, swords strapped across his back.

Throwing the knife at her, he unsheathed both swords.

Lurching back, Jael dodged the knife, drawing her own sword, in no mood for this man. He slashed at her with, first his right, then his left blade, teeth bared, and stepping back, out of reach, a frowning Jael knew she had to leave. She kept her sword by her side, stepping back again and again until she bumped into an archer, and now she started turning slowly, keeping those two swords and her frenzied attacker at bay.

She parried, ducked, veered back, dipping from side to side.

Using her left hand, she unsheathed a knife, holding it by her leg as she worked her attacker with her sword. Keeping him focused on her right side, she jabbed and parried, working him in a circle until he was near the lower wall, his back to the square.

‘My lady!’

Hearing Ragnar, Jael knew she had to hurry, and feinting with her sword, she threw her knife with her left hand, just missing the man’s cheek. She cursed, though surprised by the blade almost shaving his face, he jerked backwards, and taking advantage of that, Jael brought up her leg and kicked him hard in the balls. Now he staggered, trying not to give in to the excruciating discomfort, face crumpling before her, body following. Jael kicked again, hitting his wrist, sending one sword flying. Unable to respond quickly, he didn’t bring up his remaining sword in time, and Jael took him in the neck with a chop that had him staggering. Pulling back her sword, she swung again, and this time, she took off his head.

Turning with a shout, she urged those men to hurry with the pitch, Fulk to bring down the siege towers, and running now, she called for Ragnar to hold on.

* * *

An increasingly tense Eadmund couldn’t stay still, striding from Sea Bear’s catapult, mounted in her bow, to her stern and back again. Eventually, Beorn barked at him, suggesting they’d go faster without his help.

And knowing that was true, Eadmund sat on his chest, elbows on his knees, scratching his head. It felt cold, as his fingers felt cold, and soon he tucked them inside his cloak, remembering the feel of his wife when she’d fallen into his arms on S’ala Nis.

He always wanted to protect her, to keep her safe, though what could he do that she couldn’t do herself?

Smiling wryly, he glanced around, seeing no indication of where they were, though looking up, he caught a glimpse of the sun. It was mid-afternoon at most, which meant that they were still hours away.

Hours...

44

The hastily made baskets of pinecones, herbs, resin and rocks were ready to fly.

Jael checked the weight of each one before sending them to the catapult crews.

Ragnar’s archers were busy pushing back those warriors who had surged towards the gates. The gates had been protected by rows of sharpened stakes that made any assault something the enemy needed to stop and think about, but for now, they were too busy fighting off the arrows and boiling splashes of water and oil to get close enough.

Looking up, Jael was amazed to see a bandaged Fyn approaching. Mouth open, she strode towards him.

He grinned. ‘I surprised you?’

She touched his arm, looking surprised. ‘You’re alright?’ Peering at his bandage, wrapped around his chest and over his left shoulder, she saw patches of blood and frowned.

‘Can’t move much, but mostly alright.’

‘And just in time.’ She turned him around, seeing a flash of pain in his eyes, and knowing how that felt, she smiled sympathetically. ‘You take the western catapult, I’ll go east. We’ve got a little present for Oren Storgard.’

Seeing the mass of warriors now choking the path to the fort and spread amongst the forest, Fyn’s eyes peeled open. ‘I...’

‘Things have changed,’ she sighed. ‘A lot more men, new catapults, and they’ve got the battering ram back, so we need to halt their momentum. We’re going to separate them from Stellan’s Oak back.’

Fyn didn’t understand.

‘See that oak to the left of the path? As though it has two heads? That’s how we judge the range from up here. We’re aiming the boulders at that tree in a line. Fire arrows to follow. Your archers are waiting for you, and your catapult. Good luck!’ And with a wink, Jael turned towards her catapult crew, shooting a quick glance at Fulk Easby, hoping he could keep Mutt Storman’s men back from the eastern wall.

* * *

Encouraged by his new arrivals and the success of his catapults, Oren unhooked his shield from his horse, and holding it up to his left shoulder, he nudged the beast forward with his knees.

The sun burst through the clouds, momentarily blinding him. He had no hand free to shield his eyes and could only squint as he urged his men on. The noise from those surging for the gates was loud, washing over him until he heard nothing else. No arrows, no catapults.

No warning.

Though soon he felt a thud as the earth shook beneath his horse, that movement driving up the animal’s legs and into the saddle. Frowning, Oren tried to see the catapults, not certain they’d fired anything. He knew what a boulder striking the earth felt like. It wasn’t that. There was no screaming, no cracking bones and sickening bellows.

Then another and another thud.

He heard a distant creak, though the voices of those around him grew louder, and dropping his eyes, he saw one of his commanders turn back to him.

‘They’re firing something, my lord!’ the man shouted. ‘Not boulders!’

More thudding. Gentle movements.

‘Stay alert!’ Oren snarled, though the blinding glare of the sun made that impossible, and he couldn’t see what was coming, let alone what had landed.

Perhaps the Andalans had simply run out of boulders now, forced to launch rocks?

He shook his head, not wanting to become distracted. ‘Push forward!’ he called impatiently, fearing their momentum would stall. Turning, he sought to hurry those men behind him. ‘Forward!’ And turning back, a flash of light caught his eye, and then another and another, as though an army of fireflies was coming for his men.

‘Pick up your pace!’ he barracked, wanting the men before him to get out of the way. ‘Move!’ And then he saw mist rising before him.

Smoke, he realised, inhaling sharply.

That smoky mist surged upwards some five rows before him until it blocked his view of his men. And soon the trees and the fort were gone too.

He heard whistles searing through the air, one after another.

And then the screams started.

* * *

It was raining when Gant arrived at Vallsborg, so he couldn’t tell how late or early it was. Afternoon, he decided wearily.

He had taken a few shortcuts, unsuited to carts and wagons but perfectly fine for one exhausted man on a very good horse.

He had named her Saga and had told her all about Gus on their fast-paced journey. He would take her back to Andala and give her a good home, and she would have a new big brother.

Gus would enjoy that, he thought, knowing how friendly his old horse was.

And then he was falling off her in a soggy heap, surprised that he’d managed to tangle his boot in one of Saga’s stirrups. The exhausted mare waited patiently while he sorted himself out, and standing up with an embarrassed grunt, he turned to see Beryth peering at him, hands on hips.

‘I had heard you’d been swallowed up by Hallow Wood!’ she grinned, coming forward now with open arms. ‘Perhaps you’re some sprite come to trick me?’

‘I don’t feel much like a sprite, Beryth,’ Gant sighed, pleased to see the Lady of Vallsborg snap her fingers and order one man to tend to the horse and another to hurry into the hall for ale. ‘I need Axl.’

‘I imagine you do, though he left before dawn. He’s gone to have a word with those traitorous bastards.’

Gant’s shoulders rounded as he sagged before her. ‘Dawn?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She glanced at the horse, who looked fresher than her rider. ‘If you must go after him, I’ll give you a couple of horses. This sweet love needs a rest. As do you,’ she added, seeing how filthy and gaunt he looked. ‘Why not come inside and I can send someone after the king?’

But Gant shook his head, eyes brightening at the sight of Beryth’s servant returning with ale. He gratefully took the cup, gulping it down so quickly that he tasted nothing. And swallowing, he wiped a hand over his dripping beard. ‘I’ll need supplies, a swordbelt, whatever you can spare. I... it’s a trap,’ he finally managed to get out. ‘The attack is happening in Andala, not Trelleg. I... need to get Axl and the army.’

Beryth’s eyes sharpened. ‘Well, you’ll not go alone, Gant Olborn. I’ll organise supplies and a party of men. I won’t have you going out there alone.’ She saw the tension pulsing in his jaw. ‘They’ll be fast, don’t worry. I’ll have you out of here before you know it.’

* * *

Axl had been forced to stop the army near the small settlement of Borun. He’d sent scouts ahead to alert him to any trouble, and then he’d called for one of the healers, for his stitches had opened up, his face awash with blood.

Rexon immediately set a watch, for no one wanted another ambush.

Axl was annoyed about the holdup, but he couldn’t keep riding with one hand up to his face, and he couldn’t afford to lose much more blood.

They’d stopped near a stream, and as the afternoon heat intensified, it gave them a chance to water the horses and replenish their own supplies.

Sitting on a boulder, Axl braced himself while the healer and her assistant worked to stem the flow of blood before starting the process of stitching again.

‘We won’t make Trelleg by supper,’ Erling muttered beside him, eyes sweeping the trees, unable to stand still. ‘We could camp here? That clearing is big enough.’

Axl sucked air through his teeth, trying not to flinch, though the needle felt as though it was digging into his skull. ‘What? Why?’

Ignoring the healer and her gawking assistant, Erling sighed. ‘We all want to get to Trelleg, but it’s been a day, Axl. The men need a chance to stop and clear their heads. It doesn’t hurt to take an extra day. Better that than arriving for a battle we’re not ready for.’

‘And what? Alert our enemies to our problems?’

Erling shook his head. ‘You think they’re unaware that we’re coming? Unaware of what happened? After the games in the fort and now those men? The creatures? But whatever’s happening must be something to do with a dreamer. A dreamer who’s likely busy telling Mutt Storman everything!’

A grumbling Axl didn’t want to listen to his friend. ‘Though it’s hours till supper. As soon as I’m finished here, we’ll get back on the road and we won’t stop until we reach Trelleg. Understood?’ He was impatient, worried, and desperate not to appear weak.

After what had happened?

He couldn’t show fear. He wouldn’t encourage timidity.

No. They had been attacked by an enemy – it didn’t matter which one.

It wouldn’t stop them. It wouldn’t.

‘Find Rexon and let him know. As soon as I’m done here, we’re back on the road.’

* * *

There was little wind, so the smoke billowing from the baskets hung in the air like leaden curtains blocking Andala’s main wall from her enemies.

Blocking half their forces from them too.

Those who were still standing.

For once the smoky curtains had divided Oren Storgard’s forces in two, Jael had brought Nils Gropen and his archers to join with Ragnar’s in a torrid display of firepower atop the main wall, attacking the Iskavallans with an intensity that had the enemy king quickly ordering a retreat.

Of sorts, for the smoke made any movement more of a guess.

And leaving the smoke to delay an assault from the north, Jael took Fyn and a group of archers to help Fulk. He was well-stocked with pitch now – some of it boiling – along with cauldrons of oil too. The kitchen was keeping busy, she was pleased to see, watching as one of the two siege towers went up in flames.

The second tower was more persistent, however, mounted by wild-eyed, bellowing men with little care for their lives. Oil and pitch were being flung at them, two men were on fire, more were howling in agony, though they kept coming, urged on by Edd Arnsten, who remained on the ground near the trees with his archers.

Fyn glanced up at the smoky sky, quickly regretting it. ‘It’s getting late,’ he decided, looking back down with a grimace. ‘Maybe.’

Jael gave him the cup she’d just been handed. ‘Wine,’ she said. ‘Might help?’

‘If Eadmund left before dawn, they won’t be far away,’ Fyn frowned, sipping the wine. It made him blink, briefly cutting through the cloud of pain. He hoped Oss’ fleet had launched before dawn. The sudden increase in their enemies’ numbers and weapons was stretching them thin.

‘The smoke will clear soon,’ Jael murmured, responding to his thoughts. ‘We need to conserve the pitch and fire arrows –’

She blinked, body tingling.

Head twisting left, she squinted, seeing nothing. Not at first, but she felt it.

A fleet approaching Andala’s harbour.

* * *

Oren was livid at the disruption and chaos the oddly fragrant smoke had caused. It had risen like a wall and then washed over his men, through the middle of their ranks, all the way to the rear. Now those around him were coughing more than calling out. They were trying to find men who had only moments earlier been beside them. The smoke had become so opaque that they couldn’t see their hands in front of their faces. They could all hear their king barking at them, though, and those commanders, fearing his wrath, worked quickly to drag their men back into orderly ranks again.

It took some time, but eventually, they started moving forward, ready to link up with those tasked with assaulting the gates. Though finally pushing through the smoke, they were confronted with carnage. A few distressed men were crawling away, others groaning where they lay. And behind them, the battering ram was on fire, black smoke pumping into the air.

Oren’s eyes stung from the pitch, which caught in his throat, but he wouldn’t cough. He wouldn’t give in to any of it. ‘Douse the flames!’ he ordered. ‘You will bring dirt from the forest and douse those flames! I want the battering ram picked up and moving again! Douse the fucking flames!’ And glowering with impatience at the coughing men scurrying away like defeated mice, he hoped his brother was having better luck.

* * *

Knowing that Oren had long wanted the glory of riding through the famous Andalan gates, Steffan Storgard had had little choice but to take a secondary role in the attack.

Though such a role wasn’t without opportunities, he knew, clinging to the prow of the lead ship in his fleet of nine. He would soon land in Andala’s harbour, bolstering Mutt Storman and the men from Ahlyn, forming a rear guard of close to eight hundred men. He almost hoped Oren was struggling to break in, for he wouldn’t discount the contribution of his younger brother then.

Such numbers gave the dark-haired Steffan confidence as Andala’s fort came into view, its old stone walls like cliffs rising from the docks, bordered by rows of piers. He saw sheds to his left, and to his right the path leading to the cove where the men from Ahlyn would have landed. His eyes quickly snapped to the flaming siege tower and the closed gates.

And realising that Oren hadn’t claimed victory, a smiling Steffan knew there was still a chance to claim it himself.

* * *

The Andalan scouts returned to their king, accompanied by an old woman riding a pony.

She looked familiar, Axl thought, watching as his men helped her dismount.

She came forward with a limp and a pained expression, her hair plaited into two thin white braids hanging over a hollow chest.

Olga Svent, he remembered.

She looked half-dead.

‘My lord king!’ Olga croaked in a reed-thin voice. ‘I... found you.’ She stumbled on a rock, wobbling.

Axl hurried forward to steady her. ‘Olga! I haven’t seen you in years. I had thought –’

‘Almost,’ she rasped. ‘Almost. I feel the hand of Daala on my shoulder these days. Though perhaps she kept me around to be of service one last time?’

A frowning Axl didn’t understand.

‘You have been led astray, lord. Cruelly tricked! Your enemies are in Andala, not here. They are led by the flame-haired king. A man so evil... well...’ All moisture drained from Olga’s mouth, and she gasped for air.

Axl’s grip on her mottled hands tightened. He bent down, seeking her eyes, though they were now fixed on the dirt road. ‘Andala?’

She lifted her head with a groan. ‘You must hurry. He has many men. And you –’

‘Me?’

‘Well, your army is here, just as he intended. Here, where you can do nothing to save your throne.’

Releasing Olga’s cold hands, a horrified Axl spun around as Rexon arrived.

Seeing the look on the king’s face, he frowned. ‘What is it?’

‘We have to go!’ Axl shouted at him. Running a hand over his face, he forgot his stitches and yelped. ‘It’s... Andala is under attack!’

Rexon looked from the king to the skeletal old woman. ‘She’s a dreamer?’

‘She’s seen it.’

Though Rexon barely reacted. Dragging Axl away, he leaned in close. ‘There have been a lot of tricks, a lot of games. Endless betrayal. We are surrounded by it. By traitors. We were just attacked by creatures surely conjured up by whatever dreamer is helping Oren Storgard. And what if this is she?’ He mouthed his last words, feeling deeply concerned.

‘You wish to doubt me, Rexon Boas?’ came Olga’s hoarse voice, for though she was almost blind, her hearing remained as sharp as ever. ‘I do not blame you, but you have little time for doubt. I can... I shall... make it clearer...’ Though exactly how, at that moment, Olga didn’t immediately know.

Axl returned to her, and now she took his hand, closing her eyes and shuddering. Watching the old dreamer, he held his breath, wanting her to see everything that could help him. And when she peeled open her rheumy eyes, he leaned forward.

‘Your stepfather is following you,’ she said. ‘Gant Olborn is coming to retrieve you. He knows the truth. He... he has left Vallsborg, searching for you. Yes, he is coming to take you home. So, there you have it. You may not believe me, but eventually, you will be forced to decide whether to believe him.’

* * *

The ships advancing into Andala’s harbour were Iskavallan, flying two banners: one, the familiar two-headed dragon of the kingdom, and the other, what looked like a hawk. Jael could only guess it represented its new Storgard king.

There were nine in all, and the three lead ships had catapults mounted in their bows and crews standing by stacks of boulders.

Another piece moving onto Oren Storgard’s board, Jael knew, desperate to claim her own.

She had left Fyn with Fulk Easby, working to destroy the remaining siege tower, and now she needed those catapults on the southern corners to turn back to the harbour. ‘More boulders!’ she called down into the square. ‘I need you to bring up more boulders!’ Pointing Aedan east, Jael headed west, urging that catapult crew to move with speed. ‘We have to sink them!’ she shouted. ‘Archers!’ And turning with a crack of her neck, Jael saw baskets and buckets of arrows, which gave her some confidence. ‘Start with the catapult crews! I want those men down before they can launch a –’

The first boulder came soaring towards the wall.

‘Shit!’ Jael almost tumbled face-first onto the walk, barely keeping to her feet as she ducked behind the battlement. The boulder struck the wall, shaking it, knocking out chunks of stone down below.

And now another boulder, rising higher. This one aimed at their eastern catapult, which it crushed, sending the crew flying.

Spinning around, Jael tried to see her cousin. Smoke clung to much of the fort now, borne on a steady wind, dust swirling from all the broken stone, and she couldn’t see. ‘Aedan?’ Head bent, she started running. ‘Aedan!’

He emerged unsteadily from a swirl of dust, shaking his head and stumbling. Reaching him, Jael grabbed his arm. ‘Sit down! I’ll see what’s –’ Another boulder struck just below where she was standing, nearly knocking her over, and now a barrage of arrows. ‘Keep your heads down!’ she shouted. ‘Fyn! Aim at that ship! I want it crushed, and its catapult with it!’

Where was Eadmund, she thought desperately, ears ringing...

Where was Axl?

* * *

Despite Olga’s warning, a sceptical Rexon had remained doubtful, not wanting to turn north again.

Axl didn’t blame him, though Olga was a friend of Edela’s. They had known each other at Tuura, and his grandmother had always spoken fondly of her. She had often been at Andala when he was a boy; he had no reason to doubt her now. ‘Gant was in Vallsborg. He’s following us,’ he told Rexon and a surprised Erling. ‘So we don’t have to go all the way back to Andala to find out if Olga is being truthful. We just have to head to Vallsborg, and if we don’t come across Gant, we’ll know she’s part of all this treachery. That she’s the dreamer helping Oren Storgard. But if not? If, like I suspect, we’ve been tricked, then we’ll be well on our way to Andala.’

There was nothing more Rexon could say, so he nodded. ‘I’ll take the rear then. Hurry the stragglers along.’

Axl took a breath, glancing at Erling. ‘You take the centre. I want to get moving again. If Oren Storgard has brought an army to my doorstep, I can’t imagine he’s come alone.’ And fearing what that meant for Andala, Axl raised his arm, ordering everyone to turn around.

* * *

Draining a waterskin, Eadmund swore he heard a familiar voice.

Though he didn’t look around, knowing that his wife wasn’t on board Sea Bear.

She was in his head.

‘Hurry,’ she implored. ‘Ships are in the harbour, Eadmund, and I need the sea-fire. You must hurry!’

He stumbled towards Beorn. ‘How long? Jael needs us! We have to get moving!’

Gripping the steering oar, frowning intently, Beorn’s eyes remained fixed past him. ‘Wind’s getting stronger,’ he sniffed. ‘As it always does at this part, though if you’re looking for a little more assistance, I’d start praying to Ver!’

‘Hurry,’ came that voice again as a frustrated Eadmund turned away. ‘You must hurry!’

45

Mattie was becoming anxious, and finding a red-faced Helga, who had been up and down off the floor helping Astrid and tending to the wounded, she pulled her down the corridor, wanting privacy. ‘There are ships in the harbour. That sound? They’re firing on the walls.’

Helga had seen as much herself. ‘I’ve told you already, I’m spent. And you?’

Mattie wasn’t sure. ‘I want to try.’

‘You have an idea?’

‘No, but the book? Edela’s book? Perhaps it has something that could help?’ Turning around, Mattie saw Kolarov carrying Otter in his arms. ‘We don’t have more of those herbs, but I know something that might help. Meet me in your chamber and open the book. We need to do something!’

* * *

Jael rolled onto her hands and knees, ears ringing. Her vision was blurry, a gold-tinged haze spreading before her eyes, smoke and screams rushing around her. One of the battlements had broken in half, scattering great shards of stone over the walk.

She’d moved quickly but had been blocked by two men, unable to go any further, and struck in the shoulder, she had fallen onto her side.

Now she was trying to hear, to see, and as the noises sharpened, she heard warning shouts, and soon another battlement took a direct hit, its top shattering, more stones fired as weapons across the walk.

Skidding over the broken ramparts, the boulder landed in the square, soon followed by another.

Dragging herself to her feet, hearing cries from the injured, Jael sensed that the assault from the Iskavallan fleet was about more than simply destroying the harbour wall. Glancing to her left, she saw that Mutt Storman and his men were now in possession of a battering ram.

That was a horrifying shock, though they didn’t appear ready to use it yet.

She saw a tent-shaped hide, too, made of wood, so they certainly intended to try for the gates.

Though they were waiting, she realised.

The ships would use up their boulders, then head for shore, joining Mutt Storman and the Ahlyn men.

And united, they would seek to break in together.

All eight hundred of them.

She headed to the other side of the walk, looking down into the square. ‘Marren!’ she called, spying one of her helpful messengers – a curly-haired boy of thirteen. ‘Have someone collect those boulders!’ And turning, she pointed to the boulders marking the square. ‘They need to bring them up to us! And men! We need helpers to –’ She started coughing, dust from all the broken stones quickly clogging her throat. ‘Carry down the injured!’ And the dead, she realised, seeing a few lifeless bodies along from her.

‘Yes, my lady!’ came the prompt call as Jael turned away.

‘They’re ships!’ she shouted over the panic consuming the wall, straightening up now. ‘So they can’t carry many boulders! But let’s sink them before they can waste any more!’ Her attention shifted west, pleased to see the remaining catapult landing a direct hit one of the enemy ships. Hurrying to order the walk cleared, she saw that the lead ship had already spent its boulders and was now heading further into the harbour. She sensed it carried someone important.

A Storgard, a voice told her – the king’s brother.

Though all thoughts of who or what was on those ships vanished, for in the next moment, the remaining harbour catapult was destroyed, shards of wood launched into the air.

* * *

Mattie hurried into Helga’s chamber, closing the door.

Kolarov had found his usha root, of which only the tiniest morsel remained, though he was happy to deliver it into the dreamer’s hands if it would save them from certain death.

Helga was a spent force, slumped at the table opposite her, eyes bloodshot.

Mattie could feel it, though she didn’t know about herself. ‘Did you find anything?’ she asked, taking a seat, suddenly nervous as the older woman pushed the book towards her, pointing at the page she had left it open on.

‘This,’ Helga frowned. ‘It’s likely possible. I feel that anything more would be beyond you. You must feel me as I feel you?’

Mattie nodded.

‘You are weak, but I am not even present,’ Helga added morosely, wishing she had more to offer. The noise outside the walls felt oppressive, as though their enemies had encircled them and were now only waiting to strike the final blow. ‘Eadmund Skalleson will come through the harbour,’ Helga went on. ‘So we must train our efforts on the north. The bulk of the enemy is preparing an assault from there.’

Mattie nibbled the usha root, studying the symbols on the page.

Helga took her hands. ‘I’m not sure what help I can be.’ She glanced at the fire blazing in the brazier, pleased that amongst all that was happening, a thoughtful servant had thought to keep it going. ‘Can you hear the flames?’ she asked, her voice a thud and a grumble. ‘They crackle invitingly. Can you hear them? How they weave and dance and thread themselves into a path for you to follow. A dark path this time, for this is a book of darkness, dreamer, and only by entering it will you be able to bring that darkness to our enemies...’

* * *

Ears still ringing, Jael had no time to dwell on the loss of the harbour catapults, though it would make it harder to stop the ships. The archers were working as best they could, but the enemy boulders were taking a heavy toll, chipping away at both the wall and their confidence. She glanced around, seeing Fyn and Fulk Easby struggling through a storm of arrows on the eastern wall. Opposite them, the western wall was mostly empty, Nils Gropen taking his archers to support Ragnar over the main gates.

She helped herself to another quiver of arrows, surprised by how few remained. There were many more arrows in reserve, for she had inspected them herself, but for the first time, Jael had a real sense of there being an end to things.

Of running out.

It was time to change things now. They had to increase their chance of victory before they ran out of weapons. Of arrows, boulders, pitch.

Men.

She saw the second siege tower finally in flames near the eastern wall, feeling happy about that. A few men had launched themselves onto the wall, quickly losing their lives.

Pointlessly.

And now she nocked an arrow, wondering if her luck would hold.

She would aim for that man again – the Storgard man – for leaders were the thread that held every army together.

Cut that thread and they would falter, and when they did, she could seize the initiative again.

Jael’s right arm vibrated from where she’d landed on it, doubts pricking her. Still, she dipped behind a battlement, hearing a crash as a boulder clipped the wall. Darting into an open space, she saw another boulder coming, and throwing herself to the right, she once again landed on her arm, snapping her bow and losing her arrow, broken stones flying overhead.

Scrambling onto her knees, Jael implored the archers to keep firing, knowing they had to kill the catapult crews. And now, jumping to her feet, she saw a glimpse of what was about to unfold.

She called archers to her.

Five came.

‘That ship!’ she cried, pointing at the one tucked behind the lead ship. ‘Its catapult will strike the gates! They’re going for the gates! Target the crew! We have to bring them down!’ And pushing out of the line, she hurried across the walk, calling down to the men at the gates and those reinforcing the barricades. ‘Move aside! Away from the gates!’ And spinning back, she hunted for another bow and a new quiver of arrows.

* * *

Having thought she had entered a trance, Mattie immediately wondered if it was working.

She had been in a few trances now, but this felt like none of them. She was mostly sitting at the table opposite Helga. She could feel the hardness of the chair, her boots on the floorboards. She could smell smoke and her own body odour, rank after weeks without a proper wash.

She wanted to be outside Andala’s gates, where she could do something to help, not stuck in the chamber, still peering at the book.

Tightly closing her eyes, she tried to push herself away from the table. She thought of Jael up on the wall and Otter inside the hall with Kolarov, and finally her mind wandered to her cottage in Sonderberg and her last memory of kissing her husband goodbye.

She lingered there for only a moment before seeing Fyn Gallas lying on Astrid’s table, her lips near his ear. She frowned, becoming irritated.

It was the battle she needed to find.

The battle!

And then she was on the ramparts, eyes on the forest, smoke rising. Beneath her feet, she saw stone, and beside her, a bandaged Fyn was fighting off a bloody warrior who had a broken nose and a knife stuck in his shoulder. She stumbled away, feeling confused.

Turning around, she saw boulders flying over the harbour wall, knocking the tops off the thick stone battlements before landing in the square.

Loud cheers could be heard outside the fort, and deciding that was where her help would be most beneficial, Mattie took one last look at Fyn and headed away from him, aiming for the wall above the main gates.

* * *

A breathless Jael held onto her last arrow, seeing that all members of that second ship’s catapult crew were now down. ‘You stay here!’ she croaked at the archers, starting to lose her voice. ‘They’ll send replacements to run it again. Don’t let them blink!’ And turning, she saw Mutt Storman and Edd Arnsten finally on the move with their battering ram.

She found Aedan, who was bleeding profusely. Wrapping a strip of tunic around his head, he met her behind a battlement, crouching down. ‘I’ll focus on the ships,’ Jael told him. ‘Mutt Storman’s moving his battering ram into position now. You keep an eye on it. More boulders are coming up from the square. We’ve got the pitch and oil, but we can also drop boulders on those men. They’ve got a hide, a wooden one, so try and set it alight. Set it alight or crush it.’

Making a knot in the cloth, Aedan nodded and stood, calling for pitch and fire arrows. Jael’s attention shifted to Fyn, who was having a torrid time on the eastern wall. She blinked, seeing Mattie standing beside him, which made her frown. Tiredness swept through her like wind, and she felt herself swaying, though blinking, the vision was gone, and her attention was drawn back to the harbour, sensing more boulders coming. ‘Put them down!’ she screamed. ‘I want those men down!’

And then she shivered, a lightning strike surging through her body.

Eadmund.

* * *

Sea Bear led Oss’ fleet into the harbour.

Eadmund had seen the smoke rising into the sky, knowing that Andala was under attack, though they had left Oss expecting to enter a battle, dressed in armour, weighed down with weapons. And then he could see it for himself as he motioned to the crew, ordering men to the catapult.

He quickly counted nine enemy ships, all flying Iskavallan flags, which shocked him. Some were launching boulders at the harbour wall. All had their attention on the fort. They were under continuous fire from the Andalans, though still a threat to be reckoned with, so he didn’t want to alert them to their presence yet.

Moving quietly down the deck, he lifted a finger to his lips, demanding silence. Reaching the stern, he signalled to Thorgils, following close behind in Red Ned, urging his silence too.

It would not work for long, though every moment they were able to mask their presence gave them a greater chance of overcoming these men.

Turning around, Eadmund’s eyes lifted to the wall, knowing that his wife was up there somewhere. He saw a flash of black hair and heard that voice again, urging him on.

Before him, an Iskavallan spun around, and seeing their chasers, he threw a hand in the air, shouting at his helmsman.

‘Catapults!’ Eadmund bellowed, seeing no point in being quiet now. ‘Crush them!’

* * *

Having finally put down his attacker, a wobbly Fyn touched his chest, feeling blood. The siege tower was in flames, crumbling wood and spewing ash, and no more enemies were breathing on their wall. And now, inhaling a smoky breath, ears ringing, he pushed on, realising that their attackers were now leaving in droves, aiming for the harbour.

Leaving Fulk Easy behind, Fyn hurried to find out what was happening.

Eyes brightening, he saw Oss’ fleet attacking the Iskavallans.

He felt a lift, recognising Thorgils’ bright red curls, and beside him, Bram’s white hair.

Moving past an injured archer, who was being helped off the walk, he found Jael. ‘What’s the plan?’

Drawing her attention away from the harbour, Jael turned to him. ‘Eadmund will take care of the ships. They will try to land and join Mutt Storman. Those who can,’ she added, seeing how effective the Osslanders’ catapult crews had already been. Four Iskavallan ships now appeared to be sinking, their crews swimming for shore. And they weren’t finished yet. Striking from behind, unopposed, they were decimating the enemy fleet. ‘We need to stop them. Push them away from the gates! If we’re going to get the sea-fire inside, those men can’t be anywhere near the gates.’ Her mind skipped quickly from Mutt Storman and his battering ram to Oren Storgard and his catapults, which she sensed were back in action behind her, though she couldn’t be in two places at once, and for now, their greatest threat was coming through the harbour.

And turning back to it, she didn’t notice the enemy catapult being hurried to the eastern wall.

* * *

In her trance, Mattie stood on the ramparts, hearing the gleeful charge of the approaching army. She saw faces taut with concentration, fear mingled with excitement. Eyes were peeled open in anticipation, perhaps dread, for what lay ahead was certainly pain.

There was no path free of it.

Those men assaulting the gates faced pitch and flames, arrows and scalding water. They faced death or maiming. They faced the loss of their friends.

The destruction of their hopes.

Though at that moment, Mattie mostly felt their hopes rising. There were so many, she realised, fully in the trance now.

She remembered the book and what she had come to do, wondering if she could conjure an illusion to lead those men away from the fort.

Taking her knife in her right hand, she trembled, approaching the wall.

And then she was falling, the knife dropping, seeing nothing but darkness.

* * *

As he led his army back to Vallsborg, Axl sensed those around him becoming tense. The sun was setting, the air warm and still. They had marched quickly back through the forest where they’d been ambushed, the silence becoming loud as every terror was relived.

Axl felt pain beating in his face and his leg, needing no other reminder of what had happened in the murky darkness of that forest, though his mind was mostly on Olga, the dreamer, and whether he’d been led astray again.

Mind wandering, stomach rumbling, he feared it was impossible to trust anyone.

Riding alone at the head of his column, forehead furrowed, arse numb, words churned around his mind seeking to undermine his decision. He heard Rexon’s angry grumbles loudest of all, starting to fear that he was right – that Olga Svent was the dreamer helping Oren Storgard.

Then rounding the corner, eyes sweeping the road, Axl straightened up, seeing a horse coming towards him, ridden by a man with iron-grey hair.

* * *

A boulder had struck the hall.

Helga had been knocked off her chair, thrown across the floor, all the way to the door. She’d hit her head with a crack, knocked out.

And then a banging sound.

She saw only darkness, soon realising that her eyes were closed.

Inhaling dust, she felt something hit her waist, and eyes bursting open, she stared at the ceiling.

‘Grandmother!’ came a panicked voice from the other side of the door. ‘Are you there? Are you alive?’

Helga tried to speak, though she could only croak. ‘Yes. Help.’ She glanced around the chamber, seeing that the roof had caved in. ‘You must get help!’ And now her eyes found the table, crushed beneath thick wooden beams, seeing no sign of Mattie.

46

Shocked by the arrival of another fleet, uncertain who it could be, Steffan Storgard had been quick to order his ships to shore, ready to join with Mutt Storman and the men he’d gathered into a formidable rear guard.

Armed with the battering ram and an influx of warriors and weapons, they’d planned to make a run at the gates.

Though having lost half his fleet to their chasers’ catapults, he was desperate to land his men, fearing how many were sinking or drowning, taking his hopes with them.

He urged the still-floating helmsmen to deliver their crews to the piers, hoping any men swimming would hurry to bolster their ranks.

‘Row!’ he bellowed, seeing that Mutt Storman was already on the move, not waiting for his men. ‘Row!’ Glancing over his shoulder, squinting in the sinking sun, he could see that their chasers were moving quickly, too, those catapult arms swinging back again.

* * *

The Iskavallan ships were making for the piers, hunted by Eadmund and his Osslanders, though Jael’s attention was drawn to the square, where she soon realised that a boulder had fallen on the hall.

Charging past Aedan, she found Fyn. ‘The hall’s been hit! Go and see what you can do. Aedan’s got the harbour. I have to help Ragnar!’ And once again, she sought to reach Eadmund, hoping he could hear her.

* * *

Linas had run for Pye, who had found Kolarov, both men hurrying down the corridor after the boy and his barking dog. They’d felt the shuddering thump of something landing nearby, unaware that a boulder had struck the hall.

Though pushing open the chamber door, Kolarov’s mouth fell open, seeing half the room collapsed before him and Helga on her knees, pulling at something.

Hurrying forward, one eye on the collapsed roof, he bent down, seeing Mattie.

* * *

Eadmund’s focus shifted to the men on the docks and to those coming from the east, surging from the path to the cove and through the bushes. He saw the hide covering the battering ram, now advancing towards the gates, and the shield walls of warriors protected by archers, who were aiming both at the wall and at his fleet.

He realised that a catapult had been wheeled around to offer some protection. Men were rushing boulders to its crew, who had positioned it to face the harbour.

The remaining Iskavallan ships had taken down their sails, men now at the oars, desperate to reach the piers and link up with their allies.

And it was Eadmund’s job to stop them.

Sea Bear had used up all her boulders, moving quickly now, pulling alongside the rearmost ship, her oarsmen grunting and shouting with the effort.

‘Get us alongside!’ he barked, turning to fix his gaze on Beorn, who ignored him, though he was soon tugging the steering oar, wanting to board rather than crash into their enemy. And now Eadmund turned to his men. ‘We take them in their ship! No man makes it to shore. Understood? And watch out for that catapult!’

And pleased to see most of his crew nodding, Eadmund Skalleson, King of Oss, turned around and unsheathed his sword.

* * *

Fyn ran into the hall, out of breath, numb from the top of his head to his right hand. His wound was draining all the energy from him. And air. He had to stop and inhale a few short breaths before carrying on. ‘How is everyone?’ he asked of Astrid, who appeared flustered, wiping bloody hands on her apron.

‘How are you?’ she countered with a frown, seeing the ghostly pallor of his face and the blood seeping through his bandage. ‘You need to come and sit down.’

Fyn’s eyes skipped past her to where Pye had emerged from behind the grey curtain, and seeing Fyn, they burst open.

‘It’s Mattie!’ he called out. ‘You’d better come!’

* * *

Distracted by one of his messengers calling his name, Oren had reacted slowly, struck in the upper arm by an arrow. Looking down at the spotty teenager, he wanted to lift him by the hair and wring his scrawny neck. ‘What... what do you want?’ he screamed instead, urging his horse backwards, eyes darting from the boy to the wall, veins bulging in his neck.

‘Your brother has arrived, my lord! Mutt wanted me to tell you! The fleet is in the harbour, and they’re moving the battering ram onto the docks. Soon they’ll be through the gates! Ships are in the harbour! Enemy ships! But Mutt says he’ll destroy them, so you shouldn’t worry!’

The pain in his arm was excruciating, though that wasn’t what made Oren frown. He had planned to be further along than this, hoping to keep those men in reserve. And now?

The thought of Mutt Storman being inside Andala before him?

And Steffan? His younger brother?

He was livid.

The idea of enemy ships had him puzzled, though his frown cleared when he realised that it was likely Jael Furyck’s husband.

Steffan would have to deal with that, he thought dismissively, and now he turned around, arm in the air, seeking to spur his men on. ‘I want those gates open!’ he roared. ‘Turn everything you have on that wall! Now!’

* * *

Axl and Gant had embraced for some time, both men overcome with emotion, surprise, and relief. And then Gant had urged the king to get his men moving quickly, stressing the danger unfolding in Andala.

Axl was horrified, listening as Gant explained what had happened in Hallow Wood, his journey to Oren Storgard’s camp, how he’d been helped by Lina...

And Helga.

‘I can’t believe Helga came to you,’ Axl said, shaking his head. He felt pleased to know he’d been right about her. It hadn’t been easy, but she had proven her worth. And then some.

Beside him, Gant was relieved that Axl knew the woman. In his exhaustion, and after a long, strange day, he’d started to fear that he’d hallucinated everything. That Thora had been adding something to his watery ale.

Beside him, Axl was busy cursing. ‘But why did I leave?’

‘Because you had assurances that your neighbour was safe at home. That there were no signs of trouble on the border. Everyone told you that. Your friends, your scouts, your dreamer. No one saw that he was on the march.’

‘The dreamer? Do you think it was her?’

Gant shrugged. ‘Hopefully. I’d hate to think it was any Andalan.’ He frowned for a moment before brightening his face. ‘Lina Storgard was with Edela when she escaped Tuura. They parted in Ollsvik. She thinks Edela sailed away from Osterland. Her and her companions.’

Axl’s mouth fell open as he turned in the saddle. ‘What? Companions?’

Gant was smiling and nodding. ‘Mmmm, I can’t remember their names. A man and woman, I think. Safe, from what Lina said. She wasn’t alone, nor anyone’s prisoner. Wherever she’s gone and whatever she’s doing, your grandmother is setting her own course.’

Axl couldn’t believe it, tears of relief springing in his eyes.

‘She’ll come back,’ Gant murmured. ‘When she’s ready, she’ll come back to us.’

* * *

Mattie wasn’t breathing.

Looking her over, Fyn was panicking. He had dragged her lifeless body out from under the broken beams and rubble, calling for Linas to get Astrid.

Now he hung over her, helpless, until Helga shoved him out of the way.

Peering up at Kolarov, she saw that the explorer had dropped his head.

‘Move! Move!’ the dreamer grumbled, on her knees, quickly clearing Mattie’s hair from her dusty face. She bent to her, squeezing her cheeks and forcing open her mouth. And now she leaned forward, breathing into it. Closing her eyes, she offered a chant and a prayer to Lydea, asking her to save this woman, this valuable dreamer.

So young.

Helga started trembling above the lifeless Mattie, who was similar in age to her daughter when she had given birth to Linas.

Similar in age to when she had died.

‘What’s happening?’ Fyn snapped anxiously. ‘What are you doing?’ He looked up as Astrid arrived, eyes widening as she took in the fallen roof and the fallen dreamer.

‘We need to carry her out of here,’ the healer said, glancing at Fyn, her eyes immediately finding his bloody bandage. ‘Not you. I’ll find someone else.’ But turning to the door, she heard a grunt, and soon Fyn was on his way past her with Mattie in his arms.

* * *

Crews from four Iskavallan ships had made it onto the docks with minimal losses. They sought to link up with Mutt Storman’s rear-guard army and join the assault on the harbour gates, though Aedan’s archers unleashed a hail of arrows, soon forcing a retreat.

Keeping one eye on that and another on the enemy catapult, now launching boulders at his fleet, Eadmund ordered his men into the trailing Iskavallan ship, aiming to prevent its crew from leaving.

The Osslanders were on their own out here – outside the fort’s protection until the gates opened. Though not entirely, Eadmund realised, seeing Aedan barking at his archers on the wall and pointing at the harbour. He could only hope they would aim true, distractedly deciding it was past time to instigate a dress code for his warriors – something that made them recognisable in a battle.

An axe-wielding Iskavallan launched himself off a sea chest, swinging at him. Eadmund jerked out of the way, and wheeling around, he thrust his sword into the man’s back, just below his armour. Tugging out his blade, he jammed it into the man’s neck, and stumbling away on the rocking vessel, he left him falling in the bilgewater. ‘Stop them joining those men!’ he shouted, eyes up, now seeing hundreds of warriors surging across the docks. ‘Put them down!’ Spinning around, he saw Raal further back on the Borsund ship, barracking his archers, and Thorgils jumping into Sea Bear, scything his sword as he headed for his king.

Hearing a boulder launched from the catapult, he flung back his head, watching its path, turning to shout a warning at those ships following behind, hoping the sea-fire would stay safe.

* * *

‘She’s breathing,’ Astrid told those gathered around the table in the hall, eyes on Mattie, who lay still before them. ‘She is breathing.’

A worried Kolarov held out the little glass bottle of jara. ‘This has helped in the past.’

Astrid took it, sniffing. Immediately coughing.

‘It has helped,’ Fyn insisted, raising Mattie up so the healer could tip a few drops into her mouth. Though despite the eye-popping potency of the liquid, Mattie didn’t respond.

A surprised Kolarov eyed Fyn, seeing his worry.

Sharing it.

Pye approached, wanting to know what was happening, immediately shooed away, though he was carrying Otter, and Helga called him back.

‘Her cat,’ she muttered. ‘Bring it here.’

‘Though we don’t –’ Astrid started to protest.

‘She thinks her husband’s spirit is in the cat,’ Fyn explained. ‘He’s... he died. He may be able to reach her.’

Helga agreed. ‘She went into a trance. When the roof fell, she was in a trance, and likely she’s still there.’

Astrid had looked the dreamer over carefully, seeing no sign of anything more serious than a few gashes and lumps. She felt no broken bones, saw little blood. Nothing appeared amiss apart from the dreamer’s mind, which had shut down, for she remained unconscious. ‘Bring the cat,’ she decided, stepping aside as Pye came through, depositing Otter onto the table.

They watched as the fluffy brown cat padded delicately up the table, around Mattie’s legs and arms, until he reached her neck, where he sat down, playing with her hair for a moment before bending down and sniffing her face. He nudged his pink nose against hers, and eventually, getting no reaction, he curled into a ball, his head pressed against her ear.

Fyn glanced at Kolarov, realising that he’d been holding his breath.

‘She is breathing,’ the explorer assured him. ‘I’ll watch her now. You should go. The queen will need you.’

Astrid looked ready to protest, wanting to change Fyn’s bandage and check his wound, though shaking her head, she merely turned away. ‘I’ll send someone with a pillow.’

‘I will watch her too,’ Helga promised, feeling almost responsible for Mattie now. ‘But first, I’ll go and find something in my chamber. I won’t be long.’ And remembering the book, she hurried away.

* * *

Joining Ragnar on the main wall, Jael saw that the smoke had now cleared, the breeze picking up, the King of Iskavall’s army surging towards Andala’s main gates, bolstered by the arrival of another catapult. She watched the yelling, grunting mishmash of warriors paid for by Oren Storgard and conjured up by his dreamer. A patchwork of greedy, ambitious, vengeful men who sought to take the mightiest kingdom in Osterland.

The fort was now under assault from the enemy catapults, firing boulders over the main wall, while in front of the wall, men hidden beneath a wooden hide were driving the battering ram at the gates. They had navigated the stakes hammered into the ground, lifting that hide up and over them like a snail able to detach and reattach its shell.

And now they were seeking to smash open the gates.

Boiling oil was carefully carried along the rampart walk by nervous men who jerked and blinked as the boulders struck the wall just above the gates. Jael stepped back, allowing them to pass, seeing, with some relief, that Oren Storgard’s catapults had stopped. Now he was sending forward more archers to protect those men working on the gates.

Looking to her left, Jael saw buckets of pitch and Ragnar’s archers swapping their arrows. Leaving him to it, she hurried east. ‘Dip the boulders in pitch,’ she told the catapult crew. Turning around, she found the nearest warrior – that eye-patch girl again. ‘Petra! Bring a brazier! You can help here! Set the boulders alight before they go!’

Fire was always a risk, Jael knew, though to keep Andala out of Oren Storgard’s hands, it was worth setting the entire forest alight.

Whatever it took until Axl arrived or –

Then, remembering the harbour and her husband, Jael was running again, eager to see about the sea-fire.

* * *

Despite being in charge of their rear-guard army, Mutt Storman could barely get a word in.

Edd Arnsten was like a yapping dog beside him, shouting orders so angrily and quickly that it was hard to keep up. And then there was the Ahlyn lord, who thought he knew best too. He was half Edd Arnsten’s age and rolled his eyes at nearly every word the old lord uttered.

That had been bad enough, but now there was Steffan Storgard, the King of Iskavall’s slimy younger brother, who assumed that his name gave him power over them all.

Not according to Mutt, who stressed, for what felt like the hundredth time, that the king had placed him in charge.

It was chaos.

They had an enemy on the harbour wall, armed with what felt like a shipload of arrows. They had an enemy fleet in the harbour of what appeared to be Islanders. And despite possessing warriors, weapons, a catapult, and, most importantly, a battering ram, they were as much use as a sack of cats.

‘Shield walls!’ he shouted, seeing those Islanders landing. ‘Shield walls!’

But everyone was arguing too loudly to hear him.

* * *

Having worked their way through the Iskavallan ship, ensuring that none of those men left it alive, Sea Bear’s blood-splattered crew now focused their attention on the docks.

One of Eadmund’s men had grabbed the steering oar; others were at the oars, and they were only a few lengths from a pier.

The catapult remained a threat for those ships still behind him, though so far, it had struck nothing but the sea. Still, Eadmund wanted to land his fleet before they had a change of fortune.

The harbour gates had to open, which they couldn’t do while the enemy crowded around them, so Eadmund needed shield walls of loud-mouthed Osslanders to shunt them back while his archers helped Aedan pick them off.

He thought they were outnumbered, though if the arrows kept finding their mark, they wouldn’t be for long.

‘Shield walls!’ he turned and barked at his crew. ‘As soon as you’re on the pier, shield walls! We get across the docks and push them back from the gates!’ Striding the length of the ship, he repeated his message, carrying his voice over the chaos so that it reached those Islanders following in his wake. And seeing many pairs of eyes snapping to him and a few nods, he turned back around, stumbling as the ship butted the pier.

And then he was up and over the gunwale, boots on wood, shield off his back, arrows flying over his head.

He wanted to charge at the docks, though they needed numbers to be effective, so he held his place, working his shield, waiting for reinforcements. He felt the pier shudder as more ships landed their crews, and soon he was standing at the head of some four hundred men.

‘Spears to the front!’ he bellowed, turning to see that only four ships were yet to land their crews. It was enough, he thought. They would make their move now. ‘Push forward!’

* * *

Reaching the harbour wall, Jael was surprised to see a catapult firing on the Osslanders, realising that Mutt Storman had obviously commandeered one. Quickly counting Oss’ ships, she was pleased to see they were all still afloat, but perhaps not for long.

She saw Eadmund and his shield walls moving down the pier onto the docks, pleased that they weren’t as outnumbered as she’d feared. Bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones, speared with arrows, and she could hear a hoarse Aedan alongside her, urging his archers to keep up the unrelenting pace.

Jael’s attention shifted from her husband, driving their men towards the gates, to Mutt Storman, who appeared to be arguing with his. Despite having the numbers, they looked disorganised and hesitant, not helped by Edd Arnsten, who was a red-faced bull beside Mutt, wagging a finger in his face. The arrival of the Iskavallan fleet hadn’t focused their attention, she saw with a smile – it had fractured it. And feeling a lift, she started shouting, wanting to further stir that bubbling cauldron of chaos. ‘Push them back!’ she called from the wall. ‘Eadmund! Move them back! Thorgils Svanter! I thought you were stronger than that! Come on!’ she bellowed. ‘Are you Osslanders? Are you here to show these Andalans how much they need you to rescue them?’ Turning to Aedan, Jael drew him close. ‘Send some of your archers around to take down that catapult crew. We’ve still got men to land. I’m going down to open the gates.’

The surprise on her cousin’s face was mostly hidden by his bandage, which had slid down over his eyes. He pushed it up with a bloody hand, revealing raised eyebrows. ‘What?’

‘Sea-fire,’ she told him. ‘Eadmund’s brought it, and I need to get it inside.’ She could see the trays in her mind. Two of them. Sixteen jars in each. She needed to deliver them to the main wall before Oren Storgard either broke through the gates or destroyed their last remaining catapults.

Aedan nodded. ‘Eadmund needs to keep pushing those men back. I’ll help encourage them along. A little fire might help.’

‘Good, do it. And when you think it’s clear, signal down to me. We don’t need long. I won’t keep them open long. You’ll have to stay alert.’ Jael thought of Fyn, her mind wandering back to the hall, hoping everything was alright.

* * *

Eleven of Eadmund’s thirteen crews had moved onto the docks now, locked into shield walls, spurred on by an enthusiastic Thorgils, who happily taunted the enemy from his place beside the king.

Eadmund had sent spearmen to the front, keeping his archers at the back, and they moved forward in unison, supported by Aedan’s men, who pummelled the Iskavallans with fire arrows, rocks, and hot oil.

Watching another boulder launched at the harbour, Eadmund became distracted. He needed to focus on the task of shunting the enemy away from the gates, but his thoughts were behind him. He’d first thought to store the sea-fire on Sea Bear and Red Ned, but being the lead ships, he’d thought better of it, dividing the trays between Ice Breaker and Dragon’s Tooth, who he’d placed in the middle and rear of the fleet. Though standing beside Thorgils, shield over his head as a wave of enemy arrows hammered them, he was having his doubts, seeing both ships dithering in their approach to the piers.

‘What are they doing?’ Thorgils grumbled in his ear. ‘Steering with their eyes closed?’

Beside him, Bram saw a flash of fire. It was growing late, his eyes constantly working to adjust, though that fire had caught his attention, for it was coming from the docks, aiming out to sea. Head snapping to Eadmund, he called his name.

Eadmund turned to follow Bram’s pointing sword, seeing a few fire arrows now being launched at Ice Breaker and Dragon’s Tooth. The enemy had obviously spotted the latecomers, not wanting anyone else joining the battle. ‘Bring down those men!’ he cried, pointing at the archers. ‘Now!’ The Osslanders focused their attention on those at the rear, unleashing a blizzard of arrows that drew a dark cloud over their heads.

The catapult kept firing, the noise becoming disorienting. From the wall, the docks, the piers... everyone was shouting, arms pointing, shields clanking.

Shouts of surprise and grunts of pain could be heard, and then a bellow of horror as one of the boulders finally landed true, crushing Ice Breaker’s wooden house where the tray of sea-fire had been stored.

47

Fyn headed out of the hall feeling strange.

He didn’t want to leave not knowing if Mattie would live. Not even the dreamer, Helga, had seemed confident about that.

He remembered Otter lying curled up by her neck, burrowing under her wheat-coloured hair, and how much she loved the cat.

Perhaps he would bring her back?

Ignoring the intense pain in his chest, Fyn turned to the main gates. Lifting his eyes, he saw the flaming boulders launched from the catapults, fearing what it meant. The great roaring noise coming from the other side of that wall seemed far louder than when he’d entered the hall – as ferocious as the rogue wave that had threatened to kill them all.

‘Fyn!’

Looking up, he saw Jael coming towards him and he hurried to her.

‘What happened in the hall?’

‘Mattie. The roof collapsed on her.’

Jael was horrified. ‘And she’ll live?’

‘Perhaps you can tell me?’

But Jael only shook her head. ‘I... I’ll try and see something, but for now, we have to head out of the fort, into the harbour.’

‘The harbour?’

‘I’ll tell you as we go. We need to find some archers!’ Turning away from him, she aimed at the harbour gates, though in the next moment, a thunderous explosion nearly knocked them off their feet.

* * *

The noise was so loud it disturbed Oren Storgard’s horse, which took some effort, given how chaotic the battlefield had become. His horse had two arrows sticking out of him, and he had one, the ground around them strewn with bodies, some three or four men deep. He saw a flash of fire surging up into the sky.

Like a setting sun.

And he frowned, wondering what was happening.

Shouts of urgency sought to claim his attention. It had been an endlessly long day, stuck on the path, pinned in by men and trees, sitting on his fidgeting horse. They hadn’t made nearly enough progress.

He’d expected to be sitting on his new throne by now, toasting his success.

Instead, his body was numb and his throat was burning, clogged with dust and smoke. And more was coming, he saw, as another flaming boulder launched into the sky, soon thundering towards them.

In the panic, his horse was nearly pushed over.

Oren called for his men to move, eyes on the boulder, though it was too late for many. He heard branches and bones snapping, more cries of panic.

And then an arrow, taking his horse in the head.

* * *

Jael ran for the harbour gates, Fyn struggling to keep up with her. She had seen the explosion, knowing half the sea-fire was lost, desperate to get the rest inside before that blew up too.

She had commandeered thirteen archers on her way, needing more but not wanting to pull them off the walls where they were desperately needed. Stopping before the barricades, she breathlessly explained what she wanted to happen, one eye up on the wall, watching her cousin.

And seeing him turn and signal to her, Jael was soon pushing through the barricades, head twisted over her shoulder. ‘I want every archer behind me! Line up behind me!’ She needed a shield, and finding a pile resting against the wall nearest the left gate, she handed one to Fyn and took one for herself. ‘Clear a path through the barricades!’ she told one of the guards. ‘The rest of you get on the locking beam. We need to get the Osslanders inside!’ She turned to the archers. ‘Your job is to keep the enemy back! Iskavallans, Brekkans, Ahlyn men... do not let them even think about coming inside!’

The riskiness of the strategy nagged at her. To open the gates?

To tempt an invasion?

She’d seen the numbers on both sides, deciding that the singular focus of Eadmund and the Osslanders was worth at least a few hundred men. And unless Mutt Storman could get his motley crew going in the same direction, she felt mostly confident about their chances.

The right gate squealed open, and Jael immediately saw the flaming ship.

It exploded again, sending a fountain of sparks and flames up to meet the pink sky.

Sunset, she realised, thinking of S’ala Nis.

‘We need to get the rest of it!’ she yelled, quickly finding Eadmund and Thorgils. And pushing towards them, shield above her head, Fyn behind her, she was met by a volley of enemy arrows.

Eadmund swung around, a look of remorse in his eyes. ‘It’s on Dragon’s Tooth.’

Jael nodded, having seen that herself.

‘Spread out!’ Eadmund urged the men on his eastern flank. ‘We need to protect the pier!’ And glancing over his shoulder, he saw Dragon’s Tooth’s helmsman shouting at his crew as they prepared to disembark.

Jael could hear Mutt Storman screaming at his men to push for the open gate and Edd Arnsten barking at their catapult crew to target the last ship. Heart thumping painfully, every sinew in her body stretched until she felt made of wood, she called to the archers following her. ‘Form a line at the rear! Keep them back! Hurry!’ And grabbing Eadmund’s arm, she spoke into his ear.

A nodding Eadmund turned to Thorgils, who passed Jael’s message along, and soon their eastern flank spread out further, two shield walls merging into one row that stretched from the harbour gates down to the piers where Dragon’s Tooth had finally found a berth. And there they held the line while the Andalans joined Oss’ archers, supported by those on the wall, giving Mutt Storman and his attackers no chance of gaining even a foot of ground.

‘Push them back!’ Eadmund barracked. ‘We will push them back!’ And with a grunt, he shunted his shield forward, feeling the spittle of the man opposite him striking his face. He heard screams and shouts, the desperate sounds of desperate men who knew this was their last chance. His feet skidded in blood, a shriek as someone was speared, the shield wall faltering as that man fell back. Though quickly reinforced by another Osslander, it tightened up and started moving forward again, shunting the enemy away from the gates.

Jael hurried Fyn towards the pier as Dragon’s Tooth’s crew unloaded the sea-fire.

She heard Eadmund and Thorgils united in a shouting match with Mutt Storman, whose hoarse voice was stripped of all power, demanding that his men hold on.

Shifting her attention to the men bringing the sea-fire tray towards her, she swung her shield onto her back, holding out her hands. Beside her, Fyn dropped his shield and stepped forward, taking the other side of the tray. It wasn’t particularly heavy, just cumbersome, and far too precious to risk one person carrying it alone.

Arrows whistled overhead, aiming for the ships, some of them fire arrows.

And if one of them struck?

‘Careful,’ she said to herself as much as to Fyn. ‘We must be careful!’

* * *

Above the main gates, Ragnar had no time for drinking, but his voice was now an ineffective croak, so he sucked down the watery contents of a cup, handing it back to his bandaged servant, who had taken a few knocks to the head.

The gates were creaking violently below him, under attack from Oren Storgard’s battering ram, the wall was taking a hammering, and Ragnar was out of breath.

He turned, feeling something strike his back, and spinning around, he saw a helmet drop to the rampart walk, a head inside it. Horrified, he looked away, down into the square where one of his men had been sent to ensure that every available barricade had been moved into place. And men. Warriors were filing down from the western and eastern walls now, leaving their bows and arrows behind and picking up shields and spears as they went.

Armed with those, as well as axes and swords, they would be Andala’s last line of defense.

Looking up, he saw the blazing flames coming from the harbour, smelling the familiar reek of sea-fire, so different than that of pitch.

And his heart sank.

* * *

‘Steady,’ Jael muttered to Fyn as they left the pier behind, walking sideways across the cobblestones towards the fort.

The sea-fire jars were tightly packed into the tray, though they were both conscious of the danger swirling around them, working their elbows to keep everyone back, eyes shifting left and right, checking their footing.

‘Move! We’re coming through!’ Jael warned. ‘Eadmund! Wait for us to get inside, then move everyone into the fort!’

Though hearing that, a great roar went up from their enemies, who finally appeared to grasp that they had no chance if they didn’t work together. Mutt Storman’s rasping voice now rose above the rest, and with the ruthless Ahlyn men at the front, they shoved the Osslanders’ shield wall backwards.

‘Watch out!’ Jael shouted at Eadmund, who threw up his shield, which was soon speared with three arrows. And dropping her head, she once again focused on her footing, seeing arrows, rocks, and shards of stone scattered across the docks.

Bodies too.

In the harbour, a burning Ice Breaker was now drifting away from the piers. Those who had survived the explosion were swimming for safety, more explosions adding to the great tumult. The Osslanders now started moving away from the piers, compacting their shield walls and shuffling towards the fort, the archers maintaining a relentless pace, the quivers strapped across their backs quickly emptying.

Jael’s eyes darted to the gate, wedged open just wide enough to let them through. A fire arrow struck the cobblestones near her boot, its tiny flame struggling. Swallowing, she glanced at Fyn, sensing the shield walls starting to twist. Shutting out all that could go wrong, Jael kept her focus fixed on the sea-fire, and soon they were through the open gate, moving into the fort.

The barricades had been pulled back, creating a path, and they moved through it with ease, though neither Jael nor Fyn relaxed, hearing shouts rising behind them as the battle to get inside intensified.

‘Don’t let them in!’ Jael snapped at Thorgils, who had turned to check their progress. ‘Focus!’ And now she called two Andalans forward. ‘This is sea-fire! Do not drop it! Take it to Ragnar. Marren!’ she yelled to her messenger, hearing the battering ram striking the main gates for the first time. ‘Run up to Ragnar! Tell him it’s coming! He needs to ready the catapult crews!’ Fire arrows landed just outside the gates, and handing the sea-fire off to the two men, Jael hurried to find a bow and quiver, joining the archers protecting the Osslanders’ retreat into the fort.

* * *

In front of the main gates, Oren’s confidence had soared.

The hide protecting the battering ram was aflame, though those men continued to work the ram beneath it, seemingly oblivious to the danger. They were some of his strongest warriors, working as a unit to swing the enormous hammer at the gates.

The gates shook, wobbled, and edged inwards but held, secured firmly on the other side.

Though Oren knew that every strike was weakening that hold.

‘Keep going!’ he bellowed over the chaos, smiling now. ‘Keep going!’

* * *

Warriors were gathering behind the main gates, led by Ragnar’s second-in-command – a long-necked man with a bright red beard and a fierce temper. He barked as though he’d sprung out of bed to find trouble on his doorstep, not like a man who’d been working to defend his home since long before dawn. The sun was sinking behind Andala’s western wall, though to the east, the sky was lit up as though a new day was dawning.

He barracked his archers, demanding they organise themselves, calling for buckets of arrows to be brought from the fletchers’. ‘More!’ he barked angrily. ‘This is our stand! Here! If they get through, we need more than this pittance to hold them back!’

Above him, Ragnar’s heart beat in time to the battering ram.

Every strike at the gates rippled through him, thoughts of his wife and children at the forefront of his mind.

He rubbed his head, wiping away dusty sweat as the sun dipped lower, attempting to deprive him of the ability to see. Though exhaustion was almost doing that single-handedly.

Had they really been up here all day?

Below him, he heard calls for more arrows, but they’d already sent to the fletchers’ twice, and he feared how many more they’d expend trying to hold Oren Storgard out.

‘Archers! Fire arrows!’ a croaking Nils Gropen called along from him, desperate to do something about that hide.

‘My lord!’ came a cry as a curly-haired Marren scurried forward, sliding through a pool of blood Ragnar had already asked to be washed away. ‘The Islanders... sea-fire!’

‘Nils!’ Ragnar cried, jerking around. ‘Hold fire! Hold those arrows!’ And turning back, he grabbed Marren’s arm. ‘Tell me!’

* * *

Left arm braced against his shield, working his sword with his right, Bram took an arrow above his arm-guard, cursing himself for being old and slow. Standing near the crowded open gate, Fyn couldn’t move, though he called his father’s name.

‘I’m fine! Fine!’ Bram called back, gritting his teeth and shouting at his men to shove the enemy onto their arses.

‘Guards on the gates! Be ready to close them! Get that locking beam up!’ Jael yelled as more Osslanders slipped past her into the fort. She was out of arrows, as were most of the archers by the look of things, though above her, Aedan’s men continued to fire at a relentless pace. She heard Mutt Storman shout, and dropping his shield, he disappeared from view.

Eadmund was beside Jael now, and she needed to go. ‘When you’re all inside, take half the men to help Aedan and send the rest to the main gates,’ she told him, the acrid smoke drifting from Ice Breaker making her eyes water.

He nodded, watching as she tapped Fyn’s arm and spun away.

‘Thank you for the sea-fire!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I promise to tell Oren Storgard you said hello!’ And now she ran for the square, hearing wood shattering.

Remembering her dream.

* * *

Inside the hall, Linas crept up to his grandmother, who had been trying to wake up the pretty dreamer. He slipped his little hand into her big, coarse one.

She had been studying her book, distracted, and peered down at him in surprise, seeing Gully’s wagging tail in the distance.

‘I’m scared.’

Helga shook her head, grumbling. ‘We’re safe in here.’ Though seeing Mattie lying before her and remembering the destroyed chamber, she turned to him. ‘What are you scared of? They’re looking after us out there, aren’t they? And in here, we have healers, and there’s your friend in the kitchen. Why don’t you go and find out what’s for supper?’ She tried to release his hand, though Linas clung on. ‘There’s nothing to be scared about. I’ve not seen anything.’

Looking up, Linas saw Eren Venberg enter the hall with Ragnar’s daughter. He glanced around, seeing Pye and Kolarov with the angry queen. He saw Mattie before him with the sleeping cat, and Helvor’s helpers coming out of the kitchen, carrying a cauldron of soup.

Though he didn’t smell the soup.

He could smell blood and smoke.

And death.

Linas Brugen could smell death.

* * *

Jael ran out of the guard tower onto the main wall, Fyn at her heels, and together they made their way towards an exhausted-looking Ragnar.

Below them, the hide was aflame, though the battering ram continued to strike the gates with a ferocity that unsettled those on the wall.

A frowning Jael wasn’t pleased to hear those creaking, groaning noises.

‘Sea-fire’s loaded,’ Ragnar told her, seeing a glimpse of Fyn’s pale face, his bandage now entirely red with blood.

‘I’ll take the wall,’ Jael told him. ‘Get down to the gates. I’ve sent the Osslanders there. The rest are with Aedan on the harbour wall.’

‘Oren Storgard’s sent men around the flanks. Apparently, someone’s arrived with more siege towers,’ Ragnar warned. ‘He wants less of us focusing on the gates.’

Jael nodded, sending him on his way.

Three walls were screaming for attention.

Though in that moment, only one truly mattered.

Feeling another thunderous blow below her, Jael sucked in a breath, fearing the gates wouldn’t hold. Her brother had obsessed about strengthening them, and she could only hope that his efforts hadn’t been in vain.

She saw an injured Axl in her mind, a glimpse of him, and he was riding beside a dishevelled-looking Gant.

The sight was so shocking that she closed her eyes, wanting to understand more. Where was it? When?

They were moving with urgency, driving their horses towards the setting sun.

Coming home.

‘Head east!’ she called to Fyn. ‘Follow my lead!’ And now Jael headed for the western catapult, eyes on the sea of men and horses below her. The stink was immediately driven up her nose and down her throat, a wave of blood, bowels, smoke, and pitch so overpowering that she struggled not to retch. Eyes on the catapult, she saw that the crew had placed a jar of sea-fire into its spoon.

‘Where’s your range?’ she asked the foreman.

He pointed past Stellan’s Tree, to a boulder her grandfather had named the Iron Turd, as the gates were hammered again.

They were running out of time.

‘Move it forward,’ she told him. ‘Hit the rear first, then pull her back and strike the middle. If that works, we might not need a third. Add another jar though.’ And now she moved towards the wall, wanting to have a word with Oren Storgard.

48

A vibrating Eadmund stood above the harbour gates, eyes on Ice Breaker, now just a flaming carcass drifting away from the piers. He feared how many had died in the explosion, seeing a few bodies floating in the sea, remembering at least a handful of men jumping overboard. He still couldn’t believe they’d made it inside, grateful their enemy hadn’t sent more men around to press for the gates.

‘Eadmund!’

He swung around to Aedan, who was pointing west, and turning to follow his arm, he saw a siege tower depositing a number of warriors on the western wall. ‘I’ll take it!’ he shouted, grabbing Thorgils, and calling to his men, he urged them to hurry.

* * *

‘Oren Storgard! Is that you hiding behind your shield?’ Jael called down from the main wall. ‘But I thought you were the king? A man for everyone to look to? To follow? And you are hiding? A man so bold he killed his own king? Hiding?’

She nocked her arrow, holding down the bow.

It was a fire arrow, and a brazier burned near her legs, keeping her warm.

Seeing the King of Iskavall whip away his shield and throw back his head, she considered the wind and where she wanted to strike him.

He was close.

‘Killed him?’ Oren sneered. ‘He hid in his hall and died a coward’s death! A true Furyck after all! One brother, then two!’

‘Though you didn’t kill Axl! You didn’t kill the King of Brekka!’ Jael shouted hoarsely, wanting her voice to carry over the deafening racket, seeking to unsettle every man before the gates. ‘He’s on his way back to Andala! After he escaped your camp, Gant found him! He’s bringing him back here! Him and the army! Thousands of them! They’re not far away now! Not far at all!’ That part wasn’t entirely true, though her enemy didn’t need to know that. ‘I thought your dreamer would’ve told you! Though perhaps she no longer can...’

Oren felt a burning pain in his eye, as though someone was pushing a nail through his eyeball. Teeth gritted, jaw pulsing, he didn’t know what to think. There’d been no word from Gunnhild, just a strange silence, which had nagged at him all day. Though what was Jael Furyck suggesting?

He hissed at the nearest man to get him a bow and arrow.

She was up there, blathering on as though she was Warunda, that big-mouthed poet. And if she wanted to hold herself out as a target, he certainly wouldn’t miss the opportunity.

Though his mind soon returned to what she had said.

Axl Furyck and Gant Olborn together?

It was too specific to be a lie. She could have made up any story, but to know about Gant?

‘Go back to Ollsvik!’ Jael called. ‘Take your men back to their families before it’s too late! You have no hope here! No hope of ever taking Brekka! No one but a Furyck will ever rule here!’

Oren took the bow handed to him and then an arrow. He nocked it expertly, waiting for his moment. ‘That’s where you’re mistaken, you deluded bitch! For the die is cast! The dreamers have seen it! I will be the King of the North! Iskavall and Brekka will be mine! How sad for you that you’ll never get to see it!’ And pulling up the bow, Oren drew back its string. He took only the briefest of moments to aim before releasing his arrow, and standing back, he watched it fly.

Though seeing it coming, Jael easily stepped aside, and turning to the catapult’s foreman, she ordered him to launch the sea-fire. ‘Run!’ she warned, lighting her arrow in the brazier. ‘It’s time for you to run!’ And now she lifted that flaming arrow, as first one, then both catapults launched their sea-fire into the air.

Flanking her, two rows of archers lifted their bows in unison, confidently knowing their range.

‘Fire!’ Jael called, and releasing her flaming arrow, she aimed, not at where the sea-fire had landed, but at the King of Iskavall himself.

Though realisation suddenly dawning on Oren, he dropped to the ground, scrambling to find his shield. ‘Run!’ he shouted to those men on either side of him as he grabbed the shield, flinging it up to protect his head. ‘To the trees! Run!’ Though muffled as his voice was, few responded. Standing now, watching the fire arrows flare above him, he tried again. ‘Run!’

The Iskavallan and Brekkan ranks lost their formation, men fleeing into the forest as the sea-fire jars smashed into the ground, the catapults already launching more.

Then the flaming arrows struck.

And the path to the fort blew up.

* * *

On the western wall, despite expecting it, the explosion caught Thorgils by surprise, so much so that he chomped into his tongue. The man he was fighting staggered, eyes darting left, wondering what was happening. ‘That would be the sea-fire,’ Thorgils winked at him, and taking advantage of the sudden pause in their tussle, he thundered forward and headbutted the man, following that up with a swift kick to his chest, sending him tumbling back onto the siege tower. ‘Lucky we didn’t lose all the sea-fire!’ he called to Eadmund. ‘I doubt Jael would have come home then!’

Eadmund heard him, but he didn’t turn around, distracted by another explosion to his right. That constant hammering at the gates had stopped, and now he heard a cry of retreat sweeping through those men around the fort.

Taking a spear in two hands, he drove it through the mail shirt of a warrior who clung to the siege tower, preparing to jump. But with a grunt, Eadmund had him falling down the tower, which started to wobble. Men were being thrown off the western wall, landing on the tower, the weight of those at the front now unbalancing it.

Seeing that, Thorgils hurried to find a boulder. He hefted it up to his chest with puffed cheeks and a grunt, launching it at the tower. And soon, it was tumbling backwards, sending its hapless climbers to the ground in a shattered mess of timber and bodies.

* * *

The hall doors had been bolted, those inside exchanging worried looks, with little understanding of what was happening.

Apart from Helga, whose eyes shone with something resembling joy.

And surprised to see the dreamer smiling, Pye approached her. ‘What do you see?’ he asked, one hand out.

Helga didn’t look at him, for she saw herself on the wall beside Jael Furyck. ‘Fire,’ she said in awe. ‘I see fire.’

* * *

Oren had run into the forest, nearly knocked over in the rush of warriors escaping the firestorm. He twisted his head as he ran, seeing that fire coming – hot and hungry fingers already reaching the trees.

He needed to find Steffan. Steffan and the Iskavallan fleet.

They would’ve joined Mutt Storman and Edd Arnsten – that had been the plan. Though battling at the harbour, he imagined those numbers had dwindled somewhat...

Screams and heat, and now a distracted Oren was knocked to his knees, then onto his face. He wriggled forward with a furious snarl before one of his men realised who he was. He was not alone, though most of his guard had been sent to support the battering ram. Now one of them found him, offering a hand.

‘My lord!’

Oren slapped the hand away, and dragging himself to his feet, he demanded to know what the man had seen. Smoke pumped towards him, the revolting smell of sea-fire making him gag.

‘The path’s in flames, lord. Men fleeing on both sides. Those at the gates too!’

‘What?’

‘The hide was crushed by boulders. The men with it.’

‘And?’ Oren grabbed his arm.

‘Is it true what she said? Jael Furyck? That the army is returning with the king?’

Flames shot forward, crackling ominously, and both men started running as the trees around them ignited, spurring them onwards.

Heart thumping, eyes stinging, Oren didn’t answer. The flames were moving with frightening speed. He wasn’t sure they could outrun them. Head fixed over one shoulder, he stumbled, seeing men going up in flames. Horses on fire tried to bolt away, but the firestorm was too fast.

‘She is a dreamer!’ he heard a voice cry. ‘A dreamer!’

And reminded of that, the King of Iskavall clenched his fists and made his decision. ‘Retreat!’ he shouted between coughs. ‘Retreat! Back to the camp! We must... retreat!’

* * *

There were six jars of sea-fire left when Jael ordered a halt. ‘Save them!’ she yelled at the foreman over the bellowing firestorm. The flames rushed up the path and into the forest, driven by the wind, the shouts of their enemy rising into a cacophony of noisy panic. ‘Send boulders into the trees!’ she ordered, wanting to ensure that Oren Storgard and his men kept running. And leaving the catapult crew to it, she headed to Fyn, repeating the order when she arrived.

The fire was hot and bright, merging with the last rays of the sun.

The searing intensity of the flames took her breath away as she turned to Fyn, seeing him properly for the first time. Touching his arm, she frowned. ‘You’re going down to the hall, and you’re going to stay there. Have Astrid replace your bandage and get something to drink.’ She felt worried, though she smiled encouragingly at him.

An exhausted Fyn nodded, ears buzzing. He didn’t want to leave, though he also didn’t want to pass out. He gripped the rampart wall, feeling sick, nodding some more.

‘Thorgils!’ Jael called. ‘I need you to head to the hall! Take Fyn with you!’ She saw Fyn frown at her, though turning away, she grabbed his cousin, lowering her voice. ‘Keep him there. He’s badly injured.’ And seeing the surprise in Thorgils’ eyes, she let him go, turning to Ragnar.

‘What do you think?’ he asked with a sigh. ‘Will they regroup?’

Jael didn’t imagine it was possible. The fire was seething down the path, destroying everything before it. ‘Just keep your eyes open. I’ll check the harbour. Don’t let anyone leave their posts, and don’t let anyone touch that sea-fire!’ She could smell it more strongly than ever, full of regret, for in order to save everyone inside the fort, she had killed everything outside it.

Though, hopefully, their enemies too.

Hurrying down the eastern wall to find her cousin, she saw that the enemy was retreating, not just from the path in front of the main gates but from everywhere.

Thinking about the Iskavallan fleet in the harbour, she picked up her pace, soon reaching Aedan, whose archers were busy preventing their enemies from escaping by sea. They’d been joined by half the Osslanders, led by Bram, who brought their archers into the fight. The docks were being hammered with such a heavy barrage of arrows that the Iskavallans had no choice but to turn away.

And the call went up again. ‘Retreat!’

* * *

‘We have to stop!’ an exhausted Gant called to Axl. ‘Find a place to camp and rest for a few hours. Your men have had a hard day!’

Axl didn’t want to stop. If he could, he would’ve pushed through the night, though it would take more than that to get home.

And what would they find there?

‘Ragnar knows the fort better than most,’ Gant promised. ‘He’ll be fighting for Andala.’

Beside him, Axl remained silent, his thoughts returning to Amma and sometimes to Eren, who was also carrying his child. Most of the time, he wished the child didn’t exist – that he had never made such a mistake.

Though, at other times, he realised that the baby was his.

He was its father, and as such, he had a responsibility.

For all that his own father wouldn’t have wanted the inconvenience of Raymon, he hadn’t abandoned him.

Then realising that his tired mind was wandering in a pointless direction, he scratched his nose, soon nodding. ‘We’ll stop for the night then. Everyone deserves a hot meal.’ Though he didn’t want to eat. He didn’t even want to drink.

He just wanted to be back in Andala, protecting his people.

* * *

Steffan Storgard had an arrow in his leg and another in his arm, limping as he tried to make his way north. They needed to link up with Oren and the bulk of their forces. Beside him, Mutt Storman was in a bad way with an arrow in his back and an ashen face, helped along by one of his men. He kept trying to talk, blood dribbling from his mouth. Steffan’s attention was everywhere, and he didn’t hear him.

Though an arrow-free Edd Arnsten did. ‘Sea-fire!’ he shouted at the king’s brother from somewhere ahead. And now he was turning around, arm in the air, motioning to the blackened forest. ‘We have to get to the cove!’ He knew the Ahlyn men had come that way, and now he saw them breaking away, making their own minds up.

Edd Arnsten could hear the flames, he could already feel the heat of the fire, fearing how fast it was moving. Looking around, he sought to determine the direction of the wind, quickly realising it wasn’t in their favour. The calls for retreat became more urgent, the sound of the fire howling ahead of them now.

Mutt Storman saw the Ahlyn men making a run for it too. ‘You want the rest of your silver?’ he barked, blood spurting from his mouth. ‘You...’

The men appeared to hesitate, and now Steffan hurried forward. ‘My brother has gold. He will pay you more. You must take us to Ollsvik. You must!’

Mutt was choking on smoke and blood, the pain in his body distracting him, though he still thought he’d never heard a whinier brat. And if his life was to end here? In this failure? With these idiots?

He spat again, seeing the Ahlyn men turn away. ‘You want to make an enemy of the... King of Iskavall?’ he groaned, eyeing Steffan. ‘For if his brother’s dead in that fire... that’s who you’re talking to!’

* * *

Oren couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

Dense smoke imprisoned him, flames spitting and popping around him, and he no longer saw the forest. His men had disappeared, lost in the strange orange smoke.

Now he heard voices, and bent over, trying to draw breath, lungs burning, he thought they were coming closer.

And then a roar of fire as though a dragon was approaching.

Sweat dripping, he stumbled forward, gasping.

‘Retreat!’ echoed a voice far away.

Turning, he tried to head for the voice, sweat in his eyes now, blinding him. The smell of sea-fire had him retching as he stumbled and tripped, desperate to find that voice. He needed to reach his men, get a horse, find a path to safety.

To his camp and his wife.

And running now, desperation making him careless, Oren Storgard ran head-first into a tree.

He felt intense pain and shock, blindness.

More smoke.

And then he was falling, and there was only darkness.

* * *

As darkness fell, Eadmund found his wife, surprised to see little more than dust on her. ‘Not injured?’ he grinned as the echoes of battle diminished. ‘That’s not like you.’

Jael dropped her head, dead on her feet. ‘No, it’s not. Though most of them didn’t get close.’ She lifted her head now and smiled. ‘You were faster than I’d hoped for.’

Eadmund sighed, taking her hand. ‘Though not as successful as I’d have liked. I need to go out and assess the damage. To rescue whoever needs saving.’

Jael wanted to go with him, but there was so much to do. ‘I’ll meet you in the hall when I can.’ She squeezed his hand, walking him to the harbour gates. ‘Axl’s coming, and Gant’s with him, but they won’t be here for a day or so.’

‘Lucky you didn’t need him.’

‘We would have held on,’ Jael decided. ‘Somehow, we would’ve held on.’ And though that may have been true in this instance, Oren Storgard had amassed an army of such magnitude that she feared for Brekka’s future.

Many would’ve died in the fire, for despite their hasty retreat, she knew those flames would have claimed a great number of men. Though Oren Storgard had all of Iskavall with him, allies throughout Brekka, over the sea in Ahlyn, and likely beyond.

He would come again.

And seeing a weary-looking Ragnar, she called him over. ‘You need to send out scouts. I want to track their movements in every direction. They’ll need to be careful with the fire, but I want to know what Oren Storgard and his allies do once they leave here. Everything. My brother will need to hear about all of it when he gets home.’

Home, she thought, looking around.

This had once been her home, and in a way, it always would be.

She remembered what Inesh Seppo had said as they’d parted: ‘A Furyck.’

And with a smile, an exhausted Jael knew that would always be true.

49

Axl arrived back with Gant and the army two days later, shocked in more ways than one.

His sister had been the first to greet him as he’d made his way up the blackened path through the smouldering forest, hurrying his weary men into the fort. She’d explained what had happened to her in S’ala Nis, to Andala, everything she knew.

Apart from what had happened to Amma and their child.

She had held that back, wanting him to catch his breath, to take in all that had happened before she broke his heart and ruined his life.

That night they ate in the hall, which had only suffered minimal damage in the end, the broken chambers already under repair.

Mattie remained unconscious, fussed over by an attentive Kolarov and Pye. Jael had set Thorgils to watch over Kalina while she focused on Axl and Gant.

‘A slave?’ Gant still couldn’t believe it. ‘You can’t have given them an easy time of it.’

Sitting beside her, Eadmund laughed. ‘I imagine they were happy to see the back of her.’

Jael was thoughtful, thinking of Rigg and Alek, feeling so far away from it now. So much had happened in such a short space of time: Alekka, Edela, S’ala Nis. It was like a horrifying nightmare that, despite their success over Oren Storgard and Mutt Storman, wasn’t at an end yet.

‘I thought for certain Amma and Gisila would be here,’ Axl mused, onto his fourth goblet of wine.

Eadmund looked away, and finding Thorgils, he stood, leaving them to it.

‘It’s a good thing,’ Jael said, meeting Gant’s eyes. Axl appeared distracted, though Gant was staring directly at her, eyebrow raised, and gulping, she looked away.

How did he know her so well, she wondered?

Like a father.

Finishing her ale, she stood, but instead of following Eadmund, she aimed for the corridor, wanting to check on Mattie and Fyn. Gant stood with her, and she winced. ‘I... won’t be long,’ she muttered, stepping away before he could follow.

Hurrying down the corridor, she turned into her old bedchamber, seeing Fyn, Helga, and Linas sitting around Mattie’s bed. Otter lay by her side, and Kolarov was fussing about in a corner, tidying a table of goblets and bowls.

With the destruction of both her chambers, Helga had moved her and Linas out of the hall and into a cottage, though she had spent little time in it, still busy helping the healers. She saw nothing that wasn’t before her and nothing about Mattie. And though she felt worried on both counts, she almost smiled, thinking of the king, who had returned, accompanied by the man with the grey hair: Gant Olborn.

The king and Gant and the Andalan army – all here to fight another day.

Thoughts of Gunnhild continued to sweep through her mind. She feared the dreamer wasn’t dead, though she felt sad thinking that she was, realising that what had happened in Tuura had affected her more than she’d ever acknowledged. She saw now that she’d barely been living. Existing, perhaps, but not truly living. Her daughter’s death had only been the final end to any hope and joy. Most of it had been left behind in Tuura with Gunnhild.

She had loved her dearly – with all her heart.

A heart that had forever been broken by her betrayal.

Though looking at her bright-eyed grandson, she realised that she had more than enough reasons for mending it now.

Linas hugged the cat, stroking him gently, watching as Gully looked on with excited eyes and a thumping tail.

Fyn distractedly patted the dog, turning to Jael. ‘She should have woken up by now.’

He looked better, Jael thought. More like himself.

Though worried.

She patted Fyn’s arm. ‘You can’t help her come back. That’s her job.’

‘But –’

‘We all need a reason to carry on, and that reason can’t come from a friend or a cat. It’s deep within us. It’s the fire that keeps us going. You know that.’

Fyn did, though his frown only deepened.

‘I’ll get more water,’ Kolarov decided, having taken on the role of Mattie’s chief nursemaid. ‘Some nuts might be useful?’

No one answered, and he left, followed by Linas, Gully, and then Helga.

Though Jael stopped Helga before the door. ‘Thank you.’

Helga looked surprised and embarrassed, and immediately shaking her head, she turned to leave.

Though Jael didn’t let her go. ‘Whatever happened to you in Tuura, whatever anyone thought of you, Helga, you have my gratitude and that of the kingdom. We’re all much safer tonight because you came, so thank you. I hope you’ll stay. I’ve a feeling Axl will be needing you.’

Helga’s mouth opened, though it was Linas who answered. ‘We will! We want to stay, don’t we? And we have a new cottage!’ He frowned then. ‘I’m sorry about your grandmother’s cottage, but it wasn’t our fault. It wasn’t!’

‘Stop babbling, boy. The queen doesn’t want to hear it,’ Helga grumbled, seeing Jael’s face fall. ‘We will stay,’ she added. ‘If the king wishes it.’ And dropping her head, she shooed the boy outside, quickly following after him.

Jael turned back to Fyn. ‘Are you coming?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s quiet in here. Think I’ll sit awhile.’

And leaving him to it, Jael headed out of the chamber, where she bumped into Gant.

Her eyes immediately darted away from his, though he grabbed her arm, pushing her into Axl’s bedchamber and shutting the door.

‘Is it your mother? Has something happened?’ he hissed with urgent eyes.

Jael shook her head. ‘No. No, it’s...’ She looked past him to the door. ‘Amma,’ she whispered. ‘It’s poor Amma.’

Gant’s mouth dropped open. ‘And the baby?’

Jael shook her head. ‘They’re both dead.’

‘How?’

‘I don’t know, but I won’t tell Axl tonight. He’s drunk out there. I’ll wait till morning. Please.’

Gant staggered before her, stiff legs vibrating, face wrenched in pain. ‘And your mother?’

‘I saw her on the ship. She looked as you’d expect.’

‘But how?’

‘I don’t know, but Amma is gone and I don’t know what Axl is going to do.’

It was news no one wanted.

No one.

Yet she would have to deliver it to her brother in the morning.

And until then?

‘Tell me about Edela,’ she said. ‘Tell me everything Lina Storgard told you. I want to know all of it.’

* * *

After four long days on the road, Edela, Raymon, Bertel, and Siggy had arrived at the small mountain-top town of Bhyan. It was a strange place for the King of Kadak to build a palace, Edela thought, staring at the great glowing structure through moonlit trees. Bhyan felt so out of the way. Remote. It was as though the king had wanted to escape his own people.

They had spent days slipping in and out of forests that, they’d been informed at a village, were referred to as jungles. And now they were concealed deep in the trees, clothes stuck to their backs, faces shining with sweat despite the late hour.

It was so muggy that they were drained of all energy.

Beside Edela, Bertel yawned, shoulders sagging. ‘It looks well protected,’ he noted, feeling like his bed. And then, remembering the nightmare of buzzing insects and crawling creatures, not to mention the very real prospect of snakes, he wanted to run out of the jungle and knock on those gates.

Anything for a bed.

A smiling Edela turned to him. ‘We are one step closer to a bed, I promise. One step closer to discovering this woman’s intentions.’

‘She will know we’re here,’ Bertel sighed, now yawning so loudly that he feared he might have woken Siggy and Raymon. Though glancing over his shoulder, he saw that they remained sound asleep.

‘I certainly hope not. I’ve done everything I can to shield us from view. And if she does? Well, I would welcome it. To face this woman is what I want. I like my chances!’

‘You are as mad as ever,’ Bertel grumbled at her. ‘As ridiculously mad as ever.’

She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for coming with me. You’ve had many reasons and a number of chances to run away, to turn around and leave, so I am grateful.’

A stunned Bertel couldn’t think of anything to say, though he was soon yawning again.

‘Go and sleep,’ Edela told him. ‘I shall stay here and think. And perhaps see. I would very much like to see what that woman is doing in there.’

‘If she is in there,’ Bertel muttered, turning away. ‘I’ll just have a quick nap, then I’ll keep watch so you can sleep.’

Edela didn’t hear him – her eyes had returned to the palace. It appeared white, as though made of bone, and her thoughts were drawn back to the two sisters and their bone tree.

It was all very confusing.

Something to do with Osterhaaven. With Furia.

The Furycks.

A puzzle, she saw now. Pieces of a puzzle.

Though she had many pieces, so she just had to start slotting them together.

Looking up, she saw that the moon was nearly full, and shivering despite the clammy air, she turned back into the trees, deciding to take a walk.

* * *

The hall had emptied out.

It was late, yet Axl sat alone at the high table, pouring himself another goblet of wine, not interested in bed.

Seeing him, Jael kissed Eadmund. ‘I’ll be there soon,’ she said, urging him towards the grey curtain.

‘You’re not going to –’

Jael shook her head. ‘No.’ And with that, she turned away, heading for her brother.

He looked up as she took a seat, eyes half open and bleary. ‘Not tired?’ he grinned, seeing Eadmund disappearing.

‘Think I’m past it,’ Jael decided, pouring wine into an empty goblet. ‘It was a lot, what happened.’

‘Father would’ve been proud,’ Axl said. ‘Of you. Father would have been proud of you.’ His lips twisted into a scowl now as he threw back his wine, feeling his stitches pulling. ‘You should have been the Queen of Brekka, Jael, not Oss. He wanted you to be his heir. We both know that.’

Jael shrugged. ‘Maybe, but you’re seven years younger than me, Axl. You were barely seventeen when he died. He didn’t know you.’

‘At seventeen?’ Axl was incredulous.

‘At seventeen you were hopeless,’ Jael told him. ‘Or don’t you remember?’

Axl peered at her. ‘Though I’m not like him. I never will be.’

‘Why would you want to be like him? What? You think Ranuf Furyck was perfect? What about what he did with Ravenna Vandaal?’ She couldn’t hold the words back in time, and they tumbled out of her mouth.

She saw her brother blanch before her.

He looked away, silent.

Taking another gulp of wine, he leaned forward. ‘Though there I am exactly like our father,’ he growled. ‘And I’m sure you know it, Jael. Likely that’s why you’ve been so angry at me these past few months.’

She smelled the wine on his breath and saw the shame in his eyes, and leaning forward to meet him, she nodded. ‘Eren. Yes, I saw that.’

‘All of it? Did you see all of it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s she’s –’

‘Pregnant!’ Jael was gobsmacked, sitting back now. ‘She’s pregnant.’

‘And how am I going to tell Amma? What am I going to do?’

Jael swallowed. ‘You... can’t think about it tonight. Not tonight. It’s been a long few days. You’ll think of something tomorrow, I promise.’

Axl’s shoulders rounded. He felt so ashamed, so disappointed in himself. ‘I’ve done it all wrong, I’ve let everyone down, and you... you’ve never even liked me, never loved me, and it’s... it’s all my fault.’ Tears fell from his eyes, running down his nose, pooling there until they dripped on the table.

Jael grabbed his hand. ‘Axl, no, you’re wrong. I’ve always loved you, and mostly liked you,’ she tried to joke, though he just keep shaking his head before her, completely bereft. ‘Axl, listen to me. It’s my fault, not yours. What happened in Tuura? I couldn’t get past it, not until recently. Very recently. I couldn’t let go of it, of what happened. It was never your fault, but somehow I blamed you. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sorry I made you feel it was.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ Axl sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean for you to get hurt, Jael. I never did.’

Tears flooded Jael’s eyes. ‘I know. I know. You were a boy. You didn’t do anything, you didn’t.’ Leaning forward, she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, bringing him close. ‘I’m so sorry.’

And turning to her, Axl fell into his sister’s arms.

* * *

They would leave for Oss in the morning, and Fyn felt strange about it, not wanting to leave without knowing that Mattie was alright.

It didn’t make sense that she hadn’t woken up.

Kolarov had used his jara on her, Helga had tried spells from her book, Astrid had plied her with tinctures and teas, and even Otter had sought to rouse her.

But no one and nothing had made the dreamer wake up.

Fyn’s chest and shoulder were thudding painfully, and he knew he had to find a bed.

But not yet. And reaching out, he took Mattie’s hand. ‘Otter misses you,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘We’re all looking after him, especially Kolarov, but Otter misses you.’ He sat back with a sigh, hearing the stool creak beneath him, dropping his eyes to the bed.

Looking down at his hand, he saw one of Mattie’s fingers moving.

Shuffling forward, Fyn bent closer, eyes sweeping her face, noticing a flutter of eyelashes now. ‘Mattie?’

Her eyes remained closed, though she opened her mouth. ‘Theo?’

Fyn felt relief mingled with a touch of disappointment, though squeezing her hand, he was soon smiling.

* * *

After her talk with Axl, a drained Jael headed for bed and for Eadmund, who was sound asleep, sprawled on his belly like a child.

She nudged him. ‘You didn’t have that long to wait. How could you fall asleep so quickly?’

Spluttering, Eadmund rolled over, peering at her with a crumpled face. ‘What’s wrong? Are you crying?’

Jael sniffed. ‘Not anymore. Now, move over. We both need to fit on the bed, not just you.’

Eadmund sat up, reaching for her. ‘Why were you crying?’

‘Just Axl. I feel so sorry for him.’

‘Did you tell him?’

‘No, but I... if someone told me that?’

Eadmund edged closer and lifting a hand, he held it to her cheek. ‘Every moment counts. Most of us don’t know how many we’ve got left, so every one counts, and I don’t want to spend another moment apart.’ He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on hers.

Jael was still in the hall, still feeling her brother’s pain.

And yet she had so much more pain to give him in the morning.

She kissed her husband back. ‘No more time apart,’ she breathed. ‘Though Axl... I think he’s going to need me.’

* * *

Helga had put Linas to sleep in his new bed in their new cottage. It reeked of the old man who’d recently died in it and needed a good scrub.

Perhaps more than once.

Rubbing her nose, she saw the dog lying as still as a log beside the boy. ‘You look after him,’ she whispered with a hint of a smile. ‘Watch over my boy.’ And she opened the cottage door, slipping out into the night.

She wanted to go to Edela’s moon-watching bench, for she felt disturbed, as though a great tide was churning in her mind and body.

Though maybe it was still those strange herbs, she thought with a grunt.

And then she thought of Mattie, wondering if she could find an answer to waking the poor woman. Surely there was one? She couldn’t remain trapped in that trance forever. Though perhaps she wanted to, for often the past was a kinder place, where memories were softened by time until they glowed like a warm, inviting fire.

Shaking her head, she stomped away from the cottage, seeing a path of moonlight, thoughts racing ahead, not noticing the figure walking towards her.

50

Axl stumbled out of the hall.

He missed Amma.

After his talk with Jael, he desperately wanted to be with his wife. He wanted to tell her about it, to hold her to him and stroke her hair. To feel their baby in her belly and hope for the future.

Though his talk with Jael had also made him feel ashamed of his behaviour.

His father had made mistakes.

He had hidden the truth about Raymon from everyone, hurting Gisila, and more importantly, hurting Raymon, who hadn’t known who to be. He was a Furyck, but he had shunned his name and his family. He hadn’t wanted to claim it, to be their brother or Ranuf’s son, and Axl didn’t want that for his own child. So he decided that he would tell the truth to everyone.

It would hurt his wife, shame his mother, and horrify Andala, but Eren’s child was his child, and he wanted the baby to grow up knowing he was a Furyck. Knowing his own father.

It was the right thing to do.

Reaching Eren’s cottage, he glanced up and down the road, suddenly doubting himself, though the servant had heard the gate slam, and she’d hurried to open the door.

‘My lord,’ she mumbled, bobbing her head. ‘I –’

Emboldened by his drunkenness, Axl made to come inside, not waiting to be invited.

‘My mistress went for a walk, lord. She should be back presently. I... I have wine.’

Axl felt like more wine, and that desire spurred him forward. That and a sense that he was doing the right thing. He wobbled unsteadily, almost tripping over the doormat, though he was soon inside, handing his cloak to the servant, who presently poured him a goblet of wine.

* * *

Linas woke up not long after his grandmother had left the cottage.

Gully was sitting beside the door, and noticing that, he immediately felt strange. He looked around, not seeing his grandmother anywhere. And hurrying out of bed, he put on his boots, aiming for the door.

* * *

Helga could see the woman before the moonlight shone on her face.

Eren Venberg.

She merely grunted, moving out of the way.

Though as she passed, Helga jerked to a stop, ice coursing through her veins. She spun around, seeing that Eren had stopped, turning also.

‘Really?’ Eren grinned at her, and now she frowned. ‘Really? Now that I did not expect. That you can see me, Helga? You can actually see me?’

Helga just stared. ‘What are you?’ Her shivers felt like tiny earthquakes now, fear consuming her until her teeth chattered. ‘What?’

‘Me?’ Eren threw back her hood, black hair bathed in moonlight. ‘I am the beautiful young woman who seduced a king. Can’t you see? I thought you could see.’ And now that girlish voice changed into something darker.

She stepped forward, and Helga felt the earth shudder beneath her feet. She drew her knife, cutting her fingertip, and smearing a protective symbol across her forehead, she started chanting.

Eren’s head snapped to the side, her smile like a child’s, sending Helga’s knife flying. ‘You wish to hurt me? Do you think you can hurt me?’

‘I –’ The air was quickly sucked from Helga’s lungs. It felt like a boulder had fallen on them.

‘You?’ Eren came forward now, hissing. ‘You shouldn’t have stopped, Helga. No, no. You shouldn’t have stopped at all.’ And out of the folds of her cloak flashed a silver blade.

Helga heard footsteps.

Not those of a man but of a curious boy and his loyal dog.

‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Go... back!’ And leaning forward, she attempted to headbutt the woman, to do her some harm. She saw stars, unable to breathe, but she couldn’t let this creature hurt Linas.

Linas saw his grandmother in the air. She was choking, and though he was scared, he didn’t cry out. He heard Gully whimpering beside him.

‘No!’ came the voice in his ears. ‘The king! You must save the... king!’

Linas didn’t move.

‘Go!’ came his grandmother’s pleading voice.

And then the sound of her body hitting the ground.

* * *

Edela had walked for some time, lost in her thoughts. She saw the volcano in Osterhaaven. She remembered the feeling of Govana choking the life from her on Karalos, Katalyne on Aggralaia...

And Furia in Tuura.

‘To save the Furycks from their doom,’ came the goddess’ words.

And how was she going to do that?

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a voice in her ear. ‘I am sorry, Edela,’ she heard someone say. ‘For the choices I have made, I am very sorry.’

A shivering Edela didn’t understand.

She spun around, tears in her ears, suddenly so terribly sad.

That voice...

It had been Furia.

* * *

Eadmund lay opposite Jael, staring into her eyes. ‘About that baby you mentioned...’

She grinned at him. ‘You’re taking advantage of me in a weak moment. Is that something you feel proud of?’

He smiled, kissing her. ‘I would do the most underhanded things to have another child with you, my love.’

Jael laughed. ‘I’m not sorry to hear that.’ And reaching up, she drew him to her.

* * *

Axl rose from his chair when Eren opened the door.

He wobbled, head pounding, feeling nothing but regret.

Why had he come? To say what?

And now?

She smiled at him, smoothing down her black hair. ‘I’m so happy to see you. Surprised, but glad.’

He opened his mouth, struggling to speak. ‘I...’

Eren took his hand. ‘Is it about the baby? Do you want to talk about it? About him? Our son?’

And finding himself nodding, Axl let Eren lead him into the bedchamber.

* * *

A nauseous Edela stumbled back to the campsite, fearing what might have happened.

What had the goddess meant?

Her mouth had gone dry, her skin chilled as she hurried through the trees, following the moon’s path to the clearing.

And there she found all three of her companions gone.

* * *

Jael pushed a surprised Eadmund off her and sat up, reaching for her trousers.

‘What?’

‘Can’t you hear? It’s that boy, Linas.’ Wriggling up her trousers, Jael groaned, yanking her tunic over her head.

‘My lord?’ came the voice. ‘My... lord!’

And now they heard pitiful sobs.

Not bothering with her boots, Jael flung open the door, seeing a crying Linas prowling the corridor. Gant opened his door, and then Fyn was there. ‘What’s happened?’ she asked, touching the boy’s shoulder, seeing Gully. ‘Where’s your grandmother?’ And then she saw it herself. ‘By Edela’s moon-watching bench!’ she cried, turning to Gant. ‘Help her!’

He hurried past her, Fyn on his heels.

Eadmund was hurrying to dress behind Jael.

Linas tugged her sleeve, nose thick with snot, tears dripping from his eyes. ‘She said... I... she said I had to save the –’

‘King!’ Jael yelled, spinning to Eadmund. ‘Axl!’

‘He’s not here,’ Linas sobbed. ‘He’s not here, my lady. Not in the hall.’

She grabbed the boy, almost shaking him. ‘Eren Venberg! Where does she live? Can you show me?’

Linas nodded, and with one look at Eadmund, close behind her, Jael followed a running Linas out of the hall.

* * *

‘I didn’t come here for this,’ Axl insisted, pushing back on Eren, who had surprising strength. Her bedchamber swam around him, the wine awash in his belly. He felt pain there, and in his head, the beautiful mother of his child blurring before his eyes.

But he had to leave.

He’d only wanted to talk, to make things right.

To be honest.

Now, he needed to go.

She was too close. He wanted to leave.

‘There now,’ came her voice, humming in his ear. ‘Why the hurry? We could enjoy ourselves awhile, you and me. Like we did before.’ And stroking a hand down his face, Eren purred.

Axl felt flesh and then metal, and seeing a knife, he jerked away.

Eren grinned. ‘No more Furycks,’ she whispered, running the blade down his face, cutting through his stitches.

Despite the agonising pain, Axl couldn’t move.

Tears flooded his eyes.

His legs were tree trunks, deeply rooted in the floorboards, her breath a chill breeze amongst the leaves, and he couldn’t turn, he couldn’t run.

He couldn’t escape.

‘Your destiny,’ Eren breathed.

Though he saw a flash of someone else now – darker eyes, an older voice.

And then the blade, coming for his heart.

* * *

On the moonlit path, Linas ran ahead of her, Eadmund behind her, but Jael stopped suddenly, hand at her throat. ‘No!’ she cried, and now she dropped her hand, holding her belly. ‘No! Axl No!’

Turning to Eadmund, she couldn’t speak, but he understood her, and running past her, he urged Linas on.

* * *

Gant and Fyn found the dead dreamer.

Helga.

Mouth wrenched open, head covered in blood, they saw horror on her face as they bent to pick up her body and carry it back to the hall.

And then Jael, screaming in the distance.

* * *

A frantic Edela saw no sign of Bertel, Siggy, and Raymon. They were gone, though there’d been no obvious disturbance.

Remembering the voice – Furia’s voice – she feared that something had befallen her friends. Dropping to her knees, she felt around, soon finding one of the symbol stones, then two, then three – all of them left behind.

And shuddering with worry, she struggled back to her feet, crossing the clearing to where she’d been watching the palace earlier.

* * *

Linas stepped back as Eadmund threw open Eren’s door, seeing a dark-haired woman sitting by the fire, rocking herself. She had tears in her eyes and blood on her hands.

He ran past her, looking for Axl.

Who he quickly found in the bedchamber, where he lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. A knife was jammed into his chest, his tunic soaked in blood.

A horrified Eadmund clamped a hand over his mouth.

Though only for a moment, for soon he was running back into the main chamber, where he grabbed the woman, dragging her to her feet. ‘What have you done?’ He didn’t understand, shaking her. ‘You killed him? Why?’

‘No, no,’ she was sobbing. ‘No, please. I... I didn’t. No!’

Jael ran through the door, past Eadmund and Eren, into the bedchamber, where she screamed. ‘Axl! Axl! No! Axl!’ And sobbing, she fell on her brother, remembering his smile and his tears. She was holding him in her arms, and he was under the bed making that noise.

He was a king.

A brother.

A son.

And now she turned around, eyes smeared with tears, running back into the main room, grabbing an eating knife off the table. ‘You!’ she snarled, lunging at Eren, who threw herself behind Eadmund. ‘You killed him!’

Eren kept shaking her head, sobs wracking her body. ‘I loved him!’ she shrieked. ‘I have his child! I’m carrying his child!’

Jael bared her teeth. ‘You killed him! Get out of my way!’ she roared at her husband.

Eadmund shook his head. ‘Go be with Axl, Jael. Go! Drop that knife and go!’

‘But she –’

‘She says she’s pregnant! Stop and think!’

Linas stood by the door, wanting to know what was happening but too afraid to ask. And then he soon understood that he didn’t need to ask at all.

He wanted to go to his grandmother. He needed to –

He recognised the cloak Eren Venberg was wearing. Her face. ‘She hurt my grandmother!’ he shouted. ‘I saw her! She killed her!’

Jael had been heading for the bedchamber again, but hearing that, she spun around. ‘What did you say?’

Eren looked gobsmacked. ‘Killed your grandmother? No! You’re mistaken! You’re all mistaken!’

Linas wanted a knife himself, though he couldn’t see through his tears. ‘It was her!’ he screamed, rubbing his eyes. He closed them, feeling his heart break. ‘It was her!’ And then looking through his grandmother’s eyes, he saw the woman differently. ‘But she had different eyes,’ he whispered now, his voice changing, a strange heat rising up his body, concentrating in his heart. ‘Not... her.’ His grandmother’s voice spoke through him, and then, like a flame blown out, she was gone.

Jael didn’t hear him. She walked away, mouth open, barely breathing, returning to the bedchamber and her brother’s body.

Gant arrived, finding her sitting beside the bed, holding Axl’s hand.

He blinked, having feared the worst and yet not expecting it.

Immediately numb.

Jael turned to him, and rising to her feet, she threw her arms around him, though Gant’s arms remained by his sides. He felt nothing.

Shock took away every feeling bar surprise.

He was so surprised.

‘I don’t know,’ Jael sobbed on his shoulder. ‘I don’t know...’

Gant pushed her back, unable to look Axl’s way. Unable to feel.

He was unable to feel a thing.

Taking Jael’s hand, he gripped it firmly, and lifting it, he took it in both hands. ‘You are the queen,’ he told her in a voice of iron, eyes devoid of all feeling. ‘You are Brekka’s new queen.’

Jael blinked, tears blurring her eyes, turning to see Eadmund watching her, and in that moment, the truth drove a spear through her heart.

Her dreams had come true.

Axl was dead.

And her marriage was over.

THE END

EPILOGUE

Waking to the tip of a sword hovering near his eye, Bertel had seen the glint of that blade like a sliver of ice.

Shivering, he’d feared what was happening.

What would happen...

There had been no sign of Edela as they were gagged and bound, dragged away from their beds.

And now they were being shepherded along a road.

Beside him, Raymon was still putting up a fight, occasionally kicked and shoved, though Siggy walked quietly and obediently ahead of them, almost whimpering.

He wanted to reassure her that it would be alright, but he wouldn’t lie.

He couldn’t.

They had been marched across the field, down through a hedge of trees and bushes and onto the road leading to the great palace.

And now the sun was rising, and their captors had ordered the gates unlocked.

Bertel wished he could reach Edela. He had tried, desperate for her to leave. This was all so she would come – he was sure of it.

Though she couldn’t. It was a trap.

It was always a trap.

One of the men dragging him kept tightening his grip, moving quickly, and Bertel stumbled, embarrassed and useless.

He’d counted sixteen men. Even at his best, he would’ve stood no chance.

Edela needed to go, he told himself.

She needed to get away, to find Korri. Maybe she could find Korri?

Closing his eyes, he remembered the dreamer smiling at him.

‘I will take Raymon with me in the morning, for he is good with a sword,’ she had told him, kissing his cheek. ‘As are you, but I need you to stay safe here. To be ready to rescue me if it all goes wrong, which, of course, you’ve already decided that it will!’

Bertel had been surprised on both counts, touching his cheek as she’d turned away, staring after her with confusion and worry in his eyes.

Now he blinked as they reached the steps to the palace.

One of its enormous doors opened to reveal a thin middle-aged woman with intense blue eyes and auburn hair.

Dressed in a formal silk gown, she strode out into the rising sun with a triumphant smile.

‘Ahhh!’ Dessalene Sardis exclaimed, clapping her hands. ‘How wonderful that you’ve come! We have so much catching up to do.’ Holding a finger to her lips, she studied her guests. ‘Bertel Knutson, the old warrior. Still handsome, I see. I have heard so much about you. And Siggy,’ she said, turning to the girl. ‘What a lot of hair you have! We shall have to get the servants working on that. Ahhh, and Raymon. Raymon Vandaal. How perfect! You know, I told my husband when we left S’ala Nis, do not regret the loss of one Furyck, for there will be an opportunity to catch another. And how right I was. How right indeed!’ She stepped aside with a flourishing hand. ‘Now do come in, and while we wait for Edela, why don’t we have some wine?’

* * *

WHAT TO READ NEXT

GODDESS OF SECRETS AND WAR: SNEAK PEEK

PROLOGUE

‘And what will become of you, I wonder?’ asked a voice.

Before her, hunched over as though ready to collapse to the forest floor, Gunnhild stiffened, straightening up.

‘What point is there to you now, Gunnhild Gott?’

Hidden beneath her red hood, the surprised dreamer swung around. Bathed in moonlight, every hair was standing on end. Weak but alert, she clenched her cold hands into fists.

A woman stood before her, veiled in shadow.

Gunnhild hadn’t heard her approach. There was no horse, no wagon, no explanation for why she was suddenly there. She could bring forth no answers, neither with her eyes nor her mind. ‘Be on your way! I wish for no company! Leave here at once!’ she spat, the hideous sound of her rasping old voice bringing tears to her eyes. She had worked so hard to become something else. Something younger, fresher, softer – certainly more beautiful.

And now?

She could see her own flesh well enough. Pale moonlight revealed every fold of skin, every wart, wrinkle, and scar – so hideous and imperfect.

So old.

What had Helga done to her?

The woman laughed mockingly. ‘I stand here as a threat, yet your vanity still commands you! How pathetic you are, Gunnhild. No wonder the old hag bettered you. Bettered you and stripped you of your magical illusions. Of your prized youth.’

Gunnhild’s mouth dropped open, though recovering quickly, she stepped forward, snarling. ‘Whoever you are, whatever you are, leave me! Take your scorn and go!’ Though despite her anger, she was vibrating with curiosity. This woman knew what had happened with Helga.

She knew about her.

‘And if I don’t?’ the stranger murmured. ‘Will you beat me to death with those old woman hands? For I can feel how your power has weakened. Perhaps gone? Your magic too.’

Fearing that was true, Gunnhild held her tongue.

‘Though I can help you restore all you once had...’

Eyebrow raised, Gunnhild remained wary. ‘In return for what?’

Who was this woman? She was utterly mystified.

After escaping Helga, she’d been unable to see a path forward. Her helpers were dead, her cottage days away by horse – of which she now had none. And though she had longed for some sign, some insight into what might come next, she hadn’t imagined this. For the woman with the open hands, Gunnhild felt certain, was no friend. No ally.

‘I have plans here in Osterland. Plans you will help me with, and if you please me with your efforts, I shall restore your ridiculous facade.’

Gunnhild narrowed her eyes. ‘But who are you to make such offers? Such promises to me?’

The woman laughed. ‘Me? You may call me Mistress, for that is what I am now, Gunnhild. From now until you take your last breath, I shall be your mistress.’

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

Jael held Axl’s hand for what felt like hours.

People came and went.

His hand became colder, stiffer, as she wept, babbling mindlessly to a man who wasn’t there.

There were apologies. So many apologies.

She hadn’t come in time. She hadn’t seen.

She was so sorry. Endlessly...

Eventually, Gant touched her shoulder. ‘We need to move him out of here,’ he said in a voice she didn’t recognise. ‘Back to the hall.’

Turning around now, Jael saw the blurry figure of Eadmund, and behind him, Thorgils. Her head hurt. She nodded, though she didn’t release Axl’s hand. Part of her kept thinking he would breathe again. That he would simply blink and look at her.

But what magic could make that happen?

None that she knew of.

Dropping her head, she sobbed wretchedly, finally slipping her hand out of his. Feeling the loss of it, she grabbed it again, still wanting to hold on.

Standing, she bent over Axl’s body, trying to imagine that he was free – that his pain was gone and he was set free. It was only the grieving who remained in pain, imprisoned by loss.

As she was now.

Bending low, she kissed him, pressing her lips to that ghostly face – first his forehead, then his cheeks. His skin felt so cold and hard. No longer human. ‘I promise you vengeance,’ she whispered. ‘For the death of your wife, your child, and you, my brother, I will make them all pay.’

* * *

Edela hadn’t slept.

Since returning to the jungle clearing to find her companions missing, she hadn’t been able to relax at all.

Without her ever being aware of the approaching danger, someone had come and taken Bertel, Siggy, and Raymon away.

They were gone and she was alone with the buzzing, flying insects and the cawing night birds, her thoughts a tangle of worries, struggling to decide on the best path to take.

The obvious one led to the King of Kadak’s palace, now bathed in pinkish dawn light. She just had to leave the trees behind. Leave the trees behind, head down the hill towards the road, take the road to the palace, where the Mistress would –

Indecision had paralysed Edela for hours. Nothing had come to her in the darkness, and now nothing in the light. With the rising sun, she could see what lay before her, though as to what to do, she remained entirely blind.

Spinning in a circle, gulping down a mouthful of bile, she turned back to the trees, remembering that voice.

Before she’d discovered her companions missing, she had heard a woman’s voice, certain then that it had been Furia’s. The goddess had apologised for her choices. Though what did that mean? Had she abandoned her? Sacrificed her friends? Had she reached the end of her journey...

Chest aching, head aching, feet aching, an exhausted Edela didn’t understand.

Her dress clung to her, soaked with sweat. The jungle air was heavy, draining her of energy and thought.

She had no ideas.

She feared she had no magic.

Looking down at the tangle of vines and leaves, she watched a lizard dart across her path, slipping into the trees. Afraid of her? Or something else?

She saw smoke.

Blinking.

It was fog – a great cloud of it billowing towards her.

Stepping back, she tripped over the vines, falling with a yelp and a grunt.

And then nothing.

* * *

Linas had finally gone to sleep.

Helvor and Astrid had wiped away his tears, taking turns to hold and comfort the heartbroken boy, plying him with warm milk and bread smeared in honey. He’d protested all of it, utterly bereft, at times shouting nonsense about magical creatures, at other times, weeping for his grandmother, begging her to come back.

Helga.

Nothing made sense, Astrid thought, tired eyes stinging as she brought a cup to the bed.

Mattie was sitting, ready to get up, but Astrid had asked her to stay and drink the tonic she’d prepared first.

‘The chamber collapsed upon you,’ she reminded the dreamer. ‘You can’t rush about as though it never happened. You must take it slowly.’

An impatient Mattie wasn’t listening. ‘But I don’t even have a sore head. I feel fine.’ And wriggling to the edge of the bed, she made to get up. ‘There must be a lot to do. I don’t even know what happened. The battle? Is it still going on?’ Blinking now, she thought she heard crying.

She felt strange.

Becoming still, she took the cup and sipped. The warm liquid soothed her, and she drank greedily.

‘A lot... happened,’ Astrid whispered haltingly, struggling to find any words.

Standing abruptly, Mattie dropped the empty cup on the floor. ‘The king!’ Spinning around, she saw a flash of images: Linas crying in the corridor, Jael’s pained face. Fyn’s too. ‘But what happened? How?’

After a long, sleepless night, Astrid felt too tired to understand it, let alone explain it. ‘A woman killed him. Word is that they were lovers,’ she said with a nervous glance at the door. ‘His best friend’s sister. Eren. She is carrying his child.’

A confused Mattie closed her eyes. ‘But Linas?’ And now she blinked. ‘Where’s Helga?’ Nausea rushed from her belly to her throat, and she lifted a hand to her mouth, eyes bulging in horror. ‘She’s dead?’

Coming forward, tears now spilling from her eyes, Astrid touched her arm. ‘Oren Storgard was vanquished, the Osslanders brought sea-fire, and Jael set the forest on fire. The army came back. Gant and Axl and...’ She burst into tears. ‘It’s all gone wrong!’ And now, instead of Astrid comforting Mattie, it was Mattie who drew the healer into her arms, desperate to understand what had happened.

* * *

Edela felt lost.

Trapped in the fog like a fly in a web.

She wanted to see Furia, though no one came.

No one was in the fog but her.

It felt hot, like smoke masking flames, and now she saw a younger version of herself in Tuura’s old temple, standing before the great wooden statue of Daala. The majestic figure of the goddess rose up to the roof, so high that Edela had to crane her neck to catch a glimpse of her severe face.

‘Gisila doesn’t want to marry Ranuf Furyck,’ she watched herself telling the elderman. ‘She is so young. Young but quite certain of it.’

The elderman’s look was grave.

‘It is what the gods intend,’ he told the dreamer. ‘You know this yourself, Edela. You can see the path, I imagine, as others do. The importance of this alliance with the Furycks cannot be overstated. After all these years to find true peace? And that peace is contingent upon your daughter and her children. With Gisila’s marriage to Ranuf Furyck, Tuura’s safety will be assured. We will no longer fear the threat of our neighbours for the first time in centuries.’ The dreamer appeared to take no comfort from that, and he sought to reassure her, offering half a smile. ‘You will go with her, Edela. You will stay by her side and watch over the Furycks. I am sending you to help guide the king. To keep him and his family safe. Branwyn will be well cared for here, soon to find marriage herself,’ he promised. ‘She is a young woman now, and you have important matters to attend to in Andala.’

The vision faded, though the elderman continued to speak.

‘Watch over the Furycks,’ she heard him say. ‘Keep the king and his family safe. That is the path the gods have made for you, Edela Saeveld. You are to be the protector of that noble line.’

* * *

Sitting on a velvet bench beside a mud-splattered Raymon, Siggy was in tears.

She had tried being brave, not wanting to be the only one crying, though as soon as the woman calling herself Dessalene had left the chamber, loudly locking the door, she’d started sobbing. And despite the hours that had passed since then, she remained a wet-cheeked, sniffing mess. ‘What has happened to Edela? What will she do?’ she wondered wretchedly.

Raymon wrapped an arm around her, seeking to calm the girl. He was sympathetic to her distress but also desperate for her to stop making so much noise.

He couldn’t think.

Ignoring them both, a frowning Bertel was busy examining the chamber, checking the window and door, not even looking their way. Occasionally, he would stop and peer through the window, as though seeking a glimpse of the dreamer.

He looked worried.

Raymon felt worried. ‘Can you reach Edela?’ he whispered in Siggy’s ear. ‘She shouldn’t come.’ Siggy shook her head, and Raymon turned to Bertel as his last hope.

Bertel sighed. ‘I’ve tried. She can read my thoughts when we’re together, but this far apart?’ He turned away, shoulders throbbing with tension as he looked out the window once more. ‘I imagine she will come soon. But to do what?’

‘Nothing!’ Siggy blurted out. Then, aware of how loud she sounded, she hunched her shoulders and lowered her voice. ‘She has lost her magic.’

Both men blinked.

Bertel almost lunged at Siggy, grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘What do you mean, lost her magic? When did this happen?’

‘After Castala,’ Siggy said. ‘She didn’t say, but I knew it. I could tell. It’s why she couldn’t help in Pechik, that night you were attacked. It’s why she needed my help in Harsoo.’

Bertel stepped back, staring at the girl with an open mouth.

‘And she thought she would be improved when she got here?’ Raymon hissed, eyes on the door, certain he could hear footsteps approaching. ‘Is that what she thought?’ He was as shocked as Bertel but annoyed too. That Edela would bring them here in such a vulnerable state? Without any way to keep them safe?

Bertel swallowed as the implications of Siggy’s words sank in. ‘She will come here defenseless. She will –’

The footsteps stopped abruptly, the door swung open, and the auburn-haired woman with pale skin and luminous blue eyes stood before them once more, grinning as though delighting in everything she had heard. Servants filed in behind her, bringing trays of food, cups, plates, and carafes of wine. Another servant brought towels, and more carried in bowls of steaming hot water.

And soon, they filled the small chamber.

No one spoke, though Dessalene kept smiling as she waited for the servants to lay the table and prepare her guests – none of whom appeared to appreciate having their faces and hands cleaned.

She even had a servant produce a comb and start to work on Siggy’s wild hair.

Siggy’s eyes darted to Bertel. She didn’t speak, but soon Bertel saw them shining with tears, and he remembered what she’d said about Edela.

‘I’m not sure cleanliness matters if your intention is to kill us,’ Raymon growled impatiently, shaking his head at the servant trying to comb his beard and sharpening his gaze on Dessalene.

Who turned to him with a keen look in her eyes. ‘I can assure you, Raymon dear, I shall not be killing you. It is my husband who has claimed the Furycks, and I would not dare touch a hair on your head in his absence. No, only he will decide your fate.’

Raymon didn’t understand. ‘Claimed the Furycks? What are you talking about? Who is your husband?’

Though Dessalene only smiled. ‘That is a discussion for another time, for now I wish to know more about Edela. You say she has no power? Hmmm? Tell me more about that.’ And stepping towards Siggy, she placed a hand on the girl’s arm. ‘Tell me everything you know.’

* * *

Mattie soon left Astrid behind, immediately going in search of Linas. She remembered her promise to Helga to care for the boy and his dog. She had made it without thinking, just wanting to hurry the dreamer along, though now the ramifications of it had her reeling.

She had woken to an entirely new life.

The life of a mother.

Though would Linas even want such a thing?

And what had happened to him in the meantime?

Eventually, discovering that he’d fallen asleep in one of the hall bedchambers, Mattie thought to find Jael. She wanted to offer her condolences, to see what help she could provide.

Instead, she found Fyn, who had returned to the hall to see how she was.

Taking him into an empty chamber, Mattie peppered him with questions. ‘But what happened? Helga? And the king? What happened to them?’

Fyn’s chest was still swathed in bandages, though he looked much improved since she’d last seen him.

‘Are you well?’ he wanted to know first, looking her over.

She nodded impatiently, seeking to focus him. ‘Tell me. Please.’

But Fyn could only shake his head. ‘It’s... Axl was my friend. He...’ Feeling tears coming, lips quivering, he tried to compose himself. ‘No one knows exactly what happened. The woman, Eren, insists it wasn’t her, but Linas says he saw her kill his grandmother. And Axl was found in her bed, a knife in his chest.’ Words catching in his throat, he looked away.

Mattie came up behind him, touching his back, and he turned to her with tears in his eyes. ‘His wife is dead, his unborn child, and now Axl? And...’

‘And?’

‘And Jael is the queen. Jael is the Queen of Brekka.’

Open-mouthed, Mattie stared at him, not understanding. ‘But what about Oss? What about Eadmund?’

* * *

Jael had taken Eadmund to the old cottage she’d shared with Aleksander after her uncle had stolen the throne and tossed her family out of the hall. It was dark, dank, and tiny but private.

She didn’t want to be seen.

Morning light seeped through holes in the walls and gaps around the door, revealing the contours of Eadmund’s face.

She felt dead inside.

Numb outside.

Barely conscious of any sound or feeling.

Though she had to say it.

It wouldn’t be real if she didn’t say it.

‘I have to stay.’

Eadmund had known it was coming, though the words still hit him with the force of a gale. Staring at her for some time, he saw her eyes sadden and then harden. ‘I know. Of course.’ Touching her hand, he felt her flinch, as though she was surprised he was there.

And taking her hands in his, he squeezed them.

Jael wanted to pull away, to run out of the cottage and take a breath. She suddenly felt too hot. The cottage was claustrophobic, and Eadmund was too close. Tugging her hands out of his, she stepped back. ‘You don’t understand.’ Everything had been a churn of grief and confusion, noise and accusations since she’d seen Axl’s body. Everyone had been talking about Helga and Eren. About Linas. Gant had immediately started organising everything. Thorgils had come, and Fyn had been there, and they had worked to remove Axl’s body to his bedchamber in the hall.

There would be an announcement soon, though likely gossip had already spread.

Gant would call everyone into the square, and she would –

‘I have to stay,’ Jael repeated dully. ‘For good. I have to be Brekka’s queen.’ Now she dropped her head, remembering lying in that bed with Aleksander, knowing she had to leave him. He’d been desperate to hold onto her, not wanting to let go, yet she’d always known she had no choice.

There’d been no choice then, as there was no choice now.

Tears trailed down her cheeks as she lifted her head, seeing Eadmund shaking his. Coming forward, she took his hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘But –’

‘I’m the Queen of Brekka, Eadmund. I have to be. There’s no one else, and... it has to be me. I can’t abandon Brekka. I can’t leave these people without a Furyck. We’re... we’re responsible. It’s what Furia would want. What my father would want. Me. They would want me. It’s my duty.’

Eadmund hadn’t stopped shaking his head, and now his eyes filled with horror. ‘No. No! There must be someone else. Getta? What about Getta?’

‘She’s not a Furyck. You know that. It can’t be her.’

‘Though she’s been raised as one. Everyone thinks Lothar was a Furyck, and his daughter? Daughter of a king?’

Jael shook her head. ‘No. It won’t be her. It can’t.’

‘Then I’ll leave Oss! I’ll find someone. I’ll find someone and –’

‘No, Eadmund, you can’t. We both promised your father. You can’t leave Oss, and I can’t... I can’t go with you. I can’t go home.’ Tears flowed now, and she brought her hands to her face, feeling Eadmund fold her into his arms.

He was stunned, mouth wrenched open, feeling her shuddering against him. He stared at the old wall, seeing Oss. ‘The children. What about the children?’

Jael remembered her dream and she cried. She remembered her brother and the crying intensified, for everything had always made perfect sense, she just hadn’t seen it in time. ‘Bo is my heir, Sigmund is yours...’

Pulling back, Eadmund peered at her through his own tears. ‘You mean to divide the children? Our family? That we...?’

‘What choice is there?’

Eadmund was speechless, unable to close his mouth. Staring at her, he ran a hand over his head, scrubbing his scalp.

‘We’ve no choice. Tell me you see that. Tell me.’

Touching her face, Eadmund wiped away her tears. He’d rarely seen her cry, yet here she was, sobbing before him. Her brother was dead, her home was lost, her family broken, and this brand new life was being forced upon her.

Because she was a Furyck.

Furia’s.

He was silent for some time, unable to give voice to the words that would make everything real. ‘There is no choice,’ he agreed, eventually, every word a dagger to his heart. ‘No choice, but I, Jael... I –’

She kissed him. ‘I will never not love you. I will never not love you, Eadmund. No matter what happens.’ She saw a vision of him kissing a pregnant Ayla. ‘You will always be in my heart. Always be my love.’

Eadmund kissed her, hands on her face, in her hair, running up and down her back, wrapping her into a hug. He thought of her ruined back, but he held on.

She was his.

He couldn’t let her go.

She was his wife.

‘No,’ came a voice in his ears, and it was his father’s voice, sad and defeated.

‘No, Eadmund, she is Brekka’s queen.’

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A.E. RAYNE’S SUGGESTED READING ORDER

This is the order in which I wrote the books and for me, the optimal way to enjoy them (although Kings of Fate works well as an introduction to Winter’s Fury), but honestly... you can choose your own adventure!

THE FURYCK SAGA

1. Winter’s Fury

2. The Burning Sea

3. Night of the Shadow Moon

4. Hallow Wood

5. The Raven’s Warning

6. Vale of the Gods

7. Kings of Fate [prequel novella which links to The Lords of Alekka]

* * *

THE LORDS OF ALEKKA

8. Eye of the Wolf

9. Mark of the Hunter

10. Blood of the Raven

11. Heart of the King

12. Fury of the Queen [features The Furyck Saga characters]

13. Wrath of the Sun

* * *

FATE OF THE FURYCKS

[begins after Fury of the Queen]

14. The Shadow Isle

15. Tower of Blood and Flame

16. Home of the Hunted

17. Goddess of Secrets and War

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

I survive on a happy diet of historical and fantasy fiction and I particularly love a good Viking tale. My favourite authors are Bernard Cornwell, Giles Kristian, Robert Low, C.J. Sansom, and Patrick O’Brian. I live in Auckland, New Zealand, with my husband, three children and three dogs.

I promise you characters that will quickly feel like friends and villains that will make you wild, with plots that twist and turn to leave you wondering what’s coming around the corner. And, like me, hopefully, you’ll always end up a little surprised by how I weave everything together in the end!

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a.e.rayne@aerayne.com

aerayne.com

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Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2017-2018

All artwork © A.E. Rayne

A.E. Rayne asserts the moral right to be identified

as the author of this work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places described in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

Cover art © A.E. Rayne 2024

Front cover created & designed by A.E. Rayne using:

Adobe Stock: Archway (AI generated)

All other imagery generated by Midjourney AI

and extensively edited by A.E. Rayne

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Fate of the Furycks (Books 1-3)

Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2024

Amazon ASIN: B07FLGG837

The Shadow Isle

Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2023

Amazon ASIN: B0C9SDHGXX

Tower of blood and flame

Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2024

Amazon ASIN: B0CJXP58C2

Home of the Hunted

Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2024

Amazon ASIN: B0CY7Q3M56

For more information about A.E. Rayne

and her upcoming books visit:

www.aerayne.com