GODDESS OF SECRETS AND WAR

FATE OF THE FURYCKS : BOOK FOUR

A.E. RAYNE

THE CHARACTERS

In Andala

Jael Furyck, Queen of Brekka

Eadmund Skalleson, King of Oss

Thorgils Svanter, his best friend

Gant Olborn, Jael’s stepfather

Gisila Olborn, Jael’s mother

Rexon Boas, Lord of Saala

Fyn Gallas, warrior

Bram Svanter, his father

Mattie Bilso, dreamer

Kolarov Radic, explorer

Hal Harbak, Axl’s friend/councillor

Erling Venberg, Axl’s friend

Eren Venberg, Erling’s sister

Branwyn Byrn, Gisila’s sister

Aedan Byrn, her son

Astrid Ranveg, healer

Ragnar Olveggen, garrison commander

Beorn Rignor, helmsman

Linas Brugen, orphan

Kalina Sardis, former Queen of S’ala Nis

Eppypyrus ‘Pye’, manservant

Getta Vandaal, former Queen of Iskavall

Kamilla Venberg, Gisila’s friend

Ebert Venberg, her husband

Fulk Easby, Andalan warrior

Kari Klippen, Andalan warrior

Petra Stromsun, Andalan warrior

Gerald Hogen, Jael’s steward

Col Stanlyn, Jael’s junior steward

Raal Aro, helmsman

Helvor Hosben, Jael’s cook

Gully, the dog

Otter, the cat

On Oss

Ayla Adea, dreamer

Biddy ‘Brynna’ Halvor, nursemaid

Isaura Svanter, Thorgils’ wife

Milla Ulfsson, Alekkan girl

Alek Orlan, former slave

Rilda Lissan, Eadmund’s cook

In Kadak

Edela Saeveld, dreamer

Bertel Knutson, elder

Raymon Vandaal, former King of Iskavall

Korri Torluffson, Alekkan trader

Sigfrida ‘Siggy’ Larsen, novice dreamer

Zen O’yun, taverner’s grandson

Alvina Pallas, bookseller

Abat Bha, wine merchant

In Hest

Karsten Dragos, King of Hest

Freya Dragos, Queen of Hest

Berard Dragos, his brother

Meena Dragos, Berard’s wife/dreamer

Also mentioned

King Ronin Sardis

Oren Storgard, King of Iskavall

Lina Storgard, Queen of Iskavall/dreamer

Herold Valens, King of Helsabor

Mutt Storman, outlaw

Beryth Ulrik, Lady of Vallsborg

Helga Brugen, dreamer

Demaeya Boas, Lady of Saala

Klaufi Ostaberg, Lord of Kalfa

Nels Morus, Lord of Mord

Enid Morus, Lady of Mord

The Mistress

Gods & Goddesses

Daala, Mother of All

Raemus, Father of Time

Furia, Goddess of War (Osterland)

Lydea, Goddess of Dreams (Tuura)

Ahzem, God of the River (Kadak)

Sarakat, Goddess of Secrets (Kadak)

Alari, Goddess of Magic (Alekka)

Nissa, Goddess of Luck (Alekka)

Odira, Goddess of Luck (Tuura)

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.’

PART I

NO ESCAPE

1

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.’

2

Edela returned to the jungle clearing as the sun rose and the air steamed around her. She heard her empty belly rumble in complaint, and though she wanted to ignore it, she knew she had to seek food.

Food and help.

Though she had to do so safely.

Kadak’s palace beckoned, as did the Mistress, though Edela didn’t intend to go there empty-handed and half-dead. She couldn’t risk the lives of her dear companions by being ill-prepared.

No, she had to take her time to find answers.

She had to go there prepared for victory.

Dessalene sat beside Bertel, holding his hand.

He was uncomfortable with her close proximity and showed it, though he simply had no choice in the matter, for despite his best efforts, her grip was as strong as a vice – he couldn’t drag his hand away.

She kept smiling and muttering, often nodding. Occasionally, she looked surprised. He hadn’t spoken, so he could only guess that she was digging through his memories, uncovering everything he desperately needed to conceal from her. He had tried not to think of anything. He’d fixed his mind on a tapestry on the wall, focusing on every tiny detail, trying to distract her.

Perhaps it had worked, for she stood and motioned to Siggy.

‘Come. I shall show you the palace,’ Dessalene smiled. ‘For all the inconvenience of its location, it is a delight. There’s a menagerie! Have you ever seen a peacock? Well, the old king has two! They are quite magnificent, though it’s best not to get too close!’

Siggy’s eyes found Bertel’s, lingering there.

He turned to the woman, hands held out imploringly. ‘The girl has nothing to do with this. She is a child. Harmless! Surely you know everything now? What do you want her for?’

‘Know? About Edela?’ Dessalene laughed. ‘And did you go into battle blind? Is that how you would approach an enemy with a reputation like hers? But I am a warrior as much as you ever were, Bertel, so I must arm myself with knowledge about my enemy. Now come along, Siggy, and let us take a tour!’ And with a beaming smile, Dessalene shepherded the deeply reluctant girl out of the chamber.

Bertel stared at the door as it closed, catching a glimpse of the marble corridor and the armoured guards waiting outside.

He turned back around, hurrying to the window, seeking some sign of Edela.

Some hope of an escape.

Jael’s head pounded, her eyes aching as she walked Eadmund back to the hall. There was so much they needed to say and time they wanted to spend alone, though Jael had sensed Gant’s urgent need of her, and she entered the hall with a frown, surprised by how full it suddenly was. She saw Bram and Beorn talking to Thorgils in one corner. In another, Fyn sat before Astrid, who had taken off his tunic and was checking his stitches.

Not letting her eyes linger anywhere for too long, desperate not to cry again, she found Gant, whose eyebrows rose as he motioned her towards Axl’s meeting chamber.

Axl’s.

The heartbreak was raw. Everywhere she turned, she was reminded of her brother and their final talk at the high table.

His shame and regret. His despair.

She had been a terrible sister; she hadn’t helped him at all.

Reaching the chamber, Gant remained silent, ushering her inside.

To where Erling Venberg spun around with mad eyes – so much like his sister’s.

Jael felt nauseous and angry, remembering Axl’s body and the knife buried in his chest.

The blood on Eren’s hands.

‘It seems we have a problem,’ Gant muttered, almost spitting at a manic Erling.

Thoughts moving through mud, Jael didn’t understand. ‘What problem?’

‘Gant tells me you intend to declare yourself queen,’ Erling began, his words running over one another as he sought to get ahead of them both. He was distraught over Axl’s death, horrified by Eren’s supposed involvement in it, and yet determined not to abandon his own long-held plans.

‘I’m not declaring anything,’ Jael said, eyes aflame. ‘I am the queen, and you will address me as such.’

Erling looked taken aback, though he held his ground as Jael stepped around the table towards him. A brazier burned in one corner, lamps and candles aglow in a line down the long table. ‘My sister is carrying the heir to the throne. Axl’s child!’

‘Is that so?’ Jael hissed. ‘And what of Amma’s child? Do you discount him?’ She knew perfectly well that Amma was dead, taking her child with her, but Erling? What did he know of it?

‘Given her history, she will likely not carry it to term, though my sister will deliver a healthy child. A boy! She will bear the next Furyck king!’

Jael blinked as pieces of the puzzle slotted into place. ‘You planned this? You planned the child?’ And now she lunged at the man, seizing his tunic. ‘For what? To take the throne yourself? As regent? Ha! You are entirely transparent, Erling. Your greed, your desire for power. How did Axl ever think to trust a man like you?’

Erling furiously shook his shorn head. ‘This isn’t about me! My sister always loved Axl. They’d been close as children. There’d been talk of marriage then, and after Amma lost her babies, I simply encouraged a renewal of that relationship. Why not? Axl wasn’t happy. He was miserable! Why not seek my best friend’s happiness?’

‘His happiness?’ Jael sneered, shoving him away.

‘The child –’

Finally out of patience, Gant now intervened, pushing them apart. ‘And you think your sister will live long enough to deliver the child? Your sister? Murderess? But she stands accused of killing the king! The king and his dreamer, and you think she will live long enough to give birth to a child?’

Erling stumbled back. ‘She didn’t do it! Why would she? She loved him! And how? How could she have overcome a man? You’ve seen her! And Helga? The witch would have seen what was coming! It wasn’t my sister. Of course not! It’s impossible!’

Distracted by a vision, Jael turned away, seeing a glimpse of her mother on board a ship.

She was here, with Getta and Branwyn.

They had finally returned home with Amma’s body.

Shaking her head, she turned back with a snarl. ‘Your sister will not escape justice,’ she promised. ‘And her child will never rule here. If she lives and he grows up bitter and resentful, let him come for me. I would welcome it! Until then, you will hold your tongue, and I will hear no more about him or you or your demands, for if I do?’ Jael flung out a hand, temper igniting, not understanding Axl’s lifelong friendship with this petty, selfish man.

She turned to Gant, wanting him to finish things, though Erling wasn’t done yet.

‘And if I tell everyone? If I make the child’s presence known? That Axl betrayed his wife? That Eren is pregnant? Then what?’

Jael swung around, grabbing him by the throat. ‘Then I will kill you.’ She held his gaze, squeezing her hand around his neck, feeling it throbbing beneath her fingers. And finally letting him go, she turned to Gant, and her tension increased. ‘Gisila is here. We must go and meet her.’

After Jael and Gant had disappeared into the meeting chamber, a stunned Eadmund had turned to Thorgils. And seeing his friend’s quizzical look, he’d almost burst into tears.

His life was unravelling at such speed, so suddenly, that he felt breathless. Confusion had him opening and closing his mouth, though thoughts raced past him, and he was too slow to catch them. Everything was moving quickly, though he felt unable to respond.

Seeing his friend’s distress, a concerned Thorgils took him by the elbow, steering him outside. A few days of tidying up couldn’t mask the fort’s battle wounds. Sea-fire smoke had a particularly foul odour, and everything was bathed in a dirty haze. The fires were burning themselves out, though the aftermath of their destruction would linger for some time.

The square was full, though there were no bustling crowds. People moved around in silence, and Thorgils guessed that gossip had already spread. He saw eyes averted or darting to the hall, heads together or bent entirely. No one seemed victorious any longer – just in shock.

Much like Eadmund.

Thorgils quickly led his friend towards the harbour gates, wanting a little sea air.

Eadmund walked beside him, barely aware that his legs were moving until they’d passed through the gates to the docks, where he saw Sea Bear and the rest of his fleet.

And he thought of home.

‘What is it?’ Thorgils asked. ‘Has something else happened? Eadmund?’

Eadmund opened his mouth, though unable to speak, he simply shook his head.

People were staring.

Thorgils noticed it, too, and instead of crossing the cobblestoned docks to the piers, he aimed left for the gravel path leading to the cove.

‘Jael,’ Eadmund said when they were alone, hearing only the wind in the trees and the birds out at sea. ‘She won’t come back to Oss. She... won’t be coming home.’

Thorgils staggered to a stop, grabbing his friend’s arm. ‘What do you mean?’

Eadmund didn’t turn to him, he didn’t lift his eyes. ‘She is the queen here now. With Amma dead and her child lost, Jael must be the queen.’

Thorgils was gobsmacked, though it made sense – the right solution for the people of Brekka.

Though for everyone else?

‘Bo will come,’ Eadmund mumbled before him. ‘Bo will be Jael’s heir. Sigmund will stay on Oss with me. Eventually, I suppose...’ He shuddered, not understanding what was happening himself. ‘I don’t know.’

Thorgils remembered Jael’s dream – her obsession with that damn dream.

He’d dismissed her fears, though now he saw that she’d been right to worry.

‘I... a divorce? You’ll get a divorce?’

Running a hand over his mouth, tears in his eyes again, Eadmund felt like screaming. ‘Yes,’ he finally got out. ‘Yes, I expect so.’

‘And there’s nothing you can do? No other way? There must be something. What about –’

‘There is no other way!’ Eadmund snapped. ‘None! None!’ And now he dropped his head. ‘We can’t stay married on opposite sides of the Straights. We can’t just pretend –’

Thorgils grabbed hold of him, pulling him close. ‘I’m sorry, Eadmund. I’m so sorry.’

Eadmund wanted to cry, though he’d become so numb that he couldn’t even blink. He felt nothing except empty.

Powerless.

For the person he loved most in the world was being torn from his hands, and there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening.

Nothing at all.

‘What do you know of Jael Furyck?’ Dessalene wondered, leading a silent Siggy past a grand staircase towards a corridor of pale, shining marble.

A nervous Siggy had no answer. She felt dwarfed by the grand proportions of the palace and uncomfortable in the presence of the elegant woman. She smiled, her eyes sparkling with interest, though every word she spoke struck Siggy like a blade. ‘I... I don’t know her,’ she mumbled. ‘She is Edela’s granddaughter. A, a queen, but I don’t know her.’

‘Yes, a queen,’ Dessalene mused. ‘For now.’ Looking up, she saw servants scattering before her, heads bowed as they made way. ‘And her brother? How is it that Raymon is with you? A handsome young man. Once a king, I hear.’

Siggy didn’t know how to answer that. ‘I... he... Edela found him. He was in Castala, and so were we, when the –’

Stopping abruptly, Dessalene turned, placing a hand on the girl’s arm. ‘You have nothing to fear from me, Siggy, which you should be able to sense for yourself. I fear your gifts are underdeveloped for a girl of your age. A young woman! It is sad to be so lucky, yet so unfortunate at the same time.’

A frowning Siggy couldn’t mistake the insults, delivered with that delighted smile. She began to feel annoyed, which helped to focus her mind.

The woman started walking again, and Siggy had to hurry to keep up.

‘And why were you in Castala?’ Dessalene purred. ‘Why did you leave Tuura behind? It seems such an odd place to find a novice dreamer from Osterland.’

‘There was an attack,’ Siggy explained. ‘Edela helped us escape just in time. We took a boat, but the men found us and...’ Eventually, Siggy merely shrugged. ‘We were just trying to escape danger.’

‘I see. And Edela? Who warned her about what would happen in Tuura? Who helped her?’

Siggy looked confused. ‘No one did. She’s a dreamer. She saw it herself.’

‘Is that what she told you?’

Siggy shook her head. ‘No one told her. There was no one there, just Bertel and Lina and me. No one else was in the forest. No one!’

Dessalene could see that the girl was no liar. So there was nothing else for it. She simply had to wait for the old dreamer to arrive herself, and then everything would become clear.

In the glare of an intense morning sun, undaunted by the odd cloud, Gisila could only see silhouettes waiting on the pier – none of which looked familiar. She had hoped to see Gant. She feared seeing Axl, still wondering how she might begin telling him about Amma, though instead, she recognised the unmistakably tall figure of her daughter.

It was at first surprising and joyful, and then immediately concerning.

Eyes sweeping the docks, seeing few people paying attention to the arriving ships, Gisila squinted at the sunlight and shadows, finally seeing Gant. Shoulders sinking with relief, she felt a slight lessening of tension.

Though where was Axl?

Jael walked forward, eyes on her mother, heart in her mouth.

She wanted to vomit.

She saw Branwyn and Getta and the funeral shroud covering Amma, and her nausea intensified.

Her eyes snapped to Hal Harbak and the Venbergs, immediately distracted by a flash of anger.

And then Gisila started calling to her as she was helped out of the ship.

‘Jael! Jael!’

Her mother stumbled, unsteady, dark blue dress wrapping around her legs.

Jael didn’t move now. Shoulders made of iron, body vibrating, she held her place.

In thirty-two years, she had never sought comfort from her mother. Never needed it, never wanted it. She would go to Edela, or to Aleksander or...

‘Jael?’

This was not how it was supposed to go.

Shaking her head, she tried blinking her tears away, though they kept coming, trickling down her cheeks, and she saw the realisation in Gisila’s eyes. ‘I...’

Her mother staggered back, hand at her throat. Her lips had parted, though no words came out. Branwyn was soon behind her, and Hal, and they moved forward as though to catch her.

Gisila peered at Gant, who remained at a distance.

Back to Jael, who was not herself.

Jael, who was trying to compose herself and failing.

‘No!’ she screamed, falling forward. ‘No!’ she shrieked, loud enough to stop everyone in their tracks. ‘My boy! Axl!’ And wailing hysterically, she fell to the pier, onto her knees, rolling forward. ‘Axl! No! No!’

Dropping to the pier, Jael wrapped her arms around her. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Mother.’

Gisila flung up her head, mouth wrenched open. ‘He’s dead? Dead? And you didn’t save him? Why? How? Why didn’t you save him! The king! Your brother, my boy... and you, you didn’t save him?’

Jael was shocked, falling backwards, her mother spitting violently at her.

Gant was there, and he pulled Gisila onto her feet and into his arms, not a tear in his eyes, no expression on his face. ‘Ssshhh, ssshhh,’ he soothed, stroking his wife’s dark hair as she collapsed against him.

Behind her, Hal looked around in confusion. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked of a clearly distressed Jael. ‘My lady?’

Getta was there now, too, and Branwyn, who hurried to help Jael to her feet. She saw Aedan and Kayla, who both came forward with looks of shock and sympathy.

‘Axl was killed,’ Aedan explained to his horrified mother, hearing Gisila howling as she was ushered off the pier by Gant. ‘He...’ Aedan became tearful himself, unable to go on.

‘He was murdered by Eren Venberg,’ Jael said, eyes fixed, not on her aunt, but on Hal. ‘She stabbed him.’ She shook her head, certain she was saying something that wasn’t true. It didn’t seem true or possible. Even plausible. Though there was no other explanation for it yet.

A shocked Hal turned to a gasping Getta.

Jael saw Kayla and Aedan comforting Branwyn, and turning away from them, she heard her mother’s cries of anguish as her heart shattered.

Her last son.

Having given birth to three healthy boys, Gisila Olborn, former Queen of Brekka, has just lost the last of them.

Raymon was certain he was about to die.

He cursed himself for agreeing to accompany Edela. If only he’d –

Then, shaking his head, he cursed himself for being so pathetic.

Edela was in danger, Siggy and Bertel were in danger, and he was thinking about himself? Looking to escape his troubles?

Again?

Sitting in the deathly silence of the chamber, watching Bertel march around the room with a manic energy that wasn’t dissipating, he felt ashamed. Not only of wishing he’d chosen a different fate in Harsoo but of leaving Ollsvik in the first place. Of always wanting to run away.

Dropping his head to his hands, he imagined what his mother would think of him now. Or his real father, Ranuf Furyck. That their son was such a cowardly boy? A boy who’d tried to escape his destiny and everyone’s expectations of him. To run from all that was hard and unpleasant.

And if he were to die here, which it appeared likely that he was, what legacy would he leave behind?

Who would choose to remember a coward?

Looking up, he met Bertel’s eyes. ‘We have to do something.’

Bertel appeared surprised, momentarily hopeful, then despondent. ‘We are not dreamers or gods, and even if we were armed, we’d still have little chance of escape.’ Raymon made to scoff, though Bertel sharpened his gaze as he came forward, sitting on a low table before the young man. ‘When you look at me, you see an elder, well past his best, heading to his end. I’m creaking and old and full of complaints. I see it myself. I embrace it, I think. Now. But once, many years ago, I led armies into battle. I was vicious. A skilled, focused killer. And I promise you, Raymon, there is no way out of here. Not for all three of us. The woman was smart to take Siggy away. We won’t leave her behind.’

Raymon blinked; he hadn’t known that about Bertel.

Blowing out a long breath, he looked up at the window. ‘We need Korri. Korri and the men.’

‘We do. Or an Edela as powerful as the woman who killed the Silurans, but we don’t have either, so there’s little to do now but wait. Edela knows we’re here, and likely she’s doing whatever is in her power to try and help us. I wish I could tell her not to. She has been tasked with something very important, so she should not sacrifice herself here. She should not sacrifice herself for us.’

Edela was out of breath.

After securing the two horses and Siggy’s pony, she had ridden through the jungle towards Bhyan’s village, looking for a healer. She’d had an idea, though she needed supplies. The path was knotted vines and thorny branches, the heat sapping her energy, and she worried that she wouldn’t be able to find her way back. Though ploughing on, she finally entered the little village with its wooden shacks, stalls, and sheds. They had stopped here for directions and supplies before heading to the palace, though she was too exhausted to think clearly.

She saw men gathered outside a shed, and though they appeared to be arguing, her instinct was to go and ask for directions to the healer.

Inhaling a breath and a few bugs, and feeling more insects flapping around her, Edela turned, shooing them away.

She almost fell off her pony.

For standing at a distance was Korri Torluffson, head cocked to one side, staring at her.

3

Having entered the King’s Hall, Gant had taken Gisila to their bedchamber, though she was making herself ill with grief. In fact, she had vomited repeatedly, and unable to comfort her, he had called in Branwyn to help.

She’d immediately sent for Astrid.

Gant had stayed by his wife’s side, doing his best to soothe her until Branwyn had sensed his need to leave.

He met his sister-in-law by the door as Gisila lay on the bed, knees clutched to her chest, weeping. ‘I must call everyone into the square,’ he murmured. ‘Time is of the essence.’ He looked back at Gisila, feeling torn. ‘I’ll return as soon as I’m able.’

Branwyn nodded. ‘Slip out now. Astrid will come and bring something to help calm her.’

Gant didn’t want to leave, but he had to control what happened next; he had to be in command of it all. So, with a distracted nod, he headed into the corridor, where he found Ragnar talking to a hissing Gerald.

‘My lord!’ the old steward exclaimed, straightening up. ‘I did say we weren’t to disturb you, but –’

‘People are gathering in the square,’ Ragnar warned. ‘We need to say something. Ebert Venberg wants a word too. He’s out of his mind with anger. His wife with him. They want to know what’s happening to their daughter, and if they gather their allies around them? He’s already mentioning names.’

Gant walked past Ragnar, leaving Gerald in a muddle behind him, and into the very full hall. He saw Rexon and Aedan, Eadmund and Thorgils. His eyes skipped past them, searching for Jael.

Seeing no sign of her, he headed for Eadmund.

‘She went to the stables,’ Eadmund told him. ‘To be alone.’

A nodding Gant could hardly breathe. He had a fist in his chest – a great lump of painful tension – and it was preventing him from inhaling much at all. He motioned for Rexon to join them, and Ragnar was there too. ‘We need to send everyone into the square for the announcement. I’ll get Jael.’ Seeing Eadmund frown, he shook his head. ‘Or you can? We just need her there, to explain...’ His words trailed off, realising, in his haste, that he’d dismissed what this abrupt change meant for Eadmund Skalleson. And seeing heartbreak in the king’s eyes, an embarrassed Gant looked away.

‘It’s best if we stay in here,’ Eadmund muttered. ‘It’s important that it’s about Brekka.’

Gant was grateful for his composure, and with a nod, he turned to Ragnar. ‘We’ll announce everything in the square, then I’ll deal with the Venbergs.’ He saw Hal out of the corner of his eye and leaned towards Ragnar. ‘Get Hal on side. Have him work on the Venbergs, on Erling, and any of their allies. We’ll start there. Organise the garrison too. Get Fulk to help you. We want to be alert to any trouble.’ And seeing Ragnar nod, Gant turned to the door. ‘I’ll find Jael and meet you in the square.’ Though thinking that through, he turned back to Eadmund. ‘I am sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘Very sorry, though Jael has no choice, I’m afraid. She’s always known what being a Furyck means. There’s no other choice for Brekka now.’

Axl’s chestnut mare, Eiyo, was in the stall next to Tig, and just seeing her enormous liquid brown eyes, Jael felt another wave of grief rising, knowing the poor horse would never see her master again.

Her best friend.

And now she turned to her own best friend, Tig. Opening the stall, she saw how alert he was – not surprised to see her, but awaiting her. He could smell her, as she could smell him, and nodding his head, he nudged it against her waist, snorting and sniffing as he sought out her hand.

She had a carrot, and she let him gobble it up, enjoying the feel of his warm breath on her cold palm. She smiled as she stroked his black coat, immediately comforted by it. He was in good condition, she was pleased to see, though likely just as desperate for a ride as she was.

‘My lady?’ came a squeaky voice, and Jael turned to see the red-haired stable boy, Orm, staring at her. ‘Did you want me to take him to the paddocks? Only the king hasn’t come this morning, and I... well, I thought it best to wait till I heard what he wanted.’ Surprised by the tears in the queen’s eyes, he quickly dropped his head, and unsure of what to say, he scuffed the straw with his boots.

Jael felt just as unsure, though she knew Orm, who had been working in the king’s stables since he was a young boy. ‘How long have you cared for Eiyo?’ she asked.

Lifting his head, Orm’s bright blue eyes lit up. ‘Since she was a foal, my lady! Since I was a boy. With my father, I was, when she was born. The king wasn’t wrong to choose her. She’s fearless but even-tempered. A loyal girl. A good girl.’ And moving to Eiyo’s stall, he held out a hand, letting the mare nuzzle it before bringing the other one around and surprising her with a tiny apple.

‘Then she shall be yours,’ Jael said quietly. ‘My brother trusted you to care for her, and now I will trust you to be her master.’

Orm felt strange. ‘But why, my lady?’

‘Because... because my brother is dead. He was killed last night. He won’t be coming back, so you must take care of her. Do you understand?’

Now Orm’s eyes shone with tears. ‘But –’

‘And Tig here. He’ll be staying too. I will need you to care for both of them now.’

The boy was a nodding, sniffing mess when Gant stepped into the stables, eyes adjusting to the darkness, quickly finding Jael.

‘I must go now, though I’ll return when I can, and we can talk more. The other horse that was brought in? The black mare with the star? I would like to keep her. We’ll talk more soon.’ And with a brief nod to the boy and a lingering look at Tig, Jael turned to Gant, following him out of the stables.

Korri and his men gathered around the red-faced dreamer, who was quickly helped off her pony.

She wept at the sight of those familiar faces, feeling tears coming as she glanced at each of them before her eyes rested on Korri, who opened his arms.

‘I had a bad feeling,’ he revealed, wrapping Edela into a hug. ‘And it seems I wasn’t wrong to. Does that make me a dreamer now?’ he joked. Though hearing her sniffing against his shoulder and seeing that she was alone, he pulled back, feeling concerned.

‘Where’s Siggy?’ Zen asked with a frown. ‘And Raymon?’

‘Captured,’ Edela revealed, hearing the intakes of breath like an echo around her. ‘All of them captured by the woman in the palace.’

Korri was stunned. ‘The Mistress?’

Edela nodded. ‘She has taken them prisoner, and if I’m to rescue them, I must enter it. I... I came in search of supplies. For something that might help me. I was looking for the healer.’

Korri smiled. ‘Well, you’ve found more than a healer, Edela. You’ve found arms and legs. Men with horses and weapons.’ Despite the nods of those around him, he saw the dreamer start to shake her head. Holding up a hand, he sought to silence her. ‘I should never have listened to you in Harsoo. From the moment you left, nothing felt right. This journey you’re on, we’ve been a part of it too. It’s too important to walk away from, you are too important to walk away from, so we’ll be going to this palace, Edela, to rescue our friends. I do hope you’ll come along.’ And with that, Korri stepped back, eyeing her sternly. ‘You cannot think to do this alone. Not if you’re to live for what comes next. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because you needed help?’

A stunned Edela eventually nodded, not trusting herself with words. She felt gratitude and shame, determination and fear, but most of all, she felt relieved. ‘Perhaps we can find something to drink, and I... I can tell you about my plan. Now that you’re here, it might just have a chance.’

Dessalene returned Siggy to the chamber, where Bertel and Raymon sat silently on opposite sides of the room, looking tense. She felt delighted, though slightly impatient. Having captured Edela’s companions, she had expected the old dreamer to hurry to their aid.

She planned to kill the annoying hag and end whatever quest she was on, but first, she needed answers.

The Mistress demanded them.

In anticipation of that, she had made her preparations, though as the morning lengthened, now approaching midday, she started to wonder what was causing the delay.

Had she miscalculated?

Perhaps Edela had less affection for her little friends than she’d believed?

Or maybe she was hard at work on her own plans?

Though, according to everything she had read in Bertel’s and Siggy’s thoughts, the old woman had little, if any, power left.

It was perplexing and yet also thrilling.

She had been humiliated on S’ala Nis by Jael Furyck, and by Inesh Seppo and his logi. Shuddering, she remembered the pain of the blow to her face and the hideous mess the woman had made. It was healed now, and thanks to prompt action by Ronin, her nose was mended, though the memories lingered uncomfortably.

Though Dessalene was determined not to be beaten a second time. And no matter what Edela Saeveld’s intentions were, she was coming here to die.

Andala’s square was filling quickly as Gant and Jael made their way towards its centre.

Ragnar had brought out the platform once used by Ranuf Furyck to make his proclamations to all of Andala. Jael could almost see her father up there, needing little effort to convey his booming voice to the farthest reaches of the crowd.

And as for her own?

She kept thinking of Eadmund, wanting to see him, though Gant had warned that he would stay in the hall, out of the way, with the rest of the Osslanders.

The thought was jarring, though Jael knew it was only the beginning.

Bile flooded her mouth, and she needed to spit. She felt a burning sensation in her throat, intense pains in her chest, and she wanted to turn and run back to Tig. To stop it all happening. To simply stop it before the words were spoken and there was no going back. Though she kept walking, her expression stern, her eyes seeking and meeting those she knew, waiting in the crowd. She didn’t shy away from their enquiring gazes now, for these were her people, and they needed to have faith and confidence in their new queen.

They had survived an attack from their own, from their neighbours. They were just about to have it confirmed that their king and queen had been murdered, and Jael knew that she had to deliver what they needed to see.

Not herself.

She could not take to that platform as herself.

She could not tell them that she wanted to go back to Oss, to her husband and her children and her island friends.

That her heart no longer longed for Brekka.

Gant left her standing at the side of the platform, and now the humming crowd became deathly silent.

Jael stood as though made of stone, seeing glimpses of her mother collapsing on the pier and her brother lying dead in Eren Venberg’s bed. She thought of a sobbing Linas, who deserved to know why his grandmother had died, and Oren Storgard, who had run away from Andala but likely not for good. She remembered Dessalene and Ronin and their desire to kill her. Her friends. Amma’s body and the mystery of who had killed her –

A sudden wailing noise drew her out of her wandering thoughts, and she watched as the crowd became unsettled, moving and muttering with worry. And now Jael cleared her mind and mounted the platform beside Gant.

‘... and therefore, our new queen will be Jael Furyck!’ he called, at once silencing that shocked and grieving crowd. ‘Ranuf’s daughter has come home to us! She saved us from Oren Storgard and Mutt Storman! She will restore the Brekka we know! Rid us of the traitors! She will make this kingdom safe for those who wish to raise their families and live their lives in peace! She will be your new queen! Jael Furyck!’

Standing in the doorway, watching from the hall, Eadmund waited to hear his wife speak. He could only imagine how she was feeling. It was easy to think about himself, to be consumed by what he was losing, and so suddenly, but when he imagined how Jael was feeling, how she had to stand up there beside Gant and proclaim herself queen of these people, knowing what it would cost her, he felt only sympathy for his wife.

And pride.

She was everything her father could have wished for.

Though he feared for her and for himself.

Unable to imagine how he would leave her behind.

Having mounted the platform with something resembling confidence, Jael felt it suddenly crumble beneath her, and she was almost tongue-tied when Gant introduced her.

She tried not to look as surprised as she felt at that moment, though soon the silence became uncomfortable, and she sensed that Gant was ready to poke her into action.

‘My brother’s murderer will be found!’ she began loudly. ‘Found and put to death before you all! And Queen Amma! I will uncover who poisoned her in Angard, and her unborn child too!’ She took a breath, steadying herself, surveying the sea of heads. She felt removed – not one of them.

She would swear an oath to be their protector, their saviour, but never their friend.

‘We have new enemies!’ she cried. ‘New and old! But they have miscalculated, for to wound Brekka is to awaken a bear!’ Her voice strengthened now, and pushing down her shoulders, she lifted her head. ‘I will not rest until Saala is ours, until Rosby, Borsund, and Skorn are freed from the traitors! Until the murderers of innocent Brekkans and her king and queen are dead! Until we are once again safe and free! That I promise you as your queen! I will never stop fighting for you! For our kingdom! For Furia!’

The cheers were immediate, Gant was pleased to see. The applause enthusiastic.

He’d been holding his breath, fearing Jael couldn’t do it. That she couldn’t overcome her profound grief to become who she needed to be in this critical moment. Though she had never been one to underestimate, and he wasn’t surprised to see that she was proving him wrong once again.

Turning to her, he saw features that were familiar. She had Gisila’s expressive eyes. They could be hard and calculating, but they also shone with feeling. She had her mother’s elegant neck and long, lustrous hair, too, though she had her father’s straight, determined nose and his sharp cheekbones – the broad shoulders that carried her with such strength and poise.

He could see her swollen eyes, how tired she looked, and after hearing what had happened on S’ala Nis, he knew she must be in pain, but those cheering Andalans saw only a Furyck, as strong as those who had come before. And, he was pleased to see, it appeared to give them confidence.

Jael said a little more to reassure those before her, though words alone would not save Brekka. And despite Gant’s thoughts turning to his bereft wife, in desperate need of his comforting arms, his attention quickly returned to their prisoner, Eren Venberg, and what they were going to do about the woman who’d murdered the king.

Mattie had taken Otter to check on Linas, who had been asleep for a long time, guarded faithfully by the ever-loyal Gully. The black dog was drinking from a bowl of water when she entered the chamber, which felt airless with the curtain closed. Looking up, mouth dripping, Gully appeared excited to see her, and Otter, who she placed on the floor before turning to the bed, where Linas Brugen sat in a crumpled tunic, his skinny legs dangling, not long enough to touch the floor.

He peered at her with sad, sleepy eyes.

‘I thought you might like a visit from Otter,’ Mattie smiled. ‘Or something to eat and drink? The kitchen is brimming with food. You can have anything you desire. Helvor told me to tell you. The choice is yours.’ Coming forward, Mattie sat on the bed beside the boy, feeling strange.

He was her boy now.

All of a sudden, she had an eight-year-old child and a dog relying solely on her for their meals, the roof over their heads. Their safety.

Glancing at Otter, she wondered what he thought about that.

And Linas? Would he even want her?

‘I had a lot of dreams,’ Linas said. ‘And nightmares.’

‘Oh?’ Turning to him, Mattie barely blinked, waiting for him to speak. He had cried so much that his voice was hoarse, his eyes mere slits. She stayed still, resisting the urge to fuss.

‘My grandmother was dead.’

Holding her breath, Mattie watched him.

‘In my nightmare, she was dead,’ Linas whispered. ‘I saw her die. And the woman. I saw her do it. I saw the woman kill her!’

Hal had been sent to deal with the Venbergs.

He was more than happy to, for he wanted to understand what had happened. He loved Eren, Axl was dead, and he desperately needed to understand.

Erling and his parents had gathered in their house, shutters drawn. Kamilla Venberg had appeared reluctant to let Hal in, though Erling had dismissed her concerns, desperate to know what was unfolding in the hall.

Barely taking a breath, he grabbed Hal’s arm. ‘What are they saying? About Eren? What are their plans?’

Hal felt still at sea, the floor shifting and tilting as though it was made of waves, not wood, and he hesitated to reply, suddenly aware of the two blazing fires and the intense stares of all three Venbergs. ‘I know very little. I don’t understand what happened. I came to find out about Eren. About what I might do to help.’ He heard Ebert’s sudden intake of breath, sucked through crooked teeth, and Kamilla’s gasp of despair.

‘They say she killed him!’ Erling spat, scanning Hal’s face, wanting to determine whether he was friend or foe. ‘Eren? But she loved him!’

Hal’s jaw slackened as he looked from Erling to his parents, neither of whom appeared taken aback by that statement, though he certainly was. ‘Loved him? What do you mean? But Axl was married.’

Erling snorted. ‘To a wife who couldn’t give him an heir. A weak, sickly girl!’

Hal felt incensed, remembering carrying Amma in his arms after her collapse. She’d always been kind to him, and she’d suffered a cruel, cruel end. ‘A weak girl? She was a queen, Erling! Our queen, who was just poisoned. She was poisoned in Angard!’

The Venbergs knew this all too well, and they remained silent.

Erling studied his irate friend, seeking to change the subject, wanting to keep him on side. Hal had always been so pliable, and it would be useful having him report back on what was happening in the hall.

‘And as for Axl? I don’t understand,’ Hal muttered, stepping back, away from those torturous fires and the wild-eyed Venbergs. ‘How did it happen?’

‘They say Eren killed him,’ Kamilla sobbed, collapsing in a flood of tears. ‘They say she killed the king, and now they will kill her! But she didn’t! Of course she didn’t! She has his child! She loved him! Why would they accuse her of such an evil act?’

‘Because they seek to get rid of her, Mother. Of the problem she creates,’ Erling hissed. ‘Her and the child. You know this. They want to install that bitch as the queen, dismissing Eren’s son’s claim to the throne. Instead, they paint her a murderess, thereby clearing the path. They have done this! They have done this to us!’

Hearing Erling’s venomous tirade against Brekka’s new queen, Hal’s head was spinning. Mouth open, he looked from Kamilla to Erling, not noticing the servant, who had appeared at his right elbow with a tray, offering him ale. He took a pewter goblet without thinking, holding it in his hand. ‘Eren is with child? Axl’s child?’

‘Yes,’ Ebert said, coming forward to take his own goblet. A man of weak-bearing, he was especially fond of his daughter, and his narrow face appeared to have aged considerably in the brief span of the morning. ‘They seek to mark the girl as some sort of villainous hussy trying to trap a king, though her feelings for him were never a secret.’

Hal peered at him in surprise, having known Erling, Eren, and Axl his entire life.

It had certainly been a secret from him.

‘You must help us, Hal,’ Erling implored, again tugging his friend’s sleeve. ‘They have taken Eren. Hidden her away from us. They won’t let us see her or even know where she is. You need to find her. Please.’

Hal sipped the ale, suddenly aware of his desperate thirst. He nodded. ‘Of course. Yes, I will.’

Mattie sat patiently beside Linas, watching as Otter hopped on the bed, immediately seeking out the boy. And stepping onto his little lap, he gently worked his paws, wanting Linas’ attention, though Linas was entirely focused on Mattie and he didn’t even raise a hand to the cat.

‘The woman lifted my grandmother in the air,’ he said in a halting voice. ‘I saw her.’ His bottom lip wobbled violently, and soon tears were falling like big drops of rain.

Mattie took his hand, wanting to encourage him to carry on.

‘My grandmother said to go. I didn’t want to go, but she... she wanted me to save the king!’ Linas cried hopelessly, then finally exhausted by it, he slumped forward, sniffing loudly. ‘But I couldn’t find the king, I couldn’t save him, and now, and now, he’s dead too!’

Mattie nodded. ‘Yes, he is, though it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have saved him, Linas. For all that it’s tragic and sad, I believe it was meant to be.’ She thought of Jael then, seeing an image of her standing amongst a square full of Andalans, feeling her deep sadness.

Linas hadn’t really listened. He kept seeing what had happened, first in the street and then in the cottage where Eren Venberg sat in a chair, wringing hands of blood. ‘I saw the woman, but it wasn’t her,’ he mumbled, shaking his head. ‘My grandmother said it wasn’t her. That’s what she said. Not her.’

Mattie blinked. ‘Not her?’

‘Her eyes were different,’ Linas added. ‘They were a different colour. She was the same, but they were different.’

‘Well, I shall make sure the queen knows,’ Mattie promised, struggling to understand what it might mean.

‘I want to help!’ the boy insisted loudly. ‘Please, my lady! I want to stop them before they kill someone else’s grandmother!’ And bursting into tears again, he fell into Mattie’s arms.

4

Making her way back to the hall, Jael saw Eadmund. He appeared caught between remaining inside or heading out to find her. She could hear his thoughts and his confusion, and she smiled as she made her way towards him. Though it was a smile of such sadness that she wasn’t sure she was smiling at all.

‘There’s so much to do,’ she sighed, and reaching him, she took his hand, aware that every pair of eyes had suddenly snapped to them. It was irritating, and deprived of a proper sleep for too long, she felt far from tolerant.

Leading Eadmund away from the hall, Jael aimed for the stables again, knowing it was one of the only places offering privacy now.

Orm had worked diligently, and the horses were in the paddocks. He had returned to the stables and was busy topping up the straw, though sending him on his way and closing the door, Jael turned to Eadmund. ‘There’s so much to do,’ she repeated, seeing a kind of death in his eyes – a feeling she was powerless to change. Everything was happening so quickly, and she was desperate to slow it down, though she felt caught in a strong tide, certain that no matter what she said or did, it wasn’t going to bend to her will. ‘I have to be everywhere.’

Eadmund nodded. ‘I imagine you do. Can I do anything? To help?’

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to be with him, to do it all with him. ‘No,’ she said instead, running her hands up his arms. ‘You should go back to Oss. To the children.’

He blinked, stepping back now. ‘I –’

‘I’ll have to go south,’ Jael realised, thinking of Rexon and Saala. ‘I have to find the traitors. The children should stay with you for now. I’ll have to go.’

Eadmund thought of their hall and their chamber. Their bed. Their chairs.

Their dogs.

All of it theirs.

Stepping back, he threw up his hands. ‘I can’t!’ he exploded. ‘We can’t do this –’

Jael stared at him, unsure of what to say.

‘It makes no sense!’ Eadmund barked, knowing it made perfect sense if you weren’t the two people involved in this marriage, whose hearts were bound to each other in love. ‘I can’t leave you!’ You need me, he wanted to add, but he knew that wasn’t true. Or perhaps it was? She looked so uncertain before him, so tired and tentative. ‘I can’t leave you,’ he breathed. ‘I just can’t, Jael.’ Shaking his head, he came forward again, touching her face. ‘Winter will come, the sea will freeze, and we’ll be so far apart.’

Jael saw his desperation – it mirrored her own.

She thought of that frozen sea, like a locked door.

Once The Freeze came to the Nebbar Straights, there was no way through.

‘We have no choice,’ she whispered, pressing her lips to his, eyes wide open. ‘No choice but to let go now.’ And then his hands were in her hair, and he was kissing her, and for a moment, she forgot everything.

Initially glowing with confidence, Dessalene was becoming irate as the afternoon hurried on. When she closed her eyes, she saw nothing of Edela. The jungle clearing appeared empty. There was no sign of her near the palace compound or outside its gates, and she was certainly not inside.

So where was she?

Why had she disappeared from view?

Leaving her prisoners locked in their chamber, she stalked the palace, seeking answers. Though unable to uncover any, she headed to her bedchamber, aiming for her altar. She thought of Pye for the first time in days, missing him hopping along behind her, desperate to do her bidding. Now she had pointless Kadakian servants, none she could trust, and without Ronin, she felt oddly alone.

They had often lived separate lives, for he was obsessed with ships and weapons while she was kept busy doing the Mistress’ bidding. After so many years of marriage, it was often preferrable to have that distance, though now?

They hadn’t parted on good terms, and she felt a twinge of regret about that.

Taking a taper and holding it in the fire, blazing brightly in the giant stone hearth, she lit the candles framing her altar. The bright glow of flames was immediately soothing, the scent of sweet olive flowers relaxing, and inhaling deeply, she sought to centre herself again. Balance was everything in magic, so it was unwise to become overwrought.

Licking both index fingers, she dipped her left into a small pot of black powder, her right into a pot of red powder, and expelling a slow breath, she started painting symbols at the edges of the mirror propped up before the candles. At once, her body was awakened and vibrating, shivers running up and down her spine.

‘You disturb me,’ came the snarling voice. ‘Is that with good news, Dessalene? Do you have good news for me?’

Dessalene’s stomach cramped, though calmer now, she projected confidence. ‘Mistress, I have captured Edela Saeveld’s companions. I have Raymon Vandaal prisoner. He is mine.’

Silence.

In the discomfort of that silence, a squirming Dessalene hurried to offer more. ‘Edela has lost her powers. She defeated herself as much as those fools in Castala. She stripped herself of any gifts she may once have claimed, and now she will come to me on her knees, as the creaking old woman she truly is.’

Laughter.

Caught off guard, a surprised Dessalene scrambled to say more, though she was immediately cut off.

‘I have some tolerance for the curse of your humanity, Dessalene. But only some. Mistakes are distasteful, and yours particularly so. I do not make them myself, so I see little need to tolerate them in others.’

Dessalene had frozen, listening.

‘I hope you have prepared for your guest? That you have thought of everything, for I now have another helper, someone with the potential to be far more useful to me than you and your husband have ever been.’

Dessalene jerked up her head, eyes fixed on the mirror. She saw the surprise on her face. The horror. And now the mirror darkened, and she saw another face.

A woman.

Her pale features were strong, handsome, though her eyes were ice, and Dessalene shivered.

‘Not every dreamer in Osterland was killed by Kalina’s hapless warriors,’ the Mistress purred. ‘And though I may have been disappointed at the time, their incompetence will certainly prove helpful to me now. And you? What use will you be to me, Dessalene? I believe we will both soon find out...’

Dessalene blinked, the pains in her stomach making her want to curl forward. Fingertips tingling, she stared into the mirror, only to see herself once more.

She nodded confidently, heart racing, and twirling her hair over one shoulder, she stroked it like a tail, seeking comfort, determined to do everything she could to defeat Edela Saeveld and deliver on her promise.

As the wife of an ambitious king who had cultivated a powerful web of allies across the Fire Lands, and into Kadak and beyond, Dessalene had lived a life of luxury and privilege. Though despite her efforts, she had never been able to conceive a child with Ronin.

Kalina was a spoiled brat, and she would inherit S’ala Nis, but Ronin had always wanted a son. A son to carry on his name.

A son who would become a king.

‘I can gift you what you most desire,’ the Mistress had promised her. ‘You cannot help but love Ronin, and though he appears loyal to you, he has plans to replace you. I have heard his mutterings myself. I have seen the parade of women he takes to his bed. So young and fertile. Ronin loves you deeply, though he fears you are too old to become the wife he needs.’

Her taunts were motivating, for Dessalene’s dreams had revealed as much.

Ronin would find another wife soon.

She was running out of time.

Hal returned to the hall determined to help Eren and her family. He didn’t understand what had happened or how Axl had ended up dead, but after spending time at the Venbergs’ house and remembering the sweet loveliness of Eren, he knew it couldn’t have been anything to do with her.

It was a mistake. A terrible mistake.

Gant stopped him by the high table. ‘What did you find out?’

Hal blinked, seeing Getta coming, a frown dug into her miserable face. Though it wasn’t an unpleasant face, and despite the terrible circumstances, she had been good company on their journey to Angard and back.

Gant turned to see Getta, and realising that she was just as curious as himself, he turned back to Hal, demanding his answer.

‘They... well, they insist Eren has done nothing wrong. She is carrying Axl’s child. They say she has been accused because of her... feelings for the king.’

‘Lower your voice,’ Gant growled, moving Hal towards the tapestry hanging behind Axl’s chair. It was new, he remembered – a gift from Amma to her husband. He swallowed, rushing to shut away the images that would only make his task impossible; he couldn’t afford to feel anything now. ‘What happened between Axl and Eren is no concern of anyone else’s. We seek only the truth, and the truth is that Axl died in that woman’s bed. How else did her knife get in his chest?’

‘But –’ Hal protested.

Getta glared at him. ‘Who is she to you?’ she demanded. ‘You have feelings for her?’ She looked disgusted, turning to Gant. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by seeking help from the woman’s ally. She killed the king, so she must die.’

Gant wanted to agree with her, though despite what she knew, Jael had reservations, and he frowned. ‘Acting in haste won’t serve us in these early days. The Venbergs are more powerful than you likely realise.’

‘And you care for the loyalty of the murderess’ parents?’ Getta hissed, discounting Hal entirely. ‘You still think they would make good allies?’

‘I think killing a pregnant woman, daughter of a prominent family, is not something a new queen should seek to do lightly,’ Gant hissed back.

Hal couldn’t even believe they were discussing it. ‘You would kill her while she carries Axl’s child?’ He turned to Getta, incredulous.

‘You think me unjust? But the woman murdered a king,’ Getta growled, stepping forward with a wagging finger. ‘A Furyck! I am proposing nothing but swift justice.’

Gant separated them. ‘We need to know more.’ He held up a hand to silence Getta, who appeared unstoppable in her thin-lipped rage. ‘I will find out more and we will speak again. Hal, go and help Ragnar. He’s taken men up the King’s Road to prepare the burial mound.’ And once again, Gant felt something trying to break through his walls of stone, though tightening his right hand into a fist, he pushed it back behind them. ‘Getta, you go and help Branwyn with Gisila. And the hall. Help Gerald and Col keep an eye on the hall.’ And with that, he left both them and his feelings behind, wanting to find Rexon.

Fyn found Jael issuing orders, surrounded by a huddle of men. One was her cousin, Aedan, he saw, and nodding at him, he watched as Jael dismissed everyone and turned to face him.

He didn’t know what to say, though he’d felt aimless all day, as though he was in the way. ‘What can I do?’

‘Help Eadmund,’ Jael said, heading away from the square, aiming for the alley that would take her to the cottage where Eren Venberg was being kept. ‘It’s what I need from you now. For you to go back to Oss. You’ll be leaving tomorrow. They all will,’ she mumbled, eyes lowered.

Fyn staggered to a stop, though Jael wasn’t waiting for him, and he was forced to quicken his pace to catch her. ‘Leaving? I don’t understand! Jael!’ And though he was now back by her side, he couldn’t get her attention. ‘I’m supposed to be with you. To help you. I have to stay here.’

Stopping abruptly as they entered the alley, Jael turned to him. ‘Not anymore, Fyn. After what happened, everything must change.’

He was horrified. ‘But I –’

‘Eadmund needs you,’ she insisted, squinting at him with grainy eyes. ‘Oss needs you, and that’s where I want you to be. To help him, to care for the children. To be with Thorgils and Bram. It’s your home, your family. It’s where you belong. Where you need to be now.’

‘But Jael,’ Fyn grimaced, feeling an intense stabbing pain in his shoulder. He touched it, not taking his eyes from her face. ‘You need help. You need people to help you.’

‘And I have them, I have them, but Eadmund?’ She sighed, shoulders dropping. ‘You have more than repaid any help I’ve ever given you. Anything I’ve ever done for you. You have. Now you must follow your own path, not mine. You’re ready. Ready to be more than my man. You’re ready to be your own.’

There would be so many goodbyes, Jael realised. All of them painful.

Though few as painful as this.

She’d barely thought any of it through, though Axl’s death had shaken her. The knowledge that she’d not seen it coming? That she’d not been able to prevent it?

She’d put Fyn in danger too many times now.

She wouldn’t keep him here and risk his death too.

Looking up, she saw Mattie and Linas heading towards them.

Inhaling a smoky breath, she didn’t say another word until they stopped before her.

Mattie felt oddly shy. ‘I... I had a feeling you might like some help.’ She nodded at Fyn and glanced down the alley. ‘With the woman. Eren?’

Jael peered at Linas, who looked as upset as she felt. His bubbling joy had been replaced by a haunted grimace. He appeared numb as she was numb. All that was happening around her was like a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from, and she was struggling to think. ‘I’d like that,’ she muttered, ushering Mattie and Linas ahead of her. ‘We’ll speak again,’ she called to Fyn. ‘Before you go, we’ll speak again!’

Mouth open, staring after her, Fyn didn’t even bob his head, the ground beneath him shifting like a river.

Kolarov Radic had been stunned by the dark turn of events in Andala. He hadn’t known what to do with himself apart from staying out of everyone’s way and trying to be as helpful as possible. And that had meant keeping a close eye on Jael’s prisoners. Seeing that the queen was preoccupied, he had taken it upon himself to organise a guard for Kalina, who had been locked into one of the hall’s empty chambers. Pye, he’d kept with him, for he appeared to have no interest in escaping, and Kolarov felt confident that he wouldn’t leave Kalina Sardis behind.

They had helped Gerald and his junior steward, Col, get on top of matters in the hall, and Helvor had rewarded them with fresh bread and smoked trout. Cake too. It hadn’t been the worst form of employment, and the menial tasks had proven almost comforting in all that was roiling Andala.

Now he’d been given a cup of mulled wine to take to Gisila Olborn, who was understandably bereft. He had seen the poor woman after the death of her second son, Magnar, and that had nearly felled her, for he had been the most charismatic boy, the future king. And now?

Shaking his head, he looked up as the door was opened and a familiar-looking middle-aged woman with greying curls and a weary face peered at him. Seeing the mulled wine, she smiled, and he saw her similarity to Gisila. ‘Something for the queen.’ Forgetting that the last time he had been in Andala, Gisila had most certainly been the queen, he began again. ‘For Gisila. The lady Gisila,’ he burbled hopelessly.

‘Who is that?’ came a strained voice, and then it strengthened. ‘Kolarov? What are you doing here?’

Branwyn blinked at the rotund man in surprise, though he was soon bustling past her to where a dishevelled Gisila had risen from the bed, sweeping hair away from her tear-stained face.

‘My lady,’ he murmured, eyes full of sympathy. ‘My dear Gisila.’

And before him, Gisila curled forward, bursting into tears.

Thorgils met up with Fyn, and they headed out of the fort to the piers, where discussions were underway about heading back to Oss.

Thorgils was unusually quiet. After his talk with Eadmund, he’d hoped to find a moment to speak to Jael, but though he’d spotted her a few times, she’d rushed by, busy with matters of the fort.

Her fort.

Everything had been upended – nothing as it was the night before. Their lives in Andala and on Oss changed forever.

He had a wife and a new baby waiting for him, and after the victory over Oren Storgard, he’d imagined they’d all be going home to celebrate. That Jael and Eadmund would finally be together again on Oss.

Beside him, Fyn was just as quiet, and before they knew it, they’d reached Sea Bear and Eadmund and Bram, who looked to have no words between them either.

‘What are you going to do without Jael to boss you around?’ Thorgils grinned, trying to brighten the mood. He clapped Eadmund on the back, quickly regretting it, for his king looked ready to cry.

Bram scowled at him, and dropping his shoulders, Thorgils stepped back.

Silence.

‘We need to organise the horses,’ Eadmund sighed, wanting to think of other things. There was a lot to do, and if he just buried himself in tasks, perhaps he wouldn’t have the time to feel anything? ‘Leada and Vili. They’ll keep each other company on the ride home.’

‘And Yara,’ Fyn mumbled. ‘She’s coming too.’

Thorgils frowned at his cousin. ‘Why do you say that? You’re staying here. You’re staying with Jael.’

Fyn shook his head. ‘She doesn’t want me to,’ he revealed. ‘She wants me to go back to Oss.’

A nodding Bram touched his shoulder. ‘She wants the best for you. That’s Jael, that is. She wants you to be home with your family.’

Fyn didn’t say anything. He loved his father, his cousin, his king, and he loved his life on Oss. But Jael? They had been through so much together – he didn’t want to leave her.

Eadmund cleared his throat, struggling to stay still. He wanted to run back into the fort, grab his wife and shake her. To somehow make it all different. To make her say different words. To have different answers.

There had to be another solution.

‘We’ll find our way,’ he said instead, blowing out a breath, eyes blurring with tears. ‘We’ll start again and... there will... ummm...’ And now he started shaking his head, unable to go on.

Thorgils took him in his arms, patting his back. ‘Course we will. I bet Jael thinks we’ll be hopeless without her. And likely she’s right,’ he joked, tears in his eyes. ‘Likely that annoying woman will always be right, but we can still try, can’t we?’

Bram put his arm around Fyn, smiling encouragingly. ‘We’ll have two little children without their mother for a while. That’s what we need to be thinking of. Getting back to Oss and making things right for Sigmund and Bo. They’ll need each one of us now.’

It was true, Eadmund realised, rubbing his eyes. He was a king who needed to get home to his kingdom, a man losing his wife, but he was going to have to be a father most of all. ‘We’d best get everyone ready. I want to be gone at dawn. Lingering here won’t help any of us now.’ And though he said it with force, his eyes revealed the truth of his broken heart.

5

Jael had no stomach for visiting Eren Venberg, doubting her capacity for restraint, but she had to make a decision.

She imagined killing her.

She saw the woman before her with those bloody hands, and she imagined taking her knife and finishing her quickly.

Or slowly.

However it was done, it needed to be over. They all needed to know that Axl’s murderer had met a just fate. She hadn’t been able to save her brother, but she could at least avenge him.

She had to.

Reaching the cottage, Jael ordered the guards to unlock the door, and once inside, she sent the men watching Eren into the alley.

The windowless cottage hadn’t been occupied in some time, and an odour of musty disuse greeted her, as did the miserable figure of Eren Venberg – eyes swollen, hands wrapped around her belly, shoulders curled forward.

At first, she appeared to come to life, as though spurred on by hope. But seeing the hatred in Jael’s eyes, she recoiled, stepping back towards the solitary bed.

Her eyes darted to Mattie before dropping to the boy, confused by his presence.

She raised them back to Mattie again, where they remained.

Mattie smiled at her. She could feel the fury emanating from Jael like a hot fire and the tension in Linas, who appeared ready to pounce beside her. Though Eren had the appearance of a cornered animal, and Mattie knew that no answers would be forthcoming if she didn’t have one person on her side.

‘Sit,’ Jael ordered, pointing to the bed, stripped of everything but its stained mattress. She dragged a stool towards it and sat down.

There was no fire, but the afternoon remained warm.

It was dark in the cottage and quiet.

Mattie brought over a stool and sat herself, watching as Eren nervously did as she was told.

‘You killed the king,’ Jael began bluntly, seeing images of her brother’s bloody corpse. ‘Your servant saw you. He died in your bed, a knife in his chest. Your servant saw you take him into the bedchamber. She saw you emerge with blood on your hands.’ Jael watched Eren’s eyes flare, her lips parting, and she heard her urgent thoughts, but holding up a hand, she kept the woman silent. ‘It is not a question I require you to answer. I am making a statement of truth. You killed the king.’

Standing beside her, Linas shuffled his feet, and hearing his thoughts, Jael nodded. ‘And Helga. You killed her too.’

Unable to stop herself, Eren sprang off the bed, shaking her head. ‘It’s impossible! Impossible! Why? For what reason? It makes no sense!’

‘The boy saw you,’ Mattie said quietly. ‘The servant saw you. These things happened, you were involved, and we are here to understand how. How they happened and what you remember.’

Sitting back down with a thump, dark hair falling over her face, Eren shuddered. ‘I remember nothing.’

‘You remember many things!’ Jael bellowed. ‘Of course you do!’

Despite the queen’s angry outburst, Mattie kept smiling, leaning forward in a subtle attempt to cut Jael off before she turned the woman into a quivering mess. ‘What is the last thing you remember? Last night? If there is a gap in your memories, when did it begin?’

Eren kept her attention on Mattie now, and less fearful for a moment, she started to think. ‘I had a nightmare. I kept having nightmares.’

‘What about?’ Mattie wondered calmly.

Now Eren didn’t appear to be focusing on her at all. Her gaze seemed far off, as though she was looking somewhere else. ‘I kept seeing people. Silhouettes of people, all in shadow, outside the fort. And then they weren’t outside the fort, they were walking down the alleys. They wore dark cloaks, and they were coming to kill everyone!’

Her words tangled into a babble, and Mattie got off her stool. Sitting beside the young woman, she patted her knee, making soothing noises. ‘It sounds frightening.’

‘It was!’ Eren exclaimed. ‘Every night, the same nightmare came. The dark figures in cloaks with their long knives. Like spears. They were so terrifying!’

Jael had a question, though seeing how forthcoming Eren was being with the dreamer, she held her tongue, and slipping her hands under her legs, she bit her lip.

‘And did you have the same nightmare last night?’ Mattie wondered.

‘Yes, I... I woke up and went for a walk.’

Jael lifted an eyebrow in surprise, though looking only at Mattie, Eren didn’t notice.

Mattie did though. ‘You... went for a walk? Even though you were afraid of who might be in the fort?’

Eren nodded. ‘It helped me get back to sleep, walking, and I –’ She glanced at Jael.

Mattie patted her knee again, seeking to focus her.

‘I... I was hoping to see Axl again.’ Tears flooded Eren’s eyes.

‘Again?’ Jael snarled. ‘What does that mean?’

‘I had bumped into him at night before. He often takes walks at night. I... I hadn’t spoken to him since his return. I hoped to see him.’

Jael clamped her lips together, nodding at Mattie to continue. Beside her, Linas fidgeted, and she glared at him.

‘And did you see him?’

Eren shook her head.

‘Did you see anyone?’

Eren peered at her blankly. ‘I don’t think so. I remember leaving the house, and I remember...’ She squinted, frowning. ‘There was someone. I did pass someone.’

‘Was it my grandmother?’ Linas blurted out.

Eren turned to him, shaking her head. ‘No, it wasn’t. I swear to you, it wasn’t her.’

‘How do you know for certain?’ Mattie wondered.

‘Well, the dreamer had a particular... shape. A way of walking.’ Eren shook her head again. ‘It wasn’t her.’

Jael frowned. ‘Was it a woman?’

‘They were just a silhouette,’ Eren insisted, daring to meet her eyes. ‘Perhaps it was a woman. Hooded, I think. Slender. A shadow.’

‘And then?’ Mattie asked. ‘What do you remember after that?’

Eren turned back to the dreamer, mouth hanging open. ‘I... I remember the blood. It was on me. I could smell the blood!’ And now she started sobbing, rubbing her eyes.

Jael shut out every image of her brother; she just wanted to get to the truth. Beside her, Linas had dropped his head, crying, and turning to him, she patted his arm.

‘Where were you, Eren?’ Mattie asked. ‘When you saw the blood? Where were you?’

‘In my chair,’ Eren sniffed. ‘I was sitting in my chair. It’s... I was just there.’

Standing abruptly, Jael turned away.

‘I didn’t hurt him!’ Eren wailed, fearing what would happen next. ‘I didn’t. It wasn’t me!’

Spinning around to her, Jael had no sympathy in her eyes. ‘Your brother confessed your plan. To give Axl an heir in the hope that he would get rid of his wife and make you his queen.’

Eyes bulging, Eren looked horrified.

‘So what do you have to say about that?’

‘It’s what I wanted,’ she admitted quietly, dropping her head. ‘I always wanted to be with Axl, but I never wanted to hurt him! Amma couldn’t give him children, and I knew –’

Jael flung out a hand, remembering the sight of Amma’s wrapped corpse. ‘You will stay here,’ she hissed in disgust. ‘Until you remember something else, you will remain here, so spend your time wisely. The sooner you remember more about this mysterious figure, the quicker I’ll return to consider your fate. Though don’t make me wait too long, Eren, for I doubt our fellow Andalans will be as patient as me.’ And threat delivered with a glass-eyed stare and a curled lip, she turned and headed for the door.

Linas hurried to follow her, though Mattie remained, taking Eren’s hand. ‘Do try and remember more about that figure you saw and anything that might have happened in between passing it and seeing the blood on your hands. The queen wants to believe you, though you must help her.’

Eren nodded. ‘I will!’ she called to Jael. ‘Anything! I will do anything I can!’

Though Jael had already opened the door and disappeared outside.

‘The Osslanders are leaving tomorrow,’ Kolarov murmured, leading Pye back to the kitchen. ‘Fyn will be going with them. That’s a surprise.’

And blinking up at the explorer, Pye was surprised. ‘And Mattie?’

‘She will stay. She’s no Islander. No, she will stay.’ And thinking of the dreamer, Kolarov turned to see Otter following them. He smiled at the fluffy brown cat, deciding to find him a little fish.

‘And you?’ Pye wondered, following him through the kitchen door, at once assaulted by heat and steam and a cornucopia of enticing aromas. Supper was underway, though there was little noise. A usually bellowing Helvor seemed oddly quiet. Sad, Pye realised, seeing grief on the faces of the kitchen staff.

Nose twitching, his eyes were immediately drawn to a tray of rolled herring.

‘The lady will need her strength!’ Helvor called, inclining her head to a bowl of chicken and leek broth. ‘You make sure she eats it. I’ve had it on the go since dawn. Fortifying, that’ll be. You see she finishes it, Kolarov!’

A nodding Kolarov lifted the bowl onto a tray and handed it to Pye. He added two flatbreads and a napkin, scanning the kitchen for what else he might need. ‘Don’t drop it,’ he muttered, turning to ask for some fish for the cat, and liking Otter, Helvor’s assistants were only too happy to find him a little smoked trout. Dropping that into a bowl and becoming hungry himself, Kolarov bustled back into the hall, holding the door open for Pye. Seeing Otter, who soon wound himself around his legs, he found a quiet spot under the nearest table, placing the bowl down before standing up with a sigh. ‘I shall remain here for the time being. Jael suddenly has more to contend with than she ever bargained for. She is her father’s daughter,’ he added, lowering his voice, for everyone suddenly appeared very close in the hall. ‘She will do her duty, but her heart?’ He looked up as Thorgils walked inside, closely followed by Eadmund. ‘I do fear for her heart.’

The sun was low in the sky when Jael left Eren Venberg behind, wanting to return to the hall. She was suddenly drained of energy and overcome with tiredness. She felt confused, too, not needing the complication of another killer.

Of something magical having occurred.

Eren had murdered Axl.

Though after listening to the woman, she feared it wasn’t as simple as that.

Mind whirring, oblivious to where she was walking, it wasn’t long before she realised where she was.

Stopping as though hitting a wall, she spun to her right and simply stared.

The blackened ruin of Edela’s old cottage wasn’t something she’d wanted to see, so she’d simply avoided venturing near it. And yet, without thinking, she had found her way here.

Mattie and Linas soon joined her.

The gate was almost on its back, the path leading to nowhere.

Just an ashy ruin.

‘Tell me,’ Jael said, turning to Linas. ‘Why did it burn down?’

Fearing he was about to be blamed, Linas was initially tongue-tied.

‘You’re not in trouble,’ Mattie promised, turning to Jael. ‘Is he?’

The queen softened her expression, exhaling some tension. ‘No. I don’t think you or your grandmother did anything wrong, Linas. Someone was trying to hurt you, but how?’

‘It was the stones!’ the boy exclaimed. And pushing past the gate, he scampered up the path towards the ash-dusted garden, still blooming with sweet peas and foxgloves.

Daisies, too, Jael saw – a sure sign of summer.

‘A woman was digging, but she didn’t have white hair!’ he called.

Jael followed him up the path. ‘Digging?’

‘And then my grandmother found stones with symbols, and she threw them in the fire!’

Jael turned to peer at Mattie, who had followed her.

‘But it didn’t help. We were locked in! We couldn’t even use an axe. I tried!’ Linas insisted. ‘But it bounced off the door!’

‘Gunnhild,’ Mattie muttered, feeling incensed. ‘She wanted to kill Helga. They were once friends, though Gunnhild became a Follower.’

‘A Follower?’ That was news to Jael. ‘And she was the dreamer helping Mutt Storman?’

Mattie nodded. ‘She set those creatures on your brother. She sought to kill him for Oren Storgard. According to Helga, he paid her to do so.’

‘Though she didn’t kill him,’ Jael mused. ‘Not with her creatures at least. Perhaps she found another way to do it? Through Eren?’

‘It wasn’t Eren,’ Mattie said, touching Jael’s arm. ‘You can see that, can’t you? She may have wielded the knife, but someone was controlling her, making her do their bidding.’

Jael was thoughtful, frowning intensely, though eventually, her face cleared, and she reluctantly nodded. ‘The figure she passed? Was it Gunnhild? It would make sense for her to kill Helga. To claim her revenge.’ Then, seeing that Linas had returned and was staring up at her with those big, innocent eyes, she shook herself awake, touching the boy’s shoulder. ‘I want to find who killed my brother, but it’s just as important to find who killed Helga,’ she promised. ‘This was my grandmother’s home, and she is my favourite person in all of Varmyr, so I can imagine your pain. I will not stop until I find her killer, Linas. I promise.’

Siggy’s eyes ached as she turned them on Raymon, sensing that he was about to speak. They had been silent for what felt like hours, all three too exhausted to think of anything to say. They’d initially tried coming up with ideas and plans for how to escape, theories about what Edela might do, and fears about what the dreamer had planned. Though as the day trudged on, every hope had been dashed, and their worries for Edela had driven them into silent reflection. Nothing seemed possible, death appeared inevitable, and no one had had anything to say about that.

‘I think Edela has gone,’ Raymon sighed. ‘I can’t see her creeping outside in the dark, can you? At least I hope she doesn’t try to. No, I think she has gone.’

Bertel had his doubts about that, and sitting up straight in a chair that had looked comfortable but had proven anything but, he stretched his arms above his head, groaning. ‘If she has gone, she will have my gratitude. She is the best of us. She must survive.’

Siggy was terrified by the thought of Edela disappearing. Edela was their protector, their pathfinder. She frowned, shaking her head. ‘Edela isn’t gone. If you believe that, you don’t know her.’

Bertel peered at her, seeing defiance in the girl’s eyes. He stood, joining her by the window. ‘No, Edela hasn’t gone. She is far too stubborn to do what is best for herself. I only hope the woman knows what she’s doing. That she knows what she’ll be walking into.’

They heard a commotion in the corridor, footsteps, and voices raised, and soon the door was flung open, and Dessalene stood before them with a beaming smile, curling a finger at Raymon.

Korri had divided his fifty-odd men, sending half to the other side of the road.

After securing their horses, they had taken the long way towards the palace compound, keeping to the trees, seeking to stay hidden from those patrolling the gates and watching from its balconies.

Though he wasn’t sure they would remain hidden from the Mistress.

The sun was going down, but the air appeared to be heating up. Sweat slid down his forehead, lingering momentarily in his eyebrows before dripping onto his face. It had been a long, busy day spent organising weapons and supplies and themselves. They had swapped Edela’s and Siggy’s ponies for horses and purchased extra bows, arrows, and food.

But mostly, they had used their time to plan.

What lay waiting in the palace had the potential to upend everything they sought to do, though they were going to begin as they intended to go on.

‘You are certain?’ Korri asked Edela, holding her arm as she turned to go. ‘That you want to enter alone?’

Having resolved to leave, Edela now looked back at him with blinking eyes. She felt unbearably sweaty – with the heat, no doubt, but also with panic – desperate to peel her dress away from her back.

She couldn’t see beyond the palace gates. She had no idea what she was facing. Though looking at Korri, and seeing Zen behind him with the rest of their men, she knew who she had with her, and she remembered who she was going to save. ‘I’m certain,’ she declared, eyeing him with something she hoped resembled confidence. It was growing dark, though she still saw concern in his eyes. ‘Your plan is a sound one. Our plan. And with a little luck...’

‘I shall pray to Nissa,’ Korri told her with a wink. ‘The Alekkan Goddess of Luck. Any others?’

‘Oh, I would try for Odira too. Anything to help!’ And with that, Edela gently tugged her arm away and turned to go.

‘Be careful!’ Zen called to her.

She nodded but didn’t look around, heart in her mouth, as she left the men behind, following the path out of the trees.

Dessalene had ordered Raymon taken upstairs to a windowless chamber.

One of the guards took a torch from the corridor and lit every lamp, and soon Raymon’s gloomy prison was revealed. There was no bed, just a table and two chairs. It was airless and musty, with chests stacked in one corner and a layer of dust over everything.

Some sort of storage room, he thought with a shudder.

Nowhere he wanted to be.

He thought of his friends downstairs, becoming more concerned by the moment.

‘Put him on a chair,’ Dessalene ordered sharply. After her conversation with the Mistress, she felt tense, determined not to lose another Furyck. ‘Hold him down.’

Raymon’s protests were ineffective and brief, for the guards were a muscular pair, fully armed, and they handled him with force, slamming him down onto a chair and restraining him while Dessalene retrieved two pairs of iron fetters. Turning to the other guards who had accompanied her, she handed one pair to each man. ‘Put these on him.’

Raymon’s eyes bulged, and he kicked out, trying to push away from the table, attempting to stand, though it was hopeless, and soon he couldn’t move at all.

‘There, there, it is for your own safety, Raymon,’ Dessalene promised with a smile. ‘Do you truly think you are safer in Edela’s hands? But that old woman has her own plans, doesn’t she? She is working for Furia, of that I am certain.’ These last words she hissed to herself, becoming increasingly tense. And then she blinked, not seeing Raymon and the dreary chamber but a visitor approaching. ‘You will stay here. Safe! I will keep you safe, Raymon, and I shall see you soon.’

6

Jael bumped into Gant on her way back from the hall, relaying everything about her meeting with Eren Venberg.

Gant was worried about Gisila, who was inconsolable, concerned about the fort, and trying desperately not to think about Axl. He’d been making decisions all day, and now he struggled to comprehend what she was saying. ‘You don’t think it was her?’ he whispered, moving Jael out of the way as an oinking pig charged down the street, chased by its red-faced, stick-wielding mistress. Glancing around, he saw a narrow alley and pushed Jael into it.

‘She can’t remember anything from coming across someone in the street to sitting in her chair with Axl’s blood on her hands,’ Jael said, blinking rapidly. She felt desperate to block out the pain, though it kept coming like a knife, stabbing her repeatedly.

‘So you think it was what? Magic?’

‘It’s likely. Linas said whoever killed Helga lifted her into the air. Can you imagine Eren doing that? He thought the woman he saw had different eyes too. Nothing makes sense, though we can’t let her go until it does.’

‘It’s Gunnhild,’ Gant said, clenching his fists. ‘That bitch did it. I know it. Helga said she knew her, and she tried to kill Axl for Oren Storgard. It has to be her. She must still be alive.’

Jael thought so too. ‘Though we need to be certain, so for now, Eren remains a prisoner, and we tell no one about this. Especially not the Venbergs. Mattie will see what she can find out.’

Gant’s head hurt, his stomach was growling. He couldn’t think. ‘And do you trust her? This Mattie?’

Jael nodded. ‘As dreamers go, Mattie’s one of the best I’ve seen. And while Edela is missing, she’s the only hope we have.’

Inhaling deeply, pushing down her shoulders, and elongating her neck, Dessalene swept down the grand staircase towards the entranceway where her newest guest awaited her.

After escaping S’ala Nis, she’d had plenty of time to consider what had gone wrong. Trusting that slimy seer, Inesh Seppo, had been a humiliating mistake. She had foolishly taken his drink before the ritual, which had deprived her of her powers, leaving her unable to prevent Jael Furyck from starting a revolt.

From freeing the slaves and taking the isle.

Not to mention Kalina.

A furious Ronin had been unbearable.

He had blamed her for everything, and disgusted by the sight of her swollen and bruised face, he’d barely spoken on their journey. She had planned to carry on to Bandar with him, though an urgent message from the Mistress had sent her to Bhyan instead.

Bhyan, and a second chance.

And here, she had claimed another Furyck, and now, Edela Saeveld.

Approaching the old woman, who had just been ushered inside, Dessalene’s smile sparkled with confidence, for the dreamer looked like a little grandmother come to visit. ‘I expect your granddaughter takes after the Furycks,’ she said with a laugh, fingering her hair and looking down her nose.

Edela could only frown, for she heard nothing of the woman’s thoughts. She could see her well enough though. The last of the sun streaming in through the open door reflected off shining marble, and every feature of that elegant face warned of impending danger.

She had a maniacal look in her protruding eyes. They were attractive, Edela supposed, though the Mistress appeared to be a woman on the edge – as though driven by emotions she was struggling to contain.

‘Please, do come in. I expect you are eager to see your friends,’ Dessalene purred.

Though not moving, Edela turned to survey the entrance with a steely gaze. ‘What a lovely home,’ she said in reply. ‘Yours, is it?’

Dessalene cocked her head in surprise, certain she would enjoy the game. ‘Mine? No, I came in place of a friend who is otherwise occupied.’

Edela didn’t know what that meant. Was this not the Mistress?

Frowning now, she started to wonder.

‘Your knife,’ Dessalene murmured, eyeing the old woman’s belt. And now she held out a hand. ‘It is custom to remove one’s weapons at the door. Especially the door of a palace.’

Edela was surprised, eyes dropping to the woman’s belt, where she saw an impressive knife sheathed. It had the head of a snake, embellished with red and green gems, and running up and down its haft, symbols. ‘And the king?’ she asked lightly, leaving all thoughts of knives behind as she reluctantly handed over her own. ‘I had heard there might be a problem with the king.’

‘The King of Kadak?’ A confused Dessalene motioned for Edela to follow her. Tension crackled between them, and she felt herself vibrating. ‘I think you’ve far too many worries of your own to be concerning yourself with Kadak’s king, Edela.’

The self-satisfied gleam in those bulbous eyes disturbed Edela, though it gave her hope, too, for the woman struck her as vain and arrogant – a combination certain to work to her own advantage. ‘And your name?’ she wondered, almost tripping over her feet. One of her boots had decided to fall apart, the toe flapping, and it wasn’t the first time she’d nearly caught herself on it.

Dessalene looked surprised, peering down at her. ‘You came all this way, yet you are unaware of my name? Of who I am?’

Edela laughed to cover the truth. ‘Not quite, though I had thought there would be introductions,’ she chuckled. ‘I do have a fondness for formalities. I am Edela Saeveld, from Tuura originally, though I live in Brekka now. Andala. Perhaps you have heard of it? Home of the Furycks, that powerful dynasty?’

Hearing the fight in the dreamer, Dessalene’s eyes lit up. ‘Well, let us play then. Why not?’ She inclined her head. ‘And I am Dessalene Sardis, wife of King Ronin Sardis. A dreamer. Alekkan. Once...’

Edela put on a look of intrigued amusement, though inside she was scrambling. An Alekkan dreamer called Dessalene? Wife of a king?

They made to move forward again, and now Edela truly did tumble, grabbing hold of the woman. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed. ‘I... I am sorry.’ Gripping Dessalene’s arm, she saw a glimpse of something before the dreamer snatched it away. ‘I should have taken the time to repair my boots.’ She squinted at the woman now, certain that this wasn’t the Mistress.

And what did that mean?

Seeking to distract a grieving Linas, Mattie had taken him and Gully out of the fort, heading to the docks. She thought he might be interested in the ships, many of which were moored in the harbour, though others were being worked on in enormous sheds along from the taverns, and she headed that way.

The dog immediately took off after a bird, though Linas hung back, walking with his head bowed.

‘You can go,’ Mattie told him. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’ He looked up at her, and she saw doubt in his eyes. Doubt and so much pain. ‘I need to think. About what to think. About Eren Venberg and Gunnhild. About all of it –’

‘I can help!’ Linas said, coming alive now. ‘I can see more!’

Mattie smiled. ‘I hope so. I will need you.’ She didn’t want to put pressure on the boy or to burden him with responsibility, though she thought it would help him to have something to focus on. ‘It’s a mystery to solve, isn’t it? Who was the woman Eren Venberg saw? Was it Gunnhild? And if it was, what did she do?’

‘A spell! She put a spell on her and made her kill the king! And my grandmother!’ And now Linas shrank back. ‘She killed my grandmother because she tried to stop her! And when, and when she couldn’t, she told me to... but I, I couldn’t find him!’

Mattie put her arm around the boy, pulling him close.

He immediately pushed her away, wiping his nose on his sleeve and charging off after Gully.

Blinking in surprise, Mattie felt torn between going after the boy or savouring a moment to think.

Gunnhild had wanted Helga dead.

And now she was.

With a sigh, Mattie lifted her head and followed after Linas, knowing how much Helga needed her now. To look after her grandson, yes, but also to find her killer before she struck again.

‘Come! Let this magnificent oasis revive you,’ Dessalene called, leading her guest through a striking colonnade of arches, where a welcome breeze wafted scents of honeysuckle and jasmine towards her. ‘You have experienced a challenging time, crawling through the jungle like a wild beast. Such an unexpected adventure for one at your time of life!’

Used to wooden temples, cramped cottages, and stone halls, the palace was like nothing Edela had ever seen. Everything was light, white, breezy and open, for in the oppressive heat, it made sense to let the air flow.

Inhaling the intoxicating scents, she invited them to soothe her tension, and keeping quiet, she focused on her breathing. She felt fear, though she knew that to be effective, she couldn’t let it overwhelm her.

‘I had begun to doubt your affection for your friends. I expect they were growing worried themselves,’ Dessalene chuckled, turning to eye the old woman, who looked as though she’d been trekking through mud. She could see the flapping boots and the torn hem of her cloak. And as for her hair? She was quite the wreck. ‘Though you have timed your visit to perfection, for supper is nearly ready. And what a supper it promises to be!’

Edela became breathless as she hurried along, struggling to keep up with the woman’s lengthy, determined stride. The dreamer reminded her of Jael, who had always made a point of never slowing down for anyone, and despite her nerves, she allowed herself a comforting smile.

Though deciding it was safer not to leave the dreamer trailing behind her, Dessalene slowed down, now walking beside her. ‘And how are you keeping, Edela? You appear rather ill. Though I certainly don’t know you well enough to presume such things. Perhaps you are always of such a sickly complexion?’

Ignoring the insult, Edela kept her mind on what was important.

She could feel magic in the air.

Dark magic.

She guessed that symbols lay under every rug, perhaps marked behind tapestries on the walls. Perhaps, too, behind doors. It was what she would do herself if she was expecting an enemy.

She remembered her mistake in Karalos, touching Govana’s table, trapped by her symbols, nearly killed by the witch.

And here?

Dessalene had the look of a queen, carrying herself with an air of vain self-importance, though Edela felt acutely aware of the threat she posed, certain that the truth about this woman was much darker indeed. ‘I have been unwell,’ she mumbled in reply. ‘Since my companions were taken, I have felt quite nauseous with worry.’

Dessalene peered down at her, then touching Edela’s shoulder, she squeezed it, stopping her outside a pair of wooden doors. ‘It is hard being old, I imagine. Old and alone. It is a wonder you managed to get this far. You should commend yourself for the effort. To have put up such a fight in your condition? It was quite unexpected.’

Not caring for the woman’s blathering, Edela’s eyes shifted to the doors. ‘I wish to understand,’ she said simply, knowing that once they entered the next chamber, the game would truly begin. ‘Is that something you will allow me? An understanding? In truth, it is why I came. Not because I thought I would triumph, for I cannot pretend I am myself, though I do wish to understand what this has all been about.’

Dessalene looked surprised. ‘Can that be true? That you honestly don’t know? That you have continued on this perilous path in the dark? A famous dreamer like you kept in the dark?’ She shook her head, incredulous.

Edela’s shoulders slumped. ‘It has been a long journey,’ she sighed. ‘Not much of it very comfortable, and none of it enjoyable.’ Inhaling a flavoursome aroma wafting under the doors, she suddenly felt ravenous. ‘You do yourself a great disservice and give me far too much credit. I have never been famous. It is my granddaughter you are thinking of, and perhaps her father. I was merely useful to them, at times, though I did not do enough to save one, and I feel greatly concerned about what may have happened to the other.’

Dessalene’s cheeks rounded like apples. She clapped her hands, smiling at the pitiful creature before her. ‘What a wonderful performance! Am I supposed to feel confident? To see you this way? What? Did you slap on that mud to look a little more pathetic? A little less sharp and useful?’ And now the dining hall doors were pulled open by two impeccably dressed servants. ‘But come now, we are both dreamers.’ She bent down to whisper in Edela’s ear. ‘And though you seek to portray yourself as a bumbling old biddy, I will never be a fool.’ Though thinking of Jael Furyck, she stiffened, remembering that she certainly had been fooled. And recently too.

Entering the dining hall, Edela saw a long table with thick, trunk-like legs. She saw giant candelabra flaming brightly and vases blooming with exotic flowers. She smelled wine and fresh bread and her stomach gurgled. But all thoughts of hunger were gone in an instant as her eyes found Siggy and Bertel, sitting on opposite sides of the table, staring at her.

Though looking around, heart sinking, she saw no sign of Raymon.

Neither Jael nor Eadmund had any appetite, though as a king and queen, now of separate kingdoms, they had to lead the way, for everything was about perception, Jael knew. When it came to the rulers of great kingdoms, how something appeared often carried more weight than the actual truth.

She sensed every pair of eyes following them as they took their places at the head of a table that only one night earlier had been Axl’s. Axl, who had been desperate to welcome his queen home again – his pregnant wife and their soon-to-be heir.

Now he lay beside Amma, lifeless, all his dreams for the future over.

Seeking an escape from her morose feelings, determined not to shed another tear, Jael turned to Thorgils, who sat on her right. Her mother had no intention of leaving her chamber, so having left her in Branwyn’s capable hands, Gant took his place next to Eadmund. They were discussing Oren Storgard – a conversation Jael wanted no part of. Decisions about enemies and traitors would come soon, but for now, her mind was on her family – those in Andala and those soon departing for Oss.

She dropped her eyes to her plate, seeing thick gravy flowing like a murky river around a mound of mashed turnips.

‘I thought the conversation would be better,’ Thorgils grinned at her. ‘You’re usually good for a laugh. A few insults too. Though if I’d have known it would be this miserable, I’d have gone and sat with Kolarov. Heard a few of his stories.’

Lifting her eyes from her plate, Jael turned to him with a raised eyebrow. ‘You think you can joke your way through this? Is that what you truly think?’

The light dimmed in Thorgils’ eyes, his smile faltering.

Touching his arm, Jael leaned closer. ‘I’m hoping you can. It’s why I wanted you here.’

Thorgils’ smile returned, and though he saw pain in her eyes, he remained undaunted. ‘You’re a better dreamer than you pretend to be,’ he whispered, though Eadmund had his back to them and didn’t turn around. ‘That’s something to take from all this mess. You saw it all coming.’

‘Well, that’s hardly going to cheer me up,’ Jael grumbled. ‘That I saw it and failed to stop it? Sounds familiar.’

Thorgils shook his head, spearing a carrot with his knife and chomping through it before turning back to her. ‘You think the gods work for you? For your family? But they have their own plans, Jael Furyck. You should know that by now.’

Jael grabbed her goblet, seeing visions of Axl in tears and drunk before her. ‘What do you know of the gods?’

‘I know that fate matters to them. Destiny. It’s written at birth. That’s what my father used to say. The Goddesses of Fate write a journey for each child upon their birth, a path their life will take, and there’s little we can do to fight their will. The ink of fate doesn’t fade, its vellum won’t burn. Destiny is inescapable, even for those descended from the gods,’ he added, reaching for his own goblet and guzzling down the exceptionally good wine. ‘You may have dreamed of your father’s death, but it was never your destiny to save him, just as it wasn’t his to be saved by you. I believe it.’

Jael snorted. ‘So we are merely pieces on a gaming board then? The gaming board of the gods? This is all just a game for them to enjoy?’

‘It is,’ Thorgils insisted. ‘I think we can wish and hope, dream and pray, but the only truth is that they have chosen our destiny, and we must live it out.’

Jael drank more wine. ‘I thought you promised to be funny.’

‘I can try funny. For you, I can certainly try. Though who knows when I’ll see you again after tomorrow. I thought wisdom might be more useful.’ And now his shoulders dropped, and with it, that mask of bravado he’d been holding up for her. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he whispered, inclining his head to Eadmund. ‘Though I won’t let him sink back into that pit again. You never have to worry about that.’

Though Jael was very worried about it.

‘And my lot will keep the children busy. Mads thinks of Sigmund like a little brother anyway. Ned won’t be much use to him for a few years. They’ll grow up thick as thieves, those two. Eadmund and I’ll see to that.’

Tears pricked Jael’s eyes, the feeling of loss suddenly so overwhelming that she wanted to stand up and shout. That she wouldn’t be there with all of them? With her own son? Bo would come to Andala eventually, but Sigmund? Burying her head in her goblet, she worked to get herself under control. ‘Don’t,’ she mumbled. ‘Try funny. Please.’

Thorgils hurried on, nodding. ‘Isaura told me a funny story,’ he said, laughing already. ‘You’ll never believe what trouble Elise Kallo got herself into...’

Though Jael didn’t hear a word of it.

She was back on Oss, kissing a sleeping Sigmund goodnight. She was at the table with Axl, wrapping her arms around him. She was at the gate to her grandmother’s, seeing the crumbled ruin.

And thinking of her grandmother, she wondered if she was still alive.

Edela took a seat on Bertel’s left, opposite Siggy. She nodded at the girl before turning to see Dessalene take up her position at the head of the table, immediately turning to issue orders to a servant, who was soon slipping out of the dining hall.

Under the table, Bertel found Edela’s hand, wanting to hear her thoughts but also desperate to share his own. She tugged it away, her attention mainly focused on Dessalene, occasionally shifting to Siggy, who looked pale and scared opposite her. She met her eyes and heard her thoughts.

Raymon had been taken away. They had no idea what had happened to him.

Servants bustled in, one picking up a carafe of wine and offering it to Dessalene, who motioned for the man to serve her guests.

‘You won’t drink anything better,’ she declared. ‘The black grapes of the Pa’tandeer are the sweetest you’ll find in the Fire Lands, and the King of Kadak commands them all.’

Edela didn’t choose to understand, certain she wouldn’t touch a drop of the wine nor eat a morsel of the food, not trusting the dreamer at all. ‘And how are you?’ she asked instead, looking from Siggy to Bertel. ‘The horses are quite confused, I must say. I thought about riding away with them all. Or perhaps setting them free? I wasn’t sure.’

Siggy opened her mouth, ready to answer, though unhappy at being ignored, Dessalene now ordered the first course to be served. ‘Blood clams!’ she announced with a flourish. ‘A rare delicacy indeed.’

‘I am sure,’ Edela muttered dismissively. ‘Though despite what my stomach may be proclaiming, I have little appetite.’

‘Oh, but that will not do! A feast this extravagant will not be wasted, and we shan’t discuss anything else until it has been taken down to its bones. Do we understand one another?’ And shifting her gaze from the old dreamer, Dessalene glared at Bertel and Siggy before inclining her head to their plates.

Bertel turned to Edela, who didn’t need to hold his hand to hear her thoughts.

‘Do you have a plan?’ he begged to know. ‘A plan to get us out of here?’

Looking away from him, Edela turned to face the dreamer, and she nodded.

7

After supper, many in Andala’s hall left their tables, topping up cups as they gathered around fire pits and in corners by braziers. The hall was stuffy, the mood sombre, though there was plenty of whispered conversation and furtive looks at the high table.

Tapping Jael’s arm, Eadmund led his wife outside, desperate to spend as much time with her as possible. He felt it slipping through his hands like grains of sand, knowing that no matter what he did, before he knew it, it would be morning, and he would be leaving her.

The thought of it never failed to shock him, though try as he might, he could find no alternative. No way it could work differently. No way they could stay together.

Heads bent, they walked out of the hall, across the square, and into the darkness, where they were finally afforded some privacy. Jael turned down alley after alley until they were in the southern, quieter part of the fort and away from prying eyes.

‘If you think we should stay for the funeral, then I want to do that,’ Eadmund said. ‘I just, I wanted to –’

‘I think you should go,’ Jael told him. ‘Dragging it out helps no one. Especially the children. You need to get back to them.’

‘They won’t understand.’

‘No. Though they’re too young to remember much.’

‘Mmmm.’

They walked in silence for some time, alone with their thoughts.

‘Will you ever come back to Oss?’ Eadmund asked.

Jael remembered her dream, and feeling strange, she shrugged. ‘You will have your own life. A new wife. More children.’

Stopping abruptly, Eadmund grabbed her arms. ‘Jael!’ he exclaimed loudly. ‘Can you hear yourself? This is madness!’ Releasing her, he scratched his head. ‘There has to be something else. Some other way? We love each other. We can’t just –’ He saw a glow in a window nearby, and certain he saw a face, too, he took his wife’s hand and led her back into the darkness.

When they were once again alone, Jael stopped. ‘I had a dream about this,’ she confessed. ‘Though I didn’t understand it at the time. I thought I was dead, that I’d died, but I –’

‘A dream about what? A divorce?’

‘I saw you with another woman, a pregnant woman. You spoke to Thorgils about missing me, about missing Bo. I thought that meant we were dead. I didn’t understand, but now I see...’

Eadmund sagged before her. ‘Another woman? Who?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jael lied. ‘Though she appeared to be your wife, sitting in my chair. You kissed her.’

‘But I’d never –’

‘Though you have to. We both do. Whatever we feel or want, we have no choice but to do what’s right. We have to keep our kingdoms safe. The islands are free of any threat, but Brekka? I can only guess that Oren Storgard will return. And Ronin Sardis. And what about what happened to Amma in Angard? Spies stealing sea-fire and dreamers being murdered, I –’

‘Why are you sending Fyn away?’ Eadmund wondered suddenly. ‘I thought you’d want him with you.’

Jael shook her head. ‘I won’t take Fyn away from his home and family. Or Milla. He needs to start thinking about himself and not just me.’

Eadmund took her by the shoulders. ‘So who will think about you? With no Fyn or Thorgils or me? Who will think about you?’

Jael laughed. ‘Well, I’m sure I’m in for a ridiculous amount of fussing when Biddy arrives. When she –’

Eadmund kissed her, and he didn’t stop kissing her for some time. She clung to him, and he held onto her. ‘I don’t want to leave you,’ he breathed. ‘I can’t let go. I won’t.’

‘But you will,’ she told him. ‘Tomorrow.’

In the luxurious dining hall, lit by slender beeswax candles, Edela and her companions had chewed and swallowed their way through four courses of fine Kadakian fare.

Some of it had been almost enjoyable, much of it slimy and odd. Dessalene had explained each dish as though those around her were interested. Though they hadn’t even looked her way, eating with hesitation, fearing every mouthful might be their last.

Now silence lingered, the air of expectation becoming weightier by the moment.

The candles flickered as though they sat outside.

Behind Edela, the doors to the garden were open, and she thought of Korri and his men, hoping they were safe. He was awaiting her signal, and though she felt impatient to give it, her concern had shifted to Raymon. She had spent the meal with her head bowed, trying to discover where he might be. Siggy had no idea, nor had Bertel. Their thoughts had been loud about that.

The palace was warded, and perhaps even Raymon himself now?

She didn’t know how she was going to find her way to him quickly.

Bertel surreptitiously took her hand, watching as Dessalene turned to talk to a servant, though once again, Edela tugged it away, focusing instead on Siggy. ‘Did you enjoy your meal, my dear?’ she wondered quietly.

Siggy looked up in surprise.

Her hair had been brushed off her face, tied back into a braid, and for the first time, Edela saw her clearly. Her eyes were wide open and terrified. ‘Are you ready to help me?’ she asked into the girl’s mind.

Siggy’s eyes widened even further, and she gave the slightest of nods.

Now Edela turned to Dessalene, offering a smile. ‘You have been a generous hostess, and the meal was indeed an... event, though let us cease with games now and simply get to the point of all this pageantry. It has been a tiring day for us all. We are fed and impressed with the spectacle, so let us come to the point of our meeting.’

Dessalene appeared blindsided, her mask slipping for the briefest of moments. ‘How feisty you are, Edela,’ she said, recovering quickly. ‘Though I don’t dislike it. And why not? I wish to kill you, you have come to kill me –’

‘Not you,’ Edela interrupted. ‘I did not come to kill you.’

Everyone turned to her in surprise, though no one appeared more surprised than Dessalene.

‘You are not the Mistress. In fact, she is your mistress, and you are merely her helper, her servant. It was she I came here for, not you. Though perhaps you can answer my questions yourself, being so intimate with her? Such as why she was so desperate to kill Osterland’s dreamers and me in particular? Why she sought to capture my granddaughter? And, of course, what it all has to do with you?’ Edela sat back, pushing a vase of lilies out of her line of sight, fixing her eyes on the dreamer, whose smile had hardened into an icy glare.

‘Mistress? What do you know of her?’

‘More than you, I imagine,’ Edela lied boldly. ‘I had so much time on my hands today, and without Bertel nattering in my ear, I discovered more than I’d ever considered possible.’

‘I doubt that!’ Dessalene snapped. Though unable to read the woman’s thoughts, she couldn’t be certain that was true. Standing abruptly, she stepped away from the table, confused as to how Edela knew about the Mistress.

It unsettled her, for the Mistress was the greatest secret of all.

Watching the dreamer, Bertel was suddenly aware of how intensely he’d been sweating, but now he felt drops sliding down his nose. Glancing at his plate, he saw his knife, and grabbing a napkin, he made to wipe his face before dropping it over the knife, and after a few moments, eyes up and focused on Dessalene, he secreted the blade into his hand.

It wouldn’t do much, though it was something.

Dessalene jerked towards him, and with a sweeping hand, she had his chair sliding across the marble flagstones until it hit a wooden cabinet with a thump. And then, before Bertel could strengthen his grip on the weapon, Dessalene had it flying out of his hand.

Now Edela stood, but too quickly, and standing on her dress, she almost tumbled onto the table. Straightening up, she shook off her embarrassment with a grunt.

Dessalene was glowering at her, shoulders up, head down, like a wolf cornering its prey.

Lifting her chin, Edela held the woman’s gaze, certain that her lips were quivering, though she felt too angry to be intimidated now. ‘Why care about the Furycks? Here? You have great wealth, a life of privilege, a king for a husband, so why care about the Furycks? What are they to you and your protectress?’

Dessalene’s eyes blazed. ‘Protectress? You underestimate me if you think I need protection!’ And with a snap of her head, she sent Siggy’s chair sliding at speed across the floor until, hitting the wall, it stopped.

On the opposite side of the dining hall, Bertel tried to stand, though he quickly found himself tripping, falling onto his side, trapped against the cabinet.

Having incapacitated Edela’s two companions, Dessalene cocked her head, considering the old woman. ‘Your little friends have been so worried about you, though you have not come here powerless. Not as meek or weak as you would have us all believe!’

Edela laughed. ‘Well, I am certainly old enough to feel weak, but I have never been meek a day in my life,’ she warned darkly.

Dessalene kept her gaze on the dreamer, snapping her fingers, and soon the doors opened and six armed guards, swords at their sides, marched in.

From his place on the floor, Bertel glanced up at Edela, fearing for her.

Though her voice echoed in his head. ‘Korri is here, so do not worry. I will keep the dreamer busy, but you must find Raymon.’

Mattie put Linas to bed in the hall. She knew she needed to go and inspect Helga’s cottage, to think of how she was going to care for the boy and his dog. For herself and Otter too. She was staying in Andala, but not in any way she had foreseen. But while the hall remained in upheaval, she wanted to stay close, eager to be of service.

Which meant Linas staying with her.

Gully lay next to the boy, though his tail thumped the fur as though he was ready to jump off the bed. She saw Otter sitting on the floor beside her, wondering what he thought about everything, though in the next moment, the cat hopped onto the bed, making himself at home on Linas’ left side, far away from the dog.

Mattie smiled. ‘It looks as though you’ll have a lot of company tonight. The best sort of company. Otter is a special cat, you know.’

Linas nodded. ‘He’s magical.’

‘Magical? Is that what you think?’

Linas’ head hurt and he felt strange; he barely knew what he was saying. ‘He knows when people feel sad. He can read their minds.’

A surprised Mattie blinked. ‘He’s a good friend to me and to you now too. I’m not so sure about that dog though.’

‘Gully won’t hurt him,’ Linas promised, wrapping an arm around the black dog. ‘He won’t.’

Feeling his fears for his only friend, Mattie patted his arm. ‘I’ve nothing against dogs. I’ve never had one myself, though I always wanted to. Then I got Otter, and I didn’t think about dogs again. Though I don’t dislike them, I promise.’

‘What about children?’ Linas wondered quietly, avoiding Mattie’s eyes. He turned to Otter now, gently stroking the cat. ‘Do you like children?’

‘I do. Yes. I tried to have my own, though that... didn’t happen. I wanted to, but I –’

‘Are you going to look after me?’ Linas wanted to know, turning around now and staring directly into the dreamer’s eyes. ‘I need someone to. I’m only eight.’

Mattie nodded. ‘I promised your grandmother I would. You and Gully. I made her that promise, and I intend to keep it.’ She felt a great lack of confidence that she’d be any good at caring for this boy - that she would even know how.

Linas burst into tears, and though he looked ready to throw his arms around Mattie’s waist, he turned away and grabbed hold of Gully, burying his face in the dog’s fur.

The six palace guards now flanking the table added yet another wrinkle to Edela’s plan. She still had no idea where Raymon was or if he was even alive. Though knowing a scattered focus would do more harm than good, she sought to narrow it. Her heart thumped out an increasingly frantic rhythm, though it helped to remind her of what was at stake.

Lives.

Not just hers and not just Siggy’s, Bertel’s, and Raymon’s.

But that of every Furyck too. Her grandchildren and great-grandchildren were in grave danger, so she had to eliminate every threat.

For all their sakes.

‘I am surprised,’ she chuckled, and moving around the table towards Dessalene, she swept an arm around the immense hall. The guards moved back to the walls, keeping watch over Siggy and Bertel. ‘That you would not trust yourself to take care of us three on your own? But what threat do we pose that a dreamer such as you, handmaiden to the great and powerful Mistress, would need the help of men with blades?’ She saw something then and stopped abruptly, mouth easing open. Staring at Dessalene, she frowned. ‘Jael.’ And now she smiled, touching her nose. ‘Oh, dear. That must have hurt.’

Dessalene seethed with anger, patience at an end. Hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, she brought them up to her chest, pressing them together.

Edela saw a spark. Or perhaps it was candlelight reflecting off the woman’s many rings.

She saw rubies and diamonds.

Sapphires.

And she remembered Korri.

‘You will kill me here? Is that it? And then your men will finish my friends?’ Edela mused, stepping closer. Steeling herself.

‘Yes,’ Dessalene purred. ‘Quite. The end of the Furycks is coming, Edela, though you will not be around to witness it. Just know that I will ensure your granddaughter is the last to die. Jael. She will witness her little girl’s final breath, and then it will be her turn to join her on the pyre.’

Edela recoiled as though struck, seeing the dreamer’s dark soul revealed in all its foulness. ‘You may have met my granddaughter, but you do not know her, and you certainly do not know me!’ she growled, chanting under her breath, and lifting her right hand to her mouth, she swallowed the seeds she had taken from her pouch. Biting into them, tasting a bitterness almost too revolting to stomach, she rose onto her toes, spitting at Dessalene.

Not liquid, not words, but flames.

A shocked Dessalene lurched to the right, but not quickly enough, and her hair caught fire.

Bertel wasn’t sure what he’d just seen, though remembering Edela’s words, he knew he couldn’t focus on the dreamers. The guards flanking him had swords and he had nothing but his hands and a pouch with a few coins and some dirt.

Somehow, he had to find a way to escape.

A way to get to Raymon.

The night was growing warmer, the buzzing sounds more intense, and Korri was becoming concerned by the noise of everyone slapping their necks and hands. Though every exposed bit of flesh was under attack and it was driving them all mad.

Beside him, he could almost hear Zen’s fears, and from where he stood, peering at the palace gates, illuminated by a multitude of flaming torches, he turned back to him. ‘Won’t be long,’ he promised. ‘Just keep your head. Calm minds and steady hands. That’s all we need.’ He smiled at the boy, hearing the buzzing drone of cicadas all around them. ‘Nothing heroic, just steady and calm.’

Zen didn’t blink, and with a confident smile, Korri turned around, guts twisting uncomfortably, hoping Edela was alright.

Edela could feel the dreamer’s rage sweep around her like wind – a strong gale that soon had her tipping backwards. Dessalene’s scream, which had begun in anger as she sought to extinguish her flaming hair, was soon strengthened with magic. The intensity of that howl sheared through Edela’s body until she felt her flesh rippling and her insides cramping. Bile flooded her mouth until she had no choice but to open it, retching up the remainder of the seeds. Now her legs were liquid, knees wobbling, and unable to hold herself up, she dropped to the floor. Though she was already working on her next chant, desperate not to lose the ability to speak, for she had to free Bertel and Siggy, or there would be no hope for any of them.

Dessalene laughed, hearing the chanting, confident that nothing was happening. Her hair was smoking, though no longer on fire, but just the thought of what Edela had done ignited a great fury inside her.

She had forced the old woman onto her knees, where she would remain as she took her life and finished her hapless companions. Leaning forward, she smiled, staring into the dreamer’s terrified eyes, seeing her wrinkled old lips quivering in despair. ‘You would like to know about my mistress, would you? What she truly wants? Well, I will grant you that last wish, Edela Saeveld.’ Flexing her fingers, Dessalene swept her hands around, painting slashes of light across the old woman’s chest.

Edela groaned, shoulders sagging, struggling to fight back. She felt weak, though she lifted her voice, reciting her chant, feeling a release as the magic trapping Bertel and Siggy was broken. And though that was a relief, Dessalene was on the move, encircling her with busy hands, working to ensnare her. Blinding flashes of light intensified, tightening like rope around her body.

Edela couldn’t catch her breath. It felt as though the dreamer’s sharp fingernails were inside her, clawing and pulling at her heart, her lungs, her throat. Though clenching her jaw and shutting out the pain, she sought to break through her magic. She heard Siggy cry out, feeling the girl’s fear. ‘You must –’ she moaned, coughing now. ‘Tell me. Please... tell me!’

Dessalene bent forward, eyes glowing with satisfaction. ‘Furia,’ she hissed. ‘The Mistress wants Furia, and everyone who thinks to stand in her way, in our way, will soon find out just how powerful we are. My mistress, my husband... me.’

Her voice was a seductive whisper, and she reached out, stroking Edela’s white hair. ‘I had thought this would be a mere chore, though I didn’t realise how much pleasure I would take in –’

Breaking through her bonds, Edela grabbed Dessalene by the throat, smelling her burned hair, and with an almighty grunt, she pulled the dreamer on top of her, onto the floor.

Suddenly, every flame was extinguished, and the dining hall plunged into darkness.

8

Watching from the trees some distance from the palace, Korri saw the compound fall dark. Even the torches and braziers lighting up the gates had blown out, as though a great wind had swept over Bhyan.

‘It’s beginning,’ he hissed, turning to his men. ‘Bows ready.’ Nodding at Zen, he waited while the boy mimicked the sound of a songbird, and hearing a reply from the trees on the other side of the road, he turned back. ‘Watch your step,’ he warned in a low voice, muscles taut, eyes stinging. Sweat had his bow feeling loose in his hand, and realising that his attention was all over the place, his nerves in charge, Korri grumbled at himself to stop thinking and start moving.

In the sudden darkness of the dining hall, Bertel realised that he was free from whatever spell Dessalene had bound him with – free but weaponless and flanked by the palace guards.

He had no idea what had happened to Siggy or Edela, though he needed to find a weapon...

Wriggling on the smooth marble flagstones, Edela was in a fight for her life.

She had released Dessalene’s neck, and in the darkness, had managed to grab hold of her belt. Acting quickly, she unsheathed the dreamer’s knife.

‘Seize them!’ Dessalene croaked, lashing out with her leg, striking nothing. ‘You witch!’ she shrieked, weaving together symbols to reignite the candles, though nothing happened.

The darkness continued to hold them all prisoner.

Feeling a prick on her palm, Dessalene yanked her hand out of Edela’s clammy grip, snarling. And now she flung out that hand, touching what felt like a blade, hearing something clatter across the floor. ‘You will die!’ she shrieked. And smelling blood, she ran a finger over her left palm, feeling a cut. ‘What have you done?’ Dragging herself to her feet, unable to even see the floor beneath them, she flung out one leg then the other, trying to kick the old woman.

Though despite her efforts, she found nothing, felt nothing.

Hearing movement behind her, she wondered what those guards were doing. The dining hall doors had been closed, the doors to the garden had been open, and knowing more guards were stationed outside, she called to them, demanding assistance and a torch.

Somebody needed to bring her a torch!

Discovering that she could move again, Siggy had silently crept away from her chair, wanting to help Edela but knowing it made more sense to find Bertel. She felt the guards moving around her, afraid that at any moment, she would bump into one. Hearing the sound of a blade being unsheathed, she moved with more urgency, unable to see, hands out before her.

Bertel started shouting.

She heard punching noises. Someone falling down.

Grunting. Boots hitting the floor.

Pulling up suddenly, she could smell someone strongly to her right. They appeared to be coming closer, and realising there was nothing to be done without a weapon, she started to panic.

‘The harbour!’ came Edela’s gasping voice in her ears. ‘Remember Harsoo’s harbour! You must repeat the chant, Siggy. Do it now!’

And despite shuddering with doubt, Siggy knew she had to try.

Reaching the table, she eased herself underneath it, wanting to keep out of everyone’s way. Despite the already blinding darkness, she closed her eyes, chanting in whispers so quiet that she could barely hear herself. She’d said the seven words so many times in Harsoo that they came to her without hesitation, and soon a gentle tingling sensation in her body became unbearable twitching, and she felt her back straighten, her spine like a rod of iron.

Edela had lost both the dreamer and the dreamer’s knife in the darkness, which wasn’t ideal, though getting everyone out of the palace alive was far more important to her than what happened to Dessalene.

At least for now.

She had to find a way to Raymon. Likely he was being concealed in a chamber. He couldn’t be dead. She didn’t feel that.

At first, Dessalene had shouted and cursed, ordering more guards to her, and Edela had thought to creep up behind her, but now she’d become silent, so instead, she focused on simply escaping her. On her hands and knees, she crawled away from the woman towards where she could just make out Siggy’s chanting. The girl was being as quiet as possible, though Dessalene would likely hear her and then...

Bertel had fought two guards to the floor, knocking one man out and slitting his throat, and having found the dead man’s sword, he’d hurriedly gutted the other.

Years of experience guided him in darkness thick enough to taste. More men were coming, and he eased himself down to the floor, wanting to slip away. Crawling towards where he imagined the table to be, seeking its protection, he heard Siggy chanting.

He heard footsteps too.

The girl was drawing the guards to her – to them both.

But what was she trying to do?

He heard shouting coming through the open doors, feeling the movement before him cease abruptly. And then a light burst before his eyes, bright enough to illuminate the entire hall.

Coming up on Korri’s left, seeing the night sky light up as though set on fire, Zen spun around with his bow, jerking to a halt.

Korri turned with him, seeing those flames in the distance. ‘Just like Harsoo.’ And with a wink, he motioned his men forward, hoping he had it right. They were approaching the gated compound from each flank, moving through the trees bordering the road, covered in scratches and bites. Though head fixed forward again, Korri gave little consideration to anything but reaching the gates.

Hearing shouting, he shivered in anticipation, and soon the gates were hastily unlocked and dragged open, shouting guards running out of the compound to see what they could do about the fire suddenly raging in nearby trees.

Glancing over his shoulder, Korri thought it looked so real that he could smell smoke. Though focusing again, he knew they had to move with speed. The horses were tethered nearby, but they had to put down the palace guards and wait for Edela to return with Bertel, Siggy, and Raymon before they could make their escape. ‘Hold,’ he urged. ‘We’re letting them run past us. We’re taking them from behind.’ Now he turned to Zen, seeking to focus the boy, who had some experience with a bow, though he didn’t look especially confident. ‘Aim for their backs. It’s the biggest target. Don’t worry, we can do the rest.’

Zen nodded, though he’d never hurt anyone in his life – nothing more than a punch, at least. He wasn’t sure he’d know how.

‘Hold,’ Korri murmured, needing every last guard to run past before they revealed themselves.

Holding his breath, fingers pulsing on his bow, arrow nocked and ready, he waited, and when he felt confident that the last man had run past, he ordered Zen to once again make the signal. And hearing its reply, he pushed out of the bushes and onto the road, joining with the rest of his archers to quickly bring down the unsuspecting palace guards.

Now that everyone in the dining hall could see, thanks to Siggy’s spell, there was no point in concealing anything.

Crawling out from under the table, Bertel moved quickly. In the darkness, he’d managed to kill two guards, though four remained, and they were coming at him fast.

Leading with his sword, he drove it at the nearest man, quickly turning it sideways and taking him in the knee. The surprised guard shouted, leg buckling, unable to stand, and dragging out the blade, Bertel rose to his feet and skewered him with it. Now he swung around, eyes on the sword coming for his head. Body creaking, he ducked, bobbing up to drive his blade into the guard’s groin. And not satisfied with that, eager to make certain, he jabbed him in the belly.

Light glinting off Bertel’s sword unnerved a surprised Dessalene, who immediately realised that she was no longer in control. Her hair was smoking, the prick on her palm was distracting, and she feared it was draining her power.

She saw no sign of Siggy, though she felt confident that Bertel would be finished off by the remaining guards, who outnumbered him three to one.

Swinging around, she spied Edela on her knees, knowing that whatever was happening would only stop when the old witch took her last breath.

Opening her mouth, she sought to call for help.

Edela wove two symbols into a knot as she crawled to a chair, and grabbing hold of it, she pulled herself onto her feet, turning to Dessalene, who was gaping at her.

The dreamer appeared to be screaming, though no words were coming out.

Dessalene heard other screams, though, filtering through the open doors. Something else was happening. And though she had lost her voice, her vision wasn’t hampered, and she soon saw glimpses of familiar faces fighting off the palace guards.

How many were there, she wondered, turning to Edela...

How many men had the scheming old biddy brought along?

Racing through the gates at the head of his men, bow now over his back, sword in his hand, Korri hoped Edela wouldn’t take long.

Equipped with the element of surprise and quivers of arrows, they’d quickly dispatched the guards who had first run out of the compound, though roused by a ringing bell, more men were coming through the palace doors.

And soon they were facing at least thirty well-armed men.

A spear shot past Korri, taking a man in the throat. The only light was coming from the illusion, and here in the shadowy compound, there was still a danger of being surprised. Blood splashed his face, and turning away, Korri spat, wiping his eyes. He felt for his man, though he had to focus on the safety of everyone else.

‘Bring them down!’ he ordered, seeing that the armed guards were organising fast, working to outflank them. Eyes darting from his men to his enemies, he soon saw that Edela would have no chance of leaving if they couldn’t clear the doors. ‘Egger! Take charge here! Bring these men down! We’ll secure the doors!’ He swung around, wiping his eyes again. Relieved to see Zen, he called the boy to his side. He looked mostly stunned, eyes peeled open, though he appeared to have a firm grip on his sword. ‘Gerulf!’ Korri barked. ‘With me!’ Now he patted Zen’s shoulder. ‘Come on!’ And seeing the boy nod, he led ten of his crew around giant flowering bushes towards the palace doors.

Sweat and blood had Bertel’s eyes stinging, and blinking desperately, he tried to clear his vision. All six guards were now down, though he feared more were coming. Disoriented, he didn’t know where the shouting was coming from, though he could certainly hear boots thumping through the palace.

‘You must find Raymon!’ came Edela’s voice in his ears.

Frowning, he feared it wasn’t possible, that they’d falter if they didn’t stick together. But without them, what chance did Raymon have?

Back on his knees, Bertel stuffed knives into his belt, one eye on Siggy.

The dreamers were in some sort of standoff, but against the much taller, stronger woman, Edela appeared to be faltering.

Dessalene’s mouth was open, her eyes glowing menacingly, and though she couldn’t speak, sparks were now shooting from her hands. Her arms remained pinned to her sides, though they were jerking violently.

Edela knew the dreamer was regaining her strength.

She felt her own weakness coming to the fore, unable to draw much from her depleted reserves. She had killed the Siluran warriors in a display of powerful magic, but every symbol she wove, every spell she chanted, was now parried by Dessalene, who was certainly weaving symbols with her mind. And fearing what would happen next, Edela was forced to change her plans. ‘Forget Raymon!’ she called to Bertel in desperation, catching his eye. ‘Hurry to the gates! Take Siggy!’ Bertel didn’t want to leave her, she could tell, feeling his stubborn resistance. ‘Do as I say!’ Edela barked. ‘Go!’

Bertel took one last, pained look at her, then with a shake of his head and a prayer to Lydea, he hurried to Siggy. Bending down to the table and touching her arm, he woke her out of her trance, and before she could even get her bearings, he had marched her through the doors and into the garden.

The flaming light in the distance was extinguished, though torches had been lit in the compound, allowing those in the hall to see.

Dessalene was furious, though she kept her attention on Edela, who was weakening her hold now. The old dreamer had come armed to fight and had performed admirably, though her age was starting to show.

Feeling her arms tingle explosively, finally released from Edela’s spell, Dessalene flung them out, shaking them threateningly. ‘I can’t say it was a pleasure,’ she growled, a dishevelled mess with singed hair, albeit a confident one now. ‘Though I shall relish your death more than any fine meal.’ And chanting in a voice that deepened until it became a masculine bellow, echoing around the hall, Dessalene pushed out her hands, aiming at the old dreamer.

Edela immediately felt a painful tightness in her chest, as though her lungs were being crushed. Struggling to breathe, she sought to step back, needing to master herself and the situation. Symbols burst before her eyes, though she couldn’t use any of them. They sparked and faded as she gasped for breath. She couldn’t move, eyes popping open now.

She saw images of Bertel with Siggy.

They’d found Korri.

Korri would get them to safety, and if she could just delay the dreamer, there would be time to reach the horses. Though Raymon? She remembered Furia and thought desperately of Raymon.

Exhaustion swept over her, and she remembered her day of walking and fretting, planning, and riding. Her sleepless nights and long, long journey from Tuura too.

Before her, Dessalene had taken on the appearance of a gloating ogre – one now moving away from her.

‘Goodbye, Edela,’ were the last words she heard as Dessalene disappeared, and the ceiling came into view, her head striking the cold marble floor.

Jael, she thought.

Raymon...

Running back into the dining hall, now minus Siggy, Bertel saw Edela fall. He scrambled forward, sliding across the floor as Dessalene laughed, raising her arms for what he imagined was the final strike. And finding a knife, he scooped it up and flung it at the woman.

It struck her in the chest, and shocked by that, she staggered. Blue eyes sparked with anger, then froze before rolling up into the back of her head as she keeled over.

Hearing footsteps and fearing what that meant, Bertel didn’t hesitate. Reaching a motionless Edela, he scooped her into his arms. She was heavier than he’d expected, and his bleeding legs wobbled. He saw Korri coming and hurried towards him.

‘We have to go!’ Korri urged, eyes up, hearing those thumping boots himself. He saw the blood on Bertel and reached out to take Edela. ‘We need to get to the horses!’

Siggy was wide awake now and panicking by the gates where Korri’s men had full command of the situation. The Bhyan guards who’d come to the aid of their friends hadn’t come as prepared as they needed to be. Many had been cut down viciously before they’d even taken stock of the situation as Korri’s men used up the last of their arrows.

Seeing the surprise attack, others had retreated, calling for reinforcements.

Bhyan was so out of the way that despite it being one of the king’s palaces, security had never been a priority, and it was showing.

Siggy was oblivious to everything but the need to get back to the palace. Bertel and Korri had run off to find Edela and Raymon, though she wanted to go after them. Zen had to hold her back, which didn’t please her in the slightest.

‘They’ll help Edela!’ he insisted, tugging her arm. ‘You can’t!’

Siggy didn’t think that was true, knowing how much Edela relied upon her magic. Her strength. She wanted to go to her.

Shaking Zen off, she turned to growl at him. ‘I’m not leaving her there! Come with me or stay here, but I’m going either way!’ And not waiting for his reply, she started running.

Though not for long, for soon they could see Bertel hurrying towards them and Korri behind him with Edela slung over his shoulder.

‘Go!’ Bertel yelled, arms in the air, aware that more guards were coming. ‘Head for the horses!’

Locked in his windowless chamber, Raymon had heard a great commotion down in the palace and outside it. Though unable to see, he had no real understanding of what had happened.

He could only guess that Edela had come.

That she had done something.

But what?

The guards had left him in fetters, his wrists and ankles chained together. There was little he could do, nowhere he could go, though he could still use his hands, and now he dug into his sock, pulling out the green gemstone Edela had given him.

He’d managed to get it out of his pouch in the tussle with the guards who’d taken them from the jungle. He’d kept it safe in his hand until he could hide it in his sock.

He didn’t know why, though he hoped it was a way to Edela.

A way for the dreamer to find him.

Dessalene’s servants carried their mistress to her bedchamber on the second floor.

The knife in her chest was lodged just above her right breast, though oddly, there was no blood.

The king’s physician came, soon extracting it, surprised by such a strange wound.

Behind him, servants whispered of magic.

He feared it himself, looking at the marked blade he’d extracted from the woman’s chest. There were symbols carved all over it, and seeing not a drop of blood on her, he feared what that portended.

She was alive, breathing, though she hadn’t regained consciousness.

He cleaned her wound and stitched it, applying a balm of honey and animal fat before wrapping her chest in bandages. The servants left, replaced by a dark-haired man whose face was an emotionless mask.

‘We must write to her husband and explain what has happened. He will know what to do. He will come for her.’

9

It was an especially warm evening as Jael and Eadmund lay facing each other.

‘How’s your back?’ Eadmund whispered. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you.’

Staring into his eyes, Jael felt all over the place. ‘I’m not sure I feel anything but hurt. Or perhaps I feel nothing at all? Like Gant. He looks like a stranger. Just focused on getting everything done. On securing the kingdom.’

‘Mmmm, and you with him.’

‘Though there’s little choice about that,’ Jael sighed. ‘At least for now.’ She touched Eadmund’s face, holding her hand to his cheek, knowing that come morning, she would never touch him this way again. ‘We must make it official,’ she said, desperate to cling to practical matters, not wanting to feel anything, especially the crushing pain of her broken heart. ‘The divorce.’

A shocked Eadmund couldn’t speak, searching her eyes. ‘The divorce,’ he murmured, taking her hand. ‘It’s just like our wedding, isn’t it? We didn’t want the marriage, and now we don’t want the divorce.’

Remembering the day they’d met on Oss’ beach, Jael felt tears coming. ‘When Lothar sent me away from here, I didn’t want to go. I had my life, I’d made my choices. Everything had gone wrong after my father died, but I still had Aleksander. I had my family.’ She closed her eyes, seeing herself sailing away from Andala on that bitter winter’s morning. ‘Though everything happens for a reason,’ she supposed, opening them.

‘And you know it? The reason? Why this is all happening?’

Jael shook her head. ‘I’m not that sort of dreamer. I wish I was, but I’m simply not that powerful.’

‘Only because you don’t choose to be,’ came a voice that sounded remarkably like her grandmother’s.

‘We could run away?’

Jael’s heart almost burst. Eadmund’s hazel eyes were often sad, sometimes smiling, and every now and then, sparkling with mischief. Like now. ‘Where would we go?’ she breathed, edging closer. ‘Not the Fire Lands.’

He laughed. ‘No, we wouldn’t go back to the Fire Lands. We wouldn’t go to Alekka.’

‘Not Alekka,’ Jael agreed.

‘We’d go west,’ Eadmund decided wistfully. ‘Take the children, go west, and see what we could find. Land. A place where we could fish and hunt and build a cottage. We’d start again. No crowns, no chairs, no rules. Just you, me, Sigmund, and Bo.’

‘Though we’d need to take the dogs. And the horses. I can’t imagine leaving Biddy behind, and then there’s –’

Leaning forward, Eadmund kissed her. ‘Be quiet, woman. No more talking.’

And not inclined to argue, Jael edged closer, taking his face in her hands and kissing him desperately.

Gisila shuffled towards her husband, feeling cold in the depths of the night. She wasn’t sure if it was actually cold, for Gant had kicked off the furs and lay on his stomach beside her, silent and still. Reaching him, she slipped an arm through his, at once reminded of her dead son and his dead wife and their dead unborn child.

Her head hurt, her heart was shattered, and she let out a wretched sob.

Jerking around, Gant opened his eyes. The lamp was burning on Gisila’s bedside table, and he saw the familiar shape of her beside him. Shivering and quickly sitting up, he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Then, realising that the furs had gone, he released her and bent down to the floor, picking up the furry clump. Bringing it back to the bed, he packed them around his wife. ‘You’re cold.’ She was crying and didn’t answer. ‘My love, I’m so sorry.’

‘What did I do wrong?’ Gisila sobbed. ‘To the gods? What did I do? That they took all my boys? Every one of them?’ She was bereft. Empty.

Stellan, Magnar, Axl.

‘They were such good boys,’ she sniffed, wiping her eyes. ‘And Axl? What chance did he have? It must be a curse! We are cursed!’

Her voice had risen, she was almost shouting, and seeking to soothe her, Gant pulled her fur-swathed body back into his arms.

‘And what of my mother? She’s likely dead too! And who will be next? Me? Jael? You?’

Gant blinked, realising that he’d barely spoken to Gisila during the day, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned her mother. ‘I’ve information about her,’ he whispered, trying to encourage her to quieten down. ‘Edela.’

Gisila closed her mouth, becoming still. ‘What information? From who?’

‘Lina Storgard.’

‘Who?’

‘The new Queen of Iskavall. She was with Edela in Tuura. They escaped together.’

Gisila was stunned. ‘Together?’

‘Yes. They parted in Ollsvik, and Edela wasn’t alone. She was in the company of two others. A man and a woman, I think. They left together.’

‘Willingly?’

Remembering what Lina had said, Gant nodded. ‘Lina thought they were on a ship. She said she saw that.’

Gisila was quiet, staring into his eyes.

‘Lina is a dreamer. That’s why she was in Tuura. No more than a girl, poor thing, married to that demented Oren Storgard.’

‘On a ship to where?’ Gisila wanted to know, feeling a lift but remaining unsatisfied. ‘Where did she go? And why didn’t she come home? Back here?’

Though Gant had no answer for that. ‘She’s safe,’ he insisted to both his wife and himself. ‘At least she’s choosing her own path.’ He remembered saying the same to a gobsmacked Axl, though not wanting to think about Axl, he focused again on his momentarily distracted wife.

‘She must be in danger,’ Gisila decided. ‘If she wasn’t in danger, if there was no danger, she would come home like Jael did. If she was merely having an adventure, she would write. And even if she wasn’t? She would write. You know that!’

Gant could see everything unravelling once more, and he sought to distract her again. ‘Though your mother has always enjoyed her privacy, hasn’t she? She’s always been a little secretive. It’s a dreamer’s way, I expect, to keep things close.’ He thought of Edela’s ruined cottage and warned himself not to mention it. ‘We can only wait for her return. To hear all about her journey then.’

‘And to tell her about Axl and Amma,’ Gisila mumbled, bursting into tears again. ‘To tell her that she lost another grandson –’

Pulling her towards him, Gant stroked his sobbing wife’s hair, trying to think about something else. Not Axl. Not the king lying in Eren Venberg’s bed, covered in blood. He would not think about that.

Not until it was all done.

Bouncing along on Bertel’s horse, Edela woke up yelping, not recognising either the beast or where she was.

Having escaped the palace, Korri had led everyone on a fast march to reclaim their horses, pursued by a number of palace guards, and now they were riding in moonlight through a knotted mass of trees and vines. The nimble horses he’d purchased were doing their best in the darkness, though the intense heat and the dense jungle were proving challenging.

It had been hours of trying to find another road, and Bertel was in agony, holding Edela with his left arm while working the reins with his right. His shoulders were ready to come apart, and realising that she was waking up, he called a halt.

The intense pain in Edela’s head brought tears to her eyes as Zen hurried to help her down.

Bertel slid from his horse with a groan, suddenly aware of his efforts in the palace. Every joint was burning, and he was cut in a number of places, though relieved that the dreamer was conscious again, he soon forgot about himself.

‘Oh!’ Edela exclaimed before him, and blowing out a long breath, she tipped forward until her hands were on her knees, sinking into the soggy jungle floor. ‘I...’

Siggy was soon off her own horse and at Edela’s side, helping to hold her up.

‘I’ve got water!’ Korri called, coming up the line, hearing the horses snorting and shaking their bridles. Reaching the dreamer, he handed over a full waterskin, feeling her hand trembling. ‘Are you alright, Edela? We probably shouldn’t stop for long,’ he added, glancing around.

Straightening up, Edela saw everyone turn her way, feeling completely disoriented. ‘Where are we? What... what happened?’ She saw Dessalene’s face looming above her, a great wheel of candles flaming overhead, and then?

Bertel sighed. ‘The dreamer knocked you out. We carried you out of the palace, and now we’re being followed. Aren’t we?’ he said, briefly peering at Siggy before turning back around. He was so stiff that he couldn’t imagine getting back in the saddle, though they needed to put more distance between themselves and their pursuers.

Siggy nodded. ‘The guards from the palace, they’re... getting closer.’

‘How many?’ one of Korri’s men wanted to know, passing around a waterskin.

It was hard to see anything in the dark, surrounded by what felt like walls of trees, and Siggy shrugged, though noticing Edela watching her, she closed her eyes, trying to feel rather than see. ‘A lot. More than us,’ she breathed, opening them with a shiver.

‘And they’ll know this place better than us too,’ Korri warned, ordering everyone back to the horses. ‘We’re likely going in circles, though hopefully we’ll stumble across a road soon.’

The pain in Edela’s head maintained a steady drumbeat, so intense that she could barely open her eyes, though her thoughts became clearer, and now she glanced around. ‘Raymon? Where’s Raymon?’

Bertel looked regretful. ‘There was no chance to find him, I’m afraid. None. I stabbed the dreamer and got you out of there fast.’

Edela gaped at him. ‘You did what?’

Bertel slapped a bug sucking his neck, frowning in annoyance. ‘The dreamer... I threw a knife at her. Hit her in the chest. She went down, and I carried you outside.’

Edela staggered, one hand out. ‘You killed her?’ She was astounded.

Bertel didn’t know. He shrugged, slapping his hand this time.

‘We need to get moving,’ Korri muttered, scanning the trees. ‘There’s nothing we can do about Raymon until we’re safe ourselves. Those guards will be breathing down our necks soon. We’re not giving up on him, but we have to get out of here, Edela.’

‘You’re bleeding,’ Edela said, seeing blood dripping from Korri’s sleeve.

‘Nothing serious,’ he promised with a smile. ‘We did better than I’d hoped. Those guards were taken by surprise.’

‘Thanks to Siggy,’ Edela sighed, offering her waterskin to the girl, who took it with a frown. ‘It was asking a lot for you to remember our little chant on the spot like that. To do it all on your own too. Though I had faith you would.’

They hurried back to the horses, desperate for a brighter moon and a lighter tree canopy, though dawn would arrive soon enough, and where would it see them?

Edela was helped to her own horse, leaving Bertel free to ride with both hands.

She felt strange, worried about their chances, and worried about Raymon most of all.

Was the dreamer alive?

Was he?

With his ankle fetters chained together, Raymon could only shuffle around the small chamber. The lamps were burning down, though he thought he heard a bird in the distance, hoping dawn was coming.

Dawn and answers.

Whatever disturbance had happened in the night had ended long ago, leaving an eerie silence. Dessalene hadn’t come back. He hadn’t been rescued.

So what did that mean?

He was so thirsty that it was becoming difficult to swallow, hungry though too nauseous to care.

Eventually, sitting down, back to the wall, he dug into his sock again, pulling out the gemstone, and closing his eyes, he squeezed it, hoping to get through to Edela.

Dawn in Andala was announced with a sad song.

Jael stood on the hall steps, listening and shivering in the weak grey light.

The dawn chorus was usually full of excitement and expectation, a hint of impatience, and a desire to embrace the new day.

But this morning?

The square was mostly deserted, though inside the hall, Helvor’s helpers were already in the kitchen, hard at work, the smell of baking bread wafting through the doors.

Gant had left his chamber, heading up to the wall.

Eadmund had been sleeping soundly.

And she was the queen.

The Osslanders would take their ships, leaving behind the charred wreckage of Ice Breaker, and go home.

And she would stay here and try to make everyone safe again.

To make Brekka whole. To deal with their enemies inside and outside their borders. To hunt down Axl’s killer.

And then?

In the silence, time stretched before Jael like the longest road.

She saw no end to it. No hope in it.

Just a long, lonely, bitterly cold road.

She heard footsteps, and soon Mattie joined her.

‘I thought you might like a tea,’ the dreamer smiled, offering Jael one of the two cups she’d brought with her.

Jael didn’t turn around.

‘Lavender and lemon balm. I, I didn’t sleep much. Got me thinking about what might help. That we all might need some help.’

‘I’m not ready,’ Jael said, finally looking her way. She kept her eyes on Mattie, not dropping them to the cup. ‘Not ready for company.’

Mattie felt embarrassed, quickly backing away. ‘I, yes... I will be inside if you need me. I have to check on Linas.’

Jael blinked, more present now. ‘How is he?’

‘He’s a dreamer!’ Mattie blurted out, coming forward again.

‘A dreamer?’

She nodded. ‘I will look after him now. I promised Helga.’

A surprised Jael turned back to her view of the quiet square and the sound of that mournful bird. ‘And Gully,’ she murmured. ‘You’ll need to care for him too.’

‘I will,’ Mattie promised. ‘And I’m searching for Gunnhild. And symbols. More ways to protect the fort. To keep us safe.’ She waited, though the queen said nothing more, nor did she look her way, and soon she was forced to turn around and head back into the hall. She stopped at the doors, looking back to that solitary figure, remembering the morning she’d said her final goodbye to her own husband. And with a tear in her eye, she dropped her head and disappeared inside.

Eadmund had been awake for some time, not surprised to be lying in bed alone. His wife had never been one for sleeping when she had something on her mind. And despite Oss’ notorious cold, she’d often left the hall wrapped in her cloak, wandering around the fort in the dark, alone.

She liked being alone.

Though he liked being with her.

He liked riding with her and talking with her. He even liked arguing with her. She was vicious. Unstoppable. Unbreakable.

He feared she was everything he was not.

That without her beside him, he would fall down again. Into that hole.

That she had been his strength these past few years. That his transformation hadn’t come from him but from her.

He didn’t want to go back to Oss, where everything would remind him of what he no longer had.

Her.

He would no longer have her.

Rolling onto his side, Eadmund reached out a hand, touching the place where his wife should have been, struggling to believe that she would never lie beside him again.

Jael headed to the stables, wanting to say goodbye to the horses.

Tig would be thankful not to be setting sail, though he would miss Oss. Their rides across the island’s wild, wind-swept landscape had become their favourite of all. He would miss Leada, who had been his closest companion, Fyn’s horse, Yara, and Thorgils’ Vili too. As would she.

She’d taken carrots from the kitchen.

Orm was already up, tending to the horses with a boy and a girl, who were new. She didn’t recognise them. At fourteen, he appeared in charge of them both and quickly led them out of the stables, giving the queen some privacy.

Though she wasn’t alone for long.

‘I’m not going to change my mind.’ And turning around, Jael saw Fyn staring at her from the stable doors. He looked miserable, head hanging low, and she smiled. ‘It’s for the best, I promise.’

Lifting his head, Fyn ran a hand over his short beard, half wondering if he should leave. She obviously didn’t want his company. Didn’t want him around.

‘I want you to have a life is what I want,’ Jael said, patting a greedy Vili, busy nibbling her figures, and leaving him behind, she headed for Fyn. ‘Your life. You have to make it away from me. That’s what I think. I want you to. Life is more than battles and training. It’s about...’ She sighed, sick of the sound of her own voice.

Fyn shook his head. ‘But what did I do wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Jael promised. ‘You’ve been loyal to me. I’ve trusted you, relied upon you. I’ve always been proud to see you by my side, watching my back. You’ve done nothing.’ She remembered him lying on the ramparts with the arrow in his chest, fearing he was dead.

She wouldn’t keep him here where there was only danger. To her.

To those she loved. Like Fyn.

Now she took him in her arms, squeezing him. ‘You need to look after Eadmund. Thorgils has so many children now, and Isaura. He won’t see everything. That’s what I fear.’ She stepped back. ‘So I need you to...’ She bit her lip. ‘I need you to look after Eadmund for me.’

‘I will. Of course I will, but I...’ Fyn struggled to say the words, lips making shapes as he sought to hold back his tears. In the end, he could only shake his head, looking away.

‘I’ll miss you too,’ Jael smiled. ‘All of you. I always will, but there’s no choice. I can’t be on Oss anymore, but you can, Fyn. It’s where you belong. Where you need to be, I promise.’

Dessalene had no idea where she was.

Lurching out of bed, she was ready to defend herself, as though in the midst of battle. Pain tore through her chest and she shouted in surprise. Certain her heart was exploding, she collapsed back onto the bed.

‘My lady!’ exclaimed a surprised servant, hurrying forward.

‘What is happening?’ the dreamer hissed, unable to even turn her head – it felt as though knives were embedded in her chest. ‘Aarrghh,’ she moaned. ‘Where is –’ She attempted to sit up again. ‘Raymon Vandaal! Is he...’ she gasped, turning to the servant, not recognising her. ‘And the dreamer?’

‘They’re gone, my lady,’ the servant told her with nervous eyes. ‘And so many dead bodies! They’re cleaning up now. It’s a terrible mess. And the dining hall?’ She shook her head. ‘I’ve sent for the physician. He will come again soon.’

‘Gone?’ A horrified Dessalene had heard nothing after that, glancing past the woman to see light seeping through the curtains. ‘All of them?’

‘Not your prisoner, I don’t think. I haven’t heard about him,’ the servant said with a confused frown. ‘We sent word to your husband. We didn’t even know if you’d live –’

Dessalene slapped the woman, screaming at the stabbing pain in her chest. ‘Sent word to my husband?’ Face wrenched in horror, she watched as the woman’s warty face crumpled before her. ‘My husband? To tell him what?’

The shocked servant stepped back, no longer confident in her words. She held her cheek. ‘About what... what happened, my lady.’

‘Who?’ Dessalene shrieked, ignoring the pain as she shuffled across the bed. ‘Who wrote this missive? Who thought to do so?’

Mouth gaping open, eyes darting to the door, the servant started backing towards it as Dessalene yelped and snarled, one hand to her chest.

‘Morik, my lady. It was Morik.’

‘Of course it was,’ Dessalene seethed. ‘You will help me dress, you rotting maggot. And have that hound find out what has happened to my prisoner! We must leave!’ she gasped, pulling open her nightgown, wanting to find the source of the unbearable pain. ‘We must leave here at once!’

10

The jungle air felt as heavy as a blanket – it was hard to even breathe – though, thanks to the rising sun, their visibility was improving, and Korri thought they were making good progress now. They had found a path, which, though narrow, meant there was less need to stop and hack at vines and snap off branches to get through.

Edela wanted to go back for Raymon, though there was no possibility of turning around while they were being pursued.

Her encounter with Dessalene had her reeling.

The lump on the back of her head felt the size of an apple, the pain blinding. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, and just staying upright was an effort, so she was relieved that upon coming across a stream, Korri decided to quickly stop and water the horses. The muggy air was draining, and the horses, though not moving at any real speed, had been on the go for too long.

Korri helped her off her horse. ‘Any sign of those guards? Are they still with us?’

Edela nodded, gingerly feeling her head. ‘Yes. If only we could find the road...’

Running a hand over his forehead, Korri wiped away a film of filthy sweat. In the darkness, nothing had looked familiar, and now, in the rising sun, nothing looked familiar, and he feared they were lost. He’d sent two men ahead, looking for signs as to where they were, though in the jungle, penned in by dense trees and knotted vines, it was impossible to see much.

Bertel approached, his tunic a muddy red now, soaked with blood and sweat. Korri had seen the dead bodies in the dining hall, certain he wouldn’t have fared as well.

Hearing a screeching bird flapping above, Bertel flung back his head, hating everything about the jungle. He felt under threat, not just from the approach of the palace guards but from every creature crawling through the tangled, moist undergrowth and flying through the air. Wiping his forehead and the back of his neck, he turned to Edela, who had suddenly gasped behind him. ‘What is it?’

‘Raymon. I... I saw Raymon!’

‘He’s alive?’ Korri asked, coming forward.

Edela closed her eyes. She could feel a warmth in her purse, and slipping a hand into it, she found the other half of the green tourmaline she’d given to Raymon. ‘Yes. Yes, he is,’ she breathed with relief. Opening her eyes now, she peered at Korri and Bertel. ‘We cannot leave him there. We must go back to the palace.’

‘But the dreamer,’ Bertel warned. ‘What if she’s still alive?’

Edela looked uncertain. ‘Well, you stabbed her, though I have my doubts that would have finished things. We dreamers can be stubbornly resilient. But Raymon? He is not. That Dessalene woman means to kill him, to kill my family,’ she remembered, frowning now. ‘We have to find a way back to him.’

Before her, Korri frowned. ‘I agree, we do, but first, we have to lose these men.’

Edela winced, the intense pain in her head now blurring her eyes. Sunshine was filtering through the green trees, and everything became brighter, turning golden.

It blinded her, yet she suddenly saw further.

The palace guards were almost upon them.

Edela seized Korri’s arm. ‘Back to the horses!’ she exclaimed breathlessly. ‘We must hurry!’

Raymon was dragged out of the chamber, pulled down a marble corridor, down the stairs, and left to wait at the palace doors while everyone ignored him. He tried to ask questions of the guards who hovered near him and the servants rushing past. Most looked his way but quickly lowered their eyes.

Perhaps they didn’t speak the common tongue? Or maybe they were afraid of Dessalene?

The palace was in an uproar, and over the sweet scent of summer flowers, Raymon could smell the unmistakable reek of blood and death.

He feared for his friends and for Edela most of all.

She must have come, but what had happened, and where were they now?

Dead?

Perhaps that was why no one would answer him?

Eventually, a dark-haired man in a black tunic approached. Tall and with an air of self-importance, he barely concealed a condescending sneer as he looked down his nose at him. ‘The lady Dessalene will be here presently. We will be leaving the palace.’

‘And what of my friends? Where are they?’ Raymon panicked. ‘What happened to them?’

The man shrugged, a smile playing around mean lips. ‘Well, they have gone and left you behind.’

A surprised Raymon didn’t know how he felt. Perhaps annoyed? He had come all this way with Edela, and she had left him behind?

The man turned to speak to the guards flanking the palace doors, and soon Raymon was dragged outside.

‘Best we get everything ready before the lady arrives,’ the sneering man said, motioning to the doors. ‘Find somewhere to piss. It’s going to be a long day.’

Meena Gallas had woken with an unfamiliar sense of urgency, as though a sharp blade had cut away the fog she’d been wading through since giving birth to her third daughter.

She had been feeling strange for some time – ever since Eadmund Skalleson had turned up in Hest. And those strange feelings had intensified when Karsten had returned from Angard with news of Amma Furyck’s death.

Amma had been kind and sweet. She had loved her husband, though Meena had never had a good feeling about their future.

Though she supposed she didn’t have good feelings about most things. She was fearful by nature, terrorised by far too many nightmares. So much so that she saw danger in every shadow, in every full moon, in every new arrival.

Like Freya Valens, Hest’s new queen.

Meena didn’t trust her.

Karsten’s wife had been courteous to her face, though behind her back?

Perhaps Karsten had told Freya that she wasn’t much use as a dreamer? Either way, the queen hadn’t considered that a dreamer might see through walls, into the chambers where she mocked her new sister-in-law to the servants so desperate to please their mistress.

Meena’s cheeks were hot as she bustled along the corridor, remembering the cruel things Freya had said about her. She felt embarrassed and angry.

Though it wasn’t why she had come.

It wasn’t why she had left her husband getting dressed and the nursemaids tending to the children so she could hurry to Karsten’s door. He wasn’t an early riser, though his servants were alert and on hand, ready to pass her message onto the king.

She shuffled her feet outside the closed bedchamber door, hearing a woman’s voice, certain it wasn’t Freya’s.

And then a dishevelled Karsten was before her, blonde hair in a tangle, reeking of wine as he peered at her, gripping the door. ‘It’s a bit early.’

‘Axl Furyck is dead! He has been murdered!’ Meena hissed with bulging eyes. ‘Murdered like his wife. We must go. We must go to Jael immediately!’

Gant left Gisila sleeping.

She’d had a disturbed night and he feared for her. At one point, she’d become hysterical, once again vomiting with grief. It was distressing to watch, and he’d asked Branwyn and her daughter-in-law, Kayla, to remain with her throughout the day. Astrid had promised to come after breakfast, and that had to be enough, for there was so much to do in the fort.

Though for now, it was all about goodbyes, and Gant wanted to be there when Jael said farewell to the Osslanders. To her husband and friends.

He thought back to when he’d told her that she was now Brekka’s queen – little more than a day earlier. She hadn’t argued, as he’d always known she wouldn’t. But she was giving up the life she loved for a crown she no longer wanted and a home she’d left behind years ago.

It was a great sacrifice – her heart for a kingdom.

Rexon joined him as he headed through the square, where they met Aedan, and he decided to come along too.

‘Have you seen Erling?’ Gant wondered.

Aedan shook his head. ‘No sign of him since yesterday.’

‘Keep an eye on him. Him and his parents. I don’t trust Hal to do so. Ragnar’s organising the ship for the funeral, though I want everyone else’s attention on what comes next, on recognising Jael as the queen. We have threats, problems, too many to indulge in any whispers and gossip the Venbergs seek to spread. Jael has work to do to secure the kingdom, so we can’t have problems brewing here. The king is dead, and there’ll be many questions about that. Our job is not to answer them but to move everyone on quickly, so they forget they had them in the first place.’

Rexon’s head snapped around in surprise.

Gant had known Axl as a newborn. He’d helped raise him into a man, a king, and finally, he’d become a son, though he could have been talking about a complete stranger.

Rexon almost wished he could distance himself from his feelings for those he loved, but it was a raging fire slowly consuming him, and he found it impossible to think of anything else. ‘I don’t want to bother Jael, but we need to talk about Saala.’

Gant agreed, though there was more than just Saala to discuss. ‘I’ll call a council meeting. Jael might need some time. There’ll be a lot to talk about, though we need to make decisions with clear heads. Hopefully, one of us will have one.’ He saw a flash of fear in Rexon’s eyes, though it was Jael he was thinking of. She had coped with her father’s death by disappearing inside herself, by shutting everyone out. And now to lose Eadmund?

He had to ensure that she didn’t disappear again.

Linas had come down to the piers with Kolarov, Mattie, and Pye. Gully had bounded off immediately, chasing squawking gulls, though Linas hadn’t followed, standing by Pye with his mouth closed, eyes on his boots.

The people around him were mostly strangers, and without his grandmother’s constant, comforting presence, he felt lost and alone.

‘Your toe will be through those soon enough,’ Kolarov noted on his other side, shielding his eyes from the rising sun. ‘You’ll need something sturdier for winter. My memories of this place are of snow. A lot of it.’

‘It snowed in the forest,’ Linas said, eyeing the big men hefting barrels onto shoulders, laughing and joking as they headed down the pier. ‘My grandmother put fur in my boots.’

‘Mmmm,’ Kolarov nodded. ‘That would help, though you’ll need a bigger pair nonetheless. Perhaps I’ll take you to visit the shoemaker?’ He looked at Mattie, imagining she might want a say in things, though her thoughts appeared elsewhere, and no one seemed that interested in talking about footwear.

The Osslanders were readying their ships, Eadmund amongst them, but as yet, there was no sign of the queen.

There had been a breakfast feast, though she hadn’t been there either.

Kolarov wondered if she’d simply ridden off, unable to face such a scene.

He doubted he could have.

Mattie turned around, suddenly alert. ‘Can you watch Linas?’ she said to Pye. ‘I... I want to say goodbye. Kolarov?’ She inclined her head, hoping he would join her.

Kolarov nudged Linas towards Pye and hurried after the dreamer, suddenly on the verge of tears.

He remembered the day Otter had come to his door and then the big man with the red curls, accompanied by his king. He had been deprived of adventure for so long – any real company. There hadn’t been true friendship for years. Then, somehow, he’d found both in a ship of filthy Islanders, Brekkans, and a Tuuran dreamer.

Taking Mattie’s hand, he squeezed it. ‘We will miss them.’

She didn’t reply, her attention on Thorgils and Fyn, who appeared to be arguing.

‘Come to hurry us along?’ Thorgils wondered with a grin, though his eyes skipped quickly past the dreamer and the explorer, searching the piers for any sign of Jael. ‘Won’t be easy. Slow as a snail in honey this lot.’ And nudging his cousin, he turned back to Kolarov. ‘You’re staying then?’

Kolarov nodded. ‘For now. I can help. Or I hope to, at least. And if I’m not wanted, well, there’ll be a ship to somewhere.’

‘Another adventure?’ Thorgils laughed. ‘I won’t miss it. Not a bit. I’d like to wake up in my own bed for a change. My own bed with my own wife.’ Hearing a hush dampen the noisy bustle of activity, he looked up to see Jael coming.

Her hair was brushed – he noticed that first. Brushed and braided.

She appeared clean. Self-aware.

The look on her face was one he didn’t recognise. He saw no scowl, no arched eyebrow.

It wasn’t really her.

Wrinkling his nose, he dropped his eyes to the explorer, patting his shoulder. ‘It was a pleasure, Kolarov Radic.’ And face brightening, he reached behind his back, pulling a red woollen hat from his belt. ‘Not quite like the one you lost, but I saw it yesterday and thought of you.’

Kolarov’s lips parted, eyes shining with tears. For once, he was speechless and could only nod as Thorgils fitted it on his head, patting it down.

‘Not bad,’ the big man said with a crooked grin. ‘Suits you.’

More nodding ensued, and now some sniffing as Thorgils turned his attention to Mattie, taking her in his arms. ‘Look after yourself, Mattie Bilso. You’re a nugget of gold in a field of mud. Never forget that. Dreamers can do the most wonderful things.’ He kissed her rosy cheek. ‘Come to Oss one day. Come and see the best island in all of Varmyr!’

‘I would like to,’ she smiled tearfully, looking from Thorgils to Fyn. ‘I’m sure I can.’

‘You should,’ Fyn agreed, lifting his eyes to meet Mattie’s. And there they lingered, remembering pulling her out of the rubble, fearing she was dead.

Thorgils was called away by Eadmund, and Kolarov muttered something, following him, leaving Fyn and Mattie alone.

‘You need to take care of yourself,’ Mattie said, becoming flustered. ‘Of your... wound,’ she added quickly. ‘You need to take care of your wound.’

‘Of course. I will.’

Mattie dropped her eyes. ‘I... wish it was different,’ she said into her dress. ‘That it had been different. This.’

A confused Fyn wasn’t sure what she meant. He didn’t speak.

‘Eadmund and Jael,’ Mattie hurried to explain.

‘Oh.’ Fyn nodded. ‘It’s so unfair. They love each other.’

‘Mmmm, though love isn’t always enough, and it isn’t always forever.’

‘No,’ Fyn supposed, certain she was thinking of her husband.

‘I hope you find happiness! That girl? Milla? I hope you find happiness with her.’

Fyn shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You can only try. And you should. I... saw you with her.’

Fyn blinked.

‘When you were injured. Unconscious. I saw you with her. It’s how I knew you would live.’

‘You did?’

‘It was a vision of the future. The two of you were together,’ Mattie said, squirming now. She stepped back, bumping into Jael, who was on her way to Eadmund. ‘Oh, I!’ Though Jael didn’t say anything as she headed past them both.

‘Fyn!’ Bram shouted. ‘We’re waiting!’

‘I have to go,’ Fyn said, glancing around. ‘Take care, Mattie.’

‘And you. I shall write!’

‘You will?’

‘I will! I’ll tell you how Jael is. How we all are. It will be like you’re here!’

Fyn smiled. ‘I’d like that. And I’ll tell you about Thorgils and Eadmund. It’ll bore you to tears.’

‘I think not.’

Fyn nodded. ‘Well, goodbye then.’

Mattie’s smile was almost a grimace now, forced as it was. ‘Goodbye.’

And with a bob of his head and a searching look, Fyn Gallas turned away and headed to his father.

Kolarov soon joined her, blowing his nose. ‘Oh,’ he sniffed. ‘Goodbyes are harder than I remember.’ Now he turned back to see Jael and Thorgils standing before each other. ‘We should get back to the boy. I don’t trust that Pye. I think Jael needs to keep a close eye on him.’

Mattie didn’t answer. Her attention was on Fyn, and on Eadmund and Thorgils, remembering the journey they’d been on since meeting in Tuura. And with a wistful sigh, she turned away, following Kolarov back down the pier.

‘I’ll come and visit,’ Thorgils promised cheerfully, patting Jael’s shoulder. ‘You can’t get rid of me that easily.’

‘Is that so? And you think this queen wants you in her kingdom?’

Leaning close, Thorgils whispered in her ear. ‘You will always be my queen, Jael Furyck. You know that.’

‘One last hug,’ she whispered, trying not to cry and failing miserably. ‘Just one.’

And with a beaming smile, Thorgils took her in his arms and held her there, resisting the urge to squeeze. ‘You saved my life,’ he told her. ‘You brought back my friend, and you brought back my love. You saved Fyn. You saved Oss. Is there anything or anyone you haven’t saved, woman?’ He pulled back and saw her face blanch, realising the carelessness of his words, for she certainly hadn’t saved her brother. Immediately fumbling, trying to reverse his mistake, he was surprised to feel her hand on his arm.

‘It’s alright. It is. Go home and be with all those children of yours. Poor Isaura will need you.’

‘You’re not wrong!’ Thorgils exclaimed, though he didn’t move, studying her closely. ‘I still remember that first fight of ours. The one where you let me win...’

She looked surprised. ‘Let you win? You and your iron balls? No, you beat me fair and square. I’ve never said anything else.’ And now she winked at him, eyes blurring with tears. ‘And I never will.’

‘So long, Jael Furyck,’ Thorgils said, running a hand over his bushy beard, realising that he was on the verge of blubbering before her. And not wanting that, he stepped back, making to turn around, all the humour now gone from his eyes. ‘I won’t let anything happen to Eadmund. I swear it to you.’ And with a nod, he turned and walked away.

Jael tried to steel herself, though she couldn’t stop her lips quivering.

She couldn’t see through her tears.

When she’d left Andala for Oss, she had said her goodbyes to Aleksander in private. Neither had wanted to give Lothar the satisfaction of seeing how much pain he’d caused them. But here? Here, she was surrounded by an audience.

It felt as though every head had turned her way as Eadmund approached, stopping before her.

Tears spilled down her cheeks now, and she cursed them all.

Eadmund took her hand, holding it to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘This doesn’t feel as though it’s really happening,’ he breathed, crying himself. ‘It’s too fast. Too sudden.’

‘Look after the children,’ Jael said, wanting to hurry through it. ‘I’ll send word when I’m back from the South. I... I don’t know how long I –’

‘I left you a note. Under your pillow,’ Eadmund whispered, staring into her eyes, looking to find her. She was gone, he thought. She was the queen now, concerned with the business of her kingdom. Not his wife.

His wife wasn’t here.

Leaning forward, he took her face in his hands. ‘Don’t forget me. And in your dreams, come and find me. I’ll always be waiting. Until I take my last breath, Jael Furyck, I’ll be waiting for you.’

Tears streamed from Jael’s eyes, though she didn’t speak as he leaned forward and kissed her.

Arms by her sides, she didn’t move, wanting to remember the feel of him. The taste. The smell. The sound.

All she had taken for granted.

Her arms shook, and she started to lift them. And soon they were moving up his chest until they reached his face, holding it gently. ‘I love you, Eadmund.’ And now she kissed him again, but this time not as a queen surrounded by gawking Andalans and Osslanders, but as a wife and a woman.

A woman who was loved by this man, who would always have her heart.

Eventually, Eadmund stepped back, seeing her lips and those green eyes glittering with tears. He saw softness and love, and he smiled. ‘The Slave Islands will always be there, my lady,’ he promised with a bob of his head. ‘An ally in a time of need.’

Jael straightened her back, barely able to see. ‘As we will be an ally to you, lord king,’ she said, a smile playing around her lips. Lips that still tingled with the familiar bristle of his moustache.

Eadmund kept stepping backwards, never taking his eyes off her.

She watched him, stomach fluttering, body vibrating.

Part of her wanted to run after him like a girl – a girl who wasn’t a Furyck queen – though she remained where she was, pushing her toes down into her boots, holding her tongue, her posture, and the screams she so desperately wanted to unleash.

Eventually, with one last look of sadness and longing, Eadmund turned around. And then he was gone.

The ships were gone.

Those on the piers were gone.

Though Jael remained as the sun rose in the sky and the birds sang.

Staring out to sea.

11

Dessalene’s chests were packed, her servants were ready, her prisoner was waiting. And though she cared little for their impatience, she was certainly in a hurry to leave. Though knowing that days on the road and on the river in the company of those she detested beckoned, she sought a final moment alone.

Sitting in her bedchamber on a stool before a gilt-edged mirror, she stared at her hideous wound.

It looked like a wax seal stamped just above her left breast – bright red and already puckering around the delicate stitches.

She could feel it – not on the surface but deep within her.

The pain had spread from her chest until it was a dull ache pulsing in her entire body. It nagged at her so that she could only frown.

That idiot Bertel had somehow picked up her knife – struck her with her own knife. The symbols she’d marked on it were meant to harm others, not herself.

The physician had come to check her wound one last time, revealing that there had been no blood.

Not a drop.

Disturbed by that, Dessalene wondered what such an oddity portended.

She touched the stitches, feeling nauseous.

Furious.

And looking down at her right hand, she saw a similar red welt, knowing that Edela Saeveld had cut her too.

Two of her prisoners had escaped, and the old witch dreamer still lived. Of that, she was certain.

She lived, which meant that she would come for Raymon Vandaal.

Unless the palace guards stopped her and her hapless friends first...

‘Faster!’ Bertel barracked, fearing they would soon be caught. His horse had the legs, but those ahead of him were slowing down, though they had little choice, for the jungle had tangled around them as their pursuers hauled them in.

And now they were perilously close.

They could all see glimpses of the palace guards. They could hear them – their horses, their urgent shouts – though escaping them?

That was proving impossible.

And despite Bertel’s rasping bellows and Korri’s pleas for speed, they soon slowed down even further.

Siggy glanced at Edela, riding beside her with a pained expression. It was so hot and sticky that she was certain her face was the colour of flames, though Edela looked ill.

Bertel was snapping at their heels, his face turning purple. ‘Faster!’ he urged, hearing hooves thumping and branches snapping all around them now. ‘You need to go faster! Come on!’

Siggy once again peered at Edela, who didn’t look her way. She appeared to be swaying, and she feared she would faint.

In fact, Edela was swaying, for on the fast-moving horse, there was little choice. She had never ridden much, even as a young woman, though for the first time in her life, she had a real desire to connect with her horse and spur him on. Her head thumped with every footfall, a pain that was making it hard to see, though her horse appeared fleet-footed and aware of the urgency.

Likely he could smell their fear.

Edela certainly could, confident the small army of palace guards was closing in.

The heavy, moist air dripped on them like rain as they smashed through the trees. She heard Korri calling out ahead of them. Zen shouted something back, their voices not as loud as her heartbeat and the gasping sound of her ragged breath. It was her horse doing all the work, though just clinging to the reins and remaining in the saddle was more than Edela felt capable of.

‘Aarrghh!’ someone cried ahead of them.

A horse whinnied loudly.

Edela saw what was unfolding, head snapping around to Siggy and then to Bertel behind them. ‘They’re... outflanking us!’ she warned, sweaty hands tugging the reins. ‘I...’ She pulled her horse off the path to the surprise of Bertel, who nearly went over the head of his own mount as he yanked him to a stop.

Siggy joined them, those men at the back quickly riding past.

‘I have to do something!’ Edela panted, eyeing Bertel, who hurried to dismount. He ran forward, grabbing her by the waist and plopping her on the ground before turning back to Siggy, who had dismounted herself and now hurried forward.

Bertel secured all three sets of reins, pulling the horses further into the trees with the two dreamers. ‘What can you do?’

Edela grabbed Siggy’s hand. ‘Ssshhh,’ she whispered, the pain in her head making it almost impossible to focus. She needed to find a willow. A little willow bark was always useful for an aching head. Though in here?

Shaking her head and seeking to focus, she saw the guards surrounding Korri and his men. Just as she’d feared, they were a much larger force, more confident in the jungle. ‘Can you hear me?’ she thought, hoping to connect with the girl, wanting to join their minds.

‘Yes,’ she heard the girl say.

‘Open yourself to me,’ Edela urged, feeling Siggy quickly submit. She squeezed the girl’s hands, shutting out Bertel’s impatient thoughts and the noisy distractions of the jungle. Now there was darkness, spacious, silent darkness, and into that darkness, she welcomed three symbols. Stitching them together, she quickly saw what was possible.

A rope.

She would tie the symbols into a rope, knotting them all together. A symbol for each man, and then...

Ahead of them, Korri was off his horse, armed with his sword, and bellowing at his men to come together.

Wet tunic stuck to sweaty arms, hair plastered to a bright red face, he was growling and spitting, working to keep back the approaching palace guards, who seemed more comfortable on the slippery jungle floor than he was, though it was certainly better than fighting on horseback.

It had rained recently, and everything was sucking at his boots.

Mud and muck and vines.

So many vines.

He stumbled, bumping into Zen, who was slashing his sword behind him.

‘Push them back!’ one of his men shouted nearby, and then he was gone from view.

Korri cried out, ducking a blade. Turning sharply, he chopped down on an arm. The man’s right hand went flying, and his sword with it. Not hesitating, Korri drove his blade through the shocked man’s throat, blood spraying over him like rain.

Blinking through it, his vision dimmed, the jungle suddenly appearing darker.

Cut on the arm, Zen cried out, and Korri turned to lunge at Zen’s attacker, hoping to draw his attention, though in the next moment, something struck his head, and everything went dark.

Standing before the dreamers, struggling to see what was happening, Bertel’s head snapped around. He heard more than one worried voice calling Korri’s name. Though he held his tongue, for despite the rising danger, Edela and Siggy were completely still before him. He didn’t even see them breathing. The horses were becoming disturbed, and he focused on them, feeling something bite his hand. He tugged the horses closer, hearing snapping branches nearby.

Holding his breath, he hurried to work the three sets of reins into a knot, joining them together, and now he quietly unsheathed his sword, stepping away from the dreamers towards the noise.

He saw something furry with four legs scuttling away, quickly dismissing that as the threat.

It was a small creature. No, whatever had made that noise was –

Swinging around, aiming high, he took the first man in the face, chopping his blade across his nose and cheek, just beneath his eyes. Rising higher, he spun, taking the next man in the neck. Reacting too slowly, the man hadn’t brought his blade up in time, and the look of surprise lingered on his face as his head dropped from his shoulders.

Bertel’s own shoulders were burning as he swung back to the dreamers, hearing more snapping branches, hoping they would hurry.

Each rope Edela made had to be tethered to the next, each three-part symbol completed with precision. She felt Siggy’s strength and her power beside her, and it enhanced her magic. It increased her confidence and dulled the pain in her head too.

Blood.

She inhaled blood, fearing for Bertel, suddenly hearing, not his fears, but his urgency. She saw a glimpse of Korri on the ground and a wounded Zen, and finishing the last knot, she once again squeezed Siggy’s hands, beginning her chant.

Strengthened by the familiar Tuuran words, she thought of how far she had come, aware of how far there still was to go. And to have any hope of returning for Raymon, every man who’d followed them here had to die.

Some distance away, in the thick of the melee, Korri came to, seeing a man hanging over him, hand pressed on his chest, knife aiming at his throat.

He jerked in horror, trying to move, though he could barely see – above him, the man was mostly flashing patches of darkness and bright light.

Everything sounded strange. Dull. The man’s eyes were small, though his knife was enormous, and using his arms, Korri grunted, trying to shift him off his chest, hoping to wriggle away.

And then it wasn’t him moving but his attacker as Zen swung at his head, and with a howl, sent it flying.

Blood showered Korri, who now couldn’t see at all.

‘Come on!’ a wide-eyed Zen called, bending down to try and help Korri shove the headless man off him. He didn’t have time to feel disgust or horror.

They were surrounded.

Outnumbered.

The sun was bright above them now, shards of light spearing the jungle, and Zen could see the threat of their enemies growing by the moment. Everywhere he turned, he saw men in shining armour and pointed helmets, and those men were closing in.

The humidity was draining, his sword was heavy, slippery in his hand, and he couldn’t catch his breath.

Korri was on his knees, struggling to stand, eyes not focusing, but Zen could hear someone coming. He couldn’t wait for help. Wheeling around, he saw that the man charging them didn’t have a sword but a chain, and hanging from that chain was a spiked ball of iron. The big-headed man swung it expertly, aggressively, and Zen jerked out of its path, banging into one of Korri’s men. Unable to go any further, he dropped, ducking his head, and the spiked ball took the unsuspecting man in the back.

Hearing that man crying as he fell, a terrified Zen rose up, and using both hands, he swung his sword at his attacker’s waist, slipping and falling short, and now the man swung for him.

Knocked into by one of the crew, Zen’s sword flew from his hand.

The victorious smile of the palace guard revealed an absence of teeth, though he was suddenly grimacing, the chain dropping to his side.

Writhing up from the jungle floor, thick vines rushed up his legs, twisting and tightening their hold. At first, green and vibrant, they turned dark shades of brown and then black, pulling at his legs as he screamed, trying to shake them off. To run. Though he couldn’t move anywhere except down. The jungle had him now, tugging their prisoner into the swampy bed of mud, leaves, and roots until he was gone from sight.

Zen shuddered, mouth dropping open in surprise. Spinning around, he tried to understand what was happening, fearing he would be next.

The men around him looked equally confused, worried eyes darting to the jungle floor.

Zen thought to escape, to head for the trees, and retrieving his sword, he stepped backwards, hearing Korri in the distance calling for his men to hold.

More screams.

The bright sunshine drained from the sky, which became dark.

Swishing vines. Sucking mud.

Panic.

Now those screams, which had sounded frantic, then pitiful and pleading, were abruptly cut off.

And one by one, the guards who had tracked them from the palace, who had sought to finish them here, were claimed by the jungle.

Karsten Dragos walked onto his balcony, squinting in the glaring sunlight, Meena’s words swirling around his hungover mind.

The implications were enormous, though he was struggling to grasp how it would affect him. He would have to though. Being a king meant that everything of import was laid at your door. No decisions went above you. Those that mattered were yours and yours alone.

He remembered his father, who had rarely appeared content with his life. An angry, intolerant man, Haaron Dragos had had little time for his sons. Though after four years on Hest’s throne, Karsten thought he understood him better. The kingdom was a child pulling at your cloak, a servant whispering in your ear. A responsibility you went to bed with and woke up with.

It never let you go.

‘You want to go to Andala?’ he said at last, turning back to Meena, who had been sitting down but now jumped up, looking as awkward as ever. She dressed like a lady now that she was a Dragos, though it only appeared to make her more uncomfortable, for she hunched over in her big dresses, which never appeared to fit her properly.

‘Not Andala. Jael won’t stay there. She will come south.’

Karsten raised an eyebrow. ‘But who killed Axl? Did you see?’

Meena couldn’t explain it, not to him, and not wanting to even try, she shrugged. ‘I must speak to Jael.’

Karsten felt frustrated, though he nodded. ‘And what of Hest?’ he asked, combing fingers through his beard. ‘Are we safe here?’

Meena’s eyes bulged.

She didn’t know safety. Despite Berard’s affection for her and their children’s love, she didn’t feel any safer than when she’d been a child, at the mercy of her vicious grandmother.

‘No,’ she breathed, resisting the urge to tap her head. ‘No, I don’t think we are.’

The jungle was silent now.

Every buzzing, chirping, snapping noise had hushed, and all they could hear as they scanned the trees, dripping with sweat, and, in some cases, blood, was the frantic sound of their own breathing.

And soon, everyone turned to see Edela, who arrived on Siggy’s arm, leaning towards her, as though being held up by the girl.

Peering at Edela, Siggy realised that she was falling, and she struggled to get her down to the ground without falling herself. A bloody-faced Bertel sheathed his sword and hurried to help.

‘We need water!’ he called. ‘Someone bring water!’ And now he turned back to Edela, smoothing hair away from her eyes.

‘I am... fine,’ she groaned, attempting to push him away. ‘Fine...’ She didn’t feel it, fearing she might faint. Her body was vibrating violently, and her vision had blurred, though she needed to find a path.

Now that those men were dead, she needed to find a way back to Raymon before it was too late.

After his unexpected meeting with Meena, a still-hungover Karsten dressed and headed to the hall where breakfast awaited him despite the sun nearly reaching its zenith.

He saw Freya sitting in her new chair, placed next to his, and he felt like screaming.

If Hanna had been sitting there, he would’ve sat beside her and told her everything Meena had said. She would’ve been sympathetic, worried, and helpful most of all. They would have found a way forward together. United.

But Freya?

She looked up at him with that suspicious scowl he was already painfully familiar with, and though he thought about heading out of the hall in search of Berard or Ulf, he decided to join her. This was his life now, and there was little he could do to change it.

‘How pleasing to see you, Husband,’ Freya said blankly.

‘And you, Wife,’ Karsten returned. ‘I hope you’re enjoying the apples? A specialty of my cook.’

‘It is... they are not to my liking. I prefer something less sweet.’

Taking his seat, Karsten didn’t doubt it. He had to get a child on this woman, another heir to the throne, though he mostly wanted to drag her out of the castle and throw her into the harbour.

The thought of that finally had him smiling. And then something else. ‘I shall be leaving,’ he announced, adjusting his eye patch. ‘I must meet with Jael Furyck, the new Queen of Brekka.’ Leaning closer, he watched his wife’s face.

The walnut Freya had just popped into her mouth, went down the wrong hole, and she coughed and spluttered. ‘I... queen? What about her brother?’

‘Oh, he is dead. Murdered like his poor wife.’

‘But what of her islands? Her husband?’

Karsten wondered about that himself.

Eadmund had come begging for ships, desperate to save his wife, and thanks to his help, he had, so now to lose her?

No goddess was as cruel as the Goddess of Love, he thought bitterly, and reaching for his goblet, inhaling the familiar scent of his favourite wine, he took a big gulp, desperate to numb himself again.

With the threat of the palace guards finally over, Korri and those still standing tended to the wounded while Bertel and Siggy sought to revive a weak Edela, who needed a better place to rest than the swampy jungle floor.

A few horses had been lost, and everyone was drained by the heat and terrorised by swarms of flying, biting bugs. Though one of Korri’s scouts had returned to report that a road was nearby.

If they got moving, the man thought they had a chance of reaching the nearest village by nightfall. Korri and his men had passed through it on their way to Bhyan. It wasn’t much, but it would offer a welcome respite.

The ships were further east – a day’s ride after that.

And though Korri wasn’t sure what a barely conscious Edela wanted to do next, he knew he wouldn’t be leaving her again.

Lifting her onto her horse, seeing the colour draining from her face, he frowned. ‘Can I bring you something to eat?’ he asked, turning to push Bertel’s horse away from his pouch. The horse sought to nip him, and surprised by that, Korri stepped back. ‘Food might help.’

Edela shook her head. ‘Best to leave that till we get to... where did you say?’

‘Chalna,’ Korri said, sinking in the mud. He lifted out a boot, staring at it in disgust, having had quite enough of the jungle now. ‘We’ll rest there overnight, then either head to Parkosh and the ships or return to the palace for Raymon.’

Edela stared at him, feeling odd, remembering the stone in her pouch, which once again called to her. ‘He has gone!’ she exclaimed, seeing glimpses of the palace compound, where carriages were lined up in a row. ‘Dessalene lives, and... she has taken him away!’ Closing her eyes, she saw nothing but darkness, though she heard a panicked voice.

‘Where are we going? Where are you taking me?’

‘Nowhere that concerns you,’ came a sullen reply. ‘The dreamer must go to her husband, and as her prisoner, you’ll be going along.’

Edela kept listening, desperate to find out where they were heading for. Where –

Though now the darkness claimed her, and eyes closing, she slumped in the saddle, head falling onto her chest.

PART II

BLOODLUST

12

The days since Eadmund had left Andala had swept by like storm clouds. For much of the time, Jael had simply been moved along, from one urgent matter to the next, from one decision to another. She wore her grief like a cloak. It was a deep sadness that stayed with her, though being busy meant that she’d only had to face the depth of her loss in the evenings, lying alone in bed, struggling to sleep.

Apart from the funeral.

Axl and Amma’s funeral had almost broken her.

Watching them dressed as king and queen, lying side by side on the pyre, had been a sight so deeply painful and shocking that she’d barely held herself together.

Axl’s newest ship, Death Weaver, had been dragged up to the King’s Road, where every Brekkan king had a burial mound. Dug into the ground, that ship had been their final resting place.

Now they were ash and bones, buried in the earth.

Opposite her father.

As well as her cloak of grief, Jael felt the weight of his fury.

That she hadn’t saved either of her brothers?

And who was left?

Apart from a two-year-old girl, just her.

She was the last Furyck standing.

Walking the pier, nodding as she went, eyes down on barrels and ropes, on carts and dogs, up on men, who hurried to make way, she sought to let the past go. To simply shut it all behind her now and focus on what came next.

It wasn’t Axl or her father. It wasn’t Eadmund.

She had to save Brekka from those who sought to tear it apart and take it for themselves.

And that meant leaving Andala.

Blowing out a breath, she saw Rexon, and knowing what he’d been suffering all these weeks, her own worries lightened somewhat.

They would be sailing to Saala in the morning, where he would finally discover his family’s fate. She wished she had some insight, some hope to offer, though neither she nor Mattie had seen anything about Demaeya and the children.

Looking up from Wave Cutter, Rexon nodded at her. ‘Just the barrels of water and we’re ready.’

‘Kari’s bringing the ropes,’ she told him. ‘He’s wrapping the hooks first. And Raal’s agreed to helm her. I’m meeting him here.’

Rexon jumped down onto the pier. ‘I can’t think of anything else.’

He looked ready to snap, Jael thought, wondering when he’d last slept. He was so gaunt now that his once handsome face had taken on a haunted, hagged look.

‘You’re sure you don’t want to bring the dreamer along?’ he wondered.

They would be taking a sizeable force to reclaim those forts captured by Mutt Storman and his men – seventeen ships and some nine hundred Andalans – though Jael wouldn’t be taking Mattie. ‘I need her watching the fort and searching for Gunnhild. Not to mention whatever threat is stalking Andala.’ Inhaling sharply, she looked away. ‘It’s best if she stays behind.’ Jael saw Raal coming, pleased that he’d chosen to remain in Andala for the time being. She had promised to recover Bone Hammer, and when the ship was repaired and sea-worthy again, he would decide where he wanted to be.

Turning back to Rexon, she saw impatience in his eyes. ‘It won’t be long now,’ she promised, and with half a smile, she moved down the pier, eager to check the rest of the fleet.

Leaving Linas with Pye, Mattie headed to Astrid’s cottage.

Helga had relied upon the healer’s help in her efforts to find Gunnhild, and feeling under pressure to do the same, she needed to understand what had worked.

Astrid pointed at the symbols on the back of her door. ‘Edela made them only recently. Helga thought they helped. That they stopped Gunnhild seeing what she was up to in here.’

Sitting at Astrid’s table, nodding with interest, Mattie copied them into Edela’s book. ‘And the jar of herbs? Did you help her with that? Edela, that is. Helga and I used it all, though I have Edela’s recipe in here.’ Showing the book to Astrid, she indicated where Edela had been scribbling down various combinations of herbs and spices to create stronger and stronger trances.

She had circled the one Mattie thought Helga had used to reach Gunnhild, and Mattie hoped to replicate it.

Astrid recognised some of the ingredients. ‘I suppose I did,’ she realised with a smile. ‘She was always at my door when there was something she couldn’t find in her own garden. We often shared, though some of those are harder to come by. Most don’t grow in Brekka, and certainly not in Andala.’

Mattie frowned, studying the list. ‘Waterfall tears?’ she wondered, eyeing the healer. ‘Do you know where I might find those?’

Astrid shrugged, and turning to her shelves, she thought of what she might have to get the dreamer started. She picked out a few bay leaves and a twist of borage flowers, placing them in Mattie’s basket. ‘Your best hope is Snorri Skaran. He’s a trader. Travels back and forth from the Fire Lands regularly. I expect you’ll see him again before winter.’

‘Before winter?’ Mattie was generally not given to being rushed, though to wait months for the herbs? Months? She squeezed her hands together, feeling her jaw tighten.

‘He has a cousin who calls in, too, though I can’t be sure we’ll see him. Oskar. Ask down at the docks. Someone will know if he’s around. He’s a big man with a booming voice. Tends to make himself known when he arrives.’ Mattie looked tense before her, turning to the door at the sound of barking.

‘That’s Gully,’ the dreamer fretted, wondering what was happening with Linas. ‘I’ll take what you have with thanks. I... I’ll ask down at the docks about the men you mentioned. There’s a meeting first, I think. In the hall. I –’ She stood in a fluster, feeling a rush of heat up her back, her hands suddenly sweaty.

She had little experience with trances, spells, and dark dreamers. Though Jael was relying upon her, not only to watch the fort, but to find Gunnhild, and Mattie knew she couldn’t let her down.

Edela had barely been conscious during their ride through the jungle to the sprawling village of Parkosh, where Korri had left his two ships, certain she had never felt as fragile in her life. Though she was still breathing, unlike the six men who’d been killed by the guards and three more back at Bhyan’s palace. More than ten had been badly injured, and owing to the confusing jungle tangle, they’d gotten lost more than once.

And while she remained weak, little would be possible, so she quickly sought out help, leaving Korri and Bertel to prepare the ships.

The local healer was in the jungle, tending to the ill, for the summer rains brought sickness, and bordering the river, Parkosh was more susceptible than those villages further inland. Though not to be deterred, Edela maintained her search for a wise woman or even a cook with a garden of herbs. She was desperate to do something to revive herself, for she needed to find where Raymon had been taken.

Eventually, she stumbled across another healer, and eagerly offering her help, the diminutive woman was soon leading Edela and Siggy to her cottage, located far off the main road, deep in the trees.

Though tiny, it had an inviting feel, and Edela gave a wary-looking Siggy a reassuring squeeze as they headed inside to where the healer showed her guests to two stools placed before a table. And smiling encouragingly, she took her place behind it.

The middle-aged woman had serious but empathetic eyes, a calm manner, and a steady voice. She spoke the common tongue with ease, studying Edela as she explained what was wrong and what she was seeking. ‘You have travelled a long way,’ she murmured, turning to pour freshly boiled water into two colourful cups. A spicy aroma quickly filled the air, and Edela inhaled deeply. The smell was at once soothing, and she nodded as the healer turned back, placing both cups on the table and inclining her head for her visitors to help themselves. ‘I have never come across someone from Tuura here.’

‘Though you have heard of it?’ Edela wondered, inhaling that intoxicating blend as it deepened, becoming sweeter now. ‘Osterland?’

‘Of course. I have been all over the Fire Lands. They speak of Osterland everywhere. Of Tuura and the dreamers.’ Now she eyed Edela with interest. ‘Perhaps you are one?’

Edela smiled. ‘Perhaps.’

The healer swept dark hair behind her ears, leaning forward. ‘Tell me of what ails you,’ she murmured, spreading her hands on the table. Though without waiting for an answer, she took Edela’s right hand and turned it over, running a finger over her palm. Her expression intensified, and she looked up at the dreamer with concern. ‘Many events,’ she mused. ‘Great disturbances.’

Edela couldn’t mask her surprise, though aware of Siggy sitting silently beside her, she tried to keep her voice light. ‘One or two. Though in a life as long as mine, that is to be expected.’ The healer appeared to have a strong opinion about that, though Edela couldn’t discern it. She frowned, sighing heavily. ‘I have lost strength,’ she admitted. ‘In body and spirit. I –’ Cutting herself off, she turned to Siggy, who nodded encouragingly, and with a smile, she turned back. ‘My skills, my... there is no fight I can win whilst I remain so depleted.’

The healer looked surprised. ‘You speak like a warrior!’ she observed with a laugh. ‘And what fight is it that you must win? Do you seek to wrangle the Goddesses of Fate?’ And now she raised an eyebrow.

Edela shook her head. ‘No, I seek not to argue with the gods but to aid them.’

The healer looked intrigued. ‘You? Aid the gods? And how would such a thing be possible?’ She had another cauldron on the boil behind her, into which she’d been adding pinches of herbs and spices, and hearing the angry bubbling, she turned around, using a cloth to remove the cauldron, leaving it to cool on a stool.

‘I am a dreamer,’ Edela confessed. ‘Chosen by the gods to be useful, though useful, I currently am not.’ Now she leaned forward, once again inhaling the inviting aroma from the cauldron. There were many unusual smells in the small cottage, but the ones from the cauldron intrigued her most of all. ‘I recognise nothing you have in there or here,’ she admitted, lifting her cup, which she now dared to sip. ‘Though it does smell delicious. And behind you? Well, that is the most interesting aroma of all. Like mulled wine if you added a touch of fire.’

A surprised Siggy wrinkled her nose, certain she hadn’t smelled anything fouler.

Though the healer’s attention remained on the old dreamer. ‘I am pleased to hear it, Edela, for that will be your tonic –’ She caught herself then, immediately turning away.

A blinking Edela stared at her, body tingling, knowing she hadn’t given the healer her name.

Her heart raced, wondering if this woman was friend or foe.

She had no sense of danger. None.

Perhaps a friend then?

‘Tell me,’ she murmured, heart thumping violently in her chest. ‘Do you know of a man called Ronin Sardis? He is a king, I believe. I am hoping to find him.’

Jael’s first council meeting as queen was an awkward, disjointed affair, mostly because she didn’t want to hold one at all. Though she needed everyone to understand their roles and what she expected of them while she was gone.

She hadn’t lived in Andala for nearly five years, and though she could talk for hours on the various neighbourly disputes and boundary issues forever roiling Oss, she no longer possessed the same intricate knowledge of matters in Brekka. So, despite her natural inclination to charge ahead, trying to do everything on her own, she knew she was going to need help.

Gant had gathered everyone into the meeting chamber, lit by a wheel of candles flaming above the table and by lamps running down its centre in long iron boats. Though despite that, it was a naturally dark room and not the best place to hold meetings, she thought, growing irritable.

‘Why are you here?’ she snapped as the door opened, and Hal Harbak poked his blonde head inside. ‘We’re holding a meeting.’ Having barely slept in weeks, her temper was fraying, her tolerance balanced on a knife’s edge.

‘He was part of Axl’s council,’ Gant explained from her left. ‘I invited him.’

Opposite her, Ragnar Olveggen was nervously tidying his beard, and Getta was peering at Hal, looking just as unimpressed by his arrival as Jael. Kolarov was there, sitting up straight in his chair, dressed in what appeared to be a new blue tunic trimmed in white and red thread, a twitching Mattie beside him, wishing she was elsewhere.

‘Take a seat,’ Jael said eventually, motioning to an empty chair beside Getta. ‘I will decide whether you have any value to this council. For now, why not start us off? What is happening with the Venbergs? What trouble has your good friend Erling been causing since I last had word of him?’

Every head turned to an open-mouthed Hal, who didn’t see Gerald topping up his goblet, and swinging around in a fluster, he knocked it over, splashing wine over Getta’s dress.

Gerald and Hal rushed to help the former Queen of Iskavall, bumping heads. The wine dripped onto the rug beneath the table, and a flustered Gerald had to call for his assistant, Col, to come and help.

It took some time, but eventually, things were sorted out, and they started again.

‘The Venbergs,’ Jael prompted, looking even less predisposed to Hal than before.

‘I, I spoke to them this morning,’ Hal said in a quiet voice, though seeing Jael frown intensely, he raised it. ‘I... they want Eren released. I sought to dissuade them from –’

‘From?’ Gant wondered sharply. ‘From what?’

‘Seeking help from their friends,’ Jael grumbled. ‘Of which there are many. The Tregarons, the Ashalls. Even the Storbens, I imagine. Brekka’s old guard.’

Gant laughed. ‘And they think they’ll find what? Support to overthrow Jael?’ He snorted. ‘I wish them and their army all the luck of the gods.’

‘You need to talk to Ebert Venberg,’ Jael told him. ‘I’ll release his daughter when I can be sure she’s no threat to anyone. When I can be confident she wasn’t involved.’ Her eyes met Mattie’s, pleased to see her nodding.

Everyone else was staring at her in confusion.

Jael sighed. ‘From what we understand, Mattie and I, a dreamer is responsible for Axl’s death. We think she used Eren to lure him to her cottage. Though until we know exactly how it happened and who is truly responsible, nothing changes.’

‘And Kalina Sardis?’ Ragnar asked. ‘Will she remain imprisoned too?’

Jael nodded. ‘I’m not prepared to risk losing her, and besides, it’s much more peaceful. So, yes, those two women will remain locked up. Gant will bring the Venbergs into line and deal with anyone else who seeks to cause trouble. Do remind them that their new queen is a dreamer with a lot of time on her hands in the evenings.’ Looking around, she realised there was no Rexon, guessing he was preparing for their departure.

As much as she needed to be in the fort, she was just as desperate to escape it, and her mind wandered to Tig. Though not for long, and now she turned back to Ragnar. ‘While I’m in the South and Gant’s up North, you’ll need to press on with repairing the walls. Especially the harbour. I want the fletchers busy. And the carpenters. They all need to be taking on more help. We need to get those catapults back on the ramparts.’

‘And we must increase security at the gates,’ Gant added. ‘If there are any spies left, hopefully you or Mattie will uncover them, but we certainly can’t let any more inside.’

Jael agreed, though she wondered how it would be possible without turning Andala into a prison.

‘Oh!’ Mattie exclaimed, quickly embarrassed as everyone turned her way. ‘I...’ She looked at Jael. ‘I must leave. I must... it’s about Gunnhild!’ And becoming flustered, she stood, bobbing her head as she hurried to the door, which Gerald quickly opened, watching her smack into the door frame before she was finally on her way.

Hal almost burst out laughing, though seeing the queen’s gaze of stone, he was soon lowering his eyes to the table, where they remained for some time as the meeting carried on.

The healer in Parkosh had served Edela and Siggy a most delightful flowering tea with a plate of nuts smothered in honey and sesame seeds.

She had sent Edela on her way with a tonic, a satchel of herbs, a stone amulet for protection, and most importantly of all, she’d revealed where she could find Ronin Sardis.

‘Well, one of the places,’ Edela clarified as she took a seat beside Bertel. It was raining, and Sea Queen’s crew had erected a temporary shelter in the stern, beneath which they sat, enjoying the exotic food the village had to offer.

Bertel was busy gnawing away at some sort of dried meat as though he hadn’t eaten in months, so sitting opposite her, it was Korri asking all the questions.

‘What did she say about the man? This king?’ he wondered, feeling anxious. He wasn’t sure what was worse: going up against the dangerous dreamer again or meeting her husband, who was sure to have an army.

‘He goes everywhere apparently,’ Edela said. ‘He had an island near Illonia, though now he spends his time in Kadak and the Fire Lands. And Bandar. That’s where the healer said his castle is.’

‘He has a castle?’ Zen whistled, looking impressed.

Rain started dripping through the shelter, and Bertel moved away from Edela, raindrops now falling between them. ‘Palaces and castles,’ he laughed. ‘We are certainly seeing some sights.’

‘And will the dreamer take Raymon there?’ Korri asked, sipping his ale. It had little flavour, not much more than water, but in the oppressive heat, it was welcome nonetheless. Hearing bleating, he looked around. ‘Zen,’ he said, turning back. ‘Bring Nellie under the shelter. Not sure what she’s doing over there.’ Now he refocused on Edela. ‘Have you seen anything?’

She shook her head. ‘Not yet, though I have a tonic,’ she said, patting her purse. ‘A good sleep and a few doses of that, and this might start working again.’ And now she tapped her still-aching head.

‘I do hope so, Edela,’ Bertel said, and having finished his dried meat, he pulled out his favourite toothpick and got to work. ‘I think we need to get moving, to Bandar, wherever that is. Seems like there’s no other option. Nothing that makes sense, at least.’

Edela nodded, shivering as the rain became heavier. She wasn’t cold, the air was steaming, but when she thought of Ronin Sardis, she had a bad feeling.

And looking at Siggy, seeing the fear in her eyes, she knew she wasn’t alone.

13

‘I was just talking about you!’ Astrid laughed, walking towards the portly man in the bright red vest. He had a coppery beard bushy enough for birds to nest in, rosy cheeks, a bulbous nose, and a beaming smile.

Oskar Skaran. Trader.

Stepping onto the pier, his smile widened. ‘Well, if it isn’t my favourite customer!’ he winked, heading away from his ship with only a cursory glance at his crew. They would have the unenviable task of sorting out their load, which, thanks to a very profitable journey to Zagora and beyond, was bigger than any he’d returned to Osterland with before.

Bobbing his head, he took Astrid’s hand, and bringing it to his hairy lips, he kissed it. ‘You are after something in particular then, my dear? For I took you at your word last time about that strange spice you were after. Dormac? I found my way to Konserra, and I’ve brought you some to try. And Edela? Well, the woman gave me that long a list! I’ve a chest’s worth for her!’

Astrid wanted to laugh, but thinking of the still-missing Edela, she couldn’t even smile. ‘Well, I... it was –’

‘Hello!’ came a voice, and the healer turned to see Mattie bustling down the pier with Linas and Pye. ‘Hello?’

After her talk with Mattie, Astrid had headed to the docks, deciding to enquire if anyone had heard from Snorri Skaran, when she’d stumbled across his cousin, Oskar. ‘Our new dreamer,’ she explained to the man, who, despite his amiable expression, appeared to be in some amount of pain.

‘I have a list!’ Mattie panted, immediately pulling a crumpled sheet of vellum from her purse and flapping it at the trader. ‘Of what I need.’

Oskar looked at it with smiling eyes. ‘You Edela’s assistant? What happened to Ayla then?’

Astrid frowned. ‘Edela has been missing for some time, I’m afraid, and Ayla... well, she returned to Oss. A lot has changed since you were last here, Oskar. This is Mattie. She’s helping now.’

‘Well, I’m trying to,’ Mattie clarified. ‘These herbs would certainly be a start.’

Oskar could barely take in Astrid’s words, for the dreamer appeared ready to pounce on him. ‘You hop aboard, and I’ll see if I can find that chest. The one I brought for Edela.’ Despite his painful feet, which made walking all but impossible, the trader was cheerful and smiling again as he pointed to the ship. ‘Follow your mother up there, lad. You can take a look around.’

Mattie turned back to grab Linas’ hand, but he didn’t even look her way as he shimmied past with Gully, eager to explore the ship.

He was a friendly, thoughtful boy, so every slight stung, every rejection dented her confidence, and she was quiet as she turned to follow him.

On her other side, Pye didn’t notice. ‘What is it you’re looking for?’ he asked, not interested in exploring a smelly old ship, though he was curious about the dreamer’s plans.

‘A key,’ Mattie whispered, bending towards him. ‘A key to finding Gunnhild.’

Upon his return to Oss, Eadmund had conveyed the upsetting news about Axl and Amma. The murder of Brekka’s young king and queen had been a shock to all, though no one had been felled as heavily as Biddy Halvor.

After the initial shock had worn off, she’d attempted to carry out her duties, taking care of the children and him. Though seeing the state of her, Eadmund had insisted she take some time.

Biddy had raised both Jael and Axl as her own, caring for them through every up and down until she’d accompanied Jael to Oss. She felt the shocking loss of Axl like a bereaved mother, so Eadmund had taken on the children mostly by himself, much to their delight. They had been thrilled to see him, though noticeably upset about their still-missing mother. It was hard to get them to understand, though he promised they would see her soon.

Eventually, Biddy emerged from her chamber, still grieving but not prepared to shirk her responsibilities. She knew Eadmund had a lot to tend to, having been away for so long, not to mention his own distress over Jael, and she didn’t want him taking on more than was necessary. Not with the islands to worry about and winter to prepare for.

She found him outside the Svanters’ house, where he stood talking to Thorgils while the children made a terrible noise chasing a litter of puppies. Some of the puppies had collapsed on the ground, exhausted, though not for long as the girls hurried to pick them up for a cuddle.

‘Harben Fry’s pups,’ Eadmund explained, turning to her with a smile. ‘Looking for homes. Mads is keen, but Isaura’s not, so he’s trying it on with Thorgils.’

Thorgils grinned. ‘I’d have one in a heartbeat, but my wife seems less inclined. Perhaps Fyn should take one? He’ll be missing Jael. Might give him something to do?’ And with that, he was gone, wanting to save one of the puppies from a feisty Bo Skalleson, who was trying to pick it up by the tail.

Biddy sniffed loudly, pulling a cloth from her sleeve. ‘But how is it that Jael won’t return?’ She couldn’t stop shaking her head, swollen eyes leaking tears. ‘And Axl? Amma? And where has Edela gotten to? To not come home? But if everything is well with her, why won’t she just come home?’

Eadmund slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. ‘I’m sure Edela’s safe. She’s always been tougher than she looks.’

‘Not as tough as a king, and look at what happened to poor Axl. And who did it? I don’t understand.’

‘Likely a dreamer,’ Eadmund said in a low voice, seeing Sigmund staring at them.

Biddy shuddered, stepping away to blow her nose. ‘And has she been caught? This dreamer? Or will she hurt someone else? And Jael? Is she safe?’

Eadmund shared her worries, feeling helpless now that he was so far away, though he smiled, hoping to give Biddy some confidence. ‘Of course. She’s a dreamer, too, remember? And even if she wasn’t, she’s got eyes in the back of her head, that woman. You don’t have to worry about Jael.’

After a difficult visit with her mother, who remained inconsolable, Jael went looking for Mattie, wanting to know why she’d hurried out of the meeting.

Everyone pointed her towards Astrid’s cottage, which intrigued her further and raised her hopes. It didn’t feel right to leave for Saala without knowing whether Gunnhild lived, and she hoped the dreamer had finally found a clue.

Before she could knock on the door, it opened, and Pye stood there, red-faced and gasping for air. Puffs of fragrant smoke swept towards her, followed by a great stink, and frowning, she stepped inside.

Mattie was there. Astrid, Pye, Linas, Gully. Otter too.

It was a small cottage, just the one chamber, and it was full and hot as everyone turned to look at her.

Mattie was red-faced and frazzled as she shooed Gully away from her hand. ‘We’re preparing for a trance. To find Gunnhild. To see if she still lives,’ she explained, pointing to the brazier where flames rose up like giant fingers of light, spitting and popping.

A book lay open on the table, a drum was waiting nearby, and a foul smell permeated the air.

‘A trance?’ Jael looked surprised. ‘With all this chaos? I doubt that will work.’

‘I’m going to drum,’ Astrid said. ‘Though Pye is leaving, aren’t you?’

‘I can help,’ he insisted, wanting to stay. ‘I’ve watched dreamers enter trances before.’

‘You can leave,’ Jael told him, pointing at the door. ‘Mattie doesn’t need the noise. Take the animals, take Linas, and go for a walk.’

Linas was happy to leave. Oskar Skaran had given him a wooden ship, and he wanted to see if he could make it float. He hurried through the door without acknowledging a distracted Mattie, who was spinning around with an open mouth, feeling completely out of her depth.

‘Keep an eye on him,’ Jael told Pye as Gully bounded after Linas. He nodded, giving her a measure of confidence, but no more than that. And with a sigh, she shut the door, suddenly overcome by the billowing heat. ‘Feels like S’ala Nis in here,’ she said, taking a seat. ‘I may as well stay. Perhaps having another dreamer will help? You were with Helga when she found Gunnhild, weren’t you? Perhaps two dreamers made it possible?’

The idea of Jael joining her made Mattie even more anxious, though stroking her chin, she nodded. ‘I’ll lock the door,’ she said nervously, motioning Astrid towards the drum. ‘And then we should begin.’

Thorgils handed Fyn a grey elkhound puppy. ‘He’s leggy,’ he said with a grin, stroking his fluffy head. ‘And look at those paws. Won’t be little for long. You’ll certainly need a bigger bed if he’s to keep you warm at night!’

Standing beside Fyn, Milla was making the same noises she’d made when she’d first seen Thorgils’ newborn son.

Fyn scowled at his cousin, not taking the puppy. ‘No thanks.’

‘Ha! You sound like Jael. She didn’t want those dogs of hers when they were foisted on her, though she can’t get enough of them now. I think they helped when she first arrived. Having Ido and Vella took her mind off Andala.’

‘Is it a boy?’ Milla asked, and now she took the wriggling lump from Thorgils, immediately slipping it into the crook of her arm. Not liking that, the puppy squirmed out of her hold, climbing up until it reached her shoulder.

‘He’s a boy. Mads wanted him,’ Thorgils said to Fyn. ‘I told him that when he’s your dog, he’ll be able to come for a visit.’ He held up his hand as his cousin opened his mouth. ‘Yes, you do. You do like dogs. And this one, in particular, most of all. I know you do. His name’s Storm, by the way. That’s what Mads said.’

Milla stepped closer, holding up the puppy, and then he was squirming towards Fyn, trying to lick his ear, to bite his hair. Eventually, not wanting him to fall, Fyn had no choice but to grab hold of him himself. ‘Storm?’ he grumbled as the puppy burrowed into his beard before leaping up suddenly and nipping the end of his nose. ‘Ow!’

Thorgils laughed. ‘More like Snapper,’ he decided. ‘Snapper Svanter. Welcome to the family!’

Mattie had warned Jael of the potency of the herb mix and what had happened when she’d tried it with Helga, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise to Jael that she’d ended up being pulled into the dreamer’s trance. Though she was still stunned to find herself in Hallow Wood, the echo of Astrid’s drum crashing like thunder around the trees.

‘Are you sure?’ Mattie hissed, heart racing. ‘Is this Hallow Wood?’

Jael felt strange. The blueish light amongst the trees was eerily familiar. Even the smell reminded her of her terrifying last visit to the woods. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And this is where Helga said Gunnhild lived?’

Mattie nodded, eyes on what appeared to be a path through the trees. She pointed Jael that way, and they walked in silence for a while.

It wasn’t night, though the woods were quiet and gloomy, as though every creature hiding amongst the trees was holding their breath.

Jael certainly was.

She heard someone singing before she saw the cottage.

Not singing, she realised. Chanting.

They had approached from the rear into a yard of ramshackle sheds and various paddocks.

The smell was immediate and overpowering.

Death.

Jael glanced at Mattie, hoping she knew what she was doing.

Wondering if she did.

The chanting ceased, and Jael dragged Mattie into a narrow gap between two outbuildings as a woman came out of a shed carrying a bucket. And turning away from them, she headed towards an enormous tree.

In Helga’s trance, Gunnhild had been able to see them, Mattie remembered.

So what would happen here?

Touching Mattie’s arm, Jael tried to push her thoughts into the dreamer’s mind, not wanting to reveal their presence. ‘Is it her?’

Mattie thought so, and she nodded.

‘Is it now?’

Mattie wasn’t sure, and she shrugged. Following Jael’s lead, she kept her mouth closed and simply thought her reply. ‘She had a red cloak, and her hair looked like that, though I don’t know when this is...’ She scanned the clearing, searching for clues, seeing one of the dreamer’s mute helpers leading a goat to his mistress, recognising him as one of the men she had killed in the forest. And now she grabbed Jael’s arm. ‘It is from before,’ she said into her mind. ‘From before Helga found her!’ She was initially disappointed, then quickly curious, wondering why they had ended up here and what Gunnhild was up to.

Eadmund found a windswept Alek Orlan on the beach, where he’d been talking to a trader newly arrived from Alekka.

After landing near Andala, Alek had been sent to Oss and Biddy, who had fed him and dressed him and tidied him up so that he now looked slightly more human. He was still as skinny as a pole, though there was a round softness to his cheeks and a brightness in his eyes that Eadmund thought was new. An impatience too.

‘I am sorry about Jael,’ Alek said, feeling awkward as he walked beside Eadmund across the slippery stones. ‘That was a shock.’

‘A shock for her too,’ Eadmund sighed. ‘Losing her brother and... family is everything, but sometimes you don’t realise until it’s too late.’ He thought of his mother, father, and sister, and now his wife.

All of them gone.

Alek couldn’t agree more. ‘I need to leave,’ he said abruptly. Then, shaking his head, he became embarrassed. ‘I mean, I’m so grateful... but my sons. I must know about my sons. I’m desperate to see them again. To know if they live, if they’re...’ His bright blue eyes were as liquid as the sea as he lifted them to the king, hair sweeping across his face. ‘The trader said he’s going to Tuura next. He can take me to Stora.’

Eadmund smiled. ‘Good. It’s what you need to do, but you can always come back. If things don’t go as you might hope, you’ll always be welcome here, Alek. I know Jael would say the same.’

Alek nodded, shivering as Eadmund gripped his arm. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Both of you. For everything.’

Jael and Mattie could feel danger crackling in the air as they slipped between buildings, slowly creeping around to the back of the cottage, where, in the distance, they could see the dreamer bent over a table.

Crouched behind a woodshed, Jael squeezed Mattie’s hand. ‘I’ll get her away from that table so you can find out what she’s doing.’

‘Be careful.’

Creeping away from her, Jael felt strange.

This was the version of Gunnhild before Axl and Helga had died, so if she stopped the dreamer here, would it save them both?

She felt anger rising, bubbling inside her now. Though, she kept reminding herself, she was inside a trance.

A dangerous place to be.

Heading away from the woodshed, watching her step, she searched for something to throw. She almost tripped, and looking down, she saw a long bone half buried in the dirt. Peering back at Mattie, she hoped the dreamer would be careful.

Bending down, Jael tugged the bone out of the earth. Something about it was eerily human, though not wanting to dwell on that, she moved carefully, returning to the stables where she could see the tree, hanging with gruesome offerings. Jael saw shimmering stones and glass twisting like wind chimes, too, and deciding that the tree was far enough away from the dreamer’s table, she launched the bone at one of the chimes.

From her hiding place behind the woodshed, Mattie heard the noise, watching the dreamer lift her head and turn away, calling to her helpers, who soon followed after her.

Gulping down a mouthful of nerves, eyes darting around, Mattie hurried towards the table, needing to quickly understand what the dreamer was up to. Hearing footsteps behind her, she soon saw Jael heading her way. Not stopping, she reached the table, seeing the bowls lined up before a selection of knives, herbs, and powders. But more importantly, its vellum pages weighed down with stones, lay an open book.

Running her finger over the page, Mattie took in the symbols, reading the Tuuran words, shaking with nerves while Jael kept watch. ‘Hurry,’ she heard in her head. ‘Mattie, hurry.’ She focused on the symbols, pushing their contours deep into her subconscious. She read the ingredients, of which there weren’t many, and then the explanation for the spell.

She thought to discover more, to look through the book, though she was suddenly tugged away by Jael, who hurried her behind the woodshed, where they crouched beside each other, hands over their mouths.

‘Who is here?’ came Gunnhild’s sharp cry as she returned to her table, eyes immediately snapping to her book. She swung around, senses tingling. ‘You think I won’t find you? Bring you to me? To think of coming here?’ She tried a little chant, weaving a symbol, lips moving, though looking around, she saw nothing.

A sudden flap of dark wings, a flash of yellow beak, and a blackbird soared across the clearing. Gunnhild’s head jerked up and around, her attention fixed on the woodshed. She sniffed, frowning, and now approached with a purposeful stride, chanting some more.

She felt a presence.

Something unwelcome. Unbidden.

Here?

Grabbing Mattie’s hand, Jael squeezed it. Part of her wanted to remain, to confront the dreamer, perhaps even kill her, though seeing Mattie blinking at her, she knew it was too risky.

What Gunnhild had done was done. She couldn’t unmake the past, though to have a chance of saving the future, she had to return to Andala.

She heard footsteps coming closer, and then the sound of chanting in her ears and the feel of Mattie’s hand in hers as they slipped into the darkness.

Neither spoke.

In the silence, they were powerless.

Darkness swirled around them, and then strange shapes and symbols, eventually mingling with a greyish light.

It was unbearably hot, as though they were being swept around a bonfire.

And then they were back in the cottage, though not fully present, the echoes of the trance vibrating around the room.

Sitting at Astrid’s table, Jael’s eyes remained closed. The herbs were potent, the trance still held her, and for a moment, she was on Oss.

Eadmund was at Ketil’s, and Thorgils was talking to her, his children arguing nearby. The dogs were yapping around her legs, and she felt Bo tugging her trousers.

It was cold.

She started shivering as everything became lighter. No longer dark, it was misty, then brighter. The voices faded, and she became aware of coughing.

Her own.

Blinking, she saw Mattie opposite her and she felt the table pressing against her stomach.

Behind her, Astrid had dropped the drum and stumbled to open the door.

She didn’t return, gasping for breaths of fresh air outside.

Mattie reached for a cup of ale and gulped it down before coughing herself. ‘Did you... I...’ She put a hand to her head, which was pounding. ‘Vellum!’ she suddenly shouted, looking around. ‘I need vellum and ink! To...’

In hurrying to get up from the table, Jael knocked over her chair, scrambling to a stool where a pot of ink and Edela’s book sat. She hurried them back to Mattie, who closed her eyes for a moment before opening them, and dipping a quill in the ink, she started writing.

Drawing.

Symbols.

Everything she could remember.

Leaving her to it, Jael headed outside to Astrid, needing some fresh air herself. She felt as though a tree had landed on her. Her thoughts were out of order, her senses scattered.

‘What happened?’ Astrid wondered. ‘Did Mattie find something?’

Turning around to eye the dreamer, writing furiously through the open door, Jael nodded. ‘I hope so. We found Gunnhild, but I don’t know what it meant. It was from the past, so...’ She was distracted, the echo of familiar voices lingering. Oss was a day away, yet she feared that those she missed so desperately were lost to her forever.

‘I... come!’ Mattie called, and Jael and Astrid hurried back inside to find the dreamer almost bouncing in her chair.

‘This is what she gave to Mutt Storman! Gunnhild! She made this potion, and he poisoned the South with it. She turned them against your brother, and Mutt Storman turned them towards him.’

Jael was incredulous. ‘Can you undo it? Whatever spell she cast?’

Mattie nodded, confidence blooming. ‘I have the symbols she used, so I can find a way. Yes, I believe I can.’ And looking into the queen’s eyes, she smiled.

14

Ensconced in Sea Queen’s stern under the temporary shelter, Edela was drier than most, though she felt ill with worry for Raymon. In the days since they’d left Parkosh behind, heading to the island of Bandar, she hadn’t been able to find her way to him. Her last clue had been a glimpse of him being hurried out of the palace.

And now?

She didn’t even know if they were sailing in the right direction.

Realising that worrying was no strategy worthy of a dreamer’s time, she took a measure of the tonic the healer had given her. Despite leaving the village behind, the woman remained on her mind. There’d certainly been something strange about her. Something magical.

To have known her name?

And though she was making good use of the tonic, she did so with a nagging fear that she was once again leading herself astray.

Being too trusting.

The healer had provided her with enough herbs to make her own concoction, though despite her misgivings, Edela had found herself drawn to the tonic. Its effect had been immediately reviving, as though she had wrapped her hands around the sun. She’d felt almost ignited by it, and within a day, she had returned to feeling, not just like herself before she’d left Tuura, but like herself from years before.

She was energised.

Bertel had been relieved to see such an immediate change in the dreamer, jokingly wondering if he should try the tonic himself.

‘I should think not,’ she scolded with a chuckle as he came to sit beside her. ‘You seem to be improving without any help.’

It was true, and finally shaking off his old man aches and pains, Bertel had started thinking like a warrior again. Like Edela, he felt an urgency to improve, and for the first time in decades, he wanted to remember the man he’d once been. Seeing those around him push through fear, embracing all that was new and frightening, had finally woken him out of his self-indulgent stupor. The crew had fought with courage – even Zen – not one of them possessing anywhere near the experience he had. He could hardly remain in the shadows and let everyone else carry his load. Not for another moment.

Turning to Edela, he smiled, pleased to see her rosy cheeks and sparkling blue eyes.

They were heading east on the busy Tissing River in the midst of monsoon season, and though it wasn’t cold, the endless downpours were wearing thin. All weapons had been wrapped and tucked beneath the deck, though there was no escape for the crew from the constant rain.

‘Any sign of Raymon?’ Bertel asked, nudging Edela’s arm. ‘Or that dreamer? Dessalene?’

Siggy and Zen were playing dice with Korri and Gerulf nearby, flanked by those waiting to take a turn.

Edela’s attention was momentarily claimed by Zen loudly celebrating victory, before turning back to Bertel. ‘The odd glimpse. I’ve seen a ship with a wolf prow. It was quite unusual. Almost golden. Raymon was chained up but otherwise unharmed, though I saw no sign of Dessalene. I will keep trying to find out more, though if she reaches her husband? If we are too late?’

Bertel edged closer, bending towards her. ‘My brother taught me that defeat begins, not in the moment, but in the mind. Our thoughts lead us to victory or failure long before we ever encounter the opportunity to act. So do not resign us to defeat yet, Edela. Our friend believes in you, and I expect Raymon is desperately hoping we’re on our way. And if there’s only one ship, one crew, and one dreamer to face... well, it seems like a fair fight to me.’

Releasing an explosive sigh, Edela edged away from him, not wanting to hear another word. Bertel was well-meaning, and for once, he was trying to be encouraging, though she shared none of his confidence. ‘Well, off you go then. If I’m going to find some belief, I certainly won’t do so with you nattering in my ear, Bertel Knutson. Hurry along now and take a turn at those dice. Leave me to close my eyes.’ She saw Korri’s old cat, Alvi, and encouraged him closer, knowing the animal’s rhythmic purring had a way of shutting out the distractions of the ship. Taking him onto her lap, immediately feeling those familiar vibrations, Edela closed her eyes, leaving Bertel with no choice but to go.

She didn’t notice, already stepping into the darkness in search of answers. She could feel the hard wood of the stern behind her head, reminded of Bhyan’s palace and Dessalene Sardis.

She had never experienced such powerful magic before.

At times, the memories of that evening frightened her. At other times, they enraged her, and she felt ready for another battle.

‘Tell me about the dreamer,’ she murmured, closing her eyes. ‘Show me how to find her.’

Everywhere Eadmund turned, he saw reminders of his wife. She kept talking to him as he walked, telling him he’d forgotten to do this task or hadn’t spoken to that person.

Every pair of eyes followed him.

There were sympathetic looks.

Some women actually stopped him, refusing to let him pass until they’d hugged him and given him advice – those who’d known his parents and who had known him as a boy.

Unlike Jael, there was no emergency to prepare for. No one to organise, no great threats to guard against.

Except himself.

Eadmund had known, as soon as Sea Bear had arrived in Oss’ harbour, that going forward, navigating this period of adjustment, he would be the greatest danger to himself.

He remembered the cottage on the shore near the drying racks where he had woken up many a bitter morning, half frozen, deprived of any memory of how he’d ended up there. Sick to his stomach, then sick on the black stones, he’d wandered back to his cottage, ready to drown his sorrows again.

Feeling anything was something he’d desperately tried to avoid when his first wife had died. And now his second wife had gone.

She wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t coming back to Oss or to him, and the sudden, unexpected shock of it had left him numb.

He’d certainly drank upon his return – they all had – though he’d had no desire to carry on.

He was the king now, and without his queen, who had always been far sharper than he ever was, he knew he had to become more present. More aware, more in charge.

Though he hadn’t.

He’d moved through the fort, ridden around the island, and listened to those who offered sympathetic words, though he’d rarely replied with anything more than a nod. His thoughts remained elsewhere, and despite wanting to offer more, he’d had little to say to anyone, and he certainly had nothing to say about what might come next, unable to accept that whatever came next would be without Jael.

Thorgils had divided his time between Isaura, the children, and Eadmund, though his friend didn’t appear to notice he was even there most of the time.

Such as now, when, upon entering the hall, being readied for supper by silent servants, he found Eadmund staring at the two chairs on the raised dais.

‘We should remove it,’ Eadmund said without turning around. ‘Jael’s chair.’

Thorgils blinked, coming to stand beside his friend, imagining Jael peering at him with that familiar arched eyebrow. The woman had a viper’s tongue, she was more skilled than anyone he’d ever met – especially with her sword – and they’d all been better off for her company.

The loss of her felt much like the loss of Eadmund’s father. Jael hadn’t ruled for as long as Eirik Skalleson, though her impact had been enormous.

‘It would help,’ Thorgils decided eventually.

Eadmund wasn’t sure.

Perhaps it was what he needed? A call to emerge from this dark hole he was buried in?

‘Though there’s time,’ Thorgils added. ‘Plenty of time to think it through. You don’t need to be in a hurry to let go.’

‘Mmmm,’ Eadmund agreed, turning to Thorgils and truly seeing him for the first time in days. ‘It can stay. For now.’ He heard the signal bell, and eyes lifting to the open doors, he saw Fyn step inside.

‘Ship in the harbour!’ he called. ‘There’s a ship in the harbour!’

‘The places... oh, the places...’

The dark-haired woman looked perplexed, anxious, staring at the man on the throne, busy muttering to himself.

Her husband, the king.

In her dream, Edela had returned to Osterhaaven, and though the lingering mystery surrounding that kingdom still intrigued, she had come looking for answers about Dessalene. Though despite her best efforts to leave, she remained standing in the enormous chamber, watching the couple on their thrones.

The king babbled as the woman sought to command his attention, trying to understand what he was talking about.

A man with long white hair, dressed in a black robe, swayed wearily by his throne, shooting glances at the queen, who appeared troubled.

‘The dreamers seek to kill me!’ the king spluttered loudly, rising to his feet.

The queen’s attention swept away from him towards those attendants who sat and stood in various groups around the throne room, pretending to be engaged in some activity, though in reality, they were all listening to the tussle taking place between their king and queen.

Edela heard their thoughts.

Many were enjoying the queen’s distress, others openly mocked the king.

She moved closer, forgetting all about Dessalene now.

‘The dreamers seek to warn you, Haarda,’ the queen insisted with pleading eyes, urging her husband to sit down. ‘They seek to help us. We are in peril. They warn that the kingdom will be lost, and if we remain, so will all our people!’ And too scared to maintain any decorum now, the queen’s eyes flooded with tears. ‘Our child,’ she said, cradling her pregnant belly. ‘We must take our child to safety.’

Turning abruptly, the snarling king grabbed her by the throat. ‘Who are you?’ he growled, the whites of his eyes as bright as snow. ‘To come into my palace and whisper these lies to me? Who?’

No one rushed to the queen’s aid. No one even appeared surprised.

‘My king!’ came a bellow, and a dark-haired man rushed into the chamber, running towards the thrones, immediately dragging the king away from his wife.

Instead of fighting him, the king sagged into his arms. ‘Arnor,’ he smiled, touching the man’s face. ‘Brekka is trying to send me away. She seeks to sacrifice me to the dreamers. To their malevolent whims! They wish to take Osterhaaven through her. My own queen! Witch! She is a whore and a witch! You see it, don’t you, Arnor? See how she betrays me!’

‘The queen seeks to protect you and your unborn babe, dear king. The dreamers came here at great risk to themselves. They would not have taken such a step lightly knowing how you feel about them. They promise that Osterhaaven will be destroyed in its entirety. No one will survive. You must order the evacuation now.’

Those in the throne room listened expectantly. As did Edela, who was confused as to what she’d just heard.

Arnor?

The king was nodding now, almost docile. ‘Yes, yes,’ he murmured, touching the man’s face again. ‘I trust you. I trust you alone.’

He closed his eyes, resting back his head, and Arnor turned to the man in the black robe, urging him to give the king a dose of his tonic. Turning back, his eyes met the queen’s, and there they lingered.

Edela felt strange watching that intimate moment, as though she was intruding.

Then the couple faded, the throne room was gone, and she was back in the darkness again, wading through ankle-deep water, desperate to find her way to the dreamer.

Eadmund had headed to the harbour wall, followed by Thorgils and Fyn, soon joined by Bram, all four curious about the new arrival.

It wasn’t a ship anyone recognised, neither looking like a trader or a warship.

Blue banners snapped from her mast, though she bore no prow.

‘Recognise them?’ Thorgils wondered, glancing at his uncle, who shook his head.

‘New to me,’ Bram muttered, feeling a chill in that familiar Oss wind. He tugged on his fur hat, turning to Eadmund.

Eadmund had his eyes on the man jumping down onto the black stones. He was tall and gangly, with a flowing cloak of what looked like wolf fur and the presence of a leader. And though his crew was busy, he lifted his head to the fort, to where Eadmund could swear he was staring directly at him. And then he turned around as a woman was helped out of the ship, and when she’d been settled on the stones, long black curls sweeping behind her, the old man took her hand and led her across the beach towards the muddy rise.

Being at sea was a welcome escape from the demands of Andala, and though the worry of leaving the fort behind stayed with her, the quiet of the ship and the need to stay still prevented Jael’s mind from whirring.

Mostly.

There wasn’t much conversation, just the wind talking to her in whistling shrieks, the occasional grunt from Raal when she joined him at Wave Cutter’s steering oar, and a few words from Rexon and Fulk Easby. She’d brought along Petra, the young archer, though she was too shy to even speak to her new queen. Her junior steward, Col, was there, too, but Jael had quickly made it clear that there was little she needed on board.

Except the space to think.

And though she felt concerned about what might be happening in her absence, she trusted Ragnar, who was being ably supported by Aedan, the garrison, and Mattie. The dreamer had been true to her word, providing Jael with a bucket of symbol stones, which she hoped would break Gunnhild’s hold on the Brekkans.

Gant had headed north with Hal and Erling, for despite not wanting to leave Gisila, he hadn’t trusted them to go on their own. They needed to ensure there were no issues with their Northern settlements, and he was eager to hear news about Oren Storgard and what plans he might be making too.

Leaving Kalina behind was a risk, though Jael had no sense that Ronin Sardis was on his way, and nor did Mattie.

It had to be enough, for if she didn’t eliminate the traitors, their poison would spread. And against powerful enemies, a kingdom on its knees stood no chance – not even one as powerful as Brekka.

Resting her head against the gunwale, tucking hair down her cloak, she remembered the note Eadmund had hidden beneath her pillow before he’d departed Andala. She had read it so many times now that she almost knew it by heart, though she kept reading it, seeing his hand, imagining him dipping the quill in ink, frowning as he thought of what to say. She saw his face, the bewilderment in his eyes. From the moment she’d told him she was staying in Andala, he’d looked stunned, as though at any moment, good sense would prevail. As though it would all be revealed as some terrible nightmare.

The weather was cold but fair, and for the first time since they’d set sail, back braced against the starboard gunwale, head bowed, she dared to take it from her pouch and read those words again:

Jael,

I know the children will be missing you terribly, and when you read this, I will have joined them. I won’t part them or keep them from you, as I would not be kept from you if there was any choice. So, when you are ready, I will send Sigmund with Bo and Biddy. Sigmund needs you as much as Bo does. We can share them, perhaps until they are older and can understand more? In any case, one or both of them can return before The Freeze and spend the winter with me. Perhaps you can come along, and we can be trapped here together? No one would have to know it was on purpose...

Can I still say how much I love you and miss you now that we are no longer married? Or must I part with my feelings too? I expect I know the answer, and I shall try, I promise. Though perhaps not yet.

Be well and stay safe, Jael Furyck.

Your former but always loving husband,

Eadmund

It was hard to know whether to smile or cry, though Jael had had her fill of tears, so with a sad smile, she rolled up the scroll, hurriedly stuffing it back into her pouch as Rexon sat down beside her.

He’d become increasingly twitchy since leaving Andala.

They were sailing in a fleet of seventeen, so Jael knew it wasn’t the numbers making him anxious. It was the knowledge that he would soon know the truth of what had happened to his wife and children.

Forgetting her own worries, she turned to him, touching his arm. ‘Maybe you should eat?’ Staring into his eyes, she saw a horrifying image.

Rexon blinked. ‘Is something wrong?’

Jael immediately dropped her eyes. ‘My stomach,’ she lied, touching her belly.

Rexon abruptly looked away to where smears of clouds coloured the sky a dull grey. In that moment, he felt his soul leave his body, as though he was no longer on board the ship but somewhere above it.

Floating. Adrift.

Heart pounding, nausea rising, his right hand started shaking.

‘Tell me,’ he croaked. ‘Tell me what you saw.’

Eadmund’s visitors smelled of the sea.

Sodden cloak flapping around long, thin legs, the old man brought a young woman forward to meet Oss’ king. Behind him, a line of equally drenched men trekked away from the ship across the stones, accompanied by an older woman.

Eadmund stood near the open gates to the fort, flanked by his closest advisors, mistrust in his eyes and a scowl on his face.

He was no dreamer, though he had a bad feeling as he stepped forward.

‘My lord king,’ his visitor grinned, revealing a silver tooth. ‘It is truly an honour.’ And with a bob of his head, the man of some seventy years ushered the woman forward. ‘My wife, Ineko.’ And now he turned around, motioning to a young man. ‘My grandson, Haral. And I am Stig. Stig Ervik. Although the name given to me at birth was... Skalleson.’

Thorgils, who had been fixated on the dark-haired young woman, unsettled by her resemblance to Ayla, suddenly lifted his eyes to her husband. Beside him, Bram choked on his spittle, erupting in a coughing fit that soon had Fyn hammering on his back.

Barely hearing it, Eadmund stared at the man in surprise. ‘Skalleson?’ Narrowing his eyes, he fixed them on the man’s long face, not wishing to, but certain he saw a familiarity about the thin nose and the small eyes that appeared slightly too close together. Stig’s shoulder-length hair was dark grey and sparse, though his beard was impressive – long enough to touch his heart. ‘My father had no family. I have no family that I know of, so who are you?’

Stig chuckled, and conscious of the wind, laced with rain, he glanced past the king into the fort. ‘That would be a conversation of some length. Perhaps we might find somewhere more comfortable? My wife is with child, and her servant is old. I would like to offer them a fire if I may? Somewhere to rest and dry ourselves?’

Though despite feeling no ill will towards the young woman, who did indeed appear to be pregnant and shivering, Eadmund didn’t budge. ‘I’m happy to offer you a seat and a fire, though first you’ll explain your name and why you are here. Strangers will always find a warm welcome on Oss, though not those with ill intent.’

Stig looked taken aback. ‘I have none of that to give you, my lord.’ And now he looked embarrassed. ‘No intent other than a desire to meet you. My nephew.’

Bram’s mouth dropped open, and beside him, Thorgils was blinking at Fyn.

‘Nephew? But my father had no brothers.’ The wind howled between them, though only Stig’s wife appeared to notice, and though she looked miserable, Eadmund saw that she didn’t move towards her husband. She was small, and in her heavy cloak, appeared to be shrinking from all the attention. Her face was plump, sallow-looking, her dark curls a tangled mess.

He looked back at Stig, who continued to chuckle as though not being glared at by a suspicious king and his equally suspicious men.

‘Your father likely had more brothers and sisters than he could ever count! From what I’ve heard, Grim Skalleson lived here with a harem of slaves, fathering bastard after bastard.’

‘And you’re suggesting you’re one of them? One of my grandfather’s bastards?’

Stig grinned. ‘Not me. No, I’m his legitimate son. As far as I’m aware, the only one.’

Unable to hold his tongue, and suddenly seeing where this was going, Bram stepped forward. ‘Says you.’

Stig turned to the man in surprise before looking back to Eadmund. His grandson moved up to flank his left side, though with a snap of his head and a look of iron, he sent the young man back.

Eadmund motioned towards Bram. ‘Bram knew my father better and longer than anyone. He would know if that was true.’

A smiling Stig shook his head. ‘Unlikely, for even I didn’t know about it until recently.’ Now he motioned to his grandson, who didn’t take after his grandfather at all. Whereas Stig was swaying at the wind’s mercy, his blonde-haired, stocky grandson looked up at Eadmund with a square jaw and a confident nod. ‘I sent Haral to the mainland to trade. There, he heard talk about how a king called Skalleson helped the new King of Alekka. Talk of a great battle. He came back and told me all about it. About you and your wife.’

Eadmund was confused. ‘You’d never heard the name before?’

‘Never,’ Stig insisted as Ineko exhaled loudly, showing little interest in the conversation but a great amount in her own discomfort. ‘Not in my lifetime.’

‘So you didn’t know of my father?’

‘From Vartna?’ Stig laughed. ‘It’s as north as you can go before you hit The Reach. Frozen lands, insulated people. No, I never did. Why would I?’

‘Traders?’ Bram put in, eyes narrowed. ‘A place I expect you’d meet a lot of traders. Some from down here...’

‘Most of us farm, hunt, trap, fish. We make what we need, trade with each other. There’s little use for outsiders.’ Once again, Stig’s eyes skipped longingly past the king. He was wet through, and his legs were aching painfully.

Realising this wasn’t a conversation to have outside, Eadmund finally relented, stepping aside to usher his guests into the fort. ‘We’ll get you to a fire. Get you warm,’ he said, addressing Ineko before turning to her husband. ‘And I will hear more of this story and how you came to be here.’ And what it is you want, he thought, chewing that over as he turned and shepherded his guests towards the hall.

15

Jael didn’t want to say anything to Rexon.

She cursed her dreamer gifts, which were fickle at best and hadn’t helped her do much except hate herself for being too late to do any good. Too slow to save her father, to save Axl...

She didn’t know why she had them at all.

Rexon hadn’t turned to her. He was rigid, oblivious to the drenching wave that had soaked them both, to the noise of the crew and the rain starting to fall.

And though Jael didn’t even want to begin, she owed him more than a lie, for what she had seen was everything he’d feared. ‘I saw your wife and your sons. They were together,’ she began slowly, choosing her words with care. The images had been distressing, and now they came to her again.

She had known Demaeya Boas, and she certainly knew how much Rexon loved her. Demaeya and their beautiful children.

Beside her, Rexon inhaled slowly. He took his time.

Now, it was more than just his right hand trembling.

His teeth had started chattering, his eyes flooding with tears.

‘Dead?’

Jael gripped her hands together, squeezing, as though trying to stop herself speaking, though he had to know the truth. ‘Yes.’

Grabbing a rope, Rexon pulled himself to his feet, stumbling away from her to the stern, where he bent over the sea and vomited.

Turning away, Jael closed her eyes.

Once again, she saw the images of Mutt Storman ordering his men to kill Demaeya Boas and her children, watching as their bodies, bloody and lifeless, were carelessly thrown onto a pile of murdered Saalans.

Eadmund was still reeling as he led his guests into the hall, relieved to see the fires blazing and the lamps lit in anticipation of supper.

Jaw clenched, he motioned to one of the raised fire pits, where his guests hurried to warm themselves, removing sodden cloaks and scraping wet hair away from frozen faces.

Stig’s crew filed in behind them, looking around with interest, eyes on the empty tables, seeking out the kitchen. The old servant looked lost, not wanting to go with the men, though Ineko hissed at her, and she scurried off with them, muttering to herself.

Ale was promptly delivered, accompanied by bowls of hazelnuts and dried cherries, and Eadmund motioned for everyone to sit. He took his place in the centre of the high table. Beside him, Thorgils hesitated to take Jael’s chair, sitting at a distance, leaving Eadmund alone.

Small talk was attempted for a while, though only the old man appeared interested and alert. Beside him, his wife was gobbling down the nuts, and his grandson was already onto his second cup of ale, the tip of his snub nose turning bright red.

And eager to stop the tip-toeing, Eadmund came to the point. ‘So you’ve come to make my acquaintance then? Or is it something else? Do you seek something from me?’

Surprised by his directness, Thorgils turned to his friend with an open mouth.

Stig’s grandson, Haral, sat up, eyes sharpening like a sleeping dog hearing a noise outside the door. He leaned forward.

Though ignoring him, Eadmund kept his eyes on the old man, who smiled good-naturedly, bobbing his head.

‘From you? No, my lord. My mother raised me alone. She never spoke of my father, and I never met him. It wasn’t until she was on her deathbed that she confessed the truth of the man to me. Grim Skalleson. Of what he’d done to her.’

More curious than ever, Eadmund sipped his ale, hearing the fire pop.

‘He’d taken a sum of money from my grandfather to marry her, though he’d used that up soon enough, and it wasn’t long after I was born that he left her to it. Left the both of us to fend for ourselves. She gave me a new name after that. She’d never wanted to marry him, and so when he was gone, she gave me her father’s name of Ervik. And that’s how I was raised, who I was, until that day before she died some twenty years ago. From then on, I knew I had Skalleson blood, though I never cared. What was it to me but a memory of betrayal? A legacy I wanted no part of?’ Leaning forward, he picked out a few dried cherries from a nearby bowl. ‘I never used the name. I stuck to Ervik, though Haral knew of it, so when he brought the news to me about you, it struck me like lightning.’ He shook his head, fixing his keen dark blue eyes on Eadmund. ‘Half of me wanted to know more, to find out what my father had done after he’d left us. What life he’d led. The other half wanted to leave it in the dust where it hadn’t troubled me once.’ Grinning now, he patted his grandson on the back. ‘Though Haral here convinced me that I owed my mother to find out. So I got matters in order and set off from Vartna. And that’s how I came here.’

A shocked Eadmund couldn’t bring himself to reciprocate Stig’s smile, though he offered a grudging nod. ‘And you’re welcome, you and your family. Welcome to enjoy a visit here. We’ve plenty of hospitality to offer, but I’ve nothing to tell you about your father, apart from what a bastard he was.’

Stig laughed, head back. ‘I expected nothing less! And we would be grateful. We’ve come a long way, and Ineko is tired, aren’t you, dear?’

The dark-haired woman stared at him with an open mouth, and not answering, she turned back to her ale.

Eadmund stood. ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable. You’ve come in time for supper, though my cook wasn’t expecting to feed an army,’ he warned, eyeing Stig’s crew, who had circled the fire pits, keeping their voices low. ‘Thorgils and Fyn will keep you entertained. Bram, you come with me, and we’ll sort out what we’re going to feed everyone and where we’ll put you all.’ And with a smile that barely moved his lips, Eadmund left the table, feeling his guests’ eyes on his back.

Like a pack of starving hounds.

Those on board Wave Cutter ate their supper with great enthusiasm, apart from a quiet Jael and Rexon.

It wasn’t fully dark, though it had been cold, often wet, and the meal, though modest, provided a glimmer of brightness in an otherwise dull day.

Jael was barely aware of what was happening on board, for when she wasn’t thinking of Rexon, her mind was on Saala.

There would be a battle.

She didn’t need to be a dreamer to know that was coming. It was what she felt hungry for. Not diplomacy and alliance-building but violence.

Her mother would’ve been horrified to know that her daughter had such appetites. Her grandmother would have shrugged.

Eadmund would’ve cautioned her, warning that it wasn’t about revenge. That, as queen, nothing could ever be about how she felt. He could be as hot-tempered as her, given the situation, but mostly, he’d become adept at cooling her down.

Looking around the ship, eyes stinging from the salty sea spray, she saw many familiar faces. Some, like Fulk Easby and Kari, she knew well, though there was no one to speak to her like Eadmund or Thorgils or even Fyn.

She saw Petra watching her with that one sharp eye. The dark-haired girl was eager to prove herself but nervous. She needed guidance and someone to show her the way. And realising it, Jael’s shoulders dropped, knowing that Eadmund would’ve been right. She was the queen, so it could never be about what she wanted personally.

Fulk brought her a trencher of flatbreads and salt fish, and sitting down, cloak rising around him like waves, he made himself at home. Jael didn’t want company, and she wasn’t hungry, though she ate without complaint or consideration of the meal, knowing that she needed her strength.

‘Is something wrong with Rexon?’ Fulk murmured, leaning the queen’s way. He’d already eaten and now focused on reorganising his many garments and then his long white beard. ‘He’s not talking to anyone.’

Rexon had barely left the stern since they’d spoken, rejecting all company. Jael had kept a close eye on him, though, fearing he would jump. She wasn’t sure she’d make a different choice in his place. To have lost his entire family to Mutt Storman and his men?

Was it true? Should she have even told him until they knew for certain?

Though the sick feeling in her stomach gave her little doubt.

‘I saw a vision of his family. They were all dead,’ Jael whispered, for it was better to let Fulk know why he needed to leave Rexon alone. ‘Mutt Storman was there. He ordered it.’

Fulk was gobsmacked. ‘Dead?’ he mouthed. Turning his head, he eyed the Lord of Saala in disbelief. ‘But how? How will he carry on?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I expect vengeance will keep him going for now.’ Putting down her trencher, unable to stomach any more, she turned to Fulk with a sigh. ‘We need to free Saala from those men. Mutt’s men. That’s all. Free Saala, Borsund, and Rosby. There’s no time for being anything other than focused on that.’

Fulk had known Jael’s father well. Ranuf had spoken of his daughter with both pride and fear for her.

But always faith.

‘And the stones?’ he asked, eyes snapping to the bucket of symbol stones the dreamer had given them. ‘Will they work?’

Jael followed his gaze, hearing the doubt in his voice, though she remembered what Mattie had done with the titan wave. And not just Mattie. She had seen the most powerful magic woven with the tiniest of symbols. ‘I hope so. We need to undo what that dreamer did, so I hope so.’

‘And you think it was magic? Men like Henk Layborg turned on your brother because of magic?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I can’t say what was in their hearts, though I know what the dreamer’s intention was, so it’s possible. And if not? If they were simply motivated by greed and ambition? Well, they won’t live to regret it. I won’t rule a kingdom of traitors. Those who seek to aid our enemies, those who plot against us... all of them will die.’

For a woman so enamoured with the sound of her own voice, Dessalene Sardis had been oddly quiet since leaving Bhyan.

They had ridden away from the ivory palace in a carriage, taking a secret road – one used by the king alone – which had prompted questions from Raymon about the King of Kadak’s whereabouts, none of which had been answered by the dreamer.

Arriving at the small town of Rykee, they had boarded a wolf ship, now heading downriver in a never-ending deluge.

East.

Raymon recognised nothing, no one told him anything, and he remained frustrated and uncomfortable, chained to the starboard gunwale, wet and stiff and miserable.

As the afternoon lengthened, welcoming a brief respite from the warm rain, a perfectly dry Dessalene emerged from her wooden shelter and made her way towards him. One of her servants hurried forward with a goblet of wine, though Dessalene didn’t feel like wine. Despite the rain, the air had a stagnant odour. In fact, everything did. Her appetite was tainted, her vision slightly hazy. Nothing sounded, looked, or tasted the same.

It had been that way since her encounter with Edela, and she felt unnerved, desperate to feel like herself again. Her chest wound pounded, the cut on her hand burned, and she could feel an unusual heat in them both, fearing what was happening to her.

‘Perhaps you would like it? The wine?’ she mused, taking the cup to her prisoner, who peered up at her with squinting eyes. ‘Bring my pillows,’ she added, waiting in silence while the servant disappeared, returning with a stack of silk pillows, which she hurriedly arranged for the dreamer. Despite the comfort they offered, Dessalene hesitated. Everything was wet, everyone was damp and dripping, and she eyed them with revulsion, for though her shelter offered only the bare minimum of comfort, it was preferrable to drowning.

Reluctantly taking a seat, she handed the wine to Raymon. Though seeing that he could barely lift his hands, she called Morik over, ordering him to remove the chains. ‘Just for now,’ she cooed, ‘for you must drink.’

And once the chains were removed, Raymon did drink, relieved to have some freedom of movement, though his wrists and ankles throbbed with the constant pressure of the fetters, especially the one on his left wrist. To his disappointment, the wine had a sharp tang, bitter and unpleasant to drink. He coughed and gagged, but fearing it would be hours until he’d be offered anything else, he gulped it down.

Watching him, Dessalene laughed. ‘You are not like your sister,’ she observed. ‘Perhaps more like your brother? Hmmm? He was timid, from what I saw. A nervous boy, afraid he could never measure up to his father. And how right he was!’

Raymon was incensed. The woman’s eyes were searching, full of amusement, and sensing her game, he stared at the empty goblet, taking a moment to master his tongue. Eventually, looking up, he eyed her coldly. ‘When will we arrive? I expect your husband will be worried about you.’

Dessalene blanched, glancing at Morik, wondering what he’d been blabbering. ‘My husband,’ she growled, ‘knows me well enough to have no concerns. What? Do you imagine your old friend Edela posed a serious threat to me?’ And now she sat back, laughing loudly, drawing the attention of the entire ship, though not for long, for no one wanted to be caught staring at the dreamer.

Raymon looked thoughtful. ‘No. I feared for her.’

Dessalene looked pleased to hear it.

‘I fear she is dead.’

‘And if she is? What does it matter to you? That witch is no one to you, Raymon.’

‘Perhaps, though she thought she was helping me.’

Dessalene was intrigued. ‘Helping you?’

‘She wanted to keep me safe. She worried about me.’

‘Oh, dear! Well, it seems you trusted the wrong woman. Perhaps you should have remained in Iskavall instead? Safe in your hall?’ And now she leaned towards him. ‘Though it would have made no difference in the end. Dreamers of my ability can reach through every wall. Even those made of stone...’

Raymon stopped talking after that.

But eager to continue the conversation, Dessalene thought to scatter a few crumbs before him. ‘We will not be going directly to my husband,’ she told him. ‘We must go to Sarakat for supplies. Supplies and –’ Though cutting herself off, she looked away.

Raymon spun towards her, hoping to hear more, but the rain came down in buckets, and with help from her servants, Dessalene was quickly hurried back to her shelter.

Hunching up his shoulders, Raymon could feel the rain sliding down his tunic. He closed his eyes, thinking of Edela, hoping she was alive.

Alive and searching for him.

He bent down to his boot, trying not to draw attention to himself, though he wanted to get closer to the gemstone he’d secured in there.

‘Sarakat,’ he breathed. ‘We are headed to Sarakat.’

Stig Ervik yawned opposite Eadmund, though the old man continued to sup his ale and pick at a bowl of blueberries, showing no inclination for bed. His pregnant wife had departed earlier, shown to the chamber he would be sharing with her, leaving Haral to find a bench in the hall, sleeping with their small crew. Though for now the young man seemed happily drunk, telling stories to Thorgils and Fyn.

Eadmund was pleased, wanting a word with the old man alone.

‘What did your mother have to say about Grim?’ he wondered.

Stig cocked his head. ‘My mother never had a bad word for anyone, a purer heart never lived, but I could tell what she thought of the man. Sometimes, when she looked at me, I’d see her shiver, as though she feared what I’d become. But I never gave her problems. Never left her side.’

Having lost his own mother at a young age, Stig’s loyalty struck a chord with Eadmund. ‘And when she died?’

‘Well, by then, I was stuck in my ways. I had a wife, a son, a home. I’ve never wanted anything that I couldn’t make or hunt or grow. It’s a good life, being a trapper, though young Haral doesn’t agree.’ He peered at his grandson with bleary eyes. ‘My son, his father, was made like me. We saw the abundance around us, and we felt like rich men, but Haral has his eyes elsewhere. His heart too.’

‘And will you let him go?’

Stig shook his head. ‘He’s my heir. For now, he’s my heir, so I won’t have him traipsing off to the mainland in search of adventure. No, he’s a good lad. He’ll come to see things right. All he needs is a wife. Marry young, that’s the key. Find a good woman, marry young, and things will become clearer.’

Eadmund was thoughtful. ‘It can take time,’ he said. ‘To find yourself. Your place, your purpose.’

Stig snorted. ‘His place is by me. In Vartna. His purpose is carrying on my name. I’ve laid it all out for him. Done the hard work so he can reap the rewards. This is his adventure. Coming here to meet his cousin. A king!’ And smiling brightly, Stig lifted his empty cup. ‘I still think I’m dreaming. That my nephew’s a king?’ Eyes wandering, he found Eadmund’s and Jael’s chairs, side by side on the dais.

And there they lingered.

Sailing down the surging Tissing River, the rain didn’t abate, and desperate to dry off and find something hot to eat, Korri suggested they stop for the night.

Edela felt reluctant to delay their progress, though she wondered if a break from the ship and the rain would help her dream more effectively.

They had passed countless tributaries, and every time they approached one, Edela’s heart was in her mouth, fearing that Dessalene had taken some circuitous route, seeking to evade them. Though without knowing more, she would remain blind, so relenting, she decided to make the most of what the small town of Uram had to offer.

Korri had quickly headed away from the ships with Zen and Siggy, seeking accommodation, for a storm was threatening, and no one wanted to ride it out on board.

Bertel was wringing out his tunic and squeezing water from his beard when Korri returned with the good news that he’d found a tavern with a room. Just the one, though it had enough beds to sleep six.

Bertel was so shocked he almost wept.

Beds?

They would finally sleep in beds?

The crew didn’t look as happy as Bertel quickly became, for, apart from Gerulf, the cook, who’d been invited along, they would be hunkering down on the ships. Though the thought of drinking ale in a tavern was something, and perhaps there was an option of bunking down there?

Siggy picked up Alvi, and Zen untied Nellie, and they all trekked through ankle deep mud, slipping and sliding towards the towering tavern, where the kind old woman running the place showed them to the stables. And leaving the bleating goat next to a cow with plenty of hay and a roof over her head, they hurried inside.

Creaking up a steep, dark flight of stairs that felt ready to give way, Bertel feared what might be waiting for them, though the tiny taverness had no surprises to spring, simply opening the door to a large chamber. And though the ceiling sagged low and its enormous beams had him ducking until he was bent over, it had ample space and six short but comfortable-looking beds.

Edela bustled past Bertel and Gerulf, gasping for air, eyes rounding with delight, not noticing the leaking roof as she hurried forward, quickly choosing a bed.

Siggy followed, dropping Alvi onto the nearest bed, and soon Zen and Korri were bringing up the rear.

The old taverness smiled toothlessly at them, and taking her coins from Korri, she closed the door.

No one spoke. The rain was loud.

They were wet and tired, and being inside, with a roof over their heads and mattresses beneath them, was a feeling almost too good to be true.

‘Is this a trap?’ Bertel wondered, eyes closed. ‘Do you think we’ve been lured into a trap?’

‘If it is, then let me be trapped,’ Zen groaned, extending his long legs, which touched the wooden bed frame before they were straight. And not caring in the slightest, he rolled onto his side, clasping his knees to his chest, smiling at Siggy, who looked as giddy as he felt.

‘I have lived seventy-three years and never been so happy to lie down,’ Bertel declared. ‘Not once!’

They were all smiling as they lay on their beds, wiggling legs and toes, squishing themselves deep into the mattresses stuffed with who knew what. But whatever it was provided comfort on a level none had experienced in recent memory.

‘Are we going to bother with supper?’ Zen wondered with a yawn. He felt bad for the rest of the men, who wouldn’t get to enjoy actual comfort, though hopefully, the ale in the tavern would help them forget what they were missing out on.

‘Who needs food?’ Korri murmured, head sinking into the pillow. And now his eyes closed.

Edela smiled, listening to the sleepy murmurs of her delighted companions. It was a relief to truly lie down, and the comfort was so welcome. The mattress was more than she’d been expecting, and though there was much to talk about and more plans to make, it wasn’t long before she had sunk into a deep, deep sleep.

16

Dessalene hated travelling. The heat and dust, the company.

The rain.

That evening, the helmsman left his man in charge and came to the dreamer’s shelter, suggesting they stop for the night. Though Dessalene had promptly sent him on his way, for despite her increasingly weakened state, she had seen a vision of Edela Saeveld, looking alert and alive and worst of all... following them.

Undaunted by events in the palace, the old woman appeared quite determined to retrieve Raymon Vandaal.

It energised Dessalene, who ignored the dripping crew and their surly helmsman, remaining in her shelter. There was a small bed, a table and chairs, food to eat and light to see by, but it was no palace. No castle.

The river had turned ever darker shades of brown as it rose, the worried shouts becoming more urgent, though Dessalene would not shift from her course.

Once they made the turn for Sarakat, Edela would sail past. Though just to be certain, she ordered her servant to leave, and when the woman had shut the door, she opened a chest, pulling out a small ebony box.

And bringing it onto her knees, she smiled.

After a maddening series of unhelpful dreams, Edela became restless, moving in and out of sleep, ready to give up. Then, feeling something tugging her back to the clouds, she surrendered to their call one more time.

And there she found two women walking past a fountain.

Water spurted from the mouth of what looked like a serpent, the sunlight sparkling off it almost blinding her. And blinking, she saw the women like shadows ahead of her.

One, she felt certain, was Dessalene. She had an odd, angular posture and a jerking rhythm of walking. The other figure was heavily cloaked, though Edela sensed it was a woman.

‘What am I to tell my husband?’ Dessalene asked, turning her head so that Edela now saw her clearly.

Her companion kept her head fixed straight ahead as she replied. ‘The truth, of course, as it pertains to our goal. We shall need him motivated and ready. When you tell Ronin, it will focus him like nothing in his life. It will become his life. His every waking breath will be about what happened there.’

‘And what can be done? For him?’

The cloaked woman laughed. ‘I care nothing about what can be done for him! I will only ever care about what can be done for me. For us. For we are the ones on this journey now, Dessalene. You and I.’

The women passed beneath a leafy arch, the gravel path crunching beneath their feet.

Edela hurried on, not wanting to miss a word.

‘Mistress, I –’

‘The stakes are high, Dessalene. Higher than games, than mere spells and dreams. You seek a child, I know, and when we are victorious, I shall be in a generous mood indeed. Revenge will be a sweet meal I shall savour. Satisfaction, one you will enjoy yourself. Though power is what will sustain us. Power is what will elevate us from the shadows into the light. You and I and those who will follow.’

Watching Dessalene turn to the Mistress again, Edela saw that she was almost glowing.

Leaving the dreamer to carry on, the Mistress stopped abruptly, and now she turned around, and a horrified Edela saw her face.

She gasped, stumbling backwards, for the woman staring back at her was her.

It was as though she was looking in a mirror.

That evening, long after his guests had retired, Eadmund paid a visit to his dreamer, hoping for some insight. He’d left Bram watching the hall, seeking to have a word with Ayla in private.

She hadn’t been surprised to see him and had quickly shown him to a chair by her blazing fire.

‘You’ve had some time to consider things,’ Eadmund began. ‘Enough time?’

Ayla had been introduced to his guests at supper, observing them silently from her place near Isaura. She nodded. ‘I think so. I believe Stig is who he says he is. Your uncle. Your father’s older brother. He is not lying to you about that, Eadmund. When he touched my hand, I saw a glimpse of him with his mother. Their connection is very strong, even now. He is not lying.’

Unsure how he felt about that, Eadmund glowered at the flames, watching them devouring the logs. ‘And what does he want, coming here after all these years? He’s the rightful king. Is that it? He sees himself as the rightful king of the islands? Or is he just an old man wanting to know his family?’

Ayla was thoughtful, her eyes drawn to the fire too. She had been cold all evening, though perhaps now the cottage was too hot? ‘If what he says is true, Grim Skalleson was married to his mother. That gives Stig rights your father never had, born of a slave as he was.’

‘So the islands should be his? He should be sitting on my throne with that woman beside him? That girl?’ He hadn’t warmed to Ineko, who had barely offered a smile, though he sensed she’d had no say in her marriage to a man old enough to be her grandfather. And despite Stig’s kindness towards her, Ineko had stared at him with revulsion.

Now Ayla turned her full attention to Eadmund. ‘He is one man in one ship and an old man at that. Perhaps you can take him at his word that he merely seeks to make a connection?’ Eadmund looked incredulous, and Ayla laughed. ‘Perhaps?’

‘You think he offers no threat?’

‘I will keep looking, of course, but I see nothing to concern you. He wants to get to know his nephew. He has come with that in mind. If there’s anything else, he is doing well to mask it. I will certainly keep looking, but for now, you should trust him.’

Eadmund wanted to feel reassured by Ayla’s words, though from the moment the ship had been sighted, he’d been gripped with dread. He could almost imagine Jael standing by his chair, whispering the same into his ear.

‘Be careful,’ he could hear her saying. ‘Watch your back, Eadmund.’

As dawn approached like a crack in the horizon, a restless Jael leaned on the stern, thinking of Axl, murdered in Eren Venberg’s bed.

No fetters bound her wrists or ankles now, though she felt just as helpless as she had on S’ala Nis. Perhaps more so because what she wanted to change lay behind her now, lost in the past.

She had needed a vision of Axl that night, not a sobbing Linas sounding the alarm after the opportunity to save him had passed.

Why hadn’t she seen what was happening until it was too late?

Why hadn’t the gods sought to help her help her brother?

‘Because it was never meant to be,’ came a voice. ‘Surely you know that, Jael? The destruction of your line has been much delayed, though always inevitable. You stand there as though you think you have a chance. Some magical hope. Though what are you really but a failed dreamer, a failed wife, a failed daughter, a useless mother? Chasing what? Victory? Or are you simply running away from the truth?’

That woman.

Swinging around, seeing the darkness confront her – so different than the warm light of dawn, Jael blinked in surprise.

Hairs on the back of her neck rising, she felt that unsettling presence again.

The wind was a drone, but that voice echoed loudly.

‘Daala will not save you this time,’ came the confident promise. ‘She will not. And the rest of the gods, her merciless children? They are bound by that old crone’s edict now. You will stand alone this time, Jael Furyck. To face me and my army. Are you ready?’

Laughter.

It lingered and lengthened before fading into an ominous silence that left Jael shivering.

Edela’s odd dream continued to echo as she carefully made her way down to the tavern for breakfast.

It had been a treat to sleep in a bed, and though she was dry, she didn’t feel especially rested.

Why had she seen herself as the face of that woman?

As though she was Dessalene’s mistress?

It made no sense, and she was barely listening to the various conversations around the table as breakfast was delivered and promptly devoured. The tavern’s main room was not especially large; too many tables had been squeezed in, and the ceiling was low, so it all felt very cramped. Though the rain mostly drowned out the noise of everyone eating.

Bertel had befriended the taverness, who had a twinkle in her eye and a good command of the common tongue. She had a way with eggs, too, so he’d quickly gone to ask for a second helping.

When he returned, they almost slid off his plate as he hurried to sit down. ‘She knows about Ronin Sardis and his wife!’ he said loudly, though seeing the dreamer’s frown, he lowered his voice.

Leaning towards him, Edela was all ears.

‘They have passed through here before, though she hasn’t seen them in some time. Months at least.’ He glanced around, smiling at the taverness, who, thinking he was still hungry, came over with a bowl of fruit. ‘I was just telling my friend what you said about the dreamer. Dessalene.’

‘Mmmm, the king’s wife.’ The tiny woman nodded, a look of distaste clear on her wrinkled face. ‘I’ve no information about her. About either of them. They’ve not been seen here for some time, so I can’t help you there. Kelis might know more.’ And seeing Zen eyeing the fruit, she held out the bowl.

Edela looked intrigued. ‘Kelis?’

‘The seeress,’ the taverness said with a shiver.

Despite the woman’s obvious discomfort, Edela was eager to leave, hurrying to her feet.

A gust of wind blew the tavern doors open, slamming them against the walls, and as everyone turned towards them, the taverness shuffled away.

‘I’ll go with you, Edela,’ Bertel insisted, turning back to scoff down his eggs. ‘You won’t go out in that alone. You’ll be blown away!’

Edela watched the staff working to secure the doors. Everything became oddly dark, and turning to look over her shoulder, she saw a glimpse of Raymon.

His head was by his leg, which she could see was clamped with a thick iron fetter. He was talking to her, though she heard no words. She felt his fear, a sense of urgency, though try as she might, she couldn’t understand what he was saying.

Then the vision was gone, and Bertel was on his feet, ushering her to the door.

After being woken by a whimpering Snapper scratching at the door, Fyn had let the puppy outside, turning back into the dark cottage with a sigh. Spying a plate of leftover meat and bread on the table, he used his knife to cut it into smaller pieces, thinking of what to do. There was no sign of Bram, and not wanting to leave the puppy alone, he fed him his breakfast and headed off to Thorgils’ house, where the excited children welcomed the chance to care for him.

A tired-looking Isaura offered him breakfast, though not feeling like company or food, he headed to the stables. He’d spent a lot of time with the horses since his return to Oss. Everything had felt so strange and unsettling without Jael, becoming even more so with the unexpected arrival of Eadmund’s relatives.

He felt nothing but suspicion of Stig and his family. He didn’t trust them, and he hoped Eadmund wouldn’t either.

There was something about the grandson in particular.

Haral.

Fyn had spent the evening listening to him talk about himself. Haral had asked plenty of questions, though he’d turned the conversation back to himself at every opportunity. Fyn knew plenty of men like that, and he had little patience for them.

Stig seemed friendly, though Ineko reminded him of his sister, Evaine, which was no compliment.

‘Hello!’

Turning around, Fyn saw Milla enter the stables. He immediately felt embarrassed, for he’d mostly avoided her since his return. Though she wasn’t alone in that.

She was smiling and bright-eyed, wearing one of Isaura’s dresses.

She looked fresh. And shaking his head, he decided it was no wonder he’d never had any luck with girls - he didn’t even possess the right language.

‘Thought I’d sort out the horses,’ he told her, making an effort to meet her eyes. ‘Maybe go for a ride. Winter will be at the door soon enough, and then riding won’t be as much fun.’

‘Can I come?’ Milla asked. ‘For a ride? I’ve not had much chance to see the island and not much company either.’

Her toothy smile was gleaming, and her freckles almost sparkled, and though she was a welcome sight, Fyn saw a vision of Mattie’s scowling face. And not expecting that, he blinked, remembering what she’d said about Milla. He became nervous now, his cheeks heating up despite the cool morning air. ‘Ummm, I... yes. You should come. You can ride Otan,’ he decided quickly. ‘Bram won’t mind.’

Milla looked uncertain, glancing around. ‘Are you sure?’

Fyn nodded with a reassuring smile. ‘He’s gentle enough. You’ll get used to things quickly, but the terrain’s a challenge at –’

‘Going for a ride?’

Turning around to a grinning Haral Ervik, Fyn’s jaw pulsed.

‘I’m being taken on a tour of the island,’ Milla told him. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

Sweeping long blonde hair away from his face, Haral gaped at her, enchanted, and Fyn’s usually dormant temper rumbled to life. ‘We won’t be long.’

‘I could come?’ Haral suggested, eyes on Milla. ‘I should like to see the island, and the king did say you would show me around today.’ And now he drew his eyes away from the girl, glancing around the stables, seeing four horses.

A glowering Fyn didn’t answer, and the awkward silence lengthened.

Staring at him, Milla didn’t understand. Fyn had always seemed so open and friendly with her. She became awkward herself, scuffing the straw with her boots.

And realising that he was being inhospitable, which wouldn’t please Eadmund, Fyn cleared his throat. ‘I’ll find you a horse,’ he said to Haral. ‘Wait here. Milla, you get Yara and Otan ready. I’ll... I’ll be back.’ Feeling annoyed, he scratched his head as he left the stables, muttering to himself. Turning as he reached the open doors, he saw Haral lean towards Milla, whispering, and then Milla, eyes sparkling, burst out laughing, touching his arm.

The seeress’ house was on stilts, as many were in the riverside town of Uram, and Edela and Bertel took some time making their way up the precarious steps in the wild gale. It was raining heavily, and by the time Bertel knocked on the door, certain the house was swaying, he was soaked to the skin, wishing he’d never left the dry comfort of the tavern. Though upon seeing the attractive woman who opened the door with a ready smile, releasing a rush of warmth and light and a sweet aroma, he was soon changing his mind. And not waiting for Edela, he hurried inside.

She blinked after him, knowing that Bertel Knutson was many things but never without manners, and soon he turned around with a confused look, urging her to come inside.

‘Please. You come,’ the seeress began in a heavy accent. Dark braids wound into little buns were dotted around her head, and across her cheeks and chin were rows of tattooed symbols.

She was around Ayla’s age, Edela thought, and not at all what she’d been expecting.

‘You have come for help?’ the seeress asked, ushering them towards a bench beside a fire pit. The wind was screaming down the smoke hole, and splashes of rain were threatening to douse the swirling flames.

Edela moved ahead of Bertel now, eyeing the pot bubbling over a meal fire and the strange carvings and symbols spread across the walls in wave-like patterns. Tiny lamps burned in a ring around the floor, and seeing the floorboards more clearly, Edela swallowed.

She saw remnants of what appeared to be a goose lying on one table, a stack of identical-looking stones piled nearby, and feeling apprehensive, she half-doubted whether she should even be here. Though remembering her vision of Raymon, she took a breath, ploughing on. ‘I am searching for a woman called Dessalene. Perhaps you know of her? A dreamer? Dessalene Sardis?’

The woman’s smile vanished. ‘Looking for the dreamer?’ She glanced at the door. ‘Dessalene?’ And now she sat on a stool, black eyes showing real fear. ‘Take another path. In the opposite direction! That woman has no friends, just those she uses to get whatever she wants. And those who offer nothing?’

The seeress sat back as though that was the end of the matter, her eyes once again drifting to the door.

The house creaked and groaned, the wind squealed like a frightened piglet, and Edela leaned towards her. ‘I have silver and a question, and then we’ll be on our way.’

Bertel leaned forward with her, and certain Edela didn’t have any silver, he slipped a hand into his pouch and pulled out what he considered a fair price for an answer.

The seeress appeared pleased with his generosity, and now she nodded, sitting forward again.

Sensing the storm descending upon the house and not wishing to be inside it a moment longer than necessary, Edela hurried on. ‘Where can I find Dessalene? Do you know? Can you see? She has taken a friend of ours, and we must find him quickly.’

The seeress’ eyes moved from Edela’s imploring face to Bertel’s coins and back again, and with a reluctant nod, she took the old woman’s hand and closed her eyes.

17

Lying in bed, pinned in by Ido and Vella, knowing it was long past time to get up, Eadmund felt desperately alone.

The surprising arrival of Stig and his family had kept him awake for most of the night. He couldn’t deny that he’d warmed to the man, who reminded him of his father. He had the same brusque manner of speaking, the same sense of humour and twinkle in his eye. But was it all part of a plot? Was he acting like a naive fool in believing his story?

Eadmund could almost see Jael going toe to toe with Stig, demanding to know what he wanted.

Ayla seemed to think there was nothing sinister about his arrival, though despite trusting his dreamer, doubts nagged at him.

Was Stig Ervik really just an old man seeking to meet the family he’d been deprived of, or did he have other, more nefarious intentions?

Hearing no answers coming from the silence, Eadmund rolled onto his side, pulling Vella close. Sometimes, she liked to cuddle, though now she growled and wriggled away, moving to lie on Jael’s pillow, kicking her legs at him.

He closed his eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath, wondering if he could go back to sleep.

‘No you won’t!’ snapped Biddy. ‘You will come here right now!’

‘No!’ came Bo’s defiant squeak and then the sound of bare feet pattering down the corridor. ‘Papa! Papa! Want to go see!’

Eadmund smiled sadly, sitting up with a yawn, and stretching out his back, he stood, ready to begin the day.

Bending down to pull on his trousers, he imagined Jael lying in bed, squinting at him, begging him to let her go back to sleep. She had messy hair and creased cheeks as she turned away from him, curling into a ball.

He saw himself bending down to her, finding her lips beneath all that hair.

Kissing them.

And soon her arm was around his neck, and she had dragged him back to bed.

More shouting from his demanding daughter, accompanied by hammering little fists, and Eadmund’s vision was gone.

He shrugged on a fresh tunic and lifted his eyes from the bed and his memories, and fixing a smile on his face, he opened the door.

Leaving the seeress’ house, Edela and Bertel trekked through the mud hand in hand. Bertel had thought to steady Edela, though instead, he’d nearly brought her tumbling down with him when he’d stumbled into a hole, dropping to his knees and falling onto his face.

The wind was a terror, and if she hadn’t been so busy trying not to fall herself, to hold down her cloak and see where she was going, Edela would have been unable to stop laughing.

As it was, Korri had seen Bertel fall, and waiting on board Sea Queen, he’d sent Zen and Siggy to help them to the ship. The river was rising, muddy water washing over its banks, and he wanted to get moving.

‘Did you have any luck?’ he called when they reached the ship. ‘Any answers?’

A grumbling Bertel was too busy scooping mud out of his eyes to reply, but Edela nodded as she was hoisted over the gunwale into Korri’s arms.

‘Yes!’ she panted. ‘A village called Sarakat. The seeress saw that she was on her way there. She’s not far away. Not far at all!’

Fyn’s morning ride, wedged between Milla Ulfsson and Haral Ervik, was as unpleasant as he’d foreseen. Leaving the fort, he’d immediately regretted that he hadn’t just stayed at the Svanters’ with Snapper, certain they were having a much better time.

A confident Haral, golden hair flowing, spoke over him for much of the journey, talking to Milla, who he’d never heard laugh as freely.

Haral appeared to find himself amusing, and apparently, so did Milla.

It made Fyn even less interested in talking, and he was sullen and silent, cutting short the route he’d been planning to take Milla on, soon leading them back to the fort.

‘I can see why you like it here,’ Haral said, nudging his horse around a pile of moss-covered rocks. ‘It’s a wild place for sure. The waterfall’s a beast and that great lake? I like it very much.’

Milla nodded enthusiastically. ‘I was in Andala, in Brekka, and it was beautiful, but here is different. It’s small but magical. Wherever you are, you can smell the sea.’

Haral patted the small dun mare Fyn had commandeered for him, his boots almost scraping the ground. ‘Where I come from, it’s always grey. We live on an island, though our farm is much further inland. It’s half a day’s ride to the sea, and then? Well, we only ever go to The Murk, to western Alekka. And that’s just more forests and snow.’

‘Yet you came all the way here? Seems like a long way to go for a visit,’ Fyn decided.

Haral sighed. ‘Though it was worth it just to see something new. My grandfather likes to keep everything the same. To always do what he’s done. He wants me to be a trapper like him. He’s been teaching me since I could walk. We lay the traps together, skin the animals together, prepare the furs together. Sometimes, we take them to Bakken or Orvala, depending on our fortunes, and then we sail back to Vartna and do it all again. Again and again and again.’ A gloomy Haral turned to Milla, whose cornflower blue eyes looked on with sympathy. ‘Could you imagine living that way? To know that your entire life was already decided? That everything till the day you died was laid out before you?’ He snorted. ‘And a wife. I’ve been betrothed to our neighbour’s daughter since I was born! It’s all been planned. So when I found out about this place, about the Skallesons, I encouraged my grandfather to come. Not just for him, but for me.’ Now he looked bashful. ‘I wanted an adventure. Just the one.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ Milla said earnestly. ‘How could you not?’

A frowning Fyn turned to her. ‘An adventure’s well and good, but it won’t put food on your table. It won’t give you a family.’

‘And you know about adventure, do you?’ Haral wondered. ‘Been on some yourself?’

Fyn didn’t look his way, tugging Yara to the left where they would make the turn for the fort. ‘One or two.’

Haral looked intrigued, though Fyn didn’t offer any more, and sensing how reluctant he was to talk, Milla didn’t say much more either, and they returned to the fort in silence.

At the stables near Thorgils and Isaura’s house, Fyn dismounted, giving Yara a pat and a smile. She seemed happy to be back on Oss, he thought, letting out the breath he’d been holding in for much of the ride. Turning, he made to help Milla down, though Haral beat him to it, and the girl was looking intently at him as he slowly brought her to the ground.

She laughed, he smiled, and Fyn scowled, turning away.

Raymon had been staring at the only door to his chamber since long before dawn.

He’d been led off the wolf ship in the early hours, up steps, through gates and inside.

The place had been almost entirely dark, though he’d had a sense of enormity in its proportions. Foreboding too.

He didn’t think he was in a palace. Looking around at the rough stone walls of his chamber, it had a more austere appearance. There was no ornamentation and barely a lamp in the room. The bed was large, though covered in the thinnest of blankets. Two chairs sat on opposite sides of a small hearth offering only cold ash.

Tipping back his head, he stared at the rafters, so far above him.

Where was he?

Sarakat, the dreamer had said.

But why?

The door was locked, and he felt too exhausted to attempt an escape. Not just exhausted but incapable. Everything hurt. He didn’t understand why, but he could barely think through the throbbing pain in his head.

He feared it was the dreamer – that she was poisoning him.

The wine?

Perhaps she had bound him in a spell using the wine?

Scratching his cheek, he felt lightheaded, and moving back to the bed, he sat down with a groan, elbows resting on his knees, tipping forward until he saw his boots, and he remembered the stone.

What use had it been, he wondered?

For where was Edela?

The door swung open, smacking against the wall, and in strode the sullen Morik, followed by a train of servants, who brought with them a small table, two chairs, and numerous plates of food, along with goblets and a carafe of wine.

And then a pale-faced Dessalene.

‘We shall breakfast together!’ she announced, eyes shifting from her surprised prisoner to the servants, who hurried to prepare the table.

Raymon peered at the dreamer. ‘Are we staying here?’

Taking a seat, Dessalene didn’t answer, waiting while the servants hurriedly completed the table setting before disappearing outside.

Raymon’s eyes were drawn to the various bowls of colourful fruit. He should have been ravenous, though the pain in his head was making him nauseous now, and he left his hands in his lap, staring at the dreamer.

‘You think I wish to poison you?’ she laughed, sensing his unease. ‘But what an unsatisfying end to the game that would be! To go to all this trouble and then what? Finish you here?’ Picking up a knife, she speared a slice of melon. ‘Raymon, dear. No. You are a prize, not prey. Edela brought you to me, she delivered you straight into my arms, and I don’t intend to let anything happen to you. So please, eat up.’ She studied his face with great interest. He was young but already exceptionally handsome, and despite his youth, there was an air of maturity about him. It was his eyes, she realised. They spoke of pain and loss, drawing her attention, and taking a breath, Dessalene closed her own eyes, seeking to know more.

Sheltering from the rain pummelling Sea Queen, Bertel’s mood soured.

He’d been scratching since they’d left Uram.

Lifting up his trouser leg, he saw little red marks.

‘Bed bugs,’ Zen said, revealing that he, too, had been bitten.

Bertel looked mortified. ‘How disgusting!’ And then he was scratching his leg, unable to stop.

Happy to be away from the moaning, a drenched Edela stood beside Korri, eyeing the river. ‘What will happen if it floods its banks?’ she wondered.

‘Then we’ll be seeing many places we weren’t planning to,’ Korri joked, patting her arm. ‘Don’t worry. They’re used to the weather here. From everything I heard in Uram, it should hold. This amount of rain isn’t out of the ordinary.’

He smiled reassuringly, though Edela didn’t feel reassured.

‘Up ahead!’ called the helmsman.

Edela’s head went up, rain streaming down her cheeks. Blinking, she rubbed her eyes, hurrying to the starboard gunwale. ‘That’s it!’ she exclaimed, clutching Korri’s arm as she leaned out over the river, seeing the marker the seeress had described to her. ‘That’s the way to Sarakat!’

And soon, she thought... Raymon.

Dessalene had extracted little of any use from Raymon Vandaal. In fact, she’d barely heard a word of his thoughts, and he hadn’t volunteered any information. It had proven a disturbing encounter, and she became even more concerned about herself.

She couldn’t linger in Sarakat.

Though her visit had come as a surprise, and it would take the rest of the day for the sisters to organise everything she needed.

The old temple was as large as any palace but oppressively gloomy, and she disliked spending time in it. It reeked of old women and sewage, and no amount of incense or sweet beeswax could mask the decaying smell.

Morik was a painful man to deal with, though she needed his help to hurry things along.

‘It is Irina I wish you to organise,’ Dessalene muttered as he followed her down the stairs towards the entranceway, where a row of green-robed sisters awaited her. ‘Have the servants pack her things. All of them. I do not anticipate returning.’ That appeared to come as a surprise to a rarely surprised Morik, and enjoying that, Dessalene touched his arm, stopping him on the last step. ‘You will do well to remember that every plan is mine,’ she said icily. ‘You see a wife, not a powerful woman. Though I can reach inside your head and pull out every thread. Every thought. Even those you don’t know you have yourself.’ She smiled now, feeling ascendant. ‘If you think Ronin’s need of you or your years of service to him have any lasting value, I would think again, Morik, for the only currency here is what you can give to me.’

Touching his chin, she closed his mouth.

‘Much better. Now hurry along. I intend to leave before supper, and until then? Well, I shall keep myself busy.’ And with a final knowing look, she sent the steward on his way.

Turning around, Dessalene saw the dour Sister My waiting to speak to her, though Morik remained on her mind.

The steward may have been thinking about cheese for all she knew, for studying his thoughts, she hadn’t been able to hear a thing.

That afternoon, Thorgils stumbled upon Ayla vomiting in a bush, and becoming concerned, he hurried forward to see if he could help.

She straightened up with a look of embarrassed surprise, turning around to wipe her mouth, cheeks flushed an unusually bright pink. Used to seeing the dreamer look effortlessly composed, Thorgils feared she was ill.

He had been taking a shortcut to the hall, curious about what was happening with Eadmund’s guests. Fyn had returned to collect his puppy in a foul mood, with nothing nice to say about the old man’s grandson, so Thorgils was keen to hear what Eadmund thought himself.

Though Ayla?

She tried to shoo him away, but he wasn’t to be budged. ‘Perhaps come to the hall with me? Talk to Biddy? She’s always good for a remedy.’ He took her arm as though it was decided, but Ayla shook him off, becoming more embarrassed by the moment.

‘It’s not illness,’ she blurted out, then lowering her voice, she glanced up and down the alley, seeing a few children running away. ‘It’s not.’

Thorgils peered at her, remembering Jael’s dream. ‘You’re with child?’ It wasn’t his business, though he couldn’t help himself. ‘But... that was quick!’

Ayla gaped at him, eyes widening as though caught between the truth and a lie. Though not being a liar, she confessed that, yes, she was carrying Bram’s child. She had been back and forth to Oss a few times since they’d parted, and, well...

Much to her horror, a delighted Thorgils whooped loudly. He’d certainly sensed that things had shifted between the dreamer and his uncle since their return to Oss, though he hadn’t been expecting that.

‘Ssshhh!’ Ayla panicked, seizing his arm. ‘Please, Thorgils, I must keep it secret.’

He was confused. ‘From Bram?’

Looking up and down the dark alley again, feeling as though the houses were closing in on her, Ayla nodded. ‘I want to be sure. To know for certain that everything will be well. Do you understand?’

Thorgils mostly did, but he was terrible at keeping secrets.

And well aware of that, Ayla now squeezed his arm. ‘Bram has experienced so much loss, we both have, though the idea of a child? After what happened to his own, I need more confidence than I possess right now.’

And knowing Bram had lost his wife and children, Thorgils agreed that she was doing the right thing.

‘Don’t even tell Isaura.’

He opened his mouth, but seeing fear in her eyes, he closed it and nodded. ‘Though how long will you need? I’m not sure I can last too long.’

Despite her worries, Ayla smiled. ‘A few weeks. Please, just give me a few weeks to myself. I know what Bram wants. It’s what I’ve always wanted, too, but I –’

Thorgils kissed her cheek. ‘You can stop right there,’ he insisted. ‘The rest is just fear, worry over what hasn’t happened, and you can’t let that defeat you. You can’t let your imagination steal your happiness, Ayla. Unless you’ve seen something?’ And once again, he returned to Jael’s dream.

She shook her head. ‘No. About this, no.’

‘Then let yourself be happy. I won’t say anything, I promise, but don’t wait too long. You both deserve good news.’ Thorgils thought about walking her back to her cottage, though he sensed her need to be rid of him, so with a smile and a bob of his head, he left the dreamer behind, heading for the hall.

The blonde-haired young woman limped towards her, and Dessalene’s mood soured further. Though seeing Morik watching on with those ever curious eyes, she brightened her face. ‘I had thought you’d been swept away!’ she cooed, opening her arms. ‘For they said you were outside. Doing what, I wonder? Have you become a gardener?’ As the girl reached her, Dessalene’s smile faltered, for she looked plainer than ever. ‘Irina, my sweet,’ she whispered, holding her awkwardly. ‘How wonderful to be together again.’ The girl was stiff in her arms, like a corpse, and now she stepped back. ‘Is something wrong? Has something happened?’

Irina stared at her with lifeless grey-blue eyes. ‘Well, you’re the dreamer, Mother, so you tell me. Why are you here? Why have you come?’

18

Rexon hadn’t spoken to anyone since Jael had revealed what she’d seen of his family.

Not a single word.

And though she understood the torture of grief and the desire to be alone, she needed to go over their plans.

They had left Andala with the intention of retaking the coastal forts south of Trelleg, starting with Saala. Once the coastline was secure, they would return to Andala and hasten their preparations for an inland journey, for every settlement needed to be reclaimed, every source of water released from Gunnhild’s spell. And when that was done, a stronger, more unified Brekka would be ready to face her enemies.

Jael’s visions of what had happened in the aftermath of the battle for Andala were of chaos and men scattering; she hadn’t seen any great army gathering again. Horses had been lost or killed, wagons burned, and many would have been on foot or injured. All of it would delay their return to their homes.

At least she hoped so.

Worries pulled her in every direction, though she had to keep her focus on the fleet and her men. And on Rexon, whose heart she’d shattered and who she needed to draw out of himself before they landed near Saala.

Jael regretted that she’d opened her mouth, though she couldn’t change it now, and approaching him in the bow, where he held onto the rigging as though poised to throw himself into the sea, she offered him a trencher of bread, cheese, and salted mackerel.

Turning to her, Rexon’s eyes revealed a flash of tortured pain before it was gone, and he was looking at her as though staring at a stranger.

‘Eating makes sense whether you want to or not,’ she said. ‘You’ll need strength for tonight.’

He eyed the queen then the trencher, ready to turn back around, though she stepped closer.

‘I want to sit alone in the dark,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I don’t want anything to eat, nothing to drink. I don’t want a word of advice. I just want to be by myself. To make it all go away.’

Rexon turned to her, narrowing his eyes. ‘Well, there you and I are not alike, Jael. I don’t wish to be alone. I want to be inside my fort with my men, washed in the blood of those bastards. The bastards who took my life and set it on fire. Burned it to ash –’ And now his voice broke, and he coughed, looking down. ‘I want to swim in the blood of vengeance until I drown.’

Jael stumbled before him, losing her balance, and shifting the trencher into her left hand, she grabbed the rigging. ‘I’m your queen, though I won’t make you eat. Either way, we must go over the plan. I don’t want to arrive there and have you lose your head. I need you with me, not running off getting yourself killed.’ Slowly lifting his head, Rexon stared at her, and Jael knew that was precisely what he was intending.

She frowned.

‘You wouldn’t want that for your wife, would you? For her to sacrifice her life to grief? She certainly wouldn’t ask that of you.’

An unblinking Rexon heard Demaeya’s laughter and his children’s infectious giggles.

He heard his own promises of how he would return – a horrifying echo tormenting him day and night. He would return to them, he’d promised, kissing them goodbye.

He wouldn’t be long at all...

‘If what you need is revenge, then come and discuss our plans. Don’t die before you face Mutt Storman. I’ve seen no sign of him, and likely he’s not in Saala. But someone will know where he is. You can have him, kill him, but you need to live to do it, so come and talk over our plans.’

Rexon looked ready to push Jael overboard, though he took the trencher with a reluctant nod. ‘I’ll listen,’ he said in a barely audible voice. And taking his hand off the rigging, he headed past the queen, aiming for the mast.

Dessalene had no appetite for interrogation.

Not from a nineteen-year-old girl who had caused only grief since she’d taken her first breath.

Irina.

‘I am here to collect you, of course. You have been here long enough, so a change is in order. We are going to be with Ronin. All of us together in Bandar.’ A horrified Irina simply gaped at her, which did little for that weak chin of hers, Dessalene thought with a shudder. The sisters had dressed her daughter in a brown sack of a gown, like all the novices, which did not suit her at all.

‘But...’ Irina didn’t understand. Her mother had been happy to hide her out of sight, and now?

Sweeping her hand towards the great stone stairway leading up to the bedchambers, Dessalene hurried up the steps ahead of her. ‘But we are family, and Ronin has missed you. He is always asking to bring you back. He didn’t want you to come here in the first place.’

Irina hobbled after her mother. She had been born with a club foot, shunned, ridiculed, and left in all manner of places with all manner of people, so that when she’d finally been deposited in the temple three years ago, she had embraced the stability of a simpler life. The Sisters of Sarakat had mostly been kind to her, and the temple had been a sanctuary of order and peace. Though lately, tiring of its rigid ways, she had been clamouring for an escape. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to go with her mother, and she certainly didn’t want to go to Bandar. Bandar, where she would be forced to marry.

At nineteen, there would be no more excuses.

Irina’s hobbling walk was no match for her fast-moving mother, now far ahead of her, and she resorted to shouting her questions. ‘Who is the man you brought with you? Why is he here? Will he be accompanying us?’

And not appreciating her daughter squawking like a bartering merchant, Dessalene stopped at the top of the stairs and turned back to her. ‘Ladies do not raise their voices, Irina. You have been taught this. If you are to find a husband, you will need to start remembering your lessons.’

Irina balked. ‘I am no longer a child, Mother. Not a prisoner either!’

Hurrying back down the stairs, Dessalene grabbed the girl’s arm, yanking her forward, and unbalanced, Irina nearly fell on her. ‘You will not squeal at me! You are the stepdaughter of a great king, the daughter of a powerful dreamer, and you will behave like a lady. Do you understand me?’

Her mother’s eyes were her most expressive feature, sometimes as inviting as a field of bluebells, though at other times, they glittered like a frozen lake.

Such as now.

Irina pulled away from her. ‘I am a woman,’ she whispered, gripping the stair rail.

‘You are lame,’ Dessalene hissed back. ‘A cripple.’

‘I can look after myself. You just won’t let me!’

Dessalene started second-guessing herself. Perhaps she could leave the silly girl here? If she wanted independence so badly, then why not give it to her? Though Ronin doted on Irina and he would be furious if she left her behind. ‘That will all change,’ she said with a smile now, realising that a carrot would be more persuasive than a stick. ‘In Bandar, you will have your freedom, Irina. Bandar and beyond...’

‘Beyond?’

‘Everything will change!’ Dessalene promised abruptly. ‘We just need to get to Ronin. We need to hurry to your father.’

Eadmund and Bram headed to the Pit, where Oss’ warriors were red-faced, battering each other with staffs and swords.

Eadmund knew he should be in there, too, setting a good example, though he’d wanted to talk. Since he’d returned, his attention had rarely been in the right place, and he’d struggled to think of anything but Jael.

He kept searching for solutions.

For a way that they might be together again.

Which led him to thoughts of his visitors. ‘Do you think Stig wants my crown?’ he asked discreetly, not looking at Bram, who leaned on the railing beside him.

Bram wasn’t surprised by the question. He’d been discussing it with Ayla since the Erviks had arrived. ‘He says not.’

‘Mmmm, he says not, but why else come?’

‘Man’s barely set foot outside his home. Never been further south than The Murk, so can you blame him? He has a reason after all. To meet a family he never knew existed. You and the children.’

Eadmund frowned, seeing one of his staff-wielding warriors cracking a boy under the chin, shouting at him to keep his head up.

Grinning at that, Bram shifted his attention to his now-silent king. ‘He’s a trapper with a fishing boat. He’s got that boy and his wife, the old servant and a few men. And what? You think he has plans for Oss? For the islands?’

Eadmund scratched his beard, seeing Stig coming, followed by a truculent Ineko, dragging her heels behind him. She made little effort to mask her dislike of the man, though Stig’s smile sparkled, unaffected by her scowls. ‘He’s the rightful king,’ he hissed. ‘He might not have said it, and I might not have said it, but we both know it’s a fact.’

‘Rightful?’ Glancing over his shoulder and seeing Stig, Bram frowned. ‘Before your father, the islands were nothing but lumps of rock. Miserable slaves kicked around by greedy slavers. It was your father who rose up against Grim Skalleson. Your father who made these islands into a kingdom, and you’re his heir, Eadmund. You think he would say anything else? Eirik? Ha! If Stig had crawled out of the sea when Eirik was alive, he’d have thrown him back for Ilvari’s supper.’ And now he spun around, heading towards Stig and Ineko before they could reach Eadmund, giving him a moment to compose himself.

Though Eadmund wasn’t thinking about composing himself at all. He’d just seen someone felled by a kick to the head, and his shoulders sank, remembering the raven-haired warrior with determined green eyes who had commanded the Pit and delighted his father.

His wife, who had once been Oss’ queen.

In his dream, Raymon saw Getta sitting on her throne, cradling their son, Lothar.

He hadn’t wanted to call the boy that, knowing Lothar Furyck all too well.

Though he had been in love, as he had been a king.

Once.

Music was playing. A harp, he thought, turning to see his mother plucking its delicate strings. Her smile was sympathetic and achingly familiar, and he couldn’t look away. A warm feeling of belonging flooded his body.

The hall was his.

His hall. His family.

He no longer felt that painful knot in his belly.

Candles flamed brightly, the music becoming hypnotic, and everything started blurring – a warm orange glow.

He wanted to go home.

To undo every step, every mistake, all that had gone wrong.

Ollsvik.

His hall.

He wanted to go –

The grip on his shoulder was firm and oddly cold. Sitting up, he was breathless.

‘Can’t you hear me?’ came the growling voice of Morik, the cold-eyed steward, who appeared to be shaking him.

Blinking, Raymon shivered, not understanding what was happening or where he was.

‘We are leaving.’

Raymon had questions, though his mouth wouldn’t work, his thoughts wouldn’t come out, and he was yanked to his feet in silence, the fetters chained back together before he was hauled out of the chamber and into the corridor.

‘And what do you make of Oss?’ Eadmund asked Ineko Ervik, walking beside the young woman, who, he guessed, was his aunt by marriage. The thought was unsettling, for she was little older than Milla Ulfsson.

She was followed by her servant, who had the look of a worn-out grandmother and mostly kept her eyes down, seeking to avoid the attention of her mistress.

Beside him, Ineko looked bored with his company as she sighed. ‘It’s windy.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘You do get used to it.’

‘Though it is better than Vartna,’ Ineko added quietly, turning to frown at her servant, and then seeing her husband walking further back with Thorgils, her frown deepened, and she sighed again. ‘Here I can see,’ she declared, turning back around. They had left the fort behind and were now walking towards the headland, buffeted by a bellowing gust of wind. Surprised by the strength of it, Ineko didn’t know where to put her hands first. Her dark curls swept around her face, her cloak and dress rising to reveal her ankles, and she yelped in frustration.

Eadmund thought to help, though not wanting to touch her, he looked back to her servant, who was fighting with her own cloak. Turning back, he saw that a more composed Ineko had herself under control. ‘You can’t see where you come from?’

Ineko shook her head. ‘There’s nothing but trees. We live deep in the forest. It’s what Stig prefers. Everything is what Stig prefers.’ Though hearing her husband coming, she soon closed her tiny mouth, biting down on the rest of her words.

‘I’ve heard there’s little sun past The Murk,’ Eadmund said, hoping to encourage her to reveal more. ‘It must be hard. Oss is cold and windy, but here you always feel alive.’

‘The sun shuns Northern Alekka and the islands around it. The gods have seen to that.’ Ineko lifted her dress out of a puddle and carried on walking, her shoes unsuitable for the rough terrain. ‘We live far from any company.’

‘The three of you?’

‘My husband’s son and daughter-in-law died last year, so now it is just the three of us, the servants, and his men. Though they do not live in our longhouse. I won’t allow it. They smell worse than the animals!’

Eadmund smiled, thinking how childish she sounded at times. ‘And Haral?’

Ineko narrowed her gaze. ‘He wants adventure. Not to be a trapper like Stig. If he could, he would run away. Perhaps he will? And then who will help my husband? He will only grow older. Worse...’ She turned around to stare at Stig, who wasn’t looking her way. ‘And when he dies, what will become of me and my child?’ Realising she had said too much, Ineko closed her mouth and focused on her flyaway hair, tucking handfuls of it down her cloak.

What a strange trio, Eadmund thought: the old man wanting a family connection, his pregnant child bride, and his grandson seeking adventure.

What did they want with Oss?

With Oss and with him?

A disoriented Raymon was dragged out of the temple and down a path flanked by stone pillars leading to imposing iron gates. It had been dark when he’d arrived in Sarakat, and despite being certain it wasn’t yet night, it was dark now too.

Dark and raining.

He felt surprised by everything, as though in a strange dream. Turning to look over his shoulder, he saw the temple as an ancient, overgrown palace. Women in dark green dresses stood like trees before its doors – all of them glaring at him with angry eyes.

Turning back around, stumbling, Raymon started shivering.

Rain dripped from the pillars, which appeared to be touching the sky. He saw statues, green with moss, of gods and creatures – nothing that looked familiar. The air smelled strange. Not just damp but rotten.

Festering.

To his right, he caught a glimpse of the golden wolf ship bobbing in an inlet. He heard the rushing river to his left and the ship’s crew preparing to depart.

Raymon kept blinking through the rain, though he couldn’t sharpen his focus.

Everything had blurred again.

Walking ahead of him between two servants holding a blanket over her head, Dessalene was moving at pace, ignoring the pleas of a blonde-haired woman.

He watched in a daze as she turned around to peer at him.

She looked worried.

‘Mother! You must slow down! There’s something wrong!’

Raymon’s boots were scraping the stone path, and he tried to straighten up, to pick them up and walk on his own, but the two burly guards on either side of him, hands dug into his armpits, had their own plans. Fearing for the stone in his boot, he started shaking.

Panic? Cold?

Fear?

The men dragged him down rough stone steps, now tugging him right, towards where he could see a wharf, barely long enough to service the ship. The helmsman was barking about needing to leave.

Dessalene was helped into the ship, her servants soon following. Turning around, she gave only a cursory glance before hurrying to her wooden shelter.

It was the blonde-haired woman who looked back with concern in her eyes. Blue. She had serene blue eyes. And grey. Like watery clouds, he thought.

He saw her limping, hand out, pushing away the steward who was trying to guide her to the ship.

Raymon was suddenly on fire. The fetters around his wrists were pulling him down, his arms so impossibly heavy. He was nauseous, feeling an intense pain under his arms and then his wrist. Black patches flashed before his eyes, and the edges of his vision darkened further, closing in, as though he was looking through a hole that was becoming smaller by the moment.

Smaller and smaller.

And then everything was black.

Sailing down a narrow tributary on the hunt for the village of Sarakat, Edela felt weary.

Her welcome sleep in the tavern bed had been full of dreams, though not rest.

Most of what she’d seen had been unhelpful fragments.

Well, perhaps not all of them...

Though for now, she discounted everything, only wanting to think about Raymon. And Dessalene. For when they reached Sarakat, she was going to have to do something about the dreamer.

Leaning back against the stern, Edela couldn’t keep her eyes open.

She remembered the seeress’ unusual house, creaking in the wind. Yet despite its seemingly precarious nature, it had been surprisingly inviting and homely.

Closing her eyes, she didn’t notice how narrow the tributary was becoming.

How dark the sky had gotten.

The rhythmic sound of the rain had slowed her heart until she could’ve fallen asleep. She could almost feel the warmth of the seeress’ fire, drawing her closer. She could see the wave-like symbols on the walls and the little piles of stones. Inhaling slowly, slipping away now, she frowned, seeing something familiar.

A symbol she recognised from Bhyan.

One she remembered seeing on Dessalene Sardis’ knife.

19

A furious Dessalene couldn’t afford the delay.

Edela Saeveld wasn’t a woman to be fooled for long, so they had to leave now.

‘The sisters must see to him in the temple!’ Irina insisted. ‘If this man is important to you, you have to let them heal him, Mother.’

Dessalene hated the rain, and standing in it, slowly drowning despite the best efforts of her hapless servants, she needed to make a quick decision. It was growing dark, the rain would not abate, and she certainly didn’t intend to share her shelter with Raymon Vandaal.

‘He is feverish. So hot!’ Irina called from where she crouched beside the fallen man, soaked to the bone.

Rolling her eyes, Dessalene made her decision. ‘Return him to the temple!’ she snapped, turning to Morik, dripping before her. ‘We will remain here overnight and depart at first light. Hopefully, by then, our inconvenience will be resolved!’ And with an audible sigh, she held out a hand, waiting while Morik took it, quickly helping her out of the ship and back onto the wharf.

Korri was becoming concerned.

The tributary had started narrowing, though as he stood in the bow with Zen, trying to see what was happening, a great blanket of fog had fallen over everything. They could see the reeds flanking the river but little else.

Bertel approached. ‘Looks like we’re sailing into the Underworld,’ he joked, though he wasn’t smiling. ‘I’ll light more lanterns.’

And thinking that was a good idea, Korri nodded.

Then a shout from Edela in the stern had every head turning in her direction.

‘We must stop!’ she cried. ‘It’s a... trap! We must –’

A knife hit the helmsman in the arm, then just as quickly, another man was taken in the chest.

Siggy screamed.

‘Down!’ Bertel ordered, dropping to the deck. ‘Everyone down!’

Behind him, Korri and Zen followed his lead, and soon more knives were thrown, striking the mast and another crew member, tearing Sea Queen’s sail.

Edela was on her hands and knees, head bowed, needing to act quickly.

She knew the crew had stored their weapons below the deck to keep them from the rain – far out of reach. The shields were in their racks, though retrieving them would expose the men to their enemies.

Who were?

Edela didn’t know. If Dessalene had sought help from the seeress in Uram, then the woman had obviously led them into a trap. A trap she had then sprung. But who was out there?

The rain was heavy, the fog creeping closer.

It was rapidly growing dark.

Bertel was wriggling up the deck, though not as fast as Zen, who sped past him, working his elbows, aiming for their weapons’ stores.

‘Knives!’ Korri called, hearing splashes. ‘Use your knives! Be ready!’

He feared what was happening on his second ship, trailing close behind, though hearing screams echoing far in the distance, he could easily imagine.

The first man slithered over the starboard gunwale, and drawing a strange-looking sword from his back and a long knife from his belt, he charged up the deck, slashing wildly.

More quickly followed.

‘Move!’ Korri shouted. ‘Watch your backs!’

Bertel stayed down, close to the port gunwale, knife in hand, and as a man jumped overboard to land at his feet, he stabbed his wet boot. Yanking out his knife and aiming higher, he took him in the knee. Unable to stand, the man fell, and Bertel was over him in a flash, slitting his throat. And helping himself to a knife and a sword, he creaked back to his feet. Swinging around, he saw at least twenty assassins, dripping with water, wet blades shimmering as they took them to Sea Queen’s crew.

Though not all of them.

Four men had separated from the others, and seeing the lanterns hanging in the stern illuminating the girl and the old woman, they headed directly for them.

An unconscious Raymon was carried back to the temple and down into a vast crypt where those sisters specialised in healing awaited him.

Simmering with annoyance, Dessalene walked behind them, Irina hobbling down the stairs further back. Small lamps flickering in hundreds of holes gave the vast space the appearance of a beehive. Dessalene wondered how the notoriously frugal Sister My could justify such extravagance.

Still, it certainly helped to see.

And what she saw, as the sisters came forward in black aprons, was that Raymon Vandaal was the colour of a sheet.

‘What has happened to him?’ she spluttered, surprised by her lack of insight once more. ‘Illness?’

‘Is there a key, my lady?’ one of the sisters asked, ignoring the question. She held up Raymon’s arm with a look of consternation. ‘To unlock these bonds? We must examine him. All of him.’

Irina stopped beside her mother, parting her wet hair like curtains. Seeing how pale the man on the table looked, her eyes bulged. She had no idea what her mother was doing with him. He was a young man and handsome but so deathly pale.

Morik had accompanied the women, and muttering in annoyance, Dessalene had him unlock the fetters. A foul odour was immediately released – a sickly, rotten kind of stench that had Dessalene lifting a hand to her nose.

Irina pushed past her, and seeing what the sisters were pointing to, she gasped.

The one-eyed man lifted his blade, ready to use it.

The girl was closest to him, but he aimed for the old woman.

‘Behind me!’ Edela snapped at Siggy, eyes peeled open and focused on the threat. Everything had been such a shocking surprise that she’d barely had a chance to catch her breath, let alone think, but now she needed a fast reaction.

The man dropped forward, felled by Bertel, who had flung his newly acquired knife into the back of his head. Dropping down, he pulled it out, twisting around. ‘Do something!’ he barked at Edela. ‘I’ll hold here!’ And knife in his left hand, sword in his right, he sought to be a shield for the dreamers. The crew needed help, though he wouldn’t leave Edela and Siggy.

Wet assassins were slithering over Sea Queen’s gunwales, ready to fight.

He put the count at more than thirty now.

‘Hurry, Edela!’

Looking up, Korri saw Bertel protecting the dreamers, though he would need help. ‘Zen! Get to Bertel!’ Feeling something strike his arm, he cried out, and looking down, he saw a knife sticking out of it. ‘Go!’ he shouted at the boy, who had pulled up the planks to reveal their weapons, though too many men were trapped or already cut down, unable to reach them. ‘Gerulf!’ he called to the cook. ‘We need to get the weapons to the men! Help me!’

Zen ducked a spinning knife, which took a man in the cheek. Fear sparking, he kept his head low, eyes darting around, seeking out every threat on his way to Bertel.

The fog had crept aboard now, weaving around pockets of fighting men so that soon it was hard to see anything.

Reaching Bertel, Zen was shunted into position and put to work, three men immediately seeking them out.

‘The dreamers!’ one of them growled in a heavy accent. ‘Give us the dreamers or die!’

Bertel feinted, threatening the man on his left. And keeping his head still, feet moving, he used his long arms to drive his sword through the belly of the man on his right, almost knocking into Zen. Zen jabbed the man in the head as he fell, and then they were down to two.

A terrified Siggy’s attention was all over the place – she didn’t know who to help. More men were coming for Bertel and Zen, though Edela was silent before her, clinging to the stone amulet the healer had given her, and she feared that something was wrong. She didn’t appear to be doing anything at all.

In fact, Edela was busy trying to conjure up a god.

‘The river is sacred to Ahzem,’ she murmured, sensing the girl’s concern but trying not to become distracted by it. ‘That is what the healer told me. Those who seek to disturb the peace of the river will suffer his vengeance. Ahzem,’ she breathed, seeing images of a temple rising amongst long reeds. A place alive with flames under the moon. A place of worship to the god. It was where she thought to find him. ‘Ahzem, I call to you! I ask for your help! For you to come and bring your wrath to bear upon these men! These men who seek to disturb the peace of your sacred river!’

Zen yelped, cut with a blade, and Siggy swung around, seeing Bertel lunge across the boy, and snapping his wrist, he slit a man’s throat. Turning back, he ducked a spinning knife, and bobbing up, using both knife and sword, he worked his blades until he brought another man down.

In the distance, Korri and Gerulf had handed out every weapon they could find and were now back to back, fighting off four men. Nellie was bleating nearby, mostly drowned out by screams and shouts, though Siggy feared for her.

Feeling Edela’s hand on her arm, she spun towards her. And hearing her voice in her head, she took her hand, helping her onto a chest so that she stood above everyone, illuminated by the flickering lanterns.

In the thick fog, she looked ethereal – gold and white and mysterious. Her blue eyes, Siggy was disturbed to see, had become oddly dark, shining like obsidian.

Glancing over his shoulder, seeing Edela standing on the chest, Bertel was furious. ‘Get her down!’ he hissed at Siggy as another knife sped through the air, almost clipping Zen’s ear. ‘Grab a shield!’ he called to the boy. ‘Hurry! I’ll cover you!’ Now he turned back to Siggy. ‘Get her down!’

Though Siggy could only shrug, looking up as Edela started speaking.

‘Ahzem is beloved by the riverfolk!’ the dreamer bellowed in a thunderous voice no longer her own, arms spread out, palms lifted to the sky. ‘Ahzem is their protector! And you dare come armed to kill on this river? My river!’

A ripple of shock swept through those on board, for the old woman spoke with the voice of a man. Though threatened with flying blades and enemies seeking to kill, no one dared stop, and the battle raged on.

‘Those who walk a dark path have no place on my river!’ that booming voice warned.

A god, Siggy realised, seeing Edela now rising onto her toes – barely, but she certainly wasn’t standing on the chest any longer. Her body was shuddering, her hair trembling like leaves on a tree.

‘To do an evil seeress’ bidding for a handful of coins? That was a mistake you will not live to regret! And as for your coins? I shall take them in payment for my time!’ And now Edela’s eyes blazed, and arms extending even further, they became rigid.

Siggy saw the amulet at her neck as though it was no longer made of stone but of water – water that was glowing. ‘Down!’ she warned, swinging around to Bertel and Zen. ‘Everyone down!’

Pale blue sparks flashed, crackling from Edela’s hands, and right arm snapping around, she pointed at one of Bertel’s attackers. Dropping his sword, the man grabbed his throat, trying to breathe. He couldn’t, so he tried to spit. His mouth was filling with water, and he needed to get it out. Eyes bulging, he pushed up onto his toes, he shook his head, he bent forward, though his mouth wouldn’t open.

He couldn’t expel the water.

Siggy could see his eyes weeping, water flowing down his cheeks. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t escape it.

He was drowning.

Turning back to Edela, she saw her oddly dark eyes and the still-glowing amulet. She watched as the dreamer pointed at one assassin after another. It wasn’t Edela, she knew, hearing that masculine voice again, warning the men to leave the ships or die.

Splashes could be heard over gurgling panic as the assassins sought to escape Ahzem’s wrath, and soon Sea Queen’s deck was awash with water and bodies.

Korri and his men lowered their weapons, for now the only fight was between the angry god and their attackers. Stepping back, away from the danger, they gathered at the mast, watching the strange battle unfold.

Those who could, hurled themselves over the gunwales, but for most, it was too late, and they fell to the deck, gripping their throats and drowning where they lay. It was a disturbing sight: bodies flopping like desperate fish out of water, legs thumping the deck before suddenly going still. Choked pleas and gurgling voices faded, and soon all they could hear was the rushing river and a rumble of thunder in the distance.

A trembling Siggy turned away from the carnage towards Edela, who lowered her arms now, shoulders sagging. And with an enormous shudder, her eyes closed, and she stumbled, tipping forward into Bertel’s arms.

The Sisters of Sarakat had many questions for a surprised Dessalene, showing her the angry wound on Raymon’s left arm.

How did he get it? How long had he been ill?

Dessalene was wide-eyed at first, then quickly defensive, not wanting to reveal that she had no answers. She had grabbed Raymon’s arm, seeking to understand, though nothing had come to her.

In Bhyan, he had been captured in the jungle, the guards wrestling with him all the way to the castle, for the young man had certainly put up a fight.

So perhaps then?

‘Mother?’ Irina prodded. ‘How was he injured? With what?’

‘Cut in a scuffle,’ Dessalene eventually mumbled. ‘He fought my guards. He must have injured himself then.’

The wound, concealed by the fetter on Raymon’s left wrist, had festered during their journey from Bhyan, its poison spreading up his arm, under his tunic. Perhaps he had been aware of the discomfort? She didn’t know.

The Furycks were to die, but not like this.

What victory was there to claim in this?

Ronin would be furious. And as for the Mistress?

The tension in Dessalene’s stomach tightened, and swallowing, she turned to Irina. ‘We must let the sisters do their work. You and I will...’ Plans in disarray, she turned away. ‘And in the morning, once he is well, we will all head off again. To your father.’

‘My lady,’ the head healer murmured, stepping away from Raymon. ‘This man is desperately unwell. The heat in him, the swelling and the smell? You cannot take him on a ship. Not in the rain or down the river. It is monsoon season, and the weather will not abate. The river is rising. He must remain here. He must be saved.’

Turning back with great reluctance, jaw almost breaking off, Dessalene just stared. ‘Saved? Of course he will be saved. You will save him! You will do whatever is necessary to save him, and quickly.’ She eyed her daughter. ‘Come along, Irina.’

‘I will stay, Mother,’ Irina said firmly. ‘I can help the sisters.’

Dessalene snorted, though seeing that no one was attending to Raymon while she remained, she shook her head. ‘Do as you wish, Daughter, though I will be kept informed. We must leave, rain or not. It will not do to delay...’ She was muttering to herself now, striding towards the stairs, fearing that once again, everything she’d planned was slipping through her fingers.

In Sea Queen’s stern, Edela trembled from head to toe as Siggy offered her a cup of ale. Though unable to hold it, she spilled it on the deck.

Bertel hurried to the dreamer’s side. ‘Come and sit down. Over here. Siggy, keep Edela out of the way while we...’ Turning from the stunned dreamer, he surveyed Sea Queen as best he could, but despite the lanterns, the fog remained dense, and he made out little. He heard Korri, though, calling out in anguish. ‘Zen, go and help Korri.’ And seeing off the boy, he turned back to Siggy. ‘Keep her safe and warm. Try to keep her warm.’

There was no end in sight to the rain.

Nor to the danger, it seemed.

Though glancing over his shoulder, Bertel felt a lift, for at least their dreamer was back. She was shaking, looking ready for her bed, though he sensed her desire to help the crew. ‘A little longer,’ he advised, holding up a hand. ‘You’ll be no good passing out again, Edela. You’ve made a habit of it recently. Stay there a little longer. Please.’

Edela was ready to argue, though she couldn’t deny that Bertel was right, so remaining where she was, she tried to catch her breath.

After ensuring that Sea Queen was secure and that their enemies were dead, Korri tied a strip of cloth around his bleeding arm and jumped overboard, swimming to his second ship, where he found that a similar disaster had unfolded. Some of the dead were friends, some he’d only taken on recently, though he was sickened and distressed by all of it, and returning to Sea Queen with a heavy heart, he made his way to Bertel and Edela. ‘We can’t carry on with both ships,’ he decided with a defeated sigh. ‘I’ve counted ten dead, and the injured number at least that as well. We’ve barely enough to cover Sea Queen now.’

Bertel had seen this coming, and he nodded in agreement.

‘So we leave the ship here?’ Zen asked, helping himself to a cup of ale. His heart hadn’t slowed down one beat, and he sounded breathless. ‘Lose the ship?’

Korri glanced at Bertel. ‘We need to head back to the river. We’ll find the nearest town. Sell her for anything we can get. It’s certainly time.’

Edela wrenched up her head, and though she still felt strange, she was ready to stand. Reaching out for Bertel, she gripped his arm. ‘I am sorry. Sorry not to have seen that the seeress was lying to us.’

‘So it was that woman in Uram who led us into the trap?’ Shaking his head, Bertel didn’t understand, having thought the woman quite agreeable. ‘But why?’

‘Dessalene,’ Edela sighed, hearing moans of pain nearby. She turned, looking for her satchel. ‘I expect the seeress is an ally of the dreamer. When I closed my eyes, I was taken back to her house. I saw a symbol there. One I’d seen on Dessalene’s knife. They are certainly allies.’

‘She knows we’re following her,’ Siggy realised. ‘She’s trying to stop us!’

Edela nodded. ‘So we must move with caution now. We have to assume we’re amongst enemies.’ Though allies, too, she realised, thinking of Ahzem, God of the River.

And clutching the stone amulet, she remembered the healer in Parkosh, realising that the woman had not only restored her power.

Whoever or whatever she was had saved their lives.

20

‘I hope to tour the rest of the islands while we’re here,’ Stig announced that evening over a cup of mead. His eyes were glazed, his bearded smile greasy, for he had enjoyed another fine meal at his nephew’s table. Though his statement, coming out of the blue, put an end to all conversation. He saw Thorgils and his wife, the dreamer, and the ever-suspicious Bram Svanter, and even his son, Fyn.

All of them eyeing him with concern.

Sensing how the mood in the hall had suddenly shifted, he chuckled. ‘Should I not? Is that not something I should do?’

Eadmund immediately sought to put his uncle at ease, though he didn’t feel at ease himself. ‘No, it makes perfect sense. There isn’t much to see, though. Some are quite small, but they will welcome you. I’ll send a note explaining who you are. We’ll be holding a moot soon. Good to remind them of that.’

Stig looked grateful, turning to nod at his grandson, whose attention was once again on the girl, Milla. And knowing that his plans for Haral’s future had already been set, he sharpened his gaze.

‘How long are you planning on staying?’ Eadmund wondered lightly, trying not to convey a growing desire to see the back of his visitors. ‘Summer rarely lingers long, then the seas are a terror, not to mention The Freeze.’

Haral lifted an eyebrow.

‘The sea freezes around the islands,’ Bram explained. ‘It’s why we’re always in a hurry during spring and summer.’

‘Fishing?’ Stig suggested. ‘It’s what we know up North. Cut a hole in the ice and you’ll find something swimming about.’

‘Not here,’ Bram told him. ‘Nothing hangs about here when the cold sets in. Apart from the harbour, Oss is mostly cliffs.’

Thorgils nodded. ‘And it’s hard to find a fishing line that long!’

Stig laughed. ‘I would say so.’

‘So you are trapped by winter,’ Ineko mused, speaking as though to herself. ‘Just as we are. All of us prisoners of the gods of snow and ice.’

Eadmund peered at her, realising that he’d been comparing her to Evaine, though he thought he saw sadness in her manner rather than petulance now. ‘We are. Though we enjoy ourselves, don’t we?’ he grinned, looking from Thorgils to Fyn.

‘We do,’ Thorgils agreed. ‘The snow could be waist deep and we’d still find something to do. Though try telling that to Jael –’ he blurted out, abruptly cutting himself off. Mead had a way of loosening his tongue, and he felt Isaura’s hand on his knee, squeezing, as he turned to Eadmund with an apologetic grimace.

Stig had heard all about Jael Furyck. He’d met Eadmund’s children and had been told the whereabouts of their mother by a wary Biddy, though he’d never had a conversation about her with Eadmund. The King of Oss had avoided the subject of his missing wife entirely, and looking at him, Stig could see that it was a particularly sensitive subject.

‘Jael is... my wife. She’s no longer here.’

Stig nodded encouragingly.

‘She’s commanding another kingdom now.’ Clearing his throat and making no eye contact with anyone, Eadmund left it there, turning to his steward, Gurin, who had questions about the next course. Mumbling to the man, he didn’t turn around, barely aware of what he was saying.

When he finally turned back, Stig was talking about his first wife.

‘Gida loved winter. The forest, the snow. It was always her favourite time of year. She wasn’t overly fond of people, so she always enjoyed not having to talk to anyone but me for a few months!’ He laughed, though his eyes were sad. ‘We only had the one son who lived. Nils,’ he added quietly after a long pause, licking his greasy lips as platters of smoked herring and pickled cabbage were brought to the table. ‘Now Haral’s all I have. For now, at least,’ he murmured, leaning over to pat Ineko’s belly.

She appeared ready to slap his hand away, though biting her tongue, she lifted her head, fixing her eyes on Ayla. ‘You are not from Oss,’ she said bluntly.

Ayla looked surprised to be singled out, for she had not spoken during the meal, merely choosing to observe. ‘No. I was born in Tuura.’

Ineko nodded. ‘My ancestors were from the Fire Lands. Zagora.’

‘It is a long way from Zagora to Northern Alekka,’ Ayla smiled.

Ineko held the dreamer’s gaze. ‘Some cannot resist the urge for adventure, I suppose. Or perhaps they were running from something? Either way, I’m not sure they made a better choice. The warm lands of the South for the frozen North?’ And now her eyes shifted to Stig. ‘I’m not sure they made a better choice at all.’

In the darkness, listening to the sea surging past the ship, Jael was becoming tense. It was hard to sleep, though a few hours with her eyes closed would help to sharpen her mind before they came ashore near Saala. Many were sleeping, including a particularly noisy Fulk Easby, though not Rexon, who stood nearby, leaning on the gunwale, eyes following the moonbeams shimmering across the sea.

Eventually, unable to pretend even to herself that she was going to fall asleep, Jael stood and joined him. ‘Won’t be long now.’ She could feel Rexon vibrating beside her, though he didn’t look her way.

‘Have you seen anything?’ he wondered quietly.

‘A little. Enough to feel confident. It’s just about keeping our heads now. There’s a lot of anger,’ she added, feeling some of her own. ‘It can end up becoming a liability.’

‘You mean me?’ he asked, turning to her.

‘Not just you. My brother’s in a mound, I’ve lost my home. I certainly feel my own. Everything started down here, but this isn’t the war. It’s just one battle, Rexon. We have to keep our minds on the bigger prize.’

‘You mean Mutt Storman?’

‘Mutt Storman and his dreamer. That’s a start. Though they were just the tools of Oren Storgard. If you want the real reason Saala was taken, you’ll find it in Ollsvik.’

‘If he’s alive,’ Rexon grunted.

‘He’s alive, though not for long,’ Jael promised, having only a feeling to back up that claim, but it was strong enough. ‘What matters now is cutting out every trace of their poison. The men on Saala’s ramparts must be put down, and those inside who want to stop us, but after that? We need to take prisoners as quickly as possible. We’ll overwhelm them with numbers, get them to surrender, then we can try Mattie’s symbol stones. The dreamer put a spell on those in the South, and we need to break it.’

Rexon snorted, and Jael sharpened her eyes. ‘Eadmund was bound once, so deep in a spell that he tried to kill Thorgils. He tried to kill me. If Gunnhild has truly bound these people in magic, we need to free them, not kill them. Mattie’s stones should work, and then we walk away having saved who we can. They’re your people. You’re going to need them. We all are.’

Though Rexon Boas was in no mood to save anyone.

He saw only blood.

Blood and death to those who’d killed his family.

Eadmund’s new family took themselves to bed early, which was a relief, he decided, appreciating a moment to think without needing to remain alert to every word and look. His visitors had proven to be friendly and entertaining, though he remained on edge in their presence, unable to relax.

Now, it was just his friends in the hall, and he could feel his shoulders drop.

The servants hovered, ready to clear the table, though not noticing them, Eadmund smiled, watching Ayla and Bram leaving the hall together.

Bram waved before placing a hand on Ayla’s lower back and ushering her through the doors.

Eadmund wondered if they’d found their way back to each other.

He hoped so. Life was too short to live in fear of being hurt.

Looking down at his ale, missing his wife, he felt nauseous.

Thorgils sat beside him, cradling his cup, eyes on the flames. He wanted to reveal Ayla’s news, though at the same time, the dreamer being pregnant brought everyone one step closer to Jael’s dream being fully realised.

And what would that mean for his uncle?

‘You don’t have to keep me company,’ Eadmund told him. ‘Isaura needs you.’

‘And she’ll have me,’ Thorgils chuckled. ‘All night long, snoring beside her.’ He leaned towards his friend. ‘You don’t want company?’

The fire swept around the low pit between them, blown on a breeze. No matter how many holes they plugged, it was impossible to shut out Oss’ famous wind.

‘I haven’t much to say,’ Eadmund admitted, throwing back the last of his ale.

‘Not even about them?’ Thorgils wondered, inclining his head to the green curtain concealing the bedchambers. And now he shifted his chair across the floorboards until it butted Eadmund’s. ‘I think there’s a lot to say about them.’ Eyebrow raised, he looked on with an open mouth.

‘Stig seems genuine enough,’ Eadmund supposed. ‘Likeable even. I think Eirik would’ve enjoyed meeting him.’

Thorgils wasn’t so sure about that. ‘Haral is a good sort, according to everyone but Fyn, though Ineko?’ He shrugged. ‘Reminds me of Evaine.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘You’re not wrong. Though perhaps she’s just unhappy with her husband? Seems like an odd match.’

‘Unless you’re Stig. He’s got the better end of that arrangement for sure!’

Glancing at the green curtain, Eadmund put a finger to his lips. ‘Best we just get through it,’ he decided. ‘Sounds like they might be on their way sooner than I thought. Stig’s already talking about visiting the islands.’

The fire spat, and a gust of wind blew down the smoke hole.

‘And why is that?’ Thorgils mused, watching the flames dance, sparks flying. ‘Seems odd.’

‘To us, maybe. Though if you were new here, if this was land your father had ruled, wouldn’t you be curious? Wanting to see it all?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘When you put it that way, it makes sense, I suppose. And you’re not wrong, Stig’s a likeable fellow. I’d hate to think it was something more.’

Eadmund patted his shoulder. ‘Go home to your wife. She told me she can never fall asleep without you snoring in her ear.’

Laughing, Thorgils finished his ale and stood. ‘Well, in that case!’ He looked down at his friend. ‘Sure you’ll be alright?’

‘No. Don’t think I’ll ever be alright again, but I’m not going to drink myself back into that hole, I promise. You don’t have to worry about that.’

And feeling almost reassured, Thorgils picked up his cloak, winked at Eadmund, and headed out of the hall.

Sitting in her dreary stone chamber, alight with glowing beeswax candles, Dessalene was becoming anxious.

Despite the efforts of Sarakat’s healers, there was still no consensus that Raymon Vandaal would actually survive. For the first time in memory, she was without insight, armed only with hope and a thoroughly annoying need to remain patient.

Though that was proving impossible.

She regretted coming to Sarakat. For thinking to collect Irina in the first place.

Though if she hadn’t? She would certainly have delivered Raymon Vandaal’s rotting corpse to Ronin – another Furyck slipping through their hands.

Standing abruptly, she rolled back knotted shoulders and swung around, glaring at the furniture. She had kept to herself, awaiting news, hoping to see Irina – which was a new sort of feeling, she thought distractedly – or even one of those morose sisters who spoke as though the world was only grey.

It suddenly felt grey to Dessalene despite the glimmering light encircling her.

She hadn’t been able to find her way to Ronin in some time. He would be busy, seeking more ships. More men. That would require a combination of his favourite things: building, charming, and thieving. And though thinking of her husband was generally guaranteed to snap her out of any dark place, she lingered there, feeling herself drowning in murky water.

A knock on the door had her jerking around in surprise. ‘Come in!’ she snapped, unhappy to see Morik open the door.

‘The sisters send word, my lady,’ he told her. ‘Your prisoner is alive.’

She stared at him in confusion. ‘Well, that is a word. Alive. Did they not have any others? Must I simply sit here and imagine for myself? I knew they were famed misers, but to be so reluctant to even share words!’ She laughed now, wild with anger, stepping closer to Morik until she was glaring down at him. ‘We must remain here until he is well enough to travel. Though if he dies?’

‘The king will be unhappy,’ Morik offered delicately.

‘An understatement if ever there was one!’ And turning away from the man, Dessalene shuddered with disgust, once again catching sight of the miserable stone walls, which reminded her of Irina. ‘And my daughter? What of her? Is she lost somewhere inside this tomb? Unable to be located? Where is she?’

Morik blinked in surprise; he had never heard the dreamer ask so many questions.

Narrowing his eyes, he peered at her.

‘I jest, of course!’ Dessalene snarled. ‘You have no sense of humour, man. Never did. Why Ronin thinks you’re such wonderful company is beyond me. Now, send for Irina. Have her brought here. Perhaps she will enlighten me as to what is going on, for if I do not hear more from Sister My and her handmaidens of gloom soon, I shall have to take matters into my own hands!’

It was an empty threat, and Dessalene was horrified to realise that Morik knew it too. Her powers were intermittent, though she didn’t need to read his thoughts to know that he could see, just as clearly as she could feel, that they were mostly gone.

The Andalan fleet would land north of Saala’s fort under a watchful moon.

Wide awake now, Jael wasn’t sure how she felt about that, always torn between the need to see and the risk of being seen.

How many would have to die?

It was impossible to negotiate with the magically imprisoned.

She had tried it before and failed every time.

The only remedy was to defend, kill if necessary, and try to break the spell.

Bending to the bucket of symbol stones, she picked out one. The stone warmed her cold hand, and she thought of Mattie, hoping the dreamer was keeping Andala safe.

Looking down, she saw her wedding band, realising that she still hadn’t taken it off. How many others had noticed that, she wondered? It wasn’t that she particularly cared what anyone thought, though she needed to give the impression that she was fully invested in Brekka now. So, stuffing the stone into her pouch, she slipped one of her amulets over her head – the one Fyn had made for her. Untying the leather cord and wriggling off her ring, she added it to the sun carving. And tying it into a tight knot, she slipped it back over her head, pressing it against her heart.

Raymon felt someone touching his head, his hands, his chest.

His arm burned as though seared with a hot poker.

Calling out, he begged whoever was doing it to stop.

Golden light flickered, and around it, he saw shadows and movement. Someone was there, hovering behind him – the person who kept touching him.

His head pounded as he tried to move away from that hand.

It hurt him.

He could smell something familiar. Something he recognised.

But where?

He saw a glimpse of a ship and Edela’s blue eyes and then darkness.

‘Darkness is our friend,’ Jael said evenly, walking down Wave Cutter’s deck as Raal guided them towards the shore. Col kept trying to meet her eye, though she’d promised his mother he would stay out of harm’s way, and she wasn’t going to change her mind about that. ‘It will shield us from whatever Saala’s traitors intend to throw our way. Though remember that our aim is to take the fort with minimal losses. When the sun comes up and Rexon is back in charge, we will make our decisions. Until then, we overcome them. Get the gates open and put them down quickly. Once inside, I’ll get to the well. If the symbol stone works, our fight will be over!’ She sensed that wasn’t the message those on board wanted to receive, though it was one they certainly needed to hear.

Vengeance was something she understood all too well.

It had its place.

Andala had been attacked by the Saalans, and whether bound by a dreamer or not, those who’d lost friends and loved ones were eager for revenge.

No one more than Rexon.

Though if they lost their heads, they risked hurting their own chances. For Jael knew that the fight to defend the kingdom would take every loyal Brekkan capable of wielding a weapon.

She couldn’t afford unnecessary deaths here.

Rexon wasn’t looking at her as she spoke, and she felt little confidence in her ability to control him once he was lost to the darkness and his own desperate rage.

The fleet they’d brought to Southern Brekka was imposing – she hadn’t felt torn about that. There could be no questioning who was in charge, no more talk of Mutt Storman’s chances or of a divided Brekka. Messages brought by scouts were scraps of vellum travelling great distances, conveying words that, depending on how they were delivered, would either become stirring calls to action or something to ignore, tossed on the flames. But as queen, Jael sought to deliver her own message to every Brekkan, and the dark beach north of Saala was where she would begin.

‘Silence,’ she urged, body thrumming, feeling the warmth of the symbol stone like an ember in her pouch. She saw a glimpse of Axl’s body, the knife in his chest, and then her father’s steadying gaze. Now her shoulders dropped, and she took a breath, turning around. ‘Once we make land, we follow our leaders. Rexon, Kari, Fulk and me. Any questions, ask them now.’ She heard nothing, saw nothing, and soon she was nodding, eyes on Petra. The girl was still new to battle, so she would have to keep her close.

Turning to face the shore, hearing waves lapping the sand, Jael hoped with every fibre in her being that she had been wrong about Rexon’s family.

Having awoken from a disturbed sleep, Edela lay still beneath the dripping shelter, wedged in between Bertel and Siggy.

She thought of her moon-watching bench in Andala, feeling an overwhelming desire to sit there alone, bathing in the moon’s serene light. Time on her bench had always cleansed her of doubts and worries, freeing her mind for true purpose once more.

Her last glimpse of Raymon had been days ago, before they’d been ambushed, and she had welcomed the help of Ahzem, God of the River. Before Uram and the malevolent seeress...

Silently reaching into her purse, she pulled out the green gemstone, feeling an overwhelming fear for the young man. He had tried to tell her something, though what?

Bringing that image into her mind again, she saw him bending towards his boot, as though talking to it. Feeling confused, she sought to focus, body tingling, as once again, turning to face her with those familiar Furyck eyes, he started to speak.

‘Sarakat,’ he breathed. ‘We are headed to Sarakat.’

21

In the darkness, Rexon had the sudden realisation that he shouldn’t be leading his men.

He walked through the trees to the north of Saala’s gates as though being controlled by another force. He gripped his sword as though it was not his own hand that would wield it, not his own will that would choose when to unleash it.

He felt entirely removed from himself.

Powerless. As though what would unfold was nothing he could control.

It would all just happen.

And it would be terrible.

His men were silent, though Rexon’s thoughts were loud.

He saw colourful images of his hall. Of his pretty wife in her favourite yellow dress, hair shining, smile beaming. She had a kind word for everyone, especially children. She adored children.

Hearing a branch snap and realising that he had snapped it, he was immediately back in the forest, alert and listening. The fort was on his right. Impatience surged, though the men protecting Saala – those on the ramparts and those at the gates – were enemies for now. He couldn’t make a mistake.

He had to get his men inside.

Turning around, he pointed at Kari, motioning for him to move ahead of them now. Kari, and the six men who would go with him.

They were the tip of the spear.

Everything relied on those men getting the Saalans to open the gates.

Jael’s father had always told her that a clear head was a more useful weapon than a sharp blade, especially in the dark. And as the leader of these men, armed with the responsibility of returning them to their homes and families, Jael knew it better than most.

She needed a clear head, eyes focused on what lay before her, attention on what she had come to achieve. Though she felt her own bloodlust stirring, an anger that shuddered through her as she crept through the woods south of the fort, raising her left arm to stop those following close behind.

It would take just one flash of moonlight on metal to cause a curious man, standing guard atop Saala’s ramparts, to raise the alarm.

Jael saw a vision of Kari and his band of men moving towards the gates. Wave Cutter’s crew had worked with great enthusiasm to make them look as dirty and defeated as possible, for they would be heading to the gates pretending to be Mutt Storman’s men returning from the battle in Andala. It was dark, so they wouldn’t be inspected too closely. It just had to be enough to get them inside.

She heard a shout.

Beside her, Raal froze, and Jael spun around. ‘If you miss, throw again. Fast,’ she hissed in warning. ‘We need to get up there quickly. Check your quivers and your bows. Follow my lead.’

It was hard to stop thinking. To stop feeling.

But taking a deep breath, Jael brought a curtain down over everything – every ache and pain, her broken heart, her anger and even her fear.

Everything was dark now.

Now, there was only Saala.

Hearing Kari beginning his ruse at the gates, Rexon moved his men into position. He had led them across the path, out of sight of those patrolling the ramparts, and now they watched from the trees, eyes on the gates.

He remembered riding down the path, smelling smoke as Saala was overcome, heart racing. He’d wanted to break down the gates, to stop whatever was happening before it was too late. And maybe if he had...

Though in his heart, he knew he wouldn’t have stood a chance, and there certainly wouldn’t have been an opportunity for rescue or revenge if Gant hadn’t pulled him away.

His mouth was stripped of all moisture, his chest full of knives, the fist in his stomach tightening.

He feared Jael was right in what she’d seen about his family, and part of him wasn’t sure he could face it.

The other part of him was simply desperate to get inside and tear their killers to pieces. ‘We go,’ he said with a growl. Head twisting left and right, ears open to the raised voices outside the fort, he led his men forward, waiting for the gates to open.

The men on the ramparts had hurried away from their posts, drawn to the disturbance at the gates, and when she felt confident they were far enough away, Jael stepped forward, flinging her rope up and over the rampart wall. They had tied hooks at the end of every rope, covering them with strips of cloth to muffle the noise they’d make striking wood and stone.

Jael’s hook landed on the rampart walk, and she tugged it forward until she felt resistance. Hurrying to the wall, tugging a few more times, she blew out a breath, rubbed her hands on her trousers to remove every drop of moisture, and quickly started climbing.

Silence and speed were essential. They needed the gates opened, though they also had to take command of the walls.

Jael’s men hurried to climb behind her, ropes dangling from the ramparts as they shimmied up the wall. The southern side of the fort was spared the moon’s gaze, and they remained in shadow while they worked to join their queen. And once by her side, they stood with confidence, acting as though they were supposed to be there. Bows and quivers on their backs, swords sheathed, hands ready, they followed Jael down the rampart walk as though they were Saalans, wanting to find out what was happening themselves.

‘Open the gates!’ Jael heard a voice call down below. ‘It’s Mutt’s men. Hurry!’

Heart thumping, Jael’s right hand twitched. She’d sent half her men west, keeping the other half with her, knowing they needed to get as close as possible to be effective.

One of the Saalan warriors walking ahead of them suddenly wheeled around, meeting her eyes.

Freezing, Jael’s lips parted. The man’s eyes widened.

Neither of them blinked.

He looked as though he was trying to speak, though she’d quickly caught his tongue with her mind. She had him, his attention, and she needed to keep it on her just a little longer.

Below, the gates were unlocked, pulled open, and soon a hobbling Kari and his wounded men were being helped inside.

Jael could hear Kari telling the tale they’d rehearsed of his journey from Andala, wounded in the battle there, her attention drifting back to the man before her, sensing the tension of those behind her.

The guards on the gates made to close them, and now Jael released her hold on the man, immediately drawing her knife. Lunging forward, she took him in the throat, giving him no time to even gasp out a cry of warning. He collapsed into her arms, and she turned to the man behind her, who helped to move him out of the way.

Upright again, Jael sheathed her knife, grabbing her bow from her back. Nocking an arrow, she walked at pace, taking first one, then two men in the back.

Rexon emerged from the forest, leading his men in a silent assault on those closing the gates while Jael and her men got to work on the Saalans still standing on the ramparts. Most offered little resistance, confused by what was happening down in the fort and who was firing at them, though someone finally yelled out and then another voice calling a warning. Those on the wall and down in the fort were too slow to grasp where the threat was coming from, though, and most not having bows and arrows to hand, they were taken down at speed, allowing Rexon and his men to sweep into the fort, eliminating every threat they encountered.

Jael had estimated Saala’s garrison at around a hundred men, and Rexon thought that between them, they’d already put down a quarter of it.

Now it was about using speed to counter the remaining resistance, for Jael knew it wasn’t just the men tasked with protecting the fort who had risen against their king. Thanks to Gunnhild, every Saalan within its walls was likely an enemy prepared to fight, so they had to smother all resistance quickly, and that meant getting to the well.

Rexon tried to remain focused on that and on their plan, but seeing the familiar contours of his hall looming before him, he staggered to a stop.

He’d thought he’d find it just an ashy skeleton, though it was still standing, and confused by that, his thoughts went to his wife and children, wondering if perhaps they were still alive?

Jael hurried out of the guard tower, seeing him frozen before her, his confused men hesitating behind him, and understanding what had happened, she took charge. ‘Move fast,’ she urged, nocking an arrow. Despite voices rising now, the fort remained sleepy, the sky showing no hints of dawn, and she didn’t want to raise every Saalan from their beds. Though as she thought it, someone rapped a signal bell. Not the one on the ramparts, upon which only her men now stood, but the one Rexon had installed outside the hall itself, and its jarring sound was like an explosion in the silence.

He turned to her, blinking, and then the father and husband were gone, and the warrior came back.

‘Move!’ Jael yelled, spinning to her men. ‘Kill only those who seek to kill us! I want to see control!’ Head twisting around, she saw a man running at her with a spear. Momentum was everything, and though he looked like a servant who’d not even taken the time to put on his trousers, she couldn’t let anyone slow them down. She shot quickly, taking him in his spear arm, shooting another arrow at his leg, and soon he was on the ground, injured, but not fatally.

‘I have come to free Saala!’ Rexon bellowed, seeing familiar faces. ‘To free you from the murderers and traitors! Your lord has returned!’

That stopped a few in their tracks, and they hesitated, though not for long, soon coming forward with swords and axes, brandishing them at Rexon and his men.

‘I’ll find the well!’ Jael called to him. ‘Take the square. Kari, you and Fulk secure the perimeter!’ She spun around. ‘Raal, lock the gates. We don’t want anyone else joining in!’ And with that, she turned to Petra. ‘You’re with me. Watch my back.’

Petra was a talented archer, a quick learner and a hard worker, though she wasn’t Fyn, and running through Saala’s dark fort, aiming for the well, Jael felt his absence acutely. She had trained him, she knew him as he knew her, and in the darkness, she regretted her decision to send him back to Oss.

‘There!’ came the girl’s voice, and Jael saw a clump of men emerge from an alley to their right.

Armed with axes, the men charged, but reaching into her quiver, nocking her bow, Jael dropped two in quick succession. A third flung his axe at her, though skewing wildly, it spun towards Petra, who threw herself out of its path. Drawing another arrow – her last – Jael took that man in the throat.

They needed to get to the well.

‘Are you fast?’ Jael called to Petra, who nodded as she scrambled back to her feet. ‘Then here.’ She handed the symbol stone to the girl. ‘Find the well and throw it in. Do not be stopped!’ And facing down the remaining four men, she urged the girl away.

Left behind, Rexon had sharpened his focus, shutting everything out.

He had run past every familiar shadow and silhouette, hungry to kill.

Vengeance.

Vengeance made him an animal.

Heartless now, absent all feeling, he sought only blood.

Men were shouting, women were screaming, and in the darkness, the noise became chaotic and disorienting, especially for those who didn’t know the place like he did.

Torches flashed as he rounded a corner into the square, knife in one hand, sword in the other, met by a hastily formed wall of resistance – at least thirty men hoisting shields, iron rims slamming together. Those following Rexon fanned out on either side of him, seeking his direction.

They heavily outnumbered the Saalans, though Rexon saw no awareness of that in the men coming towards him. Mouths open, teeth bared, they sought to protect the fort with their lives.

And ready to take every one of them, Rexon bellowed, sword raised, and charged.

‘Throw down your weapons!’ Jael called to the four men moving towards her. ‘I don’t want to kill you! Throw down your weapons and surrender!’ It was hard to say. Anger that she’d been suppressing for too long rushed to the surface, but these Saalans were spellbound, she reminded herself.

Not choosing this path.

They weren’t.

Though one threw a knife at her, and the remaining three came forward, prepared to kill.

It was dark, the ground was wet, and feeling confident, a bobbing and weaving Jael dropped her bow over her back, unsheathed a knife, and ran at the four men.

They were Mutt Storman’s, she realised with a flash of anger.

Aiming at the man farthest to her right, she skidded through the mud, off her feet, slamming her boots into his ankle. He hadn’t moved in time, and, legs swept out from under him, he tumbled to the ground.

Rolling onto her feet, Jael slit his throat. Looking up, she flung her knife at the face of the next man, taking him in the cheek. He shouted in surprise, and unsheathing her sword, Jael lunged forward, slashing his knees. Staggering, he soon fell, and she scrambled towards him, stabbing him in the throat.

The two remaining men separated now, seeking to outflank her. One flung a knife at her, moonlight flashing on metal.

Lurching backwards, Jael felt it fly over her face before clattering onto the cobblestones behind her. Sitting up, she kicked out at the man directly before her, striking his knee with the knife down her boot. He yelped, hopping, and she drove her blade into his belly. Dragging it out, she shunted her sword backwards with speed, catching the groin of the last man. Spinning around and rising to her feet, she plunged it into his chest.

‘Petra!’ she bellowed, head twisting left and right. Flashes of light revealed that something had caught fire, and not wanting the fort ablaze, she sought to get things under control.

‘My lady!’ the girl called, hurrying forward. ‘I did it! I dropped it into the well!’

‘Duck!’ Jael roared, seeing the glint of a blade. She ran, knocking the girl to the ground as an axe spun over their heads. ‘You must listen! Ears open! It’s too dark to lose focus!’ She almost shook the girl as she pulled her to her feet. ‘You’ve still got arrows?’ A shocked Petra nodded, blood in her mouth. ‘Then follow me! I need to get back to the ramparts!’

Things were shifting, though Rexon was deaf and blind to it.

Jael was yelling about taking prisoners, calling for surrender, but what lay before him was a gaggle of armed men with killing on their minds.

He recognised faces in shifting moonlight, though he saw only enemies.

His sword arm moved as though on its own. His eyes were fixed open, seeking every threat, countering it, defeating it, moving to the next. One after another, enemies fell before him. Fell to his hand and to the hands of his men.

‘My lord!’ a woman shouted, running towards him with a flaming torch. ‘You have come! You have come to save us!’

He raised his sword. She was his wife’s servant. Hilda.

He saw her face change, and now she stepped back. ‘My... lord?’

‘Rexon!’

Voices swirled around him, blades clanging, demanding and urgent. He was becoming disoriented and nauseous.

Impatient to get on.

Hilda.

He knew her, and she was crying, sobbing before him now.

Shaking with fear.

His sword wobbled, the tension in his body now making him vibrate.

‘Tell me,’ he rasped, feeling a growing awareness as he dropped his arm to his side. ‘Where is my family?’

With Saala’s gates open and secure and the ramparts under control, Jael ordered more Andalans into the fort, quickly bringing the weight of her numbers to bear.

She soon saw Fulk Easby charging through the gates at the head of his men. ‘Into the square! Make for the square! Beggi! Aran! Take the flanks!’ She had planned this with Rexon, though wheeling around, scanning the dark square, she had no idea what had happened to him. ‘Push forward! Shield walls!’ The sky was becoming a bluer shade of black, dawn was on its way, though they would still struggle to see for some time. ‘I want every torch lit!’ Jael called to Kari. ‘Get to the hall! Secure it, then get me some light!’ Now she headed for the guard tower, turning to check on Petra, who hurried to keep up with her. Once inside, she helped herself to a torch, and they ran up the stairs and out onto the ramparts, watching as her men worked like dogs herding sheep, pushing and prodding the Saalans into the middle of the square.

There were few skirmishes, she saw. Any counter to the Andalans’ massive force was now half-hearted, the fight taken out of the enemy.

Voices that had been urging attack became silent.

Handing the torch to Petra, Jael instructed her to run around the ramparts and set every brazier alight. And now she found one of the signal bells, grabbing its attached hammer and striking it hard. She kept going until she felt confusion turn to focus, the attention of those in the square lifting to the ramparts.

Making her way to where the light was brightest, Jael shunted two braziers together, and helping herself to a chest, she stood on it, eyes sweeping the square. ‘Your lord has returned to free you!’ she bellowed at that wary crowd. ‘Your lord and your new queen! Southern Brekka was imprisoned by Mutt Storman at the behest of the King of Iskavall! He sought a dreamer’s help! A dark dreamer who poisoned you against your own king! Against your lord! Your neighbours! Your friends!’

Smoke rose from the braziers, tickling her throat, but she kept going.

‘The King of Iskavall and Mutt Storman attacked Andala! Brekka’s king was killed! My brother was killed!’ Jael called, feeling removed from every word she uttered. It was as though she spoke of other people – strangers. Here, she was a queen, a leader who needed these people to stand down. To stand down and unite against their common enemy. ‘I am Jael Furyck, the new Queen of Brekka!’ Scanning the square, she still saw no sign of Rexon, and that worried her. ‘And as your queen, my first duty is to free you! The dreamer poisoned your water with her magic! She made loyal Saalans turn on their king and against each other! But today, we have come, and now Saala belongs to you again! Now you are free!’

Silence.

Jael didn’t imagine that Mattie’s symbol stone would have an immediate effect, for the dreamer had suggested that people would need to drink from the well. ‘Col!’ she shouted down to the silent square, unable to see her steward, though he would be there somewhere. ‘Get to the hall! We need buckets and cups! Ladles! Anything! Have someone go to the well!’

Braziers flickering on either side of her, Jael frowned.

Had Mattie made a mistake? Gotten it wrong?

Soon she would find out.

22

A restless Eadmund was up at the crack of dawn, fully dressed and ready to begin the day.

The dogs roamed ahead of him as he aimed for the gates, deciding to head down to the beach before going for an early ride. Though Ido and Vella made other plans, quickly charging off after a cat.

Shaking his head, he caught sight of Stig staring longingly at Ketil’s, where the braziers were only just being readied for another day’s trading.

Seeing that bleary-eyed look of hunger, he was once again reminded of his father. Stig had a similar physique, and at times, Eadmund had to blink to remind himself that he wasn’t looking at a long-dead Eirik Skalleson.

Spying his nephew, Stig laughed. ‘Living here is worth it for this place alone! Though I’d need to be a wealthy man to take my meals here!’

Eadmund smiled. ‘True, though since their king allows them to trade in the square, I eat for free.’

It would be some time before Ketil was ready for customers, so the two men walked in silence towards the gates. The fleet had remained on the beach since their return from Andala, and while the weather remained clear, there was much to do. His journey to S’ala Nis and the near-death experience with the titan wave had given Eadmund some ideas for making his crews safer and more comfortable. He’d put Beorn in charge of implementing the changes and wanted to check his progress, which, he thought with a smile, wouldn’t especially please Beorn.

Beside him, Stig’s squinting eyes were busy, watching those guards on the gates bobbing their heads to Eadmund. ‘And do you enjoy it?’ he asked, immediately grappling with his cloak as they left the protective walls of the fort behind. It was a beautiful cloak, made of wolf fur, and though heavy, it was no match for Oss’ notorious wind. ‘Being a king? I never wondered about it myself. Never desired to be a lord of men. Not sure what that makes me?’

Eadmund nudged Stig to the right, guiding the old man towards the muddy path, which was mostly packed dirt now, he was pleased to see, though it remained steep. Summer was often something to blink and miss on the wild island, though it thankfully rained less. ‘I think it makes you smarter than most,’ he decided. ‘Those who seek power don’t really understand it. If they did, they’d run in the other direction. Power is decisions, it’s sacrifice... it’s isolating.’

‘Then perhaps I’m not so foolish to desire a simple life?’ Stig mused.

‘And has it been a happy one?’ Eadmund wondered, nodding at Beorn, who was heading up the path towards them, not at all surprised to see his master shipbuilder already hard at work.

‘Off to get the brackets!’ Beorn told him with a grimace, holding his back.

Eadmund nodded, turning to Stig for his answer.

‘Mostly so, as happiness goes. I was raised by a good woman, married a good woman. The years we shared were the best of my life. She gave me a son –’

He cut himself off, and Eadmund saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes, though sniffing, he blinked them away.

‘He was as good a son as any father could wish for. He didn’t deserve such an end, claimed by sickness...’ Looking down at his boots, fussing with his cloak, Stig was silent for some time. ‘Though it’s the gods’ will, isn’t it? Who they take and who they spare? I’m only grateful his wife went with him. She wouldn’t have wanted to live without him.’

Eadmund could certainly sympathise, knowing that his heart would forever remain broken without Jael.

‘I’m responsible for Haral now,’ Stig went on. ‘Though his father left me work to do.’ And now he chuckled, shaking his head. ‘He’s got his eyes on distant shores, on magical lands. The mind of a dreamer, that one. Though I’ll make a trapper of the boy yet.’

‘I wish you luck,’ Eadmund grinned as they made their way onto the stones. ‘From what he’s said, he doesn’t seem ready to bend to your will.’

‘Well, I’m old, but there’s certainly time,’ Stig insisted, almost going for a skate. Eadmund turned to offer a hand, though he shook his head. ‘He thinks adventure will offer him something better. Better?’ he snorted. ‘Never knowing where you’ll sleep? Where you’ll get your supper? Not knowing friend from foe or if you’ll ever see your home again?’ The sky was hazy, though he squinted nonetheless. ‘Home and family. Security. They don’t sound as exciting as sea battles and treasure to a young man, but they can offer so much more.’

‘Perhaps send him off for a few years then? Let him go. Let him find out for himself.’

Stig frowned. ‘And if he doesn’t come back?’

‘Well, your wife will give birth to another heir. Maybe he’ll want to be a trapper?’ And now he laughed.

Stig laughed with him. ‘I can only hope!’

‘So you have no ambitions for yourself then? Nothing else you seek?’

‘You mean like a kingdom of islands in the Huuka Sea?’ Stopping abruptly, Stig held out a hand. ‘But why would I want such a thing? And at my age?’ He shook his head. ‘This island, all these islands, are yours, Eadmund. They were your father’s. He made this kingdom. He took the evil Grim had wrought, and he turned it into something better, something worthy. Why should it be anything to do with me?’

‘Some might think you’re the rightful heir. You might think –’

‘Though I don’t,’ Stig insisted forcefully now, narrowing those dark blue eyes until they looked as black as the stones they stood on. ‘I truly don’t. Some men are hungry for more than they have. I’m not one of them. I’ll return to a home I enjoy with a wife who’s carrying my child. I’ll return to the life I built with my own hands. I don’t seek another. I swear it to you. I had thought we’d moved past that. That you saw me more clearly.’

Eadmund held Stig’s gaze. It was as though he was staring at his father, and he almost wept, wishing he could have just one more moment with him. To apologise, to tell him how grateful he was for all he’d taught him. For his never-ending patience.

But most of all, he wanted to thank him for Jael.

In Saala, buckets of water, hauled up from the well and filled in the stream, were hurried into the square where Jael was curious to see what would happen.

Anxious too. She’d felt confident in Mattie’s symbol herself.

Though if it didn’t work?

She had come down from the ramparts to oversee the effort and to ensure that Mutt Storman’s outlaws were separated from the Saalans they’d overthrown. She had given that task to an enthusiastic Fulk Easby.

Mutt’s men would die, and the Saalans...

She passed a mother and daughter on their knees, sobbing wretchedly over the body of a young man, tunic torn open, blood everywhere. Despite feelings of guilt, she hurried on, calling Rexon’s name.

In war, there were no real winners, for everyone lost people they cared about, whether in a boggy clearing or in a fortress.

Everyone lost someone they loved.

Some more than others, she realised, like Rexon Boas, the missing Lord of Saala.

Col came forward with two young men. Brothers, Jael thought immediately. They appeared nervous and unsure but mostly confused.

‘They are different,’ Col told the queen. ‘After the water, they are different, my lady.’

Jael turned from one wary face to the other. ‘You fought for these men? Against your lord?’ she asked, pointing at Mutt Storman’s warriors, who looked fearful in the rising sun. ‘Willingly?’

They nodded in unison.

Then the taller one shook his head. ‘Not at first,’ he remembered. ‘We fought them when they came, and then –’

‘Then we joined them,’ finished his brother. ‘We were with them and against the king. It was what they told us. That Rexon, our lord... that our lord and the king were trying to take from us. That they didn’t care for us.’

‘We believed them,’ his brother added. ‘All that they said. Eventually, it was what we thought too.’

They kept shaking their heads as if nothing made sense.

‘Our father fought with the king,’ the tall one said. ‘But he turned against him, my lady. We all did.’

It was a good story, though needing to be sure, Jael took his hand. ‘Close your eyes,’ she told him, feeling fear ripple from his hand to hers. ‘I won’t hurt you, just close your eyes.’ He did, relaxing only slightly, and shutting out the chaotic noise of the fort, she listened to his thoughts. At first, there was only darkness, then flashes of fire and images of Mutt Storman’s men. She saw frightened Saalans, dead Saalans, compliant Saalans.

Opening her eyes, she nodded at the brothers.

‘You have another chance,’ she told them, inclining her head to where Mutt’s men huddled together under armed guard. ‘And for that, you can give thanks to my dreamer.’ Turning away from them, Jael felt a lift. ‘It’s working!’ she called to those standing around water buckets, holding ladles and cups. ‘Keep going! It’s working!’

She could actually feel it herself now.

It was as though a cloud was lifting from the fort, releasing Gunnhild’s hold on Saala.

Aiming for the hall, she saw its doors blocked by a huddle of anxious-looking servants who stared nervously at the queen as she approached.

Eyeing a white-haired old woman, she addressed her directly. ‘Where is Rexon? Have you seen him?’ The woman nodded, though before she could answer, Jael spoke to her companions. ‘Go into the square and tend to the wounded. And the dead,’ she added before returning her attention to the old woman. ‘Can you take me to him?’ And leaving the hall behind, Jael followed the servant out of the fort, down a path, and into the forest until they reached a clearing. The moon lingered as the sun rose, the trees forming a circle, offerings hanging from branches, stones piled up at their roots.

The servant left her, and Jael heard crying.

She walked further into the trees, seeing Rexon on his knees, hands in the earth. He appeared torn between digging it away and scared of what he would find if he did.

He didn’t turn around as Jael approached. She stood beside him for a time before eventually dropping to her knees in silence.

His tears dripped onto the dirt, face hidden in shadow.

‘Hilda said they buried them here,’ he said starkly. ‘All of them. She... she...’ He rocked back on his haunches now, turning to Jael, though he didn’t meet her eyes. ‘Mutt wouldn’t let the servants make a pyre. Just ordered them tossed into a pit.’ Body heaving, he shook his head, disbelief carved into his face. He kept shaking his head as though willing it all away. ‘The servants took... took their bodies and... they buried them here.’

Tears in her eyes, Jael saw beneath the dirt: three little boys wrapped around their mother.

Demaeya Boas had been an unusually pretty woman. It was as though the gods had spun her hair with gold, infusing her eyes with kindness and her smile with warmth, and they had directed her to her husband, who had loved her from first sight.

Here, in Saala.

And now Rexon’s home and family had been destroyed by Gunnhild’s poisonous magic and by a vengeful Mutt Storman and his men.

They had killed everyone Rexon loved.

Destroyed his life.

‘We will make them pay,’ Jael promised, touching his shoulder. ‘We will find Mutt Storman and that dreamer, and we will make them pay.’

Rexon’s rage had left him, and collapsing in a heap, he sobbed.

Jael’s hand was on his shoulder, though he felt no comfort or hope in it. Only his own unbearable pain, which called to him again as he turned to the burial mound, laying his hands upon it and crying Demaeya’s name.

Bram opened the cottage door, greeted by a whining Snapper and a strong odour of urine. He frowned at his son, who was still sound asleep, before picking up the puppy and depositing him outside. ‘Hard night?’ he grumbled, seeing the messy state of things in a cottage he hadn’t slept in since Fyn had returned.

Snapper appeared to have been busy. He saw teethmarks in the table leg, the bed frame, and one of Fyn’s boots. A sock had been pulled apart, threads everywhere. There were puddles near the door and patches on the rugs.

‘How long have I been gone?’

Fyn sat up slowly, peering at his father with one eye. Sunlight blazed through the door, and his head throbbed so painfully that he couldn’t even think. Grabbing both sides of it, he turned away, back into the darkness.

Bram wedged open the door. ‘And you think hiding in here will change what you’re unhappy about? That you’ll drink yourself a better life? Didn’t work out so well for Eadmund.’

Snapper was back, skidding through a puddle and making for the bed, where he was quickly licking Fyn’s hand. Absentmindedly, Fyn picked him up, letting him crawl up his chest until he was sitting on his shoulder.

‘That dog needs training.’

Fyn sighed.

‘You want him to turn out like Jael’s dogs? Those two wouldn’t know a command if it came with a slice of bacon!’

‘Ow!’ Fyn yelped as Snapper bit his ear. Standing up, he plonked the puppy on the floor, head thumping, suddenly aware of the smell and the puddles. ‘Oh.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘I’ll clean it up,’ Fyn promised.

‘Well, no one else will, Son,’ Bram said, and now he bent down to Snapper, giving him a pat. ‘How about you come with your grandfather and we’ll find you some breakfast. Leave Fyn here to get himself sorted.’ And with a sympathetic look at his miserable son, he made for the open door. ‘Jael trained you, taught you, guided you so that you could make a life for yourself. Are you going to go to Andala like this? Show her that it all meant nothing?’

Fyn blinked. ‘Andala?’

‘Well, she’ll be needing those children of hers soon enough. Her badly behaved dogs too. And who else is going to take them?’

Fyn hadn’t thought about that, and he looked around the cottage with more awareness now, spying his ruined sock.

And seeing he’d caught a fish with his bait, Bram tugged that line a little harder. ‘I saw Milla on my way here. She asked about you. Her and Haral. They were on their way to the Pit. I think she’s going to watch him train.’ Seeing the spark of anger in his son’s eyes, Bram hid his smile, and using his boot, he nudged an excited Snapper outside.

Jael had left Rexon on his knees in the forest clearing, returning to the fort where she was pleased to see a semblance of order taking shape.

Fulk approached, white hair turning red. He’d been struck with a rock, and though he had a bandage wrapped around his head, blood continued to leak through it. ‘Mutt’s men are in the stables, under guard. We’ve given water to this lot. Seems to be working.’ Turning away from the queen, he indicated to the Saalans. The women and children were animated, voices rising, though it was the men who drew Jael’s eye.

They appeared neither angry nor defeated any longer, just confused.

Shoulders easing away from her ears, her relief was palpable.

When she thought of the danger ahead and the enemies who would come, she felt grateful for Mattie.

Mattie, who had found a way to reverse Gunnhild’s spell.

‘I’ll talk to Mutt’s men,’ she said. ‘To their leader. Have him brought to a chamber in the hall. I’ll meet you there soon.’

Turning away from Fulk, Jael saw Col looking lost. The sun was up, the square covered in bodies, some dead, but most were only injured, and the healers were spread thin.

Calling him to her, she pointed at the hall. ‘Organise some ale. Ale and a hot breakfast for those who want it.’ The warm air was heavy with a stomach-churning mix of smoke, blood, and bowels, and Jael had no appetite herself, though food and ale always helped to focus the mind, so she would eat and drink with everyone else.

What lay before her demanded her full attention, though despite knowing it, her mind kept wandering back to Oss.

After making only a brief attempt at tidying up Snapper’s mess, Fyn had hurried to the Pit, the puppy, having enjoyed a hearty breakfast, bounding along at his heels.

He wasn’t sure what he was thinking. Mostly, his head hurt, making focusing a challenge, though he certainly knew he didn’t like Haral Ervik. Stig’s cocky, confident grandson had quickly made his interest in Milla known, and though Fyn himself didn’t know how he felt about the girl, he couldn’t stomach the way Haral drooled all over her.

As he reached the Pit, Milla turned to him, squinting, as though searching for clues as to his mood.

An equally wary Fyn nodded at her, and she nodded back, spying the puppy at his feet.

‘Snapper!’ she exclaimed, bending down to scoop him up for a cuddle. He licked her face, trying to nip her nose, but having some experience with him now, she held him out, arms extended, laughing as he wriggled and whined, trying to reach her. Then, after pulling him back for one more sloppy kiss, she plonked him on the ground. ‘He’s a happy dog.’

Now Fyn saw her properly. Her smile was kind and sweet, and he felt bad for ever being sharp with her. It was never Milla’s fault, he knew. It was him.

It was everything inside him.

‘He’s a naughty dog,’ Fyn grinned. ‘You should see the state of my cottage this morning.’

‘Oh?’

‘Mmmm. Snapper might be sleeping outside tonight.’ Fyn could hear shouting in the Pit, certain he recognised Haral’s nasally voice, though he kept his attention on Milla. ‘If I want any socks to wear tomorrow, then maybe.’

She laughed, watching as the puppy jumped, trying to catch a butterfly. ‘Or perhaps you could pick up your socks?’

‘Well...’ Fyn shook his head. ‘You’re asking a lot there.’

‘I’m only thinking of poor Snapper. I hate the thought of him sleeping outside because you’re too lazy to pick up your things.’

‘Lazy?’ Fyn felt the tension in his body ease for the first time in days. Milla’s face was so enchanting and her smile inviting, and if he –

‘Here,’ came a voice, and they both turned to see Haral approaching with a training sword. He offered it to Fyn, who looked on with an open mouth. ‘My opponent had to go help his father,’ he explained. Though Fyn didn’t respond, and now Haral thought to offer the sword to Milla. ‘Perhaps you could become the next Jael Furyck of the islands?’ he grinned. ‘I could teach you. I know all about weapons.’

Immediately annoyed, Fyn frowned. ‘Do you have to fight the animals? I thought you just laid traps for them to walk into?’

Haral’s sunny smile dimmed, and dropping the sword to his side, he turned slowly to Fyn. ‘You don’t think a man should know how to defend himself? Be it trapper or king?’

Fyn sensed Milla watching intently, he was aware that Snapper had scampered off, but his gaze remained on Haral, unblinking. ‘Well, a man can defend himself with an axe, his knife, or even his hands. I don’t think most men need to be skilled in a number of weapons.’

‘And you? Do you know? Staff, axe, sword? Perhaps you can show me what the former man of a queen knows about weapons...’

Fyn realised that his big mouth had opened a door he didn’t want to walk through, and he’d been ready to make a hasty retreat, though Haral’s mention of Jael was like a spark to tinder.

He held out a hand.

‘I need to train,’ he muttered, taking the sword. ‘May as well be with you.’ And turning to see Milla staring at him with concerned eyes, he nodded at her before looking back at Haral, who was smiling.

Jael wasn’t smiling as she entered Rexon’s meeting chamber, where the leader of Mutt Storman’s men awaited her, clamped in fetters.

Rexon would kill him soon, though she wanted information first.

He mirrored her scowl, a man with little hair and even less sense to have followed a vengeful fool like Mutt to his own death. One ear was barely hanging on, his right eye had closed up, and his remaining teeth were bloody as he bared them. ‘I won’t tell you anything, bitch,’ he spat, blood raining over the table.

They were alone, the table between them, and Jael didn’t even blink. ‘You don’t need to,’ she promised. ‘I’m a dreamer, so I don’t need your words. When you’re dead, I can take your ring, your amulet, even your boots. I can find out more than you’d ever reveal to me,’ she said matter-of-factly. And with a shrug, she eyed the door. ‘Rexon Boas will kill you. You know that. I saw you kill his wife.’ And just the thought of it had Jael’s temper rising. ‘His small, helpless children too. Those three little boys.’

The man laughed, more blood bubbling around his mouth, dripping into his blonde beard. ‘And what? New to battle, are you, bitch?’

Jael just managed to grab hold of her temper before it upended both her plans and the table. ‘I’m not here to talk about what you’ve done. That’s for the gods. I’m here to offer you a gift.’

The man’s eye sharpened noticeably, and bringing up his fettered hands, he used one to scratch his cheek. ‘And?’

‘A quick death. I’m sure you know of all the ways Rexon could drag it out. So many painful ways...’ Jael’s eyes narrowed, claiming his attention now. ‘I’m his queen, and I say he can choose to end you any way he likes. He can take as many hours or days as he wants. I won’t be here to watch, but if you help me –’

‘Help you?’

‘If you help me,’ Jael carried on, ‘I’ll order him to give you a quick death. You can even choose it. A blow to the heart, the throat, the head...’

The man’s eyebrows rose.

‘For what?’ he grunted. ‘What do you want from me?’

‘Something that has no bearing on you now. Something for someone else to worry about. I just want you to tell me where I can find Mutt Storman.’

23

Fyn’s blood was boiling as he slid through the railings into the Pit.

There was no mud, no snow, no ice. Scuffed up by countless early morning bouts, the dirt surface was hard and mostly smooth. The sky was relatively clear, the wind almost tame.

Conditions were perfect.

Though, shoulders tightening, hand clenching around his sword, Fyn feared that he was not.

He felt a strange throbbing in his chest. His stitches had been removed, he no longer needed a bandage, but the strike of that arrow and his fall to the rampart walk were a dent in his hard-earned shield of confidence. Though not revealing anything other than angry desire, he came for Haral quickly, hearing, not Jael’s voice telling him to calm down, but Milla’s at the railings, where she called both his and Haral’s name.

Haral parried Fyn’s first blow, though Fyn followed that up immediately, striking his waist. Moving his feet, he broke through Haral’s defenses again, aiming higher, now hitting his chest.

A surprised Haral stumbled back, shaking his head.

His hair was dark blonde, shoulder length and wavy. It added to an overall effect of handsomeness that Fyn guessed Milla was attracted to. His features were compact, almost pretty. And despite where he came from and the future his grandfather had planned for him, Haral Ervik looked like a man who wanted to be a famous warrior.

Though now, confronted with an actual warrior, he seemed to be struggling.

He slashed his sword with a show of skill, feet moving, a look of hunger in his eyes, though he wasn’t getting anywhere.

Fyn was a head taller, his arms were longer, and he was experienced at keeping his enemies at bay. He blocked every strike, parrying Haral’s sword with skill, confidence rising. He heard Thorgils calling out instructions, now standing beside Milla, who was holding an excited Snapper.

‘Watch yourself!’ came Thorgils’ warning. ‘Don’t get cocky now!’

Feeling more eyes on him, Fyn fought off Haral’s increasingly desperate slashes, eventually knocking the sword from his hand. ‘What weapons are these?’ he taunted. ‘These weapons you know?’ And leading with his left arm, he shoulder-charged Haral, shunting him backwards.

Haral was solid, and keeping his balance, he reached for Fyn’s tunic with both hands. Grabbing handfuls of it, he yanked him forward, driving a leg between Fyn’s. And hooking it around Fyn’s right ankle, he tugged hard.

Caught off guard, hearing Thorgils’ intake of breath as though his cousin was standing beside him, Fyn stumbled, struggling to stay on his feet as he sought to free himself. Though Haral held him close, trapping Fyn’s leg, and his sword was useless.

Fyn threw it away, driving his arms up and inside that hold, though Haral twisted his hooking leg, and Fyn’s right leg collapsed, and with that support gone, he fell to the ground, head thumping the dirt. He sought to get up, but Haral was quickly over him.

Freeing his left hand, Fyn punched him in the ribs.

Haral didn’t flinch, though Fyn heard a crack.

They grappled, dust rising.

Haral aimed a fist at Fyn’s jaw, missing and hitting the ground, though he lunged forward with a growl. ‘This weapon,’ he snarled in Fyn’s ear. ‘I know how to use this weapon.’

Which made no sense to Fyn, for the blathering fool hadn’t landed a single punch yet. Though he was certainly trying to.

Imagining Jael barking at him to move, Fyn roared, flinging up his right leg, bringing it down on the back of Haral’s head. And hooking his leg around the man, Fyn twisted his body up and around, knocking Haral onto the ground.

Haral hit him in the chest, directly on his wound, quickly punching him again.

The pain blinded Fyn, enraging him, and he lashed out, smacking his clenched fist into Haral’s eye. Not satisfied with that, he hit him again, no longer hearing Thorgils or Milla.

He saw his dead mother. He saw that arsehole Tarak.

He saw all he had been, everything he’d lost, all his anger and pain.

He saw it before him in the face of Haral Ervik.

Hammering his fist into that smug face, Fyn hit him over and over again until he felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a growl in his ear as Thorgils dragged him away.

‘Enough!’ Thorgils snarled, yanking Fyn to his feet as Milla rushed into the Pit towards a bloody-faced Haral, prone on the ground. ‘What were you thinking? Enough!’ And now he marched Fyn towards the railings where they could see a stony-faced Eadmund standing there with Stig Ervik.

It was mid-morning when the warships were sighted.

Jael had finished her useful meeting with Mutt Storman’s man and had been on her way to find Rexon when she’d been alerted to their presence, so she was waiting on Saala’s beach when the four vessels were pulled up onto the sand.

Watching them, Jael felt strangely emotional. Worried too.

She hadn’t been expecting this.

A man with long blonde hair, dressed in a fine but damp cloak, hopped over the gunwale of the lead ship with a look in his one eye that Jael knew well, and she stepped forward with a tense smile, wondering what was coming.

Trekking up the sand, hand shielding his face, King Karsten Dragos soon stopped before her, leaving his men and servants far behind. And there they stood in the glare of the morning sun that sparkled across the water like precious jewels, not saying a word to each other.

‘I am sorry,’ Karsten said at last. ‘So sorry, Jael.’ Reaching out, he touched her arms, clasping them. Dressed in a mail shirt, she had blood on her face and mud everywhere else. She looked tired and sad. Angry too.

In reply, she nodded. ‘Things have changed since we last met. Everything in fact.’

Looking past her, Karsten squinted. ‘You have evicted your traitors then? Rexon is back in charge?’

‘I have, though as for Rexon?’ Jael shrugged. ‘Those men killed his family. They’re all dead, Demaeya and the boys. I’m not sure what he’ll do now.’

Karsten was shocked, mouth gaping open. ‘His family?’ He had a close relationship with the Lord of Saala, for they were neighbours, and shaking his head, he struggled to comprehend what had happened. ‘A lot has changed,’ he said. ‘For you all.’

‘And you. You’re a married man again, I hear. I wish I’d seen that,’ she grinned, needing an escape from sadness and loss.

‘Though you were too busy being rescued by my men on my ships,’ he said, adjusting his leather eye patch. ‘After ending up a slave, from what Eadmund said.’ Though seeing the light go out in her eyes, his own soon dimmed. ‘And now you are alone...’

‘Well, you haven’t seen how many I’ve brought with me from Andala. I’ve never felt less alone in my life. Everywhere I turn, there’s someone needing to talk to me, someone wanting my time.’ They needed to get off the beach and into the fort, though now Jael saw another familiar face as Meena Dragos was helped up the sand.

Turning around, Karsten nodded at his sister-in-law. ‘That’s why we’re here. My mumbling, bumbling dreamer finally uncovered some useful information. First time that’s ever happened! She won’t tell me anything, though she left Berard and the girls behind, so it must be serious. We came straight away, and here you are, just as she predicted.’ He grinned. ‘I may have to keep her around.’

‘Information?’ Jael looked from a red-faced Meena, stumbling across the sand, back to Karsten, who shook his head.

‘Don’t ask me. She told me what had happened to Axl, to you and Eadmund. Said you’d be here, that she needed to speak to you. Gives me a chance to escape my wife.’ He shuddered, leaning closer. ‘Those who dream of wearing a crown should ask themselves if they’re truly prepared for the sacrifices. I’m not sure I was,’ he admitted quietly, peering into Jael’s green eyes.

She stared at him and then at Meena, who was now panting before her.

‘Jael,’ she gasped. ‘My... Jael.’

Jael took her hand, squeezing it. ‘It is good to see you again, Meena. I heard about your baby. Berard must be happy.’ She felt a stab of envy for those who could be with the ones they loved, unlike Rexon and herself. And Karsten, whose unhappiness darkened his clear blue eye.

Meena shook her head as though she hadn’t even heard her. ‘I... but I... I must speak to you, Jael. About what has been happening. It is... why I’ve come!’

Milla wouldn’t meet Fyn’s eyes as a bloody-faced Haral was helped out of the Pit.

Fyn wouldn’t meet Eadmund’s eyes as he glowered at him.

Though despite all the tension, Stig laughed. ‘Just what he needed,’ he insisted, patting Fyn’s shoulder. Now he turned to a silent Eadmund. ‘They both knew what they were doing, and no doubt Haral didn’t stop yapping. It’ll do him good to see what it truly means to fight. He’s had his own way for too long in Vartna. His face will heal,’ he promised. ‘Though his giant ego might take a little longer.’ And now he was laughing again, turning after his grandson.

When he was gone, Thorgils returned with a whining Snapper, who wanted to go to Fyn. Though Fyn’s attention was on Eadmund.

Who finally spoke. ‘It’s not easy,’ he said quietly. ‘Without her.’

Fyn’s lips quivered as he stared at his king.

‘It’s not going to be easy for some time, perhaps never, though as much as I want to, I can’t go around taking my sword or my fist to everyone who gets on my nerves. To every arsehole who wants to take me on. I’m the king now, and you’re one of my men, Fyn. You sit at my table, you’ll fight beside me, and I expect you to carry yourself with more awareness of that than this display showed. More discipline too.’ He took a breath, placing his hands on Fyn’s shoulders. And leaning closer until only Fyn and Thorgils could hear him, he whispered: ‘Though I think Jael would have enjoyed that.’ And with a wink, he turned after Stig.

Leaving Karsten to head into Saala’s fort, Jael led Meena away from the ships, down the long beach, until they were alone.

‘I’m pleased to see you,’ Jael said, hoping to make the dreamer feel comfortable. Meena Dragos tended to be undermined by her own lack of confidence, so she thought to talk of other things first. ‘Though Karsten doesn’t look happy to be here. Perhaps his new marriage doesn’t agree with him?’ She already knew the answer to that, though she hoped to encourage Meena to open up.

‘Freya is... she doesn’t like Karsten. She doesn’t seem to like anyone in Hest.’

‘No wonder he was so eager to leave,’ Jael joked.

‘He had no choice, though. Marrying her. He has to have more heirs,’ Meena whispered. ‘There is only Eron...’

A frowning Jael turned to her with a searching look.

Meena quickly dropped her eyes. ‘I haven’t told Karsten, though I... I do not see Eron reaching the throne. The girls will never be chosen. A Dragos daughter has never risen to be queen. I fear...’

Jael was stunned. ‘So he thinks you see nothing, but the truth is that you see too much?’

Tears shone in Meena’s bulbous eyes as she raised her head. ‘Karsten’s had so much bad luck these last few years. He has been a good king, and he’s become a better man. I, I... I don’t think it right to break his heart.’

Jael agreed. ‘So he needs heirs?’

Meena nodded.

‘But what happened to Hanna? He loved Hanna.’

‘It was Bayla. She refused to let Karsten marry a...’ Words trailing off, Meena didn’t quite know how to put it.

‘A nobody?’

Meena squirmed. ‘Bayla insisted that Karsten make an alliance, and Hanna couldn’t offer him anything like that. Bayla is the one who made Hanna leave Hest. She left without ever telling him where she went.’

‘And do you know? Do you know what happened to her?’ Jael asked, forgetting her curiosity about why Meena had really come. The dreamer didn’t respond, becoming more hunched over, though Jael was certain she had her answer. ‘You need to look after him, after you all,’ she told her. ‘After what happened to my brother, and to Amma –’

‘I had a vision!’ Meena blurted out, no longer able to keep all that was so terrifying to herself. She was always nervous, riddled with doubts, especially around kings and queens. The decisions they made, the actions they took could harm a great many people, so to advise the wrong thing? To make a mistake?

She desperately didn’t want to make a mistake.

Jael wheeled around to her, squinting in the rising sun. ‘A vision?’

‘About the girl. Milla.’

Eyes bulging, Jael grabbed Meena’s arm. ‘What?’ She had finally started to accept that she’d imagined what had happened in the forest. That Arras had been right about her hallucinating. But now? ‘What did you see?’

Surprised by Jael’s anger, Meena started to tremble. ‘Well, I... I wasn’t sure, though it was... something I said to Berard. He asked me about it, for it made no sense. Apparently, I called out in my sleep that she wasn’t a girl.’

Shivering explosively, Jael dropped Meena’s arm. ‘Not a girl?’

A squinting Meena turned to look at the sea. ‘I thought back to my dream. I’d seen the girl help the man who took you. She had long blonde hair and freckles. She was pretty.’

Jael felt tension surging through her body. ‘She helped him?’

Meena nodded. ‘I thought so. It looked that way to me. She was smiling when he took you. She was smiling at you.’

Jael was staggered. ‘That’s what I saw too!’

Meena was surprised but incredibly relieved as she turned back to Jael, who looked stunned.

‘I found the girl in Alekka. She was unhappy there, so I took her with me to Andala. She wanted adventure, a better life. Fyn liked her. I think that was why most of all. Fyn liked her, and she liked him, but in Tuura...’ Shaking her head, she peered into Meena’s eyes. ‘Who is she?’

Having found no answers in the night, a weary Dessalene left her chamber in search of the prim and proper woman in charge of Sarakat’s temple: Sister My.

She was desperate to reclaim control of the situation.

They needed to leave the depressing tomb and head to Bandar.

It was all she could think about.

She could almost feel the Mistress’ hand on her shoulder. The anticipation of her disapproval was a block of ice running down her back. A blade in her heart.

She feared she had run out of chances now. That all she’d worked so hard for, all she had built with Ronin, was unravelling before her eyes.

Which hurt so much – little stabbing pains making it hard to see.

She moved down the corridor at speed, as was her way, though an unfamiliar heaviness in her limbs sought to slow her down.

In the depths of night, she had momentarily thought of asking for help from the sisters. Help for herself. Though seeking help would mean admitting something was wrong, and she wasn’t prepared to do so. Not yet.

Hurrying down the stairs, she heard murmuring voices, inhaling a waft of smoky incense. The choking smell made her nauseous, and she coughed as she entered the crypt, attracting the attention, not of the sisters, who ignored her, but of her daughter, who immediately turned her way.

Dessalene swept towards her with venomous eyes. ‘I sent Morik for you hours ago!’

Irina stopped before her mother like a stand of trees holding back an incoming gale. ‘I was helping the sisters. I could not be spared to come to you, Mother. I was helping.’

Dessalene laughed. ‘So despite all your protests about this place, you are just like these other lifeless fools now?’ Her expression hardened. ‘Though you will not remain here, Irina. For all that you vex me, I will not allow it.’

‘Raymon Vandaal is desperately ill, Mother. I had thought you wished to discuss that. The poison spreads. The sisters fear he will lose his arm.’

Dessalene shrugged. ‘It is not something he will miss when he’s dead.’

Irina spluttered in confusion. ‘I thought you wanted him to live?’

‘What I want is to leave! He needs to be well enough to travel today. Too much time has been wasted. We must leave!’ Feeling unsteady, she grabbed the girl.

‘Mother,’ Irina hissed, shaking her off. ‘He is too ill to go anywhere.’ And now Dessalene grabbed her arm again, and she felt the full weight of her tugging. ‘Mother?’

Two of the sisters were already turning away from their patient, calling for help, as Dessalene slid down the length of her daughter, collapsing to the floor, eyes closing, mouth ajar.

Meena didn’t know how to answer Jael’s question, and she muttered and mumbled until the queen looked ready to pounce on her. ‘She was two people!’ she began in a fluster. ‘That’s what I realised. I said she wasn’t a girl because she was two people.’

Jael started walking, encouraging Meena towards a log. ‘Two people?’

‘I saw the girl and her eyes. They were kind, a bright blue. But the girl who watched you taken away... her eyes were dark.’

Jael frowned. ‘It was night.’

‘It was,’ Meena agreed. ‘Though I could still see.’

Reaching the log, they sat down.

‘But how was she two people? What does that mean? Is she a dreamer?’

Meena ran trembling hands down her green woollen cloak, covering a similarly-coloured dress. Her boots were wet, her feet numb and cold, and she pushed them into the warm sand. ‘My grandmother, Varna, she used to give me nightmares.’

Taken by surprise, Jael didn’t speak, knowing that Meena was a nervous creature. It was best to let her find her own way.

‘She would give me nightmares because I broke something or... or I forgot something. She would frighten me before bed. She would make me fear what lay in the darkness, waiting for me. It was a game she took delight in, and she played it most nights.’

Jael nodded, urging her on.

‘Nightmares about the livahti were the worst of all. To this day, I still have them.’

Jael watched as she placed both hands on her legs, steadying herself. ‘Livahti?’

Blinking up at her, Meena’s mouth dropped open. She felt afraid even discussing the creatures. She doubted herself, though in her heart she knew. Not just because of her nightmares or her grandmother but because she was a dreamer herself.

She knew.

‘They are shapeshifters,’ she explained in whispers. ‘But more than that. A lot more, Jael. They have the abilities of dreamers. Powers like gods.’

Jael shook her head. ‘I’ve never heard of them.’

Fumbling with her purse, buried under her cloak, Meena finally pulled out a folded piece of vellum. It was old and yellow, its edges torn. She held it in an unsteady hand, fluttering in the breeze. ‘This is from Varna’s book. One of them. The one about... creatures.’ She handed it to Jael, who took it without opening it. ‘The Followers possessed great knowledge. Stories that had been passed down from Raemus himself. Stories of how things were in the time before Daala made the humans. Before the humans, she made the livahti.’

Now Jael looked down at the vellum, unfolding it. In the bright sunshine, she couldn’t make out anything and instead squinted at Meena, thinking of Axl’s death. According to Eren Venberg, she’d remembered nothing after seeing someone walking towards her – a figure in a cloak. And then she’d been sitting in her chair, covered in blood. Eren, pregnant with his child, who had professed her love for him.

‘Though Daala seemed to regret it,’ Meena added. ‘Perhaps?’ She shrugged, not wanting to suggest what had been in the Mother of All’s mind. Sensing Jael watching her, she hurried on. ‘For she sought to have them killed. That’s what Varna used to tell me. The gods hated the livahti because they feared they couldn’t control them.’

Jael blinked.

‘They tried to kill them, but they didn’t succeed.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because The Following believed some still lived. In their quest to defeat Daala and the gods, to raise Raemus again, they sought them out. They knew how powerful the livahti were, so they wanted to use that power for themselves.’

Now Jael turned to the vellum again, and as clouds rushed in to mask the sun, she suddenly made out symbols. ‘Though they came up with ways to protect against them? These symbols?’

Meena nodded. ‘An ancient being as powerful as that? I don’t think they knew what to expect.’

‘And did The Following find them?’

‘I don’t know,’ Meena admitted. ‘I don’t understand all of what happened. I have my memories of my grandmother, my nightmares, and that,’ she said, pointing to the vellum. ‘You must keep it safe. I... I tore it from Varna’s book. You may keep it, but I don’t believe it’s something that should be shared. Or lost.’

Jael agreed.

‘I will try and think of anything else. Anything I may have forgotten that could be useful. Anything I might see.’

‘Good, and I’ll do the same.’

‘You cannot trust anyone,’ Meena warned, nervously tapping her knee. ‘What happened to your brother... if it was a livahti, perhaps they are coming for you next?’

Jael frowned.

‘There is this,’ Meena muttered, slipping a hand back into her purse and pulling out a red and gold stone. It shimmered in the once again bright sunlight, as though made of liquid, revealing specks of blue and green. ‘A fire opal,’ she explained, seeing Jael’s puzzlement. ‘I dreamed of it. And you. I didn’t understand why at first, but then Dragmall arrived in Hest with one.’

Jael blinked in surprise. ‘Dragmall brought you this stone? From where?’

‘Inbollen,’ Meena said. ‘He was there with Else and touched one. He saw right away that I was looking for it, and he brought it to me.’

‘And do you trust it? This stone?’ Taking the mesmerising opal in her right hand, she rubbed it with her fingers, feeling a tingling sensation shoot up her arm.

‘I do, yes,’ Meena insisted with bulging eyes. She rarely professed certainty about anything, not wishing to expose herself to anyone’s wrath, though she felt in her heart that this stone was important. ‘To protect you from what will come. Protect and aid you, Jael. Your dreamer can help you,’ Meena added, remembering the blunt woman she had met in Hest. ‘Mattie. I am certain she can help you make a new sword.’

24

After her efforts on the river, conjuring up the angry god, Edela’s tonic quickly revived her, and she was once again focused on finding Raymon.

She had heard him say that he was being taken to Sarakat, which was the same place the seeress had directed her to. She wasn’t sure what that meant, though it was the only clue she had.

They had arrived at the busy Kadakian town of Naran-Cha, where Korri had sold his second ship and hired a few new hands for Sea Queen. There, he had seen to the dead while Edela and Siggy had tended to the injured. Those men were mostly back on their feet now, including their helmsman, Gunter, though Korri had suggested they remain until there was a direction to aim at. Edela had reluctantly agreed, for despite her fears for Raymon, she had no idea where Sarakat actually was.

The sprawling town pushed back from the river into the countryside, which was flatter and more like Osterland than anything they’d seen in a long while. They had paid to stay in an empty ship shed near the riverbank, big enough to fit the entire crew. It hadn’t come cheap, so after a few days of greedily sampling the food in Naran-Cha’s many markets and taverns, Korri and Bertel had led the crew into the forest, hoping to find a stream or even a lake, while Edela had taken Siggy to the shoemaker to pick up her new boots.

As they entered, a woman with a genial look and a bright red headscarf came forward to welcome them in, soon disappearing into the back room for Siggy’s boots.

Returning promptly with the pair in question, she saw the girl’s freckled face light up. ‘You will wear them now?’

Siggy glanced at Edela, who nodded. She had been coming out of her boots for weeks, and new ones had been desperately needed, though never in her life had she imagined being gifted a brand-new pair.

Taking the beautiful calfskin boots, she hurried to a stool and sat down.

Edela smiled at the woman. ‘Is there somewhere I could go for information?’ she asked discreetly. ‘I am searching for someone, you see. And a place. No one seems to know where either are. I... if there was someone I could ask?’

The shoemaker’s wife glanced over her shoulder at the door, where she could hear her husband hard at work, hammering away. She turned back quickly. ‘There is a woman... on Reeyu Alley. Look for the sign of the eye.’ And with her own eyes sweeping the floor, she backed away nervously.

Edela had little time to wonder what was troubling her, for Siggy was soon jumping around in her new boots. ‘They fit then?’

‘They are wonderful!’ Siggy exclaimed, feeling like a new person. And now she rushed up to Edela, squeezing her. ‘Thank you so much!’

Edela was pleased to see her joy. Everything had felt so gloomy and dark in the never-ending rain, so it was wonderful to see a glimpse of something bright. Taking Siggy’s arm, she leaned in close. ‘Now we must go and find our answers. I have heard of someone we can try.’

Jael’s conversation with Meena had turned everything upside down.

Walking back to Saala’s fort, she had taken the dreamer into the hall. The injured were being brought inside now, and deciding that she could be of use, Meena removed her cloak and got to work.

Jael went in search of Rexon and Karsten. She saw no sign of the former but soon found the latter.

‘He’s gone off,’ Karsten explained. ‘Taken a horse and ridden away.’

Jael didn’t blame him.

‘And you? I expect there’s no time for you to disappear?’ Karsten said quietly as they headed for the shelter of a weaver’s porch. Drizzle had suddenly turned into heavy rain, blown about on a gusting wind, and everyone was scattering.

Turning around, Jael was relieved to see Col, who had been coming and going all morning. ‘Can you take this to the hall?’ she asked her steward. And bending over, she groaned, shrugging off her mail shirt. Col carefully gathered up the precious armour, and ducking his head, he ran back to the hall.

Seeing Jael’s wrenched face, Karsten peered at her. ‘Are you injured?’

She laughed. ‘The joy of being a slave. Men with whips...’

‘Whips?’ Karsten ran a hand down his beard. ‘Sounds painful.’

‘Mmmm. Another reason for you to outlaw slavery in Hest once and for all.’

He snorted. ‘And who would come then? Lords and merchants come with their ships of slaves. One to tend to this, another to tend to that. I may not have them myself anymore, though I’ve little inclination to tell others what to do.’ He raised a blonde eyebrow, peering at her.

‘And who killed Amma?’ Jael wanted to know. ‘In Angard?’

Glancing around, Karsten was silent. He’d felt on edge since Amma’s death, feeling more aware of his own mortality than he had in years. And looking at Jael, who had lost both her brother and sister-in-law, he knew those threats had to be taken seriously. ‘The only clue is the healer who lied about her lord. About why she was in Angard. About who she was.’

‘Though such a woman wouldn’t have killed Amma on her own. Someone else was involved.’

Karsten agreed, turning to see the rain coming down in sheets now, driving everyone away from the square. ‘She could only have been in the employ of an enemy. I’ve been trying to find out who. Meena says she’s helping, though she has no answers about that. Which comes as no surprise of course.’

‘Perhaps, though she’s been helpful in other ways,’ Jael promised.

Beside her, Karsten grunted. ‘Is it just your family?’ he mused, still thinking of what happened in Angard. ‘Or is someone coming for all of us?’

Jael hadn’t considered that. She’d thought everything was about the Furycks, but what if it wasn’t? ‘You need to stay safe. I’ve never been sure of Herold Valens –’

‘Herold Valens is a buffoon but a wily one. It’s why I married his daughter. I want a say in what happens in the South. And you?’

Jael sighed. ‘I want a moment to think.’ Everything hurt, in her heart and in her body, and she just wanted to sink into a hot bath and sob until the pain left her.

How could she ever get anything done while this pain lingered, chipping away at her?

‘We’ve been allies for years now, you and I,’ she said eventually. ‘An alliance forged in the blood of the Vale.’ He nodded. ‘I trust you. Am I wrong to?’

Karsten pointed to his eye patch. ‘Before the Vale, I would have said so, but we both lost that day. Before it, and after it too. Our families are hanging on by threads now, Jael. Our kingdoms need us. And though I hate to say it as a proud Hestian, I believe we might just need each other.’

Jael thought so too. ‘Good.’ She clasped his arm. ‘You need to listen to Meena. And be careful, Karsten. Whoever that healer was, she may strike again.’

Bram found Fyn in the stables, where he was stabbing mucky straw with a pitchfork and flinging it into a pile as though it had done something to him. Snapper was running around, burrowing underneath it, oblivious to his master’s sour mood. ‘Still mad?’ he grinned.

Spinning around in surprise, fork in the air, Fyn looked embarrassed, shoulders sagging. ‘Just at myself,’ he admitted. ‘I lost control.’

‘So I hear,’ Bram said, coming forward, and taking the fork from his son, he leaned it against a stall door. ‘Though it’s understandable enough. You lost a friend in Axl, you lost your mentor in Jael. It’s all been a bit strange lately.’

Glancing at the open doors, Fyn frowned. ‘I know that,’ he mumbled. ‘But it’s Haral. There’s something about him. I punched him because of him, not me.’

‘Because of Milla? Because she’s shown an interest in him?’

Fyn stepped back, ready to shake his head, to argue or be offended, though he couldn’t deny that it bothered him. ‘Milla’s entitled to think what she likes about Haral, but I think he’s trouble. Trouble for her, trouble for Eadmund.’

‘For Eadmund?’

‘I don’t trust him or Stig. Any of them. It’s too strange, coming here. They ask a lot of questions, always looking around.’

‘Mmmm, it’s called visiting, my son. People tend to do that when visiting, especially long lost family members they didn’t know about.’ Bram laughed, bending down to give Snapper a scratch, and when he had his attention, he slipped a hunk of salt fish out of his pouch. The puppy almost bit off his hand, scurrying away as though he’d captured a great prize, and smiling at that, Bram straightened up. ‘I’ve got my own reservations, you know that, but you need to apologise to Haral. That’s what I think. He’s the king’s cousin, his guest. You owe the man an apology.’

Fyn looked ready to argue as he stared his father down. He hadn’t grown up with Bram, he hadn’t known he was his real father, though in the few years they’d been together as father and son, he’d learned to respect him, and he’d come to trust his judgement. ‘Alright.’

Bram smiled. ‘Now you finish up here, then like a good father, I’ll take you to the hall to make it right.’

Edela and Siggy walked in silence, though Edela could hear the girl’s worries as they passed beneath a stone archway hanging with wind chimes.

Listening to the seeress in Uram had cost lives, and Edela certainly shared Siggy’s hesitancy about seeking help again. The rain and wind continued unabated, and the chimes clashed like a warning bell.

Which had Edela’s senses tingling.

They followed the arch into a tunnel, leading to steps up to a long row of shops. The further they walked, the less appealing those shops became. Many appeared abandoned, broken doors hanging off hinges, rubbish littered inside. Edela pulled Siggy close, feeling everything become darker, narrower. Men loitered in doorways, and standing outside one, she saw a woman with her dress undone, breasts swinging as she turned to clout another woman around the ear. ‘Perhaps we should go back?’ she fretted, looking away, though in the next moment, she spied a small wooden sign creaking back and forth in the wind, marked with the sign of the eye. ‘We...’

Siggy felt nervous but curious. ‘We should try.’

They hurried forward, out of the alley, stepping carefully down a short flight of slippery stone steps and into a dark, cramped shop.

Not a shop, Edela realised as she glanced around, eyes adjusting.

It was a treasure trove.

A fire burned in a stone hearth, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling shelves stuffed with scrolls and books. A diminutive woman with a beaming face stood on a ladder, welcoming them inside. She hurried down the ladder, suddenly appearing even smaller, swamped by an enormous red dress. Though what she lacked in height, she made up for with a surprisingly cheerful manner, her face glowing like an inviting fire. ‘How delightful!’ she exclaimed in the common tongue. ‘New faces. I do enjoy seeing new faces! Please, take a seat and tell me how I can help you. I have kerrap,’ she said, motioning to a tray of tiny glass goblets filled with a greenish liquid. ‘Have you tried it before?’

Both Edela and Siggy politely declined, and sitting down on a cushioned bench, inhaling a flowering aroma that was most welcome, they fixed their eyes on the woman.

‘I am Alvina,’ she smiled, sitting before them, and after taking a moment to arrange her dress, she helped herself to a goblet. ‘Not from here originally, as you may be able to tell! I married a Kadakian and made my home here. It is a pleasant place when it’s not raining! Now please, I sense your urgency. How may I help you today?’

Edela glanced around the room, seeing no symbols, though she felt wary nonetheless. ‘You are a seeress?’

Alvina laughed. ‘No! Oh, certainly no. I have insight rather than the sight. I am simply rich in knowledge. People come to me with questions. I like to learn and to share what I discover.’

Feeling encouraged, Edela carried on. ‘Have you heard of a place called Sarakat?’

Alvina’s eyes, which had been wide with enthusiasm, suddenly narrowed. ‘You know of Sarakat?’

Glancing at Siggy, Edela was confused. ‘Should I not?’

Alvina leaned forward. ‘Sarakat is the Goddess of Secrets.’

‘A goddess?’ Edela was further confused. ‘Not a place?’

‘Well, actually, it is both. There is a temple run by women. The Secret Sisters of Sarakat they are called, for they have hidden themselves away, pursuing a life of worship to the goddess. They do not leave their temple, and only those chosen by the goddess are offered a place there.’ Turning around, she motioned to her many shelves. ‘You see how much knowledge I have stored here? Centuries of it from all over Varmyr. It was my father’s collection, and when he died, it became mine. I can tell you about many things and countless places, but I have little knowledge of Sarakat.’

Edela was intrigued. ‘And is the goddess... good?’

Alvina chuckled. ‘Well, I suspect you know there is often a fine line between good and evil. It depends on what you read. On who. The idea that Sarakat collects secrets, answers and cures, well, I expect some would find that evil. For why not share what may help those who are suffering? Others suggest she does it to keep us safe from dark forces, for knowledge can be used to both heal and harm.’

The fire spat, and Siggy jumped.

Placing her goblet on the table, Alvina smiled. ‘I have long been seeking more knowledge of Sarakat myself. She is a great mystery, as is her temple.’ Seeing Edela’s disappointment, she felt bad, and standing, she hurried to her ladder, climbing it until she found a scroll. Bringing it back to the old woman, tied with a black ribbon, she smiled. ‘This may help. It is about her. Her and the Kadakian gods. I have made many.’

Edela took the scroll with a nod, reaching into her purse.

She paid a grateful Alvina, and after expressing her thanks, she turned to leave.

‘I wish you luck!’ the woman called after her. ‘And if you do manage to find the temple or anything about the goddess, you must come back and tell me!’

With a nod, Edela led Siggy up the steps, down the miserable alley, and back out into the rain, neither speaking until they were well on their way to the ship shed.

Siggy’s new boots were soon caked in mud, soaked through to her socks, and any joy or hope she had previously felt had been extinguished like a splash of rain down a smoke hole. ‘What will we do now?’ she wanted to know, slipping her arm through Edela’s. ‘How will we find Raymon if he’s being hidden by the Goddess of Secrets?’

Edela chuckled. ‘Don’t despair, dear Siggy. If anyone can uncover such a secret, it is certainly a dreamer!’

Rexon returned to the hall that evening, knowing the Saalans needed to see their lord, though his memories of the place eventually drove him from his seat and out through the open doors.

Jael didn’t doubt he needed a reprieve from the attention. Everyone thought to say something, and those who couldn’t find the courage to speak either stared or whispered to their friends.

It was inescapable.

Though he’d certainly sought a break from it.

Yet, knowing that, she’d still followed him through the fort and down onto the beach. Karsten hadn’t stayed long, knowing that Meena needed to return to her children, so the Hestian ships were gone, though Rexon’s four ships remained.

He didn’t make for them, instead walking down to the gently lapping water.

And now he stopped and turned around.

In the moonlight, Jael saw grief like a mask over his face. He no longer looked like himself. Something had broken, and she knew he would never be the same again. ‘I don’t think you want to stay,’ she said quietly. ‘Here.’ She could hear people in the distance, putting away tools and shooing animals back to pens and cottages.

‘Would you?’

Jael shook her head. ‘No.’ She came closer now, until they were standing before one another in the moonlight, which revealed tears in Rexon’s swollen eyes.

And sensing that, he wiped them away, soon turning from her to look back at the sea.

‘Then come with me. Don’t stay. Fulk would be happy to take on Saala. You don’t have to remain here.’

Rexon tensed; he’d never been one to shy away from his responsibilities.

‘You can always return. Besides, there’s Mutt Storman to see to –’

Rexon swung around, almost grabbing her. ‘You know something?’

‘I have information from his man here. The leader. He’s earned a quick death for telling me what he knew.’ She saw Rexon flinch as she carried on. ‘Mutt sent word that he’s headed for Hallow Wood. Back to their old settlement there. Mutt and every one of his allies in need of sanctuary.’

‘So he’s not with Oren Storgard?’

‘Not according to his man.’

‘And you believed him?’

Jael nodded. ‘His words matched his thoughts, and it makes sense. Mutt will go back to what he knows. Oren Storgard failed, and he failed with him. I’m not sure what he’ll do next, but we’ll never have a better time to find him. Come with me,’ she urged. ‘Back to Andala. We’ll sail up the coast, put everything in order, and once we reach the fort, we’ll prepare the army. Quickly, I promise. We’ll take the full army into Hallow Wood and tear it apart until we find him. Then he’s yours. I want Oren Storgard, but you’re welcome to Mutt Storman.’

Rexon stared at her.

Despair was a storm whirling around him, and he felt himself becoming lost, knowing he wanted to die more than he wanted to live.

He needed to feel something else. To be driven by it.

The thing he heard in Jael’s voice.

She stepped forward, and the moon illuminated her eyes, and he saw cold, hard fury in them.

And he nodded.

PART III

THE WITCH IN THE WOODS

25

Something waited in Hallow Wood.

Mattie could feel it.

She may just have been telling herself tales. Convincing herself that every story of creatures and dark forces within that mysterious web of trees was, in fact, reality.

Though as she walked down a well-worn path, boots making no sound, she felt chilled to the bone.

Not with cold but fear.

Gant had been captured in Hallow Wood, and his men had been killed by the dreamer who’d lived there. And now?

Was Gunnhild alive? After her encounter with Helga, had she survived and returned to her cottage?

Head twisting left and right, Mattie listened intently.

Twigs snapped underfoot, branches scraping against each other.

Flapping wings, rustling leaves. The odd snuffle and squeak.

Her hearing was that of a bat.

She felt aware of everything as she now left the path behind and headed deeper into the trees, alert and ready to run.

Turning back around, her mind wandered to Fyn Gallas, and furious with herself for allowing him into her trance, she hurried to refocus. Though his face was immediately before her again.

Shaking her head, she barely noticed the odd sound at first.

And then she realised that it was familiar.

The sound of chimes.

On his journey through Northern Brekka, Gant had been inundated with news of Oren Storgard and his allies, though much of it had been conflicting. Gossip spread by whispers tended to stray far from any truth it purported to share.

Some said Oren Storgard was missing, others that he was back in Ollsvik.

One man had even suggested that he’d been taken to the island of Ahlyn and was recovering there.

Gant didn’t know what to believe, and he was disappointed to see that, upon his return, Mattie hadn’t been able to tell him.

Gisila was an exhausted mess, suffering horrendous nightmares, and once woken, she couldn’t get back to sleep. She was frail and fragile, and he’d mostly sat up watching her.

Leaving his poor wife finally sleeping, he trudged to the training ring, feeling a level of exhaustion he hadn’t experienced in years. His thoughts were all over the place, and he didn’t notice the sun rising like a fiery fog in the distance, though he did see Erling Venberg waiting for him. The man wasn’t dressed to train, he carried no weapon, and Gant sighed.

‘I need to speak to you,’ Erling began.

‘About your sister? Though what else is there to say? Until Jael returns, nothing changes. You know that. I told you that, Erling, as I told your parents only yesterday.’

‘But she is with child! She is carrying Brekka’s rightful heir!’

Gant stepped closer until his nose was almost touching Erling’s. ‘The heir to Brekka’s throne is Jael’s daughter, as you well know. The queen’s child, not your sister’s. The baby Eren is carrying may well be Axl’s. No one will dispute what she wishes to say about the father, but it will never be Brekka’s heir, and you will never be regent here. And if you don’t abandon this path you seem intent upon forging for yourself and your family, you will find yourselves cast out. Outlawed. Is that what you wish? For your mother and father to be tossed out like Mutt Storman all those years ago?’

An outraged Erling gaped at Gant. ‘Outlawed? But the Venbergs have been –’

‘Here since the Furycks settled Andala?’ a tired Gant snapped, losing all patience now. ‘I’m well aware of who your family is, Erling. Your parents have never shied away from talking about it. Yet we are not living in the past, we are living now, where Jael is the queen. She is Ranuf’s daughter. Brekka is her birthright.’ A snarling Erling turned away, though Gant wasn’t finished, grabbing his arm. ‘By the time the queen returns, you’d best be thinking differently, or she’ll see to it that you’re all gone. I promise you, Erling. Make a better choice and make it today. Your sister is being well-cared for, so think of other things. Like how you can help put the fort back together or prepare the army for what comes next. Hal certainly has. But you? What is going to become of you?’ And with that, Gant stepped back, studying the dark-haired young man with a look of distaste. He thought about simply returning to the hall and crawling back into bed with Gisila.

Though better to let her sleep.

And with that, he slipped into the training ring, heading for the weapons’ shed, leaving Erling Venberg and his complaints far behind.

Once Osterland had been called Tuura.

A land ruled by elders, who presided over the dreamers.

Dreamers, who had been touched by the gods, receiving messages for the elders to pass on to their people.

The great kingdoms in the Fire Lands and in Osterhaaven were offensive to Tuurans, who saw no need for kings and queens and the different gods they worshipped.

Battles had raged when the Furycks had come.

And they had come for centuries, taking from the land and from its people long before the volcanoes had ever threatened Osterhaaven.

Those battles had intensified when Arnor Furyck led his people to safety in Tuura, making a new home.

Tuura’s proud elders, dreamers, and warriors had fought back, engaging in violent battles from north to south – none more bloody than the one that took place over weeks in what was now known as Hallow Wood.

Hallow for the dead.

Thousands and thousands of dead men lay buried beneath Hallow Wood, once a battlefield, and then a field of blood and bones, of lost souls. Of bodies buried in soil, covered by time.

Of dragur.

Cursed by the Elderman of Tuura, cursed by his dreamers, cursed by their gods, those bodies lay deep in the earth, spirits trapped in corpses with no hope of ever reaching the Afterlife. Though when raised, they were an unstoppable army of death...

Mattie followed the sound of the chimes deeper into the woods, inhaling smoke and something foul. She soon recognised the clearing and Gunnhild’s cottage. She saw the outbuildings leading around to the enormous tree, where those chimes were chinking a warning.

Tendrils of smoke twirled through a hole in the thatched roof, amber light showing in the window.

An orange cat stalked down the handful of steps before her, and she gulped, quickly spinning around. No one was behind her, but as she turned back, she saw someone coming out of the cottage behind the cat.

An old woman.

Hunched over, she was fussing with a headscarf, pulling it around her face. The wind was playing with it, though, tugging it away from her, and Mattie saw to her horror that the old woman was Gunnhild.

She wondered what had happened to her or when this even was, though suddenly fearing she might be seen, she tried to move.

Gunnhild’s head snapped around, and turning in Mattie’s direction, she stared, frowning.

Mattie froze, hoping that Edela’s herbs had done as she’d promised in her book and kept her invisible.

The dreamer appeared to be looking straight through her, and seemingly satisfied that there was no threat or danger, she turned away. Watching her go, eyes peeled open, Mattie saw a mark on her arm. It was a vicious wound and freshly made, not covered by the sleeve of Gunnhild’s dress, and she knew that this was now, for Helga had cut the dreamer there. Cut her and tried to kill her.

She hadn’t, though she had certainly changed her.

Twisting around, Gunnhild glared at the cottage, and soon an old couple hurried through the door, quickly following after her. The dreamer pointed in the distance, and they moved ahead of her. Mattie made to follow, though something stopped her, and looking down, she saw a line of symbols marked into the earth.

She needed to move through the magical barricade, to follow after Gunnhild, but in the next moment, everything before her exploded in a flash of white light.

Sailing up Brekka’s coastline, retaking each fort and settlement at a furious pace, there had been blood.

Discomfort and exhaustion on a level that had drained them all.

It had rained for days, then the sun had returned and burned their skin.

Attacking Borsund, Skorn, and Rosby, Jael had lost men, though not as many as she would have if Mattie’s symbol stones hadn’t been so effective. There had been something satisfying about watching faces change from hatred and anger to confusion as Gunnhild’s spell was broken, knowing that more and more Brekkans had been reclaimed – the kingdom slowly and steadily made whole once more.

It had taken nearly three weeks, though it was only the beginning. Jael needed to understand what plans Oren Storgard and Ronin Sardis were making, to make her own plans for Mutt Storman.

Though first, there was Andala.

Making her way from the docks to the square had taken longer than she’d expected, though she could no longer simply rush by those she passed. Now the Queen of Brekka, a sole ruler, she had to give more of herself. More than just victories and cursory glances.

She had to give the people her time.

Eventually, having smiled until her face became rigid, her patience wearing thin, she headed to the hall, where Gant waited on the steps beside Aedan.

Kolarov stood further back with Pye and Linas. More people were hurrying out of the hall, and she soon saw Gerald and Mattie.

Stiff and sore, Jael thought she might need to be peeled out of her clothes.

She had certainly grown tired of her armour. Of nothing truly feeling like hers. She’d left everything she owned on Oss, partly because, despite every word and promise, she simply couldn’t believe it was the end of her time there.

That Oss and Eadmund were now in the past.

Memories.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Rexon, who looked much the same as he had every day of their journey. All light in his eyes had died in Saala.

They hadn’t spoken of his family or of Jael’s. They had simply focused on the fight before them, which in itself had been cathartic. New lords had been installed where necessary, and piece by piece, they had secured Brekka’s coastline once more.

She yawned, legs wobbling, feeling sleepy in the hazy morning sunshine. Summer was in its final throes, and she knew she had to consider the harvest. Bringing in the crops with speed and care was crucial, and it always required a great number of hands.

Could she get to Hallow Wood and back in time?

If she left quickly, she thought so, though it was going to take a mammoth effort.

‘How are you?’ Gant asked, coming forward. And looking past her, he was surprised to see Rexon, quickly knowing what that meant. Rexon avoided his eyes, so Gant refocused on Jael. ‘How did it go?’

She didn’t answer, blinking suddenly, her attention snapping to where Mattie was staring at her with concern in her eyes. ‘Where is Gisila? Where is my mother?’

The past few weeks on Oss had been as unpleasant as Fyn could remember.

Only Snapper had made it bearable.

After his fight with Haral, who even now bore bruises and a broken rib, most had given him a wide berth, whispering as he passed. Milla certainly had, spending her time with a recovering Haral, who, as far as Fyn was concerned, was milking every drop of sympathy he could.

He just wanted the Erviks to go.

Stig had made the odd comment about needing to leave, suggesting those he’d left in charge of his steading would need him at harvest time.

Which was fast approaching.

Bram had barely been in their cottage, and seeing the way he was looking at a glowing Ayla, he doubted that would change any time soon.

Snapper had already doubled in size. He’d finally stopped biting his nose, though he was still happily biting everything and everyone else. Though despite the mess and the disturbances he caused, Fyn enjoyed his company. When he turned around now, he simply expected the puppy to be there, so it was a surprise when, walking to the Svanters’ house that morning, he turned to find him gone.

‘Snapper!’ he called. ‘Snapper?’

Haral headed towards him, golden hair sweeping away from his still bruised face. He strutted about like a man who belonged on Oss now, with a confidence that made Fyn wild. Though after what had happened in the Pit, he’d learned to keep his temper in check. It had never troubled him before, though he was certain he’d never met a man who irritated him as much.

‘It’s gone to the hall,’ Haral told him. ‘Chasing after Eadmund’s dogs.’

Fyn eyed him, nodding, and made to turn around, knowing that Biddy wouldn’t welcome a visit from Snapper and his uncontrollable bladder.

‘Milla and I are off for a ride,’ Haral smiled. ‘Might be my last one.’

Fyn’s eyebrows shot up; he felt a sudden lift. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘According to my grandfather. There’s a lot to do in Vartna. I thought we’d stay longer, but there’s always a lot to do.’

‘And here,’ Fyn said.

‘He’ll miss it,’ Haral added. ‘Mostly the food. Though also the company...’ And hearing hooves, he turned with a satisfied smile, seeing Milla heading towards him, leading two horses.

Milla nodded briefly at Fyn before fixing her attention on Haral.

Since the fight in the Pit, they’d barely spoken, though Milla had made her feelings known. He supposed he didn’t blame her, and hurriedly mumbling something about needing to find Snapper, he turned and headed to the hall.

Gant led Jael into the King’s Hall, where everyone bobbed heads and bowed as their new queen passed, no one speaking – not even to each other.

Though Jael barely noticed, her attention focused on what Gant was saying. ‘Losing her mind? What do you mean?’

Gant had stopped her in the corridor, holding her by the grey curtain. ‘What happened with Axl and Amma was too much. It’s as though something broke inside her, and she’s barely left her bed. Certainly not the chamber. I would carry her outside if I thought it would help, but to be seen this way by everyone? If she was in her right mind, she wouldn’t want that.’

Jael felt blindsided.

It was enough to come back to Andala instead of going to Oss.

Enough to still be without her children, to know she would always be without her husband. That her brother was dead.

But losing her mother?

‘Perhaps seeing you will help? She asks about you constantly, hoping for word. I hated being away from her.’

‘And is everything secure up north?’

Gant nodded. ‘There were no problems. Mutt Storman hadn’t moved past Trelleg. That was real enough.’

‘Good.’

‘And you? Any word about that bastard? Any sign?’

‘Everything points to him being back in Hallow Wood. He’s gathering men around him there. And Oren Storgard? Anything about him?’

‘Too much, and none of it lines up. Though it all points to him being alive.’

Jael was pleased to hear it, and with that, she left Gant behind and headed down the corridor towards her mother’s chamber.

Getta stood up when she opened the door. ‘Oh.’ She looked stunned to see her bedraggled cousin, the queen, standing before her. The chamber was dark, thick curtains drawn, and the light Jael had ushered in was blinding.

Not to mention the smell.

Gisila lay on the bed with her back to the door.

A small figure, Jael thought, thinking of Edela.

Her mother had always been tall, a woman of elegance and poise, though whoever lay in that bed was no one she recognised.

‘You are well, Getta?’ Jael inquired brusquely.

She nodded, already moving to the door. ‘Yes, and yourself? You were successful?’

‘We were. Though it is only the beginning.’ She looked from her cousin to the bed. ‘I must speak to Gisila alone.’

And with a bob of her head, Getta hurried through the door, quietly closing it behind her.

Seeing no movement, Jael became more concerned. She heard no sounds of sleeping, though her mother would surely have heard her voice.

Walking around the bed, she crouched down, seeing her staring at the wall, eyes wide open. Mad eyes. Not angry or disapproving. Not sad.

Mad.

Not her mother.

‘Sit up,’ Jael told her, and gently taking Gisila’s arm and awkwardly wrapping it around her shoulders, she lifted her into a sitting position.

Gisila didn’t even blink, didn’t acknowledge her daughter.

Her gaze remained fixed on the wall.

‘I’ve come back,’ Jael said. ‘I’m safe, here with you again. And this is where I’m going to remain now, in Andala, with you and Gant. Soon Biddy will come with the children and the dogs, and we’ll all start again. All of us together.’

Gisila turned to her with a wretched expression now, holding a hand up to her cheek, fingers like claws. ‘You will die,’ she whispered. ‘You will die, Jael. It is my fate and yours. The gods told me I would watch my children die. They told me. Whispered to me. I was to be punished, they said. I would watch my children die!’ And now she took that claw of a hand and hit herself in the face.

‘Mother!’ Jael grabbed Gisila’s hand, pulling it down to her side. ‘No!’ She was angry at first. Afraid. And then she lifted a hand to her hair, smoothing it. Her vain mother had always been so proud of her long brown hair, vesting great importance in such trivial things. And here, a dishevelled wreck, a recluse, Jael could see how lost she truly was. She brought Gisila’s head towards hers, resting it on her shoulder. ‘The gods are wrong,’ she promised gently. ‘Have you ever known me to let you down, Mother? Me? But I’m never going to leave you. I won’t.’ Tears flooded her eyes. ‘Those who seek to hurt us will be stopped, I swear it to you. Axl and Amma, father and the boys are gone, but not us. Not you and me.’

Looking at Gisila, she turned her head until they were facing each other. Seeing the tears streaming down her mother’s sunken cheeks, she wiped them away. ‘You must trust me now. I’m here, Mother. I will keep myself safe. For Brekka and for my children, and for you. I promise I will.’

Gisila inhaled an almighty breath, collapsing into her daughter’s arms. ‘Oh, Jael! Please don’t die! I beg you! Please!’

Jael pulled her mother close, stroking her hair, unable to see through her own tears now, though she could still see those taunting pyres in her mind. ‘I won’t. I swear it to you, Mother. I’m not going anywhere.’

26

Raymon kept glancing at his locked chamber door, desperate for it to open.

The fog of his illness was long behind him. Not an illness, he knew, but a poisoning of the blood. His left arm was weak and often still ached, though the sisters had saved it, along with his life.

Shaking his head, looking out the window instead, he thought of how close he had come to death in its many forms since that night escaping Ollsvik. Perhaps Furia was trying to punish him, he thought suddenly?

He wouldn’t have blamed her.

Sitting in his bed, barely able to move and mostly alone, he’d certainly had time to consider what he’d done. It had given him a perspective that was both embarrassing and welcome, and he knew that, given another chance, he would’ve done things differently.

Entirely so.

He hadn’t suddenly rediscovered his love for Getta or a renewed desire to be a king, though he wouldn’t have run.

If he could do it all over again, he wouldn’t have run away.

Eyes closing, he felt the deep weariness that had come from being trapped in the chamber for so long. He had seen nothing of the mysterious temple, just the view of a gloomy garden. The chamber itself was austere, with none of the adornments he’d seen in Bhyan, though despite its deprivations and his isolation, he’d found a peace that he’d long needed.

And a surprising friendship.

Opening the door with clumsy enthusiasm, Irina hobbled into the chamber, carrying a jug of ale.

Raymon’s face was at once alight, and not just because of the ale.

Irina Sardis had been visiting him regularly since he’d taken ill. Out of curiosity and in the company of the incredibly tall and dour Sister My, at first, and then, thankfully, on her own.

‘You are well?’ Irina asked with a smile. ‘You look better than this morning. The broth would have helped.’

Raymon shuddered as she pulled a stool towards the bed, leaving the jug on his bedside table. ‘It was bright yellow. Tasted strange.’

‘Turmeric,’ Irina explained. ‘A healing spice. The sisters use it in everything.’

‘And your mother?’

Things shifted between them then.

‘She is no different,’ Irina said quietly, looking down at her hands. She laughed awkwardly. ‘Though she is your jailer, so I do not seek sympathy about that.’

Raymon peered at the young woman, who had the kindest face he’d ever seen. She was plain featured, he thought critically, but her smile was so genuine and warm that she almost glowed with goodness. Her hair was golden, her cheeks plump, and her grey-blue eyes were alert and interested. Until Dessalene was mentioned, and then she became quieter and more withdrawn. ‘And you still don’t know what ails her?’

‘Something magical,’ Irina whispered, turning to look at the closed door. ‘I heard that much, but I’m not sure how magic makes you ill. Especially if you’re the one using it.’

Raymon shrugged, wincing.

‘Does your arm hurt?’

‘Sometimes, though I expect it won’t matter soon. Your mother seeks to kill me or have her husband do so. Unless I can escape before she recovers, unless my friends can find me, I won’t live long.’

Irina’s awkwardness became more pronounced. ‘I don’t know why she wants to hurt you,’ she admitted. ‘I... I am sorry. I don’t know why they would do such a thing.’

‘Because of my real father, from what she said. Because I’m a Furyck.’

Irina didn’t understand. Again, she glanced at the door.

Though not wanting her to leave, Raymon quickly changed the subject. ‘Do you like it here then? At the temple? I’ve no idea what it’s like, apart from that garden,’ he said, pointing to the window. ‘Looks miserable.’

Irina’s face brightened again, and she laughed. ‘When I was a girl, I lived in grand palaces, dressed in the most ridiculous clothes. My mother tried to hide me from everyone, though my father cared for me. Ronin. He gave me animals and toys and jewels, but I preferred to learn things. So he bought books and scrolls and employed tutors, though Dessalene decided I should come here instead.’ She leaned forward then, whispering. ‘This place is a secret, you know, though my mother was able to uncover its location. She is useful in that way.’ Then, feeling worried, she stopped smiling. ‘I was not chosen by the goddess to live here,’ she admitted. ‘It was my mother’s gifts and my father’s gold that secured my place.’ And now she frowned. ‘Perhaps that’s why I’ve never truly fit in? Because I don’t belong...’

Raymon had thought she was happy here, though seeing sadness in her eyes, he leaned forward. ‘So you wish for a different future then? Not to become a sister?’

Irina smiled. ‘I want to be a healer. Helping people makes me happy. Perhaps a healer of animals too? Though here, I cannot be myself. I am told to keep quiet, discouraged from making friends. There are many women in the temple, though after three years, I don’t know any of them.’

‘But once your mother recovers, we will leave.’

Irina was thoughtful. ‘Yes.’

‘And go to?’

‘Bandar, where my father is. It’s an island fortress built for war, and I want no part in that. No part in whatever they’re planning, my father and his lords. He will want to marry me to one. I am nineteen now. I fear he will try to marry me to one.’

Now Raymon glanced at the door, feeling desperate. ‘Though what if there was another way? A way we could both seek our freedom...’

That evening, Eadmund threw a feast in the hall.

His guests would be leaving in the morning, and knowing how fond Stig was of Rilda’s cooking, he’d wanted to send him off stuffed to the brim.

Fyn had barely visited the hall since he’d broken Haral’s nose, and he’d rarely taken his meals there, though Eadmund had insisted he show his face.

The meal itself had stretched to five courses, and Rilda had outdone herself with every one. There were platters of crab and shrimp, tureens of nettle soup with dumplings, salted herring and sea birds, as well as numerous loaves of fresh bread. Mead had been heated and poured into copper vats, flavoured with apples and spices.

The smell was intoxicating and spoke of winter feasts, and of Vesta in particular.

Eadmund had even brought in the Horvast brothers – Magnus with his flute and Lekki with his drum. They were accompanied by their younger sister, Ava, who had recently acquired a lyre.

Fyn had enjoyed the music and eaten his fill, though he’d mainly spoken to Bram or fussed over Snapper, who’d been far too interested in what everyone was dropping on the floor to notice.

After the eating was done and the serious drinking was starting, Thorgils joined him by a brazier, where Snapper was asleep on his knee, and Ido and Vella lay at his feet. Jael’s dogs had been hanging around him since he’d returned from Andala, as though they expected him to lead them to her.

They seemed lost, as did the children, though Biddy remained her ever-vigilant self, working to look after them all, and especially Eadmund, who stood between Bram and Stig, locked in an intense debate.

Thorgils turned to Fyn. ‘What happened there?’ he wondered, inclining his head to where Milla stood with Haral, listening intently to whatever he was telling her, shoulders touching.

Fyn shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me.’ And standing up, he plopped a surprised Snapper on the ground, seeking an escape from the conversation.

Though standing himself and thumping a hand on his cousin’s shoulder, Thorgils held him there. ‘How do you think it works then? Marriage? Love? Anything? That you just shrug and people do it for you? Is that what you’re waiting for?’ He hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, though it infuriated him to see such defeat in Fyn’s eyes. He didn’t mind Haral Ervik, though the man was all show – anyone could see that. He paid Milla attention and wasn’t shy about it, and she naturally responded to his interest in her.

‘I’m not waiting for anything,’ Fyn hissed, hearing Milla giggling now. ‘I...’ He felt hot and uncomfortable, eyeing the doors. ‘I don’t have to do what anyone says, what anyone wants. Not Jael or you. Not Bram. Why don’t you just leave me alone!’ And as the hall hushed, heads turning to Fyn, he pushed past Thorgils and strode through the doors.

A half-asleep Snapper popped up his head, looking confused, though seeing that neither Ido nor Vella were moving, he flopped back onto the floor, immediately sound asleep.

Bram made his way to his nephew, who was staring after Fyn in surprise, and he wasn’t the only one. Milla’s mouth was open as she turned away from Haral, fixing her gaze on the doors.

‘What did you do?’ Bram wanted to know. ‘I told you to leave him be. He’s not himself. You know that.’

Thorgils could feel Isaura’s eyes on him, too, guessing she was thinking much the same. He lowered his voice. ‘Course I know, but he’s letting Haral decide things with Milla. The girl your son likes. Maybe loves.’

Bram shook his head, speaking in hushed tones. ‘You’re right, she is a girl, a nice girl, and there’s plenty of time to take a breath before you try and marry everyone off. Especially Fyn. You know what he’s been through. He’s as skittish as a foal, and you’re not helping by pushing him. And give Milla some say in things. It’s not all about Fyn. If she likes him, she’ll let him know.’

Thorgils looked away, though soon he felt Bram’s firm grip on his shoulder.

‘We all feel the loss of Jael,’ his uncle murmured. ‘And these visitors haven’t helped things. They’ll be gone tomorrow, and when they are, we can start again. Leave your cousin be. Maybe he’ll never marry, never be a father. I hope that’s not the case, but if it is, it would’ve been his choice, Thorgils. As a free man, he gets that choice. So leave him to it. If he decides he wants to say something to the girl, he will. Otherwise?’ Bram shrugged, seeing Ayla watching them.

And with a beaming smile, he shook his head.

‘Often it just takes a little time to realise that you’re going to have to fight for what you want. And everyone has to come to that place in their own time. Waging a battle’s never easy, especially if it’s against yourself.’

In Naran-Cha, the old ship shed provided more than enough room for Sea Queen’s crew to sleep, as well as Nellie and Alvi. Apart from the odd gaping hole in the roof, it was mostly dry, and though there were no mattresses, they’d made themselves comfortable using furs and cloaks and bales of hay.

The rain always found its way in, though it was better than sleeping on the ship.

The urgency of their chase for Raymon had been replaced by a strange kind of limbo because there were simply no clues to the mysterious Sarakat. Edela was doing her best to uncover its location, as was Siggy, and everyone continued to ask around, but despite offers of silver, no one could tell them a thing. Yet, in spite of the frustration of standing still, there was something restorative about it too. Naran-Cha was a populous town with much to offer, from busy markets trading new and exciting goods, to numerous taverns and inns. There were gaming houses and shops, and even forests for when it all became too much.

They had eaten well, and Gerulf appeared to be enjoying trying new ideas, ably assisted by Bertel, who always had something to say.

And as for Edela?

She was focused on her dreams, on being open to visions coming to her day and night. It left her in a daze much of the time, only half aware of what was happening around her.

‘Are you worried about dying?’ Zen asked, stacking logs beside the dreamer, who was bent over, repairing a hole in her dress.

An open-mouthed Edela looked up at him, struck by the bluntness of the question. He was a curious boy who enjoyed talking to her, though she hadn’t been expecting that.

‘Do you know how you will die?’ he carried on. ‘I’m not sure I’d want to know if I was a dreamer.’

Nearby, Siggy was tidying up the pile of kindling she’d just made, and she turned to him with a look of horror. ‘That’s not a question anyone wants to answer!’

Edela chuckled, shaking her head. ‘Well, I don’t mind answering it, my dear. The truth is, I’ve seen nothing about my end, which, I suppose, is rather odd. I am old, so I will die soon enough, though hopefully, I’ll see an end to Dessalene Sardis before I do.’

‘Die?’ Bertel croaked from where he was threading a wooden skewer through a small fish. ‘What?’

‘Zen wants to know when Edela thinks she’ll die!’ Siggy called to him.

‘Why?’ Bertel handed the fish to Gerulf and turned to glower at the boy. ‘Why would you ask such a thing?’ And now he left the cook behind, wanting to know what everyone was talking about.

Edela laughed. ‘Because he’s not afraid of the truth, and it’s a very real possibility. The dreamer hurt me, and none of us can deny that she may do so again. We were both injured in that fight and now? Likely, she’ll come back stronger. A woman like that?’ Edela remembered those strange blue eyes. They had shone with defiance, so smug and certain. Dessalene had been incredibly confident, and reminded of the pain she had caused her and the skillful way she had woven her magic, Edela thought she had every right to be. ‘It will be a challenge,’ she said, quieter now, thinking of both Raymon and Furia. ‘One I must not fail.’

‘You’ll have to kill her,’ Zen decided with a frown.

‘I will,’ Edela agreed. ‘Next time we meet, Dessalene Sardis must die.’

After that, there wasn’t much to say, and Zen returned to his log stacking, glowered at by both Siggy and Bertel.

Korri had been listening while doing his own repairing. He’d been carrying pouches of silver inside his cloak for too long and had torn holes in it. Now he placed it on a log and headed for the dreamer. ‘I expect your family would like to see you again,’ he said over her shoulder. ‘Safe and sound and back in Andala.’

She was surprised, turning to peer up at him.

‘If they could talk to you, I imagine they’d advise you to take care of yourself, Edela. They know you better than any of us. I expect they know what kind of woman you are.’

Edela narrowed her eyes.

‘A risk taker. Someone willing to risk her life to save others.’

She blinked, certain he was reading her thoughts.

And now Korri smiled. ‘I remember having a family. I know what it’s like to lose them, so I would hate for them to lose you. I suspect you’re very important to those who love you.’

A smiling Edela remembered her fussing daughters, who she missed terribly. ‘If they had their way, I’d be locked in my cottage. They don’t even think I can walk without help!’ she laughed. ‘The amount of times I’ve been prodded, checking to see whether I’m dead or merely having a nap!’ And now she couldn’t stop laughing.

She laughed so hard that her ribs started aching, and soon, Korri was laughing too.

‘What would they have made of you floating above that ship, I wonder? Or being possessed by the river god?’

Though Edela couldn’t stop laughing to answer.

Eventually, she took a breath as Bertel came over to find out what had happened. ‘Just thinking of my daughters,’ she told him. ‘And what they’d make of our adventures.’

‘And your granddaughter?’ Korri wondered. ‘The famous queen? What would she have to say?’

‘Jael?’ Now Edela’s smile brightened until her eyes shone. ‘Well, I imagine she would be standing beside me, and we’d be fighting off our enemies together.’

There had been so much for Jael to attend to upon her return to Andala that it wasn’t until the following morning that she found some time alone with Mattie.

She’d been too distracted to have many dreams on her journey up the coast. She still was, though they needed to discuss what she’d learned from Meena and to make a decision about Eren Venberg.

Sitting at the table in Mattie’s cottage, Jael passed her the sheet of vellum Meena had given her, and while the dreamer looked it over, she explained what she’d learned.

Mattie was gobsmacked, looking up at Jael, then down at the old sheet of vellum. ‘So you think the figure Eren saw was a...’ She looked down again. ‘Livahti?’ Jael nodded. ‘So it wasn’t Gunnhild who bound Eren? It was nothing to do with her?’

‘I can’t say for certain, but what Linas saw and what Helga told him makes it less likely that Eren was being controlled by a dreamer. If it was this livahti creature, it took on Eren’s form and tricked Axl into believing it was her. And in the forest, when Milla led me towards Arras, and I saw her smiling?’ Jael ran a hand over her mouth, feeling strange. ‘It wasn’t Milla. I feel sure of it now. I think it was a livahti. That it was in the girl. I don’t know for how long, but I’m sure it wasn’t Milla.’

Mattie shook her head, and hearing her cauldron boiling intensely behind her, she got up to add water to it. She’d started to enjoy cooking for Linas, and after a bumpy start, he appeared to be relishing the meals. Fish was his favourite, so they’d gone fishing together, catching an eel and a pike that morning. And now they were stewing behind her and would be for most of the day. ‘So you’ll free Eren then?’

Jael sighed. ‘After everything we’ve learned, I have little choice. She showed no sign that she’s not herself now. I’m guessing that’s still the case?’

Mattie nodded. ‘Her family will be relieved, and so will Ragnar. They’ve been at his door every day. And then Gant’s.’ Giving the stew a final stir, she came back to the table. ‘Though how will you explain it? I don’t think everyone needs to know about the livahti, do you? That you could be looking at a creature instead of someone you love? A creature who could kill you?’ She shuddered.

Jael agreed. ‘Meena said the livahti were enemies of the gods. A mistake Daala tried to undo. They discovered ways to ward themselves against them, ways to hurt and kill them. Some are on there,’ she said, pointing to the vellum. ‘I think we have to start with tattoos.’

Mattie looked up, blinking.

‘These symbols are protective,’ Jael said, running her finger over those at the top of the sheet. ‘And we need everyone to have one. Including Linas.’

Mattie nodded slowly, seeing the sense in that.

‘Have you met Marton Erby?’

Mattie shook her head.

‘I saw Linas with his brother, the rat catcher. Marton’s a tattooist, also a carver. Sometimes a jeweller. I think rather than send people to him, we could bring him here. It’s more discreet, so let’s organise it today. Whatever the livahtis’ plans are, I doubt they’re complete.’

That was a troubling thought, and Mattie’s frown deepened. ‘And Kalina and Pye? What will you do with them?’

Jael frowned, not wanting to think about them at all. ‘Kalina is certainly trouble, so she remains where she is, but Pye? He’s not going to volunteer anything about Dessalene and her husband, so we need to find a way to draw it out of him. We need to know more about their intentions.’

Mattie agreed, nodding vigorously. ‘Though there’s something else we must discuss first.’

Jael’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward. ‘Gunnhild.’

27

On Oss, the Erviks were leaving after what had been a torturously long visit for some.

Fyn was thrilled that Haral would soon be gone, though Milla didn’t appear to agree. Standing at a distance, some way from the ship, Fyn saw that she looked sad as she said goodbye to the young man.

Thorgils and Isaura stood on Fyn’s left, Ned’s red head poking up from his sling, strapped to Isaura’s chest. She fiddled with that hair as she lifted a hand to Ineko, who she’d gotten to know well. The girl loathed being married to an old man, and she hated the thought of having his child, and though Isaura didn’t think she’d changed her mind about either, she hoped she’d given her some confidence about becoming a mother.

She waved, watching her own children running about like dogs, chasing actual dogs, Ido, Vella, and Snapper, around the beach.

Elina crawled over the salty stones, sometimes picking them up and licking them until she was noticed by her mother, who sent Thorgils to grab her.

On Fyn’s right, Bram laughed. ‘You’ll be happy to see the back of them,’ he murmured to his son. ‘And me with you. I don’t care what they said. It all felt a bit strange to me.’

Fyn didn’t look his father’s way, watching Milla wrap her arms around herself as Haral boarded the small ship. ‘He had some talent with a sword,’ he supposed. ‘I hope it serves him well in his life as a trapper.’ And now he turned to Bram with a wink before leaving him behind to head towards Milla.

Returning to his wife and uncle with his protesting daughter, who contorted herself in fury, trying to escape her father’s arms, Thorgils raised an eyebrow. ‘So now Haral’s leaving, he’s finally going to say something to the girl?’

Bram shrugged. ‘You know how stubborn a Svanter can be! The boy doesn’t have my hair, but he does have that stubborn streak. We like to take our time, we do. Not to be moved along by anyone or anything. Not until we’re good and ready.’

‘Ahhh, so that’s why you haven’t asked Ayla to marry you yet?’ Thorgils wondered with a cheeky grin. ‘Waiting for the right moment? When you’re in the right mood?’

Bram’s eyes were sharp, snapping to his tall nephew. ‘Ayla? Didn’t say anything about Ayla.’ And with a grunt, he tousled Ned’s hair, gave a wailing Elina a sympathetic look, and turned back to the fort.

Isaura shook her head. ‘And what’s the other thing they say about Svanters? That they can’t stop putting their big feet into their even bigger mouths!’

Thorgils shrugged, and giving Elina a tickle, he flopped her over his shoulder like a tiny sack of grain. ‘Come on then! Who’s going to be first back to the fort?’ There was a muted response from the girls, and Mads ignored him entirely. ‘Well, looks like it’s going to be Elina!’ he called, louder now. ‘And what prize is she going to claim, I wonder? Maybe I’ll stop in at Ketil’s? See what she wants to eat!’

That was better, he saw, watching as the girls spun around, and Mads got a head start, soon racing past them.

And leaving Fyn behind, the Svanters headed for the hall.

Milla saw Fyn coming and she smiled shyly, for they hadn’t spoken more than a handful of words in weeks. ‘It will be strange without them! Don’t you think? They fit in here. More than I do.’

Stopping beside her, Fyn frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s true.’ Milla turned to wave at Haral with a look of longing, which Fyn noticed, and his temper sparked again. ‘Though you don’t have to stay here. You could go anywhere. Even up to Vartna. Become a trapper’s wife.’

Milla blanched. ‘Wife?’ She was nearly eighteen, and though it was a typical age for girls to get married, it wasn’t something she wanted. Not yet, at least. She’d certainly seen how miserable it made Ineko Ervik. ‘No, thank you.’ And with a frown, she left Fyn behind and hurried after Thorgils, Isaura, and the children.

Fyn sighed loudly, wondering if he was ever going to be able to say the right thing at the right time.

Standing near Stig’s ship, where an impatient Haral Ervik was attempting to hurry his grandfather along, Eadmund felt strange.

He’d had a message from Jael announcing her return to Andala.

And that meant she was ready to have the children and the dogs.

All of her possessions too.

He’d spent weeks unsuccessfully trying to push her out of his mind. He knew she would live in his heart until his last breath, but he had to think of other things, or he feared simply sinking into that pit of nothingness again.

Stig had actually helped.

Having him and his family here had distracted him many an evening, though now he was leaving, and soon the children and Biddy would head for Andala, and he would truly be alone.

‘Come and visit,’ Stig said with twinkling eyes. ‘Perhaps in the spring? Spring is good. Cold enough to make your eyes water, but I like the cold. Must be in the blood!’

Eadmund clapped him on the shoulder. ‘I might do that. Depending on how things are here.’

Stig nodded. ‘Well, either way, I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Eadmund. I expect you gave your father a lot of pride. You’re a good man and a fine king. He must be content in the Afterlife, knowing you’re keeping his throne warm.’

Eadmund laughed loudly, throwing back his head. ‘Oh, if he could have a word in your ear!’

Stig laughed along. ‘I doubt he’d say anything different. Surely?’

‘Well, he’d certainly be telling me to get moving. Today’s Lawgiving Day, and no doubt I’ve got a hall full of complainers to deal with.’ Though for all that it was a tedious chore, it would stop him thinking about Jael for a while. It would take his mind off saying goodbye to the children too.

He blinked, wondering if perhaps he should accompany them?

Then, looking away, he thought not.

Maybe he’d ask Thorgils or Fyn?

‘Well, goodbye,’ said Haral, who had hopped out of the ship to hurry his grandfather along. ‘Your hospitality was more than we ever expected, and the company was better than we hoped for,’ he added, eyes sweeping the beach until they rested on a departing Milla.

‘Come back anytime,’ Eadmund said. ‘If Stig can spare you.’

‘Likely not,’ Stig warned. ‘This was our adventure, wasn’t it, lad? When we get back, it’ll be all about the harvest. All about preparing for winter.’ He shivered with pleasure, looking forward to what lay ahead.

Beside him, a miserable Haral glowered, turning for the ship, where Ineko sat beside her old servant, glaring at her notoriously long-winded husband.

And sensing it, a chuckling Stig patted Eadmund on the back. ‘Find yourself another wife. That’s my advice. I never thought I’d replace my Gida, and I never will, but I’ve found a companion. A nice warm body beside me at night. I’m not a young man, no one Ineko would ever choose, but I pulled her out of a bad situation and gave her a safe home. For all her complaining, she can’t argue about that. It’s what you need, Eadmund. A new wife.’

Eadmund’s eyes drifted from his uncle to Ineko, who now stood, hands on hips, swaying precariously. ‘Perhaps,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps one day.’

Stig turned, cloak billowing, the wind in a wild mood. ‘Until we meet again!’ he grinned, holding up a hand.

Eadmund held up his own hand, meeting the old man’s gaze until, with a bob of his head, he turned away.

Jael glanced at Mattie’s door, knowing there was much she needed to do, though little as important as this. ‘So you think what you saw was now? The old woman? That it could be Gunnhild now?’

Mattie nodded. ‘I saw the wound on her arm. Helga cut her with her flint. She looks like an old woman because that’s what she is. She was the same age as Helga, yet she looked decades younger than when I first saw her. But it was just an illusion. Magic. Whatever Helga did appears to have broken it.’

Jael was thoughtful, inhaling Mattie’s fish stew and blowing out a breath. ‘If Gunnhild’s in Hallow Wood and Mutt Storman’s in Hallow Wood, are they working together again?’

‘It’s likely, so you can’t go there without me. You can’t, Jael. I’ll have to come.’ She resisted shivering, though the prospect was daunting.

Jael frowned. ‘But that would leave Andala without a dreamer. My children are coming. My children and my dogs. Kalina is here...’ She didn’t mention Pye, for she felt certain Dessalene didn’t care about her little toy, but Ronin surely wouldn’t wish to leave his daughter a prisoner for much longer?

‘Is there someone else who could come here? Another dreamer?’

‘Well, there’s Ayla, though that would expose Oss,’ Jael muttered.

‘It wouldn’t be for long...’ Mattie glanced around the cottage, seeing Linas’ bed. She would have to find someone to take care of him. ‘I don’t think you can deal with Gunnhild, even if she is weaker. You must lead the army.’

Jael agreed. ‘I’ll ask Ayla then. When Biddy gets here, I’ll send word back to Eadmund. He’ll agree, I’m sure.’

Mattie thought so too. ‘Then that leaves us just deciding how. How we’re going to defeat Gunnhild and Mutt Storman.’

Jael laughed as she stood. ‘Should be easy. I’ll leave you worrying about the dreamer. I have to go and deal with the Venbergs before I can even think about Mutt Storman.’ She turned for the door and her smile fell away, for the only thing she wanted to think about was Oss and going home to Eadmund.

News of her imminent departure had sent Biddy into a spin, and she’d rushed around the hall, trying to gather everything she needed to take to Andala.

They would be leaving in the morning.

Eadmund hadn’t seemed to know when she’d be back. Or if.

Biddy’s brow furrowed with worry, and she continued to shake her head as she looked around the hall. She had certainly forgotten something. Likely many things.

‘I can bring anything you need,’ Ayla promised beside her. ‘I should like to come and visit. To see Jael.’

With a loud sigh, Biddy turned to her. ‘And when will that be, do you think?’

Ayla shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Eadmund’s been so good to me, so endlessly kind. I want to help him, though I do feel for Jael, and I’m still desperate to find Edela. And besides...’ Now she couldn’t resist a smile. ‘Bram and I...’ She thought about revealing her pregnancy, though she couldn’t bring herself to say the words. Happiness, when it had come into her life, had rarely lingered long, and she feared that even acknowledging it risked more unnecessary pain.

A distracted Biddy burst into tears. ‘But what is Eadmund going to do? No Jael, and now no children? Not even the dogs! The poor man. He’s losing everything!’

Ayla took her in her arms, soothing her with kind words. ‘He’s got the islands, his people, his friends. He’ll find his way, Biddy. I’ve seen that.’

‘You have?’ Pulling back, Biddy rubbed her eyes, hearing a familiar wail in the distance. ‘What have you seen? Jael returning? Will she return?’

There was such hope in her eyes that Ayla felt reluctant to let her down, though false hope helped no one. She shook her head. ‘Not that I’ve seen.’ Though seeing Biddy’s shoulders sag, she squeezed her hand. ‘I haven’t seen the entire future of Oss, I promise. Who knows what might come. For now, though, Jael has a battle on her hands, just as she did all those years ago.’

‘You mean the Darkness?’

Ayla looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps. I know Edela was worried, that she feared the return of dark forces. She almost expected it, I think. She was certainly busy preparing for it.’

That was news to Biddy, who forgot all about lost socks and wailing children now. ‘Dark forces?’

‘Dear Biddy,’ Ayla smiled. ‘I’m not doing a very good job of reassuring you, am I? Though I promise you, Jael will do everything in her power to save herself and Brekka. You know she will.’

‘And you?’

‘I will be watching. You don’t have to worry. I’ll be doing all I can to help both Jael and Eadmund.’

Erling Venberg was visiting his parents, so he was first to the door when the servant opened it to reveal the queen.

The queen standing there with Eren.

Kamilla burst into tears, and her husband, Ebert, sagged with relief beside her, both of them hurrying to embrace the young woman, who was in tears herself.

Erling didn’t join the emotional huddle. ‘So you have cleared my sister of Axl’s murder? You’re admitting that you were wrong to accuse her of such a heinous crime?’

His parents spun towards him with warnings in their eyes.

Ebert left his daughter with his wife and intervened. Hand out, he bobbed his head to Jael. ‘We are grateful, very grateful. But... what does this mean?’

The house smelled strongly of stewing meat and onions, and Jael felt nauseous.

She’d never liked the Venbergs, who were an ambitious, overly proud family, always staying close enough to the throne to think they had a role to play. And Erling and Eren had taken it too far. But their parents?

Jael saw embarrassment and worry in their eyes.

‘Your daughter killed the king,’ she said, remembering her brother. Her little brother who had cried in her arms and cried under that bed. ‘She took her knife and plunged it into his heart.’ All four Venbergs were ready to protest, to deny her words. ‘Though Mattie and I have determined that she was being controlled by another force at the time.’

Kamilla gasped in horror, gripping her daughter’s arm. ‘What? Magic?’

‘Something of that nature. A shapeshifter.’

Erling looked ready to scoff, though his father silenced him with a stern look.

‘You believe this is real?’ Ebert asked of the queen. ‘That such things are possible?’

‘I do,’ Jael said. ‘And it is more than Mattie and I who believe this. Your daughter remembers encountering a figure that night. She has no further memories until she found herself sitting in a chair with blood on her hands.’

Kamilla looked at Eren as though she didn’t recognise her. ‘Though has it... gone? Will it happen again?’

Jael and Mattie had explained to Eren what they thought had happened, neither mentioning the word livahti, and after that, Jael had insisted that Eren was tattooed, hopefully preventing the creature from taking her form again. ‘I can’t say what will happen, though we are under attack from more than just Oren Storgard and his allies. So if you care about Brekka as your ancestors did...’ And now Jael focused her attention on Ebert. ‘Then do your part to help unify the kingdom under me. Under my rule. There can be no talk of another heir.’ Her eyes shifted from Ebert to Erling. ‘I am not my brother. I have no childhood loyalties, and I don’t intend to offer mercy to my enemies, whether they’re outside my borders or inside my fort.’ And with that, Jael turned to the door, motioning for the Venbergs’ servant to open it.

‘Thank you!’ Eren cried behind her. ‘Thank you for sparing me and my child!’

And though Jael didn’t turn around as she headed through the open door, she could feel Erling Venberg’s eyes boring into her back.

Marton Erby, the tattooist, had had a busy morning in Mattie’s cottage, marking protective symbols on the arms and backs of everyone from Gerald to Ragnar, to Col and Petra, and even Orm, the stable boy.

Kolarov and Pye had been tattooed, and Linas, though no one truly understood why.

A curious Linas was once again full of questions.

And once Kolarov joined in, Mattie gave up trying to keep the secret. Sending Marton for a break with a promise to return later, she sat the three of them at the table, shooing Gully outside.

‘It’s called a livahti,’ she revealed, seeing Linas’ confusion and a look in Pye’s eyes that quickly drew her attention. ‘What do you know of them?’

Pye shrank back in his chair, surprised to be singled out. ‘Me?’

Squirming, he avoided her eyes, though leaving him for now, Mattie turned to Kolarov. ‘Have you ever heard of them?’

He shook his head, helping himself to a leftover porridge pancake. ‘You say they are shapeshifters? From where?’

Mattie leaned forward, keeping her voice low. ‘They were created before the humans. By Daala.’ She didn’t look at Pye, though she sensed him vibrating. ‘From what Jael discovered, most were killed, though some still remain. At least one, it seems. Hiding.’

‘Until now,’ Kolarov mused. ‘And why is that? Why reveal itself now?’

Mattie didn’t know and she shrugged. ‘My job is to find out,’ she murmured, dragging the plate of pancakes away from Kolarov’s busy hand.

‘But how?’ Linas wanted to know, sitting at the table like one of the adults. ‘How can you?’

‘I’m sure I’ll think of something,’ Mattie mused, smiling at Pye. ‘You should go. Get some air. I need to tidy up before Marton returns. He’s got a busy afternoon ahead.’

And with that, she stood, shooing her three guests outside.

That afternoon, Gant led his wife out of the hall for the first time since Axl’s death. It would not be easy for her, he knew, confronted with all that reminded her of her dead son and poor Amma, though she had wanted to start the process.

Having Jael back had brought her out of herself. Her grief had been temporarily moved aside by a sudden interest in her daughter, and soon, he knew, her two grandchildren. Gisila delighted in Sigmund and Bo, and knowing they were coming had given her another reason to finally re-enter the living.

Jael met them near the whipping post, pleased to see her mother frowning at her.

‘Haven’t you anything better to wear than old trousers? There’s a hole in them, Jael,’ Gisila muttered, certain everyone was staring at them.

Gant and Jael grinned at each other.

‘What? What are you smiling about?’ Gisila grumbled. ‘Me?’

‘Of course you, my love,’ Gant said, kissing her cheek. ‘You are yourself again. The way we both remember you.’

‘Mmmm, the way I certainly do,’ Jael muttered. ‘And no, I have no other trousers. I expect Biddy will bring everything with her.’

‘And will the children stay for long?’ Gisila wondered. ‘For good?’

Jael shook her head. ‘Not for good, no. I... I don’t know.’ She didn’t want to discuss it, though she was desperate to see them. Desperate to see Eadmund, too, but she hoped he wouldn’t come along.

She couldn’t face another goodbye.

‘I need you both to go to Mattie’s cottage,’ she said, reminded of why she’d come in search of them.

Gant was confused. ‘Mattie’s?’

‘You’ll find out why when you get there,’ Jael promised, and with a wink, she was gone, finally ready to get to work on a plan.

A plan for Hallow Wood.

28

Eadmund blew out a breath, working hard not to cry as he stood on the hall steps, trying to get everyone down to the beach.

The children were becoming confused and upset before him, and there was no sign of Biddy. Sigmund was now four and had a growing understanding of things, which his two-year-old sister didn’t possess, though both children had quickly realised that their father wasn’t going with them.

Then the tears had started.

Thorgils hoisted Sigmund onto his shoulders, quickly distracting him, though Bo clung to Eadmund’s leg like a little leech until Fyn peeled her away. She was still crying when he plopped her onto his shoulders.

‘Who’s going to win the race to the ship?’ Thorgils wondered with big eyes. ‘Fyn’s legs may be long, but they’re kind of weedy. Mine are far more powerful, don’t you think, Bo?’

‘No!’ she insisted loudly, completely distracted now, urging Fyn on towards the gates. Though Thorgils was already on his way, both children screaming at their mounts to hurry.

Eadmund sighed in relief, turning to see Biddy coming out of the hall with Ayla.

‘You’ve barely eaten since you got back,’ Biddy fretted, looking him over. ‘Everything’s hanging off you. Jael wouldn’t want that. To think you’re fading away?’

‘I’m not fading away,’ Eadmund laughed, taking her in his arms. ‘Thanks to you.’ She mumbled something he couldn’t understand, sniffing loudly, and worrying she couldn’t breathe, he pulled back. ‘You need to look after my... after Jael now. Likely she won’t know what to do without me,’ he grinned before suddenly frowning. ‘Perhaps there’ll be suitors?’

Biddy looked confused. ‘Suitors?’

‘Well, she’s an eligible queen now. There’s sure to be suitors.’

A snorting Biddy patted his arm. ‘I doubt that! Jael never wanted to get married before she was forced to. It’s not her way. She hates being told what to do. Jael?’ She chuckled, turning to take a last look at Oss’ square, not sure when she’d see it again.

She had been happy here with Eadmund and Jael.

With the children.

‘It’s you Jael loves,’ she promised, squeezing his arm. ‘And besides, she’ll be far too busy to think of such things. You know her. If enemies are circling Brekka, she’ll be busy making plans.’

After getting his tattoo, Gant had joined Jael and Rexon at the map table in the hall, where Jael was outlining her ideas for Mutt Storman. ‘And you think you’re going to be able to find him?’ he asked with a frown, seeing where Jael was pointing to Hallow Wood on the map.

He remembered Gunnhild and what she’d done to his men.

He regretted going into the woods, and he had no intention of going back, but Jael?

‘We can’t let him live,’ she insisted, looking from Gant to Rexon, who was nodding. ‘We can’t let him escape either. The sooner we get to Hallow Wood, the better chance we have of stopping both him and Gunnhild.’

Rexon agreed, throwing back a cup of ale. ‘We’re not going with a handful of men this time,’ he told a concerned Gant. ‘We’re taking an army. And he’ll have what? A few hundred men at most? It won’t take long to flush them out.’

Jael hoped he was right.

Gant was sure he was wrong. ‘That dreamer,’ he muttered, shaking his head. ‘What she’s capable of...’

‘Mattie is coming,’ Jael reminded her stepfather.

‘Which doesn’t fill me with much confidence about what will happen here. After what you told me? This livahti creature?’

‘I plan to ask Ayla to come. I won’t leave Andala without a dreamer, I promise.’

‘And what will Eadmund think about that?’

‘Hopefully, he’ll see the sense in it. The children will be here soon, so I’m sure he’ll agree that it’s better for Ayla to watch over them.’

Gant grunted, turning to Rexon.

‘Mutt Storman has to die,’ Rexon told him, not about to be dissuaded either. ‘He should never have left Andala alive. Not the first time, not recently. We can’t let him hurt anyone else, Gant.’ Choking up, he grabbed his empty cup and turned for the ale jug.

Jael and Gant exchanged a look.

‘We’ll go and kill Mutt Storman, finish that dreamer, see to the rest of the settlements and be back in Andala before the harvest,’ Jael promised. ‘That’s the plan.’

‘And what about Oren Storgard’s plans?’ Gant muttered. ‘You’ve not forgotten about him, I presume?’

Jael laughed. ‘No. I’ll be leaving a good-sized garrison behind, and you’ll be here. That’d be enough of a deterrent for most.’

Now Gant laughed. ‘You might think so. Not sure about anyone else.’

‘It has to be,’ Jael said, becoming serious now. ‘I have to start somewhere. Mutt Storman is first on my list. He’s the one who’s stirred up all this trouble in Brekka. I have to kill him, kill Gunnhild, and then we’ll be ready for what comes next.’ Or who, she thought, mind wandering to Ronin Sardis, regretting, and not for the first time, that she’d taken his daughter away.

For once, it wasn’t raining.

The afternoon sky had turned a greyish blue, and beneath it, Naran-Cha suddenly took on a cheerful appearance. The dark, wet streets became colourful and vibrant, the bustling crowds less angry.

Even Bertel was smiling as he accompanied Edela on another hunt for answers about the mysterious Sarakat. Korri had taken Siggy and Zen to watch a tournament with the crew. Bertel had fancied going along himself, though he hadn’t wanted to leave Edela roaming Naran-Cha’s busy streets alone. ‘And where do you intend to go next?’ he wondered as they left a shop, where, quickly realising that they weren’t interested in his ceramics, the surly shopkeeper had hurried them out. ‘Who is left to ask? Perhaps we move to another town? We’ve had no luck here, Edela.’

Feet aching, shoulders dropping, Edela feared he was right. ‘Sarakat is one of the best-kept secrets I’ve ever encountered. Yet, how is that possible? That no one knows of the place? It must be around here. Home to these sisters? They have a temple of women who must have come from somewhere. There has to be someone who has bid a daughter farewell. Who knows how it all came to be. Someone!’

Bertel’s attention was claimed by a group of men playing a game in the street. Here, the buildings were tall, the top stories jutting forward, and though sunlight filtered between them and flames burned in bowls and in lanterns, it had an illicit sort of feel. ‘We should go back,’ he decided, touching Edela’s arm.

She wasn’t looking at the drunken, shouting men, nor did she notice Bertel’s hand move to his sword. She was too busy inspecting the signs marking the various doors. There were many, the doors narrow, some secured by enormous iron locks.

‘Edela!’

Spinning around, Edela saw two men coming for them. And glancing over her shoulder, she saw another two. Moving closer to Bertel, she placed a hand on his arm, preventing him from unsheathing his sword. ‘No,’ she hissed. ‘Wait.’

‘You will come with us,’ one of the men said, looking at Edela.

Now Bertel did unsheathe his sword. ‘Stay close, Edela!’

She moved away from him. ‘Where will you take us?’ she asked. ‘And why?’

‘The Red Lady will see you,’ the man grinned, eyes on Bertel. ‘Your friend may wish to die, and I will not stop him, but we’ll take you to our mistress either way.’

Just the word mistress piqued Edela’s curiosity, and she urged Bertel to put away his sword. He didn’t, though he did drop it to his side as the man ushered them down the alley, further into the darkness, towards a gate marked with a crescent moon. And opening it, he motioned for a wide-eyed Edela and a wary Bertel to follow him inside.

He walked at pace, leading them down a long corridor, turning into a tunnel, at the end of which awaited a small red door.

Walking behind Edela, Bertel remained on edge.

The red door opened before them, and sensing they had little choice in the matter, they were both soon walking through it. At once assaulted by aromatic smoke and the plucking sounds of a harp, they were ushered into a long entranceway. Lined with polished ebony furniture, it was decorated with golden ornaments.

And lamps.

Glowing light making everything shimmer and gleam.

It was unlike anything they had seen in Naran-Cha.

The light was so glaring that Bertel squinted as he turned to Edela, whose attention was not on the furnishings but on the woman descending the stairs before them. Her red hair, threaded with twinkling glass beads and precious gems, was piled on top of her head, though various curling tendrils spilled out over a pair of exposed dark-skinned shoulders.

She shone.

From her ebony eyes to her bright white teeth.

To the many rings on her long fingers.

She was magnificent.

‘I have heard of you,’ the woman smiled, pointing at Edela. ‘The old woman with all the questions. You seek to know of Sarakat? And what do you have to offer for such valuable information? For answers to such questions can be worth more than gold in these parts. Some say the goddess possesses all of Varmyr’s secrets, though I like to think I hold a great many myself. Perhaps if I wished to deprive myself of life’s pleasures, I could go to the temple and learn with the sisters? Though I expect they would make me give up my gowns and my jewels, and I would find that most intolerable.’ She laughed, motioning to the stairs. ‘Come. We will speak in private. Your friend may enjoy himself while we are gone. On the house,’ she said, turning to nod at a pretty young woman who stood in attendance behind a counter.

Understanding exactly what sort of establishment they’d entered, a flustered Bertel shook his head and hurried up the stairs. ‘No, no,’ he muttered. ‘I should come with you.’ And moving too quickly, he tripped, almost falling over.

Following the woman, Edela was becoming concerned. ‘I’m not sure I can pay what you imagine,’ she said. ‘I have no gold.’

Though the woman only laughed. ‘I am Dashira, and I am confident we can agree on a price. Now, come, let us speak in private.’

After spending time with her mother, Irina paid a visit to Raymon.

To Sister My’s frustration, she hadn’t discovered anything new about what might have caused her mother’s illness. In fact, she’d been too upset to think much at all.

Seeing Dessalene lying so still, her hair lank and dull, her skin almost transparent, had distressed her more than she’d expected, and she felt the need for company.

Raymon was staring down at the temple gardens. Rain hammered the windowpane, a never-ending, hypnotic patter, and he turned in surprise when Irina opened the door.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked, seeing her face.

She hobbled towards him, then abruptly pulled up and burst into tears.

Raymon felt at a loss. ‘Are you... alright?’ Irina had buried her face in her hands, weeping, and now he shuffled closer, arms twitching by his sides. Eventually, he touched her shoulder, and looking up, she nodded, wiping away her tears.

‘I can’t say,’ she mumbled, stumbling backwards now, suddenly embarrassed.

Raymon motioned to the chairs flanking the hearth where a fire blazed brightly. Taking a seat, Irina shivered, eyes on the rain-smeared window, then on Raymon as he sat down. ‘My mother has captured you, and I have come to cry on your shoulder. It is very unfair of me.’

Raymon shook his head, feeling a twinge in his left arm. Pushing up his sleeve, he saw the pink scar, relieved not to be wearing the fetters any longer – at least around his wrists. Though if he didn’t escape before Dessalene recovered...

He focused on Irina, trying to be understanding. He had raised the possibility of them escaping together, though she’d appeared so uncomfortable that he hadn’t mentioned it again. ‘She is still your mother. I know what it felt like to lose mine.’

‘Though I imagine your mother was a good woman, and Dessalene is...’

Raymon didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t sit there and pretend that the dreamer was something she was not. ‘We can talk of other things?’ he suggested with a smile. ‘To take your mind off it.’

Irina thought that was a good idea, and she nodded, wiping her eyes.

‘Tell me more about Sarakat. I should like to know about the temple.’ It was cruel, Raymon knew, to ply the girl for information while she was in such a vulnerable state. But, then again, perhaps it was the perfect time? He had hoped she might want to help him escape – to escape with him – though she appeared closer to her mother than perhaps either of them had realised.

He feared he was going to have to find his own way out of the temple. While the dreamer was ill, perhaps even dying, he was going to have to escape.

‘It’s a secret,’ Irina began with a crooked smile. ‘Though I know it. I came here three years ago, though I still remember everything about it.’

Rexon found Jael near the main gates.

She had been heading off for a ride, though seeing that the guards had let a woman through with barely a question, she’d dismounted and was dressing them down, leaving the men in no doubt what her expectations were. ‘You think a woman can’t be a spy?’ she growled. ‘That a woman with a basket is less danger to Andala than a man with a sword?’ She was angry, and turning around, she saw Ragnar. ‘I want these men replaced!’ she snapped before turning back to them. ‘You can go up to the ramparts and find Nils Gropen. Ragnar, get me another crew here. One that will follow the instructions I very clearly reiterated only yesterday!’

Embarrassed at having his men upbraided, Ragnar hurried forward, nodding at the queen. ‘I’ll organise that immediately.’

‘Good.’ Now Jael turned to Rexon, her expression changing. ‘Why not come for a ride?’

He didn’t feel like company, though wanting an escape from the ever-present sympathetic eyes as much as Jael, he eventually nodded.

‘I’ll wait,’ Jael promised, turning back to eye those men now being removed from their posts. ‘We’ve had spies stealing sea-fire! Threatening the safety of the entire fort! We can’t welcome in those who seek to harm us! We won’t!’ She was tired and grouchy, and realising it, she pulled herself up into the saddle, walking Tig through the gates, hearing the hammering in the distance, seeing the destruction before her.

Sometimes it was suffocating.

The problems. The lack of answers.

Looking to her right, she imagined her grandmother bustling past, arm in arm with Biddy.

‘Enjoy your ride!’ Edela called. ‘I’m making smoked trout for supper. Smoked trout and a little fried bread. Come and eat with me!’

And then she was gone, and Jael was staring at a cart being pulled along by an old man whose name she’d forgotten.

She shook her head, feeling the aching loss of her grandmother.

Though as much as she desperately wanted answers to her whereabouts, it wouldn’t help to become distracted now.

Dashira was the owner of an exclusive establishment frequented by the wealthy and powerful in Naran-Cha and beyond.

They came from far and wide to sample the high-quality pleasure-givers she had to offer. And owing to her elite clientele and her observant employees, she was in possession of more information than most. Though in all her years as the Red Lady, she had never uncovered the secret she’d been desperately seeking herself.

‘So we have something in common,’ she said to Edela, who perched beside Bertel on a long velvet bench.

Dashira sat in a tall chair decorated with wild animals before them.

The chamber was as sumptuous as the entranceway, perhaps even more so, though somehow she appeared diminished.

It was sadness, Edela realised. ‘Your daughter. You are searching for your daughter.’

Dashira blinked, every edifice of poise now gone. She leaned forward, worry erasing her earlier confidence. ‘I am. I can give you answers to what I know of Sarakat and of one who may know more, but it is knowledge of my daughter I seek in payment.’

‘Tell me about her.’

Dashira sat back now, eyes skipping past Edela to the door. ‘She was a beautiful child. She drew the eye, and I did not seek to hide her beauty. I dressed her in pretty gowns. She had jewels and the most delicate shoes. So many pairs! She was my little doll.’ She shook her head, anger sparking. ‘Though I was naive, arrogant, for in wishing to show her off, I painted a target on her.’

‘You loved her,’ Edela said, seeing her eyes glistening now.

‘More than life, and then she was taken. By a slaver or perhaps someone like me? I don’t know which is worse. It has been seven years, and I still haven’t decided which would be worse.’

Bertel became distracted, fighting the urge to sneeze.

‘I have enquired of all manner of people, though I’ve barely uncovered a clue in all this time. She disappeared in Shin-Wee, when I went to bury my mother. I was staying with my brother’s family and then –’ Dashira started licking her lips, losing all composure now.

Shuffling forward on the bench, Edela patted her hand and then took it. ‘I will help you if I can. I would do it gladly, for nothing in return.’

‘Though I will tell you of Sarakat. I know things. There is a man who knows things.’

Bertel’s blinking eyes sought out Edela, who ignored him, holding Dashira’s gaze.

‘Do you have something of hers? Your daughter? What was her name?’ Edela asked.

‘Hali,’ Dashira said softly. ‘It means heart in Kadakian. My heart.’ She slipped a chain over her head and handed it to the dreamer. ‘This was hers. I had it made when she was born. It was left behind when she was taken. She left it behind. Perhaps for me?’

Edela looked down at the little bronze amulet – a thin disc with an exotic bird carved onto one side. It had been made by the most delicate hand, for Edela could see its features clearly. Closing her eyes, she took the amulet in one hand and Dashira’s in the other. ‘Silence now, and I will see what I can find.’

29

Escaping the confines of Andala’s fort, Jael and Rexon rode at pace through the charred forest before bursting into a clearing where they raced towards another stand of trees, this time green and verdant – a reminder of life.

Reaching them, Jael finally slowed Tig down, seeing a cave in the distance and remembering how she’d liked to come here with Aleksander.

She didn’t feel happy, though with the wind in her hair sweeping her moodiness away, she felt more alive. Looking at Rexon, who remained silent and sullen, she saw that he didn’t feel the same.

‘I fear we will leave it too late,’ he muttered, eyes darting through the trees, seeing but not observing how sparkling beams of light cut through the fluttering green leaves. ‘If we remain in the fort preparing for too long, Mutt might be gone by the time we arrive.’

Jael knew it was possible, though she felt mostly confident that he would be waiting. ‘If he’d wanted to run, he wouldn’t have returned to the woods,’ she countered. ‘And if he was still with Oren Storgard, he would have followed him.’ They had slowed the horses down, coming to a winding path littered with boulders, and Jael nudged Tig closer to Rexon’s mount. ‘I’m with you on the need to move quickly, but Hallow Wood isn’t like anywhere else,’ she reminded him. ‘Gant would tell you that. As would I. Last time I was there, the dragur chased me out of it. It’s not just Mutt and his men we have to prepare for. There’s a reason people don’t go into those woods. I can’t take the danger of entering that place lightly.’

Jael saw anger flash across Rexon’s gaunt face. The tiredness in his eyes.

He was barely hanging on.

‘And if he’s gone? Mutt?’

‘I’ll make a decision then. Mutt Storman is yours, Rexon. I will never deny you his head, but I will always put Brekka first.’

In the silence of the forest, accompanied by the sound of buzzing bees and clopping hooves, Rexon heard Jael’s voice like a hammer striking iron. Any anger or frustration he might have briefly experienced evaporated.

He couldn’t take to Hallow Wood on his own, and despite feeling a grief-induced, sleep-deprived madness, he knew he needed Jael and her army.

And dropping his head, he nodded.

Dashira trembled before the white-haired old woman who held her hand, head bent in concentration. She tried to send every memory of the day her daughter had disappeared to the dreamer, desperate for her to find the clues no one else had.

Walking to the other side of the chamber, Bertel had found a jug of aromatic wine, and attempting to take his mind off his overwhelming desire to sneeze, he poured himself a goblet. Though despite enjoying a sip, the incense writhing around the chamber was powerful, and soon he was eyeing a little balcony, wondering if he might go out and take a breath.

Edela was trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Images tumbled over one another. She recognised Dashira and a beautiful young girl with her mother’s distinctive eyes. A tall man had similar features – her brother, she thought.

Everything clarified, and she tightened her grip on the woman’s hand.

Dashira looked on, becoming concerned, and eventually, Edela opened her eyes.

About to disappear onto the balcony, Bertel froze, hand on the door, hurrying back into the room.

‘Your daughter...’ the dreamer began. ‘I saw her. Yes, at the funeral. Your brother’s house. You stayed there with her.’

Dashira nodded, holding her breath.

‘He sold her.’

At once horrified, Dashira shook her head. ‘No! He would never!’ She tugged her hand out of the old woman’s, ready to send her on her way.

‘Your mother left all her money to you. She did not trust your brother. She knew he was a gambler. She feared he was in debt, and he was, until, in desperation, he sold your daughter. He cleared his debt, though not his conscience. I expect you’ll discover that when you confront him in Shin-Wee. I believe that is where he lives?’

Dashira sagged backwards as though punched in the stomach. ‘My... brother?’

‘He owed money to a powerful dardong. His men threatened to kill him.’

‘I will kill him,’ Dashira snarled. ‘But to whom did he sell her?’

‘I don’t know, though I am confident you’ll get the information out of him,’ Edela said sadly. ‘Or your friends will, at least.’

Dashira knew she was right, desperate to leave Naran-Cha immediately. In a state of shock, body vibrating with anger, she hurried to her table, marking a symbol on a sheet of vellum and handing it to Edela. ‘In return, I give you this.’ Tears now spilled from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks. ‘The man’s name is Abat Bha. Look for this symbol on the Narrow Walk. He is a wine merchant much sought after in these parts. A wealthy, wealthy man. Wine has brought him great success, though also a loose tongue, which will certainly be his undoing.’

Edela took the vellum with an open mouth.

‘Those who reveal the temple’s location are said to face the wrath of the goddess herself. Though one night, Abat Bha told me of his daughter. He said she was chosen to go to the temple, to become a Sister of Sarakat. They take girls at fifteen. He had to pay for the privilege, for the favour of the goddess. A hefty sum, I understand. He regretted both that his daughter and much of his fortune had gone, though he felt confident he would be delivered of a golden future. Here and in the Afterlife.’

Bertel had steadily crept forward until he was standing behind Edela. ‘And did he take his daughter to the temple? Did he go there himself?’

Dashira nodded. ‘Yes. He said that to reach the temple, you must take a ship. Find Abat Bha, and you may discover more. And I thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you for coming to Naran-Cha.’

Erling and Hal met at the training ring, and though neither felt particularly interested in fighting, they helped themselves to swords and shields, slowly walking to a clear space. The weather had been dry for days, and dust had been kicked up from all those fighting nearby, creating a brown fog.

‘Strange without Axl,’ Hal mumbled, looking around, seeing little but memories. ‘Keep expecting him to turn up. Here, the hall, the stables, the ramparts. He was always somewhere. The King’s Axe...’

Erling frowned. ‘And what would he have to say about his sister?’ he wondered quietly, glancing over his shoulder. Those nearby were grunting and shouting, throwing each other around, though Hal and Erling stood like statues, barely lifting an eyebrow.

‘You have to let it go,’ Hal warned, eyes furtive, always expecting Jael to turn up. Her or Gant. ‘That’s what Axl would say. He would want you to support his sister.’

‘He would want us to support his son. His blood.’

Hal stepped closer, a look of confusion on his face. ‘Was this a plan, Erling? Your plan? Not some mistake but an actual plan you and Eren made together?’

Erling shook his head. ‘Eren always loved Axl. You knew that. Why shouldn’t I have encouraged her? Axl was unhappy, and Amma was sickly. Weak. It made sense.’

‘Sense? To what? Try and usurp the queen?’ Hal hissed. ‘I know we wanted a say in things. Our say. Gant and Gisila had too much sway. They kept pulling Axl in the wrong direction, but this? What were you thinking?’ Shaking his head, he stepped back. ‘Ask yourself what Axl would have said.’

‘About us?’ Erling laughed. ‘That we were disposable. Useful for when he was lonely and needed someone to drink with. We were never going to be more unless we claimed actual power. He was a Furyck after all.’

Hal shook his head. ‘You’ve lost your way if you think that. He was our friend, Erling. Our king, who put Brekka over everything. You would truly risk the kingdom to fulfill your own ambitions? After what happened here and in Angard?’ He shook his head, and with a look of disgust at his glowering friend, he turned and walked away.

Erling watched him go, knowing that Hal was lost to him now, and that any path he wished to forge from here on out, he would do so alone...

‘That was a stroke of luck!’ Bertel announced cheerfully as they slipped through the red door, leaving its menacing guards behind. Despite entering an alley reeking like a latrine, he barely noticed, relieved to be away from the cloying incense.

It was everywhere in Naran-Cha and he couldn’t bear it.

Beside him, Edela was quieter, thinking about Dashira and her daughter.

Eventually, having gulped down mouthfuls of fresh air, Bertel nudged the silent dreamer. ‘We need to find that sign. The woman said the Narrow Walk, didn’t she? Shall we head there directly or perhaps have a little bite to eat? I’m famished!’

Drawn out of her quiet reflection, Edela frowned at him. ‘We must use our coins for more than filling your belly,’ she grumbled. ‘And there has never been anything little about your appetite, Bertel Knutson.’

He was instantly insulted and then just as quickly smiling. Taking her arm, he turned left. ‘Well, come along. We need to find this wine merchant’s establishment. Perhaps he’ll have something we can sample?’

Though Edela didn’t want food or wine. She felt a building sense of urgency, as though someone was drumming behind her.

Sarakat, she heard in her head.

Sarakat.

She had to get there before it was too late.

Raymon’s talk with Irina had been revelatory.

Having been a temple novice for three years, she had knowledge to share. Much had been observational, and Raymon gratefully took it all in.

If Irina carried on her training, she would become a junior sister in two years and seven years after that, a Sister of Sarakat herself.

Though despite her obvious affection for the place, he sensed Irina had a freer spirit than any possessed by the dour women who came to feed him and check his wound. Their healing skills had saved his arm and his life, and though he felt grateful to them, he was desperate to escape before Dessalene recovered.

For surely a dreamer that powerful eventually would?

Irina had told him about the small boat the sisters’ servants used to visit local towns for what they couldn’t grow or make themselves.

She had described the temple, the wharf, the garden walls.

Though she had warned that the entire temple compound was protected by the Goddess of Secrets, and that those who came and went had to have permission to do so.

That was going to be a problem, Raymon realised, hoping Irina had it wrong.

Perhaps it was merely something the sisters said to frighten the young girls missing their families?

The rain had cleared, and he stood to look down into the garden again, seeing how high its stone walls were. He saw no gates, but there would be one. There would be a way out.

He would try to leave by the river. To find a way out via the river.

And for that, he was going to need help.

He was going to need Irina Sardis.

Jael returned from her ride to a message from Mattie, who suggested she come to her cottage, where she would be speaking to Pye. And intrigued by that, she’d left Tig with Col, giving him firm instructions to see her horse into Orm’s capable hands. Though sitting at the dreamer’s table, she was still wondering if her junior steward could be trusted. He had a dreamy nature, at times, almost as though he wasn’t present, and she often doubted he was even listening to her. She eyed Mattie impatiently, hoping she would hurry up.

Beside her, Pye was anything but dreamy. He twitched as though he had a bee down his tunic, shifting uncomfortably on the creaking chair, head snapping left and right. ‘You needn’t be nervous,’ Jael smiled. ‘Mattie told me how much you’ve helped with Linas and in the hall, though we both feel you have more to give. More you might be able to share.’

Pye stopped twitching, becoming concerned. He looked from Mattie’s bulging hazel eyes to Jael’s intense green eyes, neither of which revealed any answers. ‘About what? Dessalene? I told you. I already told you! I don’t know anything! You took my arm ring... didn’t, didn’t that tell you everything?’

His eyes darted around like fireflies, and Jael had to fight the urge to grab his arm and simply shake the information out of him. ‘Though what about the livahti? Perhaps start by telling us about them.’

Pye froze, terror shining in his eyes. He was shaking and then shaking his head. ‘I don’t know about them. Whatever they are, I don’t know anything!’

Seeing Jael frown, Mattie tried. ‘You wish to go back to Dessalene, is that it? You don’t want to be disloyal by revealing secrets you’re not supposed to possess?’

Pye was almost bouncing on the chair now. Eyes shifting everywhere and finally fixing on the door, he appeared to be plotting an escape. ‘I know nothing!’

Jael looked away, absentmindedly sipping the tea Mattie had brewed. It had a foul taste, like weeds, and she grimaced as she swallowed. Whatever Pye was drinking obviously tasted much better, for he drank it down in panicked gulps.

‘I can’t help you. I have never heard of them. Dessalene, she... she kept her secrets close. I didn’t see. She would... shut me out. I can’t tell you!’

Jael nodded as though she believed him, sitting back now to give him some space. ‘My brother was killed by a livahti,’ she said quietly. ‘I am certain of it now, so if you think of anything, if there’s any way you can help me, Pye, I hope you come and find me. I don’t consider you a prisoner. I don’t wish for us to be enemies.’ She finished the tea with a shudder, and standing, she eyed the door.

Turning back, she glanced at Pye, who appeared to have slumped in the chair.

‘Hurry!’ Mattie urged, and in two strides, Jael had caught the little man in her arms, easing him down to the floor.

Edela and Bertel turned back for the ship shed when the rain started, for it was far too heavy to think about going any further. They could barely see, let alone hope to find the sign of the wine merchant.

Shaking rain from her hair and her dress as she entered the shed, Edela gave Nellie a tired old carrot she’d found on their journey, and after quickly drying himself off, Bertel hurried to see what Gerulf had caught on his fishing expedition.

Soon Korri returned with Siggy, Zen, and some of the crew.

Edela blinked at Zen, who, she was surprised to see, had a black eye. ‘Oh dear!’ she exclaimed, hurrying forward. ‘How did that happen?’

A quiet Zen looked embarrassed, though Siggy was quick to explain. ‘A man tried to take me away!’

‘Take you?’

Bertel soon left Gerulf and his catch behind to find out what was happening.

‘Siggy had moved to the back,’ Korri explained. ‘At the tournament. She wasn’t enjoying things. I thought to leave and bring her back here, and I should have,’ he said regretfully.

‘Though I just wanted to move away,’ Siggy insisted. ‘All the blood... I just thought I’d stand at the back, but this man slipped an arm around me, and when the crowd started roaring, he shoved me hard towards another man, and they –’ She looked as though the danger had only just struck her, almost bursting into tears.

‘I heard her cry out,’ Zen said. ‘Over all the noise, I heard her.’

Siggy smiled gratefully at him.

‘So there was a bit of a skirmish,’ Korri continued. ‘But we sorted those men out, didn’t we?’ he grinned, patting Zen on the back. ‘You’re certainly getting some experience now.’

Zen looked proud, Edela thought, though he would need something on that eye. ‘I have a salve,’ she said. ‘You come with me.’ And leading him away, she left Bertel to explain about their own day.

Bertel relayed their meeting with the Red Lady, much to the amusement of Korri, though his demeanour changed abruptly when Bertel told him what they’d learned about Sarakat. ‘So they’re taken there in a ship?’ he murmured.

Bertel nodded.

‘And do you know where to find the wine merchant?’

‘Edela has a sign to find, though we still have to think of how to get the information out of him. Sarakat is the Goddess of Secrets, and those who reveal the location of the temple risk dying by her hand.’

A frowning Korri narrowed his eyes on the dreamer. ‘Though if we can take something of his, perhaps Edela can find a way into his memories?’

Bertel looked delighted by the suggestion. ‘Of course. We have a dreamer with us. Two, in fact. We may as well use them!’

Korri nodded. ‘It’s another step closer.’

‘Though closer to what?’ Bertel wondered quietly as Siggy left to go and help Edela. ‘Danger? We must replenish our weapons and ensure the ship is well stocked. We can’t afford to be unprepared, especially if Dessalene is waiting for us.’

Called away by one of the crew, Korri left, and Edela returned. ‘Is that your belly I can hear?’

Bertel laughed. ‘I told you I was hungry.’ Though glancing at Gerulf, he was soon frowning. ‘I’d best have a word with our cook, though. I’d rather not be chewing my fish tonight.’

She chuckled. ‘Are you looking to leave being an elder behind? Perhaps take up a new vocation?’

‘You don’t think I’ve already left being an elder behind?’ And laughing some more, seeing Edela’s twinkling eyes, Bertel forgot about the fish. Rain hammered the roof high above their heads, and though there were plenty of leaks now, they were mostly dry, for the moment, safe, and best of all, together.

He hadn’t disliked his time in Naran-Cha. It was thankfully flat and had a lot to offer. And hopefully tomorrow, it would offer up the location of the wine merchant.

‘Well, I suppose you have,’ Edela grinned. ‘And what does that mean for the future, I wonder?’ She took his hand, turning it over, feeling the lines on his palm before looking into his eyes. ‘What do I see for you, Bertel Knutson?’

And though Edela appeared to only be having a little fun, for the first time in years, Bertel was quite interested to know himself.

Edela’s eyes sparkled for a moment, and then the light went out, and she dropped his hand, lips parted in surprise.

‘What did you see?’ he asked with concern. ‘Something bad? You definitely saw something bad.’

‘About you?’ Edela snorted, suddenly making retching noises. ‘I’ve something in my throat. I... please get me a drink.’ Eyes watering, she stared imploringly at Bertel, who peered at her in confusion before hurrying away. She stopped retching immediately, now gripping her throat, unable to catch her breath, for she had certainly seen an image of Bertel’s future.

She had seen his dead body.

30

Jael carried Pye to Linas’ bed, and Mattie brought a stool towards it, leaning over to place her hands on either side of his head.

Having realised that Pye intended to remain stubbornly loyal to Dessalene, Mattie had sought out advice in Edela’s book. And with Astrid’s help, she had gathered a basket of herbs, which she’d brewed into the tea Pye had drunk.

Now Mattie crept through Pye’s mind, aware that Jael sat beside her, urging her on. Though initially seeing no sign of the squirrelly little man, she started to panic.

She had come to a garden walled in by trimmed hedges.

Women’s voices echoed, and she hurried to move closer, finally catching a glimpse of Pye crouched behind an enormous bush. She crept forward, standing behind him, hoping to hear what he was so obviously listening to.

Around the bush, she saw a castle. Not a palace, she thought, remembering Kalina’s majestic home on S’ala Nis. This had a sturdier, grimmer look. Made of rough stone, it appeared fortress-like. The garden was not flowering but bare of leaves, many of which rustled across the ground, blown by a determined wind.

Before her, Pye shivered and then became still, listening as the women spoke.

‘It would be easy to take matters into my own hands, Dessalene, for more capable hands than mine have never existed,’ came a voice Mattie didn’t recognise. She shivered, though, for every word resounded with darkness. ‘Though I do not seek to draw Furia’s attention yet. That murderous bitch will pay in ways she never saw coming. One by one, her line will be extinguished, as though pinching out a row of candles, until the only one standing will be Furia herself and me before her.’

Now Dessalene spoke. ‘Jael Furyck will have no say in things. I will see to it, Mistress. And without her protection, what chance does any Furyck have?’

Mattie heard the sound of crunching gravel falling away now, the voices becoming distant.

Pye crept forward, eventually stopping behind a statue, curling over further.

‘Daala thought to unmake us. As though somehow she had erred. Erred in creating a race as powerful as the gods. And soon, I will show her how right she was.’

The image before her blurred, becoming dark, and then Mattie was back in her cottage, sitting by the bed. Taking her hands off Pye’s head, she turned to Jael with a dazed look.

‘What did you see? Anything?’

Mattie nodded. ‘The dreamer was there. Dessalene. She was talking to a woman. She called her mistress.’

Jael urged her on, knowing that Pye had spoken of Dessalene’s mistress before.

Closing her eyes, Mattie tried to recall everything she’d heard. ‘Her mistress spoke of Furia, of wanting to defeat her. To end her line. She spoke of her people. Her people...’ Mattie repeated, narrowing her eyes. ‘That Daala had created a race as powerful as the gods.’

‘The livahti,’ Jael breathed. ‘Dessalene’s mistress is a livahti!’

Oss’ hall was strangely empty as Eadmund prepared to take his seat at the high table.

It was usually a place of noise, especially when Biddy and the children were there. The dogs. Thorgils. Even Beorn.

Tonight, though, there was no one.

The meal had been served early. It was barely dusk.

Perhaps that was it, he thought absentmindedly.

Rilda, the cook, came out with the first course, a look of sympathy in her eyes, as though she might offer to join the king. She had been cooking for him since he was a boy, and it broke her heart to see him this way.

He smiled kindly at her and promised he had a big appetite. Though as she left, he sat down with a thump, feeling ill.

The chair to his right remained beside him, empty.

The tables where his friends would sit, empty.

The two fire pits blazed away, though he felt chilled to the bone. He held back a sigh as Gurin poured ale into a cup. Smiling at the man, Eadmund took it. ‘Perhaps I should eat in my chamber from now on?’ he wondered, almost to himself.

‘Thorgils said Mads was unwell,’ the old man murmured discreetly.

‘Oh?’ Eadmund looked up. ‘That’s not good to hear.’

A hall door creaked open, and tiny feet could be heard padding over the floorboards.

Soon, Ayla and Bram were there, following after an excited Snapper.

‘Hope you don’t mind some company?’ Bram bellowed, taking off his hat. ‘Rilda said it was stuffed chicken tonight, and Ayla’s been talking about it all day.’ He shepherded an embarrassed Ayla to the high table, where they took a seat either side of Eadmund.

‘Though perhaps you’d prefer to eat alone?’ Ayla asked, glancing around. ‘It seems we have invited ourselves.’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘Jael and I always said it was an open invitation. You know that. Besides, who else would I talk to? Even my dogs are gone, and Gurin’s a man of few words.’ Turning, he winked at his steward.

‘So you’re missing your uncle then?’ Bram chuckled. ‘That’s a surprising turn of events. When Stig arrived, I thought we’d end up wrestling in the Pit!’

Eadmund laughed. ‘You and Stig?’

‘I’d have had the edge on him. Made like a rake, he was.’ And reaching over Eadmund, a chortling Bram poured ale into Ayla’s cup. Smiling at her, he leaned back, grabbing a ladle and aiming for the soup.

Snapper amused himself under the table, licking the floorboards, then Eadmund’s boots. Eventually, Eadmund picked him up, taking a good look at the puppy. ‘He’ll be big.’

‘He will,’ Bram agreed. ‘Let’s just hope my son gets to grips with training him soon. He’s already got a bite on him and a bladder the size of your hot pool!’

Ayla grinned, helping herself to a slice of Rilda’s famous herb and walnut stuffed chicken. She was ravenous, and Bram was right – she had been thinking about it all day.

‘It’ll be good for Fyn to have a dog,’ Eadmund decided. ‘Take his mind off Jael.’

‘And you?’ Bram wondered. ‘Harben has more puppies. Maybe you need one yourself?’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘I’ve enough to keep me busy. Better I just focus on the islands. We’ve got the moot coming up, and I need to prepare for that.’

Ayla turned to him. ‘Though you are not alone, Eadmund. We all want to help you, to make things better. I imagine it won’t feel that way, not for a long time, but eventually... eventually, you will have a new life.’ Eadmund blinked, and Ayla realised she had said too much.

‘A new life?’ he asked, dropping the puppy back to the floor. ‘Why? What have you seen? Tell me.’

Pye was still sound asleep on the bed as Mattie and Jael sat beside a slowly dying fire, oblivious to everything but what Mattie’s trance had revealed.

‘It makes sense,’ Jael said, breaking the silence at last. ‘Dessalene and Ronin talked about wanting to end my line, so it must be coming from her. Dessalene’s mistress.’

‘But why?’ Mattie wondered, glancing at Pye, who was as still as a dead body behind them. ‘Why would she care about Furia and the Furycks?’

Jael didn’t know. She picked at a fingernail, thick with dirt.

The thought of a creature as powerful as a god seeking to kill her family was deeply disturbing. Dark dreamers were one thing, but a livahti?

‘No one is safe,’ she breathed. ‘No one.’ And now she turned to Pye. ‘I’m not sure he’ll know anything, but you must uncover more, Mattie. Somehow. Before it’s too late.’

Ayla didn’t know how to answer Eadmund.

Should she give him hope? Though would it be hope or hopes dashed?

‘It is...’ she began quietly.

‘Please,’ he told her. ‘Anything would be good to know. It’s just dark. When I see the future, my future, it’s just dark.’

Ayla could feel his pain, and she sought to reassure him. ‘You will have another child. I haven’t seen much, but you will have another child, Eadmund. A son.’

He shivered, feeling strange.

‘With who?’ he asked eventually, dreading the answer but also feeling hopeful. Could there be some way? Some way that it could all be different?

‘I don’t know,’ Ayla admitted. ‘I wasn’t sure if telling you would make it better or worse, but I have seen you with a son. Not Sigmund. This boy had dark hair.’

It was too strange for words.

Moving on from Jael? Another wife?

‘I need to,’ he said quietly. ‘I expect I need to.’

Though the mere thought of it was a knife in his heart.

Leaving Mattie to wake Pye, Jael headed for the hall, attempting to shut all thoughts of the livahti out of her mind.

There was too much to think about, yet she didn’t want to think at all.

Her new tattoo was throbbing.

Not wanting another on her arm and certainly wanting none on her back, she had gone for her ankle, though her boot and sock kept scraping it, and she was distracted and annoyed when a vision struck her.

She rarely thought like a dreamer, so it was always a surprise to see something not directly before her. Though now she felt as though the sun had risen in the depths of the night.

Moving quickly through the darkening fort, she almost knocked over a small child. Apologetic and smiling, she hurried to right the boy before turning away.

Running.

She was running across the square, past those packing up their stalls for another day.

Not a queen but a mother.

A mother who’d been apart from her children for so long.

Bursting out of the harbour gates, dusk claiming the sky, she ran across the docks, tears flooding her eyes.

Ido and Vella reached her first, and as she dropped to her knees, they jumped at her, licking every part of her face, her hair, her arms. She grabbed them, trying to hold them as they wriggled impossibly, kissing them back, though their tongues were everywhere, and eventually, she had to stand up. ‘Come!’ she called, and then she was running again, the dogs at her heels. ‘Come on!’

Everyone looked as she ran past.

Their queen was running.

Jael.

Sigmund was faster than his sister, though Bo was doing a good job of keeping up and now Jael fell to her knees again, throwing open her arms. Behind her, Ido and Vella were soon jumping up her back, and before her, Sigmund and Bo were throwing their arms around her neck.

‘Mama! Mama!’ they cried in unison.

And wrapping them into the hug she had dreamed of for weeks, Jael squeezed. ‘You took so long! Did you get lost?’

Releasing them, she kissed their cheeks over and over again until Bo wriggled away, and Sigmund fell into her arms.

‘You’ve grown so big!’ she exclaimed, still on her knees, welcoming Ido and Vella in for another hug. ‘What was Rilda feeding you?’

‘Stew,’ Sigmund said, looking quite serious. ‘We had stew.’

Bo nodded, and then Jael was back on her feet, and Biddy was before her in a flood of tears. She made to open her arms, but Jael quickly looked away, back to the children. ‘How are you, Biddy?’ she mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Despite knowing Jael well, a surprised Biddy seemed caught off guard. Sniffing, she reached into her sleeve for a cloth. ‘I’m... well...’ She didn’t know what to say. ‘I’ve ummm... Eadmund isn’t eating much.’

Jael looked around in surprise.

‘He’s happy enough in himself,’ Biddy hurried on, seeing the worry in her eyes. ‘Or he makes out that he is. He’s doing a good job of being a king. A good job of being a father, though as a man? Well, it’s...’ Swallowing, she ran out of words, and seeing that Jael had her walls up, she focused on the children.

Jael felt sick.

The dogs were yapping, wanting to run off and explore, and the children were already arguing, and leaving Biddy to sort them out, Jael turned to see Fyn.

He was reluctant to approach, not wanting to interrupt the reunion, though seeing how late it was getting, Biddy quickly shepherded the children and the dogs away from the piers with promises of food, leaving Fyn and Jael standing like strangers in a sea of people.

‘Eadmund asked me to come,’ Fyn began, looking awkward. ‘To help Biddy.’

Jael had missed his awkwardness, and she smiled. ‘I went to Saala with Rexon. We freed it from the traitors,’ she told him. ‘Freed the Saalans from Gunnhild’s magic too.’

Fyn nodded, arms by his sides.

‘Fought a few battles.’

Lifting his head, Fyn peered at her.

‘And you weren’t there,’ Jael said quietly.

Fyn had stopped even blinking.

‘Petra was good, she is good, but she isn’t Fyn Gallas good.’

A cry went up as someone dropped a barrel on the slippery pier, the air suddenly ripe with fish.

‘I wasn’t thinking clearly,’ Jael admitted with a frown. ‘It all happened so quickly. The battle and Axl and... I couldn’t think. I’m not sure I can now, but I know I shouldn’t have sent you away. Here is where you belong, beside me.’

Closing his mouth, Fyn just stared.

‘You can say no,’ Jael added with a shrug. ‘You can stay on Oss. You can –’

‘Yes,’ Fyn said quickly, coming forward now. ‘I say yes, Jael. I say yes.’

After supper, Eadmund was pleased to see a few familiar faces enter the hall, and soon groups formed around the fire pits, enjoying ale and conversation. He hadn’t wanted to take to his bed knowing there’d be no dogs, no children, no Jael, so he was happy to distract himself for a few hours.

He sought out Beorn.

‘I want the new ships finished by the Freeze,’ he told him.

Red-nosed and smiling, Beorn looked surprised. ‘You got plans?’

‘Not me, but I think Jael’s going to need us,’ Eadmund explained. ‘We’ll discuss what might be coming at the moot. I want every island preparing, though we’re the ones with the fleet. If Jael’s going to call on anyone, it’ll be Oss.’

Having thought they’d seen the end of trouble for the time being, Beorn’s smile quickly soured.

‘Andala was attacked, and if he’s still breathing, Oren Storgard will come again. A man like that won’t quit. He went to a lot of trouble to try and steal the throne, so I doubt that’ll be the end of things. And who will he bring into the fight next time?’ Eadmund mused. ‘We’ll all need to be prepared.’

Beorn thought he was right. ‘From everything I’ve seen, we’re on track. Jael was smart to get things moving last summer.’

Eadmund agreed. ‘But now’s when you need to push everyone. We’re down Ice Breaker already, so we need the new ships finished.’

‘It’s nothing to do with Stig, is it?’

Eadmund smiled, remembering the old man. He shook his head. ‘No, it’s not about Stig. I doubt I’ll see him again anyway, which is a shame. I’m sure Eirik would’ve liked to have met him.’

Having known Eirik Skalleson better than most, Beorn snorted. ‘Likely your father wouldn’t have let him leave here alive, Eadmund. Coming here out of the blue like that, and after all these years? He wouldn’t have trusted a word out of his mouth.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘And I didn’t, or don’t you remember? But unless he’s a dreamer and pulled the wool over Ayla’s eyes, Stig’s no more an enemy to the islands than you are. I promise, Beorn, we’ve nothing to fear from Stig Ervik.’

31

Andala’s new arrivals gave everyone a lift, especially Gisila, who fussed over Sigmund and Bo and enjoyed being fussed over by Biddy. So much so that she was even smiling at supper.

Jael had been eating her meals in the King’s Hall her entire life, yet she’d never felt more uncomfortable sitting at the high table. She had sat there beside her father, her uncle, and her brother, though to take the high chair, which had once belonged to them all, felt wrong.

Brekka was her responsibility now, though in her heart, she didn’t want to be anywhere but back on Oss with Eadmund.

She’d had another scroll from him, which Biddy had secreted into her hand, but she wouldn’t read it until later. It would do no good to keep hoping and longing for something that could never be, though the thought of hearing from him again had her vibrating.

It was good to see Fyn, and wanting to take her mind off Eadmund, she’d demanded he tell her everything that had happened since he’d left for Oss. ‘A puppy?’ She blinked as he told the tale of Snapper Svanter. ‘Feels like that was a surprise.’

Fyn laughed. ‘It was to me! Thorgils decided I needed company. Bram’s back with Ayla. They’ve not said, but he’s disappearing every night, and he’s stopped fussing over me for the most part. Looks happy too. So Thorgils gave me Snapper.’

‘Snapper?’

Another course was brought out, and seeing an enormous planked salmon decorated with roasted onions and bowls of buttery greens, Fyn’s eyes shone.

Jael could hear Bo squealing in the distance as Biddy sought to put her to bed. After the long journey from Oss, the children had been tired, which, by the sound of things, had progressed into overtiredness, which didn’t bode well. Though if anyone could handle a difficult toddler, it was Biddy Halvor.

Ignoring the noise, Jael kept her attention on Fyn.

‘He’s a biter,’ he laughed, showing his arm. ‘A scratcher too.’

‘An elkhound?’

‘One of Harben Fry’s pups.’

Jael’s eyes rounded. ‘He’ll be big.’

Fyn nodded, sipping his ale. He glanced around the hall, seeing Gant and Gisila, Aedan and Kayla. Branwyn was there with Kolarov and Pye. Hal Harbak sat talking to a typically sour-faced Getta. ‘I haven’t seen Mattie. Is she well?’

‘With Linas. She’s a mother now.’

Fyn shook his head, struggling to imagine it. ‘It’s not anything she was expecting.’

‘No, but it’s certainly keeping her busy. She’s trying to wean Linas off Helvor’s cooking, otherwise I’m sure she’d be here.’ And noting Fyn’s furtive glances at the door, she edged closer. ‘What about Milla? Will you bring her here?’

‘Milla?’

‘You’ll bring the puppy and Yara, but what about Milla?’

Fyn squirmed. ‘It didn’t...’

Keeping quiet, Jael urged him on with her eyes.

‘Eadmund’s visitors... the Erviks. It ruined things.’

‘Who?’

‘Eadmund’s uncle, a trapper from up north, arrived out of the blue. Stig Ervik. Came with his wife and grandson.’

Jael was confused. ‘Eadmund doesn’t have an uncle.’

‘Mmmm, so he thought, but it turns out that Stig was Grim Skalleson’s only legitimate son. He left Stig’s mother when he was a baby and came to the Slave Islands. Abandoned them both. They never saw him again, so his mother gave Stig the name Ervik. He knew about Grim, but he’d never been curious about his family until he heard about what happened in Alekka. With you and Eadmund.’

The ramifications of everything hit Jael quickly. She saw Gant trying to catch her eye and Helvor popping out of the kitchen to see if everything was to her liking. She nodded at Helvor, ignored Gant, and returned her attention to Fyn, grabbing his arm. ‘So he’s got a claim to the islands?’

Fyn nodded. ‘If everything he says is true, he’s the rightful king.’

‘And Ayla believed him?’

‘Yes, and so did Eadmund in the end. He’s a likeable man, a bit like Eirik, and I think Eadmund warmed to that. They seemed to get along.’

Jael had a bad feeling. It was immediate.

Like a cloud falling over the sun.

‘And where is he now, this Stig?’

‘They went back to Vartna.’

‘Where?’

‘One of the islands up past The Murk. He’s a trapper. Says he loves being a trapper.’

‘Is that so?’

Fyn nodded. ‘He wanted to meet Eadmund, that’s what he said. To meet his family.’

Jael’s frown became a scowl. ‘Doesn’t sound right to me. And he just left? With plans to come back?’

‘Not that I know of. He’s old, so I don’t expect he’ll make the journey again. Older than Eirik was. I think it’s more something he wanted to do before he died. He was nice, Jael. A nice old man.’ That didn’t seem to budge Jael’s scowl, though Fyn’s attention was soon drawn away by the hall doors opening and Mattie stepping inside.

And surprised to see Fyn Gallas sitting at the high table, she pulled up abruptly and stared.

In Dessalene’s prison, she was raging.

Desperate.

Trapped inside her own body.

Inside her mind.

There were no days, no nights, only the pure darkness of hopelessness.

Her arms were pinned to the bed, her legs wouldn’t move. She couldn’t open her eyes, couldn’t speak.

And though her mind was free to roam inside the prison, she was slowly going mad.

Symbols came and went as though teasing her. She tried them all.

Nothing worked.

She knew the symbols she had carved onto the blade of her knife. She tried reversing them. She sought to use opposing symbols.

Though nothing... nothing worked!

She could not die here in this endless darkness.

Withering away until what?

She had to find help.

She had to try and reach her mistress...

Having sent a groggy and confused Pye on his way, Mattie had headed to the hall, hoping Helvor had a little butter. And maybe some bread to spare. Also some milk.

She needed to get more prepared.

To think about how to feed and clothe both her and Linas. Winter would be knocking on the door before she knew it, and she didn’t want to go around the fort like a beggar.

She needed a goat. Or a cow.

She needed to –

Pulling up as she entered the hall, she realised that everyone was at the tables, eating.

And then she saw Fyn.

As a dreamer, it was always unsettling to be surprised, and she imagined the look on her face was one of horror.

Though smiling at her, Jael motioned her over.

‘I... you are here,’ Mattie said, stopping beside Jael, eyes on Fyn.

He grinned, pleased to see her.

‘He came to drop off the children,’ Jael explained. ‘Though I’m making him stay.’

Mattie’s eyes bulged. ‘Here? In the... here?’

Jael nodded. ‘He has to get back to Oss and pack up his things, but then, yes. Here.’ Now she turned to Fyn. ‘As long as you’re sure?’

He laughed. ‘I’ve promised you I am.’

‘Bram won’t be happy with me.’

‘He’ll be fine,’ Fyn insisted. ‘He’s barely looked at anyone but Ayla since I got back, I promise.’

Which made Jael wrinkle her nose. ‘Mmmm, but I need to take Ayla from him, too, I’m afraid.’

‘Ayla?’ Fyn looked past Jael to where Mattie was nodding.

Now the dreamer took a seat, forgetting about Linas, who needed the bread and butter to go with the fish stew. And Otter, who wanted a little milk. She helped herself to a cup and reached for the ale jug.

Fyn frowned at Jael. ‘You’ll bring Ayla here?’

‘After what we’ve discovered, I have to,’ Jael whispered. ‘She’ll want to help, and I believe we need it.’

Mattie sat back, cheeks flushed, suddenly aware that Fyn was staring at her. She didn’t know Ayla, but just the thought of another dreamer had her flustered.

That was it, she told herself as her stomach fluttered uncomfortably.

That was why she suddenly felt so odd.

Edela had kept to herself after her unsettling vision of Bertel, hurrying to prepare for bed. She needed a dream, wanting to see more.

Or did she?

Siggy had decided something was wrong, and as Edela blew out her lamp beside her bed of hay and furs, she crept over, squatting next to her. ‘Did you see something? Before? You’ve been very quiet.’

Not wanting to worry the girl, Edela shook her head. ‘No, though I need to. Yes, a good sleep is what I need now. We will find our way to the wine merchant tomorrow, but then? I must think of how to approach the man. He cannot reveal anything to us, so I must choose a way in.’

‘Stealing something he owns?’

‘Yes, though it cannot be any old thing,’ Edela mused. ‘Sometimes an item of little value will reveal its secrets, though we are searching for clues about the Goddess of Secrets herself, so I must choose wisely.’

Siggy understood that, though she still frowned. ‘And there’s nothing else wrong?’ she asked, feeling a niggling sensation.

Edela shook her head, and now she started yawning. ‘I wouldn’t mind you bringing Alvi over when he comes back in. His purring will certainly help me slip into a deep sleep.’

‘I will.’ And bending down, Siggy kissed Edela’s head. ‘Goodnight.’

Edela smiled. ‘And a good night to you, Siggy Larsen. I wish us both some revealing dreams.’

Leaving Fyn talking to Aedan and Gant, a yawning Jael was ready for bed. Stopping to check on the children, she watched from the doorway, not wanting to disturb them. Bo, especially, was impossible to get back to sleep once woken.

Shaking her head, she smiled, knowing she’d always been much the same.

Turning around, she saw Biddy shuffling down the corridor, suddenly looking so much older than she remembered. Or perhaps it was sadness, she thought, watching her stop outside her door.

Hearing footsteps, Biddy glanced over her shoulder. ‘Did you need something?’

‘No.’

And though she wasn’t surprised to hear it, a disappointed Biddy turned back and opened the door.

‘Wait, Biddy.’ And now Jael strode forward, shepherding her inside her chamber. ‘It’s not that I don’t want your help, I just...’ Shutting the door, she leaned against it.

Dropping her eyes.

‘You think I don’t know you? Better than almost anyone, I’d say,’ Biddy muttered.

Jael feared she was right, and sighing, she headed for the chairs. Sitting down, she motioned for Biddy to join her. The brazier was stacked with kindling, though it was a warm night and she didn’t feel cold.

Taking a seat, Biddy wiped her hands on her apron. ‘Where is Edela?’ she wondered. ‘I can’t stop thinking about it. She should be here now. Everyone has need of her.’

Jael agreed. ‘Nothing would prevent her from returning. If she knew what was happening here, nothing would keep her away, unless –’

Biddy leaned forward, mouth open.

‘Unless somehow she doesn’t know,’ Jael mused, not wanting to even consider the other possibility.

‘And poor Axl and Amma? I can’t even...’ Biddy was soon crying.

Despite her own grief, Jael stubbornly refused to join her.

And seeing that, Biddy blew her nose before stuffing the cloth back up her sleeve. ‘Eadmund is coping well,’ she told her. ‘I wanted to tell you that. I’ve not seen him drunk. He must be terribly lonely, though he’s never said. I’ve seen him staring at your chair more than once.’ And now the tears came again.

‘Biddy,’ Jael growled. ‘Who is comforting who?’

Jumping to her feet, eyes on the door, Biddy kept shaking her head, though the tears wouldn’t stop. ‘It’s not right,’ she babbled. ‘You and Eadmund... all of it. I... there must be something –’

Standing herself, Jael shuddered. ‘Yes, there is something. We both move on. We move on with our lives. Make new ones. Hearts heal.’

A frowning Biddy watched Jael square her shoulders and draw a veil over any emotion now. ‘Hearts heal,’ she agreed gently. ‘Though they do not forget. And you know as well as I that when you take your last breath, it will be Eadmund’s face you’ll see.’

Jael spun away, shaking her head.

‘You don’t have to pretend with me,’ Biddy murmured, touching her back. ‘You never have to pretend with me.’ And now a sobbing Jael turned around and fell into Biddy’s arms.

Dreams could be revelatory, though more often, they were simply confusing.

Pieces to pick up. Clues.

One clue, two, and then?

How to solve a puzzle...

Edela had seen Bertel’s body awash with blood. Dead.

And now she had come to find out how and why, desperately seeking a way to stop such a tragedy from occurring.

She saw him lying in the distance, and though it was mostly dark, a storm thundering above her, clouds churning low and ominous, she could see that which had become so familiar.

Bertel Knutson.

Hurrying to his side, Edela lost her balance more than once.

She heard screams and blades clashing around her, or was that the storm?

She saw no one but Bertel, and finally reaching him, pains in her heart, she dropped to her knees, taking his left hand. In his right, he held a bloody sword. His chest was wet with blood too. And his face?

Eyes wide open, he appeared to be staring at the storm.

Gasping, tears coming, Edela touched his arm, wanting to understand more.

Laughter.

Spinning around, Edela searched for the source.

A woman?

Now she stood, wobbling as she turned, scanning the darkness.

‘You have no friends here. No allies,’ came the voice as though it was the clouds themselves speaking. ‘None who can help you, Edela Saeveld. Look at what awaits those you think you can rely upon. You and your little crew of unfortunates.’

Edela saw no one. No one who was speaking, at least, though as her vision sharpened, she saw more bodies scattered around the field.

She soon recognised Korri, Zen, more of the crew and then, finally, she saw Siggy. ‘No!’ she screamed, hurrying towards the girl, but as she ran, chest tightening, heart breaking, the bodies were once again lost to the darkness.

She couldn’t reach them.

‘Do not come to Sarakat, Edela. Not for Raymon Vandaal. He is mine, and in seeking to reclaim him, you will most certainly see the ruin of everyone you care about. Every Furyck, every one of your allies. I intend to take them all.’

Pulling up, a breathless Edela felt terror and grief rising in her like a flood.

She turned, seeing a stone wall, green with age. Ravens perched atop it, snapping angrily at her, and in the centre of the wall, her eyes were drawn to an enormous wrought iron gate.

‘Dessalene, Dessalene, how you vex me,’ came a frighteningly familiar voice.

Dessalene heard it, not as though the speaker stood beside her, but as though she was inside her.

Body thrumming, she was suddenly alert in the darkness.

‘You beg for my help, though to what end?’ the Mistress wondered coldly. ‘Is it that you think you have value to me? After this? After you wounded yourself?’ The laughter was mocking and angry. ‘As I said, there are others. My kind, your kind...’

The silence lasted so long that Dessalene started to panic.

‘You are more gifted than most, though you are becoming more unreliable too. S’ala Nis and then Bhyan? Dear, dear, but there you lie, tended to by those servile crones who would rather trade you to their goddess for a secret than keep you alive. I can read their thoughts, and they do not welcome your presence at all.’

More laughter.

‘I will defeat them,’ came Dessalene’s pathetic voice. She felt the sting of tears, her humiliation palpable. ‘I can help you, Mistress. Please. I have, and I... I will again. My wounds are –’

‘Of your own making. The mistake of a novice! Though you are not a novice, Dessalene, nor are you a child like your daughter.’

Fear now.

‘Poor, crippled Irina. And what will become of her if I leave you here to die?’

Dessalene had nothing left. Nothing left but to prostrate herself.

To beg.

‘Please. Please come for me. Please come to Sarakat. I will do anything, Mistress! Anything you say! I will do it all...’

32

The Sisters of Sarakat decided that Dessalene’s prisoner needed air.

Raymon’s appetite remained poor, his skin ashen. A lack of movement had weakened him, and while his body was still healing, he needed to help it on its way.

Irina was eager to be given the assignment, and with Sister My’s somewhat reluctant consent, she collected Raymon that afternoon, and, with an escort of two silent sisters, she took him through the temple and out into the gardens.

It hadn’t rained in two days, though everything remained grey and soggy, but freed from his prison cell, Raymon didn’t care. He didn’t care about the fetters clamped around his ankles, which made walking tediously slow either. He was just grateful for the chance to escape the four walls of his chamber. Imprisoned for weeks with no understanding of what would happen next, he was starting to lose his mind.

He felt cursed, convinced that the gods had watched his cowardly ruse in Ollsvik and sought to punish him. Sometimes, he feared there was no escape from their scorn – that he would spend whatever was left of his life in chains, locked into chambers.

He had sought to stop living at the mercy of others, and yet he’d gone from being a king to a prisoner.

His mother would’ve had some sage advice about that, but he tried not to think about her – he was far too ashamed.

Though if he could escape?

Would the gods allow him another chance?

Their judgement had been loud – a condemnation. So would they offer him an opportunity to mend his ways?

Beside him, Irina hobbled along silently, sensing he was lost in his thoughts. Most of the walled garden wasn’t that interesting. The trees and bushes flanking the gravel paths had few flowers between them, creating a dark, sinister atmosphere.

She saw mist, perhaps soon turning to rain, and tipping back her head, she felt its gentle touch on her face. Though dropping her head unbalanced her, and on the gravel, she slipped, tumbling onto her knees.

Raymon shuffled towards her, trying to help her up, surprised to see her laughing.

The sisters walking further behind them hadn’t even looked the girl’s way, used to her tumbles by now.

Bending to pull Irina up to her feet, Raymon checked her over. ‘Are you alright?’ She smiled at him, cheeks flushing a deep pink, though not with embarrassment, he thought.

‘I should use a walking stick, though I honestly don’t mind the occasional fall. Do you think me strange? I must be strange to say such things!’

Raymon didn’t know what to think. ‘That you like falling over?’

Irina laughed. ‘I don’t like it. I’m just not afraid of it. I don’t want to shy away from things. My mother sought to hide me from everyone. She was embarrassed.’ And looking around at the secret garden, hidden behind towering walls, she smiled. ‘Well, she succeeded, I suppose, though I will not change. Not for her.’

Raymon glanced over his shoulder at the two dour sisters, hands clasped before their green robes, who stared at him without blinking. Turning back, he started walking again, becoming more alert now, seeking out any obstacles along the path. ‘Though if you go with her?’

They hadn’t discussed his suggestion about escaping together, and Irina hadn’t even come close to mentioning it, and feeling desperate, he thought to nudge her again.

Now it was Irina turning to look over her shoulder. She sighed heavily, all amusement gone from her eyes. ‘There has never been any consideration given to what I want,’ she told him quietly. ‘Though living here is certainly preferrable to being forced to marry. My mother told me of the lords my father had suggested as husbands. She said they were old. Lowly men.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t even know what that means.’

‘Men not worthy of your hand,’ Raymon said.

Irina snorted. ‘Though I have no royal blood. I am the daughter of a shipwright and a dreamer. Only my stepfather’s position makes me important. And even then, what does that mean? I don’t care. I would rather enjoy a life where I could be myself.’

‘So not a lady then? Wife of a lord?’

Shaking her head, Irina turned into a dark tunnel of trees with a shudder. ‘Not a lady. No. I would rather be a healer with a garden to tend to than face that sort of prison. Plants and birds don’t care how I look or how I walk.’

And in the darkness, listening to her, Raymon smiled.

They emerged from the tunnel, and Irina grabbed his arm. ‘I’ll show you my own garden. It has every herb you could imagine. The smell is better than anywhere in here. It even looks like a real garden!’ And now she picked up her pace, turning to smile at Raymon. ‘Come on!’

With Korri and the crew busy working for a local merchant, Bertel and Zen had been tasked with tracking the movements of Abat Bha.

The wine merchant’s establishment had been easy enough to find, and his home nearby, though Edela was eager for them to take something the man kept on his person, and for that, they needed to get closer to Abat Bha himself.

Bertel’s first suggestion was to create a scuffle, and while he knocked the wine merchant down, Zen could try and steal a ring. Though they were struggling to get close enough to even attempt it. Abat Bha was an important man, surrounded by a protective gaggle of followers and servants, and their plan appeared doomed to fail. Though as morning turned to afternoon, the wine merchant suddenly shook off his companions and headed out of town, walking towards the forest.

They tracked him silently, keeping their distance, seeing more than one man following after him. He finally turned off the road, stopping before a pair of decorative gates flanked on both sides by high stone walls.

Bertel and Zen hung back at a distance, pretending to talk to one another, watching as the flamboyantly dressed merchant slipped inside.

The entrance was guarded by two men taking payment.

Zen turned to Bertel in confusion, shrugging. And feeling just as confused, Bertel handed him a coin, leading the boy across the road to the gates.

Reaching the guards, he handed over his own coin with a look of nonchalance, heart thumping. He feared they would be barred from entering or even accosted, though the man turned, dropping the coin into a chest before taking Zen’s payment and ushering them into the compound.

Bertel had expected to see important buildings of some sort, though the walls were merely concealing a series of old wooden huts dotted amongst the trees.

He glanced at Zen, confused.

As they walked further into the forest, along a dirt path, Bertel hissed in the boy’s ear. ‘Whatever this is, we need to follow along.’ And now he spun around, realising that there was no sign of Abat Bha.

At least thirty huts lined the path, and now he saw men quietly going into them.

Though where was the wine merchant?

‘That one!’ Zen exclaimed, seeing a glimpse of Abat Bha’s elaborate yellow and blue tunic as he disappeared inside a hut. ‘Come on!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Bertel grumbled, attempting to grab Zen’s sleeve, but the boy was already galloping away.

Irina had been right about her garden. It was a delightful oasis amongst all that was dark and foreboding, and the smell was intoxicating – a fragrant freshness that was somehow achieved with barely a flower.

‘What do these herbs do?’ Raymon wondered out of politeness, for despite the garden’s appeal, he had no real interest in plants.

‘They heal of course,’ Irina told him. ‘It’s a task we are set here. We all take turns learning, not just how to use the plants, but how to grow them. How to respond to their needs so that they might respond to ours.’

Raymon nodded along, though his attention had shifted to a wooden gate. It was almost camouflaged, as mossy as the walls in which it sat. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but now he couldn’t stop staring. And hearing the crunching approach of the sisters coming to a stop nearby, he drew Irina closer. ‘Where does the gate lead?’ he hurried to ask. ‘Don’t look at it,’ he added as her eyes immediately darted back to him.

‘The goddess watches the temple,’ she warned. ‘She watches us all.’

Seeing her fear, Raymon turned his attention back to the garden. It reminded him of his kitchen garden in Ollsvik, and feeling wistful, he almost smiled. ‘I understand, but can you tell me where the gate leads to?’ he murmured. ‘Please, Irina. You don’t have to escape with me, though I... I have no choice but to try.’

She leaned towards him, almost losing her balance. ‘It goes to the wharf and the boat.’ And then she was wobbling around as the sisters came closer, seeking to hurry them along.

Upon entering the hut, greeted by clouds of steam, Bertel and Zen were surprised to discover that the men inside it were all naked.

They sat on benches around a fire pit heaped with stones.

A man stood near a bucket, dipping into it with a long ladle, splashing water over the stones, sending more clouds of steam whirling around the hut, leaving Bertel quickly breathless.

Beside him, Zen didn’t know where to look. He turned to Bertel, who inclined his head to a row of pegs on their left, where various items of clothing, pouches, and satchels hung.

Recognising the wine merchant’s colourful tunic on one of the pegs, Bertel started undressing next to it.

Following his lead, Zen kicked off his boots, wondering what they were even doing. He tugged off his trousers and pulled his tunic over his head, hanging them on a peg. Beside him, a naked Bertel clumsily knocked Abat Bha’s clothing onto the floor. He looked bashful, hands in the air before hurrying to gather everything into a big pile, finally securing them back on a peg. The men sitting around the pit didn’t appear to even be awake. None raised their heads. No one looked his way.

The heat was stupefying, and neither Zen nor Bertel wanted to get closer to the steaming stones, though naked as they were, there was little choice now. One of the men moved to make room on his bench before closing his eyes again. Abat Bha appeared to eye them openly as they approached, though most of the men had their heads tipped back, eyes closed.

Bertel was anything but relaxed as he took his seat. He was still struggling to breathe in heat that was too close. He felt an immediate desire to push his head through the roof and take a deep breath of air.

He noticed a back door opening, seeing two men enter. Dripping with water, they looked refreshed compared to those melting in the hut. Moving around the benches, they aimed for the pegs, where they took their clothes, dressed in silence, and soon left. Two of the men seated opposite Bertel stood, and opening the back door, they disappeared outside.

Bertel closed his eyes, wishing Edela was sitting next to him.

He would hold her hand, and she would hear his thoughts, his plans for what he wanted to do next. Instead, he had to lean towards Zen and hope that his whispers wouldn’t carry to those seated around them.

Zen could barely hear him, though he quickly got the gist of what Bertel was saying. Sweat was pouring down his head into his eyes, and he was eager to leave.

Turning to look at Bertel, surprised by the vast number of scars on his chest and arms, he nodded, wiping his eyes.

Other men came and went, though the portly Abat Bha, hands resting on his hairy belly, remained for what felt like forever.

Ears starting to ring, Bertel was sure he would faint.

The men leaving through the back door were obviously going to a stream or pool of water to cool off, and he was desperate to join them. Some returned for another round of hot steam, while others simply dressed and left.

Though the wine merchant?

Sweeping sweat off his forehead, Bertel dropped his head, blowing out a breath.

He started to panic, fearing the man had simply died in the unbearable heat, though feeling Zen nudging him, he lifted his head. The wine merchant had finally stood, skin as red as a lobster, and was now opening the back door.

As soon as the door had closed again, Bertel and Zen were on their feet, hurrying back to their clothes. They could certainly feel the curious looks of a few behind them, though they didn’t care.

They had to escape the hut before Abat Bha returned.

Gant found Jael on the ramparts, inspecting the harbour wall repairs. Both catapults had been crushed, the wall had been damaged, and it was all in urgent need of attention. Thankfully, Ragnar had prioritised it while she was away, and she could see significant progress had been made, particularly with the stonework.

It reminded her of S’ala Nis, which felt strange, and thinking of Alek, she hoped he’d found his sons and was beginning his new life in Stora.

‘I’ve sent spies into Ollsvik,’ she told Gant before he could ask the question. ‘Hopefully better spies than Oren Storgard sent here. Mattie worked on them, shielding their identities before they left. We should get a definitive answer to what is happening with him soon.’

Gant blinked, surprised as ever that she’d been reading his thoughts, but realising what she’d said, he was soon frowning. ‘You’re placing a lot of trust in Mattie. Someone you barely know.’ He led her away from the catapult platform to a space where, eventually, they were alone.

‘I’ve seen what she can do myself, and I trust her. So should you.’

‘To stop Gunnhild? But what about the livahti? Who can stop them?’

Jael turned her attention towards the harbour, seeing the mast of a merchant ship easing towards a pier. Fyn had returned to Oss that morning, where he would say his goodbyes and collect his things.

And Ayla.

She felt bad for depriving Eadmund of more company, but hopefully, where Ayla was concerned, it wouldn’t be for long.

Turning back to Gant, she shook her head. ‘I’m not sure how we can stop the livahti. Meena said they’re as powerful as gods. It’s why Daala sought to have them killed.’

Gant was thoughtful. ‘Because they were competition?’

‘No, because they were evil. A danger to all.’

‘And you truly think one killed Axl? That it became Eren Venberg?’ Gnawing a toothpick, Gant watched Jael closely, seeing her nod. ‘So there’s no safety, no matter where we are? Despite any tattoos we might have, you could be one now.’

‘I could,’ Jael agreed. ‘But more likely, it would be you. If the Furycks are their target, I’m the one in danger.’ She thought of Bo and frowned. ‘You must watch the children when I leave. Perhaps I should send them back to Oss? It seems cruel to keep them from Eadmund, but then cruel to take them away from everyone here. They’ve just arrived.’

‘I think your mother needs them for now,’ Gant said. ‘Any danger, I’ll send them back to Oss, but having them here is helping her stay in a good place.’

Jael thought so too.

‘I need to get to the tailor’s,’ she sighed, watching the sun heading down.

‘Finally getting a dress made?’

Jael snorted. ‘I am not. I’m seeing Dagbert too. Between the two of them, they might be able to come up with what I need.’

‘And when will you leave?’

‘Three days.’ Jael knew it was asking a lot, though the fletchers had worked relentlessly since they’d vanquished Oren Storgard, and their arrow stores looked promising. Ragnar’s preparations were advanced too. She almost felt confident. ‘We need to reach Hallow Wood before Mutt Storman makes other plans, and I want to be back before the harvest. Dagbert’s been keeping his men busy. I need to leave with a store of weapons big enough to kill half the kingdom. And then some.’

Gant looked surprised. ‘That’s a lot of weapons.’

Jael smiled. ‘Yes. Yes, it is.’

Fyn returned to Oss with a note from Jael and news for both his king and his father. The weather was stormy, the wind whistling around the hall as Eadmund stood by the fire pits with a frowning Bram and a surprised Ayla.

And leaving Fyn to explain things to Bram, Eadmund quickly took the damp scroll to his chair and sat down to read.

Eadmund, I hope you are well. Fyn told me about your visitors. That was a surprise, though I’m sure you know not to trust them. From what I heard, I certainly wouldn’t.

Shaking his head, Eadmund chuckled, turning to look at where Jael’s chair still stood beside his. He could see that frown and those eyes. She was glaring at him, telling him not to be so gullible.

He looked back at the scroll.

I asked Fyn to stay in Andala. I realised while I was away that he belongs with me, and he wants to come. Bram won’t be happy. I hope you can smooth that over for me?

More smiling; it was what he’d always done for a feather-ruffler like Jael.

I will need to ask for Ayla’s help too. Mattie must accompany me on a journey to find Mutt Storman and the dreamer, Gunnhild. Though I can’t leave Andala without a dreamer while we’re away, especially with the children here.

A frowning Eadmund looked to the fire pits, where Bram didn’t sound happy.

He didn’t feel happy.

The idea that he would remain on Oss, fixing his mind on winter preparations, his new ships, his fort, and leave her to...

Sitting back, he sighed, returning to the note.

I will endeavour to be away as little time as possible. Perhaps a few weeks? And then I shall send Ayla back with word of how we defeated them both.

Until then,

Jael

Eadmund wanted more, but that was it.

Abrupt and to the point as always.

It could have been a note to anyone, though he imagined Jael’s eyes and the feeling he would’ve seen in them as she wrote the words.

The truth they would have revealed to him.

It wasn’t a note to anyone. She was simply trying not to make it harder for them both.

Bram approached, shaking his head. ‘I understand Fyn wanting to go, but Ayla? And what about Oss?’

Eadmund stood, peering down at him. ‘Jael has no choice but to leave Andala to deal with her enemies. I...’ Again that feeling of helplessness sought to undermine him, though he lifted his head. ‘It makes sense, if Ayla is willing.’

Ayla came forward. ‘I am.’ Turning to Bram, she took his hand. ‘I want to help. It’s what Edela would ask of me. It’s where I need to be.’

Bram frowned. ‘But the danger –’

‘Is everywhere,’ Ayla promised. ‘In everything. We cannot escape it, and as a dreamer, I must do what I can to help.’

‘I could come?’ he suggested.

She shook her head. ‘No. No, Bram. I want to go, but I want to know you are here. Eadmund will need you.’

Eadmund thought to argue, though he didn’t want to interfere, certain the dreamer had better instincts than him.

Bram sighed. ‘You’ll need to be back before the Freeze.’

Ayla touched his cheek. ‘I don’t imagine I’ll be away that long.’

‘Well, if you are, I may have to join you,’ Bram grinned, and now he was looking at her as though they were alone, not noticing when Eadmund slipped around them to go and see Fyn.

‘How was she?’ he asked. ‘Jael?’

Fyn didn’t know how to describe her. ‘Busy,’ he said at last.

And clapping him on the shoulder, Eadmund laughed. ‘I bet she is,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I bet she is.’

33

Jael had always hated being dragged to the tailor’s as a child.

As an adult too.

Andala’s long-serving tailor, Arnna, had died, though her replacement was well aware that the new queen would present a challenge. And considering that she’d brought Dagbert, the Master Armourer, along, he assumed he was in for an interesting assignment.

As well as a new tailor, there was a new building, almost twice the size of Arnna’s old cottage, and Jael could see two women working over a table in the rear.

She handed the middle-aged, well-groomed Algar a pair of trousers and a tunic, plus a pair of boots. ‘These are all mine. Take the measurements from them. I have to get to the hall.’

The tailor looked taken aback, though turning around, he handed the pile to his assistant, returning his focus to the queen.

‘I need to carry a lot of weapons,’ she began, eyeing the tailor, then the armourer. The woman holding her clothes looked surprised, watching her closely. ‘So I’m not looking for traditional armour. A mail shirt is heavy. I know what you’ve made for me in the past, Dagbert, but I want more movement. More coverage. I need to carry a lot of knives. Short knives, long knives, throwing knives. I want straps around both ankles. Something I can conceal securely down my boots. I need a place for axes on my belt.’ Turning around, she showed her lower back, placing her fists on either side of her hips. ‘Back here.’ And now she moved her hands up her chest. ‘Throwing knives are best here. Tucked into little pockets. Something secure. They need to stay still when I roll. When I slide...’ Taking a breath, Jael remembered her horse and how much he hated Hallow Wood. ‘I have to keep Tig safe, so you’ll need to work on something for him too. He hasn’t had new armour in years.’

Hearing Algar’s unspoken questions, she turned back to him. ‘I prefer blue tunics. Black boots. Higher than mid-calf but not up to my knee. Long enough to hide the knives though.’ She glanced at Dagbert. ‘Something in the toe would be useful. Can you do that? Slip some protection into the toes of my boots? Might help when I’m kicking.’ Frowning now, Jael tried to think of anything else she might need, though eventually, she shrugged. ‘That’s enough to be starting on.’ She blinked. ‘I’ll need two sets,’ she realised, remembering Fyn. ‘When Fyn returns, I’ll send him to you, but for now, put your heads together and see what you can come up with.’ And with a brisk nod, she turned on her heels and strode through the door.

She had kept Meena’s fire opal in her pouch and had half thought to speak to Dagbert or Mattie about making her a new sword. There would be time, she knew, though she wasn’t sure how she felt about putting her trust in the power of magic...

A triumphant Bertel and Zen returned to the shed that evening as supper was being served. They’d made a hasty retreat from the steam village, and, still dripping with sweat, had found their way to a stream, where they’d happily soaked in the cool water until they felt like themselves again. And now they entered the ship shed with glowing faces, where Bertel soon revealed that he’d managed to steal Abat Bha’s pouch.

He held it up as though it was made of gold, though Siggy merely frowned at him. ‘But how do you know it’s even his? What if it’s someone else’s?’

Zen turned to Bertel with an open mouth, for he’d been wondering the same thing.

Though Bertel only scoffed, rolling his eyes. ‘Know? It was under his tunic, hanging on the peg. Of course it was his!’

Coming forward, Edela took the pouch. ‘Though what is in it?’ she murmured, turning back to her stool. ‘That is what matters now, Bertel Knutson. For if it’s only a few coins?’ Though sitting on the stool and unbuttoning the pouch, Edela soon realised that the wine merchant had foolishly used it to store his valuables.

Looking up at Bertel, her eyes shone. ‘Well...’

A triumphant Bertel eyed Siggy. ‘Mmmm, yes. Seems we did strike gold after all.’

‘We won’t be keeping them,’ Edela added, hearing Bertel’s thoughts. ‘Which, of course, you already know.’

He looked surprised, turning as Korri arrived with cups of ale.

Seeing the rings and amulets in the pouch, Korri whistled. ‘The wine merchant’s going to be hunting you,’ he chuckled, handing Bertel a cup. ‘You’d best stay in here till we leave.’

Bertel thought to scoff, but seeing the gleaming gold and silver rings, he realised that Korri might have a point. ‘And Zen,’ he muttered. ‘Better if we both stay here.’

Zen was less interested in that and more curious about what Edela thought. ‘Can you use them? Can you find a way into his memories?’

Edela smiled at the boy, who now took his own cup of ale from Korri and drank with gusto. ‘I’ll certainly try to, so let us hurry Gerulf along with supper, and then I’ll set myself up in bed.’ Her attention quickly returned to the rings, drawn to one in particular: a thick silver band. And though it was without adornment, it struck her as having more meaning than the rest. She picked it out, seeing markings of wear.

That was the one, she decided.

The one closest to Abat Bha’s heart.

Bram wasn’t convinced that Ayla should go to Andala.

He had a bad feeling.

Or perhaps he simply felt bad?

She meant everything to him, and being together again, his heart had finally shaken off every shield. It was hers. Fully.

He didn’t want to lose her again.

Sitting at her table, he watched her pack with fidgeting hands.

He’d offered to help but had quickly gotten in her way, so she’d poured him a cup of ale and pushed him down onto a chair.

‘I won’t be away long,’ she insisted, turning to see his fretful face.

‘And I wouldn’t say a word if Andala wasn’t surrounded by enemies, its old dreamer missing, its king and queen murdered, its –’

‘Bram.’

Bram shrugged, looking towards the fire where Snapper lay flopped on his back as though dead. He would miss the puppy and had taken him so that Fyn could focus on his own packing.

Now he sighed, feeling more sympathy than ever for poor Eadmund. Though if all went well, Ayla would return.

‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ she promised. ‘I’ve seen me leaving Andala long before winter, I assure you.’

He blinked as she came forward, touching his cheek with a look in her eyes that melted every argument. ‘I am not all you may –’

She kissed him. ‘You are. Now be quiet, man. I’m trying to think!’ And turning away with a wink, she returned to her chest, not noticing that behind her, Bram’s eyes had filled with tears.

After a filling meal of fish soup and flatbreads, Edela nestled under her fur. It was never really cold enough to sleep with furs in Naran-Cha, though the weight of them cocooning her weary body was a signal to her mind that the time for sleep had come.

She held Alvi to her chest, sensing his need to wriggle away. Likely he could still smell their fish supper, though she held him firmly, whispering soothing words, and soon felt him relax.

And then herself.

In her other hand, she held Abat Bha’s ring, immediately feeling a connection to the man.

He wasn’t a nice man. She had an overwhelming sense of greed. He wasn’t honest, wasn’t generous, or even kind.

It made her uncomfortable, though as distasteful as she sensed the wine merchant was, she had to find answers.

She had to find a way to reach Raymon.

Lying in bed, unable to sleep, Raymon held his gemstone, speaking as though to Edela. Though he no longer had any hope that she would come for him, for Irina had made it clear that Sarakat’s location was a secret guarded by the goddess. Still, he wanted her to know that he was alive. He didn’t want her to forget about him. Though remembering the sweet old dreamer, he didn’t imagine she would.

Glancing at the shadows creeping along the wall, he thought of Irina Sardis. Her mother was evil, untrustworthy, and dangerous, though what about the daughter?

She appeared sweet and honest, self-aware and self-deprecating.

She hadn’t said if she would come with him, though he would need her help either way. Rolling over, arm aching, Raymon knew that without Irina, he would never get into the garden again.

Edela had gone to sleep focused on Abat Bha and his daughter. She had seen an image of the girl – an unfortunate-looking creature – who had her father’s likeness. Though as she entered her third dream of a very restless night, she hadn’t found anything of either father or daughter.

And now, it appeared, she wasn’t even in Naran-Cha.

She walked a path of dirt beneath a sliver of moon.

She could smell the sea in the distance – not the river, but the sea.

The air was fresh, not muggy and cloying.

She was somewhere else.

Perhaps Sarakat?

She hurried along the path, which steepened, curling around until something came into view, which had Edela staggering to a stop.

Burial mounds.

Not understanding, she was hesitant to move forward.

This was Andala, she realised, seeing the familiar contours of Ranuf Furyck’s mound. She had visited it many times with Gisila and Axl, and on her own.

But why had she come here now?

There was a pulling sensation.

Not in her arms or legs but in her heart.

A shiver of discomfort.

An ache.

Feeling that someone was standing over her shoulder, watching her, she froze, and then, unable to take the suspense, she wheeled around.

Mouth dropping open, her hand soon covered it.

When was this?

Thoughts came and went at great speed. She didn’t understand why another mound was here. A new one. Fresh. There was no grass growing, just dirt.

A new mound?

She turned, seeing no others, soon returning her gaze to the strange sight.

Furia had tasked her with saving the Furycks from their doom, but was she too late?

‘It can only be Axl,’ came a small voice.

Hers.

And then tears as she fell forward onto her knees.

‘Oh, Axl! No! My dear, sweet boy! No!’

For the first time in a while, Jael wasn’t sleeping alone.

Ido and Vella were keeping her company.

A surprisingly cuddly Vella had crawled under the furs, nestling against her chest. Ido lay near her head, as he was wont to do, both of them utterly silent and still.

Smiling, she stroked Vella’s fur, thinking about when she’d been given the dogs – not wanting them. Not wanting children or a husband either. Though she’d never been as happy as when they’d all been together.

It was good to have Sigmund and Bo with her again, though she feared leaving them.

Love meant worrying, she thought with a yawn – so much worrying. And for the first time, she imagined what it must feel like to be her own mother. To watch her only daughter ride off to war and to fear never seeing her again.

‘Oh, to have no heart,’ she murmured. ‘It would all be so much easier then.’ And closing her eyes, she rested her hand on Ido, finally drifting off to sleep.

Waking to the sound of Edela’s sobs, a drowsy Bertel was soon crawling towards her. Siggy had woken, too, though he motioned for the girl to go back to sleep. ‘Edela?’ he whispered, reaching the dreamer and shaking her gently. ‘Wake up now. You are having a bad dream. Come, wake up.’

She opened her eyes, staring at him through her tears. ‘I am not asleep.’

He was surprised, sitting down beside her and then lying down, facing her.

He took her hand. ‘Tell me,’ he thought.

She dragged her hand away, holding it up to her face. ‘I cannot. I cannot say it.’

Bertel was worried, and now he spoke. ‘Did you see something troubling?’

‘I saw the end,’ Edela sobbed. ‘You... all this in vain. I saw the end!’

‘Ssshhh,’ he soothed, reaching for her hand again. ‘Siggy is awake back there.’ And now he heard her voice in his head.

‘My grandson has died. My... my grandson is dead!’

Bertel was stunned, though seeing her grief, he did not doubt she spoke the truth. ‘Oh, Edela. I am so sorry.’

‘Whatever I was... whatever I was supposed to achieve or... it... I didn’t. Raymon is gone, and Axl is dead!’ She tried to muffle her cries, though soon Korri came over to see what was wrong.

Bertel shooed him away, and then Siggy when she tried again.

He pulled Edela up and into his arms. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he kept repeating, stroking her hair as she collapsed against him.

‘I failed,’ she wept. ‘I... failed.’

Bertel tried to think. ‘But what does it mean?’ he asked, hoping to distract her. ‘For Brekka? What does it mean?’

Pulling out of his embrace, Edela rubbed her eyes. ‘I...’ She hadn’t thought about that. ‘It...’ She had been unable to see anything of Andala since she’d left Tuura. Nothing more than a glimpse of unimportant things. If she’d been able to see? If she’d gone home? Now she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a cloth, blowing her nose. Blinking, she peered up at Bertel with a chilling certainty. ‘It means that Jael is the queen. It means that poor Jael is the Queen of Brekka.’

Up bright and early, Fyn was keen to go back to Andala, and though he would miss his father, his cousin, and his friends, he knew it was where he belonged.

Oss was home, but without Jael, he’d felt directionless.

Useless.

But now he had a chance to do something.

He thought of Axl, still surprised to think that he was dead. They were the same age, yet all of Axl’s plans for the future – for his kingdom and his family – had amounted to nothing. They had been swept away, as he had been swept away. Never forgotten, but gone nonetheless.

Time was fleeting, and opportunity even more so.

Fyn didn’t know about many things, he’d made a mess of much of his life, but he knew he wanted to make every day count.

Attaching Yara’s bridle, he felt a rush of cold wind, and hearing the stable door squeaking, he turned to see Milla.

‘You’re leaving,’ she said, looking thoughtful. ‘Rilda told me.’ Since Biddy’s departure, she had been taken on by Eadmund’s cook and put to work in the kitchen. Everyone was kind to her, though she didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as she had looking after the children.

Fyn nodded. ‘Now, actually.’

Milla was surprised. ‘And you weren’t going to say goodbye?’

She came forward, and he saw the hurt in her eyes.

‘I remember being friends in Alekka. I thought we were friends.’

Fyn squirmed. ‘I hope we are. I want to be, it’s just been a... strange time.’

Milla patted Yara, running a hand down her silken cheek. ‘And will you return? Ever?’

‘Course. I’ve promised Bram and Thorgils. Course I will.’

She looked up at him. ‘Good.’ And now she smiled, and her sleepy eyes were bright and friendly again. ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

Edela wasn’t herself when she awoke.

And after hearing about her dream, no one expected her to be.

There were looks of sympathy as she shuffled to the fire, where Gerulf was adding honey to the porridge.

Korri took the dreamer in his arms, and despite promising that she wouldn’t speak of it or give in to her tears, she was soon sobbing. Siggy followed, and even Zen, so that eventually, she decided that she needed some air.

A walk.

Siggy went with her, and though she thought Edela would want to talk about her grandson, instead the dreamer focused on her failure to find Abat Bha.

‘I thought to simply come across him,’ she admitted as they left the shed behind, heading along the riverbank. It was spitting lightly, though it was almost refreshing. ‘But that didn’t happen, so we shall have to prepare for a dreamwalk, and that means finding mugwort. Mugwort and a... few other things. Just to be safe.’ Grief for Axl had exhausted her, and she’d barely slept since that horrifying dream. She had taken what was left of the healer’s tonic, though she felt no brighter and certainly no more confident.

Though she had to try.

Siggy didn’t know what to say. ‘I thought –’

‘That I would want to give up?’ Edela shook her head. ‘I cannot give up on Raymon. I will not. No, if he is still in Sarakat, he will be hoping for a rescue and we...’ She thought of Axl, and lips wobbling, she had to work hard to hold back the tears. ‘We cannot let him down.’

‘You will be leaving the temple,’ Sister My said to a surprised Irina, who sat silently before her, hands clasped in her lap, fearing she was about to be reprimanded. She had barely started her breakfast when one of the sisters had come with a message.

On her hurried journey up to the head sister’s chamber, she’d tried to think of what she might have done. Something wrong, she knew. Sister My was meticulous. Intolerant. She expected her rules to be followed, her instructions carried out precisely, and Irina was certain she had failed at both.

Or perhaps she’d discovered what Raymon Vandaal was planning?

Though sitting on a high-backed chair before the sister, she lifted her head. ‘But my mother?’

‘I have received word that you, your mother, and her prisoner are to be collected.’

Irina didn’t understand. ‘By who? My father? Is he coming here?’

‘You ask too many questions, child,’ the sister chided, her flaking forehead wrinkling with annoyance. ‘Knowledge is shared, not requested, Irina. It is a gift that only the worthy receive. Those who know their place. It is what you have been taught these past three years. To know your place.’

Irina lowered her eyes, bowing her head beneath that unblinking gaze. ‘I shall be ready, Sister My.’

‘Good, see that you are, for I have been informed that you will not be coming back.’

34

A twitchy Jael met Fyn at the armourer’s.

After long days of planning and barracking everyone to work harder than they believed possible, they were leaving in the morning. Speed was essential, seeing to Mutt Storman and his men was important, reclaiming those settlements still corrupted by Gunnhild’s magic was necessary. And killing the dreamer too.

All of which had to be achieved before the harvest was ready.

And that meant leaving tomorrow.

Though despite spending every day crossing the fort to deal with blacksmiths, armourers, coopers, fletchers, stable hands, and cooks, nothing was moving as quickly as she wanted.

Impatient by nature, standing still had always driven Jael mad, though she knew it made no sense to rush off unprepared.

Not into Hallow Wood.

Biting her tongue, she stared at Fyn, who stood talking to Aedan and the Master Armourer, Dagbert.

‘I’ve a selection awaiting your inspection,’ the big man said with a sooty smile. He was as stubborn as everyone else she’d been dealing with – all of whom thought her expectations unreasonable. None had said so to her face, though Jael had certainly heard their grumbled thoughts loud and clear.

She felt ready for the training ring, wanting to kick someone in the head. And thinking of Thorgils, for some reason, she almost smiled.

Aedan had bumped into Fyn, and hearing what they were doing, he’d decided to tag along. He’d been delivering milk to his wife, who was working with their neighbours to churn that milk into butter. And cheese. Kayla had developed a reputation for having a particular talent for cheese, often trading a round or two with their neighbours, though they were becoming so large that she needed his help moving them around.

He enjoyed the simplicity of his life, though he felt a twinge of envy at the thought of the army leaving. And looking at the new weapons Dagbert had prepared for Jael and Fyn, that twinge only intensified.

Fyn looked on as Jael studied everything with a critical eye, picking out what she wanted and putting them to one side. She had an old sword Fyn had brought from Oss, her favourite one lost on S’ala Nis, and she half regretted that she hadn’t asked Dagbert to make her a new one.

Seeing Fyn dithering beside her, she nudged him. ‘I’ll choose it all if you don’t help yourself.’

He glanced at her pile, seeing the knives, big and small. Axes too.

‘But how will you carry it all?’ Aedan asked.

‘Well, that’s where we’re heading next. Algar’s been working on our new outfits. New outfits, new armour. We’ll be ready for anything.’

Aedan looked intrigued, now helping himself to a short axe. Picking it up, he was surprised by how light it felt.

‘Better for throwing,’ Dagbert grinned, tugging his black beard. ‘Less heft than most want, though the queen here suggested we need lighter options.’

Jael nodded. ‘We do. I’d rather carry ten weapons than one.’

Fyn agreed, picking up a throwing knife. It was small enough to be concealed in a child’s hand but sharp enough to do real damage, he thought, motioning to throw it.

‘We should get in the ring,’ Jael suggested. ‘Do some training. I need to move my back.’

‘How is it?’ Fyn wondered, adding a handful of throwing knives to his pile.

‘Less of a worry than everything else, though training would be good.’ She turned to Aedan, mind whirring. ‘I need torches. Is that something you could help with?’

‘Torches?’

‘Well, if we’re going into Hallow Wood, we need to ensure we’re armed with fire.’ And winking at Fyn, who shuddered at the thought of what they might encounter there, she explained to Aedan precisely what she needed.

Finding her husband watching the warriors train, Gisila smiled sadly, remembering him standing there over the years, shouting encouragement at Axl and Jael.

The strangeness of the fort without her son had not lessened. The children were distracting, and having Biddy was a comfort, though without Axl and Amma, Andala felt oddly empty – their absence as chilling and shocking as winter arriving in summer.

Gant turned with a smile, and drawing his wife to him, he kissed her cheek. ‘You’re worried?’ he murmured, seeing her fretful eyes. ‘About tomorrow?’

Gisila sighed. ‘Well, they’ve barely been back and now to leave again? I understand why, though I never feel safe when the army is gone. More so without Raymon on Iskavall’s throne. To feel an enemy watching is rather unsettling. Oren Storgard has come once, so if he lives, he is sure to come again.’

Gant agreed. ‘Which is why Jael must take the army and go, my love. Ranuf never fought off Haaron Dragos with the kingdom in tatters. He wouldn’t have been able to. Jael has to piece it back together with her own two hands, and quickly.’

Nodding somewhat reluctantly, despite knowing he was right, Gisila watched in horror as her daughter slipped through the railings with Fyn Gallas. Striding towards her and hissing her name, Gisila soon caught Jael’s attention.

A rigid Jael turned away from Fyn, squeezing her hands around the two wooden swords she’d chosen. They were shorter than those she was used to on Oss but would still be effective. ‘Mother,’ she muttered. ‘You wanted me?’ Coming to a stop beside Gisila, Gant mouthed urgent instructions, hoping to convince Jael to hold her tongue, and remembering the state of her mother when she’d returned from the South, she attempted to do just that.

‘As queen, you cannot throw yourself about in the dirt,’ Gisila said discreetly. ‘Rolling around with these men?’ She saw the girl with the eye patch and realised that not every warrior training was a man. Surprised by that, she returned to what she needed her daughter to understand. ‘It is not what a queen does.’

Jael stepped closer, ignoring both Gant and her own promises to tread gently. ‘Then think of me as a king. Would that help? For I certainly remember Father rolling about in here, and Axl. I imagine Grandfather did as well. I’m the leader of the kingdom. I rule here. I lead the army, and I organise these warriors. They follow my sword and me, and if you wish me to come back alive, you need to stop expecting me to be a queen like you were and start seeing me as a king. And a king trains with her men.’

A stunned Gisila turned to Gant, who was open-mouthed beside her.

And certain she’d upset her mother, Jael decided to give up before she made it any worse. With a grunt, she turned away, tapping her swords together, nodding at Petra, then Fyn as she scanned the busy ring, looking for someone she wanted to fight.

Someone worthy of her time.

And eventually, her eyes rested on Erling Venberg.

Pye took a plate of food and a jug of wine to Kalina. After the battle, she’d been transferred to a secure prison cell, and for most of that time, she’d been alone. Justice was usually dispensed swiftly in Andala. If you were found guilty, you were punished. Outlawed, killed, fined – whatever fit the crime.

Here, though, Kalina was simply a hostage.

There were no windows, though the bars, like a cage, let in plenty of light and air. And while it was summer, that was ideal, though when winter came?

Pye made his way towards the guard, who knew him well now. And unlocking the prison door, the man let Pye inside.

‘Why have you taken so long?’ Kalina cried, rushing forward, and hurriedly pouring herself a cup of wine, she stood back with a sigh. Gulping it down, she quickly poured more.

Standing before her, Pye was surprised.

‘You were to come yesterday,’ Kalina hissed. ‘It is what you promised. I’ve been eating mud since then. Forced to drink from puddles!’ None of which was true, though Pye was easy enough to manipulate and pathetically eager to please.

He looked disturbed. ‘I... I will speak to Eto. He would not allow that.’

‘Pfft! That man is Jael Furyck’s ogre. He has no mind of his own. He does only as she wills. They all do. Even you, Eppypyrus!’

Pye was taken aback, reminded at once of Dessalene.

‘You will do well to care for me. To see to my needs,’ Kalina purred, coming closer now, and stroking his cheek, she breathed wine in his face. ‘For we both know my father has the might of the continent behind him. Kings in Kadak, Silura, and Kalmera will offer their ships. Their men. Zagora too! Soon, S’ala Nis will be reclaimed, Arras Sikari will be buried alive, and my father will burn down Osterland. You know it as well as I. This moment?’ she laughed, slopping wine on the ground. ‘It’s just an illusion conjured up by a coward! And the bitch calls herself a dreamer! But what has she to defend this place against everything my father can muster? Tell me, Pye, what?’

Pye didn’t know.

‘Dessalene will shower you with gratitude for helping me, for caring for me during these unimaginable deprivations. My father will make you a lord. I will insist upon it!’ She saw Pye’s eyes shimmer with desire, and she placed a hand under his chin, lifting it. ‘Now tell me, have you heard from Dessalene? What does she say? Will they be here soon? You must tell me...’ Dropping her hand to her side, she spun away to the wall where she’d made marks with her fingernails, clawing at it in anger.

‘I haven’t heard from her,’ Pye mumbled. ‘It’s... it’s the protections around the fort,’ he insisted. ‘They are stopping her!’

Swinging around, Kalina peered at him with wild eyes. She was unkempt now, black hair longer and tangled, her white dress a mucky greyish brown. She no longer looked like the Queen of S’ala Nis, though Pye had never forgotten how majestic her palace was, and the golden throne with her perched upon it.

‘They will come,’ Kalina promised. ‘So you must keep my captors happy, Pye. Be as helpful as you have been. They are trusting you now. Befriending you even.’ The guard had left, and she felt able to speak freely, though her voice was a breathless whisper. ‘Your loyalty has never been more valuable than it is now. Dessalene will see. And her mistress. She will be watching you too. Do not forget, Pye. Whatever you may think, they are more powerful than anyone here. We will be the victors! You know that, don’t you? We will be the victors, and Osterland will be ours!’

A sweaty-faced Erling looked delighted to be singled out by the queen, who eyed him coldly, revealing nothing.

‘You used to train with my brother,’ Jael said, as though they were meeting for the first time. ‘And how did that go?’ She didn’t notice that Gant had remained, joined by Hal and Rexon.

‘Axl?’ Erling shrugged, squinting at her. ‘It depended on how much we’d had to drink the night before.’ He carried a sword and shield, circling Jael, preparing for her to strike.

Jael didn’t like him, though this wasn’t about Erling.

Tension and anger vibrated inside her so intensely at times that it almost made a sound. She had kept a tight hold on her temper for so long now that she was wearying of the effort. She knew a time would come soon when she would simply snap.

Which could just as easily be now, she realised, peering at that smug face.

‘I’ll be taking you with me,’ she informed him. ‘You and Hal. So I need to see what you can do before I decide where to put you. Leading men or being led by others?’

Erling looked suitably insulted, temper rising.

She could feel it. She could hear his angry thoughts and it made her smile.

The sun beat on her back, and she thought of Argo Kosta and his giant whip.

Lunging with her left sword, she aimed low, seeking to crack Erling’s knee. He skipped away, thrusting with his shield, and shifting his feet quickly, he now lunged at her, aiming for her leg. Jael jumped over his sword, landing right in front of him, and threatening his shield with her left sword, she jabbed her right into his exposed belly.

Hal glanced at Gant. ‘Rather Erling than me,’ he admitted quietly.

Gant nodded, a smile playing around his lips. ‘Erling’s not thinking it through. Appears he’s forgotten he’s facing his own queen.’

Jael wasn’t thinking about anything other than the need to wipe the smile off Erling’s face. She’d fought countless men who’d come at her with the same certainty. As though her reputation had only been secured by fighting the weak and feckless. As though they would be the one to show all the rest how it was done. ‘Put me down and I’ll make you a leader. Get me on the ground, sword at my throat, and I’ll hand you five hundred men,’ she promised, and circling him now, she eyed his shield.

She could read his thoughts, knowing he found it cumbersome.

Smiling, she parried his strike with her right sword, bringing her left in to take him in the leg.

She let him touch her arm, and now she stepped back, feinting a stumble.

Straightening up, swords crossed before her, Jael assumed her full height.

Immediately released from Erling’s hand, his shield came for her head, but ducking it easily, Jael ran at him, all speed now. Her back jerked with every movement, as though ropes were tied around her, tugging her backwards. The tightness and discomfort of the scarring was often painful, though it kept her grounded, reminding her of what defeat felt like. To be imprisoned. To stand on the brink of losing everything.

Swords flashing, she broke through Erling’s defenses, hounding him now.

Right sword, left, right again.

He couldn’t parry both quickly enough.

She got closer, twisting her right sword like a knife, stabbing Erling’s boot. Pinned there momentarily, he swept his sword at her head.

Jael ducked, now bringing up her right sword at speed, jamming it under his chin.

Teeth slamming together, a stunned Erling heard the gasps of those watching, though Jael only heard the thumping rhythm of her heart urging her on. He stumbled backwards, losing his balance, and she flicked out a foot, tripping him. But though he appeared to fall, arms flailing, he kept to his feet, and shifting his body forward, he came for the queen again.

The look on his face was pure arrogance.

The sort of look that made her want to take off his head.

Anger ascendant now, Jael met him with a thump, shoulder to shoulder.

Swinging up her right arm, she elbowed him in the ear. He jabbed for her belly, but jerking away, she spun around behind him, kicking his back. Knocked forward again, Erling skidded through the dirt, though once again, he didn’t go down.

He had better balance than most, Jael realised, getting more annoyed by the moment.

Swinging around, eyes blazing, he lunged, aiming for her legs. But as Jael got closer, he switched angles, shunting his sword up to her neck. Jerking to the right, Jael felt the wooden blade skim her hair. Bringing up her left sword, she swept Erling’s only weapon out of his hand. Righting herself quickly, she shoved a leg between his, hooking it around his ankle, bringing him close.

Right leg claimed by the queen, a weaponless Erling sought to push her away, though working her left elbow, Jael aimed it at his face, tugging him forward with her foot at the same time. Trying to avoid that elbow, Erling lurched backwards, though his right leg moved towards Jael.

She saw his eyes bulge, lips parting, as he finally lost his balance, tumbling onto his back with a thump, dust rising to cover him in a dirty cloud.

Before he could scramble back to his feet, she was standing over him, swords crossed at his throat.

Stepping back with a cursory nod, she was quickly turning away. ‘Petra! You’re next.’ And now she turned back to Erling. ‘You’ll be under Hal then.’

Gant glanced at Hal. ‘She seems to be warming to you. Better keep it that way.’

Hal didn’t know if that was true, but he soon left the training ring with Gant, not wanting to be called upon to fight. He had confidence in his abilities, but Jael had a look in her eye he’d already learned to recognise.

As though she wasn’t there.

Not the mother or daughter, but the green-eyed warrior, who would fell anyone who dared stand in her way.

It had taken days for a grieving and distracted Edela to collect what she needed for her dreamwalk to Abat Bha.

No one had rushed her, though in hindsight, she realised she could have accomplished everything so much quicker. ‘I have what I need,’ she declared, returning to the shed that afternoon as thunder clapped overhead.

Shaking rain from her cloak, she laid it over a stool to dry near Gerulf’s fire. And smiling at a bleating Nellie, she turned to where Bertel was sharpening his sword.

Siggy and Zen quickly hurried in behind her.

‘We brought ale!’ Siggy declared with a smile.

A thirsty Bertel’s eyes lit up, and he wasn’t the only one, as those in the shed hurried forward to help Zen with the small cask.

Bertel made for Edela, who appeared wet through. ‘It’s not raining, is it?’ he joked.

‘It might be,’ she said with a shake of her head, and now she opened her purse, pulling out a glass phial. ‘Moonflower. I’ve never tried it before, so we shall see.’

Bertel peered at the phial, then at the swollen-eyed dreamer. ‘So tonight then? You will find the wine merchant tonight?’

‘Yes,’ Edela murmured, feeling quietly confident. She had secured more herbs than were needed, not wanting to waste anyone’s time. Especially not poor Raymon’s.

Her broken heart remained in Andala, her thoughts were all over the place, though when she thought of Raymon, she knew she couldn’t let him down.

Used to her own company since the death of her husband, Mattie tended to keep to herself. She wasn’t one to seek advice, though the pressure of leaving Andala to battle a dark dreamer was starting to get to her.

Kolarov had promised to stay with Linas and Gully – he was even going to look after Snapper for Fyn – and she mostly felt reassured by that. Though it was the thought of finding and then confronting Gunnhild that woke her in the night and had her staring at the rafters before dawn. She had struggled to kill the dreamer’s helpers, and Helga had struggled to kill Gunnhild.

And though Mattie had ultimately proven successful, Helga had failed.

Helga Brugen had been an older, wiser, more skilled dreamer than Mattie feared she would ever be, and she hadn’t managed it. So how could she possibly hope to achieve more? How could she kill her?

And realising that she needed someone to talk to, she’d turned to the newly arrived Ayla Adea.

The dreamer had been welcoming and kind, and eager to offer advice, she suggested they take a walk in the forest. The fort had become noisier and more chaotic as the army’s departure beckoned, and she sensed a nervous Mattie would benefit from the soothing sounds of the forest.

They had to walk some way to find them, though they were eventually welcomed by chirping birds and rustling trees shrouded in a canopy of green leaves and sunlight.

‘Confronting dark dreamers is daunting,’ Ayla said, basket over her arm as they wandered west. ‘Dark dreamers and their evil magic.’

Mattie had her own basket, which she intended to fill. She would be taking a wagon to Hallow Wood and hoped to stock it with everything she might need. ‘I wish you were coming,’ she admitted. ‘Or that Helga was still here. Two dreamers working to stop Gunnhild seems more possible than just me.’

Hearing her panicked thoughts, Ayla smiled sympathetically. ‘Though you have Edela’s book, and that’s like having another dreamer with you. After she disappeared, I thought to take it, as she’d certainly asked me to, though something stayed my hand. I see now that it was you. You and Helga. Andala needed dreamers to defend her walls, and those dreamers needed her wisdom. And you will use it again, Mattie. In Hallow Wood. It will be like Edela is there, guiding you.’ She felt a rush of sadness, worrying for her old friend, then hearing a great buzzing drone, she saw rows of beehives and steered Mattie further into the trees.

Mattie was quiet for some time, merely watching her footing. ‘She has to die,’ she whispered eventually, not looking up. ‘Gunnhild. I have to kill her.’

‘You do,’ Ayla agreed. ‘Her power makes her dangerous to all of Osterland, but most of all to Brekka. She hates Jael,’ she mused, seeing the path darken before her. ‘Because she fears her. She knows what she is capable of. Jael is favoured by a goddess. A dreamer and warrior both. You will have to stop Gunnhild, Mattie, but Jael will be with you. She will help you, I promise.’

Gisila was quiet at supper.

And annoyed.

Jael was supposed to be sitting at the high table, presiding over the feast, though no one had seen her or Fyn.

She had sent Gant after her, insisting he bring her back, for what if this was their last meal together?

The army would be leaving in the morning, and her daughter had been rushing around the fort for days. Gisila had barely seen or spoken to her, and she had the growing sense that Jael was once again avoiding her. She had her grandchildren to occupy her time, and they were wonderful company when they were well-behaved, though she couldn’t stop wanting to spend time with her daughter. And with that in mind, Gisila had organised the feast, certain she could convince Jael to sit beside her for one evening.

She touched her throat, becoming nauseous, and though the pork was expertly flavoured with sage and rosemary, she didn’t want any more. Beside her, Branwyn was speaking to Kolarov. They had struck up quite the friendship, and leaving them to talk, she turned her attention instead to the door, ignoring the entreating smiles of Kamilla and Ebert Venberg and the surly look of their son as he knocked back his wine.

Wondering when Jael would come.

‘Will he see you?’ Siggy wondered, grabbing Edela’s hand. Since Bertel had stolen Abat Bha’s pouch, and the dreamer had discovered that her grandson was dead, she’d barely spoken. And wanting to give her the space she needed, Siggy had left her alone. Though now Edela was preparing to do the dreamwalk, and she began to feel worried.

The crew was eating, knowing they would soon be ushered outside while Bertel and Siggy helped Edela.

Edela barely heard Siggy, though a squeeze had her blinking, looking first at her hand, then up at the girl whose big eyes were framed by such thick eyelashes. She was becoming quite pretty, Edela thought distractedly. Then, tugging her hand away, she brought it back to the circle she was making, arranging her stones more precisely. ‘A dreamwalk is not a simple trance,’ she murmured. ‘In a dreamwalk, the goal is to speak to the person you visit, so they must be asleep. And yes, if I will it, he will see me.’

Siggy felt nervous, fearing that this was their only hope.

Their last chance of finding Raymon.

Hearing her thoughts, Edela couldn’t help but share them. If he was right in where he’d been taken, a goddess was shielding him. A goddess she didn’t have a particularly good feeling about. Apart from Dashira and Alvina, no one in Naran-Cha had spoken of Sarakat, though Edela had no choice but to risk the goddess’ wrath.

No choice but to try and find a way into her sacred temple...

35

Gant found Jael exactly where he’d expected her to be – the fletchers’.

She didn’t look pleased to see him. ‘The feast,’ she sighed. ‘I...’ And now she shook her head.

‘It’s getting late. If you don’t show your face soon, your mother will come after you herself,’ Gant warned with a smile.

And not having the patience for that, Jael left the fletchers with a few words of encouragement and headed out of the workshop with Gant, mind whirring. She needed to go to the coopers’ and check on the barrels. She needed to –

‘I don’t doubt you’ll have the weapons and the men, Jael. Everyone has worked themselves into the ground. You will have what you need, but you must be careful in Hallow Wood,’ Gant urged. ‘I certainly regret going in there myself.’

Jael nodded distractedly, wanting to ensure that Orm had brought the horses in from the paddocks; she needed Tig to have a restorative sleep. ‘Well, I’ve had my own encounter in Hallow Wood,’ she reminded him. ‘Though Mutt Storman’s there. And Gunnhild. And neither will stop till they’ve seen the end of me.’

‘Oh, I know that all too well,’ Gant groaned, and grabbing her arm, he made her stop. ‘But Jael, I didn’t come to talk about Hallow Wood. I didn’t come because your mother sent me.’

An impatient Jael peered at him.

‘I’ve been putting off something we need to discuss.’

Now she lifted an eyebrow.

‘You have to choose an heir. Bo’s a little girl. She can’t take the throne if something happens to you. You need someone to rule if you don’t return.’

Blinking now, Jael thought of her daughter and what might become of her. ‘But we’ve discussed it. If something happens to me, you’ll rule here for Bo. Rule for her and with her. Train her.’

‘To be like you? Is that what you want for Bo? For me to make her a warrior?’

Jael had often wondered about that. She had talked about it with Eadmund too.

Now she smiled, thinking of her wild daughter. ‘Bo’s as stubborn as a mule. Perhaps she will change as she grows up, though I’ve a feeling that this is her. The wild, stubborn little beast.’

‘She’s like you in that way,’ Gant chuckled.

Jael couldn’t disagree. ‘So I think Bo will decide who she wants to be. Train her to take care of herself, to protect herself. I want that. But as to her choosing a warrior’s path? It’s not something you or I can force upon her. If she takes after Gisila, I can’t imagine she’ll be interested in mastering weaponry.’

‘I have tried.’

‘I know.’

‘Your mother is stubborn too.’

Jael grinned, vibrating with tension. ‘I blame Edela. You think I’m stubborn? But that woman has never listened to anyone in her life!’

Bertel had had no luck convincing Edela to start her trance earlier. He was impatient and wanted to get on with things, though she had chosen the exact moment she would begin, shutting out his noisy protests as he sat with a newly-acquired drum on his knee, rolling his eyes at Siggy, who ignored him, keeping her attention on Edela.

The dreamer looked in pain, kneeling in the dirt, gripping the wine merchant’s ring in her right hand, facing the brazier burning before her.

And there she waited in silence until, inhaling the unusual woody aromas, she turned to Siggy. ‘Place the herbs on the flames,’ she breathed. ‘Slowly. The intensity will overcome you.’ Korri and Zen were outside, guarding the doors with the rest of the crew, while Bertel and Siggy sat on opposite sides of her circle, staring at her. Though she was working hard to shut them all out. To leave the shed behind and go deep inside herself. ‘You can drum,’ she said, closing her eyes. ‘And silence. Nobody must speak.’

She didn’t hear another word as the darkness claimed her.

The darkness, the intense smoke, and the rolling drumbeat, which quickly swept her away, body twisting, legs dangling as she spun around, fearing she would vomit.

It was as though she was a tiny boat, tossed violently on giant waves.

Powerless.

Stomach lurching, she tightened her grip on the ring, strengthening her focus on the wine merchant, and now she could feel waves of warm air and a hard surface beneath her feet. Opening her eyes, she smelled the sea. At first, she feared she had returned to Andala, though the sky had an unusual yellowish hue, and she felt an oppressive heat more common in Kadak than Osterland.

Looking around, she saw she was on a ship, and not two steps before her stood the portly wine merchant, Abat Bha.

He was dreaming of something he desperately wanted, she realised, listening to his ambitious thoughts – the grandest ship in all of Kadak. He saw himself as no mere merchant in Naran-Cha but as a powerful dardong and ally to the king.

Cutting through clear blue water under a generous sun, the ship gleamed, crafted of fine polished wood and gold. It was garish, Edela thought, much like the bloated man in his extravagant outfit, though dispensing with her distaste, she focused on extracting answers. ‘You seek knowledge of your daughter!’ she boomed loudly, hands swirling around, and soon dark clouds swept across the face of that golden sun, Abat Bha’s ship losing its majestic glow.

He had been admiring the carving of what appeared to be a goddess, fixed as a prow, and spinning around in shock, he gaped at her.

‘You sent your Katira to me,’ Edela said, speaking deliberately. ‘Your precious daughter. It was my wish to have her at my temple, though you did not listen to the sisters. You did not heed their warnings.’

A stunned Abat Bha stumbled towards her, one hand out. ‘G-g-goddess?’

‘You have revealed what you know of my temple! You have shared my secrets!’

Shaking his head, chins wobbling, Abat Bha looked horrified.

‘The Red Lady!’ Edela snarled. ‘I heard it all... every word of your blathering betrayal to that woman! And here you stand on this ship, imagining a future I have the power to deprive you of!’

‘But I –’

‘Silence!’ Edela roared. ‘I did not come here for lies. Nor for excuses! I am here to reclaim your knowledge of my temple and of your daughter’s journey there, so that you will never have cause to break your oath again!’

The wine merchant looked caught between offering up the excuses she certainly didn’t want or remaining silent, though before he could decide, Edela rose up before him, touching his head. Floating in the air, cloak swirling, she placed her hands on his temples. ‘Speak to me,’ she purred. ‘Speak to me of your journey to my temple, Abat Bha, lord of wine. Everything you remember. Every word and image you have held onto. Tell it to me now, and I shall take your words and erase them from your memory. And when we are done, you shall go, and then...’

Abat Bha waited for the goddess to say more, though he saw her close her eyes.

Pressing a hand to his chest, he could feel stabbing pains. He’d been experiencing them for weeks now. Perhaps this was why?

Perhaps the goddess had been watching him?

‘I... I will tell you everything!’ he panicked. ‘All of it. I swear it to you!’

Gisila appeared just as annoyed to have Jael sitting at the table as when she’d been absent, which amused Gant, who couldn’t keep up with his wife.

‘I don’t think the children should leave,’ Gisila murmured in her daughter’s ear. ‘Andala is much safer than Oss, surely? Why send them there, away from their mother? They are so young, Jael, and they are happy here. Andala should be their home now.’

It was late, and Jael didn’t want to eat, she didn’t want to talk, and she certainly didn’t want to talk about Eadmund. She’d always been able to carry many thoughts and plans in her mind at once, but the idea of entering Hallow Wood unsettled her in a way nothing had in a long time.

Memories, she realised, thinking back to her last time there.

She had nearly died, Aleksander had nearly died, Thorgils had nearly died.

And she had lost Eadmund.

Sighing, she put back the flatbread she’d just picked up and turned to Gisila. ‘They will stay for now, though they have two parents, and they deserve to know them both as much as possible.’ She honestly didn’t know what she thought about the situation, though she wanted to turn her mother towards other things. ‘While Ayla is here, it’s the safest place to be.’ She saw the dreamer talking to Kolarov and nodded, relieved to see her sitting there.

Since they’d met, years ago on Oss, Ayla Adea had always been the steadiest of women, and despite what she had seen of the dreamer and Eadmund, she trusted her implicitly.

And staying on the topic of dreamers, Gisila leaned towards her daughter, lowering her voice. ‘And this Mattie? I’ve had few dealings with her. Is she to be trusted? She’s no Ayla.’

‘Though you’ve never even trusted Ayla, Mother. I’m beginning to think it’s impossible for you to trust anyone, and certainly not me.’

‘You?’ Gisila laid her knife on the table and sipped her wine. ‘What are you talking about?’ The hall was brightly lit. Conversation was loud and animated, though she could sense an undercurrent of tension. It was to be expected when the army was leaving in the morning, for many were worried about their loved ones – worried they wouldn’t be coming back. And shoulders sinking, she realised that she was one of them. ‘I don’t trust you to avoid danger. I certainly don’t trust you to let others take all the risks. No, of course I don’t trust you, Jael. How could I? I know you!’

Jael grinned. ‘I can only be myself, Mother.’

‘Hmmm, so you say.’

‘And secretly, you like it.’

A frowning Gisila was surprised when Jael touched her hand, squeezing it.

‘I’m a dreamer, so I know you like it. Though I also know you’ll never say.’

Gisila narrowed her eyes. ‘I wish you weren’t even here,’ she admitted. ‘That’s the truth of it. What has happened to all of us... I wish you weren’t even in Andala.’

Feeling much the same, Jael nodded. ‘Though I am, as are you, and between us and Gant, we need to protect the kingdom. I’m simply doing my part.’

Gisila looked away, fiddling with her knife now. ‘When your grandmother announced that I was having a daughter, everyone was horrified. No one understood why. They assumed you wouldn’t live long, for no Furyck daughter had been born before. Though I always imagined you as Furia. That you had her strength and fire, so perhaps it is my fault? As much as I may have wished for a daughter in my own likeness, from the time I knew you’d be a girl, I always imagined you as Furia.’ She smiled now. ‘So I should never have been surprised that you ended up becoming like her.’

‘Well, here’s hoping so,’ Jael sighed, letting her mask slip just a little.

Now Gisila took her hand. ‘If you ever get lost, remember all your battles, all your victories. There have been so many, Jael.’

Jael’s mind immediately went to her losses, though she nodded.

‘And don’t forget to hold your head up high. It’s what your father used to say to you all. No matter what happens, you hold your head up high because you are a Furyck, and the Furycks are Brekka. And Brekka will never be defeated.’

Despite being drained by the dreamwalk, Edela had been eager to leave the ship shed behind. The smoke had lingered like snow clouds, and unable to even contemplate sleep while that stink hung in the air, she had followed everyone into town for a late-night supper. Her dreamwalk had borne fruit, and the path to Sarakat was now knowable, though deciding exactly how they would rescue Raymon required some thought.

‘The goddess protects the sisters,’ she mused, sitting at a table in the street with Korri, Bertel, and Siggy. Zen had disappeared with two of the younger crew members to visit a tattooist, though he hadn’t been sure he would get one himself.

Bertel picked at a plate of chicken feet, which most had avoided, distracted by the noise of the table behind them where the men were so drunk they’d become unruly – he could barely hear himself think. Flames flickered in lanterns strung across the tables and from torches flanking the tavern, and it was a pleasantly warm and dry night.

If it hadn’t been for the knot of the problem they were working to untangle, he would almost have felt relaxed.

‘Can your friend Ahzem help you?’ Korri grinned, tipping the last drops of wine into his cup. Raising the empty jug, he motioned to a serving woman. They’d been well rewarded for their efforts by one of the prosperous local merchants, and he was in an indulgent mood.

Edela waited until the woman had left before answering. ‘I’ve had no luck reaching him since that night. Siggy, why don’t we go back to that nice woman, Alvina? She may have learned something new. Something to help us.’

‘Mmmm, but we need to hurry,’ Siggy muttered, and hearing Zen’s voice, she glanced around, seeing him coming with the two young men she’d decided were a bad influence on him – he appeared barely able to stand. ‘Raymon might be gone if we don’t hurry.’

Edela agreed, for she sensed they were running out of time, knowing they had to find their way to Sarakat before it was too late.

Fyn had come to Mattie’s cottage to drop off Snapper, who, unlike Otter, wouldn’t be coming to Hallow Wood.

He saw Kolarov’s red hat on one of the beds, but there was no sign of the explorer. Mattie, Linas, and Gully were there, though, and seeing the puppy wriggling in Fyn’s arms, Linas was quick to grab him, hurrying him to where Gully could barely contain himself.

A tense-looking Mattie led Fyn to the table where she had cups of tea steeping in anticipation of his arrival. Though taking a seat and immediately inhaling that familiar, swampy reek, Fyn didn’t even look at them.

‘He’ll be well taken care of,’ she promised quietly, glancing behind her. ‘Kolarov won’t let Linas suffocate him. Or Gully. He’ll be here first thing in the morning.’

She seemed on edge, Fyn thought, watching her eyes dart between him, the boy, and the dogs. ‘Is everything alright with you? Here? Do you like it in Andala?’

Mattie was surprised by the question. Since arriving in the fort, there’d been too much to do to give any consideration to her own happiness. ‘I... well, I haven’t thought about it.’ She shook her head, sweeping hair behind her ears, trying to remember when she’d last seen her comb. ‘There’s been little time for thinking.’

And seeing the excited boy, Fyn could imagine.

‘Motherhood was something I once longed for, though this isn’t how I saw it happening,’ she confessed in a whisper. ‘What sort of dreamer does that make me?’

‘I doubt any dreamer would enjoy their life if they knew every turn it would take,’ Fyn decided. ‘Or get any peace.’

‘No, I certainly wouldn’t have. Surprises can be joyful,’ Mattie supposed, once again eyeing Linas, who finally turned to give her a beaming smile.

‘Though I’d certainly like to know what lies ahead for me,’ Fyn mused.

Mattie spun back to him, hands on the table, suddenly alert. ‘You would?’

‘I’ve known many dreamers now, though I’ve never heard about my prospects from any of them. I suppose I... I’m getting older. I don’t know what the future holds.’

‘And that worries you?’

‘Well, perhaps there isn’t one?’

Shaking her head, Mattie held out a hand. ‘I doubt that. Let me see.’

Fyn hesitated now, fearing he’d hear some terrible truth. Though, eventually, he offered his hand to the dreamer, who took it. The feeling was immediate – a tingle in his palm, rushing up his arm, a strange vibration in his stomach. And when he stared into Mattie’s eyes, holding her gaze, that feeling intensified until, eventually, he tugged his hand away, standing in a fluster.

‘Are you alright? Fyn?’

Jumping off the bed, Snapper bounded over to him, pawing his leg. And bending down, Fyn picked him up. ‘I forgot,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m supposed to be in the hall. Gisila organised a feast. I have to... go.’ He didn’t look at her, head bowed, letting Snapper lick him, then nip his nose. ‘Ow! No!’ he growled in a deep voice, though barely bothered by that, the puppy was soon licking him again. ‘Good boy. You’re a good boy, Snapper.’ And turning away from Mattie, Fyn gave Linas a rushed list of instructions, leaving the puppy with him, and with a fleeting look at the dreamer, he hurried to the door.

She stared after him as he disappeared outside, not quite managing to shut the door in his hurry to leave. Getting up from the table to close it, Mattie didn’t hear Linas calling to her. She was too busy listening to Fyn’s garbled thoughts as he ran off into the night.

Looking down at her wedding band, hanging from a chain around her neck, she clasped it, remembering Theo. Then, releasing it, she walked out onto the path, searching for one last glimpse of Fyn Gallas before he slipped into the shadows.

After kissing the children goodnight, Jael had walked to the cove, seeking to lose herself in the darkness.

That afternoon, she had fought past Erling, Petra, Fyn and Kari. She had worked her back until she feared it was bleeding – as though rivers of blood flowed down it. Though she’d kept going, in search of something she couldn’t find.

A release.

An escape from the pain.

She was either so tightly wound that she felt ready to break into pieces or so incredibly empty that she didn’t know if she was still a person with a heart and soul. She couldn’t remember being anything but arms and legs and a mind that wouldn’t stop.

Taking off her boots and socks, she slipped her feet into the sand, noticing how cold it was.

Cold was Oss.

Cold was where she felt at home.

She saw the familiar log upon which she’d often sat. Cut from a mighty oak, it was long enough to seat thirty.

Ignoring it, she made for the water, which called to her in a gentle, lapping voice. Shoulders aching, she waded through the sand as though she carried a great weight on her shoulders. As though every step took twice as long as it had before.

And then her toes touched the water, and she felt a sudden stirring in her body and in her heart. Tipping back her head, she walked in further, imagining Biddy grumbling at her to roll up her trousers.

Biddy had often sat on that log, calling out to her and Axl as they’d played in the shallows of the cove. Turning around now, she could see her knitting with a basket at her feet.

Jael turned back, and now she could see her older brothers, Magnar and Stellan, playing in the sea. They motioned for her to come.

‘Jael! It’s not that cold! Jael!’

She saw herself turning to grasp a hand, and there was her father peering at her over that thick, dark beard of his. And then he was bending down to her, smiling.

‘You don’t want to play with your brothers?’

She shook her head. ‘It’s too cold, Papa. I don’t like the cold.’

He laughed.

She didn’t remember him looking so happy.

‘But a Furyck must face every enemy, my sweet. Even if it’s the sea. We can never back down, never step away from that which frightens us. That is what you must learn by the time you are your brothers’ age. We Furycks are not made like everyone else. To us, there can be no fear.’ He tickled her. ‘You do not believe me?’

‘You don’t like beans,’ she told him. ‘And you don’t eat them.’

His laugh was so loud and joyful that it drew the attention of her brothers, who were soon splashing towards the beach, wanting to know what was happening.

‘No, you’re quite right, I don’t!’ Ranuf chuckled. ‘So that will have to change. Tonight, I shall eat my beans, and today, you will go in the water.’ He took her hand, gently tugging her forward. The boys, seeing that they were coming, hurried back into the waves.

Jael felt his hand pulling her towards the water. She felt afraid.

‘Come on, Jael!’ Stellan called, dark hair slicked back from his cheeky face. ‘It’s not cold!’

Fear came at her like a shield wall of screaming warriors.

She was five years old and terrified of the water.

Of how cold it was. How deadly.

A girl she knew had drowned; she remembered that now.

‘You must do it, Jael,’ came her father’s reassuring voice. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here beside you. And your brothers. We are always with you.’

She felt tears coming, the hand slipping away.

The boys’ laughter too.

Shivering, she turned around, still seeing Biddy on that log. And now Axl was there, crawling up her leg, gurgling and giggling as she bent down to tickle his chubby chin.

Then he was gone, too, but her father’s voice still echoed.

‘I’m here beside you. And your brothers. We are always with you.’

Tilting back her head, she took in the vast expanse of stars, feeling the cold water rush over her feet until they became numb...

PART IV

SARAKAT

36

The news that she would soon be leaving the temple had put Irina in a quandary, and she hadn’t visited Raymon in some time.

Not because of anything he’d done but because she’d wanted to make her own decision.

And now, finally, she had.

Entering his chamber, her eyes darted to where he sat by the fire.

Immediately rising from his chair, Raymon shuffled towards her, surprised by the strange look on her face. ‘Has something happened? Is it your mother?’

‘I will go with you!’ Irina blurted out, fearing she would simply change her mind if she didn’t say it out loud. ‘I... someone is coming for me. For my mother too. If we don’t leave, if I don’t leave soon, they will take me away.’

Raymon’s mouth dropped open. ‘When will they arrive?’

Though a shrugging Irina couldn’t tell him. She eyed the door, lowering her voice. ‘Dessalene is the same.’ She feared she would cry and confuse Raymon, though despite any feelings she might have for her mother, she didn’t want to return to the life of an overdressed puppet controlled by her parents in Bandar. ‘We must prepare to leave, to go quickly, and I need to organise supplies. To find the best time for the boat too.’

‘Best time?’

‘The servants take it. I looked this morning and it’s gone. It will likely be back in a few days, so if I prepare now, then as soon as it returns, we can leave.’

She was a muddle of confidence and indecision, Raymon thought, wanting reassurance that she was certain, though before he could ask, she had hurried back to the door. ‘You will need to row,’ she told him. ‘So you must work on strengthening your arm. I... I will gather what we need and return when I can.’ And with a shy smile, she was gone.

Shoulders tightening, Raymon held his breath, wanting to believe that she meant every word, though he feared her bond with her mother would prove too strong. And that Irina Sardis wouldn’t be able to leave Sarakat behind.

Having said a long goodbye to her mother, Biddy, her children, and Gant, Jael had ridden out of Andala that morning at the head of an army of some two thousand men, on horses, on foot, and in wagons. They had been loaded down with weapons, with food and supplies, supported by servants, and by scouts, who had quickly moved off in every direction, searching for threats. And from the comfort of her wagon, tucked up near the front of their long column, Mattie had done the same.

Though on that first uneventful day, aiming for Vallsborg, there had been nothing to report. No trouble, no threats, no danger.

Most of the time, Jael felt confident, but during long stretches of silence, watching Tig’s nodding head, her mind wandered back to Andala, and she indulged her fears.

Every step south took her further away from being able to protect the fort and her family. She trusted Gant, Ragnar, and Ayla, though she remembered Meena’s warning about the livahti, and it kept her in a strange mood all day. So that when she’d settled Tig for the night and checked that Col was busy organising the tent she would be sharing with Mattie and Otter, she headed for company.

Which wasn’t like her at all.

Around the fire, the men were discussing Vallsborg, and that seemed to have animated Erling, whose cheeks looked flushed as Jael approached.

Rexon nodded at her, Erling eyed her cautiously, Hal became flustered, though ignoring them all, Jael aimed for the fire, rubbing her hands together over its dancing flames. ‘The horses are happy. It was a good day.’

Rexon frowned. ‘They should enjoy it while it lasts. They won’t like going into the woods.’

Hal and Erling glanced at each other.

‘That’s why Mutt took his men into it,’ Jael suggested. ‘Why they’re all gathering in there. Makes sense to hide in the one place no one wants to go.’

‘And what about the dreamer?’ Hal wondered. ‘Gunnhild? Where will we find her? Has Mattie said?’

‘No,’ Jael admitted. ‘But she’s working to find clues as we go along. Don’t worry, she’ll find her soon.’

‘Unless she finds us first,’ Erling mused, remembering the attack of the shadow warriors. ‘What makes you think she will wait to be discovered? She’s a witch, and this is her wood. She will see us coming. She’ll be planning for it.’

Jael was struggling to find anything redeeming about Erling Venberg, doubting her decision to bring him along. Though he had set himself up in opposition to her since Axl’s death, so it was better to keep him close. ‘I expect she will,’ she mused. ‘Though it will make little difference either way. We’ve come to kill our enemies, and they’ll certainly make our job easier if they come for us first.’ And staring into his eyes, she smiled confidently, ignoring the little voice warning her that Mattie couldn’t do it.

That she wasn’t powerful enough to defeat Gunnhild.

Mattie missed Linas, half wishing she’d brought him along.

She wasn’t sure she trusted Kolarov to take care of him.

No, she did. She did. She was just anxious about Gunnhild. She had ridden in her covered wagon in comfort, Otter beside her or sleeping inside it for most of the day. It had been a relatively easy journey on a dry road. She had imagined thoughts coming to her as the day progressed, for she had the luxury of silence and time. Jael had checked on her once, and then Fyn, though otherwise, she’d been left alone. Though she’d seen nothing, and as the evening deepened, panic was brewing. And though she was well aware that it was both irrational and unhelpful to panic, she’d been unable to calm herself down.

Beside her, feeding Yara an apple, Fyn could feel her tension. ‘You’ll find something,’ he reassured her with a smile. ‘You’ve done it before, when we were looking for Jael, and you will again. Likely it won’t come to you until we’re in the woods, though.’

Mattie rubbed the head of her gentle white mare, who nuzzled her hand, looking for her own apple. ‘Well, finding Gunnhild is one thing, but stopping her? Helga thought she’d killed her. I watched her, and I thought the same, but –’

Touching her shoulder, Fyn tried to get her attention.

She looked up with fear in her eyes. ‘But Gunnhild almost killed her first. I saw what she did to Helga, and what if she’s stronger now?’ She remembered seeing Gunnhild as an old woman, though that didn’t mean she was weak.

‘If Helga nearly killed her, she wouldn’t be stronger,’ Fyn decided. ‘It wouldn’t make sense.’

A distracted Mattie turned away. ‘I must get back. Dreaming is what I need to do most of all. I should make a tea. That will help.’ She was speaking quickly, mostly to herself. ‘A dreaming tea.’

‘You’re staying with Jael?’

Mattie nodded.

‘I’ll walk with you.’ And giving Yara a final pat, Fyn ushered Mattie ahead of him. ‘It’s hard to find courage sometimes,’ he told her, quickly realising that he should be talking to himself. ‘My mother used to say that the gods know us better than we know ourselves. They know what we’re running and hiding from, so to test us, they make sure we can’t escape our fears. They want to see what we’re made of, so they challenge us to show them by placing those fears directly before us.’

‘And if we fail their challenge?’

‘Then I think they give us second chances. Second and third too. I don’t believe they give up on us until we give up on ourselves.’

Mattie hoped Fyn was right. But in any case, she had to get to her tent and start dreaming if she had any hope of finding Gunnhild before the evil witch found them.

A deeply reluctant Mutt Storman had returned to meet the dreamer.

Gunnhild had visited him in his dreams, ordering him to her, and realising he had little choice in the matter, he had made his way to her cottage. Though the woman who stood waiting for him looked nothing like Gunnhild.

Drawing his sword and stepping into a pool of moonlight, he glanced around. ‘Who are you? Where is Gunnhild?’

The woman came forward, into the light, though she did not remove her hood.

It was the same red cloak, he thought. But the woman?

‘Gunnhild?’ he asked warily. ‘Is that you?’

She sighed heavily. Impatiently. ‘Of course, you dolt. I am in disguise.’

‘Disguise? Why?’

‘Because it suits me!’ she snapped.

Mutt saw four people in the distance, and he tightened his grip on his sword.

‘Forget them. They are with me. My new helpers. The others are dead, killed by that bitch. The bitch coming here to kill me. They are all coming to Hallow Wood, Mutt Storman.’

‘So you said.’

‘And what are we going to do about that, you and I?’

Her voice had hints of the woman he remembered, though barely.

Becoming annoyed and impatient with it, Gunnhild seized Mutt’s arm, seeing the horror in his eyes. Ignoring the revulsion she felt, both at the smell of him and imagining the sight of herself, she hurried on. ‘You have returned to the woods weak and wounded. Your men are not at their best. None of you will offer much, and I promise you, Jael Furyck won’t show mercy like her father did!’

Mutt spat on the ground. ‘Mercy? You think Ranuf Furyck showed me mercy? The man outlawed me! Threw me to the wolves!’

‘You murdered a girl, you fool! He should have taken your life then and there! The man gave you another chance, and now you must show him what a mistake that was. That he left you alive to return one day and kill his own daughter?’ Gunnhild laughed at the sheer poetry of it. ‘Now that is a tale for the ages!’

‘If she’s bringing Andala’s army after me, I may as well head for the coast now. We’re no more than three hundred. And against what? A few thousand?

‘Well, I haven’t brought you here just to talk,’ Gunnhild promised. ‘Of course not, man! I still have a task to complete, and so do you.’

‘For Oren Storgard?’ Mutt snarled, ready to turn away. ‘I’m not fighting for that prick again. Drunk on his own ambition, he is. The number of men he sacrificed outside that fort? And did he even care? His brother with him? I hope they’re both dead!’

Growing impatient, Gunnhild sought to focus the bitter man. ‘Forget him. That is not why you’re here, Mutt. You are here because I will help you claim victory. A victory we will complete together, you and I.’ She now motioned her helpers forward – one man holding a cup, the other carrying an armful of waterskins. ‘I have prepared a tonic for you to take. Something for your men too. A spoon for each man, given daily. And before you go, I will see to your wounds.’

He peered at her in disbelief. ‘You think a tonic will help my men overcome an army? A tonic?’

Gunnhild laughed. ‘Oh, but didn’t I tell you, Mutt dearest? I have my own plans to help you defeat the Andalans, and they certainly don’t involve a tonic. Now, let us stop arguing. Come inside and I will have a look at you.’

After Edela had finally uncovered Sarakat’s location, there had been much to prepare, for they had no idea what awaited them at the temple. Though if Dessalene Sardis was still there, then certainly trouble.

It had been a long, wet day of hurrying around the town, gathering weapons and supplies. Food too. It had kept them all on the go since dawn, and now the shed was quiet as tired men and an exhausted dreamer sought to head for their beds one last time.

And though she was struggling to keep her eyes open, a concerned Edela drew Bertel aside. ‘What are you worrying about now?’

‘Worrying about?’ Bertel looked surprised, having debated whether he even felt like going to bed. ‘It’s more that I have a thought.’ And motioning to a corner of the shed, he walked Edela towards it, and when they were alone, he took her hand, focusing his thoughts. ‘What if you search for Furia?’ he suggested. ‘What if you seek her help?’

Edela frowned. ‘Here?’ She had wondered it herself, and though she felt confident the goddess was watching, the fact that Furia hadn’t chosen to intervene spoke volumes. ‘I don’t think it’s even possible. Though you mustn’t worry. I shall see what I can find in my dreams, and tomorrow we will head for Raymon regardless.’ She felt nauseous and nervous but also impatient to begin. He had been out of her protection for far too long, and she feared what Dessalene Sardis might have done to him.

Bertel touched her arm, sensing that her thoughts had wandered. He had his own worries, and now he thought to speak them; tomorrow, he feared, there would simply be no time. ‘I may have to save you again.’

She smiled, seeing his concern, and for once, she shared it. ‘Though you are getting quite good at it.’

Bertel nodded, fear lingering in his eyes. ‘I worry.’

‘Mmmm, so do I,’ she admitted. ‘But wouldn’t you rather leave this world fighting?’

‘I should say so.’

‘Then let us not engage in fear and worry,’ Edela urged. ‘We have lived full lives, so now is the time to be bolder than ever. I shall dream, and tomorrow we will go and save Raymon.’ She had sought to bolster Bertel’s confidence but soon found her own rising. She knew how to get to the temple; now it was simply a matter of finding a way in. That, she was certain, was entirely possible for a dreamer. So, squeezing his hand, she smiled. ‘Tomorrow.’

In her comfortable bedchamber in the King’s Hall, Ayla felt too distracted to sleep. She had been brought to Andala to keep the fort and those inside it safe, but though she needed to stay alert to danger, her thoughts kept wandering back to Oss.

Being apart had made her realise how ready she was to finally open her heart.

She thought of Jael and Eadmund and the circumstances that had torn them apart, realising that there’d never been anything stopping her and Bram. Just fear. A fear she had built into stone walls.

Though now she felt an overwhelming desire to break them all down.

Deciding to take a walk, she left the hall, cloak pinned to her right shoulder, hand clasping her belly. She needed to focus on the threat to Andala. When she returned to Oss, she would tell Bram everything, but for now, she had to turn her mind to the livahti.

She had read Meena Dragos’ vellum until she knew every symbol and word by heart. And though it gave her confidence to arm herself with knowledge, she had no idea how to identify one. Would it be just a feeling? Would there be some sign?

And as for the one who had killed poor Axl?

What if they were still here...

She decided to spend some time on Edela’s moon-watching bench, seeking answers from Lydea, though when she arrived, she was surprised to find someone already sitting there.

Mattie dreamed of oceans.

She was rolling, tumbling in the water, though it felt dry rather than wet.

Like air.

She could breathe, speak... it was effortless.

Her body was sleek, undulating, and fast, shoals of fish darting away from her, rays of light streaming into the water, showing the way.

Though soon the path ahead darkened, and fearing danger, Mattie shot up, out of the ocean, now standing on land.

She was in a forest, wet and dripping, her feet bare, pressing on a path of spongy green moss. And before her, she saw someone lying sprawled amongst the trees.

Recognising the red cloak, certain it was Gunnhild, Mattie didn’t hurry to her aid.

Suddenly aware of the drops of water falling from her body, she looked down to see that she was wearing her nightdress. Lifting her head, she stumbled backwards, for the dreamer in the red cloak was now standing an arm’s length from her, holding out a hand.

In her dream, Edela had come to a temple.

Sarakat.

Facing the river, the long building rose, dark and imposing, its hefty stone walls joined by iron gates. Ravens flapped lustrous wings, cawing angrily atop them, watched over by a perfect half moon. Small lanterns hanging from the gates glowed, revealing that no one was there, though despite that, Edela could feel a presence.

‘Here is where Sarakat rules,’ came a voice, and wheeling around, senses alert, Edela saw a man. A god.

Finally. Ahzem, God of the River.

‘Your amulet will not work here, dreamer, and nor will my magic. Do not waste your dream on this place.’

Edela looked both surprised and crestfallen. ‘Though how am I to go on? To free Raymon?’

The god smiled at her. He appeared muscular and powerful, though his manner was surprisingly gentle. ‘What is as old as time?’ he wondered quietly. ‘But a trade? Instead of planning to elude Sarakat or proposing to outthink her, you must prepare to barter. She is the Goddess of Secrets, so offer her something valuable, and she will let you pass. And perhaps, if you please her, she will let your friend go...’

Ayla wasn’t surprised to see Linas sitting on the moon-watching bench, swamped in a cloak big enough for two.

His grandmother’s, she realised with a pang of sympathy.

Seeing her approach, he appeared to panic, quickly moving away.

‘Don’t go,’ Ayla told the boy in a soft voice. ‘I would be glad of the company.’

He looked surprised, and remaining sitting, he gulped nervously.

‘You have come in search of answers,’ Ayla said. ‘As have I.’

‘I want to find who killed my grandmother,’ Linas admitted. ‘I want to know where she is.’

‘And you think it is a she?’

Linas nodded. ‘I heard her voice.’ He nodded again, turning to where he expected Gully to be, sitting beside him, though he had left the dog behind to look after Snapper.

‘So you are a dreamer then? Like me?’

Linas froze, though the woman soon took his hand.

‘Having such a precious gift isn’t something to fear. Perhaps a time will come when you no longer wish to acknowledge it. When you are older? But if you can help now, I know the queen would be grateful.’

Linas looked thoughtful. ‘I keep having dreams about my grandmother,’ he admitted, tears in his eyes. ‘But I can’t hear her.’ He slid his hand out of Ayla’s and hid it under his leg. ‘She is silent.’

Ayla was intrigued. ‘Perhaps she is not silent, Linas? Perhaps it’s that you are afraid? You cannot hear her because you’re afraid of what she is trying to say.’

‘We have to keep everyone safe.’

‘We do.’

‘But... but what if we die?’

Ayla’s lips parted, feeling his fear like a cold wind blowing over her. ‘I knew a brave girl once. A dreamer. She wasn’t much older than you really. I expect she was very scared of dying, but the truth is that she was more scared of those she loved being hurt. In the end, she gave her life so that everyone else would live.’

Linas’ eyes bulged. ‘Do you think I will have to do that?’

Ayla smiled, shaking her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I was only telling you because being afraid doesn’t stop us being brave. Your grandmother may have a very important message, Linas. A way to help us here, so the next time you go into one of those dreams, I want you to open your heart.’ She pressed a hand to the boy’s chest. ‘Open your heart and know that you have the courage inside you to do anything. The gods see you, Linas. It’s why they made you a dreamer. Now you must show them that they were right to choose you.’

Unable to sleep in her tent, its walls flapping noisily, Jael sat up, pouring a cup of water. They had camped by the river, and it was fresh and cold.

She saw Mattie lying on her back in the bed opposite her.

The dreamer had been whimpering for some time, and now she rolled towards her, curling into a ball.

Becoming concerned, Jael put the cup on the ground, debating whether she should wake her. Standing, she moved towards the bed, hovering there, and eventually deciding against it.

Mattie lurched up with a cry, blinking rapidly, and seeing Jael standing over her, she immediately backed away.

She looked terrified, and holding out a hand, Jael tried soothing her. ‘It’s me, Mattie. Jael. You’re safe. It’s alright, you’re safe here.’ Though the dreamer just stared at her, mouth open, and Jael squatted down before her, patting her arm. ‘What happened? What did you see?’

37

That morning, Irina returned to Raymon’s chamber with bad news.

She was anxious, wringing her hands as he greeted her. ‘There’s no sign of the boat returning,’ she muttered, shaking her head. ‘I have put away a bag of food, though it will be spoiling and stale if they take any longer. I had thought –’ Cutting herself off, she saw Raymon’s sympathetic look of enquiry. ‘Sister My cannot tell me when I shall be collected. It could be at any time, and I –’

‘Irina.’ A smiling Raymon took her hand, trying to calm her down. It was raining heavily, and he raised his voice. ‘You can’t control any of it. None. If we’re meant to leave here together, we will. If it’s what the gods want, the boat will return before you’re taken from here. It will. Have some faith.’ Seeing her squirming, he dropped her hand, stepping back.

She sighed heavily, and feeling exhausted, foot aching, she headed for a chair. ‘I am sorry!’ she declared loudly. ‘It’s not something I’m used to. Subterfuge!’ And now she giggled. ‘My mother is the same. Sister My is the same. One lies in bed, taunting me with her silent illness, and the other roams the corridors, haunting me with her knowing looks. I feel as though they both know what I’m thinking. What we’re planning...’

Raymon sat opposite her, fiddling with his ankle fetters. After what happened to his arm, he adjusted them regularly, not wanting any irritated patches of skin festering. ‘You are Dessalene’s daughter. If she lives, you will be well cared for on Bandar. If she dies...’ He slowed down, choosing his words with care. ‘If she dies, you’ll be well cared for here. Either way, you won’t be in trouble or in danger, Irina. You won’t.’ Before him, she inhaled an enormous breath but didn’t release it. ‘And I’m doomed to die, so I have no choice but to try. The worst that can happen to me is that I die sooner.’

Now Irina exhaled loudly. ‘I...’ She nodded, feeling out of her depth but desperately wanting to be more supportive. They were planning something together, and Raymon needed to trust her.

To rely upon her.

‘I’ll return as soon as I can,’ she promised. ‘With good news. There will be some. Perhaps?’

‘Perhaps.’ Raymon offered a smile, though his guts were clenching, for he feared they had both run out of time.

Waking early, Edela was bright-eyed and impatient to leave Naran-Cha, though the crew was slower to get moving.

Especially Zen, whose new tattoo had made for an uncomfortable night’s sleep. He was busy showing it to Siggy, whose hand was out, preparing to touch it. He’d had the tattoo marked at the base of his neck, regretting that choice, for every time he turned, a pain shot into his head. ‘Don’t touch,’ he warned, moving away, and slipping his tunic back over his head, he groaned.

‘What does it mean?’ she wondered.

‘It’s Tudash. Means grandfather,’ Zen explained. ‘He will watch over me. Watch my back. That, and a symbol for luck.’

‘Well, let’s hope it works!’ Korri winked, moving past with a chest in his arms. They were clearing out the shed, loading up Sea Queen, and preparing to depart.

Bertel’s hands were on his hips as he looked around. ‘Not the most comfortable of places, but it served its purpose,’ he decided.

Edela wasn’t listening. ‘I have a clue about how to help us in Sarakat,’ she said discreetly. ‘I must find a secret to offer the goddess. Something no one else knows.’

Bertel looked intrigued, nudging her away from the teenagers. ‘Something about yourself?’

Edela chuckled. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve never been the secretive type.’

A snorting Bertel dismissed that notion. ‘I would suggest you think again, Edela. There must be something you’ve tucked away about yourself.’

But Edela shook her head. ‘It doesn’t have to be about me. It could be about you or...’ She shrugged. ‘I just need something of value.’

‘To a goddess who likely knows most secrets anyway?’ Bertel looked perplexed. ‘You need to keep to yourself today. Leave us to find our way to the temple, and you do what you can to find that secret. If it’s the only currency the goddess will accept, you must find something for her.’

Edela feared he was right.

‘Either that or magic,’ he decided, heading for the doors where Siggy was now leading Nellie outside. ‘Whatever will work, Edela. Whatever you can do!’

They would arrive at Vallsborg by supper, and though Jael knew it was important to assure every lord and lady in Brekka of her intentions and their safety, she felt impatient to be in Hallow Wood. Tension was a blade jammed between her shoulders, and she rode with her jaw clenched.

The weather was clear, the sky a cheerful blue, and it was a mild morning.

Her breakfast had been a bowl of berry porridge cooked by Mattie, which had been a pleasant surprise, yet the dreamer appeared out of sorts. She wasn’t snappy, which she had a tendency to be. She was barely present.

And wondering what was wrong, Jael left Fyn with Hal and turned Tig around, riding back to her.

The sun was in Mattie’s eyes, and though Jael couldn’t see them clearly, she could hear her voice, which sounded strained. The dreamer hadn’t wanted to discuss her nightmare, insisting it was nothing, but now Jael thought to dig deeper. ‘You saw Gunnhild in your dream,’ she began casually. ‘At her cottage? Did you see where she was?’

Reins looped around her hands, Mattie didn’t immediately respond, staring intently at the back of Hal Harbak, riding before her. ‘It was in the woods,’ she mumbled. ‘I saw no sign of her cottage.’

‘You were scared,’ Jael added.

‘So you said.’

Jael glanced her way. ‘Mattie?’

‘Well, I remember being in the sea. Then I was in a forest, and I felt afraid. There was something about it that made me very afraid. And then I saw Gunnhild, and I knew what.’

‘Because she threatened you?’

A frowning Mattie didn’t want to go over it again. She heard men laughing behind her, one in a fit of giggles, and she was reminded of Thorgils. Before her, she saw Fyn turning around with a smile, and she glowered at him, watching him quickly turn back. ‘I don’t feel that she was threatening me as much as she was threatening,’ she explained. ‘She is in there, Hallow Wood, waiting, and I fear what she’s capable of. It’s... I’m finding it hard to think,’ she admitted, wanting Jael to leave her alone so she could attempt to do so.

And soon Jael did just that, nudging Tig forward to join Fyn.

‘Is she alright?’ he asked, glancing back at Mattie, who looked lost in her thoughts.

‘She says so, though it’s not easy making sense of dreams. We’ve brought an army to defeat Mutt Storman and his traitors, but Mattie alone has to contend with Gunnhild.’

‘Maybe you’ll be able to help her?’

Jael offered a crooked smile. ‘And here I thought you knew me?’ And with a bob of her head to an eavesdropping Hal, she moved Tig up the line, wanting to speak to Rexon.

‘Strange without Ayla,’ Thorgils said to his uncle as they stood in the entrance of one of Oss’ giant new ship sheds where Red Ned was being caulked under Bram’s watchful eye. ‘Haven’t seen so much of you in a long time!’

Bram laughed, turning to his nephew. ‘Well, it’s been an interesting few months.’

‘Interesting’s one word for it,’ Thorgils grinned. ‘And what will you do when she returns?’

‘Do?’ Bram was busy unfurling his twisted cloak, and he looked up in confusion. ‘About?’

‘Marrying her, of course. You need to marry the woman before she changes her mind again.’

Bram snorted. ‘You’re a dreamer now, are you? That’s what you think will happen?’

Thorgils had a big mouth, and he knew it.

Though sometimes he simply couldn’t help himself.

‘You’ve got good reasons to marry her. More than you realise,’ he said with a knowing grin.

Bram grabbed the door as a bellowing gust of wind swept between them. ‘More than I realise? Why, what’s happened?’

‘I might have a secret...’

Bram’s eyes lit up, and he seized his nephew’s giant forearm. ‘Is that so? Someone was foolish enough to trust you with a secret? Surely not Ayla?’

‘She’s with child!’ Thorgils blurted out, seeing Eadmund and Beorn heading across the beach towards them.

Bram stumbled before him, beard flapping at his face. ‘A child?’

‘Another Svanter,’ Thorgils whispered, leaning close. For though he’d revealed Ayla’s secret, he didn’t want everyone finding out. ‘Your child.’

‘And she told you? Ayla confided in you?’

Thorgils looked insulted, then quickly sheepish. ‘Not exactly. I stumbled upon her, so she had little choice but to confess it. She wanted to wait until... well, she didn’t want to tell you yet.’

Bram frowned.

‘You finished in here?’ Eadmund called, arriving in another gust of wind.

Turning around with a guilty look, Thorgils stumbled over his reply, causing his king to frown.

Eadmund looked from a red-faced Thorgils to a pale-faced Bram. ‘What’s going on? Has something happened?’

‘Ayla’s with child!’ Thorgils announced, surprising even himself. Bram hit him, and he shrugged. ‘Though it’s a secret.’

Eadmund glanced at Beorn, who looked at Bram. ‘A secret you’ve just told everyone? And why’d she tell you?’

‘Exactly,’ Bram grumbled.

‘And you didn’t know?’ Eadmund wondered, eyeing him curiously.

‘No, though I do now, so tell me why I shouldn’t head for Andala. Beorn? You want to take me?’ he asked jokingly, unable to suppress a smile now. ‘I think I may have a very important question to ask a beautiful dreamer.’

Eadmund laughed. ‘You’re not getting out of the moot that easily, Bram. Who’s going to talk to Nels Morus if not for you?’

Even Beorn nodded at that. ‘You can’t leave us with Nels, Bram. The man’s as ornery as a bee in a jar. He only listens to you.’

Thorgils agreed. Nels Morus had taken over the lordship of the Island of Mord from his brother and he’d been making Eadmund regret that decision every day since.

And though Bram had mostly been joking, he was desperate to talk to Ayla, to make her truly aware of his desire to spend every moment of his life with her.

With her and with their child.

Ayla brought half a freshly baked apple cake to the cottage, eager to see if Linas had had a breakthrough with his dreaming. Kolarov opened the door with a smile, and she was soon attacked by a yapping Snapper, who tried to jump up her leg. Gully was content to stand back and simply wag his tail, and soon, the dreamer was ushered inside.

‘We’ve just had our morning tonic, haven’t we, Linas?’ Kolarov said with a salivating look at the cake and a wink at the boy, who was watching the dreamer.

He wasn’t the only one.

Ayla saw Pye staring at her, and listening to his thoughts, he seemed to fear that she had come for him. Deciding that was curious, she frowned at the little man before returning her attention to Linas. ‘Did you have any dreams last night after our talk?’

Linas appeared too embarrassed to say, though a surprised Kolarov answered instead, hands on hips. ‘Last night? When was this?’

Now Linas became sheepish as Ayla gave Kolarov the cake and picked up Snapper, letting him lick her face. ‘Gully needed to go out.’

Kolarov blinked. ‘While I was sleeping?’ He looked astounded.

‘You were snoring, so you didn’t hear me.’

A blustering Kolarov was ready to argue, though Ayla chuckled. ‘Sometimes, it helps to go for a walk. I find it useful myself. Snapper!’ she cried joyfully. ‘You are so lovely! What sweet kisses!’ And laughing as the puppy cleaned her face, she felt a rush of happiness, feeling his long legs tapping against her belly.

Linas glanced at the dreamer. ‘I did hear voices last night,’ he admitted quietly. ‘They were loud. Like before, when those men came to steal the sea-fire.’

‘Does that mean more spies?’ Kolarov wondered breathlessly. ‘More spies in the fort?’

Pye immediately looked on edge, nibbling his bottom lip.

Ayla hadn’t seen anything since her arrival, and she’d heard no voices herself. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, watching the boy closely. ‘But keep listening, Linas, and if you hear something you understand, come and tell one of us. Anything. Any time.’

Kolarov nodded encouragingly, though sitting at the table, Pye dropped his head, avoiding their eyes.

‘Sit with me,’ Edela told Siggy as they sailed down the impossibly busy Tissing River. Crews shouted and argued with each other as ships and boats came within touching distance – some moving too slowly, others appearing to fly by. The chaos was noisy and disorienting, and Edela was struggling to slip into a dream. Unsurprisingly, it was raining heavily, though she was dry, tucked under a pile of furs, for Korri and his men had spent some of their time in Naran-Cha building a wooden shelter in Sea Queen’s stern, endeavouring to keep their precious dreamer safe from the elements.

Upon seeing it, revealed to her as they’d approached the ship, Edela had been moved to tears. The crew had even applauded, Siggy crying beside her, and Korri wrapping an arm around her. It had been quite a surprise to be so surprised.

Touching too.

Though now they were well on their way to Sarakat, and Edela had turned her mind to the matter of currency.

What would a goddess want to know?

She had no answers at all.

‘You must help me,’ she sighed as Siggy crawled over to check on her. ‘If I’m to find this secret before we arrive, I must spend the day asleep!’

Siggy laughed. ‘With Bertel on board? I think that will be impossible, Edela.’

Edela laughed with her. ‘Though now we have our little roof, the rain is helping. It’s like a drum, isn’t it?’

Siggy smiled at her. ‘You just need to close your eyes and think of the greatest secret you know. A mystery the goddess would want to know herself.’

‘Oh yes, but what?’

‘Something from Tuura? Or Brekka? Likely she knows everything about Kadak and the Fire Lands, so something about Osterland might interest her. Or the Furycks? Your family?’

Edela chuckled. ‘That is a lot to be getting on with!’ Closing her eyes now, she thought of Osterhaaven and her last dream of the place. Those odd dreams had been a series of deepening mysteries she’d been having for some time now.

Leading to where?

Closing her eyes, she thought of the strange, dark-haired king, his desperate wife, and the man who stood between them...

Arnor.

Repaired by Gunnhild and restored by her foul-tasting tonic, an energised Mutt Storman returned to his men.

Having escaped the sea-fire storm in Andala, he’d initially thought of heading to Iskavall and Oren Storgard. Injured as he was, he’d even contemplated going with the king’s younger brother and the Ahlyn men. Though listening to the fools, he’d soon realised that they had little ability to save themselves, let alone him. So he’d decided that his only hope, and that of his men, lay in Southern Brekka. Though upon discovering that Saala, Borsund, Skorn, and Rosby had been reclaimed, he’d needed another plan.

He hadn’t given much thought to his arrow wound, which had quickly turned bad. Growing ill with it, he hadn’t been able to move with speed. Eventually, he’d had to stop and seek out a healer, sending word to his men to return to Hallow Wood, where they would go to ground while he came up with another plan.

In his weakened state, he’d feared that Gunnhild was dead.

That his promised reward would never be delivered.

And now?

The dreamer still dangled that prize before him like a tasty morsel for a starving beggar. And without any coins to his name, that’s exactly what he was.

He certainly hadn’t been anticipating another battle, and despite the reward on offer, his doubts wouldn’t budge. Silver was wasted on the dead, he knew, thinking of how many warriors lay buried in Hallow Wood.

Though Gunnhild had promised him help.

And what did that mean?

It was always a challenge to make dreams bend to her will.

Often what Edela thought she needed to know wasn’t what the gods wanted to show her.

Was it the gods, she wondered suddenly, hurrying down a paved road flanked by tall buildings.

Was it the gods showing her this?

Osterhaaven?

The sky was smoke and ash – a great swirling pall threatening to choke her – though unlike those running and coughing past her, she felt nothing herself.

Her attention was quickly drawn to the man before her, and as he turned back to glance over his shoulder, she recognised him as Arnor.

He grabbed a slave’s arm, dragging the panicking man close. ‘The queen? Have you seen her? Or the king?’

The terrified slave tried to pull away. ‘He... he went to the Atrium of the Gods! He took the queen there!’

Arnor appeared confused, and now he turned off the road into a vine-wrapped colonnade, hurrying away from her. Turning to follow, Edela was pleased to discover that she could move with less discomfort and more speed than she experienced whilst awake, and she managed to keep him in sight. Eventually, Arnor stopped, and turning, he hurried down a handful of steps towards a magnificent building flanked by towering pillars. Pulling open a wooden door, he rushed inside, past enormous stone statues, Edela trailing close behind.

And there they found the king and queen locked in an embrace.

Not an embrace, Edela soon saw with concern, for the queen was almost hysterical, trying to break her husband’s crushing hold.

And then she realised that she’d had a similar dream before.

She didn’t understand, wondering why she was being shown it again?

‘Haarda!’ Arnor bellowed, running forward. ‘The ships cannot wait! We must get you both on board! What are you doing in here?’

‘We cannot go!’ the king implored. ‘It is a trick! A trap! The Tuurans –’

‘You can smell it in the air! The smoke and ash, my king! My friend! The volcanoes are alight, spewing their poison over the kingdom! All of them! The dreamers had it right, Haarda. We have to leave!’

The king pulled his wife closer. ‘I shall not! We shall not abandon the kingdom!’

Losing all patience now, Arnor took hold of the queen himself, yanking her out of her husband’s arms. ‘Then let me take Brekka to safety. We can return when it is over. For you! We will return for you. Think of your heir, your unborn child!’

Though the king didn’t appear to be thinking at all. He tried to get his wife back, to fight off Arnor, and pushing the queen aside, the two men fell to the ground.

Screams could be heard in the distance. Something hit the roof, a boulder crashing through it, and the queen was knocked off her feet.

Arnor was quickly back on his. ‘We are leaving!’ he roared, out of patience now, and bending down as the king sought to regain his footing, he punched him in the face – one, two, three times.

Behind him, Queen Brekka was weeping. ‘Arnor! Stop it! We must leave!’

‘Go!’ he told her. ‘I am right behind you! Go, Brekka. Wait on the steps for me! I will bring him!’ He tried to help the king, who continued to fight against him.

More screams now, and the atrium appeared to shake.

Looking up, Arnor saw dust and ash falling like snow, a strange orange glow through the hole in the roof.

‘Leave me!’ the king shouted, nose broken, spitting blood. ‘I am a Furyck! Furia’s chosen one! I cannot abandon that which I have sworn to protect! I must stay! I will stay!’

Arnor shook his head, resigned now.

‘There is no danger!’ the mad king called as his friend ran away. ‘No danger, Arnor! You mustn’t leave! Stay with me!’

It was the last thing Arnor heard as he raced through the doors and into the alley, where he found a trembling Brekka waiting for him. ‘He will not leave, but I must save you and the child.’

‘It is our child,’ Brekka whispered tearfully. ‘The secret I have been keeping all this time. The baby is our child, Arnor.’

38

Edela awoke as though stepping through fog.

She noticed the rain first and then Bertel peering at her.

‘There you are!’ he grinned. ‘I’ve come to offer ale. Would you like some?’

She squinted at him with one eye before turning slowly to see Siggy sitting beside her with a curious look.

‘Did you find anything?’ Siggy wondered.

Bertel was keen for an answer to that question himself, though he could see the dreamer hesitate.

‘I...’ Edela blinked, trying to open both eyes. ‘Well, I –’

‘Yes?’

‘No,’ she said at last. ‘Though sit beside me, Bertel, and yes, I will have some ale. My throat is very dry.’

Siggy got up. ‘I’ll get some,’ she offered, heading for Gerulf.

When she had gone, Edela slipped a hand back under the furs, rooting around until she found Bertel’s.

He was immediately intrigued.

Edela was mostly gobsmacked. ‘I think I uncovered the greatest secret of all,’ she thought, wondering if that was true.

Bertel peered at her with expectant eyes, mouth ajar.

‘About Osterhaaven.’

‘Mmmm?’

‘The king was mad. Delusional. He tried to keep his pregnant wife prisoner as the volcanoes were erupting. It was Arnor who rescued her.’

‘But Arnor was the king.’

‘No, the king was a man named Haarda. He was the Furyck king. He remained in Osterhaaven. He didn’t get on the ships. His wife escaped with this man, Arnor, who wasn’t a Furyck that I’m aware of.’

Bertel was puzzled. ‘I’m not sure it’s the greatest secret of all time, Edela,’ he thought, seeing lightning flash across the grey sky. ‘That he was a mad king? Well, I expect the Furycks wouldn’t want that revealed. Though he wouldn’t have been the first. This idea that he wasn’t Arnor is odd, though I see nothing particularly interesting there.’

Edela had fully woken up now, and she turned to him. ‘There’s more.’

‘I should hope so.’

‘The baby. The queen was with child.’

‘Yes?’

‘It wasn’t the king’s. It was his friend, Arnor’s.’

Bertel stopped twitching. ‘You are certain of this?’

‘The queen told him. She said it was the secret she’d been keeping from him. That the child was his.’

Now Bertel understood why Edela needed to tell him privately. ‘But that means –’

‘That Furia’s line ended on Osterhaaven. It ended eight hundred years ago,’ Edela breathed. ‘The Furycks in Brekka are not of her blood. Not her descendants. Those in Brekka are not the Furycks at all.’

At the head of their column, Jael and Rexon were alert, fearing an ambush, searching for clues that enemies were lying in wait.

Jael was confident they would be – it was only a matter of where.

Rexon had been talkative for a while but had now fallen back into that familiar silence, though Jael didn’t mind. The lack of conversation was helpful, for she was trying to piece together all that had happened, what might happen, and what she certainly wanted to prevent from happening.

Despite the danger looming ahead, her thoughts kept wandering back to Kalina and her decision to take her from S’ala Nis. She had reacted to what Ronin and Dessalene had done by going on the front foot, determined to draw them to her. And now she’d left that bait behind in Andala.

Andala, where her children were.

Andala, where her brother had just been murdered.

Everything she believed told her that he wouldn’t come yet.

As a warrior, a leader, a dreamer, she felt that Ronin Sardis wouldn’t be ready.

He needed ships and men. He’d left many in S’ala Nis, and Pye had certainly been of the mind that he would need to build or buy more.

She second-guessed everything she thought, eventually turning to Fyn, riding on her left. Though he seemed distracted, and listening to his muddled thoughts, she was surprised to discover why.

In all that had been unfolding, how had she missed that?

‘Do you think Snapper will be alright?’ he wondered suddenly, turning to her.

Jael nodded. ‘Linas is a good boy, and he likes dogs. Kolarov’s looking after him, and Ayla promised to watch him too. By the time you return, he’ll be up to your waist.’ She thought the same about her children, who were growing quickly. She’d spent nearly every day with them until she’d left for Alekka, and since then, barely any time at all. ‘We can’t worry about what’s happening in Andala,’ she said, advising them both. ‘We have to remain focused on why we left it in the first place. There’s a lot to think about here.’ Peering at Fyn, she thought he had a question, though now he looked down at his hands.

Jael leaned towards him. ‘You can’t worry about Mattie.’

Yara threw up her head, and Fyn dropped his. ‘I’m... why are... I’m not,’ he babbled.

Jael watched him twitch, shake, and shrug. She suppressed a smile, waiting, and eventually, he lifted his eyes to her again.

‘We’ve all got each other, helping each other,’ he said quietly. ‘Mattie’s not that experienced, and after what happened to Helga? Who’s she got to turn to? Who will help her with Gunnhild?’

‘Mattie’s a special dreamer,’ Jael assured him. ‘You just need to have some faith in her, Fyn. I certainly do.’

Fyn nodded, though he felt no lessening of tension, for he had a bad feeling about what would come, and it was growing by the moment.

Bertel sat beside Edela in stunned silence for some time, though soon Siggy returned with Zen, a cup of ale, and Alvi, who jumped onto the dreamer, looking to burrow beneath her furs, and they were pushed apart.

Bertel could only marvel at what Edela had discovered. In all those seemingly pointless dreams she’d been having, she had unearthed what was likely Furia’s greatest secret.

The goddess must have known that it was all a lie? That her great line of kings was broken – no longer hers?

They needed to save Raymon, though would Edela have to expose Furia to do so?

The dreamer was smiling and chatting to Zen now, though she appeared quite stunned.

He felt much the same, as Korri waded back through the rain towards them.

‘You think it will ever stop?’ he laughed, wringing water from his braids.

Bertel shook his head. ‘I’ve decided not!’

‘I’m going to bring the weapons back here,’ Korri told them, glancing at Zen and Bertel. ‘We should start getting ready.’

Siggy gulped. ‘But don’t we have hours yet?’ She couldn’t see the sun through the wall of grey clouds, though she doubted it was even midday.

Korri shrugged. ‘Supposedly, though we don’t know who will come to stop us or when. You remember those men on the river? We need to be ready. Once we turn, I’ve a feeling we’ll be stirring up a nest of trouble.’

‘Korri’s right,’ Edela said, shaking off all thoughts of her dream now, the ramifications of which would have to wait for another time. ‘We need to be alert and prepared for anything.’

‘For a goddess,’ Zen breathed, shuddering as more lightning slashed through the gloom. ‘For Sarakat.’

The servants had finally returned with the temple’s boat, and despite having convinced herself that she was merely waiting upon it, Irina suddenly found a mountain of things to do.

One of which was saying goodbye to Dessalene.

The sight of her vibrant, powerful mother lying as a corpse continued to shock her, and no matter how many times she visited, it always felt like the first time. Breath stolen, chest tightening, her eyes flooded with tears.

She had always wanted her mother to love her.

Sometimes, Irina had thought she might, though mostly she’d felt her disappointment that she had not been made like other girls.

Dessalene had saved her from the cruelty of her father, who had wanted to toss her away like a broken thing, though Irina had always feared that she regretted not going along with him.

She was nineteen now and a woman. She hadn’t needed her mother for many years, though sitting by her bed, holding her hand, she felt a desperate need to curl up beside her. To be folded into an embrace, as though her mother would shield her from pain and fear and all that was terrifying.

Though it was simply too late now. She was leaving.

So, kissing her mother on the head, she whispered: ‘I know you won’t forgive me, but I’ll always love you, Mother.’ She shivered, doubt like flames burning bright before her eyes.

To escape the temple?

She knew of no one who had tried it. Going against the goddess wasn’t something anyone had dared attempt to her knowledge.

Though to help Raymon and to free herself, Irina was going to try.

She had taken some of her mother’s gold, packing it into the purses and pouches she had sewn inside her cloak. And now she needed to tell Raymon that they would try tonight.

‘I want you to live, Mother,’ she murmured, taking one last look at the elegant figure lying on the bed. And turning to the door, she blinked away her tears, disappearing outside.

Feeling concerned about Pye’s intentions, Ayla encouraged him to accompany her on a walk to the cove. She had offered to take Linas and the dogs for a swim, giving Kolarov some much-needed peace, and though Pye didn’t appear that keen, she had convinced him to come along.

He almost smiled as they left the cottage behind, heading down the alley. The air was ripe, but the sky was bright, and he was looking forward to getting back to the hall. He had been sleeping in a little corner there since he’d arrived. He wasn’t sure anyone had noticed, though he was adept at appearing invisible. It had always helped him stay out of trouble.

‘I must confess to being confused by your presence here,’ Ayla murmured beside him. ‘You are a prisoner or a hostage or...’

The dreamer’s voice was melodic. She had a calming manner and a beautiful face, and if Pye hadn’t still been trying to find his footing, both on the path to the cove and with the Andalans, he might have been charmed. Instead, he frowned up at her. ‘I am both, I would think. Jael Furyck took me from S’ala Nis by force. And the Queen Kalina. Both of us, locked up and stolen away. We nearly died! More than once!’ He stumbled now, blinking rapidly. ‘The queen fares worse, of course, locked away like some, some... commoner! But I...’ And seeing Ayla’s encouraging smile, he closed his mouth, sensing that she was no threat.

Though in Andala, wasn’t everyone a threat to him?

‘What I know from my time with Jael is that she fights for what is right. She tries to save people from darkness, from evil. And now she has sacrificed her family, her happiness, her heart, to save her people here. To serve her goddess.’ Ayla said nothing more, turning her gaze back to the path and the puppy, who appeared to have run out of energy, flopping down onto his belly, legs extended. She smiled, pleased to see Linas run back and pick him up.

‘Come on, Snapper!’ he called. ‘Gully, wait for us!’ And then he was gone, scampering around the corner.

Pye didn’t know what to think. ‘You’re suggesting that the queen, that my dreamer, that we are evil?’

Ayla shook her head. ‘I’m saying only what Jael has done since I’ve known her. Perhaps you have seen something else? Perhaps you see it differently? Good and evil? Darkness and light?’ She was thoughtful then. ‘I have seen the Darkness itself, and I would not wish to look upon it again. In it, I saw desolation and despair. A loss of all hope. An emptiness so vast that nothing else could exist in that great void. Nothing but evil, and that I felt acutely.’ Pye was staring up at her, and now she stopped, touching his shoulder. ‘The path you have followed is not paved with stone, Pye. I believe it is like this one,’ she smiled, pointing to the fine gravel. ‘You can determine where it goes next. You can choose where you would like to end up. It certainly doesn’t have to be where you began, and nor does it have to be where you are now.’

Pye stared into those rich brown eyes, mesmerised until she touched his shoulder again.

‘We don’t want to lose them!’ And then she was almost running, turning back to look over her shoulder with a beaming smile.

The weather finally cleared, and if Korri hadn’t been on edge, eyes peeled open, looking for potential threats in the tall reeds bordering the river, he would’ve been smiling. ‘Anything?’

Beside him, Edela gripped the starboard gunwale, joining his search.

The rain may have stopped, though clouds hung in the sky like pregnant bellies, and Edela feared that at any moment, they would give birth to an enormous deluge. She shivered, feeling more apprehensive by the moment. ‘No.’

‘No...’

She patted Korri’s arm. ‘There’s still time to change your mind, you know. Leave us here and reverse course?’

Korri chuckled. ‘Reverse course? Never. I’ve committed to this quest of yours now. We all have. Though I can’t pretend I’m looking forward to seeing this temple. I’ve no idea what we’ll be facing.’

‘Perhaps nothing?’ Edela suggested with a hopeful grin. ‘I have something the goddess may want, she has something I certainly want. Perhaps we will simply trade?’

‘With a goddess?’ Korri laughed, shaking his wet head. ‘I might be dreaming after all!’

Edela laughed with him. ‘Yes, and so might I. We shall see soon enough.’

‘Yes,’ he murmured, watching her face change. ‘We shall see...’

As the sun reached its peak, Jael stopped her army.

The heat had intensified, and she was conscious of taking on more water while they still had the opportunity to do so. Knowing there was a stream nearby, she sent everyone into the trees to water the horses and to fill waterskins, buckets, and barrels.

And leading Tig to the stream, she enjoyed a moment in the shade.

Fyn brought Yara to join them, though he soon disappeared into the trees. On his return, he found Mattie crouching down at the base of a willow, cutting off shards of bark.

She turned as he approached, looking upset. ‘I... I must concentrate. The plants are speaking to me. I have to listen. You need to go!’

Surprised by her outburst, Fyn didn’t move.

And turning back to him, Mattie’s face suddenly cleared. Struggling back to her feet, blue dress swishing around her legs, she bustled towards him. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Is something wrong with you?’

Immediately dropping her eyes, Mattie looked at her boots. ‘I’ve been having disturbing dreams,’ she admitted quietly.

‘About what will come?’

She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. You have dreams. I imagine they’re a confusing muddle most of the time?’

Fyn nodded.

‘It’s no different for dreamers. At the temple, we learn how to identify what matters and how it can help, though there are times when it feels impossible to do so.’

‘Like now?’

Mattie sighed. ‘I can’t tell if what I’m seeing is real or a game or –’

‘Game?’

‘Some of the things I see are... it’s hard to explain. I’m going to try a different tea to help bring some clarity, though silence is also useful,’ she said with a smile. ‘I should have said.’

Fyn saw a twig in her hair, and reaching out, he made to grab it.

Mattie lurched back.

‘I... a twig.’

She blinked, watching as he pulled it from her hair, showing her before tossing it away.

‘I wish you luck,’ Fyn said quietly, feeling that same strange sensation in his belly as he stared into her eyes. He needed to step back. A voice in his head was urging him backwards.

His own voice, he realised.

Though thinking of his father’s advice, he stayed where he was.

Body vibrating with urgency, he didn’t move.

‘And you,’ Mattie said, unblinking as she stared into his eyes. They were full of pain, she saw. No, fear. It was fear. She smiled kindly. ‘I won’t be long.’

‘Mattie, I –’

‘I won’t be long!’ she insisted, backing away. And blinking rapidly, she spun around, returning to her tree.

As the afternoon lengthened, low clouds sank to touch the high walls of Sarakat’s secret garden.

Raymon stood watching it through the murky windowpane. He could almost smell Irina’s plants from here. And her. She smelled like mint, he remembered, becoming tense now.

She loved her mother.

For all her talk, Irina obviously loved Dessalene.

She had sworn to help him, to come with him, but would she be able to leave her mother behind?

Stashing a wedge of cheese into her purse and slipping half a loaf of bread into a basket beneath a stack of napkins, Irina aimed for the back stairs that would take her to the bedchambers. She had to prepare for the evening, but she couldn’t reveal any outward sign that she was planning to escape.

Thinking of Raymon waiting in his chamber, she shivered with nervous excitement. The day was going quickly, though she still had much to do.

She was so lost in her thoughts, going over her plan, that she didn’t notice the woman walking behind her, whose footsteps made no sound.

‘Irina?’

Freezing immediately, heart racing, Irina didn’t want to turn around.

‘Where are you going?’

Clearing her face of horror and fear, a smiling Irina slowly turned to face Sister My, surprised to see a woman standing with her. She looked from the tall, matronly sister to the diminutive new arrival: a woman not dressed soberly like those at the temple but in an extravagant gown like her mother, who so enjoyed palaces and castles.

She was attractive, her features all in perfect harmony – her heart-shaped face so pretty and inviting.

‘Hello, Irina,’ she said with a smile. ‘I have come to collect you and your mother. My name is Katalyne.’

39

Supper time arrived, though no one ate.

Not even a notoriously ravenous Zen, who shook his head at Gerulf when he came to offer a trencher. He nudged Bertel. ‘You can have mine.’

But Bertel didn’t even want his own.

Gerulf had thrown together a hasty meal of salted pork, dried figs, and little cubes of cheese. Everything was perfectly edible, though the darkening sky had them all alert and worried about what lay around every bend and behind every reed.

Korri came back to the shelter, squatting down. ‘River’s getting narrower. Just like before.’

‘Any sign of those trees?’ Bertel asked.

Korri shook his head.

He had bought more lanterns in Naran-Cha, seeking to illuminate the entire ship, and they glowed helpfully from the shelter to the prow.

‘I’ll go up to the bow,’ Edela decided, grabbing a dangling rope and pulling herself up with a push from Bertel. ‘It’s best if I remain there now. Siggy, you stay here and close your eyes. You may see something yourself.’

Leaving the shelter behind, aware of how quiet the ship was, as men who usually played dice were busy sharpening knives and swords, Edela followed the golden lanterns until she reached the bow, where two men watched for the turn-off to Sarakat.

She hoped they hadn’t missed it.

‘We are looking for two entwined trees,’ she reminded the men. ‘Like an arch over a tributary.’ A great squawking noise exploded from the reeds on their right as ravens launched themselves into the night sky.

The moon was cut in half, its pale light shining on wings of black and blue.

Edela trembled, senses on high alert now.

She hoped to barter with Sarakat, to rescue Raymon without a battle, though she feared it was simply wishful thinking.

For the goddess would see her coming, and Edela knew that she would have her own plans.

The blonde-haired woman had a gap between her teeth.

Katalyne.

Anxious and worrying about Raymon, Irina tried not to look at it, though it drew her attention throughout supper. For all that was harmonious in the woman’s appearance, that gap stuck out.

They were eating in the great hall, which meant that Sister My’s guest was as important as she appeared, a certainty confirmed by the way the sister was tittering and even smiling in response to her questions.

Irina had never seen the always-miserable Sister My smile before. And she’d certainly never laughed.

The table was long enough to fit fifty people, though it was set for only three. The hall was vast and barely occupied, every word and sound echoing loudly.

Irina was too nauseous to eat, though Sister My’s occasional disapproving glance focused her attention back on her plate. She hated oysters, especially cooked in wine, so she ignored them and focused on the mound of rice. It was flavourless, and though she didn’t want that either, she eventually forced down a spoonful.

And once that course had been removed from the table, her attention was claimed by a smiling Katalyne.

‘I know your mother well,’ she said, picking up a pewter goblet and inhaling her wine. ‘This is pleasing,’ she murmured to the sister. ‘Kalmeran?’

Sister My looked to grow taller as she smiled. ‘Indeed.’

‘It is a finer wine than I would have expected to find in a temple of worshippers,’ Katalyne mused. ‘And the oysters? Do you eat this well every evening?’

Her eyes danced with amusement, sparkling in candlelight, and Irina caught a hint of mischief in them.

Sister My’s face blanched. ‘It is that we... we set gifts aside. When we take on the girls, their parents are generous. To us, to the goddess. We set those gifts aside for special occasions.’

Katalyne turned to Irina with a wink. ‘I see.’

Suppressing a smile, Irina remembered Raymon. ‘What about the prisoner?’ she blurted out, drawing the attention of both women. ‘Will we be taking him with us?’

Katalyne narrowed her eyes. ‘The handsome Raymon Vandaal? The runaway king? Oh yes, we must. I expect he would like to see something other than his chamber walls. And now that he has recovered, perhaps he will even enjoy our journey?’

‘To where?’ Irina wondered, aware of Sister My’s disapproving eyes. ‘My mother said we were going to Bandar to see my father.’

Katalyne looked thoughtful. ‘Mmmm, though as your mother is unwell, there has been a change of plan. Instead, we will be taking her to my sister. She is an expert in all things, but especially in healing of the nature Dessalene requires. It won’t be long until she is back on her feet again.’

Irina didn’t know how to feel. Katalyne’s arrival had upended everything.

Or had it?

‘When will we be leaving?’ she asked.

‘You have asked enough questions, Irina!’ Sister My snapped. ‘Our guest would like to enjoy her wine, which she cannot do while you hammer away at her.’

Katalyne laughed. ‘Not at all. I am happy to explain more, Irina. We are leaving at first light. My crew has had a long journey, as have I, so we shall rest tonight and be ready to depart at dawn.’

Hope rose, and Irina lifted her goblet, expecting wine but tasting watery ale.

Though she didn’t care.

If Katalyne wasn’t leaving till morning, she still had a chance to escape with Raymon.

Jael and her army arrived at Vallsborg that evening after a tense but uneventful two days. Thanks to Beryth’s renowned hospitality, the mood quickly lifted, and the Andalans enjoyed a festive evening inside the hall and out in the square.

Jael had little interest in anything other than retreating to her chamber to be alone, though she had to stay to answer questions, to show that she was as much a part of the effort as everyone else.

Watching an unusually cheerful Erling Venberg with Beryth’s daughter, Jael could see why he’d been so eager to come to Vallsborg. In all her time in Andala, she’d never seen him smile so much.

Beryth had left to deal with trouble in the kitchen, and she turned to Hal beside her. ‘You’d do well to distance yourself from Erling,’ she warned.

He looked surprised to have been spoken to, though less surprised by Jael’s words. ‘I –’

‘Axl was loyal to you both, but I promise you, Erling only cares for himself. He is not even loyal to his own family, and he is certainly not loyal to his queen. His manner is unfortunate though not unnoticed.’

Glancing briefly at Erling, Hal was suddenly aware of the flaming pit beside him and the glowering queen before him. ‘I thought things were... resolved with the Venbergs now?’

Jael’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘The Furycks have ruled Brekka for eight hundred years for a reason. Unlike Iskavall, we have never let another family claim enough power to entertain thoughts of the throne. Yet Axl opened the door, and I know you and Erling walked through it, Hal. Seeing a future for yourselves as what? Lords? Kings?’

Sensing danger, Hal’s eyes bulged, though pinned in by the queen, he saw no escape. ‘Things are different now,’ he insisted. ‘Death changes things.’

‘Axl’s death, yes,’ Jael agreed. ‘For all of us.’

Hal sighed. ‘I cannot speak for Erling, but I... I have more clarity now,’ he confessed. ‘Though that came more from Amma’s death. The queen’s,’ he added quickly. ‘What she went through was –’ He shook his head, genuinely still shocked by the events in Angard. ‘I have certainly seen what can happen to those who rule. I... my thoughts have clarified.’

‘Good,’ Jael said, turning to glare at Erling. ‘But understand that his haven’t. If you hear of anything that might concern me, I would be grateful to know it. I’m sure I can put in a good word with Getta.’ And with that, she headed towards a red-faced Mattie.

‘Getta?’ Hal shook his head, mouth open, though quickly out of earshot, Jael didn’t hear him.

‘Where have you been?’ she asked when she reached the dreamer.

‘With the cook,’ Mattie explained. ‘My wagon will be loaded down soon!’

She was smiling, which Jael took as a good sign, hoping that whatever had been bothering her was behind her now. ‘Hopefully, one of us will have a dream tonight. I’d rather not spend weeks wandering around Hallow Wood while Mutt Storman and his men hide from us. I’d like to see some signpost. Something showing us the way.’

‘Do you think they will?’ Mattie frowned. ‘Hide from us? That’s not the sense I get at all.’

‘You don’t?’

‘I see them hiding, yes, but not because they’re avoiding us,’ she mused. ‘It’s because they’re waiting for us. They’re waiting for us to come.’

On the river, the insects were flying, and leaving the shelter behind, Bertel was immediately under attack.

‘You won’t get any peace up here,’ Edela promised with a grin, slapping his hand.

‘Do they not bite you?’

She shook her head. ‘I mustn’t be that tasty.’ Turning abruptly, she caught sight of the two trees they’d been searching for all day. ‘Up there!’ she called with a gasp, seeing the trees now coming into view.

Entwined in the shape of an arch, they appeared dead, stripped of all leaves and life.

And in summer?

She turned to Korri, who approached with blinking eyes, for he had seen the strange trees himself.

‘That’s them?’

Edela nodded, and he turned back to the helmsman, Gunter, who was soon barking orders.

The man hanging off the prow was flapping a hand in warning. ‘There’s no way in!’ he insisted. ‘Nowhere to go! We can’t turn there!’

Though Edela remembered her dreamwalk to Abat Bha. She had seen the entire journey herself, as described by him. ‘We can, and we must. Please!’

Korri nodded at Gunter, feeling a rush of nausea.

Siggy and Zen got up, wanting to see what was happening, though barked at by the helmsman, they were quickly sitting back down.

Nellie bleated, Edela held her breath, and soon, they were turning into the reeds.

Grabbing Edela’s arm, Bertel was silent, fearing they were about to run aground, though in the next moment, the reeds parted, and they were on their way down a narrow tributary.

‘Not long now,’ he heard the dreamer murmur. ‘Not long now.’

It was late when Irina took to the stairs, feeling Sister My’s sharp eyes following her.

She turned around to bob her head, seeing her whispering to the woman, Katalyne.

She was a splash of colour in a world of muted shadows, though Irina didn’t know what to make of her. That she knew her mother gave her a bad feeling, and she was frowning as she left the women behind.

She would go to her chamber, ready herself, and when she could be assured that the sisters were asleep, she would hurry up the stairs to Raymon.

More ravens flapping out of the reeds.

More dead trees.

In the eerie darkness, no one was speaking on board Sea Queen.

Even Nellie had gone quiet.

Bertel took Edela’s hand, keeping it down by his leg. ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’ he thought loudly. She seemed tense, focusing hard, though he wanted to understand what might happen.

‘I have some ideas, though this goddess is a mystery. I will do whatever is in my power to protect us, that I swear to you, Bertel Knutson. And I have this.’ And with her left hand, she gripped the stone amulet the healer in Parkosh had given her.

Not just a healer, she realised now, thinking how powerful the amulet had proven to be.

She had finished the tonic, remaining alert and feeling capable, though doubt was addictive, and despite her best efforts to shield herself, she felt hints of it creeping in. ‘I must think clearly. Whatever you do, look after Siggy for me. I must try and think.’ And dropping Bertel’s hand, she stepped away, narrowing her eyes, certain the reeds flanking the ship were rising now.

Becoming walls.

Supper in Vallsborg had been a long, noisy affair, and desperate for a moment alone, Jael finally extracted herself from Beryth’s good company, going in search of silence up on the ramparts.

There, she found Rexon, who appeared to have been searching for the same thing, for he turned with a look of disappointment when she arrived.

Jael smiled wryly. ‘I can stand over there,’ she offered, pointing to a space far to his right.

He shook his head. ‘No need.’

‘Honestly, I’ll go over there,’ she insisted, moving past him, though reaching out, Rexon stopped her.

‘No. Your company is better than anyone else’s.’

Jael laughed. ‘I haven’t heard that before.’

‘Well, you understand in a way few others do...’ Inhaling a tense breath, he didn’t say any more.

They stood side by side in silence for a time.

‘You shouldn’t give up,’ Rexon said at last, turning to her. ‘On Eadmund.’

Jael sighed.

‘If I thought there was a way I could be with Demaeya, I would never give up on finding it, no matter how impossible it seemed.’ Looking down, he felt like crying. ‘I would never stop trying to be with my children. All of us together again...’ And now he looked up. ‘I never imagined the gods could be so cruel.’

Jael knew he wouldn’t be alone in thinking that.

‘They are our teachers,’ Rexon went on. ‘Though what do they think I need to learn?’ He shook his head, clueless.

‘Maybe it isn’t about learning anything? Perhaps it’s that you’re meant to walk a different path? Meant for other things?’

‘I’d rather not be meant for anything. Leave me in Hallow Wood with Mutt Storman’s body, and I’d be happy for my journey to end there.’

Jael believed him. ‘Though if Demaeya stood here, thinking that way, what would you say to her?’

Rexon turned to Jael, seeing the moon reflected in her eyes.

He felt a heaviness in his chest, as though he hadn’t been able to fully take a breath in so long. ‘I’d tell her to live,’ he whispered, tears coming. ‘To live for all of us. To make her life everything it deserved to be. To keep us in her heart, to carry us with her, but to live.’

Jael thought of Eadmund, feeling his absence acutely. It was always present now – an emptiness, an incompleteness, as though something vitally important to her wellbeing was missing. Her broken heart hurt, but she was usually too busy to truly feel it. Though in the silence and the darkness, those dull pains became daggers now.

She imagined Eadmund’s hand on her shoulder, hearing his whisper in her ear.

‘Be careful,’ he warned. ‘Be careful, Jael.’

Irina was terrified.

Sitting alone in her chamber, satchel packed and cloak on, she could still hear rustling robes and quiet footsteps as the sisters completed their evening preparations, and she thought of Raymon upstairs, waiting upon her.

Sometimes, when her nerves became too much, she thought to change her mind, deciding it was wrong to leave her mother. Though Dessalene was a powerful dreamer, and if she recovered, Irina was all too aware of what her plans for Raymon were.

When she thought of Raymon Vandaal, she felt almost giddy. Seeing him was something she’d eagerly looked forward to from their very first meeting. She didn’t know why. It was more that she felt that what was happening was inescapable.

Meant to be.

She would help him – he needed her to.

She would help him, and they would both be free.

Listening carefully, she realised that every noise had now stopped.

And in the temple, there was only silence.

The loudest noise on board Sea Queen, Edela was certain, was her heart thumping like an army on the march. She turned to Siggy, who had come out of the shelter to see what was happening, barely able to offer the girl a smile. ‘You will need to be alert,’ she warned in a whisper. ‘If I...’ Swallowing, she saw terror rush across Siggy’s face, though there was no time to pretend. ‘If something happens, you will find what you need. You will. You will find what you need to protect everyone. To help. I know it. You hid from your dreams, from your power, for so long, but you have confidence now. You have helped me. We have helped each other, and now...’ She squeezed Siggy’s cold hand. ‘We will both have to do brave things.’

Siggy felt afraid. She wanted to hide in the shelter, under the furs, until everything was over. Though staring at the dreamer, feeling the warmth in her hand and seeing the steadiness in her gaze, she nodded. ‘We will,’ she whispered. ‘And we can, Edela.’

Night had fallen some time ago, though Raymon had remained by the window, going over his plan.

Everything relied upon Irina. She had to bribe the guard and get him out of the chamber. She had to locate the key to the side gate. She had to get him into the garden.

He regretted putting her under so much pressure, though locked in his chamber, there was little he could do to help.

Hearing footsteps, Raymon spun towards the door.

And opening it, Irina hobbled inside, looking flushed. ‘A woman has come to take us at dawn. My mother and... she is here now!’

‘Woman?’ Raymon thought quickly. ‘We still have time then.’

Irina glanced at his ankle fetters, and reaching into the satchel hanging from her shoulder, she opened the flap and pulled out a key. ‘Here. You’ll have to leave those behind.’ She handed the key to Raymon and turned back to the door. ‘I paid the guard with some of my mother’s gold. He won’t be back till morning.’

Heart quickening now, Raymon was pleased to hear it.

‘And I have the key for the gate too. It’s –’ She took a breath. ‘We must hurry. But quietly. The sisters are light sleepers. We cannot disturb them.’

The narrow tributary curled like a snake, walls of rustling reeds rising around Sea Queen until she became choked in them.

And then they couldn’t move any further.

Edela sought to find a way through herself, pushing her hands together and chanting, eyes closed. She saw a symbol shimmer in the darkness, like doors locked together, and eyes springing open, she flung out her arms, seeking to break them apart.

Though the reeds remained enmeshed before them, and there was no way through.

The temple was on the other side of the reeds, Edela knew.

She could see it.

Though to get there?

Closing her eyes, she sought to try again, feeling a sharp pain strike her chest, as though it was coming from the amulet, and hearing a cry from Siggy in the distance, Edela opened her eyes, seeing the reeds parting and a figure rising from the swamp like a flock of ravens.

Sarakat.

40

Irina and Raymon hurried away from his chamber, eyes sweeping the torchlight corridor as they silently made their way to the back stairs.

True to her word, there was no sign of the guard, and they could move freely, though after spending so long with the heavy fetters around his ankles, Raymon was struggling to move with care. His feet weren’t as heavy as before, and he kept thumping them down, making too much noise.

Turning around as she reached the bottom of the stairs, Irina frowned at him, holding a finger to her lips.

Dark hair flowing, gown shimmering like scales, Sarakat, Goddess of Secrets, rose before them like a spectre.

No one on Sea Queen moved, paralysed by the fear that death was only a breath away.

The goddess was darkness itself, the moon lighting her up from behind, keeping her face in shadow, though the size of her was frightening. She was larger than any statue. Far bigger than Sea Queen and her crew combined.

‘Goddess, I come to rescue Raymon Vandaal!’ Edela called loudly, nerves jumping. ‘I seek your permission to do so! My friends and I mean no harm to you or your sisters! No harm to anyone in the temple! We come only in search of our missing friend!’

The goddess swooped down until she was hovering near the ship. Her eyes, now visible, were an intense amber colour, blazing with menace. ‘You think to open my gates with lies?’ she hissed, her voice snake-like, blowing out nearly every lantern on board. ‘But lies are not keys!’

Edela’s mouth dropped open. There was an urgency to find words, the right words, though she was struggling. ‘I am... I must find Raymon, our friend. He is... important in Osterland. Where I come from. I am a –’

‘You think I do not know about you, Edela?’ the goddess purred, sweeping around the ship before returning to the starboard gunwale and the old dreamer. ‘That I have not been watching you since you came to Kadak? Since the sisters brought your friend into my temple?’ She shook her head as if in anger.

Though at who?

And now she swooped down again, reaching for Edela’s throat.

Squeezing.

Bertel sought to intervene, though he quickly found that he couldn’t move.

The goddess lifted Edela into the air, her feet dangling helplessly, dress flapping, breath gone. She sought a symbol, the help of the amulet, though a voice in her head stayed her hand.

Watching from below, Siggy couldn’t even cry out. She was motionless. Silent.

They all were.

Watching as Edela and Sarakat disappeared into the night.

The temple’s back door was blocked by one of the sisters, who appeared to have taken leftovers from the kitchen and was eating as though she hadn’t seen food in a month. Crumbs dropped from the cake she was almost inhaling as she glanced around nervously.

Irina had quickly pulled Raymon into an alcove, where they were wedged against a bench, arm to arm, trying to remain out of sight.

Rolling her eyes, she leaned towards him. ‘It’s Sister Isabel. One moment. Just one moment,’ she whispered, and daring to poke out her head, she hoped to see that the corridor was clear.

Sarakat had taken Edela to the temple, depositing her on a step outside its commanding iron gates.

Edela’s throat burned, the goddess’ rage burned, and she felt a desperate need to quench them both. ‘I have a... secret,’ she finally choked out.

Sarakat became still, hovering before Edela, alert and waiting. ‘You will tell it.’

Edela gulped down a mouthful of air, hearing ravens shrieking above her. ‘I seek your assurance of safe passage into the temple and then –’

‘You make demands of a goddess?’ Sarakat spat, at first furious, then amused. ‘Are you in your right mind, old woman?’

Edela didn’t know. Heart thumping, lungs burning, she felt ready for a chair. ‘I... it is a fair trade. I shall pass my secret to you, and in return, you –’

‘I do understand a trade, woman! Now, tell it, and if it is a secret of value, of value to me, I shall let you pass. And then you are on your own...’

Something in the goddess’ words concerned Edela, though her attention quickly shifted to the secret and her discomfort about betraying Furia. ‘Can I ask... what do you do with these secrets? May I just enquire?’

‘About me? You wish to enquire about me?’ The goddess rose up again, hair snapping around like thick ropes now, growing longer and more violent.

Edela stumbled back, hearing those ravens again. Glancing up, she thought there were more of them now. They were so terribly loud, and she couldn’t think. ‘It is just that I... my secret, it is about a... a goddess.’

Sarakat rushed Edela, and now she was on the ground, shrinking to half her size, hair sleek and flowing over a body little bigger than the dreamer’s. ‘You have a secret about a goddess?’ Amber eyes burning with curiosity, she placed a hand over Edela’s mouth. ‘Whisper it to me. No one will hear it, old woman. Only me. You will speak your secret to me.’

Back on Sea Queen, everyone was caught in a trap of indecision.

‘We can’t do anything!’ Siggy insisted loudly, despite her own urgent desire to do so. ‘We can’t enter the reeds, we can’t go to the temple, we can’t save Edela –’

A desperate Bertel swung around, grabbing her arms. ‘Why not?’

‘You saw the goddess,’ Zen breathed. ‘That... you saw her!’

Korri nodded, fearing for the dreamer. ‘We can only hope Edela has something she wants. Until then, there’s nothing we can do but wait.’

The ravenous Sister Isabel finally finished gorging on cake and wine and disappeared, and Irina motioned for Raymon to follow her to the back door.

Raymon kept his head twisted over his shoulder, fearing that someone would pounce on them. Surely one of the sisters would be patrolling the corridors? Or one of Dessalene’s servants, like that slimy Morik? He hadn’t seen him in weeks, though he didn’t doubt he was lurking about somewhere.

Before him, the door opened with a noisy squeal, and he spun towards Irina, who had turned to him with a gaping mouth, fear in her eyes. He didn’t hesitate, though, quickly hurrying her through the door and out into the night.

As she told her secret to Sarakat, Edela’s guts twisted into painful knots.

She was betraying Furia to save Raymon.

Raymon, who didn’t even want to be a Furyck.

She felt nauseous, unsure if she was doing the right thing.

Betrayal.

Blinking now, she watched as Sarakat took her right hand away from her mouth and lifted it to her own lips, covering it with her left hand and closing her eyes.

After a few moments, she took away both hands and smiled at Edela.

‘You may enter,’ she said simply, rising up again and remaking herself into the gossamer-like spectre once more. ‘Your secret was more than worthy of your passage,’ she confessed with a satisfied hiss. ‘A tale as sweet as any I have sampled in centuries. So I shall not only allow you to enter, Edela. I shall give you a gift.’ Swooping down, she touched the dreamer’s cheek. ‘A riddle. And if you solve it in time, perhaps you will have a chance?’ And now she lowered her voice until it was a breath, her eyes mere slits. ‘What has the power of a god and the gifts of a dreamer, yet is neither one nor the other?’

Blinking, Edela didn’t understand, though with a mocking laugh, the goddess swept away from her. The reeds flanking the river snapped back and forth, the wind picking up, and Edela was forced to turn and grab an iron railing to steady herself as Sea Queen came into view.

The temple was cloaked in darkness, the ravens multiplying.

She saw lanterns hanging from the gates, though they were not lit, and there was no light coming from the temple that she could see.

Turning back to the ship, anticipating that Bertel would blurt out something, she put a finger to her lips before pointing to where she could see two ships moored to her right, just around a bend.

She remembered the riddle, unable to make sense of it.

What has the power of a god and the gifts of a dreamer, yet is neither one nor the other?

Shaking her head, she feared she had no time for standing about trying to solve it.

Bertel and Korri jumped over the shield rack, followed by Zen, Siggy, and most of the crew. Gunter remained at the steering oar, and Korri ordered three men to stay with him. They needed ropes to hold the ship in place, for they couldn’t risk her drifting away or the time it would take to haul up an anchor.

‘Where is the goddess?’ Bertel wanted to know, hurrying to Edela with extended arms.

She brushed him aside, not answering his question. ‘We must stay together,’ she urged, eyes on the path leading around the side of the temple. ‘Siggy, you watch the right, I will keep an eye on the left and –’ She saw a flash of moonlight and a familiar face. ‘This way!’ she called before quickly lowering her voice. ‘It’s Raymon.’

In the darkness, Raymon feared that Irina was changing her mind.

She moved slowly before him now, hesitating, as though weighed down with indecision.

The garden was a maze, and in the dark, he recognised nothing. He couldn’t help her, couldn’t advise the right way to go.

‘Are you alright?’ he whispered, though she didn’t look around. ‘Irina?’

Now she almost toppled over as she turned back to him. ‘Ssshhh, I hear voices. We just can’t stumble across anyone out walking.’

‘At night?’

‘Ssshhh.’

Raymon nearly stepped on Irina’s heel as she jerked to a stop before him. ‘Give me your knife. Please.’

She turned around again, handing him her eating knife. ‘To the right,’ she breathed. ‘Careful, there’s a step after the gate opens. Careful.’

Raymon nodded, creeping after her, and now he recognised where they were, seeing her little herb garden and the gate in the wall. Hopes rising, tension mounting, he squeezed the knife in his hand, wanting her to hurry.

As they hurried along the path, bordered by a hedge on one side and the temple wall on the other, Bertel tried to shunt Edela behind him, though she elbowed him away. Eventually, he turned to glare at her. ‘We don’t know what’s through that gate, woman,’ he grumbled, unsheathing his sword. ‘Get behind me and stay there for once.’

Turning with him, Korri was nodding. ‘Might be guards.’

Edela frowned, for she had seen no guards at the gates or outside the temple doors. That should have been a relief, though she only felt more on edge, for surely a place that valued its privacy so highly should’ve been guarded?

Sarakat’s words echoed back to her, though she couldn’t untangle the riddle. It simply made no sense. ‘Hurry,’ she urged, and grabbing Zen, she pulled him close. ‘You can go over the wall. Perhaps there’s a way to unlock the gate from that side?’

Though in the next moment, they heard a click and a quiet groan as the gate started opening.

Sister My was woken in the depths of the night by the nervous night sister.

And though unhappy about that, she dressed quickly and hurried out of her chamber.

‘Tell me again,’ she demanded, poking the diminutive sister, who barely came up to her elbow. ‘Where did you see Irina?’

‘In the corridor, heading for the back door. A man was with her. The prisoner. I am sure of it!’

Sister My didn’t understand what had come over a usually docile Irina Sardis, though there was little time for wondering. Using the night sister’s lamp to light the way, she hurried upstairs to where Raymon Vandaal was imprisoned, fears rising at the sight of that unguarded door.

Striding forward, she flung it open, furious to discover that the man had gone. She spun around, seeing no evidence of his escape, her heart pounding out an urgent rhythm. ‘You must...’ she muttered. ‘You must find...’ She turned to the blinking night sister. ‘Find Morik. Alert him to the prisoner’s escape. I... he will have to send Dessalene’s men after him, though as for...’ And without finishing her thought, she strode away, wanting to know what had happened to Irina.

‘Raymon!’ Edela cried, tears in her eyes at the sight of that familiar face.

Seeing the dreamer standing before him, Raymon almost fell over, and running forward, he embraced her. ‘What are you –’ Looking up, he saw Korri and Bertel and – ‘You’ve brought the ships?’

Stepping out of his embrace, the beaming dreamer nodded. ‘Though we must hurry.’ She shivered, realising their time was up; there was movement in the temple now. ‘Who is this?’ she asked, pointing to the girl.

‘A friend. She was helping me escape,’ Raymon told her, avoiding mentioning Irina’s mother; he didn’t want a conversation about Dessalene now, and he certainly didn’t want to leave Irina behind. ‘We have to go.’

They heard shouting.

Men’s voices.

‘Come on!’ Korri barked, hurrying them back down the path.

Raymon shoved the knife into his belt, and grabbing Irina’s hand, he helped her along. ‘They’re my friends. The ones I told you about.’ He felt a rush of emotion. That they had come for him?

Turning around to Raymon, Korri nodded. ‘We need to move quickly.’

They ran back down the gravel path, Edela sliding, quickly grabbed by Bertel, who steadied her.

The temple doors were flung open, and men with swords charged towards the gates, blades flashing in moonlight. Ravens resting on the pillars flapped their wings, screeching in alarm, drowning the voices of those calling from the temple.

Hearing the gates screeching open, Bertel and Korri turned away from the river.

‘Get them to the ship!’ Korri urged, taking his sword in both hands. There were four guards, though he was starting to feel more confident in his ability to hold his own now.

Zen arrived, taking his place next to him, and nodding at the boy, he moved forward. They had to leave, though they couldn’t let these men cut them down from behind. Raymon’s friend appeared lame, Edela was doing her best, though she was never going to be fast.

They had to stop these men before more came.

Raymon wanted to join them, though he had nothing more than Irina’s eating knife, so he focused on getting her to the ship. Gerulf, the cook, was there, and all the other faces he remembered from Sea Queen.

Reaching the riverbank, he saw three men holding her in place with ropes. The sail was up, though the oars would be needed to get them away quickly. ‘Oars! Oars!’ he heard Gunter bark, watching the crew throwing themselves over the shield rack and into the ship.

Hoisting Irina up to one of the men, he turned back to help Siggy and then Edela. ‘Korri!’ he called. ‘Bertel!’ The quick skirmish was soon at an end thanks to an impatient Bertel, all four guards down, though more armed men were coming.

Shrieking ravens.

Men charging with swords.

Wide-eyed, Raymon watched Bertel running through the gates, followed by Korri and Zen. ‘Hurry!’

He waited on the muddy riverbank, thinking of Dessalene, hoping she remained unconscious and unhelpful. Turning back, he launched himself into the ship, soon joined by Bertel, Zen, and Korri.

‘Gunter!’ Korri shouted, taking to a bench and grabbing the oar. ‘Get us out of here!’

More men were running through the temple gates, though they didn’t have bows and couldn’t run fast enough to catch the ship, and soon they had no choice but to pull up, watching as Sea Queen sailed away from the temple.

Upon reaching Irina’s chamber, Sister My had been surprised to find it locked.

She hammered on the door, becoming angrier by the moment.

And more certain too. Raymon Vandaal was gone.

And now, Irina?

Eventually, the night sister returned with a set of keys, and unlocking the door, Sister My was relieved to see that the girl was safely tucked up in bed, shielding her eyes from the lamp.

‘What is it?’ Irina called out. ‘What has happened?’

41

A whirlwind of emotions swept around Edela, though she still needed to understand what had happened. ‘Where is Dessalene?’ she asked Raymon, peering at the girl, who looked oddly familiar. And then she blinked in horror. ‘This is her daughter?’

Raymon nodded, immediately defensive. ‘Irina. Though she’s no dreamer. Not like her mother. She’s not like Dessalene.’

Head in a spin, Sarakat’s impossible riddle niggling at her, Edela just stared.

The ship was noisy as grunting men pulled back creaking oars, Korri amongst them, calling time.

Bertel thought to get everyone moving, and nudging Zen and Siggy ahead of him, he pointed to the shelter. ‘We should sit. Out of the way.’

Edela thought that was a good idea.

The amulet around her neck suddenly burned, a hot spark against her chest, and she cried out, lunging to her left, just managing to grab the rigging.

‘Edela!’ Bertel shouted, reaching for her, and then he was gone.

‘No!’ she screamed, hearing a splash as Bertel was flung overboard. The amulet was burning a hole in her chest. She needed to move it, to take it off.

What was happening?

‘Bertel!’

What has the power of a god and the gifts of a dreamer, yet is neither one nor the other?

Edela blinked, head snapping around, eyes on the girl.

Irina Sardis.

‘Hello again, Edela,’ Irina said in a familiar voice.

Shivers surging through her body, Edela lunged for Zen, though he was quickly swept away from her, too, flung overboard after Bertel.

Seeing what was happening, Gunter called to Korri, though Edela’s voice rose over his. ‘Katalyne!’ she screamed. ‘It’s Katalyne!’

Korri remembered the name, and he tried to get off his chest, though he couldn’t lift his legs. He couldn’t even move a toe. None of the crew could.

Raymon had heard the story of Katalyne, the strange creature from Aggralaia, though he didn’t understand what was happening. Jerking around to Irina, he tried to grab her, though with a disturbing smile, she swept him aside until he was pressed against the gunwale, unable to move.

Now it was only Siggy standing, and Edela pushed the girl behind her, weaving symbols with her mind. She would draw the creature out of Irina, reveal her and then –

‘Do you think I will be beaten twice?’ Katalyne snarled. ‘Twice? That my kind can be brought down by mere humans?’

Edela was furious, both at herself and at this woman, for now Sarakat’s riddle seemed perfectly clear. ‘I am no mere human!’ she barked. ‘I am a dreamer!’ And sparks flying from her hands, they ignited in Katalyne’s hair. The woman screeched, head snapping around, sparks flying towards the sail, catching it alight. She lunged for Edela, though Siggy dragged her out of the way, and as the lame Irina, Katalyne became unbalanced, stumbling onto one knee.

Wanting to keep her there, Edela gripped her amulet, chanting.

She remembered Ahzem’s warning that he couldn’t help her, though she feared she wasn’t strong enough to kill Katalyne.

She didn’t know what she was – not human – but she had to be able to die.

‘Edela!’ she heard Bertel call from the river. ‘Edela!’

Raymon couldn’t do anything. Pressed against the gunwale, he couldn’t move.

It wasn’t Irina – it couldn’t be. So where was she?

‘Edela!’ Korri screamed as flaming pieces of sail broke away and fell over the helpless crew, pinned to their chests by oars they couldn’t move. ‘Hurry!’

Edela’s feet rose off the deck. She heard the crackling flames, she felt the blazing panic of the crew. And now she tugged her right hand down as though yanking a rope. Right hand, then left, and Katalyne dropped to both knees, now pinned to the deck herself.

‘You think it will be that easy?’ Katalyne mocked in a childlike voice, head cracking left and right as though made of wood. ‘That a livahti can be defeated? What? By your friend, the river god? You think Ahzem is more powerful than me? That he would wish to defend you?’ Flinging out an arm, joints cracking, she reached for Edela, seeking to draw the amulet to her.

Though something was blocking her. She couldn’t reach it.

Teeth gnashing, she chanted loudly. Her breath had the strength of a blacksmith’s bellows, blowing that flaming sail around. And with a shout, shaking off Edela’s spell, a grinning Katalyne was back on her feet.

Lifting her arms, she flapped them like a bird.

Like a raven.

Thunder rumbled above the ship, and in the distance, the ravens gathered at the temple, responded to her call.

And soon they were flocking to Sea Queen.

Now Katalyne pointed at Edela, and squeezing her right hand into a fist, she claimed her, dragging the levitating dreamer back down to the deck. ‘Do not think to escape me, old woman! To escape this ship! No! You shall drown with the rest of your friends!’

Just the thought of it had Edela trembling. She felt a pressure in her legs, a sudden weight to them, and soon she was tumbling to the deck, onto her knees. The weight grew in intensity, pushing down on her so that she could barely hold up her head, the feeling quickly crushing her.

Leaving the helpless dreamer there, ravens encircling Sea Queen’s mast like storm clouds, Katalyne drew her hands to her waist, turning them sharply. She lifted her arms, revelling in the panic swirling around her.

Siggy looked on in horror as Sea Queen’s mast started rising out of its step.

Before it, the woman was turning and twisting her hands, and with a triumphant smile, she dropped them to her legs, driving the mast like a spear, straight through Sea Queen’s deck.

Trapped on her knees, Edela was facing the opposite direction, unable to see what was happening, though she heard the explosive cracking sounds as the ship shuddered around her.

Planks shattering, Sea Queen folded in on herself, her trapped crew unable to escape.

The flaming sail was quickly doused in the river, though called into action by Katalyne, the ravens now swooped low, pecking the helpless crew.

Striding up the sloping deck, hearing their pathetic pleas, Katalyne laughed, knowing that without the dreamer, they would drown.

Turning back to Edela, magic sparked from her fingertips. She felt heat there and a thumping sensation in her chest, as though she was a horse racing into battle. Once again, she tipped her head left then right. ‘Oh dear, Edela. How very sad for you and your friends. But you tried so hard!’

Finally freeing herself from Katalyne’s binding spell, Edela grabbed the chest Gerulf sat on. She saw the terror in his pleading eyes as she pulled herself to her feet, seeking to ignore the cook and focus on staying upright on the sinking ship.

Wedging herself behind the chest, she wove symbols together, and chanting in a tremulous voice, she soon had the ravens wheeling away from the ship, back to their perches. And now, eyes snapping to the woman, who had slowly taken on another form – the one she remembered from Aggralaia – she sought to kill her.

There was little time.

The ship was sinking. She had to hurry!

Blue sparks shot from Edela’s hands as she flung them forward, striking Katalyne’s shoulder.

Stumbling, a furious Katalyne roared at the old woman. ‘You think to claim me?’ she snarled before laughing. Preparing to launch her own attack, she raised an arm, feeling a pressure on it, and then it was falling back to her side.

It wasn’t Edela, she realised.

The ship tilted violently, and she could hear her sister’s angry voice in her ears. Her snapping, snarling orders to leave at once.

Revenge could wait, she insisted. Getting away from Sarakat was what mattered now.

They would wage a war to defeat Edela and her friends, though for that, they needed Dessalene. They couldn’t afford to lose her here.

Nodding reluctantly, Katalyne spun away, sweat trickling down her temples, water rising past her ankles. ‘You will die here!’ she cackled, laughing as she rushed to grab Raymon Vandaal. ‘Die here knowing that you failed, Edela!’ And picking up a helpless Raymon, she threw him overboard. ‘Though if you somehow manage to live, I look forward to meeting again!’ And clambering onto the shield rack as Sea Queen’s crew begged for their lives and the broken ship plunged deeper into the dark river, Katalyne beamed victoriously, jumping overboard.

Watching her disappear, Sea Queen sinking, her friends drowning, Edela sought to focus.

Closing her eyes and grabbing the amulet, she sought Ahzem’s help, though there was no response.

No sign of the river god.

Sea Queen shuddered, and she stumbled, sliding towards the gaping hole in the deck, those men in the middle, pinned to their chests, already underwater.

Lightning shivered overhead, thunder boomed, and Edela’s feet came off the deck as the ship fell away beneath her. Straining with the effort, clinging to symbols with her mind, she hovered in the air, trying to pull Sea Queen out of the river. Though unable to do so, toes now in the water, she worked on freeing the crew instead.

Korri was already underwater – she felt his terror.

The river wasn’t deep, but deep enough for men who couldn’t move to drown.

Closing her eyes and shutting out the chaos, Edela hurried to reveal Katalyne’s magic.

She soon saw a glowing symbol, like an anchor and a rope, wrapped around the men.

And chanting with the sound of a hammer striking an anvil, Edela broke through the symbol, and with it, the hold on her own magic. Falling to the deck, she rolled towards the gushing hole. Screaming, she flung out a hand, desperately reaching for something to stop herself, finding nothing but splinters and water.

Then someone grabbed her wrist, pulling her back up the deck, or what was left of it – most of the ship was now in the river.

‘Edela!’ a dripping Bertel called, tugging her up. ‘Zen! Here! Get her off the ship!’

‘Siggy!’ Zen shouted. ‘Edela’s alright!’ And heart racing, he pulled the dreamer towards him, helping her to where he could just make out the stern. ‘You need to swim, Edela. Swim to Siggy!’

Behind him, Bertel plunged into the river where those men had been underwater for too long. Despite being freed by Edela, many were unable to help themselves. One by one, he pulled them up until their heads were above water, starting with Korri. Gerulf braced himself nearby, dragging men towards the stern, where Zen returned, working to help him. Some of the crew could swim, though others were limp, eyes closed, and it was impossible to know if they were dead or alive.

Clouds swept across the moon, plunging the river into darkness.

Pure, terrifying darkness.

‘Edela!’ Siggy was swimming towards where she had seen her enter the river. ‘I’m coming!’ She kicked her legs, trying to ignore the slimy weeds wrapping around them, remembering the goddess, Sarakat. She thought of Raymon, wondering what had happened to him.

‘Here!’ Edela gasped. ‘I’m... here!’

Siggy paddled towards her, soon touching her hand. She reached an arm around her back, under her armpit, trying to help her along. She couldn’t touch the bottom, though she was a confident swimmer, and she didn’t let go of Edela. Kicking harder, she kept her eyes on where she thought the riverbank was, hoping the moon would return soon. Hearing Bertel and Zen shouting in the distance, she gulped down a mouthful of mucky water. It tasted foul, she felt something cold touch her leg, and shuddering with terror, she tried to remind herself that she needed to save Edela.

She heard shouts before her, coming from the temple, though the voices soon drifted away.

Beside her, Edela felt oddly calm. Despite her long-held fear of the water, she wasn’t even conscious of it. She knew that Katalyne was escaping with Raymon, but in the complete darkness, she had no idea where they were. She tried calling to him, though water rushed into her mouth.

Behind her, the crew was being rescued, though the absence of moonlight was making everything impossibly slow. She felt something swim through her legs and she bit her tongue, seeing a vision of the temple gates. The river was dark, though she remembered those iron gates hanging with lanterns.

Feeling Siggy’s hand hard up under her armpit, she hurried to stitch symbols together, and soon those lanterns were alight, sending golden beams towards the river, revealing the bank and the bend and the ships in the distance preparing to depart.

Edela was no swimmer, and she avoided water whenever possible, though her father had taught her to swim as a child. She could keep afloat.

More light was coming to the left of the temple – lanterns moving, not towards the riverbank but away from it.

Before her was only murky water, though with her eyes closed, she could see further.

The wharf. Two ships.

Those lanterns were moving towards the ships.

‘Raymon!’ she shouted again, hearing nothing in reply, though she was certain she could make out movement.

Bertel dragged the last man out of Sea Queen. Some of the crew appeared dead, though without the moon, it was hard to see much. They needed to get everyone to the bank and give them all a chance.

Raymon had been taken, Sea Queen was destroyed, and nothing made sense.

Hearing the goat bleating, he saw a glimpse of Gerulf wrangling a frightened Nellie to shore.

Gunter was carrying Alvi. Zen had his arm around one man, swimming towards the riverbank, and beside him, Korri was helping another two.

And in the distance, he heard Edela frantically calling Raymon’s name.

Irina had sought to leave her chamber earlier, only to find that she had been locked in. She’d suspected Sister My, though when the sister had unlocked the door, she’d seen confusion in her eyes.

And then she’d revealed Raymon’s escape.

Nothing made sense, though soon she was being dragged out of the chamber in her nightdress, through the temple and out the main door, where she saw her mother being carried towards two ships.

One, she recognised as her father’s wolf ship. The other, she guessed, belonged to the woman, Katalyne.

The sky was completely dark, her only glimpses of what was happening coming from men carrying lanterns. Flames flickered on sullen faces and over hunched shoulders. There was little noise but an undeniable urgency about everything.

Sister My handed her over to one of the men.

‘What’s happening?’ Irina turned and called, feeling the icy grip of a hand around her wrist, and then she was almost tugged off her feet. ‘Wh-wh-where are we going? Where is Raymon?’

Some way ahead of Irina, a dripping Raymon had no voice. His mouth was open, and he was shouting for Edela, for Irina, for help, though the woman who’d thrown him off Sea Queen had silenced him somehow.

He had been pulled out of the water and hurried towards another ship. Despite the crushing darkness, Raymon could see that its crew was at the oars, and soon he was forced down into the bow, where, without a single rope or fetter around his arms or legs, he quickly found he couldn’t move. Not even a finger.

He couldn’t see what was happening.

What was happening to his friends?

Siggy and Edela dragged themselves out of the water into the reeds, slipping and sliding through mud, gasping for air.

Behind them, men were calling out in panic, needing help. Shoulders heaving, Edela pointed Siggy back to the riverbank. ‘You... help,’ she panted, struggling to breathe. First Sarakat, then Katalyne had threatened to kill her, not to mention the river, and now she bent over, coughing up a mouthful of water. Straightening up, she stumbled away from Siggy towards the temple gates. The golden flames in those lanterns flickered faintly, and she struggled to find the path to the wharf. Water ran from her hair into her eyes, she sought to bring images to her, but it was as though someone had dropped a curtain over everything before her now.

In the distance, she heard creaking ships, men’s voices, and Katalyne’s, too, though no matter how many steps she took, she drew no closer. Nothing came into view, the light from the lanterns faded further, and once again, everything was lost to the night.

‘Raymon!’ she called desperately, hearing nothing as she trudged on. Her legs were made of iron, the riverbank of sucking mud, and becoming exhausted, she had no choice but to slow down. Any efforts to magically induce light failed, and that dark cloak remained draped over everything as she stood, twisting and turning, trying to get her bearings.

Something was out there. Ships.

She had seen them herself, but as hard as she tried, she couldn’t see them now.

And unable to see them, she couldn’t reach them.

She kept trying, wading as though through the deepest of snow drifts, her legs heavy, her boots weighing her down. Chest burning, throat aching, she couldn’t make any progress.

None.

The moon finally shrugged off the clouds, beams of moonlight revealing that she stood near the mouth of the inlet. Though eyes darting to the wharf, she saw that it was empty.

Both ships were gone.

Sailing away from the temple under cover of darkness, a trembling Irina was beside herself. She had been dragged into a tent in the stern, where her mother lay on a bed. There was some relief in that, but what had happened to Raymon?

They were sailing away from the temple, and she was still in her nightdress, not understanding anything.

Eventually, Katalyne entered the tent with a satisfied smile. ‘Ahhh, the lovely Irina.’

She was wet, Irina realised, her oddly cheerful expression out of place. Her eyes, which had earlier looked pretty and demure, now bulged madly.

Sensing danger, she moved towards her mother.

‘Dessalene is safe. As are you,’ Katalyne promised. ‘Do not worry. Your poor mother will soon be herself again.’

‘And my father?’ Irina asked. ‘Where is he?’

‘Ronin?’ Katalyne became coy. ‘He is keeping himself busy, I expect. You needn’t worry about the Wolf King. All you need do now is sit here with Dessalene. Comfort your poor mother. We will be sailing for some time to reach our destination.’

‘But... where is Raymon? What happened to him?’

Though Katalyne didn’t answer as she bobbed her head and slipped out of the tent, into the night.

42

Eventually, everyone crawled out or was pulled out of the river, and with there being no sign of the ships, Katalyne, or Raymon, Edela knew she had to focus on helping Sea Queen’s crew. Hurrying through the open gates, she headed up the path to the temple. Upon reaching the steps, she took a few shallow breaths before mounting them and knocking on the door.

No one answered, she heard no footsteps, and feeling incensed, she pressed a wet hand to the door, chanting angrily.

Soon, both doors swung open, revealing a cavernous stone foyer where a row of similarly dressed women stood, mouths agape, staring at her.

‘You could not hear me?’ she growled. ‘Not hear what was befalling us in the river?’ And now Edela shook her head, drops of water flying everywhere. ‘I have spoken to your goddess, Sarakat. She gave me permission to enter the temple. And now, here I am, and my friends need help. You will bring them inside and lay them near fires. You will help to revive them.’

The sisters didn’t move, though in the glow of lamps burning on long tables flanking each wall, Edela could certainly make out their tall leader, and she fixed her attention on her. ‘I have many questions about why Katalyne was here. That creature? And why you had Raymon Vandaal here prisoner? Many, many questions. But before we begin, you will tend to my friends.’ She narrowed her eyes on the grey-haired sister. ‘Now.’

And despite an overwhelming desire to protest such an order, Sister My found herself doing exactly as she was bid, sending the sisters outside to help the ship’s crew into the temple.

‘I am not usually given to anger,’ Edela said darkly. ‘Though I have just swum across a river to find the reason I came here gone, so you have met me in the most unusual of tempers. I am inclined to mercy and understanding, though not this evening. Cross me, sister, and you will discover just how vengeful an old dreamer can be.’

Sister My had no magic, she wasn’t a dreamer, and realising she had little choice in the matter, she inclined her head for Edela to follow her further into the temple.

Finally able to use his voice again, Raymon called out for Irina.

He wanted to know that she was safe. She had been taken into a tent in the stern, and he hadn’t heard from her again.

He thought of Edela and Sea Queen’s crew, fearing for them all, left behind on the river. Sinking.

And then Katalyne returned and patted him like a dog, and once again, he couldn’t speak.

‘I think that is preferrable,’ she chuckled, ‘for all those who seek to claim some sleep this night, or what remains of it.’ And now she headed away from him, thinking of the old dreamer, humiliated at her hands. Not dead, regrettably, though her sister had given her little choice about that.

Edela had been surprisingly more powerful than their first meeting, and if Ahzem had found the courage to intervene, or Sarakat, the desire?

No, Katalyne felt confident she had made the right choice, and as she moved around the tent to the stern, she caught her last glimpse of the temple disappearing into the night.

Sister My had woken half the temple to tend to their unwelcome guests, though the old dreamer still looked ready to strike.

And the goddess had given her permission? She was starting to doubt it.

‘Then call her to you!’ Edela snapped, fed up with the sound of the woman’s peevish thoughts. ‘Call Sarakat to you and ask her yourself. I assure you she enjoyed the secret I paid her with. Though having met her, I imagine she’ll be less than pleased to be disturbed by you.’

Lips puckering, Sister My didn’t doubt it. ‘You may stay, of course. And whatever we can provide, we shall.’

‘A ship,’ Bertel said, appearing over Edela’s shoulder. ‘Our ship was destroyed by your guest, so a ship. We cannot linger here.’ He eyed Edela. ‘If we’re to have any hope of following Raymon, we must hurry.’

The dreamer turned to him with a frustrated sigh. ‘The ships have gone.’

Sister My looked surprised by that statement.

‘The only vessel here is a small boat. We’d not get far.’

Bertel was incredulous. ‘But –’

‘We are marooned here,’ Edela added, her tension only heightening. She saw Zen with a distraught-looking Korri, standing over one of the men who’d drowned. Three so far were dead.

It was truly shocking.

‘You need to organise Korri and Zen. They can head back to Naran-Cha to buy another ship. We must get away from here quickly.’ Edela turned to Sister My. ‘I wish to see the chambers your guests stayed in,’ she told the tall woman. ‘Let us begin with Katalyne.’ And motioning for Sister My to lead the way, she nodded at Bertel.

Who turned to Korri. ‘There’s a boat you can use to get to Naran-Cha. You’ll need to buy another ship there.’

‘There are no ships?’ Korri looked shell-shocked, braids dripping down his sodden tunic. The hall was warm, more lamps had been lit, and the hearth was ablaze, though he was trembling. With shock, he realised, still seeing the moment that woman had lifted Sea Queen’s mast – a feat impossible for anyone but a giant – and driven it through the deck, killing his beloved ship. And with it, three of his men. His friends.

They had lost Raymon, too, and their hopes with it.

Bertel was shaking his head. ‘Nothing here. Nothing but the boat. You have to go. I think it’s better if I stay with Edela.’

Korri watched the dreamer disappearing after one of the dour sisters.

The huge proportions of the temple dwarfed them all, though he felt no comfort within its walls or from its keepers. There was a coldness about all of it, and though he wanted to tend to his men, he knew it was better to be going.

‘Will you have the coins?’ Bertel wondered quietly.

Korri nodded, seeing Siggy drying a bedraggled Alvi with a blanket. ‘I don’t go anywhere without them,’ he whispered, patting one of the bags sewn into his cloak. They were uncomfortable and cumbersome, though he felt only relief that he’d managed to get to shore with all the extra weight. ‘We’ll need some supplies.’ He caught the attention of one of the sisters, who looked ready to run away, though with a pat on the back from Bertel, he was soon heading towards her.

Zen joined Siggy. ‘Where’s Nellie?’

‘Taken to the barn. They tried to take Alvi, but I want him with me.’

Zen shook wet hair out of his eyes. ‘I don’t like it here.’

Siggy agreed. ‘Though we’re inside, and the fires help. We just need to get through the night. We can think in the morning. About everything.’ Though she was already thinking about Raymon Vandaal, wondering how they were going to help him now.

Jael woke before dawn in the unfamiliar surrounds of one of Beryth Ulrik’s bedchambers, surprised to see a hunched Mattie creeping towards the door. Knowing what they were facing and needing to work together, she had wanted to keep the dreamer close. ‘Where are you going?’

Mattie froze. She didn’t turn around. ‘To... gather more plants. I won’t be long.’

A sleepy Jael couldn’t keep her eyes open, and head sinking into the pillow, she soon fell back to sleep.

Silently closing the door, Mattie hurried through the hall, head down, watching her footing, for many had fallen asleep where they lay. She nearly tripped over a cup in her haste, eager to leave the fort behind.

The hall doors opened, and in came Fyn with Petra.

Fyn blinked at Mattie, then at the basket over her arm. ‘You’re going somewhere?’

‘The forest,’ she said quickly, glancing past him to the doors.

Petra’s eye revealed her confusion about that, though she was too shy to say anything to the dreamer.

Fyn, though, had no such hesitation. ‘Now? I’ll go with you.’

But Mattie shook her head. ‘No. I... I must go alone. You’d only distract me.’

Fyn frowned. He didn’t like the thought of her going into the forest alone. Especially in the dark.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she smiled. ‘You get to bed.’ And leaving no opportunity for further arguments, she elbowed past him and pushed open the door.

Ayla was up early, making a tea in the hall kitchen.

She thought of Edela, who’d given her the recipe for the herbal brew to awaken the mind. She felt a great need to do so, wracked with a growing sense of unease.

She thought of Bram and was worried, she thought of Jael and became fearful, and she thought of Andala and felt entirely overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed and nauseous.

Her thoughts were fracturing when they needed to be focused, mind scattered when she needed to keep it on the task before her.

Eventually, she left the hall behind, seeking the fresh morning air. It was at once restorative, though soon filled with the sounds of busy Andalans, and she thought to head into the forest instead.

She walked towards the training ring where a lone man was working a staff.

He looked angry, lost in a dance of rage, and as he swung around, she saw that it was Gant.

Coming to a stop, the anger left his face, replaced with a look of embarrassment, and shaking hair away from his eyes, he stared at her.

‘Don’t let me disturb you,’ Ayla smiled.

Seeing her up close, he frowned. ‘Are you unwell?’

Ayla was surprised. ‘Do I look unwell?’

‘A little.’

‘Oh. I think I’m more out of sorts. I’m off to get some air in the forest.’

‘Not sure you’ll find it. Not anymore.’

‘I plan to go far. I’m here to help, but sometimes a little perspective is useful. Being in the fort can feel...’

‘Oppressive?’

Ayla nodded. ‘There are so many voices. I hear them around me, though this morning it feels as though they’re all inside my head.’ She thought of Linas, wondering if he’d had any clarity about the voices in his own head yet.

Gant’s face fell. ‘Voices and memories,’ he said sadly. ‘Too many memories.’

Patting his arm with a sympathetic look, Ayla soon left him behind, for as much as she wanted to help, she couldn’t become distracted by other people’s worries. It wasn’t why she was here. She was in Andala to seek out threats.

And to do that, she needed to clear her mind entirely.

A well-rested Jael rode between Fyn and Rexon as the sun rose.

Beryth Ulrik was always an entertaining hostess, though the hospitality at Vallsborg hadn’t been tempting enough to delay their departure, and she’d managed to wrangle everyone back on the road just before dawn.

‘At this pace, we’ll reach Tenby by nightfall,’ Rexon noted.

Jael nodded. ‘That’s the aim. The scouts should return soon and tell me what awaits us there.’

‘Not Mutt Storman.’

‘No, not Mutt Storman, though even dreamers can be wrong, so we need to stay alert.’

‘And then?’ Fyn wondered from Jael’s left. ‘Hallow Wood?’

Hearing the trepidation in his voice, she turned to him. ‘We’re prepared for Hallow Wood, but is it prepared for us?’ she grinned, feeling optimistic. The sky promised fine weather, it was mild, and the road to Tenby appeared dry. Her heart was in pieces, she felt sick to her stomach most of the time, and she often had to force herself to even acknowledge the people around her. Though she knew she could only focus on what she could control, and that was flushing out Mutt Storman and Gunnhild and ending their hold on Brekka. Until they were dead, there would be no peace in the kingdom, and no chance of uniting her people against what would come next. ‘We’re prepared for Hallow Wood,’ she echoed and turning to see a frowning Mattie riding in her wagon, she smiled.

Edela hadn’t gone to bed, though one had certainly been offered to her by the sour-faced Sister My. She had tended to those men who had almost drowned and to the bodies of the three who had.

Weighed down by a desperate sadness, she chided herself for not having untangled Sarakat’s riddle sooner. The goddess had obviously known that Katalyne was in the temple, though Edela had remained blind to it until it was too late.

Siggy brought her a hot drink, which had such an overpowering aroma that Edela was immediately drawn out of herself, sniffing it with interest. ‘What is it supposed to be?’

‘A kayton. The sisters start each morning with it. A secret from the goddess,’ she whispered, unsure if she was supposed to know that. ‘It relieves tension and focuses the mind.’

Edela grinned wearily at her, seeing that Siggy’s curls had dried with reeds and grass sticking out of them. Reaching up, she brushed some away. ‘It sounds like the perfect remedy for a truly terrible night.’ And now her face fell as she sipped from the cup, regretting the loss of the three men.

Bertel arrived looking as crumpled as his clothes. He’d taken a nap in one of the guest chambers, though he didn’t appear any more revived than Edela felt. The hall was barely brighter than it had been during the night, the light leaking through the upper windows weak and grey.

There weren’t enough lamps to lift the gloom they were all feeling, and they sighed.

‘We must focus on what comes next,’ Bertel tried, quickly seeing the state the dreamers were in. ‘You need to get to bed, Edela. They have comfortable beds here,’ he said with just a hint of pleasure. ‘Mattresses stuffed with feathers.’

Siggy’s eyes brightened. ‘Feathers?’

‘Oh yes, pity the birds that died to give me a good rest, but I can’t deny it was worth it. You must try and sleep, the pair of you. Whatever has happened to Raymon won’t be revealed by standing around feeling disappointed.’

Edela was speechless, mouth hanging open. ‘I... I’m a little more than disappointed,’ she hissed. ‘He is not only with Dessalene Sardis now, but with Katalyne. Katalyne?’ she almost shrieked as the true horror sank in. ‘And what is she?’ A livahti, Edela remembered. That word had seared itself on her memory like a brand, for Katalyne had proudly proclaimed exactly what she was.

A livahti. Outside the gods.

‘She was two different people,’ Siggy breathed.

‘I didn’t think such a thing was possible,’ Bertel whispered. ‘To shift shape?’

‘What happened to the girl? Irina?’ Siggy wondered.

‘According to the sisters, she was taken, along with Dessalene and Raymon. Katalyne has them all.’

‘Would they be going back to Aggralaia, do you think?’ Bertel mused. ‘Or was that only an illusion?’

A muddled Edela felt the exhaustion of the night, realising that Bertel was right. ‘No answers will come while I stand here, swaying with tiredness,’ she yawned. ‘I shall go and find one of those mattresses, I think. And you, Siggy dear. We must get some rest.’

‘I’ll ensure the sisters feed everyone,’ Bertel muttered. ‘Least they can do after hosting an evil dreamer and a...’ He didn’t know, and with another mutter, he was gone, leaving the dreamers behind.

‘I’m scared,’ Siggy said. ‘About Katalyne.’

Edela took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. ‘I’ve beaten her once, so I can certainly do so again, though we must find out more about her and her sister. It’s time we understood what game they are playing.’ Now she tugged Siggy away, wanting to enquire about a bed. ‘Don’t worry,’ she whispered in the girl’s ear. ‘By the time Korri and Zen return with another ship, we’ll have come up with a plan.’

After breakfast had been served in the tent, Irina slipped outside, finally leaving Katalyne behind.

She hurried to Raymon, who looked uncomfortable, sitting awkwardly in the bow. ‘Have you had something to eat? Or drink?’

‘Yes,’ he lied, relieved to see her. Confused too. ‘I don’t understand what happened. To you.’ And remembering Sea Queen, he shuddered.

She bent down, sitting beside him with a thump. Her hair was loose, golden waves sweeping across her face. She grabbed a handful and started plaiting them into a braid, securing it with a ribbon from her purse. ‘I was locked in my chamber,’ she explained quietly. ‘Someone locked me in, and when I went to leave, to come to you, I couldn’t open the door. I expect I was discovered. We were, somehow.’

Raymon was struggling to understand what had happened or whether he was even talking to the real Irina now. Though he soon saw Katalyne appear at the tent entrance, scanning the ship until, seeing Irina, she disappeared back inside.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Irina said, searching for clues in the silence. She couldn’t tell if he was mad at her, if he blamed her, or perhaps he was simply as confused as she was? ‘I was coming to get you. I was. I think it was that woman, Katalyne. Her or Sister My. They must have found out somehow.’

Raymon thought about how to explain things. ‘You did come for me,’ he began, seeing her blinking surprise.

‘I didn’t,’ Irina insisted. ‘I couldn’t.’

‘I know that now, but in the night, you came to my chamber and we escaped the temple together. You led me out of the garden as we planned, and Edela was there.’ Remembering that incredible moment, he almost cried, reliving the joyous surprise of seeing the dreamer hurrying towards him. And then Bertel and Korri and...

He hadn’t felt anything like it since his mother had been alive.

A feeling of belonging. Of not being alone.

Though that feeling had been ripped away when Katalyne had revealed herself and destroyed Sea Queen, tossing him into the river.

He had no idea what had happened to his friends, though he feared for them.

Before him, Irina shivered. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said at last. ‘I wasn’t there. I didn’t come.’

‘It was her,’ Raymon revealed. ‘Katalyne. She is some creature. Not human. She became you.’

A horrified Irina shook her head. ‘But how? How is that possible?’

Raymon had no idea. ‘She became you to lure me onto Edela’s ship, and then she destroyed it. Maybe killed them all.’ And now he became distressed. ‘She took me away from them, and then you were there and your mother and –’ He cut himself off, dropping his head.

Irina couldn’t make sense of any of it. She didn’t doubt he was telling the truth, but it didn’t seem possible. ‘I am sorry, Raymon. It’s... I’m so sorry I failed you.’

He flung up his head, sweeping wet hair off his face. ‘You did nothing wrong,’ he promised. ‘Now it’s about finding out what will come next. You can do that,’ he whispered. ‘Find out more about Katalyne. Find out what she wants with me.’

43

Eadmund would be leaving for Mord in the morning to attend the annual island moot. He usually enjoyed it, despite the gripes of his seven lords, who always had something to complain about. It was a chance to speak to old friends and to hear what was happening on the islands, which was always crucial before winter descended upon them all.

This year, though, he would be without Jael, and having just survived the onslaught of sympathy on Oss, he wasn’t looking forward to reopening his wounds.

Thorgils and Beorn were remaining behind.

Mads still wasn’t well, and knowing how worried both Thorgils and Isaura were about the boy, Eadmund thought to leave him in charge. Beorn had broken his hand, slipping on Oss’ notorious black stones, and Eadmund decided to leave him behind to take care of the hall.

Though that wasn’t what was on his mind as he left Ketil’s with Thorgils, both men holding flatbreads stuffed with hot smoked salmon, soft cheese, and a little dill.

A surprised Thorgils quickly burned his tongue, as he was wont to do, though not really caring, he blew out a few short breaths and chomped into his flatbread again.

‘I’ve decided to hold a contest,’ Eadmund said. ‘It’s time for a new champion.’

Until now, the king’s champion had been Jael.

She had been the king’s wife too. Though shaking his head, Eadmund knew he had to move on.

Thorgils drew his attention away from his second breakfast of the morning towards his king. ‘And what does a champion get?’ he wondered, narrowing his eyes as they trekked to the Pit. ‘I’ve a lot of mouths to feed, you know. You planning on offering up something of value this time? More than just a title?’

Eadmund laughed. ‘What? You think you have a chance?’

Thorgils looked incredulous. ‘Without Jael? Who else has? No, it’s finally going to be me and you know it, so time to start thinking about my prize.’

Eadmund shook his head. ‘Confidence like that has always been your undoing, Thorgils Svanter. Don’t make the same mistake of thinking the prize is already yours.’ He leaned in. ‘Want my advice? Keep that big mouth closed and train until you’re bleeding. Claim victory when you’re the last man standing and not before, and certainly don’t claim it with your big mouth.’ And stepping back, he eyed his friend. ‘I’ll help you. Train you myself.’

Despite his worries, Thorgils couldn’t stop laughing, dropping cheese into his beard. ‘Help me? You think I need help?’ Though he knew he did. He’d lost out on claiming that prize too many times now, and he wasn’t about to let his family down. He thought of poor Mads, sick in bed, wanting the boy to see his stepfather as a champion. ‘Maybe when you get back from Mord?’ he mumbled, embarrassed now. ‘We could train when you return...’

Pleased to hear it, Eadmund grinned. ‘I’ll see if I can fit you in.’

Despite Gunnhild’s promises of silver, Mutt Storman was still considering leaving Hallow Wood.

Her tonic had energised him and he felt strong again, though seeking to take on the Andalan army was a fool’s quest and for all his failings, Mutt had never been a fool. Though he felt torn, for without his long-promised silver, what future beckoned?

He was too old and stubborn to beg for handouts.

Scraps.

Though, he realised, it was either scraps or death.

Escape meant heading out of the woods through Southern Iskavall and finding passage across the Valgeir Sea. He wouldn’t fight for Oren Storgard again. He would leave Osterland behind and –

Hearing an odd squeak, he was immediately alert, ordering his men back into the trees, and soon he heard horses.

After a while, it became apparent that no one else was coming, and stepping out from behind a tree, he saw a wagon driven by an old man.

One of Gunnhild’s new helpers.

Moving his cloak aside to reveal his sword, Mutt held up a hand.

The grey-haired wagon driver recognised him immediately, tugging his horses to a stop. Jumping down from the platform, he motioned to the wagon.

Peering at the silent man, Mutt guessed Gunnhild had cut out his tongue too.

He was revolted by the woman. Now that she looked like a hag, it was easier to find disturbing that which he’d considered mysterious and alluring before.

Reaching the wagon, he watched as the old man drew back a cloth, eyes bulging, for it was packed with swords and spears, bows and arrows.

So many arrows.

An arsenal befitting an army.

Help, Gunnhild had promised.

And she was right, Mutt thought, seeing a glimmer of hope.

A glimmer as bright as a chest full of silver.

Ayla had lost herself for hours.

The morning had come and gone, and the afternoon was rushing by as she sat on a boulder, watching the light change from cool to warm, from dull to sparkling, and now it deepened, sinking behind the trees.

In the forest, she had searched for answers, finding little that didn’t trouble her.

If the livahti were older than humans, as powerful as gods, if they could change their form at will, they could be anywhere. Inside anyone. And what if the symbols Meena Dragos had uncovered in her grandmother’s book didn’t work? What if she’d been wrong?

Ayla thought about returning to the fort. She would check on Linas and talk to Astrid. She would search for answers.

Jael was relying on her to keep her people safe, and Eadmund was relying on her to keep Jael safe, and if Bram knew, she thought with a smile, he would be relying on her to keep their child safe.

Bram...

She cupped her belly, feeling a surge of happiness.

In all that was troubling, the sudden rush of joy surprised her, like sunshine over a mountain. It was a feeling so uplifting and overwhelming that she no longer thought of Andala or the livahti.

And then, like night falling, all joy was gone, and she was left shivering in the darkness.

Unable to move, Ayla stayed there for hours.

And hours more.

Until the stars were twinkling above her head, and the creatures of the night, tucked away in trees and under bushes, watched her curiously.

And only then did she stand up from the boulder and make her way back to the fort.

Linas was strangely quiet at supper in the hall.

Kolarov tried to be attentive to him, though he was enjoying his conversation with Oskar Skaran, who, after visiting family in Tuura, had now returned to Andala. The trader had travelled as extensively as he had, they were of a similar age and had a lot in common. Though despite his pleasure at conversing with such an interesting fellow, he found himself drawn back to the boy. ‘Do you want me to give your sausages to the dogs?’ he asked, knowing that Gully and Snapper were crawling under the table, occasionally nudging his leg.

Linas blinked in surprise, looking down at his plate, which he saw was mostly untouched. After his grandmother, Helvor was his favourite cook, and her sausages, buried beneath thick bacon gravy, were his favourite. But he didn’t want them.

He pushed his plate away.

‘What is it?’ Kolarov wondered. ‘Are you ill?’

Linas looked thoughtful, staring into his dark eyes. ‘I keep hearing things,’ he whispered.

‘Oh?’ Glancing around, Kolarov smiled at Oskar before leaning down to the boy. ‘Is that bad?’

Linas lifted his shoulders as though to shrug, though stopping halfway, he nodded instead.

Looking across the table, Kolarov saw Pye watching them. Astrid was talking to Biddy. Gant and Gisila were there. Ragnar and Branwyn. He saw Aedan and his wife, Kayla.

He didn’t see the dreamer.

After another tense day on the road, the Andalan army had reached the small settlement of Tenby. Having spoken to Beryth in Vallsborg, Jael had been mostly confident that they’d encounter no resistance, and her scouts had soon confirmed that themselves.

The Lord of Tenby had died in the Battle of Andala, as had numerous warriors, so when word had reached the villagers that the new Queen of Brekka was approaching with her army, they’d thrown open their gates and welcomed her in.

Mattie had placed symbol stones in the well and in the nearby streams, and Jael had appointed one of her trusted Andalans as Tenby’s new lord. And after a brief and unappetising meal in the hall, she’d returned to the camp to sleep.

Mattie appeared tense herself when Jael reached their tent, crouched over a cauldron, adding herbs to it.

‘Is something wrong?’ Jael wondered, sitting on a log and untying her boots. They were new, as everything was new, none of it proving as comfortable as she’d hoped. She saw no sign of Col, though she soon heard him rustling around inside the tent.

‘We’ll enter the woods tomorrow,’ Mattie murmured. ‘Hallow Wood. I...’

‘You’re worried about Gunnhild?’

Mattie nodded. ‘I can’t have us riding into a trap.’ Looking up now, she saw Fyn and Petra laughing in the distance. And frowning, she realised how much time they were spending together. Scratching her nose, she turned back to her cauldron. ‘I’ve been trying to make something to strengthen my dreams. To focus them. It’s a blend I remember from the temple and something your grandmother wrote in her book. A few ideas of my own too. I keep adding things to it. I need to be useful.’

‘You do, though if Edela were here, she would tell you that staying calm is important too. No dreams will pass through bolted gates. You have to stop panicking and start relaxing somehow.’

Sitting back on her haunches, Mattie looked up. ‘I’m not sure I’m ever going to be that person. In my cottage, perhaps, with just Otter to worry about. That seemed perfectly manageable. But since I left it behind? I don’t know how to relax at all.’

‘You’re not the only one, so maybe there’s no hope for either of us? Perhaps I need some of your tea too?’

Mattie shook her head. ‘I think I should test it first. Who knows what it will do. I’ll take some tonight and see what happens.’

‘Well, I wish you luck. Doesn’t smell the best,’ Jael laughed as Col emerged from the tent with a bob of his head, and seeing the queen’s dirty boots, he hurried to collect them.

‘Mmmm, I’m not sure it will work, but we’ll see.’ And hearing Fyn laughing loudly, Mattie once again looked his way, frowning intensely.

‘How are things?’ Gisila wondered, snuggling up to Gant, an arm across his chest, her head on his shoulder. ‘In the fort? Is it safe?’

She asked the same questions each night, and though Gant had nothing new to say, he tried reassuring her. ‘The harbour’s coming along well. The fletchers are working through the night. They’ve taken on help. We’ve got stacks of boulders, and Ragnar’s been whipping the garrison into shape. We’ve tightened things up at the gates considerably, and we’re working on new catapults.’

It was all encouraging to hear, though Gisila’s frown only deepened. She felt exhausted but far too anxious to sleep. ‘I think you need to do more to secure the harbour,’ she said instead. ‘Ranuf always said it was our greatest weakness.’

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘That we build fortifications inside the harbour. It’s what he was leaning towards when he died. Lothar threw his ideas away, of course. His plans. Though I think it’s time to bring them back.’

‘Gates on the harbour,’ Gant remembered. ‘A first line of defense.’

‘Yes. We don’t let anyone attack without warning and not in numbers. Make them work harder for any gains.’

‘I agree,’ he murmured, surprised that she’d been thinking about it. ‘I’ll sketch it out tomorrow. It will take some time, years maybe, but we may as well make a start. If Jael agrees, of course.’

Gisila looked thoughtful. ‘I find it hard to believe she’ll even want to stay. I’m not sure I could if we were forced to part. I’m not sure I could put my duty above you.’

‘No, but you were not born of Furia, my love. Not raised by a father like Ranuf. Jael’s purpose has always been made clear to her. Her heart will mend.’

A shocked Gisila pushed herself up onto an elbow, peering at him. ‘You’re married to a woman you spent a lifetime loving, and you think her heart can simply mend?’

‘We can all cope with a broken heart, Gisila, when we have to. I loved a woman married to my best friend and king. I certainly had to, and Jael will too. What choice does she have?’

Gisila sighed. ‘It’s asking a lot.’

Touching her face, Gant smiled. ‘Being a Furyck has always asked a lot of Jael. It always will. But she’s stronger than anyone ever realised. She won’t let Brekka down.’

Deep in Hallow Wood, Gunnhild worked through the night, eager to earn her reward.

The thought of doing the Mistress’ bidding had initially enraged her. She had followed no man or god since the Vale, casting allegiances aside and moving forward with only herself in mind. Though Helga had taken something from her and the old bitch was dead, unable to give it back.

Gunnhild had tried herself, though nothing would restore that youthful facade she had worked so hard for.

The Mistress had promised to return it. For only the briefest of glimpses, she had shown that she could, and in doing so, she’d revealed herself as a powerful creature who knew more magic than Gunnhild possessed.

And realising she had little choice but to help her, she’d felt confident in her ability to do so. She had set Mutt Storman on the path to doing his part, but as for her own?

Nothing she’d tried had worked.

The scrolls and books she had taken from Tuura’s old temple – mostly her husband’s collection – had revealed no answers. She was working with an old spell, though it was missing a vital component she could not ascertain, let alone remedy.

Gunnhild half-wondered why the powerful Mistress couldn’t simply do it herself?

Though, she realised, head bent over her table, moving from one book to the next with an aching neck, if the woman had been able to do it herself, she wouldn’t have sought help.

Draguta Terros had been immortal.

A dreamer raised from the dead to become a creature.

Equipped with the Book of Darkness, she had cast the most powerful spells since Raemus, Father of the Gods, had walked Varmyr.

Gunnhild smiled, at once focused again.

Darkness was beautiful. Dark, dark magic was the greatest weapon of all.

And this spell promised death on a grand scale.

If only she could find the missing key...

‘Did you speak to Mattie tonight?’ Jael asked Fyn. She had poured two cups of ale and taken them to where he was helping to secure the horses for the night.

Surprised by the question, Fyn turned with a frown, taking one of the cups. ‘Why? Is something wrong?’

‘Not sure. She seems a little unsettled lately.’

Fyn laughed. ‘I’m not sure Mattie has ever been settled. Has she?’ He grinned at Jael, though seeing the odd look on her face, he was soon frowning again. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ Jael said innocently. ‘Nothing at all.’

Fyn’s frown deepened, and feeling his cheeks flush, he looked away.

‘Think I’ll keep Tig with me tonight.’

‘Are you expecting trouble?’

Jael shrugged. ‘I’m always expecting trouble, though Tig’s been skittish for days. I’d rather keep him close.’

Fyn nodded, knowing Jael’s temperamental horse well. ‘Makes sense.’

They drank their ale in silence.

‘I’ll check the wagons, then I’ll try to get some sleep,’ Jael decided. ‘Maybe find my way to a useful dream myself. It’s been too long since I’ve seen any sign of Mutt Storman.’

‘Mattie hasn’t seen anything either,’ Fyn noted, looking worried. ‘Nothing to get us closer to the dreamer.’

‘No, but she’s made something to help her with that. Don’t worry, she’ll find her soon.’

Fyn nodded. ‘I’ll get Tig for you.’ And turning away, he headed into the trees.

Ayla lay down with a shudder, a cold draft rushing under the chamber door.

She touched her belly, feeling strange.

It was as though there’d been no day. That she had simply gone from night to night.

She had no memories of anything that had happened.

Sitting up, she took the lamp burning beside her bed and headed to the table where she’d left the sheet of vellum. It was a copy of Meena’s original, which Mattie had taken, and she’d studied it countless times. She had been tattooed, as many in Andala had been tattooed, though she found herself doubting the protective symbol.

The livahti were almost as powerful as the gods. Though, according to the text, they had not always been so.

Created as an inferior race, they had quickly adapted, accumulating power. They had shifted shape, remaking and renewing themselves in a quest for dominance that had ultimately failed...

A baby grew into a child and then an adult. And that adult was stronger, smarter, and wiser than his younger self, capable of great acts of both good and evil.

He would weaken as time marched on, often becoming as helpless as a newborn once again.

But the livahti?

What if they were not like humans at all?

What if they were still growing stronger...

44

Rexon and Hal sat on logs, nursing cups of ale, lost in their thoughts. Those gathered around other campfires were laughing, arguing, and generally making a noise, though after a few polite words, the two men had found nothing further to say to one another.

Eventually, Erling arrived with a jug of ale, and topping them both up, he sat down. ‘No problems,’ he said, addressing Hal, who had sent him to check the horses. Having his friend in charge of him still rankled, especially since Hal seemed to be enjoying it so much. Though until things changed, there was little he could do but carry on and remain on his good side.

His friend looked thoughtful. ‘I’ve a feeling Mutt Storman and his men are waiting in Hallow Wood. Waiting to strike.’

‘I hope so,’ Rexon murmured, eyes glinting in the flames. ‘If they come after us, we can put an end to it. To the whole mess. To all those threatening Brekka.’ Dropping his head, he studied the inside of his left wrist, seeing a cut festering. He’d been watching it for days to see if it would turn.

Just watching.

‘Won’t be easy if he’s got that dreamer’s help,’ Erling decided. ‘The woman who conjured up those shadow warriors?’ He shook his head. ‘If she’s still helping him, we’ll need a miracle.’

‘We’ll have our own dreamer,’ Rexon reminded him. ‘Mattie helped stop her before, so we should have confidence she can do so again.’

Hal’s eyes darted about, feeling only trepidation. ‘It’s just the woods... everything in there. It’s not for the living.’

Erling nodded. ‘Once we enter the woods, we’ll ride and walk across the dead. We’ll sleep on top of them too. They’ll be all around us in there.’ He saw Hal shudder, and enjoying that, he kept going. ‘Cursed by the Tuurans never to journey to the Afterlife, never to be at peace. That’s torment, that is. Eternal torment.’

Seeing that Erling was enjoying himself a little too much, Rexon stood. ‘We need to focus on the living,’ he muttered. ‘On finishing the traitors. Forget the dead, they’ve already played their part.’ And turning away from the fire, he slipped into the shadows.

On his way to find Tig, Fyn stumbled across Mattie standing in a clearing, staring at the moon.

He thought to leave her.

She seemed in a trance, doing dreamer things, but as he stepped backwards, he snapped a twig, and she spun around to him with wild eyes.

He moved forward now, shrugging apologetically. ‘Is everything alright?’

Mattie exhaled loudly, nodding. ‘Just trying to focus my mind. To clear it, I suppose. I need to be ready for Gunnhild.’

‘Do you think she will come to help Mutt Storman?’

For a moment, Mattie just stared at him. It was all she’d been thinking about, but sometimes she honestly didn’t know. ‘I think she conjured up the imaginary army at Andala, she made the shadow warriors, she tried to stop Helga. She gave Mutt Storman the potion to entrance the Brekkans to turn against the king. It was all her, so I can’t imagine she’ll let us pass through on our way to him.’ And now Mattie dropped her head, mumbling into her cloak. ‘I just...without Helga, I...’

Coming closer, Fyn touched her arms, trying to claim her attention. She didn’t look up, so he squeezed them. ‘Jael thinks you’re more powerful than Helga,’ he told her. She still didn’t look up, and now he lifted her chin. ‘Mattie, I’ve watched everything you’ve done since we found you in Tuura. All of it. Have you forgotten?’ Shining in moonlight, her eyes were like enormous gems, and once again his stomach flipped in a most unsettling way. Though he didn’t step back, he didn’t even blink.

She was staring up at him now, perfectly still.

He saw her tremble as he bent towards her, lifting his hand from her chin to her face. ‘You are a powerful woman,’ he breathed. ‘Strong and brave. Fearless...’

Her lips parted, eyes widening in surprise.

Fear now rose up in Fyn. Mocking voices.

Images of a past he never wanted to see again.

He stopped, hesitating, his lips hovering just above hers, eyes wide open. And then he closed them, and moving slowly now, he kissed her.

It was hard not to think about Eadmund, Jael realised with a sigh.

She saw two beds in her tent, though one was for Mattie.

Sometimes, the feeling of loss was so acute that she felt ready to burst into tears. Tears weren’t something she’d wasted much time on over the years, but since Axl’s death, since saying goodbye to her husband, she’d never felt so unbearably sad.

Sitting down to untie her boots, she remembered Rexon and his advice not to give up. On Eadmund, on their future.

The bed creaked as she moved, promising another disturbed sleep, and she sighed again, remembering her perfect bed on Oss. Her perfect bed and her imperfect husband.

Reaching into her tunic, she pulled out her amulets and saw her wedding band.

She heard Aleksander: ‘Not everything makes sense at first, but if you quit before ever finding out...’

Frowning, she saw those familiar dark eyes staring at her intently.

It was as though he was looking inside her.

‘Don’t die with regrets, Jael. Don’t die knowing you didn’t fight every battle. You’ll never win all of them, but if you keep trying, you’ve got a better chance of winning those that matter.’

Fyn Gallas was kissing her.

A horrified Mattie lurched backwards, stumbling out of his embrace.

She had kissed him too. She had –

‘I have to... it’s that I must dream!’ she exclaimed so loudly that she covered her mouth, feeling her lips tingling.

The lips that had just been kissing Fyn.

He looked surprised, then hurt. And not wanting to make everything worse, she spun away, still talking. ‘I have a tea to try. I must... see if it works, I...’ She was already walking away from him, stumbling into the trees, and without a word of farewell, she was quickly gone.

Feeling a flood of emotions, which quickly turned to embarrassment and regret, Fyn turned away himself.

His father, Thorgils, even Jael had urged him to act, to follow his heart, to –

But what had he done?

He stared into the trees, hearing horses nickering in the distance, remembering that he was supposed to collect Tig.

Linas could feel the warmth of the puppy in his arms. He could hear Kolarov snoring on the other side of the cottage and Gully making dreaming sounds at the end of the bed.

Sleep beckoned, though he was still fighting it as the clouds came and the cottage faded into the background.

‘But how do you find dreams?’ he heard a voice ask.

His voice, he remembered, feeling a rush of sadness.

The clouds darkened, swirling angrily.

‘Dreams find me,’ came another voice, like a rock hitting earth.

His grandmother.

‘My only part in them is to open myself up.’

‘How?’

Linas wanted to see her, to touch her. He turned and turned, but there were only clouds.

‘First of all, you have to decide to be brave.’

‘For dreams?’

‘You don’t think dreams can be frightening?’

In the darkness, Linas didn’t hear his own reply.

‘No, so you have to be brave. You must walk towards the clouds with your shoulders back, heart open, and the dreams will come.’

‘In the sky?’

He thought he heard a rumbling chuckle then.

‘You think I can walk up to the sky? With the gods? No, the clouds are in your head, boy.’

Now he heard a tapping sound.

‘Up here. Where all your thoughts are. The clouds lie between what you think and what the gods know.’

‘So the gods give you dreams? Like gifts?’

‘Sometimes...’

Linas thought his grandmother sounded sad.

‘If they believe you can help, if you are meant to, yes, the gods will give you dreams, and then it is up to you to decide what to do with them. And that is the hardest part of all.’

Tucked under her furs, Jael was rolling over, ready for sleep, when Mattie burst into their tent in a state of...

Peering at her, Jael didn’t know what.

She liked Mattie as much as she could like anyone, though she wanted to be alone.

Though Mattie seemed uninclined to talk, and with a bob of her head, she hurried to her bed where Otter was warming her pillow. Sitting down, she fumbled with twitching fingers to remove her boots, leaving them at the end of the bed. She hurriedly slipped off her cloak and placed Edela’s book on the floor, remaining utterly silent.

From the comfort of her own bed, Jael eyed her.

She didn’t like to comb through another dreamer’s thoughts, though Mattie hadn’t either learned or didn’t care to shield them, so it was quite obvious what she was upset about.

And despite her fractious mood, a surprised Jael found herself smiling.

She watched as the dreamer poured a cup of the tea she’d been steeping all evening. ‘I hope you find something useful in your dreams.’

Mattie blinked as though suddenly aware that she was sitting opposite her queen.

Ignoring her queen.

‘I... I’m sorry. I have a lot of... things. There are things I...’

Jael nodded. ‘My grandmother always told me that a good sleep could cure most of what ails us. And hopefully, it will bring some useful dreams too.’

‘Hopefully,’ Mattie sighed. ‘I... I’ll do what I can.’

‘Though you’re not alone,’ Jael assured her. ‘Don’t worry. One of us will see what’s coming before it’s too late.’

Rexon hadn’t made it to his tent.

His conversation with Hal and Erling had him thinking of the dead, and no thoughts of sleep would come. Instead, he thought of the warriors buried in Hallow Wood and of his family, lost to him in Saala.

He’d wrestled with leaving the fort and his people behind, but he knew he would never rest until he’d killed Mutt Storman. To avenge his family’s senseless, cruel deaths, he had to cut that bastard’s throat.

And as for himself?

Finding a boulder amongst the trees, he sat down, and pushing up his sleeve, he saw the cut on his wrist. It felt hot now, as did his arm.

Throbbing, like a broken heart.

A wide-awake Fyn lay on his back, staring at the roof of his tent, vibrating all over.

He couldn’t remember having slept, though he knew he’d relived his kiss with Mattie Bilso at least a hundred times.

The touch of her lips, the intense feelings that had flooded his body.

He’d never kissed anyone before – a secret he’d kept out of shame.

He’d often wanted to, often been close to, but something had held him back every time.

So what had changed, he wondered? Why had he finally found the courage to kiss a woman still in love with her dead husband, who didn’t even seem to like him?

He remembered Milla on Oss and how jealous he’d felt seeing her with Haral Ervik. Though when he thought of her now, he felt nothing. He liked Milla well enough. She had a good heart and a free, fearless spirit.

Mattie was blustering and ornery, always frowning and snapping.

He smiled, that fluttering feeling in his stomach intensifying.

He heard the first hint of birdsong in the distance, desperately trying to think of other things. Like Hallow Wood.

They would enter Hallow Wood today...

Mattie had woken without remembering even one of her dreams.

Jael was gone, and she could hear breakfast being prepared. There was much to do, and an early start was needed, though she sought a moment alone with Otter.

The cat miaowed, aiming to jump off the bed, though she pulled him back, plonking him on her lap, stroking his fluffy head. Ignoring his impatience to go, she clung on, kissing him. She remembered Theo, who had gone to sea with Otter. Theo, who’d never come back.

She hadn’t seen what would befall him, just as Helga hadn’t seen that her daughter would die. She didn’t understand what it meant to be beloved and then abandoned by the Goddess of Dreams.

Kissing Otter again, she finally released him, though he stayed where he was, turning to lick her face. He liked her salty tears, so she dropped her head until she could feel that rough tongue scratching her cheek. ‘There will be danger,’ she warned. ‘I feel it, I know it, but you must stay safe. Whatever happens, Otter, you must stay safe for me.’

And now she stood, dropping her cat to the ground. And forcing every memory of Fyn Gallas kissing her away, she reached for her boots, ready to start the day.

Kolarov had been distracted, for in between managing Linas and the dogs, and helping Gisila, he’d found himself in great demand.

It had kept him busy, though not so busy that he’d forgotten about the little man from Zagora, who, by his reckoning, had started visiting Kalina Sardis daily.

So, having woken deciding he needed more insight into that, Kolarov and his ever-present crew of Linas, Gully, and Snapper tracked down Ayla in Edela’s garden. Despite the fire and the trampling it had endured, it bloomed defiantly, and Ayla was on her knees, head down in a row of lilacs, when she heard her visitors.

Looking up, she smiled. ‘I had a feeling you were on your way,’ she said, seeing Linas soon overtaken by Gully and Snapper, who bounded over the plants to greet her. ‘No, no!’ she exclaimed, straightening up quickly. ‘Not the snails! You’ll kill the snails!’

Kolarov hurried up the path, catching Snapper while Linas dragged Gully out of the garden, and soon they were sent on their way. ‘I’m sorry about the snails,’ he muttered with embarrassment. ‘Were they important?’

Ayla chuckled. ‘Edela has families of snails in here. She likes to talk to them. She has a patch of pigweed for them to enjoy, and they seem happy enough with that, so they leave the other plants alone.’

Kolarov had known Edela Saeveld well enough to understand why everyone felt her loss so deeply and why they were all so desperate for her return. He saw the crumbled ruin of her cottage and knew there were already plans to rebuild it. And smiling at Linas, remembering why he’d come, he encouraged the boy to look around.

Linas nodded, though he felt almost hesitant to do so, remembering his grandmother battling so hard to free them from the cottage. It had certainly been too late for the cottage, but, thankfully, not for them. He grabbed a stick and started prodding around, leaving the adults to talk.

‘You need to find out what Pye is up to,’ Kolarov said discreetly, not wanting the boy blabbering.

Ayla frowned. ‘Do you think he is up to something?’ She had thought so herself, though she was interested to know what the explorer thought.

‘He has a suspicious look about him, or perhaps it’s simply his way?’ Kolarov mused, stroking his chin. ‘Though he’s visiting Kalina Sardis often. Her stepmother’s a dreamer, so perhaps information is being passed on somehow?’

‘It’s a possibility, of course,’ Ayla mused, feeling concerned. ‘I will go to the cells and mark symbols on the walls, just in case. Jael wouldn’t want anyone able to reach her.’

Kolarov looked pleased to hear it. ‘I know Jael wanted to bring her here to draw Ronin Sardis to her, but she won’t want him coming when she’s so far away.’ Perhaps dead, he thought fretfully? Perhaps Jael and the army were all dead?

Ayla patted his hand. ‘I’ll finish here, then I’ll see to Kalina. Don’t worry, Kolarov, Jael will return. There’s nothing that would stop her coming back to Andala. Not Hallow Wood or Gunnhild. Nothing at all.’ Though she shivered, feeling strange, seeing a glimpse of a clearing and a cloaked woman standing in a strange blue light.

PART V

RETURN TO HALLOW WOOD

45

Entering Hallow Wood never got any less strange, Jael realised, hearing branches snapping as she scanned the trees. She had been here before, she had never wanted to come back, and yet...

Everything felt colder, darker, riding amongst trees that appeared to be reaching out to touch them, riding along paths lined with threatening thorn bushes, accompanied by ominous sounds that had every head swivelling.

Especially Fyn’s.

Though Jael knew there was another reason for that, and turning to see an equally disturbed Mattie riding in her wagon, she smiled.

The dreamer had been desperately searching for some sign of Gunnhild. Instead, she’d seen glimpses of Mutt Storman and his men.

Not a camp, as such, though she’d seen piles of weapons, confident that those men were preparing for war.

Jael didn’t mind the sound of that. The idea of traipsing through the woods until they slowly went mad wasn’t appealing, so it gave her a lift to think that he wanted to fight. Though, she realised, hearing the clattering, chattering noise of her army, he would certainly have the element of surprise.

She was quiet herself, listening, watching.

Mostly Tig.

He hated Hallow Wood with a passion and had been on edge since they’d stepped inside the sprawling maze of trees and secret forest paths.

Hearing horses coming, his ears pricked up, and Jael pulled herself up to her full height, eyeing Fyn on her right.

Soon she saw two scouts riding back to her at a steady pace, and her heart, which had started racing, quickly settled back into its usual rhythm.

‘My lady,’ the older man began with a bob of his dark head. ‘It’s a bit strange ahead.’

Hand in the air, Jael called for a halt.

Strange.

‘The trees are all dead. Not burned that I can see or smell, though they’re black enough. Saw a few bodies too. Women, strung up in trees like offerings. It’s –’ He cut himself off, feeling disturbed, not wanting to say any more.

Jael heard Mattie’s squeaking wagon coming, and she turned as the dreamer tugged her horse to a halt, standing up on her platform. ‘Hector’s seen dead trees ahead. Sounds like we’ve more dead dreamers too.’ She looked past Mattie to where their wagons were slowing down, eager to keep them close.

Mattie blinked, having had no warning of that herself. Then, seeing Fyn, she immediately looked away, knowing she’d become terribly distracted and cursing herself for it.

Since their kiss, she’d been unable to think of little else.

She had tried keeping her thoughts focused on Gunnhild, though her mind always returned to that moment Fyn Gallas had bent to her lips.

Flushing deeply, she sat back down, sensing him watching her. ‘We are close,’ she said. ‘We are getting close to Mutt Storman.’

Jael turned to Petra, riding behind her with Col. ‘Head down to Hal, find Rexon. Tell them what you heard here. Ensure every driver remembers what they’re to do. Especially Beggi.’

With a quick bob of her head, Petra was on her way.

It was afternoon, though it was already growing dark.

And cold.

They had left summer’s warmth behind upon entering the woods, and Jael was missing her favourite fur cloak.

She saw an image of Eadmund before her, and he looked worried.

Running a hand over her mouth, she twisted in the saddle. ‘We stop here! Water the horses! Stretch your legs or rest them! Not long, though!’ And now she slid off Tig, grabbing the bowl and waterskin from his back, and filling the bowl with water, she brought it to his eager mouth, watching him drink.

The scouts headed off for a drink themselves, though Jael wasn’t thirsty.

Fyn joined her. ‘Dead trees?’

‘It’s either a warning or a welcome. Don’t worry, we’re prepared for both.’ She blew out a breath, feeling nauseous again. It came in waves lately and had her feeling distracted. She needed to be at her best, for in a place as dangerous as Hallow Wood, there couldn’t be any mistakes.

Gunnhild laughed, almost dancing around the clearing.

She hadn’t felt so optimistic in a long while. So hopeful.

After weeks of effort, her spell had finally worked.

It had been but a test, though now she knew what was possible.

Leaning over her two bronze bowls, one filled with fire, one with water, she cocked her head, seeing a glimpse of Mattie, the frowning dreamer. She was a strange one. Searching for answers to questions she had yet to even ask herself.

And Jael Furyck.

Broken-hearted Jael Furyck, who thought she could simply replace her brother and save Furia’s precious kingdom.

That bitch had killed her only son. Her precious boy, Gerod.

In Tuura, she had killed her son with a triumphant smile.

And now Gunnhild finally had a way to wipe it off her face forever.

Ayla headed to the prison cells that morning, not surprised to find Pye visiting Kalina Sardis.

She frowned at the little man, who looked away, hiding his face. And whispering something to the queen, he left a tray of food on her cell floor and thought to scamper away. Though snatching his tunic, Ayla kept him close. ‘I am going to make a few symbols,’ she said deliberately, ensuring she had his full attention.

Pye didn’t even blink. The dreamer’s voice was in his head, and he couldn’t look away.

‘You will sit over there,’ she ordered, pointing to a bench, and with that, she had the prison guard unlock Kalina’s cell.

It was clean, and despite her manic, dishevelled appearance, Kalina looked well. Ayla sought to ignore her, though the queen immediately rushed her, pleading to be let out, promising gifts of gold and jewels if she used her influence with Gant.

Instead, Ayla turned to her with sharp eyes, holding up both hands. ‘If you think you can help your father come here, you are making a mistake,’ she promised darkly. ‘A mistake you will certainly die for.’

Kalina staggered in surprise.

‘I say that as a dreamer,’ Ayla went on. ‘I say that because I know these people and this fort. I know Jael and her allies. You forget that Brekka does not stand alone in Osterland. The Islands, Hest, and Tuura are united with her. If you encourage your father to attack, you will perish as he will perish.’

A furious Kalina immediately went on the front foot, lips curling impetuously. ‘Allies? You call those allies? Though my father has real allies in Silura and Kalmera, in Kadak and beyond. No man is more powerful. No man has more resources.’ She laughed. ‘And you think to threaten me? Ha! You are no dreamer to do so. You are no dreamer if you don’t understand the danger posed by him and his dreamer. She is Alekkan. Do you even know what that means?’

Ayla didn’t admit that no, she didn’t.

Though her silence had Kalina crowing. ‘What a fool you must be to have no understanding of Alekka and how dangerous those favoured by the goddess Alari can be! A foolish dreamer who can’t even see what is coming. And how will you save everyone in time? How will you save them when it is already too late?’

Sitting at a distance, hearing the screeching queen, Pye felt strange.

He was spurred on by the need to please Kalina and her family, to be reunited with Dessalene, but had it simply become a habit now?

He liked the pretty dreamer, Ayla. He worried about those in Andala, like Linas and the dogs. He thought of Mattie and Kolarov and Fyn.

He even thought of Jael.

Though the voice in his head was louder than all of them combined.

And now he dropped it, pressing his hands over his ears as Ayla turned away from the mad queen and started marking symbols on her cell walls.

‘Is something wrong?’ Karsten Dragos asked of his brother, Berard, whose mouth resembled a fish as it opened and closed beside him. After a private meeting with the men he’d assigned to hunt for clues to the whereabouts of Amma Furyck’s killer, he’d headed for Hest’s sprawling market, wanting something sweet.

Hunger, he convinced himself as he strutted along in a surprisingly good mood. It was just hunger. The tart seller’s daughter was extremely comely, but it was just the tarts he was after, he insisted with a grin.

Mind wandering and realising he’d had no answer, he turned to poke his brother. ‘Not sure why you’re following me around like an old fart. Has Meena thrown you out? If you’ve something to say, say it or else I’ll just think the worst.’ He nodded at a merchant and smiled at a pretty woman whose face had him turning as he walked, giving her a wink.

Berard spluttered. ‘Thrown me out?’

He looked tired, Karsten thought, and worried. Now he stopped in the middle of the street, causing all traffic to flow around him. He walked with bodyguards now – four armed men – who moved out to create a perimeter around the king and his brother. ‘I have little patience for pulling words from your mouth, Berard. Tell me or go on your way. I have better prospects ahead of me, so blurt it out or be gone!’

Berard was barely aware that they were standing in the street, the noise a clash of laughter, anger, and urgency around them. ‘Something is wrong with Meena.’

Karsten laughed loudly, throwing back his head.

He didn’t stop.

And looking down at Berard, he laughed some more. He couldn’t get a word out, couldn’t say anything, and soon he was gripping his belly.

Red-faced and furious, Berard turned to go, pushing past the bodyguards, though feeling Karsten snatch his tunic, he spun towards him. ‘It’s at times like these when I miss Haegen the most!’ he spat. ‘He would’ve cared to listen. Cared about Meena enough not to laugh at her!’ He tried to tug his tunic out of his brother’s grip, though Karsten held on.

‘Haegen? You wish that I was Haegen?’ he snarled, and letting go of Berard, he pushed him away. ‘Go talk to the dead then, Brother! Perhaps they can help you?’ He turned to go.

Though he didn’t walk off.

Behind him, Berard didn’t walk off either, and eventually, Karsten turned around. ‘What is it then?’ he asked. ‘What is wrong with Meena?’

After leaving Kalina’s cell, Ayla took Pye to the markets. ‘How does your loyalty to such people serve your interests? You are seeking to help the queen do what? Return to S’ala Nis and kill the slaves who rose against her? Or perhaps you want to help her enslave them again? Is that your goal? To be the servant of a cruel tyrant?’

Beside her, Pye was a babbling ball of anger. ‘I am helping no one!’ he insisted. ‘I am doing nothing!’

Basket over her arm, a sudden wave of nausea rushed up Ayla’s body, accompanied by a flash of heat and panic, and glancing around, she feared that she would vomit.

‘Is something troubling you?’

Shaking her head, mouth closed, Ayla sought to push the feeling away. Eventually, she blew out a breath and then another. ‘I am trying to think,’ she lied, seeing that Pye didn’t believe her. ‘Trying to think of how to wake you up. Do you truly want to be responsible for welcoming enemies to Andala? But you would be hunted for the rest of your days. By Jael, by her family. Whatever you think might happen, you would be making powerful enemies, Pye.’

He looked troubled, staring at a man pulling a handcart loaded with bloodied fish. And now he shivered. ‘The powerless have little choice,’ he told her in a quiet voice. ‘Being a dreamer, you hold great power in your hands. But the powerless? We must choose. Who will protect us? Offer us what we want? Who will be victorious and keep us safe?’

‘I understand,’ Ayla murmured. ‘I do understand.’

Hearing her voice soften, Pye stared up at her. ‘Someone like me? But if I make a mistake, if I choose the wrong side, who knows what sort of person will have command over me? I’ve seen terrible things happen to my kind. To the ones the gods shunned. I must choose wisely.’

‘I agree,’ Ayla said, distracted now. And seeing Oskar Skaran up ahead, she smiled at Pye. ‘You must do what is best for you.’ And I must do what is best for Andala, she thought, nodding at the trader.

‘Since she came back from Saala, Meena’s started acting strangely,’ Berard admitted. ‘I see you haven’t noticed.’

It was another dig, though Karsten let it go, trying to be understanding. ‘I’ve barely seen her. I’ve left her to the baby. I assumed that’s what she’s been doing. She’s certainly had nothing to tell me.’ Berard looked ready to cry, and Karsten moved closer, lowering his voice. ‘What sort of strange?’

‘Just... she isn’t that interested in the baby. Or the girls or... me,’ he mumbled. ‘She is there, being a mother, but she feels different. She disappears for hours, and there is never any real explanation for it.’

Strange things were happening, and Meena herself had been worried enough to sail to Saala to speak to Jael. She’d finally told him about the livahti, and though it had been concerning, Karsten hadn’t given it that much thought upon their return. He’d been confronted with Freya’s sullen face and a mini-revolt by his merchants, who were unhappy about the rise in import duties, and it had mostly been only a passing thought.

But if something was wrong with his dreamer...

‘Perhaps she’s just tired?’ he suggested, though Berard’s worried look only intensified.

‘We’re both tired, though it’s not that. I feel it, Karsten, I swear it to you. There’s something wrong with Meena.’

Eadmund and Bram had taken seven ships of Osslanders to join the island lords on Mord for the annual moot, which had been immediately upended by the sudden death of the Lord of Mord, Nels Morus.

He’d been a miserable old man, and everyone appeared pleased to see the back of him, including his wife, who Eadmund had had no hesitation in putting in charge. It was either her or Old Nels’ younger brother, who was only slightly less of a pain.

And having watched Enid Morus dressing down her men, Eadmund felt confident he’d be leaving the island in good hands. Despite the circumstances, he’d actually enjoyed being away from Oss and the memories of his old life, which had haunted him every day since he’d returned without Jael.

It had been awkward at first, answering questions about his missing wife and about what would happen to Oss and the islands. Eadmund hadn’t been surprised that there’d been a great deal of worry now that Jael was gone and a number of looks that he didn’t need to be a dreamer to interpret.

Jael was who they’d looked to despite all their grumbles about her.

They had recognised her strength, as those on Oss had.

Her leadership.

They would all be worse off without it.

Though he’d soon found other things to discuss, and it had been good to talk to his lords.

Like his old friend Klaufi Ostaberg, the Lord of Kalfa.

‘Heard about the trouble in Alekka?’ Klaufi wondered, walking along the beach beside his king. The fug in Mord’s small hall, packed with sweaty, hungover bodies, had sent most down to the beach for some fresh air.

Eadmund laughed. ‘We were part of that trouble, so yes, I know a little.’

‘So I heard,’ Klaufi grinned. ‘Though that’s not the trouble I’m talking about. Stornas and Orvala?’ He shook his head. He was thirty-five – Eadmund’s age – a stocky, confident man who had grown up with him and Thorgils on Oss. ‘No, I’m talking about the South. Our old friends from Tingor.’

Stopping abruptly, Eadmund turned to shield his eyes from the sun. Like everyone else at the moot, he was desperately hungover, and despite the gloomy weather, he was struggling to see. ‘The Arnessons? But they’re dead. And happily so.’

‘You think that was the end of things? Borg and his brothers? But those inbred pricks breed like rabbits. There are Arnessons everywhere you turn in Southern Alekka. Gathering in Tingor from what I hear.’

Feeling nauseous, Eadmund turned to spit, and looking back at Klaufi, he ran a hand over his beard. ‘Gathering? For what?’

‘Trouble?’ Klaufi guessed. ‘Thought you should know. Once we’ve got the funeral out of the way, we should turn our minds to what’s been on my mind.’

‘The Arnessons?’

‘Mmmm,’ Klaufi murmured, eyeing Eadmund with a worried look. ‘The Arnessons.’

46

The Andalan army marched on into an ever darker wood, flanked by trees stripped of all life. Birch, fir, ash and pine – there wasn’t a leaf on any of them.

The only sounds they could hear now were those they made themselves.

There was no longer any life amongst the trees.

As the light faded, Jael felt her shoulders tighten as though someone was pulling her arms backwards. They needed to find somewhere suitable to camp before they ran out of options, for in Hallow Wood, every decision or lack of, had the potential to get you killed.

She occasionally glanced at Mattie’s wagon, though she couldn’t see the dreamer now. She had commandeered Col to drive it for her while she disappeared inside with Otter, seeking answers to what was going on.

‘Getting colder,’ Hal said beside Jael.

She had brought him to ride beside her, wanting to reassure herself that he had an understanding of the situation.

He appeared to, for his face was drawn, and she saw worry in his eyes.

She’d also reluctantly requested Erling Venberg’s company, wanting to make sure he wasn’t going to cause any problems. Which, looking at him, she realised, appeared unlikely. ‘I heard what happened the last time you encountered Gunnhild,’ she said sharply. ‘I hope you’re more prepared than then.’

Erling drew himself back and up, inhaling as though he’d sucked in a bug. Narrowing his eyes, he was quickly on the defense. ‘I challenge anyone to be prepared for such an attack, my lady. Those creatures, their spears... what could we have done?’

‘Had a plan,’ Jael said. ‘Instead of being surprised, you could have expected it.’

Erling snorted. ‘Magic?’

‘I’ve lived through enough to expect magic, and so have you. To expect it, to anticipate it, to ready yourself for it. But more than that,’ she warned. ‘None of us will leave here alive if we abandon each other. If we think only to save ourselves.’ Now she turned back to Hal, sick of Erling’s sneering face.

‘But what can we do against magic?’ Hal wondered, not having any experience of Gunnhild himself.

‘We can hold it off while Mattie gets to work,’ Jael said. ‘I brought her to battle the dreamer, so our job is to keep everyone safe while she does.’ Seeing Hal nod, she turned back to Erling, whose face continued to annoy her, and with a flick of her hand and a snap of her head, she sent him back down the line and Hal with him. ‘Stay alert!’ she called after them. ‘Just stay alert!’

Tension climbed up her body like spiders, creeping and crawling over her until she was shuddering.

She saw glimpses of Edela sitting before her fire in that fur-lined chair. Hunched over, her eyes were glowing in the flames. ‘There are many ways to see,’ her grandmother murmured. ‘In water or fire or in a circle. Even in a stone.’ Now she looked up, staring at her. ‘Though a dreamer will always find the best answers in her dreams. Do not discount your own, Jael. They have been helpful in the past and can be again. Do not forget yourself.’

Kolarov Radic didn’t cook.

He preferred to eat that which others had slaved over – others with far more talent than he possessed for such things. And Linas didn’t seem to mind as he tucked into one of Helvor’s stews with an extra serving of dumplings and bread.

Kolarov was enjoying it himself, pleased that he’d pleaded for a little more of everything. For the boy, he’d insisted. And now he grinned, topping up a goblet with wine.

It was just the two of them eating at the table in Mattie’s cottage.

And the dogs, who sat unblinking, staring up at them. Though looking at their nearly empty plates, Kolarov doubted their chances.

‘I have to go to sleep!’ Linas announced suddenly, pushing away his plate and standing with a belch.

‘Now? But it’s...’ Kolarov watched as the boy turned back for one more slice of bread before hurrying to his bed. ‘How will you sleep with all that food in your belly?’ And now he blew out a long breath, belching himself, certain he wouldn’t take another bite. Though the bread was so moreish that it wasn’t long before he reached for another slice.

Behind him, Linas didn’t answer, and ignoring both dogs, he slipped under his fur. Immediately lying down, he closed his eyes and turned to face the wall.

Hallow Wood’s strange blue light took on an orange hue as evening beckoned and the Andalans made camp, organising their wagons and setting many fires.

The dreamers met for a talk.

A frowning Mattie guided Jael further into the trees, away from prying eyes and big ears. Away from Fyn too. ‘I feel a presence,’ she said. ‘In that light. In the trees.’

‘Gunnhild?’

Mattie nodded.

‘Have you seen any sign of her?’ Scratching an eyebrow, Jael turned around. The odd light reflected off a pair of amber eyes darting amongst the bushes. A fox, she thought, feeling her heart quicken.

Mattie shook her head. ‘Though I’ll head to bed early and try my new tea.’

‘Another one?’

The dreamer looked embarrassed. ‘I’ve added a little lotus flower. That trader brought it for Edela. It could be what I’ve been missing. Perhaps you should try some? I... some help would be appreciated. It’s all well and good to see things about Gunnhild’s cottage, but I’ve seen no way to kill her.’

‘Though I’ve seen little more than Oss lately,’ Jael confessed. ‘No matter what I try to dream about, I always return there.’

‘Mmmm, but it’s understandable to follow your heart. Your thoughts will always follow it.’

Jael wondered if she should say something about Fyn, though Mattie had enough to contend with. ‘Understandable, though not always helpful,’ she said instead, turning back to the camp. ‘I’ve tripled the watch for tonight.’ She saw the dreamer nod. ‘We’ll keep the horses saddled, the fires burning, the wagons ready to go. We’ll be ready. I’ll be ready,’ she promised, placing a hand on Mattie’s shoulder. ‘And so will you.’

Pye wasn’t sure what he thought.

He was mostly too shocked to speak.

And misinterpreting that, Gant filled the silence. ‘It’s not much, of course, but it’s yours,’ he said, pointing to the old shack, which had certainly seen better days. ‘No point sleeping on a bench in the hall when you could make yourself at home in here. I’m not guaranteeing the bed’s that comfortable, though you’ll get some privacy.’

Turning to look up at him, Pye didn’t know what to say.

‘There’s a key,’ Gant remembered, pulling it from his pouch. ‘You can stay here as long as Jael wills it.’

‘And do you think she will... will it?’ Pye asked quietly.

‘She said you’re not her prisoner, so yes, I’d say so.’ Gant glanced around before turning back and handing Pye the key. ‘No doubt you’ll be needing a few things. Gerald can help you with that. And Helvor.’ He offered a smile now and turned to go. ‘We’ve all the room in the world for those who want to stay and fight. For those who believe in Brekka and what she stands for.’

And with that, he was gone, though his words lingered, and Pye heard the echo of them as he turned to the front door.

He looked down at the key. Frowning.

He had never held his own key, never stood before his own front door before.

Shivering, he scratched his head.

He could almost hear Dessalene shrieking behind him, promising to toss him outside like an animal to sleep in the rain. And she had, many a miserable evening. He had slept on hay bales and on porches, in sheds and stables and curled up in forests.

Though he had never slept in a bed inside a cottage he could call his own, and lifting the key in a trembling hand, Pye slid it into the old lock.

Jael joined Rexon outside his tent, where a gathering was underway.

‘Doubt much sleep will be on offer tonight,’ Rexon said, holding but not drinking his ale. For the first time since he’d left Saala, he felt the need for a clear head. He’d been sweating all day, alternating between feeling overheated and freezing cold. He knew his cut was festering, and he half feared it would stop him before Mutt did. Glancing at one of the healers heading into the trees, he thought to go after the woman.

‘No,’ Jael agreed, seeing her breath streaming before her. ‘Though that will hardly make us more alert.’

‘What if we don’t find them?’ Kari asked with a frown. He held a toothpick in one hand, his ale in the other. ‘Maybe they don’t want a fight? And in that case?’

Forgetting the healer now, Rexon turned his back on the trees. ‘But Mutt thought he could attack Andala. You don’t think he wants a fight? He’s been tossed out twice now. Humiliated too. A man like that? No, if he’s got the weapons and enough men to wield them, he’s coming.’

Jael agreed. ‘He’ll be confident. Given the right circumstances, a small army can topple any number. And hiding out, watching us, he’ll have a big advantage,’ she said, seeing that the typically quiet Petra had shivered before her. ‘Though we’ve got our own plans. We’re ready for an ambush, awake or asleep.’ Looking down at her ale, she thought instead of Mattie’s tea. ‘We’ve defeated Mutt Storman before,’ she reminded them. ‘And this time, we’ll finish the job.’

On edge and alone with his thoughts, Mutt was checking and rechecking that everything was ready.

It was his favourite time in Hallow Wood. For those who dared enter it, the darkness was terrifying, though he welcomed the silence as the creatures crawled out of their sleeping places and started their work.

Tonight, he was one of them.

During the day, he’d encouraged his men to rest, to sleep, to ready themselves, knowing that nothing would happen until the sun had retreated and the forces of darkness were once again ascendant in the woods.

Hallow Wood.

A place no one went unless forced to. Or unless they were too stupid to make a better choice. And that would be to his advantage, for after living in the woods for eleven years, Mutt Storman knew it better than anyone, and he certainly knew the dreamer who called it her home.

The dreamer who had promised to help him defeat Jael Furyck and her army.

And now he shivered, reminded of everything the Furycks had taken from him, knowing that this was his final chance to make them pay.

Fyn walked Jael back to her tent. They’d collected Tig from amongst the other horses, tethering him to a branch.

Jael hoped it would hold, for her horse was already pawing the ground restlessly.

Understandably, he wanted his saddle off and his bridle removed, but that wasn’t going to happen. Instead, Jael slipped him a carrot, gave him a rub, and turned back to Fyn.

‘Will you sleep?’ he asked, his attention shifting to the tent, guessing that Mattie was already inside.

‘I plan to. I’ve got a dreaming tea to drink, so hopefully.’

‘Dreaming tea? That’s not like you.’

‘No, but Mattie needs some help, and the sooner we find out where our enemies are hiding, the sooner we kill them.’

‘They’re close,’ Fyn guessed.

Jael agreed. ‘Mmmm, so sleep in your boots, swordbelt on, and check on Beggi for me. He needs to keep one ear open.’

He nodded.

Glancing over her shoulder, Jael sensed that someone was watching them. It wasn’t new. She’d been feeling it ever since they entered the woods.

Turning back, she patted Fyn’s arm. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Sitting on his new bed in his new cottage, Pye wasn’t tired at all.

Perhaps he was, he admitted with a yawn, though he feared going to sleep.

Everyone was suspicious of him, doubting his motives and intentions.

His loyalties.

And they had a right to, he realised with a guilty shiver.

He had dreamed of the Mistress often since coming to Andala. Sometimes, she’d been with Dessalene, at other times, with her pretty sister. He had followed them, listening to everything, storing every piece of useful information away, though he had the growing sense that it wasn’t him watching them, but them watching him.

That they were inside him.

Shivering, he checked under his pillow, seeing the key he’d locked the door with. Perhaps it had been better when he’d stayed in the hall, he thought, hearing footsteps in the alley.

Better when he wasn’t alone...

Sitting on her creaking bed, feeling anything but tired, Jael drank the sweet-tasting tea, trying to bring an image of Mutt Storman into her mind. It wasn’t an appetising prospect, though she knew that Mattie couldn’t be everywhere, and while the dreamer was searching for Gunnhild, she would have to find the outlaw.

Glancing at Mattie, sound asleep opposite her, one arm wrapped around her cat, she frowned. The dreamer was a knotted ball of yarn lately – a real tangle of nerves and frustrations.

She hoped they would both find what they were looking for in their dreams, though she had her doubts, as she usually did about dreaming.

Lying down, hearing Otter purring and Tig still restless outside the tent, Jael felt strange. The tea had been pleasant, reminding her of Edela’s cottage, which made her sad. She saw herself as a child with Axl, sitting at their grandmother’s table while she entertained them with stories of her childhood.

Closing her eyes, she worked to slow her breathing.

She didn’t want any distractions or memories or glimpses of the past. No thoughts of her husband or her aching back.

Just Mutt Storman.

Only Mutt Storman.

Having been left in charge of Oss’ hall, Beorn had struggled to sleep. The chamber was one he’d slept in before, though it was too large, the sounds of the hall unfamiliar in the depths of night. He’d taken to going for walks, attempting to get himself back to sleep.

Creeping out of the hall, cloak wrapped tightly around his chest, he felt the wind like a slap across his cheek. It was cold, too, and soon his mind was whirring.

A lot needed tending to before winter, though nothing was more important, according to Eadmund, than getting the new ships finished. Thoughts quickly heading in that direction, he didn’t notice the figure approaching from his right until it was upon him.

Turning with a shout, flinging out his broken hand, he nearly hit Thorgils.

Holding out his own hand, Thorgils shouted back. ‘What are you doing?’

‘What are you doing?’ Beorn countered. ‘Why are you out at this hour?’

Thorgils shrugged. ‘Can’t sleep. Can’t find any peace in my house.’

‘What? So you’re looking to sleep somewhere else?’

‘No, just to move around a bit. Mads is better. He’s sound asleep, but the baby, he’s...’

‘Demanding like his father?’

‘Something like that,’ Thorgils mumbled, falling in beside the helmsman. ‘And you?’

‘No reason for it. Just can’t sleep.’

‘You smell like fish,’ Thorgils noted with a hint of jealousy.

‘Mmmm. Rilda won’t be happy.’

Laughing, Thorgils clapped him on the back. ‘Come on, let’s get up on the wall, and you can bore me with one of your stories. I’ll be back in bed, sleeping like a baby in no time!’ And with that, he nudged a grumbling Beorn towards a guard tower near the gates.

Deep in a dream, Mattie had immediately found her way to a clearing.

She saw no cottage, no tree, and she started doubting that she’d come to the right place. At once on edge, senses sharpening, she searched for clues as to where she was.

Voices.

Swinging around, she hurried towards the trees, slipping behind the nearest one.

Soon, a woman entered the clearing, followed by the old crone she now knew was Gunnhild.

Tension exploding in her body, Mattie squeezed her hands into fists, lips pressed together.

‘It is not that I don’t value dreamers,’ the stranger was explaining. ‘I work with the ones I choose. And the rest?’ She waved a hand dismissively. ‘My work must remain in the shadows until I decide otherwise. And that means getting rid of them all.’

Gunnhild seemed tense, Mattie thought, as though she wanted the woman gone. Oddly powerless too.

The taller woman was draped in a majestic cloak, the colour of a dawn sky. Its hem and collar were stitched with silver and green thread – great spirals of it. Like waves, she thought, becoming distracted now.

Some looked familiar, though she neither knew how nor why.

She thought of Tuura’s temple, though no memory sparked, so where had she seen them?

In Edela’s book?

And then she remembered the vellum Meena Gallas had given Jael.

About the livahti.

Eyes bulging, Mattie immediately sought to leave the dream.

She feared what Gunnhild was capable of, though this woman? If she was a livahti? As powerful as a goddess?

Closing her eyes, she squeezed them tightly, thinking of her cat, her bed and the camp in the woods.

Chest rising and falling, heart pounding, she feared nothing was happening.

And opening her eyes, she froze, still in the clearing.

The woman in the beautiful cloak had turned away from Gunnhild now, and she was smiling at her, curling a finger in her direction.

Reaching the ramparts, Thorgils and Beorn were greeted by news of a ship making its way through the stone spires.

Beorn was immediately alert. ‘Just the one?’

Clouds that were doing their best to hide the moon soon swept away and the answer was revealed.

A single ship.

More of a boat, he thought with a frown. And tapping Thorgils’ arm, he hurried to the guard tower door, aiming for the stairs, eager to know who it was.

47

In Jael’s dream, she stood beside her father, who was talking to Gant.

‘I should have killed the bastard,’ Ranuf seethed, red-cheeked and dark-eyed – just the way Jael remembered him. ‘Outlawed? I fear it will end up being a mistake.’

‘It was a fair punishment,’ Gant insisted. ‘You stripped him of everything that gives him a chance to live. You stripped him of his reputation. What? He thinks he can go to Iskavall as a Brekkan outlaw?’ Gant shook his head, his hair darker, with only a few streaks of grey. ‘And to do more? To kill him?’ They stood outside the blacksmith’s, a great cloud of choking smoke pumping out to cover them both.

Coughing, Gant led his king away. ‘To do more?’ he repeated discreetly. ‘Mutt has enough friends here to make that a problem for you. They’re happy enough with the outcome. It’s a fair compromise, Ranuf. For all concerned.’

‘Likely he’ll find a home in the forest with his fellow rodents, though unlike them, he’ll be feeding on thoughts of vengeance. You know that. He’ll not let me go. I saw it in his eyes.’

Gant laughed. ‘I wish him luck. Coming back here? Coming for you? But you have an army. Wherever you go, you’ll have an army. And me. I won’t let him get near you.’

Jael turned away, seeking something else.

Not Mutt Storman then, not in the past with her father and Gant.

She desperately needed to know where he was now.

Here, in Hallow Wood.

Thorgils and Beorn headed through the gates, down the path to where moonlight shone on the sole vessel being dragged up onto the beach.

There appeared to be a crew of six.

A crew of six men and one woman.

Thorgils saw that as the woman’s hood blew back and her long curls were released, sweeping away from her face. He increased his pace, becoming tense, realising that it wasn’t Jael, it wasn’t Ayla.

It wasn’t a stranger.

It was Ineko Ervik.

Jael rolled onto her back, deep in her dreams.

She didn’t hear Tig becoming restless outside the tent.

Mattie did, though, and she sat up, looking around and then down, realising that Otter was gone.

Thorgils had a bad feeling as he hurried ahead of Beorn, who was careful on the slippery stones, expecting to see Stig or Haral, though the men helping the young woman out of the boat were strangers. Swathed in fur, with tattooed faces, he didn’t know them.

Recognising Thorgils, Ineko collapsed forward with relief.

‘Where’s Stig? Why are you here?’ Thorgils wanted to know. He didn’t even address the men. He saw nothing but Ineko.

She was breathless, tears shining in her eyes. ‘It’s... he’s dead,’ she gasped, gripping her belly. ‘Dead. Haral killed him. I... I escaped, but Haral... he killed my husband!’

Fyn had attempted sleep, though he’d had little patience for it, and had soon left Kari sleeping in their tent, deciding to keep watch instead.

Every thought led to Mattie.

He felt confused and torn, wondering how he could make things right. How he could undo the mess and return to just being friends.

He’d obviously upset her.

She hadn’t looked at him since, avoiding him wherever possible.

He walked amongst the horses, hearing a few whinnies and snorts. None looked especially sleepy. Still saddled, they seemed to have the sense that, at any moment, they would be off for a ride.

Fyn carried his bow, a quiver on his back.

He planned to relieve one of the men keeping watch, certain that most would be grateful to get in some sleep before dawn.

Hearing noises, he swung around. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he nocked it, listening intently, eyes peeled open.

Goosebumps lifted on cold arms, all moisture draining from his throat as he turned on the spot. Listening, watching.

The horses were making noise, blocking out anything subtle he sought to pick up. Though there was nothing subtle about the axe that spun through the air, nearly taking off his head, and seeing it just in time, he veered away, hearing it smack into the tree behind him.

‘Get up!’ Fyn screamed, firing an arrow in the direction the axe had come from, though soon arrows were coming for him from every direction, and ducking his head, he remembered the plan. ‘Get up!’ he yelled. ‘Sound the alarm!’

A horn blew, and then another.

Though it was the sound of axes thumping shields, like thunder amongst the trees, that drew his attention as he ran back into the camp.

For it was coming from all around them.

Tig tugged at his restraints.

He was securely tied to a tree outside Jael’s tent, though if he had his way, he wouldn’t be for long.

He pulled against his bonds, throwing his head, sweeping his black mane from side to side, determined to break their hold.

And when that didn’t work, he started whinnying loudly.

For he could smell blood.

Rexon had only just fallen asleep, though he was on his feet as though he’d never closed his eyes, bursting out of his tent into the clearing.

They had chosen it for its length, allowing them to line up the wagons in a long defensive row in the centre, keeping fires blazing through the night. The horses had been secured in the south, shields, spears, and arrows stacked into the wagons, and now, with the arrival of their enemy, they had to quickly set their plans in motion.

‘Light the braziers!’ Rexon called, seeing a few of the drivers running for their wagons. ‘Get those braziers going! We need to see more!’ He heard the ominous rumble of drums in the distance, but also a piercing whistle, and soon arrows zipped over his head, one striking a man just ahead of him. He saw Fyn running towards him, ducking and weaving, surprised that Jael wasn’t with him.

Though he would hear her soon enough.

‘Into the centre!’ he ordered. ‘Shield walls! Defend from the wagons! My men, eastern flank!’

Hal was there, fumbling with his swordbelt, forcing open sleepy eyes.

Rexon saw Erling, Kari, and Petra.

But no Jael.

‘Hurry!’ he urged as a spear landed in the back of a man running towards him. ‘Get to the wagons!’ And reaching them himself, he started roaring. ‘Shields!’

Gunnhild had led Mutt to Andala’s unsuspecting army.

She had gifted him a treasure trove of weapons. She had energised his men and renewed her pledge of silver.

And now all he had to do was tear the hapless Andalans apart.

Tear them apart and leave them here to rot in Hallow Wood.

Jael woke up feeling strange.

She heard the horns, Rexon screaming orders, Tig disturbed outside the tent.

Trying to sit up, she soon realised that she couldn’t even move.

At first, she thought she was still dreaming.

Then she realised that it wasn’t a dream she was trapped in.

She was simply trapped.

Axes thumped shields, men were shouting, and she couldn’t move.

She could smell something though.

Something familiar that had her heart pounding.

She couldn’t hear Mattie, she couldn’t hear her cat, and eyes bursting open, she realised that the dreamer had gone and left her behind.

Mutt Storman’s army burst out of the trees, attacking two flanks at once.

As the smaller force, he needed to quickly build momentum from their surprise attack. He wanted to draw the Andalans to him, needing to disrupt their attempts at defense. He sought to disorient them in the dark, to quickly muddle any understanding they sought to possess of what was happening.

‘Toril!’ he bellowed. ‘Alf!’

And now archers stationed at both ends of the clearing got to work on the scrambling Andalans, so that their wagon train was now under attack from all sides.

‘Shield walls!’ Rexon ordered, taking charge. ‘Kari, get your men around the front!’ There was no Jael, which he could feel had everyone unsettled and hesitant, and if he allowed their army to falter now, Mutt would take advantage. ‘Hunder! Move your men to the rear! We follow the plan! Do not break! Stay with the wagons!’

Arrows pummelled them, though quickly in shield formation, the Andalan army held as Mutt’s men increased their pace, running down a sloping hill into the camp. Clouds slid over the moon, though the fires being lit on every wagon emitted enough light to see the arrows and spears coming their way.

‘Hold!’ Fyn barked, taking command of the western flank. He was worried about Jael, not hearing her voice. Only Rexon’s.

He thought of Mattie, wondering if Gunnhild was doing something.

Feeling the man beside him go down focused him again. ‘Shields together!’ he barracked, hearing that man howling in pain. ‘Pull them tight! Hold!’

‘Hold!’ Rexon echoed on the other side of the wagons, wanting his men to keep a firm hold on their anger too. Though seeing a glimpse of Mutt Storman leading the charge, Rexon was suddenly struggling to control his own.

Jael had to get out of the bed.

She’d been trapped before, unable to move as danger approached.

Danger outside her door.

She had dragged herself to her feet then, so why not now?

She wasn’t injured.

There was nothing wrong with her, though she was tied up in some sort of spell. And how was she going to undo that?

Teeth gritted, she tried to lift her arms, to move her legs, to push herself out of the bed.

She remembered the dreaming tea and the dreamer who’d made it for her.

The dreamer she was certain was now gone.

Anger was like a fire, raging up from her feet in a rush to her head.

There had to be some way out of this trap.

Some way out before it was too late for her men.

Mattie slipped through the trees, holding Otter in her arms, hearing the attack behind her, tears flooding her eyes.

Soon, she could barely see.

She wanted to go back to the camp. Back to help.

In her heart, her mind, her body, she wanted to go back.

Stopping abruptly, she dropped Otter to the ground. ‘Go,’ she told the cat, sobbing now. ‘Please. Be safe. Go. Go!’

Spinning away, Mattie started running.

When they needed her most, she was leaving everyone she cared about behind.

Though she had no choice.

No choice at all.

Head bowed, branches scraping her cheeks, she kept running, deeper into the trees until she found the clearing she’d seen in her dream, where Gunnhild stood waiting for her.

Standing in a shield wall on the eastern side of the wagons, Kari called to Rexon, some distance away. ‘Where’s Jael?’

Barely hearing him over the thunderous assault, Rexon didn’t respond, eyes darting left and right, seeking out every threat. ‘Push!’ he urged, shield in his left hand. ‘Push them back!’ His heart galloped, blood running hot at the thought that the man who had started it all was here. He could barely hold himself back, catching glimpses of Mutt rallying his men.

Though the cry went up all around him: ‘Shields! Shields!’

A frustrated Jael couldn’t control any part of her body.

She could hear what was happening in the camp. What her army thought was happening.

Though it was so much more.

Panic painted slashes of colour through the haze that kept her imprisoned.

The tea. The dreaming tea.

Mattie had poisoned her, and without her, Gunnhild wouldn’t be stopped.

Whatever she was planning, no one would stop the dreamer.

She screamed, though there was no sound.

And then a voice booming in her ears.

‘You are a dreamer!’ it snarled, familiar and urgent. ‘Ignore it at your peril, Jael Furyck! You are a dreamer! It will take every gift you have, every skill you possess to survive this. Though you will. You will not fail me here! Not now! Not until I will it! Now get out of that bed!’

Fyn couldn’t hear Jael.

Her voice.

Instead, he heard a bellowing Rexon taking charge in the east.

On the western flank, backed up against the wagons, protected by his shield, he raised his voice, urging calm as Mutt Storman’s warriors attacked in force. They came brandishing axes and spears, supported by archers hidden amongst the trees. Arrows zipped through the darkness, picking off any Andalan not protected by a shield. ‘Stay together!’ he shouted. ‘Let them use up what they’ve got! Stick to the plan! Shields together! We wait! Wait!’

Smoke from the fires drifted towards him, and he fought the urge to cough. Boots skidding in blood now, one of his men dead at his feet, he called the spearmen into the fight.

Keeping low, men with spears drove forward, thrusting sharpened tips at knees and legs.

‘Hold!’ Fyn barked, smelling something else now. Just a hint, though it was strangely familiar.

Mattie was shocked to realise how close they’d camped to Gunnhild’s cottage, and seeing it through the trees, she felt like vomiting.

She wanted to turn around.

To turn and run back to the camp and warn everyone.

Though looking at the dreamer, she remembered that Gunnhild had always been her task. Whatever she was planning, Mattie had to find some escape from her hold. Some way of stopping her.

‘You will watch me,’ Gunnhild smiled, eyeing the new arrival – the woman who had killed her helpers. Helga’s friend. ‘You think that book was useful? Edela Saeveld’s book?’ And now she laughed. ‘That old hag thought she was writing something that touched the darkness, though she has no idea what real darkness is. And nor do you, precious thing. Not yet, at least, so allow me to show you...’

An arrow shot past Hal’s cheek, ruffling his hair.

He chomped down on his tongue, pissing himself.

Backs to the wagon train, shields making two long walls, the Andalans held their ground, though under a sustained attack from Mutt Storman’s archers, men started to fall, and those walls began shifting around.

On the eastern side of the wagons, spitting out a mouthful of blood, Hal could hear Rexon, but where was the queen?

Further along from him, Rexon couldn’t wait any longer. Something had happened to Jael, but he had to enact their plan. He’d found Col, sending him for the queen, though neither the boy nor Jael had returned.

But he had to do something.

He couldn’t let Mutt Storman take control.

‘Alard!’ he bellowed, ready to bring their archers into the fight. ‘Blow the horn!’ Tightening his grip on his shield, he jabbed with his long knife, stabbing an unprotected thigh. The man wobbled before him, and drawing out his blade, extending his reach, he drove it into the man’s groin.

He heard the horn blown three times in quick, short bursts. And after a pause, it was blown again, and now Rexon heard the response of the Andalan archers approaching in the distance.

Though smelling something strange, his attention was drawn back to the camp.

Amongst the smoke, blood, and bowels, there was an odd smell now.

Axe swinging, working to quickly break the shield wall on the western side of the wagons, Mutt wasn’t even blinking. All fears and doubts had left him, and he felt more present in this moment than any he could remember.

The battle for Andala had been Oren Storgard’s, and beside that feckless, greedy king, he had carried himself as though made of stone, certain that every step he took was towards defeat.

Now every step was his own.

And he was running.

‘Break the walls!’ he bellowed, adjusting his grip. He carried no shield, for his smaller forces didn’t have the luxury of using defense as a strategy. Only surprise, speed, and attack would see them victorious. ‘Hook their shields!’ he demanded.

If they could break through the Andalans’ defenses quickly, get into their minds, and muddle their men, they had a chance of causing chaos.

Sensing movement behind him, Mutt glanced over his shoulder, seeing archers coming through the trees.

Eyes bulging, he was shocked to discover that they weren’t his own.

The Andalan army had outflanked him somehow, though they couldn’t have done so quickly. And then he knew, with a hiss and a snarl – that bitch had planted her men there, knowing he would come. ‘Turn! Archers behind you! Turn the fuck around!’

They were boxed in now with nowhere to go, the folly of his assault revealed as those Andalan archers, armed with two quivers each, hurried to pick off his men.

The smell was undeniable now, her panic nauseating.

Jael desperately searched for a symbol. Her family needed her. Her friends needed her.

Tig was about to break his bonds. She could hear him out there, stomping his hooves, trying to rise up on his haunches, ready to run away.

Lying in bed, arms pinned to her sides, teeth gritted, Jael saw Eydis Skalleson for the first time in years.

Eadmund’s little sister. Eydis.

The pretty girl with milky eyes stood on Oss’ black beach, stone spires in the distance, waves lashing the shore, her dark hair sweeping behind her. She held a knife in her right hand, and holding up her left hand, she expertly carved a symbol into her palm.

Blood drained from that hand, though the symbol sparked like fire, growing bigger and bigger until there was no hand, no Eydis, no Oss, but a fiery symbol pushing out of the vision, pressing against Jael’s chest.

Fingers twitching, legs tingling, Jael burst out of the trance with a blood-curdling roar, bounding onto her feet.

48

Gunnhild glanced at Mattie, narrowing her eyes.

Looking back at the fire, sweat beading along her upper lip, flames glinting in her eyes, she felt the spell’s power coursing through her.

Reminding her of who was in charge.

Not Mutt Storman, she thought with a laugh.

And certainly not Jael Furyck.

Turning to wink at an open-mouthed Mattie, Gunnhild held up one withered hand, revealing a blue stone marked with a single symbol. ‘The key,’ she gloated, turning back to her fire. ‘They think they have a plan, though they don’t even know what they’re facing. Not yet...’

And now she dropped the stone into the flames.

Chaos.

Andala’s archers, who had slept separately from the rest of the army every night since they’d entered Hallow Wood, had approached through the trees, picking off Mutt’s men, most of whom weren’t carrying shields. Though those further forward in the front ranks mostly evaded the assault, continuing to hook and smash the Andalan shield walls, seeking to break them apart.

And in some places, they were succeeding.

Sensing that, Rexon knew it was time to make their advantage count. ‘Attack!’ he yelled, locking eyes with Mutt Storman. ‘Kill them!’ Sweating profusely, he felt confident, knowing that, having decimated Mutt’s rear ranks, the Andalan archers would now be watching from the trees.

Lunging to the right, he swung his shield into a helmetless face, taking a surprised man under the nose. Stabbing his sword into the man’s belly, he dragged it out, moving to the next. Working his shield arm, his eyes were barely on the man before him, just needing everyone out of the way. He heard Mutt bellowing for his men to push forward, and then he was gone.

A furious Rexon lashed out with his sword. On his toes, arm extended, he struck his opponent in the side of the head, swinging away to avoid an arrow which grazed his shoulder, and head down, he ran, pushing through the tangle of warriors after Mutt.

Bursting out of her tent, Jael almost fell over Otter, miaowing mournfully before her.

Glancing around, she saw Col’s dead body nearby.

Danger swirled around her as she sought to fully drag herself out of her trancelike state.

Tig was whinnying, Otter was miaowing, Col was dead.

Shaking her head, she lunged for the cat as he tried to escape down the path between the tents, wanting to lead her that way, though she scooped him into her arms and ran for the nearest wagon, throwing him into it. ‘Stay!’ she barked with a croaking voice. ‘You stay!’

Coughing, she turned back to a panicking Tig. ‘Wait there!’ And hurrying into the tent, she grabbed her grandmother’s book from the floor. Stuffing it down her belt, she hurried to where Col lay, throat cut.

She had no sense of who had killed him or why, though she couldn’t leave him behind. When she thought of his poor mother, she couldn’t leave him there. So dragging his body to the wagon, she glanced around, and seeing one of the cooks running between the tents, she called the man to help her. Together, they hoisted Col’s body up and into the wagon, unceremoniously dropping him down beside Otter. Jael sent the man on his way, urging him to head for the wagons, and taking the book from her belt, she slid it under the steward’s body.

There was little time for anything else, though she couldn’t even swallow, let alone speak. Mutt Storman had attacked, she heard the thumping drums and screaming men nearby, though that wasn’t where her attention was focused.

Grabbing an ale jug, she lifted it to her lips, gulping it down.

Nearly spitting it straight out, she coughed, clearing her throat.

Could it be possible?

The smell was stronger outside.

She hurried back to Tig, though his panic had him in a foul mood. She tried to mount him, but he skittered about so wildly that he wouldn’t even let her get a boot in a stirrup.

‘Stop it!’ she snapped. ‘We have to help them! Stay still!’

He didn’t listen or obey her, though gathering the reins in her left hand, she pulled herself up onto him, finally getting both boots in Tig’s stirrups, and yanking his head around, she aimed him at the wagons.

He sought to go in the other direction.

‘No!’ she insisted, working her left hand until she felt her back burning. ‘Tig!’ Squeezing with her knees, she leaned forward. ‘Help me. Help me!’

And feeling him reluctantly relent, they were finally off, charging into the camp.

Fyn was conscious of a wounded Petra beside him. ‘Climb onto the wagon!’ he shouted. She had a gash in her left leg, blood running down her thigh. He wanted to get her out of the fray. She was skilled with a bow, though instead of sending her with the archers, he had kept her with him.

Now, he would put her to work.

‘Use your bow!’

‘Look out!’ she cried, seeing an axe coming for Fyn.

He swayed out of its path, though it took his neighbour in the shoulder. The injured man jerked back with a howl, dropping his shield as he fell. ‘Watch your backs!’ Fyn urged, twisting around. The man on his left screamed, a spear driven through his mail shirt, deep into his chest, and before he could even raise his eyes from that, a sword was coming for him. Roaring, Fyn swung up his shield, knocking it away, then driving with his own sword, he took his attacker in the belly. And with a quick look around, desperate for some sign of Jael, he followed Petra onto the wagon.

Rexon had Mutt in his sights, though it was the welcome sound of Jael Furyck that claimed his attention, and twisting around, he saw her charging through the fighting men on Tig, sword flashing.

‘Dragur!’ she shouted in warning. ‘It’s the... dragur!’

That drew looks of confusion, though no one stopped fighting.

Apart from Rexon, who pulled up, stunned.

The dragur were dead. Defeated.

Weren’t they?

Not caring what the Furyck woman was blathering about, Mutt used the distraction to break through Rexon’s defenses, stabbing his left arm, hitting bone.

Rexon roared, feeling his elbow shatter, arm dropping uselessly to his side.

‘Archers! Come in! Hurry!’ Jael called, reaching a wagon, and leaning out of the saddle, she pulled Tig to a stop, chopping down with her sword at two of Mutt Storman’s men, who had quickly seen her as a new target.

Taking one in the head, driving her bloody sword through the other’s ear, she twisted in the saddle, seeing movement amongst the trees to the north.

The smell intensified.

‘Dragur!’ she called again, smoke tickling her throat. ‘Archers to the wagons!’ And twisting around, she caught her first glimpse of those long-dead creatures coming through the trees at the entrance to the camp.

Memories igniting, she felt terror rippling through Tig. ‘Light the torches!’ she urged, wanting to focus everyone quickly. ‘Eyes open! Get ready!’

Spinning Tig around, she glanced over her shoulder to see Fyn atop a wagon with Petra. ‘Fyn! Get the archers onto the wagons! Beggi, get ready!’ she barked, searching for the wagon driver’s curly blonde head.

Fyn nodded at her with a look of relief.

Turning back, she saw that Mutt Storman’s men were still choking the path out of the clearing, oblivious to the dragur approaching from their rear. ‘Behind you!’ she screamed, trying to get their attention as she drove Tig forward. Though trapped in a bowl of sound, they didn’t respond. ‘You need to move!’ And deciding that was enough of a warning, Jael sheathed her sword, wrapped the reins around her left hand and reached for a throwing knife. Her new padded vest, which she wore over a more fitted, lighter mail shirt, came equipped with pockets to hold twelve, and she flung them with speed, needing those men out of her way. Aiming for faces, she worked to clear the path in a hurry. ‘Move! Will you fucking move!’

The dragurs’ stink wafted towards her; she heard familiar noises now too.

Mutt didn’t care. He’d wounded Rexon Boas, and now he would finish the job. ‘I remember you!’ he spat, blood dripping from his nose as he jerked his sword at Rexon’s chest. ‘You fuck! Ranuf Furyck’s pet! You were there, weren’t you? When he sent me out! You couldn’t wait to get rid of me!’

A shivering Rexon swung back, stumbling. His left arm was broken, his balance off, though he thought only of the man before him and what he had taken from him. Lunging forward, Rexon drove his blade at Mutt’s knee. Again, he stumbled, wincing now.

A smiling Mutt drew back his sword, preparing to take off Rexon’s head, though knocked into by a twisting melee of fighting men, he was soon falling to the ground, sword knocked from his hand.

Shoved in the back, Rexon fared little better, falling onto his broken arm, screaming as he watched his sword spin away.

Both men were on the ground, weaponless now, quickly seeking to take advantage.

Rexon felt a stone digging into his shoulder blade as he sought to move. He focused on that rather than the blinding pain in his left arm. He wished he could cut it off. It was distracting and useless, and he needed to focus on doing something with his right.

The pain in his arm brought tears to his eyes, every movement like a blade striking his elbow, though his rage rose above it all. He heard Jael calling about dragur and fire, though her voice and the noise of battle soon became a meaningless drone.

Reaching around, he couldn’t find anything but a rock, and yanking it out of the dirt, he slammed it into Mutt’s face.

Surprised by that, Mutt was knocked sideways, though not for long. He had no weapon himself, but he did have two working fists, and rolling back over Rexon, he leaned on his broken arm, punching him in the eye.

Rexon screamed, trying to bring up the rock again, though it was kicked from his hand. He could only see with one eye, though in the dark, sweat pouring down his forehead, even that eye was mostly useless. But he could still make out the face of the man who had started it all. The man who had brought his warriors to Saala, who had poisoned his people.

Who had killed his family.

Demaeya

‘Aarrghh!’ he cried, the horror of it suddenly the sharpest pain of all. ‘You killed them!’ he snarled, teeth bared, and bringing up his knee, he slammed it into Mutt’s guts, smacking his fist into his nose. Gagging, Mutt jerked away, crawling off Rexon, and spying a knife, he grabbed it. Lunging back, he was over the Saalan, breathing heavily through his mouth, choking on his own blood.

Seeing the knife coming for him, Rexon tried lifting his knee again, but shifting his weight, Mutt pinned him to the ground. Rexon groaned, his left elbow under Mutt’s knee. He almost vomited, his vision dimming.

A smiling Mutt stabbed him in the chest.

Repeatedly.

Rexon barely felt a thing. Revenge, he thought hopelessly, feeling it slip through his fingers. Grabbing Mutt’s wrist, he tried to hold off the blade as it now came for his eye.

‘Your wife squealed like a pig when my men killed her,’ Mutt laughed, dripping blood. ‘Pretty, pretty little piggy.’

Visions of a terrified Demaeya were like a knife in Rexon’s heart. He wanted to die in that moment. To be beside her, holding her in his arms, shielding her from the pain.

Though not yet.

He was here because he had to avenge her.

Demaeya and their boys.

He couldn’t let this man live.

Right hand wrapped around Mutt’s wrist, he became acutely aware of his own weakness. His left arm was useless, throbbing hot, his right hand numb. He needed to push. To push the knife back.

He could no longer see the tip of the blade. Everything blurred as he sought to focus. Screaming, he remembered the mound of dirt under which his life lay buried.

He had to avenge his family.

He had sworn to avenge them.

And now it was Mutt who was bellowing in anger as Rexon started pushing the blade backwards, hand squeezed around Mutt’s wrist, arm shaking with the pressure. Mutt gritted his teeth, driving down again, though despite his injuries, Rexon Boas had the stronger arm.

He was the stronger man.

And now Rexon moved that blade away from his face, far enough away that he could throw up his head and smash it into Mutt’s broken nose. Mutt jerked back, and Rexon yanked the blade from his hand, slamming the haft into his eye. Turning the knife, he drove its tip into Mutt’s throat, spitting and snarling as he spilled his blood.

Crying too.

Pushing the dying man off him, screaming as he put his weight down on his broken arm, he scrambled onto his feet, dripping blood and tears, hanging over the man who had taken everything from him.

And thinking of his family, hearing the sounds of battle dimming now, he plunged the knife into Mutt Storman’s heart.

And with that final act, he collapsed to the ground, every drop of energy gone, and with it, his desire to keep fighting.

He had nothing left.

Closing his eyes, he saw himself sitting on the steps of his hall, hand on Demaeya’s knee, her head resting on his shoulder, the boys playing with a kitten at their feet.

And the sun... it was glowing so brightly now.

Like fire.

Warm, hot, welcoming fire...

Gunnhild shrugged, eyes following the flames. ‘Well, a man born with no sense was always doomed to die by his own hand. Quite a poetic end, don’t you think, Mattie, my sweet?’ She turned to look at the dreamer, who remained mute behind her.

She preferred those who were mute.

She hadn’t taken her tongue, but she’d ensured that the woman would no longer distract her.

Though Mattie Bilso was no useless farm hand. No maidservant.

And remembering that, she turned, tugging her forward, wanting to keep a close eye on her. ‘Come here, do come, and we can watch together as your friends die. And then what will poor Brekka do? Without her king, her queen, her army... oh my, what a terrible tragedy!’

Jael drove Tig past the wagons, through the dregs of Mutt’s men, who stumbled out of her path, felled by Andalan archers and by a panicked Tig, who rose up repeatedly, bringing down his hooves on those who wouldn’t move.

Two quivers were crossed over her back, along with her bow, though what she really needed was fire.

Ahead of her, flanking the path out of the clearing, the trees shook ominously. She spun in the saddle, hearing snapping branches and tents collapsing.

Smelling that decaying stench more strongly than ever, she eyed the braziers burning on the wagons. ‘Switch to fire arrows!’ Head snapping around, she once again glanced to her right, seeing movement. ‘Aim east!’ Twisting back, she saw a barely standing Kari, right arm dripping blood, gasping for air.

‘Get on a wagon!’ she cried. ‘Light the torches!’

She thought of Mattie, certain it was Gunnhild who had conjured up the dragur, just like Draguta before her.

Gunnhild, who was controlling them.

And without Mattie, only she could stop them.

‘There!’ someone screamed, and Jael wheeled Tig around to see a group of dragur coming through the tents. Moving with urgency, they thumped the ground as they walked, their attention fixed on her army.

Swinging massive broadswords, as decayed as the hands wielding them, they slashed through the tents and anyone standing in their way.

For despite being corpses, long-buried and centuries dead, Hallow Wood’s dragur had once again come to life.

Looking on, helpless beside the dreamer, Mattie saw images in Gunnhild’s bonfire.

Jael had spoken of the dragur before they’d left Andala, and so had Fyn. They both had memories of what had happened the last time the creatures were raised, neither entirely certain they’d seen the last of them.

And now, somehow, Gunnhild had drawn the dragur from their graves.

She didn’t understand why she had come here or why she wasn’t there.

Why she had no choice about any of it.

Her last memories were of saying goodbye to Otter, of sitting on her bed and drinking the dreaming tea.

Jael had drunk it too.

She had made that tea and given it to the queen.

Gunnhild had drawn her away, forcing her out of the battle – a battle she was now controlling.

She felt utterly powerless, incapable of even raising her own arms, though if she didn’t stop the evil dreamer, she would kill Jael and the entire army.

And she would kill Fyn Gallas too.

49

Eyes on the dragur smashing through the tents, Fyn shuddered, standing next to an open-mouthed Petra. Hurrying to grab a quiver of fire arrows, he slipped it over his back, handing out more to those rushing the wagons. He didn’t know how many of Mutt Storman’s army were still standing, though he knew which enemy they needed to focus on now.

Dipping an arrow into the flames sweeping around the brazier before him, he aimed quickly, striking the nearest dragur in the throat.

‘Hal! Bring the horses! Fyn, Kari, hold the eastern flank!’ Jael roared somewhere ahead of him. ‘We’re going to ride out of here! North!’ she called. ‘To the road!’

Fyn saw Jael pointing through the trees towards where they’d entered the clearing, knowing why she’d organised the wagon train to be turned around. Though in the next moment, he saw a handful of dragur emerge onto the path, quickly flanked by more. They jerked forward, joining together, rusted weapons primed to strike. Hearing noises, he swung around, seeing more coming through the trees to the south, fearing they’d soon be surrounded.

Everywhere he turned, smoke stinging his eyes, it seemed that the dead were coming.

Tig’s reins tucked under the saddle, Jael nocked her bow, flames flickering from the tip of her arrow. To the north, the dragur were moving onto the path, killing any man still standing. Brandishing fists of iron and blades as long and thick as a leg, they swept everyone aside.

She fired at first one, then two dragur.

They hated fire, though despite being threatened with flaming arrows, most showed little fear, still moving towards her.

That was worrying.

‘Head to the road! The horses are coming! Head to the road!’ she ordered, seeing Mutt Storman’s men looking around in terror. Weapons, now useless against a new threat, hung limply from bloody hands. ‘Help us! Get to the wagons and grab a torch! Help us and live!’

Some appeared to see the sense in that, though a handful tried to cut their losses and run, soon defeated by their own folly as they were skewered by the dragur or cut down by the Andalans. Eventually, most were clamouring to get to the wagons, grabbing torches and holding them in braziers. Others helped themselves to bows, lighting arrows.

‘Turn! East!’ Jael bellowed at her men, feeling Tig’s tension vibrating beneath her. ‘Steady now,’ she soothed. ‘Steady. We’ll be leaving soon. Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving soon.’

From the wagons, Fyn had everyone facing east, firing flaming arrows in unison. Though the undaunted dragur kept coming, one thumping step at a time, and now the first few reached those men who hadn’t made it to the wagons, who hadn’t seen the danger until it was too late.

It was quickly too late for them.

Screams of surprise were choked off as they were picked up and thrown against trees. Others were kicked to the ground, where they were stabbed or crushed beneath stomping feet.

Moonlight filtered through the tree canopy, highlighting the dragurs’ gruesome faces, revealing matted strands of hair and missing patches of skin. Arms like tree trunks with necks to match, they thumped forward, ready to kill.

The lead dragur, wearing a bronze helmet tarnished green, lifted one of Mutt Storman’s men by the hair and twisted off his head.

That immediately focused the attention of those watching.

The sounds of terror rose like a storm, sweeping through the camp.

Wheeling Tig around, Jael aimed him at the nearest wagon, and reaching it, she drew another fire arrow, shoving it into a brazier.

Some of the dragur already on fire were stumbling, howling angrily, though Jael knew that a handful of fire arrows wouldn’t deter them.

In fact, she had planned on it.

‘We have to leave!’ she cried again, needing to move things along, for they couldn’t afford to get trapped in the clearing. The dragur coming from the east were being met by a rain of fire, though some were getting through. Around them, the tents were burning, hungry flames leaping up to ignite branches, and she feared for the wagons. ‘Hurry with the horses! We need to get moving!’

Twisting around, she saw a mounted Hal driving the horses into the camp, though their progress was soon threatened by the dragur coming from the south. Adjusting course, they turned away from the wagons, now aiming for the horses.

Yanking Tig around, Jael fired her arrow, striking one in the head. Quickly lighting another, she sought to claim their attention.

She felt confident that they wanted her, and seeing those bedraggled heads snap around, one after another, as though barely attached to their bodies, she knew it for certain. ‘Come on!’ she called, now urging Tig backwards. ‘We’ll lead them out of here! Back, boy. Come on, back.’ Tig wasn’t always reliable under pressure, but he stepped back with precision. She almost smiled, though hearing more terrified screams and grunts coming from behind her, growing into a chorus, she glanced over her shoulder. Reaching a wagon, she drew four fire arrows now, plunging them into the brazier, leaving three to catch alight while she nocked the fourth. There was still no sign of Rexon, though Fyn was firing from the wagon nearby. ‘Fyn! Find a horse and get everyone onto the road! You take charge! I’ll lead them out of here!’

He was frowning, though he nodded, and smoke in her eyes, she refocused on the dragur, who were turning her way, that wall of dead men now on the move. Reaching for the brazier, she grabbed one arrow at a time, aiming at each flank of that motley line, and then directly down the middle, annoying them all.

Fixing their attention where it needed to be.

On her.

And now she slipped her bow over her back, took the reins in two hands, and wheeling Tig around, she drove him past the wagons, aiming to escape the clearing.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the dragur were coming. One by one, they were turning away from the horses and they were coming after her.

Though turning back around and seeing what awaited her, she quickly realised that there was still the matter of the dragur choking the path to the road...

Gunnhild laughed, enjoying herself now. ‘The silly she-man imagines she can outrun them! Outrun them, outride them, and then what? Does she think they need to rest? That they must stop at all? No, these creatures have been buried for hundreds of years. They are not even breathing! And I promise you,’ she purred, turning to a blinking Mattie, ‘they will not be stopped by any mere mortal.’

Mattie, she could see, had a lot to say about that.

Though, thankfully, she couldn’t open her mouth.

Gunnhild turned back around, needing to focus. Catching a glimpse of her withered hand, marked with hideous spots and veins, she remembered what was at stake.

Everything.

All that she had built. All that Helga had taken from her.

The Mistress had tasked her with destroying the Andalan army, and she couldn’t let her down.

Lifting a hand in the air, she squeezed it into a fist, urging the dragur to stop the escaping queen.

Mattie couldn’t speak, though she could move, and while Gunnhild’s back was turned, she slipped a hand into her purse, holding it there. The witch’s helpers’ attention snapped to her, and fearing they would alert their mistress to any hint of movement on her part, she pulled out a comb and started running it through her hair.

Riding through the camp, seeking to draw the dragur away from her army, Jael finally saw a glimpse of Rexon, knowing he wouldn’t be coming with them. Shocked at the sight of his dead body, she could see that Mutt Storman wouldn’t be coming either.

Rexon got what he wanted, she realised sadly – exactly what he’d wanted – though his death would be a loss to them all.

Hearing the dragur coming behind her, ground shaking, her attention now shifted to those before her, who, seeing her approach, were fanning out, urged on by their snarling leader in his tarnished helmet, who appeared to be watching her.

He grunted, making animal-like noises, and soon a shield wall of rotting bodies was forming.

Kicking Tig on, Jael drove him fast, feeling uncertainty rippling through him. She vividly remembered when they were first getting to know each other. He had thrown her more than once, stopping abruptly and firing her over his head. Though he’d always been loyal.

Loyal to her.

‘We’re going through them,’ she warned, knowing how he’d feel about that. ‘Faster!’ She leaned forward, squeezing Tig with her knees, remembering that the dragur were many things but not especially fast. And now she dropped her head and aimed for that wall of jerking dead men.

Beyond them, the path beckoned and then the road.

Eyes peeled open, Jael searched for a space, a gap in that wall. Glancing over her shoulder, pleased to see that the bulk of the dragur was still following, she turned back, aiming Tig at the only hint of a space she could find.

The dragur couldn’t tighten their formation in time, and they slipped through the gap. Or so she thought, for in the next moment, she felt a tug and heard a roar as one of them grabbed Tig’s tail, yanking him backwards. The force of the sudden stop flung her out of the saddle, launching her over Tig’s head towards the path.

Bow flying off her back, arrows shooting out of her quivers, everything left her mind except the need to land well. Remembering what it felt like to break her arm and how useless she’d been for weeks after, she focused on the need to land securely.

She hit the ground with her left shoulder, arms tucked safely across her chest. Her head landed next, smacking the dirt with a painful thump, everything buzzing, a filthy haze dropping over her eyes. Rolling, she was up, staggering, coughing dust, feeling nothing but the urgency to help her horse.

Hurrying forward, she retrieved her bow and a handful of arrows. Stuffing them back into a quiver, she readjusted her swordbelt and turned, running back to Tig.

He reared up, smashing down with his hooves, knocking over one of the dragur. Another aimed at a gap in his armour with a rusted sword.

Drawing one of the axes hanging from her belt, Jael flung it, taking the dragur in the face, though more were turning, coming for Tig, aiming to grab his bridle. ‘Go!’ she shouted. ‘Get out of here!’

He didn’t need to be told twice, and despite the dragurs’ best efforts to hold him back, he was soon cantering down the path towards the road.

Facing the dragur alone, aware that she had few arrows left, Jael kept stepping backwards. More dragur were smashing through the trees, and those coming from the south now arrived, joining behind their leader to form a massive, stinking horde, at least twenty bodies deep.

She didn’t turn and run; she needed to draw as many out of the camp as possible.

They weren’t fast, she reminded herself. Though the leader charged her, eager to dispel that myth, and seeing how quickly he was moving, she started doubting everything she knew.

The creatures behind him appeared slightly slower, but the lead dragur was soon before her, hacking with his rusted sword. Jael used one of her remaining knives, flinging it at his face. It struck his cheek, just missing his single, milky eye, though he didn’t flinch as he came at her again with another vicious blow, powerful enough to generate a breeze. She ducked, kicking out at his leg, almost breaking her ankle.

That stony exterior, she remembered, wincing.

More dragur were coming – the smell was overpowering now.

But the horses were coming too.

She heard shouts, recognising voices, feeling Fyn’s panic as he tried to organise everyone. She heard Hal and his men hurrying the horses towards the army, and the horses themselves that sought, not to go towards the danger, but to escape it.

Those men driving the wagons had to get them onto the path.

And realising that it was up to her to clear it, Jael turned around and started running after Tig.

Having patiently combed her hair, assuring Gunnhild’s helpers that she was no threat, Mattie slowly slipped the comb back into her purse. In doing so, she grabbed Helga’s flint, concealing it in her right hand as she stepped towards the dreamer.

Fyn could hear Jael’s voice in his head, though he felt distracted, looking around for Mattie. He had no idea what had happened to her, though someone needed to go back for the dreamer. Without Rexon, he was in charge, and he couldn’t simply ride off. He twisted in the saddle, looking for someone he could trust. Someone to go back for –

‘Forget her! Mattie chose another side! Forget her and get everyone out of the camp! You have to hurry! Lead them north!’

A shocked Fyn didn’t understand, though with Jael’s angry voice ringing in his ears, he sought to focus. The bulk of the dragur had headed out of the camp after her, like wolves picking up a scent, hunting in a pack. Though enough remained to cause them problems, seeking to prevent their escape.

Wielding a flaming torch, now mounted on Yara, Fyn swept it around in warning. He feared the flames were unsettling the horses, though likely they were more concerned by the reeking dead men and their giant blades.

Not to mention all the blood.

The dead Andalans would remain where they lay, though the injured were being hurried to the wagons. Fyn’s panic was becoming painful now, his body so tense it was hurting, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Mattie, hoping to see some sign of her.

‘Find Beggi!’ came that angry voice again, seeking to focus him. ‘You must get Beggi’s wagon onto the road!’

Gunnhild glanced at the dreamer, and seeing a sudden interest in her eyes, she invited her closer. ‘Come and see!’ she laughed, though she didn’t feel happy. For though the dragur were powerful creatures, they were not bending to her will as she’d imagined they would.

They had an obvious interest in Jael Furyck, which would certainly not go well for them. Though Mattie didn’t need to know that, and the Mistress, who was likely watching, didn’t need to know that either.

‘They have given up fighting and now seek to run. Can you see? See your friends trying to scurry away? As though they think it possible! They foolishly believe my dragur are slow. My dragur,’ she emphasised. ‘Though what your friend, the queen, doesn’t realise is that I have improved them. The spell to reawaken them, well, I confess I did not create it. That honour goes to another, though I have worked to enhance it.’ She smiled at Mattie, revealing stained teeth and drooping jowls.

Mattie flung up her hand, slashing Gunnhild’s cheek with the flint.

She couldn’t make any sound, though inside, she was screaming.

Flaming torch in one hand, Fyn drove Yara onto the path, leading the army towards the road, leaving Hal and Erling to take up the rear. Hearing screams behind him, he knew that many had already lost their chance for escape, and glancing over his shoulder, he saw a man ripped from his saddle and another stabbed in the side. A horse went down, and behind it, the Andalans were forced to fan out.

Despite his worries for Mattie and his desire to turn around, Fyn knew he had no choice but to keep going down that dark, tree-lined path, aiming for the road.

Far behind him, Hal was struggling to get the dregs of the army onto horses, into wagons, and onto the path, for the smell coming off the dragur was death, and some of the horses sought to break away.

‘Aim them north!’ Hal yelled to the men ahead of him, eyes watering as he twisted left and right, searching for threats. The tents were on fire, the trees were on fire, and the wind was strengthening, smoke sweeping through the camp. All of it made it impossible to see more than shapes and shadows. ‘Hurry!’

The bulk of the dragur had run out of the camp after Jael, though more were bursting through the trees, once again seeking to block the path to the road.

Heart in his mouth, eyes darting around, Hal’s urge to flee became a drumbeat, thumping in his ears.

Holding a flaming torch in his left hand, he kept guard while two servants worked to hoist an injured man into a wagon. Its horses weren’t happy, throwing back their heads and pawing the ground, desperate to escape. ‘Hurry!’ he bellowed, seeing two dragur fix their attention on him. ‘We have to go now!’

Shrieking, Gunnhild stumbled, hand up to her face, eyes snapping to the dreamer. She hated her youth, her beauty, but more than anything, she hated her deceit.

The pain in her face shot through her body, stirring up familiar feelings of nausea and rage. Lashing out with her left hand, tightening her mangled fingers into a fist, she squeezed.

Mattie tried to lunge forward, seeking to strike her again. She needed to put the dreamer down. Put the dreamer down and extinguish her bonfire. Though now her boots were stuck to the grass, her arms falling to her sides, breath trapped in her lungs.

‘You are not Helga, little girl!’ Gunnhild spat. ‘Is that what you thought? That you had more magic in you than that old crone?’ And now she cackled. ‘She thought she’d killed me, but I’m the one standing before you while that pointless bitch is ash!’ And striking Mattie across the face, she sent her flying.

As she emerged onto the dark road, Jael stumbled on a rock, almost falling to her knees, though quickly righting herself, she was soon running, heading south, the dragur trailing behind her.

She needed to lead them as far away from her army as possible.

If her plan had any chance of working, she had to make the distance between them insurmountable.

She saw a glimpse of Tig galloping north, hearing the roar of the dragur behind her, smelling their rotting flesh as they stomped after her.

Hearing voices, she glanced over her shoulder, seeing horses thundering out of the forest on her left.

Some had taken a different path, led by Kari, who had found a shortcut, skirting danger, now coming out just behind Jael.

He looked at her as though to follow, but she pointed in the opposite direction.

‘Go north! Hurry! And when you find Fyn, send him back for me!’

Struck across the face, Mattie had fallen onto her back.

The power in Gunnhild’s hand made no sense of the old woman before her. Shadows danced before her eyes, ears ringing. She tried to roll over, to move, though once again, the dreamer had her pinned to the ground, looming over her, and with a look of pure evil, she started chanting.

Mattie’s arms snapped back over her head, the flint flying from her hand. And now her arms moved down until they were stretched out on either side of her.

Too much, she panicked, feeling as though they would snap off. She tried to focus her mind, to clear the haze, to find her own symbol, to –

‘You will stop.’

Mattie felt the tension loosen, her arms sagging now.

Rolling up onto her knees, she couldn’t breathe.

She thought she recognised the voice, though her ears were ringing loudly, and she couldn’t catch her breath.

She couldn’t turn around.

Before her, Gunnhild’s face twisted with displeasure. ‘Though I am –’

‘My servant,’ came the voice. ‘You will remember that, Gunnhild Gott. You are my servant, and I am your mistress. Finish the task I set you. I will take the dreamer now.’

50

Jael’s ankle threatened to give way as she ran down the road.

She had no idea when she’d last run for so long, but she certainly couldn’t breathe.

Eventually, she had to pull up to catch her breath, a pain in her side. The moon suddenly beamed down on her, and she was pleased to see that she’d led the dragur far away from the horses and wagons making their escape.

Seeing how far behind her the creatures were, she slowed down, wanting them to catch up.

She limped now, hands on hips.

Twisting around occasionally, she watched from a distance as more and more horses and wagons drove out of the clearing and onto the road, heading north.

She saw glimpses of the camp clearing out, trying to decide how much time she needed to give everyone to escape.

To create a safe distance.

The stench of the dragur intensified, and glancing around, she saw them gaining on her again. They were angry, growling threateningly, encouraged by their impatient leader.

And sucking in a deep breath, she started running again, hoping to see a glimpse of Fyn.

Fyn was on the road, heading north, Petra beside him. Raal was there, blood gushing from a head wound. He saw no sign of Hal and Erling yet, though spinning in the saddle, he spotted the always reliable Kari riding up to him.

‘Jael wants you!’ Kari shouted. ‘You need to ride back to her!’

Fyn nodded, and now he could feel it himself. Wheeling Yara around, he sought out Beggi, who was driving his wagon just behind him. ‘Come on!’ He turned back to Kari. ‘Take the lead, and push them hard! We need more speed! Beggi, with me! Let’s turn you around!’

Deciding to make her move, Jael turned, drawing her sword and facing down the dragur army.

She had three fire arrows left, though she was saving those, so to make room for herself, she was going to have to use her sword.

She sensed excitement amongst those walking corpses as they increased their pace, heads lifting higher as they came for her.

Eyes sweeping the road, ankle still throbbing, Jael ran at them, searching for a way through – any sort of gap.

She had no time for a fight.

There was no time for anything.

And frowning, seeing no hope of slipping between the tightly packed blue-tinged bodies, she jerked to the right, sheathing her sword and plunging into the trees. The dragur were slow to change course, and she slipped away from them, running through the trees before leaving them behind for the smoother surface of the road once more.

Back to where she was certain she could see a wagon coming towards her.

Tig, she thought, I need you.

I need you now!

Fyn had driven Yara back down the road, searching for Jael. The moon had vanished for a time, the only light coming from the torch in his hand, though it didn’t illuminate much.

Reaching the path to the camp, he slowed Yara down, turning to check Beggi’s progress. The young wagon driver had powerful arms and a fast horse, and they weren’t far behind.

Looking up, he saw Jael running towards him, hair streaming behind her, the dragur much further back. Though turning to the path, he was surprised to see that not everyone had escaped the camp. ‘Hurry!’ he snapped at the stragglers. ‘Get on the road! You have to go!’ Many were running, the horses long gone, though some appeared injured, moving more slowly.

Sweeping his torch around, he tried to see further into the trees. ‘Move! Come on!’

Reaching Fyn, a panting Jael pulled up. ‘You... we need to... get them out of here!’ Turning quickly, she barked at those men dragging their feet. ‘Hurry! We won’t be able to hold them off!’ Sucking in a breath, she swung around. ‘Beggi!’ she called, seeing his wagon. ‘Unshackle your horse! Leave the wagon and... go!’

He hurried to do that, and Jael turned back to see Hal riding onto the road, the last man to leave the clearing.

‘Behind you!’ she shouted as a dragur burst out of the trees, a club in his hand, and swinging, he thumped Hal in the side, knocking him from the saddle.

‘Wait for me!’ Jael yelled to Fyn. ‘Beggi, go!’ Turning away, she saw Hal on the ground and the dragur with the club now aiming for his head, and she ran forward, unleashing her last throwing knife, taking the creature in the chin. Unsheathing her sword, she jerked it up, slicing his armpit. He bellowed furiously, turning to swing his club at her, allowing Hal to scamper to his feet. ‘On your horse!’ she snapped, seeing his face crumpled in pain. He was gasping with every breath, and she guessed he’d broken his ribs. ‘Hurry!’ she ordered as the dragur lurched forward, now aiming his club at her. ‘Go!’

Ducking, Jael dropped to a crouch. Bouncing up, sword in both hands, she twisted her blade, driving it through his rotting arm and taking it off – club and arm dropping to the ground with a thump. Now the dragur swung towards her with one arm, no weapon, and no chance. She stabbed him in the belly, lurching back as he tried to kick her, though seeing how unbalanced he was, she shoved him over and ran back to where Fyn was struggling to control a skittering Yara.

Glancing down the road, Jael saw Tig coming, relief flooding her body. Despite his great dislike of the dragur, there he was, thundering towards her. And reaching Beggi’s wagon, he jerked to a stop, rising up on his hind legs and whinnying unhappily.

In protest, she realised.

Though he was still here.

‘Hold onto him!’ she called to Fyn, and wheeling around, she saw that the dragur were getting closer. Running to Beggi’s wagon, she hauled herself into it, flinging back its cover and grabbing one of the two jars of sea-fire she’d secreted away. Only Beggi and Fyn had known of her plan. She hadn’t wanted to risk another spy uncovering what she’d intended to do or the sea-fire being used as a weapon against her army. And feeling relieved that she’d managed to keep it safe, she uncorked the first lid, throwing the contents of the jar over the wagon before reaching for another.

‘Jael!’ Fyn yelled. ‘Hurry!’

She could smell the dragur coming closer, though despite her best efforts, the lid wouldn’t come off the second jar. Looking up, she saw that the lead dragur was nearly upon her, raising his sword.

‘Jael!’ Fyn warned. He couldn’t let go of the torch to release his bow, though remembering his axes, still hanging from his belt, he dropped the reins, hugging Yara with his knees. And reaching back with his left hand, he grabbed an axe and flung it into the shoulder of the dragur about to grab Jael by the hair. It jerked back, arm falling to its side, but then another creature was there, snatching at her arm. She stumbled backwards, carrying the stubborn sea-fire jar in one hand. And seeing how close the dragur were getting, she ran back to Tig.

Reaching him, she turned to throw the jar, smashing it against Beggi’s wagon, and then she was up in the saddle, eyes on the dragur.

Fyn turned to her, and she took the flaming torch from him, securing it in her left hand and gathering the reins in her right. ‘Let’s get out of here!’ And with her knees, she urged Tig on.

The torchlight was glaring, her throat was burning, though Jael knew she couldn’t stop yet.

Turning to look over her shoulder, she saw the horde of creatures coming.

They would never need to stop.

In death, they were more alive than any human.

Though surely just as vulnerable to fire...

Blood dripping down her ruined face, Gunnhild stared into the fire, watching her hopes burning in its flames.

Incinerated.

She saw a glimpse of Mutt Storman’s corpse, realising she’d been too hasty to mock the man, for she had failed just as spectacularly.

More so, she knew, for he had been no one of consequence.

Just arms and legs.

She was a dreamer of unrivalled skill. A bringer of darkness and death, a –

A failure, she realised, dropping her head.

A terrible failure.

Though hearing the Mistress’ voice in her ears, she glanced over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

Jael bent low, head down, as Tig thundered along beside Fyn on Yara.

She clasped the torch in her right hand, watching its flames threatening to go out, and peering over her shoulder, she finally pulled up, jerking Tig to a stop.

Jumping off him, she ordered him to stay, pleased when Fyn grabbed his reins.

Throwing the flaming torch to the ground, she pulled her bow over her head, grabbing the last three fire arrows from her quiver. Dropping them to the ground, she bent down, moving their arrowheads into the flames.

Leaving them to catch alight, she straightened up, searching for Beggi’s wagon amongst the dragur. Some were behind it, some before it, and in the darkness, it was hard to make out much.

Though she had to hurry – the closer they got to her, the less chance she had of catching them all.

Bending down, she retrieved the first arrow, and taking a breath, steadying her shaking arms, she nocked it, quickly drawing the bow. And thinking of Rexon, lying back in the clearing, she released it, watching it shoot up and over the dragur, striking the wagon.

Not waiting, she hurried to grab the next arrow, shooting it quickly.

Nothing happened.

Fyn’s thoughts were loud behind her, the dragur were loud before her, her heart exploding in her chest.

She nocked her last fire arrow, needing some luck. In the darkness and the chaos, she needed just a tiny slice of luck.

The ground, she thought suddenly. I need to hit the ground.

And seeing the target in her mind, she released the arrow, immediately turning away. There was no point in lingering. She was either going to –

The explosion was deafening, the sudden flare of light blinding, as she ran back to Tig, feeling heat surging towards them. ‘Hurry!’ she urged, grabbing the reins from Fyn and throwing herself into Tig’s saddle. ‘Go! Go!’ she screamed, feeling the flames coming for them.

And not needing to be told, Tig launched himself after Yara, a breathless Jael clinging to him as he galloped down the road.

Ineko Ervik had had nothing more to say on the beach.

She’d initially just sobbed, complaining about being cold, until her chattering teeth had given Thorgils and Beorn little choice but to hurry her back to the fort and into the hall.

Now, she stood before a fire pit, rubbing her frozen hands together as though trying to start a fire herself.

‘You need to go back to the beginning,’ Thorgils frowned as Beorn returned with two jugs of ale, which he set down on the table beside a stack of cups. Ineko’s crew had followed after her, and those men needed a fire and something to drink as much as their passenger. ‘How did Stig die?’

Ineko looked around as Beorn gave her a cup of ale. Taking it in both hands, the young woman gulped it down. Once it was empty, she held it out to him, shoulders heaving, her tired eyes flooding with tears again. ‘It was Haral.’

‘But why? How?’ Thorgils wanted to know, keeping his voice low. The crew seemed aware of the hour and the stillness of the dark hall as they quietly took their places at the other firepit, looking around and murmuring to each other.

‘They argued. After we left here, they didn’t stop arguing,’ Ineko explained. ‘Well, Haral was arguing. Stig didn’t even want to listen.’ She screwed up her face. ‘He was a stubborn man. Haral was no better. Worse, I think. He told Stig the islands were his, that Eadmund wasn’t the rightful king. He said it would be easy to claim them, to overthrow him. That he knew a way.’

Beorn blinked at Thorgils, who became still before him.

‘Overthrow Eadmund? Haral?’ Thorgils laughed.

Beorn was too stunned to laugh. ‘That little shit? And how was he planning to do that? He has an army, does he? A great fleet tucked up his arse?’

‘Ssshhh,’ Thorgils hissed, wagging a finger. ‘We don’t want everyone out here.’ Now he turned back to Ineko, lowering his own voice. ‘He wanted Stig to do what? Buy a fleet? Men?’

Ineko shook her head. ‘No, he already had one.’

‘Haral?’ Thorgils didn’t understand. ‘Apprentice to a fur trapper? Has a fleet?’

Pye had eventually fallen into a fitful sleep, troubled by everything.

The cottage had been a surprise, at first joyful, but then he’d heard taunting voices reminding him that he didn’t deserve anything.

Deformed, worthless, not even a man, he was owed only scorn.

The voices were familiar.

From his childhood, from his time on the streets.

Dessalene.

At first, they overwhelmed the other voices – Jael Furyck’s and Mattie’s, Kolarov’s and Ayla’s. Then he remembered the surprise of Gant handing him the key. In that unexpected moment, he’d felt a glimmer of light shining on a different path.

And that light had an inviting warmth to it, he thought, slipping deeper into sleep now.

Footsteps in the alley again.

And this time, someone turned the door handle, seeking to get inside.

‘Haral said he had friends on the mainland. I imagine once he told them of Stig’s claim to the islands, they wanted to be his friends. Likely he promised them silver, maybe even power. I don’t know. I didn’t hear everything. Stig was furious,’ Ineko explained with a shudder. Slowly thawing out, she eyed a bench, feeling every month of her pregnancy.

Beorn pulled the bench over for her, offering to take her wet cloak, though she shook her head as she sat down, eager to continue her story.

‘Eventually, Stig refused to listen to any more. We stopped in Tingor. He planned to buy supplies for winter, though Tingor is where Haral’s friends were, so he tried to arrange a meeting. He told Stig about it, and Stig was furious. They fought, and Haral, he –’ She cut herself off, remembering. ‘He grabbed him by the throat.’ Shaking her head, she felt sickened. ‘He wouldn’t let go! He had a temper. I’d always known it, for they’d fought before, but he... he’d had too much ale. They both had. It seemed to weaken Stig and make Haral even stronger. He wouldn’t let go. I... I tried to pull him away, to help, but Haral, he... he pushed me.’ She absentmindedly touched her belly. ‘I feared for the baby, and then, he... he had Stig on the ground, and he didn’t let go until he was dead!’ Dropping her head, she buried her face in her hands and wept.

Linas rolled over, seeing a familiar shape sitting in the chair at the table.

He immediately knew he was dreaming, for it was his grandmother.

Sitting up with an open mouth, he burst into tears, reaching out to her.

‘And what did I tell you about who to trust?’ she grumbled at him, narrowing her beady eyes.

‘No one,’ he whispered through his tears.

‘That’s right. Trust no one. Especially not dreamers,’ Helga warned darkly. ‘You can never trust a dreamer.’

Thorgils had questions.

At first, despite the horror of Stig’s murder, he’d thought to merely scoff. Reaching for the young woman, he gently touched her shoulder. ‘But who were these friends, Ineko? Do you know anything about them? How many ships they had? Anything?’

She kept shaking her head, then suddenly she stopped, remembering something. ‘They were called Arnesson,’ she said, coughing now. ‘Their name was Arnesson.’

Standing before the door, holding a poker he’d picked out of the ashes of his yet untouched fire pit, Pye trembled with fear, watching the handle turn.

The key was under his pillow.

He’d made sure the door was locked.

So how...

He heard a click, the door squealed open, and there, standing in a pool of moonlight, stood the dreamer, Ayla.

And just behind her, hidden in darkness, Pye thought he saw Kalina Sardis.

The burning sea-fire followed them, clouds of dirty smoke surging through the woods, though the dragur did not.

Shoulders screaming, back throbbing, Jael felt tremors of relief as she urged Tig on. ‘They’re dead!’ she called to Fyn, riding beside her.

‘We’ve thought that before!’ he called back, looking anything but certain.

‘Well...’ Jael turned and spat, stomach lurching as though she was at sea. Wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, she peered at him, sweat running down her face.

‘Are you alright?’

Ignoring the question, she inhaled a breath. ‘We need to... keep going till dawn. Get out of the woods if we can. Stop then. I’ll turn us west.’

‘But what about Mattie? Where is she?’

Jael felt rage, but seeing the worry in his eyes, she dropped her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know where she is or what happened to her, but she poisoned me.’

Not understanding, Fyn shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t. No! She wouldn’t!’

‘The dreaming tea. Mattie made it. She gave it to me.’

Fyn remembered. ‘And what happened?’

‘I had no dreams about Mutt or Gunnhild,’ Jael said. ‘But when I woke up, I couldn’t move. Not an arm or a leg. I was trapped in my bed. I heard what was happening, I knew we were under attack, but there was nothing I could do. I was bound in some sort of spell.’

Fyn understood now why there’d been no sign of her.

‘I could smell the dragur. So could Tig. I could hear him through the tent, but I couldn’t do anything.’

‘But how did you escape?’ Fyn wanted to know. He didn’t understand what had happened, though it had to be a mistake.

Nothing to do with Mattie.

‘A symbol,’ Jael said, revealing nothing further; Gunnhild had raised the dragur again, and she feared the witch was listening. ‘I found a symbol and freed myself.’

‘And Otter? What happened to Otter?’

‘I threw him into a wagon. And my grandmother’s book, Col too, but there was no sign of Mattie.’

‘Col?’ Fyn was surprised, though his mind quickly returned to the dreamer. ‘Mattie wouldn’t have left Otter behind! That cat means everything to her. If she left him behind, it was a message to tell us that she didn’t want to leave. You can see that, can’t you? If she’d wanted to go, she would’ve taken her cat!’

Jael thought he was right, and she frowned.

She’d put a lot of faith in the dreamer, though now she honestly didn’t know whose side Mattie was on.

‘We’re leaving,’ Ayla told Pye, not entering the cottage. ‘You need to come.’

He didn’t understand. She was here to protect Andala. Her home was on Oss, she was loyal to both Jael and Eadmund.

She certainly wasn’t a supporter of Kalina Sardis, who he could most definitely see behind her now, shielded by a hooded cloak.

‘Hurry,’ Kalina hissed impatiently.

Ignoring her, Ayla kept her attention on Pye. ‘You must come with us. To Dessalene. We are going to her, Pye. She wants you to come.’

Lowering the poker, he backed away. ‘But you said...’ Shaking his head, he didn’t understand. Thoughts tangled. He imagined running past the women and heading for Gant in the hall. Or he would find Kolarov or –

‘There is a ship,’ Ayla smiled encouragingly. ‘Waiting for us, so you cannot remain here. Either come with me willingly, or I shall have to bind you.’

Shuddering, Pye dropped the poker. ‘You aren’t Ayla.’

Her eyes became sharper, darker now. ‘I am whoever I need to be,’ she purred. And reaching out, she touched Pye’s arm.

51

Linas sat up, feeling Gully like a warm log beside him, hearing the thunderous cacophony of Kolarov snoring on the other side of the cottage.

Wriggling out of bed, half asleep and alert at the same time, he hurried to him, shaking his shoulder.

‘No, no,’ Kolarov groaned. ‘I’ve already let him out. Surely he doesn’t need to go again?’

Linas didn’t understand, though panic now surged through his body, and remembering the vision of his grandmother sitting at the table, he shook the explorer again. ‘They’re escaping!’ he cried. ‘I know it! They’re escaping now!’

Thorgils remembered their last run-in with the Arnesson family. He hadn’t imagined there were any left in Alekka, so it certainly was news to hear that there were.

‘I’m hungry,’ Ineko sighed before him. ‘Please, I must eat.’

‘You need to wake Rilda,’ Thorgils told Beorn. ‘We’re going to need to feed everyone. Get Milla too. She can help Ineko.’ And keeping his eyes on the pregnant woman, he leaned closer. ‘How did you get away?’

Ineko shuddered. ‘Haral said he would marry me. That he would be the child’s father. Him?’ She was disgusted. ‘I didn’t want to marry Stig. An old man? Though he took care of me. He treated me kindly, but Haral? I couldn’t be his wife. I’ve heard all about how he was with women.’ She was shaking all over now. ‘Stig gave me his coins to look after. He hid them in my chest, on my person. I took them and found a ship and a crew. Before Haral could make me his prisoner, I escaped.’

‘When are they coming? How far along are they? What are their plans?’ Thorgils’ questions kept coming, eyes shifting from Ineko to Beorn, who emerged from behind the green curtain.

Ineko shrugged. ‘I don’t know. In the harbour, there were many ships, but I don’t know. Maybe the crew can help you?’ she suggested, gratefully taking an apple Beorn had found for her.

Thorgils stood with a nod, wanting a word with Beorn before he talked to the men. ‘I wish Ayla was here,’ he muttered. ‘We need a better idea of what’s coming. I’ll talk to this lot, see if they know more, but for now, let’s keep this close. We don’t want to panic anyone.’

Kolarov was panicking and panting as he hurried towards the hall with Linas, an excited Gully and Snapper running beside them down the darkened road.

‘They’ll get away!’ Linas cried, tugging Kolarov’s sleeve.

Glancing at the excited boy, Kolarov felt torn, struggling to understand what was truly happening. ‘I...’

‘I’ll run to the ramparts!’ Linas decided, not wanting to be too late again. ‘I’ll sound the alarm!’

Kolarov thought to discourage him, for he feared waking up the fort for nothing. Though he remembered hearing what had happened with the sea-fire, and the boy had undoubtedly tried to save the king. Nodding, he shooed him away. ‘Look after yourself!’ he warned, and head down, he hurried on, glancing to his left as Linas shot off into the shadows, both dogs bounding after him.

Pye was moving so hesitantly that a furious Kalina turned back for him, and yanking his arm, she dragged him along. ‘I would carry you if you weren’t such a lump,’ she hissed. ‘And if you’re the reason we’re caught? I will not rest until you’re flayed alive!’

Ignoring her, the dreamer hurried around the square towards where she could see that the harbour gates were cracked open. She kept to the shadows, knowing Andala well.

Leaving was her only thought now.

She had organised passage as she’d been instructed. She knew where they were going, but now they just had to get out of the fort before the alarm was raised.

‘The boy,’ hissed a voice in her head. ‘You should have seen to the boy.’

Dismissing it, Ayla turned to snap at Kalina. ‘Keep close,’ she warned, seeing moonlight glinting off braziers. She heard cats fighting in the distance and something else.

Turning to peer into the darkness, Ayla could hear someone running.

Kolarov reached the hall, unable to speak, though pointing at one of the guards, he soon had the man opening a door. Calling out as he entered the hall, he quickly roused a servant, who hurried to find Gant.

Glancing over his shoulder at the closing door, he suddenly regretted letting Linas run off on his own.

Linas had been running around the fort for months now, and he felt confident that he knew every nook and cranny, and every shortcut too. Getting onto the ramparts meant he had a better chance of finding the signal bell. No one would be able to stop him then.

He would be able to hammer it himself.

Oskar Skaran smiled at the dreamer. ‘Right on time,’ he grinned.

‘I’m sorry about all the secrecy, Oskar,’ Ayla said with an embarrassed shrug. ‘Though sometimes a dreamer must keep things close.’ Despite the hour, the taverns were still alight in the distance, men talking in groups on the docks, some gathering near ships.

Smelling his breath, Ayla knew that Oskar had recently been one of them.

The trader glanced over his shoulder at her companions, recognising the little man, though not the woman, whose face was hidden beneath her hood. ‘Crew’s at the oars, so we’ll be away in a flash.’

‘Good,’ Ayla said. ‘It’s most urgent. It’s Edela, you see. She’s in danger, and I must hurry to help her. Though no one can know,’ she added, looking around as the men guarding the gates now pulled them closed behind her.

‘Edela? I’d heard she was missing. Know where she is, do you?’

‘I do,’ Ayla whispered. ‘And we must get to her right away.’

Dragging his feet, pinched by Kalina, Pye didn’t believe her.

There was something in her voice that made him shiver.

It didn’t sound like the dreamer at all.

It wasn’t Gant who came out to speak to Kolarov but Gisila. Wrapping a robe around her nightdress, she peered at him with swollen eyes, smoothing down her hair. ‘What is it?’ she wondered. ‘What has happened?’

Mouth gaping open, Kolarov forgot everything he was supposed to say. ‘Gant? I... it was Gant I... it’s about the dreamer.’

‘Ayla? Why?’

Becoming hesitant, Kolarov looked back at the doors again. ‘Well, it’s Linas, you see. He has some...’ And realising that not many knew the boy was a dreamer, he thought it best to keep it that way. ‘He had a nightmare, and well, he thought he saw the dreamer escaping.’

A confused Gisila laughed, turning as Biddy came bustling out from behind the grey curtain. ‘Escaping?’

‘Who’s escaping?’ Biddy wanted to know, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders.

And then they heard the signal bell.

Seated on his chest, rowing like a man who hadn’t been up all night drinking, Oskar Skaran stared up at Andala’s harbour wall, hearing the ringing bell. ‘What’s that about?’ he called to the dreamer, who was organising her companions in the stern.

‘Trouble from the west! Oren Storgard! We must hurry!’ Ayla urged, quickly focusing his mind again. ‘Andala isn’t where we need to be!’

Oskar felt strange, vibrating with doubts.

The dreamer, her companions, that signal bell...

Though his frown soon cleared as he dropped his eyes to his oar, body sliding back and forth on his chest. It was dark, the air cool, the rhythm as he sliced the oar through the water, hypnotic, and soon every troubling thought left his mind, and the ship sailed away.

Andala’s exhausted army stopped just before dawn.

They needed water and a chance to care for the injured, to assess their losses and to check what or who they’d left behind.

Certainly the dreamer and Rexon Boas, but who else?

Sliding down from Tig with an almighty groan, Jael led him to the stream, leaving him beside Yara. She bent to the stream herself, scooping ice-cold water into her parched mouth, smelling sea-fire smoke in her hair. And sitting back on her haunches, trying to wake herself up, she rubbed her eyes, needing to piece together everything that had happened and what they were going to do now.

Taking Fyn’s hand, she let him pull her to her feet. He looked upset, she thought. Worried.

She didn’t blame him.

What had happened to Mattie was disturbing, both for the dreamer and for what it meant for them. Turning to the wagons, she saw a wounded Petra cradling Otter.

‘He’s upset,’ the girl said as one of the servants washed her leg wound.

‘I don’t blame him. And you?’

Petra shrugged. ‘I’m happy to be away from those creatures, my lady.’

Jael nodded, feeling much the same. She took the cat from the girl, heading into the trees. ‘Fyn!’ she called. ‘Keep an eye on things! Make sure everyone drinks! I’ll be right back!’ She saw him nod as she turned away. ‘Come on then,’ she murmured to the cat. ‘You need to tell me what you know. I want to see where Mattie went.’

Pushing into the forest, seeking privacy, she found a fallen tree, plonking Otter down on it. The cat had survived the titan wave and the journeys to S’ala Nis. He wasn’t unused to danger, though she thought that Petra was right – he did look troubled.

Sitting down, she brought him onto her lap.

She’d never owned a cat, though she liked animals of all kinds.

People, not so much.

Though she did like Mattie.

Closing her eyes, she stroked the cat, remembering Furia’s angry voice urging her out of that trance. She was a dreamer, and as a dreamer, she needed to understand what had happened.

Thorgils saw the signal fires as soon as he emerged from the guard tower, met by a gust of wind that sought to tear his cloak off him. He grabbed the wall, head fixed east, curls blowing across his eyes.

‘That’s a bad sign,’ Beorn muttered behind him, seeing flashes of light in the distance as the warning towers came to life along Oss’ harbour coastline.

Thorgils frowned, seeing only a blur of shadows. He hadn’t had much sleep, his eyes were aching, and now he could barely see. Though as the sun rose like fire in the distance, he heard the helmsman’s sharp intake of breath. Turning to him with questions in his eyes, he saw that Beorn’s mouth had dropped open.

‘Do you see them?’ he breathed.

A squinting Thorgils turned back, eyes sharpening now. ‘Ships,’ he said, a ripple of terror racing up his back.

‘At least twenty,’ Beorn thought, certain now that Ineko had been telling the truth. ‘Must be those fucking Arnessons.’

Jael hugged a quiet Otter to her chest, closing her eyes.

She felt exhausted, though that tiredness was a gift, quickly lulling her into a trancelike state.

She saw herself in the tent, Mattie sleeping opposite her.

Otter jumped off the dreamer’s bed, slipping out of the tent. Not long after that, Mattie sat upright, and barely pausing to open her eyes, she stood, turning to the tent flap.

She didn’t look around. She didn’t stop for her boots or Edela’s book.

And soon she was gone.

Jael followed, hurrying out of the tent after her.

She could feel Otter’s vibrations against her chest as she followed the dreamer, who slipped between the tents, leaving the camp behind and plunging deeper into the forest.

She walked for some time until stopping abruptly, she turned around, releasing Otter and urging him away.

Jael finally saw her face, wrenched in pain. Tears shone in terrified eyes, trailing down her cheeks as she watched her cat bounding away. Then, turning around like a reluctant child dragging her feet, she started walking again until she reached a clearing.

Jael saw the glow of a fire, she smelled smoke, and she caught a glimpse of an old woman in a red cloak.

Mattie stopped again, hesitating, turning back.

And then a voice.

‘Not that way, girl. That is not your path any longer. Here. You will come here to me...’

Jael peered into the trees.

She recognised the cottage in the distance as Gunnhild’s, and with a shiver, she realised that the woman talking to Mattie was the dreamer.

The dreamer who had somehow lured Mattie to her.

Forced her to come.

She watched as Gunnhild led Mattie away, and thinking to follow, needing to understand more, she moved forward, only to see another woman.

This one stepped towards her onto the path, removing her hood to reveal ash-blonde hair and a mature, angular face.

Everything about her was perfectly still, and Jael sensed that not even her heart was beating. She was a woman in control, or perhaps not a woman at all...

‘We meet at last,’ she murmured in a deep, commanding voice. ‘I am Thera.’ She came forward now, hands clasped before her magnificent blue cloak, swirling with familiar wave-like patterns. ‘You are like your goddess in temperament,’ she said, revealing the hint of a sneer, a curl to her lip. ‘A ruthless killer. Though, just like that bitch Furia, you are not as in control as you think. For you have come all this way for what? A noble quest to reclaim your kingdom? A kingdom you broke your own heart to save?’ Thera laughed, blue eyes shimmering like ice. ‘How sad that was to watch. So many tears...’

A cold sensation crept up Jael’s legs, reaching her back, her neck and then her head. She trembled, realising that it wasn’t cold but fear.

She knew this woman.

The voice on the ship. The voice that had come to her warning of death.

Thera.

‘I knew that when I took your brother’s life, I would take yours too,’ Thera breathed. ‘Stab one heart, break another...’

Staring at her, Jael was frozen to the spot, unable to even lift an arm, certain she could not stop this woman.

This creature.

‘Livahti. Is that the word you are searching for? A word greater than anything your human mind can comprehend. We are not dreamers, not gods, though we are immortal, and together, more powerful than all of you combined. Furia knows this. It is why she has your grandmother in Kadak, doing her bidding.’ She saw Jael’s surprise, and her smile grew. ‘The dragur were a fun game, weren’t they? A way to draw Gunnhild out of her puddle of self-pity. A way to lure you here. For here is where I wanted you, Jael, so you could bring me Mattie. And for that, I thank you.’

Lifting her hood back over her head, shielding her face, Thera turned away.

Though stopping abruptly, she glanced back at Jael. ‘It’s the decisions, isn’t it? The hardest part of being a queen? So many decisions. The lives they touch, for better or worse.’ Her smile spread. ‘And the decision to take Ayla from Oss has to be one of your most reckless, for who is there to guard your husband now? And your friends? All that you hold so dear? What a shame you’ve made so many enemies in your life. A terrible shame you left those you love to tidy up your mess.’ Laughing, she turned back around. ‘Good luck, Jael. We will meet again, if you survive what is coming. You, me, and Furia...’

The clearing was plunged into darkness, and Jael trembled as she returned to the forest, suddenly aware that she was sitting with a wriggling Otter pressed to her chest, Fyn shaking her shoulder.

His mouth was moving, his frown was deepening, though he sounded underwater.

Jumping up suddenly, Otter bounding off her knees, Jael grabbed his arm, almost pulling it off as everything became clear. ‘Oss is under attack... Oss is –’ Closing her eyes, heart in her mouth, she saw a fleet approaching the island, crews of armed men aboard ships flying a familiar banner.

What a shame you’ve made so many enemies in your life. A terrible shame you left those you love to tidy up your mess.

She could hear Fyn breathing before her, worried thoughts churning.

Thorgils and Beorn were on the wall, ringing the signal bell.

But where was Eadmund?

Where was Eadmund?

Not there came her answer, and she remembered the moot.

They held it every year around this time.

He was gone.

He had taken ships and men, leaving Oss in the hands of a garrison.

‘We have to go,’ she breathed, opening her eyes.

She thought of Andala, of Brekka. Her family. Her people.

Of all there was to do in the kingdom – the kingdom she had sworn to protect.

‘Go where?’ Fyn asked, not understanding.

She stared at him, her heart beating like battle drums in her ears.

Her heart, which she had left behind on a small island that needed her now more than ever.

And with that, her decision was made.

‘To Oss. We’ll head for the coast. For Rosby. We’ll...’ Chest tightening, she tried to catch her breath. ‘There’ll be ships. We’ll... it’s the Arnessons,’ she explained, seeing his confusion. ‘Those fucking Arnessons have a fleet, and they’re on their way to Oss!’

THE END

EPILOGUE

The two kings met inside a tent.

The tent belonged to King Oren Storgard, who had recovered from his humiliating injuries in Andala.

Though his face would never be the same again.

Hitting a tree, knocked unconscious, he had broken his nose and poked a hole in his cheek. A snapped-off branch had remained lodged in his face until he’d been carried to a healer. Not a healer of any talent, unfortunately, for the woman hadn’t cut out every splinter, and the wound had festered.

He’d nearly died, only just being saved by his own healer in Ollsvik.

His face had finally healed to whatever degree it would, leaving behind an angry wound like a wax seal covering his right cheek, the skin around it pulling down and twisting so that his right eye now appeared lower than his left.

King Herold Valens worked hard not to stare, eyes darting to the king’s wife – a plain woman with a nervous manner. More of a girl, he thought, seeing her trembling beside her confident husband. ‘It was a surprise,’ he admitted. ‘To receive your missive. After what happened in Brekka, I was led to believe that you may have died.’

Oren laughed. ‘I ensured many rumours were spread upon my return to Ollsvik. It made sense to keep my enemies guessing while I recovered.’

Herold nodded, raising his goblet to his lips, inhaling the wine, which was pleasant though lacking body. ‘And now you seek to conquer my kingdom? Is that it?’ he chuckled. ‘Am I to be your next victim, lord king?’ He stared at the disfigured King of Iskavall now with eyes of stone.

Oren shook his head, and for the first time, he acknowledged his wife, sitting silently beside him. Servants waited in the corners of the tent, guards manning the entrance, though Oren was only aware of himself, Lina, and their important guest. ‘I come not to threaten you, my lord,’ he purred, ‘but to warn of danger. I am new to my throne and without allies in this land. After the unfortunate death of Raymon Vandaal, my wife learned that his brother intended to blame me. To use the lie of murder as a deception. A premise upon which to claim Iskavall. To take my throne. Axl Furyck thought me inexperienced and therefore naive, so I attacked first.’

Herold frowned, for that wasn’t the story he’d heard. Now he nodded, intrigued as to what this had to do with him. ‘A bold move. And against Brekka? She has many allies, and as you say, you have none. To think that such an action would have succeeded...’

Oren offered a frown, sitting up straighter now. ‘My people need protection from the Furycks. We both know their long history of taking what isn’t theirs.’

‘So you seek my help?’ Herold growled, seeing where this was leading. ‘To draw me into your fight? Though I have no bone to pick with the Furycks and any fight with them will surely bring trouble to my own door.’ He turned, placing his goblet on a side table and eyeing the open entrance, he thought to return to his ship. ‘I fear you have wasted your time.’ And now he made to stand.

‘My queen, Lina,’ Oren said, motioning to his right. ‘She is a dreamer.’

Herold remained sitting, jaw clenching with impatience. ‘As I am aware.’

‘More valuable than an army. To us both.’

‘How so?’

‘Queen Amma died in your castle,’ Oren reminded the King of Helsabor. ‘A queen murdered under your nose.’

Herold’s shoulders tightened. ‘Which was nothing to do with me!’ he snapped, his big face flushing pink, eyes jumping with anger. ‘You seek to accuse me of such scheming?’

‘I come to warn you that Jael Furyck certainly intends to. My wife has seen it. Between them, Jael Furyck and Karsten Dragos intend to divide Osterland. He will rule the South and she, the North. And as for us, you and I?’

Herold Valens shook his head. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘They met in Saala. Recently, my lord. Tell him, Lina.’

‘I have no need to hear such nonsense!’ Herold snapped, standing with a thump, head nearly striking the flaming bowl dangling from the tent frame. ‘Karsten is my son-in-law! This girl, your wife –’ Cutting himself off, he half feared the young queen might cry. ‘Hest and Helsabor are allies! Sealed with a marriage. You do not know of which you speak!’

Oren hurried to his feet, yanking Lina onto her own. ‘You have a generous heart, my lord, though I’m sure you remember Haaron Dragos? The man who sought to claim every kingdom in Osterland from the moment he took Hest’s throne? And do you not think it possible that the son is like the father? It is true, what I’ve said. What Lina has seen. It was his plan all along. Karsten’s. Don’t you see? You may have married your daughter to the King of Hest, though he is loyal to Jael Furyck above all others. He owes the woman his life, and together, they will take Helsabor.’

Herold blinked, turning to the young dreamer, more thoughtful now.

He remembered how desperate Bayla Dragos had been for the marriage.

The alliance.

She had courted him. Hounded him until he saw things her way.

Though surely it was a stretch to imply something nefarious?

Sitting back down, chair creaking beneath his enormous frame, he reached for his goblet. Rushing forward, a servant hurried to fill it. ‘Tell me,’ he said to Lina Storgard, taking a big gulp. ‘Tell me everything you’ve seen.’

KINGS OF FATE

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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. King 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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Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2024

All artwork © A.E. Rayne 2024

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 imagery from Adobe Stock and 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.

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