Land of Fury, page 1
Land of Fury
A Ruined Lands Novel
By Lindsey Pogue
Copyright © 2023 Roar Press LLC
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.
This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.
Edited by Lauren McNerney
Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Designs
CONTENTS
Bonus Content
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
Once upon a time…
Part I
1. Zander
2. Zander
3. Zander
4. Zander
5. Thora
6. Thora
Part II
7. Thora
8. Thora
9. Thora
10. Zander
11. Thora
12. Thora
13. Thora
14. Thora
15. Zander
16. Thora
17. Thora
18. Zander
Part III
19. Thora
20. Thora
21. Thora
22. Zander
23. Thora
24. Zander
25. Thora
26. Thora
27. Thora
28. Thora
29. Zander
30. Thora
31. Thora
32. Zander
33. Thora
34. Thora
35. Thora
36. Zander
37. Thora
38. Zander
39. Zander
40. Thora
Part IV
41. Thora
42. Thora
43. Thora
44. Thora
45. Thora
46. Thora
47. Zander
48. Thora
49. Thora
Epilogue
Other Books by Lindsey
About Lindsey Pogue
BONUS CONTENT
Be sure to snag your bonus content
at the end of the story!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sabrina, remember that funny story about Zander? Thank you for reeling me in when I started to spiral (more than once).
And a very special thank you to my Patreon supporters for your contribution to this project. Having you along for my author journey means more than you know.
Amy Kinney
Deborah J Osterhout
Martha Brazier
Lee Alexander
Katie McGrath
Shelby sanders
Charlene
K Webster
Conrad
Helen Mays
Fred
Tamara Pankonin
Laurie Keyser
Amanda Eide
Stephanie Edwards
Laura Price
Katelyn Bobbitt
Nicole Hartney
Sabrina Hatfield
Melinda Leininger
Julie Traina
Mindi Travis
Ashley Berryman
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dearest Readers,
I’m back with a new epic love story and adventure! Land of Fury has been such a wild ride. From the moment I started writing City of Ruin, my gothic Beauty and the Beast retelling, I knew the endgame would lead us from New London, overseas to Norseland to meet Princess Thora, the notorious Queen Sigrid, and her infamous, scythe-wielding huntsman. What I didn’t anticipate was how epic this story would become—the twists and turns, the characters’ backstories, and the threads woven in from books one and two.
While you can read this story as a stand-alone, I don’t recommend it. Thora and Zander’s journey is full of surprises, and they are so much richer if you’ve read Greyson and Selene’s story, as well as Killian and Brynn’s. So please, if this is your first Ruined Lands novel, start with City of Ruin or Sea of Storms. Read them first, dear reader, and I promise you will not be disappointed.
While I only had the three books in mind for my Ruined Lands installments, this world is ripe for more swoon-worthy romances and weather-ravaged adventures, and I hope you’ll join me for the ride, wherever it takes us. I can’t say when, but there is more to come in this world, so stay tuned!
Until then, happy reading adventures,
Linds
ONCE UPON A TIME…
In a land covered in everlasting winter, a curious little princess named Thora roamed the halls of Winterwood Keep, with no one but her servants to speak to. Meanwhile, her mother, Queen Sigrid XII, ruler of Norseland, rode into battles and squashed blood feuds between pagans and Christians, ensuring her legacy for when her eldest daughter, Siggy, one day took the throne.
Lonely and bored to tears, Thora busied herself with her studies, yearning to understand all she could about her mother’s adventures and the crown she fought so tirelessly to protect.
Until one day, a raid ordered by the queen stained the snow lands red with blood, and set a ripple of great consequence into motion throughout the kingdom. It was a day that would alter Thora’s life for years to come, and change the fate of Norseland forever.
PART ONE
1
ZANDER
My mind is thick with fever as my mother forces me to rest. “I am eleven,” I tell her. “I’m already a man—I do not need rest.” I’m certain it’s true, and yet, I slip into a restless slumber.
I dream of our meager farmhouse filled with the scent of cornmeal and venison stew.
I dream of my family and hear the sound of my father’s trowel, creaking as he fits a new handle for repairs. I hear my sisters’ peals of laughter, drifting in from outside as they feed the animals.
When I wake again, it’s to bloodcurdling screams, men with swords outside the window, and flaming arrows arching through the sky. I wake to fire and pain and the horrific sounds of death as I frantically try to escape the farmhouse.
I’m shouting for my family. Crying out for anyone who will hear me as the flames lick up the walls and the smoke burns my eyes and throat. But the door to safety won’t open, and as breaking boards crack, the roof falls around me, and everything goes black.
The darkness is fleeting, and searing pain lances through me, stirring every inch of my body awake again. The scent of woodsmoke and burning flesh fills my nose, and when I open my eyes again, I see her peering down at me from atop her horse—a vision of red against the snow so white, she looks like a goddess of fire. Her armor glints against muted daylight. A Valkyrie?
“You are safe with me, child,” she says.
A cart creaks as the world passes slowly by. I’m moving, I realize, and my savior’s big, brown steed keeps pace beside me, cloaked in armor of his own. There is a look in the woman’s eyes—a torment I don’t understand. Her deep red hair falls from its plaited crown into her face, and blood speckles her cheeks.
“What—”
“Be still, child. You must rest,” she commands.
“Who—” I lick my lips, burned to the touch, and my throat is so raw, it hurts to breathe. “Who are you?” I rasp.
“Quiet now.”
The longer I look at her pensive stare, the more I understand. Even if I’ve never seen the queen, I know her sigil—the elk antlers set upon the cross. She is the leader of armies, feared throughout the land, yet she looks down on me with tenderness.
“I have saved you, child,” she says tersely. “You are mine now, and under my care. You will return with me to Winterwood Keep, to heal. Now, I command that you rest.”
My aching, thrumming heartbeat nearly beats from my chest. Hers? I don’t know what it means. And I don’t know why I am with her, only that I hear my family’s screams in distorted memories and the putrid scent of death is singed in my senses.
Tears blur my eyes as reality ekes its way in, nudging at the numbness and confusion until all I hear are my earsplitting sobs. Once again, as the pain and confusion become all too much, the world fades away.
Days go by before I wake. I can still smell the smoke every time I close my eyes, and I can still feel the bludgeoning hit that sent me to my knees before my world spiraled to black.
At first, I cry because of the pain in the right side of my body—in my arm, my side, and my leg. Then I cry with longing and sorrow as my pleas to the gods go unanswered. My family is dead. My home is no more. The queen has taken me, and the life I had will never be again.
“I have saved you . . . You are mine now.” Queen Sigrid’s words continue to loop through my mind, and still, I cannot decipher them. I am hers? Her slave? A pet for her to play with? It’s hard to think as physicians prod my tender flesh.
Servants tend to me night and day, changing my bandages and cleaning my wounds. And the queen silently watches from the doorway. There’s a sadness in her eyes I don’t understand. She doesn’t address me, only speaking when she commands something from her servants.
More days pass before I am allowed to leave my bed and hobble around the room, thick with the sharp aroma of herbs. Though it’s a large room, it has no embellishments, and still, it’s more lavish than any room I’ve ever been in. Its view of the snowy gardens brings me what little peace I have in this strange place, and the fire in the stone hearth fills it with warmth.
Mary, a middle-aged
“Will you not eat, young sir?” she says, lifting the fork of cold meat to my mouth.
I turn away from her. I don’t know if my stomach hurts from hunger or sadness, but I have no appetite. I cannot settle or relax like the queen commands, because even with so many people bustling in and out of my room, I have never felt more alone.
“Please,” Mary says again, and this time it sounds like a plea. “You must eat. The queen demands it.” There is fear in the woman’s brown eyes, and though I fear living this unrecognizable life more than I fear the queen, I do not wish for Mary to feel her wrath either.
I take a bite of ham, chewing slowly as I lay my head back down. The skin and tendons of my body ache and pull with the slightest movement. What good is being alive if my body is broken? If I cannot hunt or fish, and can barely walk? Squeezing my eyes shut, I wish death would reunite me with the rest of my family.
As Mary lifts another piece of ham to my lips, I want to shout with anger and curse the gods. I move my mouth away from the meat, cringing at the cutting pain. Tears burn the backs of my eyes as my throat swells shut, despite my urge to scream.
Instead, I exhale and swallow it all away, refusing to let the tears come. They will not save my family, because my family is already dead.
Because I could not save them.
Because I was sick and weak.
“Will he be all right?” A curious little voice squeaks from across the room, one I have not heard before. Lifting my head, I find an impish girl with huge green eyes and unruly red curls hugging the doorway.
“Ah, princess,” Mary hisses, spinning around to the little girl. “You should not be here. Your mother has forbidden it.”
Princess?
The little girl frowns, sticking out her bottom lip with an angry pout. “But I just wanted to see if he is all right.”
“He will be fine,” Mary chides, wiping her hands on her apron as she hurries to the little girl.
“Will I?” I ask Mary, skeptical.
Mary glares back at me. “You know you will, young master. You are clearly too stubborn to die. Just as you are too stubborn to eat, when I know you are hungry.”
“You shouldn’t call me that,” I tell her. Sighing, I rest my head again, staring at the rafters in the ceiling.
I feel Mary’s impatient gaze on me. “Call you what? Young master?”
“I am not your master. I am no one.”
“The queen says differently,” Mary counters. “You are her pet now. She will see that you heal.”
I lift onto my good elbow, wincing as my body is riddled with pain. “I am no one’s pet,” I seethe.
Mary stops manhandling the princess back toward the door and looks at me. But it is the princess who speaks. “You are her pet,” she rebukes, tearing her arm from the servant’s hold. “If my mother says so, you have no choice.” Though I hate to admit it, I like the fire in the princess’s eyes. She reminds me of my little sister, and my heart aches as reality sets in again.
“Leave me alone,” I tell them both, lying down again.
“You should not be alone,” the princess says with indignation, and her dress rustles as she runs over.
“The young master is not alone,” Mary grumbles. “Now come—”
The princess climbs onto my bed, jostling my body before Mary can get to her.
I growl in pain.
“Princess,” Mary hisses again.
My flesh seems to move two ways at once, and I grimace.
“Apologies,” the princess whispers meekly. “I just wanted to give you this.”
Exhaling the lingering pain, I open my eyes to find a misshapen piece of obsidian in her palm. It’s the size of my little finger. “Mountain glass,” she explains. “Gorm told me that mountain stones help you feel at peace.” She shrugs, handing it to me. “I found it when I was playing in the graveyard.”
I look at her from the corner of my eye. “You were playing in the graveyard?”
She nods.
“Is that not . . . peculiar for a princess?”
Her big green eyes dim. “There is nothing else to do,” she says, taking offense. “You do not have to keep it.” The princess grabs for the stone in my hand.
“Do not be hasty,” I tell her, closing my fist around it. “I am still looking at it.” Holding the black mirror glass up to the light, I watch it shimmer. “I rarely see onyx glass,” I admit. “There is little of it where I am from.” My heart aches as I glare at it.
“Do you like horses?” the princess chirps, her dejection forgotten. She folds her legs in front of her as if she plans to stay a while. “I always miss riding when I am sick. And when you are better, you can come ride Lightning. Gorm brought him for me after his last battle. He said every princess needs a pretty horse.” When I say nothing, too busy staring at the stone, the princess twitters on. “So, you want to keep it, then?” she asks. She looks hopeful, and I’m not sure why, but my eyes instantly cloud with tears.
“For a little while,” I say, finally meeting her gaze. The princess can’t be more than six or seven—just five years younger than me—and she brought me a gift. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“Do you want to be friends?” she replies gleefully. “You are alone, and I am alone. But we don’t have to be.”
I frown and look at Mary. “Are there not two Storrada princesses?”
The servant nods, her fists on her hips, peering down at my visitor with waning patience.
“Siggy does not count,” the princess grumbles, and she leans back against the wall. “She is always with Mother. I never see her. Everything is so boring.”
Through her grumbles, though, I see true loneliness in the little girl’s eyes, and hear it in her reedy voice. I can imagine it is difficult for a child in a place like this, and yet, she is the princess, living in a castle with all she could possibly desire, save for a companion. I cannot empathize with her. I refuse to.
“So,” she says timidly, “perhaps we can be friends.”
I find that her presence is strangely comforting despite myself, and when I look at the princess from the corner of my eye, her expression earnest and beseeching, it makes me frown. “How is it I am the one lying here, burned to a crisp, and it is you—the princess who has everything in the world—I feel sorry for?”
She shrugs, picking at her fingers. “But . . . does that mean you will be my friend?”
“Perhaps,” I tell her, because she’s amusing if nothing else.
Her entire face lights with glee. “Really? I have never had a friend before. Lightning doesn’t count.”
“Your horse? No, I suppose he does not.”
The princess scans my body closely, her excitement contorting to sympathy and confusion. For some reason, her inspecting my wrapped body doesn’t bother me the way it does when everyone else is scrutinizing me.
“Did my mother do that to you?” she whispers, and her cheeks pinken as she meets my gaze.
“No, your mother—” The words die on my lips as I recall the blood on the queen’s armor and the inferno her men pulled me from. No one has been allowed to talk to me about what happened, and only now do I realize why. “Yes,” I grit out. “Your mother did this to me.” My body protests, but the tension lacing through every part of me is outside of my control. Fury and confusion wage a war in my head that leaves my temples pounding. Silently, I curse the queen. I don’t want to be here, alive and in pain. And I wish the fire had taken me—that blackness would swallow me whole once and for all.
