Land of Fury, page 12
“I will get away from this place,” I tell myself when her guard is far from earshot. I will bide my time until nightfall, when the moon is full and filling the sky, and then I will leave Winterwood and never look back. Even if I die trying to get to Talon Bay, it will be a fate far kinder than what is in store for me. Of that, I know in my heart and soul is true.
Dressed in an old servant’s cloak, and with my pockets weighted with jewels and silver pieces, Karra and I hurry through the helps’ quarters of the keep. We carry baskets, though they are not filled with soiled linens or clothes to be mended, but with the barest necessities for our journey—furs for the cold, waterskins, and food provisions to last a few days until we can secure more.
The night is bitter and whispers the promise of snow. A blizzard could kill us with no shelter, and this time of year, a storm could last for days. Glancing up at the giant moon set in the crisp, clear sky, I beg it stays that way, until we can get far enough away from here, at least.
Torch lights flicker at the entrance of the chapel, and the stained glass glistens from the candles lit within as we hurry past, out around headstones and through the graveyard toward the back gate.
Life outside the castle is quiet as the oppressive cold descends, and I take comfort because no one is looking for me. Yet.
“Our horses are waiting outside the north gate,” Karra assures me as muddied snow sloshes beneath our footsteps.
“The guards—”
“I have seen to them,” she rasps. Karra keeps a steady pace, only glancing behind us the farther we move from the castle, as if she can’t believe we’re actually doing this. Or perhaps that we haven’t been caught. With the moon so bright, anyone who thinks to look out here might see us hurrying through the shadows of the forest.
The woods thicken as we draw closer to the turret and drawbridge, leading to the wild woods. My heart is racing so fast, I think it might be as loud as our footsteps. And the wind is so chilling, it’s as if it is warning me of what is to come. But I don’t look back again. Freedom feels far too close to risk it.
When I see the sleeping guard at his post, I almost pause, certain the odds he would nap on duty are less than slim. I only spare Karra a quick glance as we scurry wordlessly past and over the narrow bridge into the forest.
All of my questions are forgotten when Lightning and two other horses stand tied to an evergreen. A bay that blends into the shadows is packed with saddlebags and what looks like bedrolls, and a tan-and-white paint horse I’ve seen the hunters riding drops his head lazily beside him. I’m too relieved to see the three of them ready and waiting to question how easy this is turning out to be. All that matters now is getting as far away from the castle as possible, before they know I am gone.
18
ZANDER
Once I confirm Harald is licking his wounds in the tavern with his men, not dispatching a rider south to tell all of Norseland the queen is ailing, I head for the dining hall to request an audience with the queen—intending full well to prepare for what I’m certain Harald is planning next.
When the queen is not in the dining hall, nor in her map room, I go to her study. Finding the door closed and York standing guard outside, I knock once, hearing her stir within.
“Your Majesty,” I say, opening the door to see myself inside. I eye her up and down, wondering if she’s feeling poorly and unable to eat. “You are not at dinner?”
She looks up from her writing table. I notice the tincture bottle on its side, already empty. Her exhaustion has been surmounting in the past weeks. Soon, there will be no hiding her sickness from anyone. Not any longer.
“Thora is not well,” the queen confesses. “Harald is in the village or some such thing, and I am not hungry.” But I can tell something weighs on her more than usual. “I left Sigrid to dine alone.”
I know why Thora keeps to her room, but it appears the queen does not, because she would not speak of Harald with such flippancy. When I say nothing, she looks up from her correspondence again. No doubt letters from her spies throughout the country. Or perhaps they are from Abbess Blanca, sending word from the church with news about Harald’s ties with the warlords in the south. That’s one thing about corruption—it’s easy to find others with similar aspirations of power, and the abbess is in no short supply of ambition.
“You look distraught,” the queen says, removing her spectacles from her nose. “That is twice now in a matter of days.”
The fire in the hearth is sweltering, but tonight the queen’s furs are thick around her shoulders, as if she doesn’t notice.
“Harald has gone too far,” I tell her, stepping up to her desk. I don’t quell my uneasiness or put on an apathetic face. I’m too angry that he would be so bold. Too enraged about what would have happened had I not been there. And all of it under the queen’s nose.
“It seems I cannot keep any of you happy,” she says flatly. “What has the godless heathen done this time?”
“Your daughter keeps to her room to hide from him, yes, but because he took liberties with her today. Had I not found them in the garden, Thora would be far more than unwell tonight.”
I can see the fire in the queen’s eyes, yet her face gives little away.
“It was not consensual in the slightest.” I feel the need to tell her, wondering if she knows her daughter so little that she would question it.
The queen swallows thickly and stands with straight shoulders, though her legs wobble a little. When she’s steady, she walks over to the hearth, gripping the back of the divan for leverage. “That is why she came to me this afternoon.” The queen peers into the fire, sounding stricken. “She did not tell me that part.”
“What are your orders?” I prompt.
Queen Sigrid peers over her shoulder at me, and her brow twitches. “My orders?”
I dip my chin, fury sparking as I realize she means to do nothing. “He has insulted your daughter and you by taking such liberties, acting as if she is nothing but a commoner—a whore.” I say it too forcefully, unable to keep my tone in check, but we have no time for decorum now. I know the queen is callous when she needs to be, but she is not completely cold-blooded—even if she pretends to be toward everyone else. Everything she’s done for me since bringing me to Winterwood has shown that the ice queen has a beating heart beneath her layers of fear and indifference.
“Surely you cannot turn your cheek to rape—”
The queen growls with reproach. “She is fine. You said so yourself.” But I see her anger for what it is. Her shame. I don’t know why it is so difficult for the queen to show she cares, but even now, she refuses to. “Thora is to be Harald’s wife—I will not always be there to protect her. Nor will you. She must learn—”
“Your Majesty,” I bite out.
“Zander!” she shouts back, slamming her fist against the mantle. “Do you not see? She will leave with him. She must be his. If I get involved, if I allow myself to be anything other than the queen, it will fall apart. Every single thing I have spent my entire life working for.” She shakes her head and walks over to me. “I will not be weak now, not when I need to exude strength the most. You know I can afford no doubt—” Her words falter as I glare at her.
“Doing nothing does not make you look strong, Your Majesty. Inaction makes you look weak.”
She slaps her hot palm across my face. “You forget yourself, huntsman,” she growls at me.
My eyes flash wide. The slap stings, but more than that, it surprises me. She has never struck me, never lost her composure.
Instantly, the queen’s eyes shadow with regret. The shadows are chased away as she straightens her shoulders again, her armor hardening back into place. She looks at me with maddening indifference.
“Harald knows,” I tell her, uncertain if it is wrath or concern for her youngest daughter that clips my voice.
The queen’s eyes narrow. “He knows?”
I nod.
“And how would he know such a thing?”
“He claims it is the scent of your herbs. Or perhaps he has heard something, but either way, he does know. I saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice, which means Thora is not a strategic bargaining piece anymore. She is a game to him. He knows there is nothing you won’t do, short of murder, to stop him and secure your alliance with the southerners.”
I finally see fear in the queen’s eyes as that truth sets in. She strides to the door, hands clasped in front of her, and flings it open. “Guard!”
There’s a rustle. “Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Bring Thora to me—immediately,” she commands.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
She shuts the door and turns slowly around to face me.
“Your Majesty,” I hedge, my voice careful. “Harald thinks you need him so badly, but you do not.” I step closer to her. “I will see it is done,” I promise. “I only need you to give me the word.”
Despite the queen’s fortitude in most things, she wavers in this, and it’s all I can do not to shake sense into her.
“He came here to confirm his suspicions, and he has,” I warn. “Now he is biding his time until he decides what he will do next. Cut off the serpent’s head so he cannot strike.”
Dread gleams in the queen’s eyes as her years of planning unravel in a single realization.
The south produces the most goods, is the most populated, and therefore holds the most power. Losing her authority there would set a civil war in motion that she has no energy for. Her greatest fear is going down in history as the queen who lost the legacy of the Storrada women. The fierce queens who survived the Great Turning and the scheming men who tried to overthrow them but failed at every turn. But this queen has always been afraid because she has always been weak, ailing just like her mother, ruthless as she was. The queen knows it. I know it. And her world is finally crumbling around her.
Comprehension darkens her green eyes.
“If I kill him,” I start again, quietly this time, “I take control of the south, and there will be no one there to fear.”
Her expression narrows. “You would take control?”
“As your proxy, yes. You have made me your sword, and if not for this, then for what purpose?”
Her eyes shift over me with suspicion, as if she thinks I am scheming. It’s probably the first time in fourteen years the queen has looked at me as if she doesn’t trust me. Or perhaps that I’m incapable of something.
“Thora, then,” I tell her. “Because if it is not Thora, then your option is Abbess Blanca, and I know you do not trust her to act in your name. Neither do I.”
“How easily these words fall from your lips,” the queen muses, and she walks to her decanter and pours herself a chalice of wine. “As if you have been thinking about this for quite some time.” Her eyes shift to me, skeptical.
“You think I could watch you for over a decade and not have thought of every scenario possible?” I counter.
She doesn’t believe me, at least, not entirely, and the paranoia the queen has always wrestled with needles its way into her eyes. For the first time, I can’t guess what the queen will say or do. But after today, I am running out of patience.
“Whatever you decide to do, Your Majesty, you better do it before Northhelm finds out the truth, turns against you, and the kingdom falls into chaos.” I look her squarely in the eyes. “And I fear you have very little time.”
The queen flinches, but before she can chastise my boldness, knuckles rap on the door.
“Enter!” she barks.
Slowly, the door opens, but it isn’t the princess standing there. It’s York.
“Well?” the queen clips out.
“Princess Thora was not in her chambers.”
The queen sighs as if she’s not surprised Thora is off wandering around. “Did you check the library? Or the stables?”
“Not the stables, Your Majesty.”
“Then go!” she shouts. “Find her!”
Poor York dips his chin, his eyes flicking anxiously at me. It makes me wonder if there is something he isn’t saying.
The queen seems to realize what I do, and slowly, she looks over her shoulder at me. “Harald?” she rasps. “Do you think he’s—”
I shake my head. “My men have been following him. Wherever he is, they will be there too.”
The queen glances at the door again and her shoulders finally slump a little, as if she can’t bear the weight of it all much longer. “Thora came to me,” the queen murmurs, and suddenly, her head snaps to me. “Surely, she would not run away,” she says, but I hear the alarm in her voice.
“The thought crossed my mind,” I confess.
The queen’s glassy eyes flare with anger and her jaw clenches. “Do you know something I do not?” she asks so calmly and so coldly, it makes me stiffen. Her gaze is unwavering as she slowly draws closer, and I wonder what she thinks she sees.
“I only just returned to the castle, and know as much as you,” I remind her. “But I saw the state she was in today. There is no way she has not at least considered it.”
“She would not leave the safety of the castle—”
I can’t help the incredulous curve of my lips. “There is no safety for her here,” I remind the queen.
Her harsh expression melts away as realization drains the color from her face. I don’t know if she is plagued with worry for her daughter, or for her reign, but her nostrils flare as she looks at me. “Find her maid, Zander,” the queen whispers. “Find my daughter. She cannot leave this castle. She cannot leave Winterwood.”
I don’t acknowledge her commands, only head for the door, determined to find the princess.
“I don’t care if you have to break her legs,” the queen snarls. “Bring her back!”
From the corner of my eye, I see the queen brace herself on the desk to keep from falling. But I don’t rush to help her. Instead, I stalk from the room.
It’s only as I stride down the hall that I find a slightly swaying Harald, and a gleam of evil lights his eyes.
Striding past him, I see Reider and Fiske marching down the hall in my direction. Pressing my fingers to my lips, I nod behind me to Harald. “Keep your eyes on him,” I whisper. “I must find the princess.”
Reider grabs my arm. “Fitz is waiting for you in the guardroom. He has a message.”
PART THREE
19
THORA
We follow the trade roads all night, only stopping to let the horses rest and drink at the mile markers between villages for as long as we can spare. Then, we keep riding.
We’re puffs of white air and whipping cloaks, our horses’ tails and manes catching the wind as we glide through the night. Lightning’s long strides eat up the landscape so easily it feels as if we’re flying, and I feel a surge of excitement the farther we ride away from Winterwood.
The moon is full, illuminating the trees, the snowfields, the frozen lakes—they all sparkle, making the woods as devastatingly beautiful at night as they are dangerous.
Most of the roads are well worn and easy enough for the horses to navigate. The less traveled routes, however, are piled with snow and slow us down. Still, we keep going. Our woolen clothes and fur cloaks keep us warm enough, but the brisk night air stings my eyes, causing the world to blur.
Only after a handful of hours do I stop watching the darkness behind us, ensuring they have not found us yet, and by the time the sun is rising, we reach old ruins at a fork in the road. I think Karra will request that we stop and rest, but she doesn’t. Not for longer than it takes to feed the three horses.
I run my hands down Lightning’s shaggy coat as he catches his breath, his body warm and sweaty beneath my gloved hand. I move to the bay mare carrying our supplies next, rubbing her sleek neck.
“Do you think they will know it is us,” I ask, “when they find three sets of horse tracks?” I look at Karra as she holds the feedbag to her horse’s mouth. “They will wonder who the third rider is,” I clarify. “And who would dare steal the princess away and risk the wrath of the queen.”
“They will know it is us,” Karra says without hesitation. “Zander will know it is us.”
I frown. “Do you think they have noticed yet?”
She peers out at the warm glow of sunrise, a knowing expression on her face. “Yes,” she says easily. Her nose and cheeks are pink, her lips as chapped as mine feel, and her eyes are crisp and alert. “We cannot stop yet, Your Highness. We must keep going—we must ride through the day, while the weather permits.”
I nod. “Where are we riding to?”
When her horse finishes, Karra offers me the grain. I hold it up for Lightning to feed from, watching him closely so he doesn’t overeat.
“We go to Woodvale,” she says, and I hear the reluctance in her voice as she adjusts her horse’s saddle.
“You have been there?” I watch Karra from the corner of my eye. Her fur hood shadows her face, but as the dying moon catches her hazel gaze, it sparkles with sadness.
“Many years ago. We can rest there for a time.”
“And if they know who I am in Woodvale? I will have to make up a story. Perhaps a pilgrimage to one of Abbess Blanca’s churches, or—”
“No,” Karra says, distracted. “There will be no need.”
Worried she might regret her decision to help me, I decide to let my surmounting questions go unanswered for now. Instead, I focus on the current, most pressing one. “How far away is it?” I shift where I stand, feeling the ache in my thighs and backside.
“If the weather holds, we should be there by nightfall.”
I lower the grain sack from Lightning’s muzzle, knowing he’s had enough to squelch his hunger and energize him.
“Come,” Karra says briskly, and she takes the sack from me. “We must continue.” She secures it on the bay’s saddle once more.
I mount Lightning without question or complaint, even if I can’t help a wince as I climb back into the saddle. I owe Karra everything for bringing me out here. For being my guide and risking her life to get us to Talon Bay. I only pray I have not killed us both.
