Land of Fury, page 24
“Why did you shoot at us?” Reider demands. He presses the tip of his sword into the bloody man’s neck.
Before I think against it, I step out of the trees.
“We were only hiding from the Reaper—” a woman shrieks.
“Lies,” Gunhild hisses, more vehemently than I’ve ever heard her before. “The Reaper would never take from you.” That she would feel so passionately surprises me, but glancing around the camp, my mind reeling as all the pieces fall together, I realize these people have little to nothing left.
“You mean the Blood Riders,” I say. Zander’s head snaps to me, his glare long and hard.
Ignoring him, I hold the old man’s gaze. “Not the Reaper. You mean the Blood Riders.”
“Please,” the man says with wide, terrified eyes. Tears and dirt stains paint his cheeks. “They took everything. They have already killed so many. We thought you came for us.” He swallows against the tip of Reider’s blade.
“You are from Alpta, are you not?” I confirm.
He nods hastily, sniveling. “The Reaper—” The man puts his hands up in surrender. “Or whoever they were—they came two nights ago—”
“What makes you say it was the Reaper?” Zander’s voice is cool and controlled as he nods for Reider to lower his sword.
The old man’s brow twitches, and he glances between Zander and me, confused. “They were carrying his purple banner,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “And they were calling out his name.”
Zander looks at his horsemen, and the eight of them exchange a silent conversation.
“You do not know the difference between Blood Riders and the Reaper?” Elof counters skeptically.
The old man shrugs, his hands shaking as he snivels. “B-both are only whispers in these woods.”
“That is how she is doing it,” I rasp. I look at Zander. “The abbess uses the Reaper’s reputation and her Blood Riders’ blades to wreak havoc as she sees fit, creating chaos and pitting everyone against my mother, deepening the religious divide through the kingdom’s surmounting unrest.”
“Then,” Reider spits, frowning, “was it even Harald’s men who attacked these lands last winter? Was it rebels rallying villagers against the crown, or another scheme?” Reider stares at Zander, though it’s clear no one knows the truth at this point. “Every report from the abbess has clearly been twisted to benefit her.”
As one, the horsemen lower their weapons, their adrenaline visibly waning as exhaustion settles into place. Like me, the horsemen finally take in the plight of these people. Not as threats, but as refugees.
I look at the old man, who appears so hopeful he dares not breathe, and step closer. “What is your name?”
“S-Sul,” he rasps as if he’s cried and shouted all the voice he has left.
“And you are heading to Talon Bay?” I presume.
He and everyone else nods. The women clutch their crying children closer.
“To the freedom ship,” I confirm.
The refugees—about twenty of them—look at each other, afraid to speak of such things with the queen’s horsemen present.
I reach for my cloak.
“No—” Zander tries to stop me, but I step out of his reach as I lower my hood. I watch the refugees as my identity sinks in. Some of them look at me strangely, as if they aren’t sure where to place me. Other eyes widen and a different sort of fear fills their features. Even if they have never seen me, they can guess who I might be from my traveling party. “I am Thora Storrada, second princess of Norseland. I am traveling to Talon Bay, to the freedom ship, protected by these warriors.” In admitting who I am and what I’m doing, I hope they will reward my honesty with truths of their own. “I will ask you again, are you going to the freedom ship? Because if you are, you are welcome to travel with us. We will protect you.”
Zander practically growls beside me, but I ignore him and his searing gaze, because the relieved faces that blink back at me are all I care about.
“All I ask for in return,” I continue, “is that you tell no one in Talon Bay who I am. And”—I point to Gunhild and Rom—“that you help these wounded warriors before we continue on.”
36
ZANDER
As the refugees swear their secrecy, their fealty to the princess, their gratitude, and everything in between, two middle-aged women rush to Gunhild and Rom to offer their aid.
I’m too livid with Thora to care about any of that as I march toward her. Grabbing the princess by the arm, I lead her away from camp, fuming.
“Zander—what are you doing?” she grits out.
“What are you doing?” I growl. “Was nearly getting an arrow through you not enough danger for one day?”
“They were too far away—”
“Not far enough!” I point to Gunhild and Rom, who both grumble on cue as the women fuss over them. “Have you forgotten no one can know who you are? You take an unnecessary risk in trusting these people and bringing them with us, especially with Blood Riders in these lands. If something happens on the road—if just one of these people gets desperate enough and tells a Blood Rider who you are, they will come for you. The abbess would love nothing more than to have you meet a terrible end out here, so she has one less Storrada heir to contend with. And when those riders come, they will outnumber us a dozen to one.”
There’s a flicker of regret in Thora’s eyes, or maybe it’s fear, before her expression hardens and she tears her arm from my grasp. “You want me to act like a princess, Zander, and to take my mother’s place—to take the crown from my sister? Yet you will not let me act like a princess—like a leader. You want me to hide from my people. Do you know how confusing that is? How enraging?” She flicks her hood. “I am tired of hiding. That is all I have done my entire life, and I’m not a wilting flower, despite what you think.”
Her eyes glisten with ferocity as she points a finger at me. “I know I am not battle-ready and strong like you all are, okay?” Her voice cracks a little. “But I am not weak either, Zander. I want to help these people, and if I am going to trust them—to help them—they have to trust me first.”
“Princess—”
“No.” She lifts her chin. Her eyes are wild with a fire I haven’t seen in them for years. “You have had days to talk to me but chose not to. Now, you will listen.”
Her indignation is maddening, and my jaw aches as I bite my tongue in silent protest.
“You wanted me to see this land—to know what I will leave behind. And I see it, Zander. It is heartbreaking and hideous, and I will not leave my people out here alone. Not if we can help them.” She gestures to their browbeaten faces. “I know you, and you would not turn them away—that’s not who you are. You are just being stubborn.”
“Of course I am,” I retort.
She raises her eyebrows in surprise.
“You are putting yourself in danger when there is no need. We could have taken them without your dramatic display—”
She huffs and tries to walk past me, but I grab her arm again.
“Let go of me.”
“Is that a command from the princess?” I sneer.
Thora glares at me, her nostrils flaring as she purses her lips. And all I can do is stare at her mouth.
“This is the type of princess I will be,” she says tersely. “If it does not suit you and your plans, then stop pushing me to be something I have never wanted in the first place, because I refuse to change.”
“You are infuriating,” I say, fear, anger, and a dangerous amount of adrenaline rushing through me.
“So are you,” she retorts.
I shake my head. “And if giving up your spot on the ship is the only way to save these people?”
“Have you been listening, huntsman? I am not getting on the ship.”
That gives me pause. “Since when? What has changed?”
“Since everything!” she snaps, and she marches away.
“Thora,” I call, rubbing my hand over my face. Everything in my head and heart feels jumbled and nonsensical.
When she looks back at me, there’s a softness in her eyes again.
“Do you wish to know the hardest part of all of this?” I ask as the fury drains from every tightly wound muscle in my body.
She waits, expectant.
“Watching you do the right thing and knowing how dangerous it is,” I admit, striding closer. I watch as the angry angles of her features melt away. “That by insisting you be queen, I am placing you in the very danger I have been trying to protect you from for years. And yet, I know it is your path. I see it so clearly.”
“That makes one of us,” she whispers, disheartened. Even if she doesn’t look away, her mind drifts in uncertainty. “I don’t know my place anymore, or even my path, only that I cannot turn my back on this kingdom. Not now. So, Zander . . . you have won.”
She looks as exhausted as I feel, yet she’s never been more beautiful, standing before me with anger reddening her cheeks and determination shining back at me in that devastating gaze of hers. It completely undoes me, and I kiss her. It’s senseless and foolhardy, but I’m tired of fighting it.
Thora squeaks in surprise, but as her lips part and her body yields against mine, she wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me back. It’s hungry, almost desperate, and fills me with far too much pleasure. I’ve yearned to hold her like this for so long, I can’t help but pull her closer and squeeze her tighter.
The wind and woods and cold—the entire world falls away—and I lose myself. In the warmth of her mouth and softness of her lips. In the feel of her smooth skin against my cheek and the scent of juniper that wafts from the curls sprung loose from her braid. The tension, always coiled in every muscle, drains away, and I bask in each brush of her lips and stroke of her tongue against mine.
Only when Rom growls in pain do I remember where we are, and force myself to pull away. Thora’s eyes slowly open, and her kiss-swollen lips part with a ragged breath. The camp buzzes around us, everyone busying themselves as if they didn’t just witness the princess kissing the queen’s huntsman.
“Whatever this is, and whatever happens,” I rasp, willing her to hear my vow, “my sword is yours, Thora. No one else’s.”
With pink cheeks and green eyes glazed with satisfaction, her mouth curves into a sad sort of smile. “I want far more from you than that, huntsman.”
37
THORA
It’s long past dusk as we reach Talon Bay, me riding on Baldr’s back with Zander. I’ve had nearly all day to think about Zander’s kiss. To replay it over and over. It wasn’t me throwing myself at him this time. Zander kissed me. A man’s kiss. A passionate kiss. One I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my days.
More than that, I finally got what I wanted—the truth. It’s all I have ever wanted from him, and today, I didn’t just learn the truth, I felt it in that kiss and have every moment since. Zander hasn’t removed his gloved hand from mine, clutched around his waist.
Cheek against his back, I allow myself a small smile and watch Talon Bay come into view.
At first, the town is an orange glow on the snowy horizon, but as we draw closer, I’m awed by how different it is from Winterwood. It’s not a trading village with a looming church and charred remains from my mother’s interrogations. It’s not a refuge hidden in the mountains, like Windwich. Talon Bay is a proper town, with stacked buildings butting up to the mountains that give way to a harbor. And among the boats, I see the outline of a giant ship, its purple sails illuminated in the moonlight. My stomach flutters with excitement and then drops with uncertainty. If it is truly a freedom ship, the lives of these poor souls who walk behind us are about to change forever.
Flickering torches line the muddy road that runs through the center of town, and our procession is impossible to hide. Zander and I, injured Rom, and Elof lead the front of a line of refugees who murmur and stomp through the slush. Our footsteps echo, our horses nicker, a baby’s cry rings in the night air, and the townspeople peer out their windows and open their doors to see the ruckus.
“Where will we put these people?” I ask Zander, glancing at the weary faces wrapped in woolen scarves and tattered furs behind me. Torchlight dances on their forlorn features, and I worry what will happen to them if they cannot board the ship.
“If they want to stay together,” Elof says, his horse clomping beside us, “we could see if the boathouse is big enough. I doubt Sasha will have enough rooms in the tavern.”
Zander nods, and I guess that means Elof should check the boathouse, because he clicks at his horse and trots ahead. It feels like a lifetime ago I was in Winterwood, wishing I were in Talon Bay. I’d wanted nothing more than to flee this kingdom, yet here I am, looking at the freedom ship, only I know I will never board it.
“Zander,” I say, a smile in my voice. “Were you ever going to tell me how you found me?”
He cranes his neck to look at me. “What do you mean?”
I gaze into his eyes, encased in the night shadows, appreciating his scowl of confusion. “Karra confessed you knew where I was going and who I was with.”
He looks away, focusing on the road as we continue through town.
“I am not upset,” I tell him, watching the way his hair pulls loose from its tie each time the breeze picks up. “But it makes sense now, why there were so few guards at the north gate.”
“I will admit,” Zander starts, his voice a rumble in his chest as I rest my cheek to his back again. “When Karra told me you had asked about Talon Bay after the festival, I knew the possibility of life away from this place would be too tempting for you to ignore. Especially once I learned Harald was coming to Winterwood.” Zander is quiet for a moment. “Fiske learned of your plans the day you left and relayed them to me. But Karra—I knew where she would take you to wait for me. A place she knew was safe.”
“And here I thought I was being a rebel,” I muse. “The whole time, it was part of your plan.”
“Not exactly, but it set everything into motion.” Zander huffs a slight laugh. “I could not have planned it better myself, it would seem.”
A few more heartbeats pass, and the icy wind sends the fur lining my hood into a flutter.
“Do you wish to hear another truth, princess?”
“Thora.”
“Princess Thora,” he amends, teasing me, and I sigh in defeat.
“Of course I do,” I whisper.
“I was supposed to leave for the south, with you and Harald, but Gunhild and Alik were always coming to Talon Bay.”
“Oh? For what purpose?” It makes sense that Alik would stop at Windwich to see Liv, if he was already traveling across the kingdom. But Gunhild?
“Zander,” Reider calls as he trots up the procession line behind us. Worried, exhausted faces watch the horseman as he passes, riding closer.
“Elof’s looking into their lodging,” Zander explains, anticipating Reider’s question.
Reider nods brusquely. “Good. We need to find Olaf tonight, as well. We are a day late.” He looks at me, then at Rom. “You should head to Sasha’s with Gunhild and get those wounds properly cleaned. We have enough eyes on us as it is. We don’t need everyone seeing injured horsemen and harried-looking refugees, worrying a battle approaches.”
“Once I get the princess settled and Gunhild tended to, I’ll discuss Olaf with Sasha,” Zander promises.
“Then,” Reider says, meeting my gaze, “we will see to everyone else.”
“Thank you, Reider.” I flash him a grateful smile.
With another brusque nod, he adds, “I will send Gunhild to catch up with you.”
Rom and Zander veer our horses away from the procession, down a narrow road to the left. Reider and his buckskin step into Zander’s place, leading everyone toward the harbor. He whistles for Gunhild at the back of the line, and that’s the last I see of them as we disappear down the off-shooting road.
“How many times have you been here?” I ask Rom and Zander, both of them alert, glancing at storefronts, shuttered up for the night, and assessing the alleyway shadows for danger.
“I have only been here three times,” Zander says after a moment, and I’m not surprised since it’s so far from the castle and my mother keeps him busy in the north.
“Gunhild is from here,” Rom offers. “Her cousin, Olaf, knows the captain of the freedom ship.”
“Really?” I gasp. “No wonder she was eager to get to Talon Bay.”
“Thora,” Zander says, taking a deep breath as if he’s bracing himself. He and Rom exchange a look.
“Zander,” I respond flatly.
“The Reaper is the freedom ship,” he explains.
I laugh for a moment, then realize Zander never jokes, and I pale a little. “Wait—what?”
“He is not what your mother, nor the abbess, have made him out to be.” Zander turns slightly to give me a sideways glance. “Over a year ago, Olaf came to Gunhild and confided in her. That is when we learned the truth. Olaf has known the Reaper’s crew since he was a boy. A chance encounter, actually. With Norseland changing so drastically over the years, the Reaper has had to enlist the help of individuals throughout the kingdom’s ports, and Olaf is one of them. Olaf provides information to the crew, so they know which factories and forges have the worst working conditions and cruelest masters.”
As Zander’s words sink in, I think about the woman from Winterwood that Karra told me about, her cousin also having left his life as a forge worker behind the last time the ship was in Northhelm. Gunhild’s resentment when hearing Sul’s false words about the Reaper ripen anew.
“More and more people are finding out about the true mission of the ship,” Zander continues gravely. “It has become increasingly difficult to keep your mother from finding out about it.”
