Fire and Lies (30 page)

Roald hung his head, recalling a grief he had fought so long to forget. He gulped several times, forcing his eyes dry as Kallan rolled his story over until she remembered every word.

Catching a single phrase, she found her voice several minutes later.

“Why...” she asked, forcing Roald’s face to hers. “Why did Tryggve believe Swann’s death was carried out by a Dokkalfr?”

“An arm ring bearing your mark…” Roald pointed indifferently to the signet ring upon Kallan’s finger. “Rune found one near the body.”

“I see,” Kallan said, lowering her eyes to the floor. “And Tryggve was grief-stricken.”

Roald nodded.

“Rune reached out to Eyolf, desperate to be heard… But—”

“There is no honor in this… No excuse that will ever justify the slaughtering of those children,” Kallan said, quoting her father. She had heard him say those words so many times before. 

Roald pulled in a long, deep sigh.

“By summer’s end, the war was in full scale and alone, Rune stood his ground against Eyolf’s army.”

Kallan nodded, unable to look Roald in the eye as the final word closed his tale. His feet shuffled against the stone, forcing a desperate cry from her lips.

“Roald.”

The large, burdened man looked back and waited.

“I’m sorry,” she found the breath to say.

With a heavy eye, he gently smiled.

“We all are, lass. Every last one of us.”

He trudged away, and the door clicked close. A breeze cut through the thick air of her sitting room, drawing Kallan’s attention to the moon.

“Swann,” Kallan whispered, aligning the pieces Roald left to her. “Bergen and Rune.”

Questions still unanswered pulled her darkened eye toward the keep.

“Borg.”

R
une stared at the fire through the plume of pipe smoke. The door of his sitting room opened and clicked close. Rune took another draw as Roald came to stop at the door.

“Be gone, Roald,” he grumbled as the smoke billowed with his breath then lofted as the next stream pushed into it like rolling clouds.

He took another, longer draw from his pipe. Without a word, Roald sat in the vacant chair beside Rune, who stared through the smoke. Resting his elbows on the armrests, Roald emitted a long, loud sigh and stared into the fire, ignoring Rune’s persistent scowl.

“She knows,” Roald said.

The words stopped Rune’s hand and he glared, awaiting an explanation.

“You told her?”

Roald nodded then tipped his head back at an angle.

“She had no idea,” Roald said.

Rune released another puff of smoke in thought.

“I suspected she didn’t.”

The flames licked the stone as they flickered wildly in the hearth.

Indifferent to his guest, Rune silently picked at the embers in his pipe.

“Any news from Gudrun or Daggon?” Roald asked, easing closer to the subject at the front of his mind.

“No,” Rune said curtly and took another mouthful. “I sent Joren out to keep an eye on Aaric’s movements. I’ve asked that he also keep a look out for Gudrun and Daggon while he’s there.”

A chill pushed in through the window, bombarding the bubble of heat that the fire and pipe created. The smoke plumes spun about in silent disarray then found their way again as the breeze subsided.

“Rune?”

Rune peered up from his pipe, the bit resting casually between his lips.

“When all this comes together and Kallan is forced to fight—”

“Kallan will not fight.” Rune said.

“She won’t sit still,” Roald warned.

“I’ll lock her up in her room.” Rune shifted his eyes to the flames. “I will post guards at the door. I will bind her with rope, if I have to. I will not see her forced to choose between siding against me and killing her own.”

“Choose?”

Roald furrowed his brow as Rune drew from the pipe, determined to ignore him. He leaned closer to better force his ear. “She has her city, her people, and full intent to return to them. I have no doubt the girl would provide an entertaining romp, but what makes you think she would ever choose the life of a Ljosalfar over a Dokkalfar?”

“Kallan believes she can stop it,” Rune said. “She is convinced that once her people see her, they’ll know she lives and will follow as they once did.”

“You seem doubtful.”

“Wary.” A plume of smoke wafted from Rune’s mouth and he lowered his hands to his lap. “Her plan is…simple.” Rune brought the pipe to his mouth once more. “Too simple. Kallan isn’t stupid. Her training was thorough. Rigid, even. I have no doubt she can hold her own in battle against any of us, but against her own?” Rune shook his head. “I don’t see her capable of looking her own men in the eye and running them through with her blade. And now that she knows the lives and faces of the men here…” Rune shook his head.

“Will you go to her?” Roald cut in, too impatient to wait for Rune to sidestep the subject further.

“What?” Rune said, looking over from his pipe. “Tonight?”

Roald leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.

“She’s willing, cousin.”

“I don’t have the luxury to cloud my judgment with her bed.”

The words affected Rune more than he wanted to admit. Slouching ever so slightly, he stared back at the fire and released a rather large plume while feigning contentment with his decision.

“Oh, come off it, Rune!” Roald’s voice stabbed the lethargic warmth of the bedchamber and forced Rune to jerk himself awake. “You kicked her out of my bed to keep that precious treasure all to yourself, and now you’re planning on leaving her un-rumpled?”

“Your bed?” Rune said from between the bit. “I found her clinging to the side of my keep.”

“The intent was there. The metaphor stands,” Roald insisted. “You sought to trash my night with the lady. At least have the decency to bed her in my stead… Odinn knows, one of us should.”

Roald fell back into his chair, an arm draped over the back, plagued with his pondering.

“Has Bergen had her yet?”

Rune’s grip visibly tightened on the bowl of his pipe, oblivious to the heat.

“Ah…” Roald grinned. “He has—”

“I will not bed down with something I can’t keep,” Rune said stiffly.

“How is this any different than any other wench you’ve had?” Roald asked.

“She isn’t any ‘wench’ I’ve had, Roald. She isn’t anything I’ve had.”

Rune sighed, releasing the edge off his temper.

“She is different,” Rune agreed.

At once, enlightenment swept Roald’s face and he straightened his back to peer closer.

“Oh… You want her to wife.”

Rune scoffed.

“Because I won’t bed her?”

“
Because
you won’t bed her,” Roald reiterated, ignoring Rune’s brooding.

Making a loud click, Rune bit down hard on the mouthpiece and grumped.

“I can’t risk angering a monarch we’re at war with over a single night of indulgence.”

“Hm. How convenient for you,” Roald said and waved his hand, indifferent to Rune’s argument. “Arrangements are made all the time to unite fylker and clans.”

“Yes, fylker,” Rune agreed, lowering his pipe. “Allied fylker. Not two peoples on opposing sides of an ancient war. And not when one of them can throw fire!”

Roald shook his head smirking at Rune’s stubbornness.

“Besides,” Rune dismissed. “She won’t abandon her post, my people won’t accept her as queen, and Bergen refuses responsibility.”

“And yet, you still want her to wife,” Roald said.

Rune rolled his eyes.

“Good night, Roald.”

With a heavy sigh, Roald lifted himself from the chair.

“I never said I didn’t approve,” Roald added before closing the door behind him and leaving Rune alone with the only fire to warm him.

K
allan pushed open the thick oak door of Borg’s cell, spilling light across the stone that struck the bloodied mass hanging on the wall like a tattered tapestry. With a flick of her wrist, a single ball of light rushed to the ceiling where it hovered, casting a tinge of blue around the room as she closed the door behind her.

The door’s thud jarred the room and encouraged Borg to raise his head. Streaks of black flowed free from the nape of his neck and painted the back of his shoulders. Kallan clenched her teeth against the rising need to vomit.

“So,” Borg grunted. “Ever victorious, the Queen of the White Opal appears.”

His black hair dripped with blood too thick and too fresh to dry. Something white, which Kallan guessed was a bit of his tooth, rested on the floor beside him. His hands were mangled balls that churned her stomach. Only one of his eyes seemed to function, despite being bloodshot and blackened from his crushed nose.

“Who are you?” she asked, ensuring she kept her distance.

A low, throaty chuckle filled the cell.

“I’d expect no less from the likes of you, Your Highness…” he sneered.

Kallan dared a step closer, desperate to recall the outline of his face through the mass of blood.

“Who sent you?”

Borg released another low chuckle and coughed.

“So that’s it now?” He relaxed back onto his chains, allowing the shackle to tug at his limp arm pulled from its socket. “I didn’t break under the grunt Hel-bent on watching others writhe so that he has something to jack off to tonight…or the noble captain who justifies his own sickness in the name of his queen.”

Borg spat on the floor. Blood splattered the stone and sprayed the hem of her skirts.

“Such heinous acts, too many, are already justified in the name of a queen, their gods, and their country,” Borg said. “No… Now they’re sending the dogs, the Seidkona herself, to bend and break me.”

He managed to curve his swollen face into a malformed smile, confirming that more than just one tooth was missing.

“Who are you?” Kallan whispered, fighting the rising wave of nausea. “What dishonor did I do that you would turn your venom on me?”

Borg dropped his smile and peered with his one eye at his queen.

“I hate you more for failing to even remember.” He inhaled against the sharp pain of his crushed ribs.

“Can’t I undo this?” she asked.

“So quick to walk…to stomp on those beneath you, all so you can stand tall,” Borg rambled aloud, paying no mind to Kallan’s question. “You don’t bother to see who it is you’re standing on while you reach for your stars, princess.”

“I have done nothing to you,” Kallan said.

Borg gazed at Kallan as if seeing her there for the first time.

“You, Your Majesty, have done the most to me.” He spat his bloodied saliva as he spoke.

“Did I know you once?” Kallan asked.

“So prestigious in your own that you can’t even remember the lives of those you’ve crushed beneath you.”

“Then help me remember so that I may right my wrong,” Kallan pleaded.

“If this was a wrong that could be fixed, I wouldn’t hate so much!”

Sweat pooled in Kallan’s hands as she clenched her fists and took a step closer.

“There is a chance to end this,” she offered. “King Rune desires peace for our people. There coul—”

“You think I want peace?” Borg bellowed.

“Don’t you?”

“Never…would I want peace… You and your peace,” Borg scoffed. His face twisted as he spat. “Your dance never changes. The song you play is always the same. All you ever spoke of in the warrens was your peace…you and your peace!” Borg met Kallan’s eye through the pale, blue light. “I will see no peace for any Ljosalfar, and will not rest until each of them is dead!”

His chains rattled as he shook with rage, but Kallan, disconnected, drifted into the back of an old memory.

“The warrens,” she whispered. “Borg… No.” Slowly, Kallan shook her head. “Borg was your brother’s name…”

Comprehension blanketed Kallan’s eyes.

“The day was cold and gray. A fog had fallen over the massacre that was Austramonath… Austramonath,” Kallan gasped. “Kovit,” she said and remembered, lifting her eyes to the bloody mass supported by chains on the wall.

Kovit sneered at the sound of his name and made a derisive sound.

“The ravens were feasting upon the dead when a small boy—you emerged from the fog carrying a corpse. You were the first,” Kallan said. “Eilif and I began collecting the orphans that day. Oh, Kovit. Little Kovit.” Her face fell with grief as she played through the dark memory. “Is this what you have become?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. “You left us with no notice.

“You came to us through the massacre carrying your brother, speaking through sobs and half-crazed,” Kallan said. “Not even three moons later, you were gone.”

“You refused!” he spat, drawing Kallan’s eye from the memory as if seeing Kovit for the first time. “You didn’t bring him back.” Kovit crinkled his nose in disgust.

“He was missing an arm and his spine had been cleaved in two,” she said. “His guts had spilled out his back.”

“He lived!” Kovit cried. Tears burned his face.

“He was already dead, Kovit.”

“You didn’t even try,” he growled, heaving a breath through his mouth that shook him with rage.

“Not even Gudrun could bring him back,” Kallan argued.

“He was alive!”

Kallan stared, cold and calculative, and waited.

“You never understood!” Kovit heaved. “He must live! He must— Mother said he must, that we both must live! Just live. But you let my brother die…then spoke of your peace. Your peace… Always your damnable peace! Did Tryggve desire peace when he killed my mother? I was there!” Borg bellowed. “No excuse can justify that massacre! No excuse can justify the lives slain there, your father always said! He saw! He understood!”

“I underst—”

“She threw herself onto me as the berserker went for my brother! He turned on my mother and slaughtered her! And you speak of peace, your peace!” Kovit stared at Kallan like she was a slug that had oozed from the bottom of the sea. “I only lived because he never thought to look for me. He never finished me! The massacre…” Kovit gasped. “I live and am left with these images! There are things I can not unsee!”

His sobs filled the cell as Kallan looked on, wordless and numb.

“He left me alone with my hate,” he said, “Always my hate! Always…always.”

His whimper quieted.

“And the hate goes on… And the grief passes on and another child vows their vengeance,” Kallan muttered and raised her eyes to Kovit. “How many more must die before you have your fill? How many more like you must enter the warrens? How many more until none are left, Kovit? How many more must die?”

“You know nothing of grief,” he growled. “You wouldn’t understand. Of my—”

“Don’t I?” Kallan spat, tightening her balled fists. “I took to the warrens because of my mother, because there were others like me on the streets.”

“On the streets,” Kovit scoffed. “Others like you, princess? Oh yes, you in your palace. You understand the hunger, the filth, the desecration of the warrens from inside your precious, perfect, palace walls.”

“I gave everything I could to you. I lost my mother and then my father,” Kallan said. “You dare speak to me of not knowing, not understanding the hole, the grief, the emptiness that burrows its way through? Carving out your heart until nothing is left. Not even the strength to die!”

Her shoulders shook with a rage she fought to keep in check.

“Did you punish him too, Kovit? Was it you who took my father from me?”

Calmly, quietly, Kovit met her eyes.

“No.”

“Who sent you?” Kallan shrieked. “Who wants me dead? Who crossed your palm with silver?”

Kovit grinned.

“You think none desire your death?” he asked. “That no one could hate Lorlenalin’s princess? I did,” he volunteered. “I did and she found me. I, who would be willing to do it for free.”

“But she paid you.” Kallan cocked her head in question and Kovit chuckled.

“She didn’t pay me to kill you.” Kovit shook his head and dropped his dark smile. “She paid me to stay quiet.”

“Who, Kovit?” Kallan repeated.

“I just can’t say,” Kovit said.

“And the Dvergar?” Kallan asked. “Did you pay them as well?”

“They found me,” he answered, too tired to fight anymore. “They paid me.”

“They found you?” Kallan whispered. “How did they find you?”

“I didn’t care who killed you or how or when,” Kovit droned, not hearing a word Kallan said. “I only cared that you suffered as much as I.”

“You didn’t summon the Dvergar, then,” Kallan said.

“No, but they wanted you.” Kovit hung his head. Sleep was taking him.

“But they couldn’t get to me,” Kallan said.

“So I found someone who could,” Kovit said.

“Who, Kovit?”

“Gunir’s king.”

Kallan’s face fell white.

“Rune?” Kallan’s thoughts fell into disorder. “B-But Rune didn’t… Rune wouldn’t.”

Kovit peered up from the floor.

“Rune was a disappointment.”

Kallan’s fists twitched with the temptation to fire her Seidr at him, but Kovit didn’t seem to notice.

“The deal was…the king would kill you the moment he was alone.” Kovit had dropped his head again. “They were to find your body near Lorlenalin and assume you died in battle. And until recently, I had believed the job was done.”

“But the Dvergar… They had paid you…” Kallan said.

“I sent them after you when the king left Lorlenalin. I figured the two adversaries could work it out. Either way, you had been taken care of and my employer would be content and I could wash my hands of both the Dvergar and the king.”

“Who sent you?” Kallan snapped, irate with his indifference.

Kovit raised his head to show her his wide grin.

“I have no idea.”

“Who sent you?”

Kovit attempted to shrug.

“Can’t say.”

“What do they plan?”

“Ah…” A light in his eyes seemed to glisten. “That is what I’ve been waiting for. Now that, I can answer,” he whispered.

Kallan didn’t dare move from her place as Kovit widened his grin. Blood seeped from his split lip.

“They’re coming for you, Kallan,” Kovit breathed. “They’ll find you and they’ll take you back. It’s only a matter of time before you go home. You belong to them.”

“Who?” she asked.

Kovit shrugged again and closed his grin, hiding his teeth.

“Can’t say,” he smiled. “But they’re coming.”

Glaring down at the remnants of Kovit and Borg, Kallan spun on her heel and snapped her wrist just as she threw open the door and slammed it again, leaving Kovit alone in the dark.