Fire and Lies (23 page)

“As you wish,” Joren said.

“Good night, Joren,” Rune bid and leaned over the table once more.

“Good night.”

Rune listened to the door close behind Joren and he stood a while longer over the map. With a wide yawn, he straightened his back and stretched.

Pained with exhaustion that made him long for his bed, Rune trudged out of the war room. A mild ruckus in the Hall rolled up the stairs and Rune grunted with exhaustion. Too tired to entertain but stomach twisting with hunger, he made a mental note to have Torunn bring something up from the kitchens.

Pushing open the door to his chamber, Rune glanced about the lit room and stopped dead. Splayed out on his bed, staring at the ceiling in a daze, Kallan laid waiting. Quickly, Rune took a sharp step back into the hall and quietly closed the door.

His hunger forgotten, Rune stood wide awake while subtle tufts of soft perfume wafted with him into the hall. For a moment, he forgot to be angry and argued with himself to go back in. Shaking his head, Rune battled to keep his sense about him, despite the blood draining from his brain. With clenched fists, he followed the narrow, spiraling stairs down to the Great Hall.

Rune peered around the screens passage. Relieved to find Geirolf sitting alone while taking his evening meal of boiled pork, he crossed the Hall, half-crouched to hide himself from Ottar and the barracks men. The result was an abysmally botched slink.

“Geirolf,” Rune whispered as if Kallan could hear from his chambers.

With an angled brow, Geirolf turned from his stew. “Your Majesty?”

“Why is Kallan in my room?” Rune asked.

“Uh…” Geirolf shifted his eyes. “Perhaps you should ask Bergen why a girl would be in your room.”

“No.” Rune snapped his head to the screens passage and the side door. “How long has she been there?”

Geirolf restored his attention to his pork.

“All day from what I know.”

Rune jerked his head back to Geirolf in disbelief and waited for Geirolf to move.

“Well…” Rune paused, ready for Geirolf to take action. “Get her out!”

“Rune.” Geirolf dropped a hunk of meat to his plate and shifted his weight to his elbow on the table. “There are two things I’ve learned about women. One: You accept their illogical idiosyncrasies.”

Geirolf paused to think about this for a moment.

“They’re women. It can’t be helped. And two…” He waited until Rune poked his head closer. “If there’s one you want and she’s willingly waiting in your room…” Geirolf’s bottom lip quivered with annoyance. “You don’t send her out!”

Rune huffed with impatience.

“I don’t…” Rune lost his voice and moved on, deciding Geirolf wouldn’t help him. “Where’s Bergen?”

Geirolf peered over his old nose.

“Do you really want to send Bergen in there?”

Rune shifted his eye to the table in reflection. “Never mind,” he added with a pat to Geirolf’s back.

With a hidden smirk, Geirolf watched as Rune crept his way to the grand steps leading up to the second floor and the bedchambers.

As the heel of Rune’s boot vanished up the steps, Geirolf leaped from the table and dashed down to the kitchens to Bergen, Gudrun, Daggon, and Torunn.

* * *

Rune pushed open the door to Kallan’s empty bower. Her scent slammed his nose and twisted his nerves into knots. After running his hands over his face and through his hair repeatedly, he nearly ripped the belt from his waist. Dropping himself into a chair, Rune carefully leaned
Gramm
against the armrest and then unlaced his boots before tossing them to the floor.

Obtusely aware of Kallan’s intent, Rune pulled off his shirt and fisted his knuckles into the cloth as he rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward in the chair. Wondering for the moment why he wasn’t in his own chambers with her, he exhaled and leaned back in the chair.

At once, deciding he was too unnerved to eat, he threw his shirt to the floor and made his way to her bedroom. A wave of her scent engulfed him at the threshold and Rune released a loud, exasperated growl. Fighting back the urge to peel off his skin, he fell onto the furs of her bed, not daring to crawl beneath her blankets.

It was a long, wearisome wait before his body finally allowed him to sleep.

K
allan pressed her fingers against the stone of Rune’s window. Her body shook as she stared at the moon, pooling all her anger into her hands. Torunn, Geirolf, Daggon, Bergen, and Gudrun watched in silent worry. Her breathing was erratic.

“How far do I have to push?” Kallan’s growl trembled with anger.

“You could wait here,” Torunn said.

“Or the war room,” Geirolf suggested, knowing Rune’s contempt for changed habitat.

Bergen crossed his arms over his bare chest and leaned in the doorway. “You know him as well as I. Regardless of where she goes, he’ll only skirt around her.”

“He pushes her away with as much resolve as you couple with one,” Geirolf grumbled.

Anger glowed in Kallan’s eye as she turned from the window and settled her attention on Rune’s brother as if to rebut. But she stopped, suddenly becoming conscious of Bergen’s wide, bare shoulders and muscular frame. The room grew quiet as one by one they noticed Kallan’s enlightened interests. Kallan dragged her gaze from Bergen’s waist to his torso, to his face where Bergen met her eyes.

With a revived enthusiasm in her step, Kallan held his eye and moved toward Bergen, sweeping right by him as she made her way to the back door of Rune’s bower. Eagerly, she yanked open the door. Kallan was across the hall and throwing open the door to the war room by the time the others jumped in step behind her.

Wide-eyed comprehension obscured Bergen’s face and he doubled his pace.

“Kallan!” Bergen beckoned as she marched herself across the room, past the table strewn with maps and to the door on the other side.

“Kallan!” Bergen called again, desperate to keep up.

Surprised to find it unlocked, Kallan threw open the door to Bergen’s chambers and slipped inside his sitting room.

“Kallan!” Bergen kept on her heel.

With jaunty amusement, she spun at the center of his sitting room, forcing Bergen to balance himself unnaturally to prevent falling into her. He shook his head in protest. “It’s my hide on the line. He won’t come after you. He’ll hunt me down and peg my ass to his target!”

“Not if you’re with me, he won’t.” Kallan grinned slyly. “Besides,” she said, looking him over once more. “You’re not actually bedding me.”

She spun on her heel, sauntered through his sitting room with a skip to her step, and happily swung open the door to Bergen’s bedroom.

“He won’t stop long enough to hear that part!” Bergen cried as she disappeared into his room.

Kallan’s troupe followed behind Bergen as she playfully dropped herself onto the foot of Bergen’s bed. Her face split wide with a grin, convinced this idea would work.

“He didn’t seem to mind when he offered you to double up with me that night,” she argued, looking up from her boots as she freed the laces.

“He made that threat knowing you wouldn’t follow through!”

Bergen watched her drop a slender boot to the floor. Her petite toes wiggled delightfully in the air. He clenched and unclenched his fist, fighting back the wave of images bombarding his imagination.

“Kallan, don’t you think you’re going a bit too far with this one?” Geirolf chimed in as she unlaced her second boot.

In answer, she dropped it to the floor beside the other.

“What about you?” Bergen barked, looking to Daggon and Gudrun, who stood in the doorway, content to watch the events unfold. “What say you?”

With a set of matching grins, Daggon and Gudrun exchanged looks.

“This is a woman whose stallion is named ‘Astrid’,” Daggon said.

Kallan threw herself back onto Bergen’s bed.

“Who learned the spells I taught her with the sole purpose of slipping past the guards,” Gudrun said with a hint of admiration.

“She mastered the swords long before she bothered with diplomacy,” Daggon noted, peering down at Gudrun in fond recollection.

“And learned the Seidr only to best her father in battle…” Gudrun placed an affectionate hand on Daggon’s arm as a reminder.

With a gentle nod, Daggon looked back to Bergen.

“We learned a long time ago to let Kallan go where Kallan goes,” Gudrun said. “Our only purpose in teaching her was to ensure she could survive her own whims.”

They all gazed at Kallan sprawled happily on Bergen’s bed, her hair splayed in a mass of disorder over the pillows and furs as she stretched her arms to the sides as far as they could go.

Bergen noted the space left from the tips of her fingers to the edge of his bed and followed her hands down to her body.

“I’ll get you some extra blankets, Bergen,” Torunn said, taking her leave.

“Kallan,” Bergen growled miserably at the contented lump on his bed. “Are you sure this isn’t some ploy to finish me?”

He clenched his fists again somewhat peeved at the sight of an un-rumpled woman on his bed.

Without lifting her head from the furs, she studied the stone overhead, remembering what Rune’s looked like. With a satisfied smile, she answered plainly, “Perhaps.”

O
utside beneath the pale moon, night blanketed Gunir. Borg stood cloaked by the Seidr and shadows. He would direct the conversation where it needed to go and had made up his mind hours ago where this day would end. He watched the Ljosalfr rise before the sun in his usual fashion. As the first of morning light crept over the trees, the Ljosalfr stepped into the morning and fed his horse then bid farewell to his sister who then lingered down the road toward the village. With hungry eyes, Borg watched the young woman and allowed his thoughts to stay with her a bit longer.

She was far from view before Borg lifted the cloaking spell and stepped into the pale, morning light. The Ljosalfr lifted his axe.

In mid-swing, Joren looked up from the freshly split wood, his face too placated to read. The axe head split through the wood, leaving its victim to fall to the ground with a series of hallowed thuds.

“You’re early,” Joren greeted. His heart beat so loudly, he was certain Borg could hear it.

Borg lowered his hood to reveal his dark face and one good eye. He kept his deep voice hushed with urgency. Joren forced his composure to be indifferent as he memorized the black hair, the sleek cheekbones, and pointed nose that matched the chin.

“Rumor of a capture has reached me,” Borg said. “Two Dokkalfar.”

Joren gulped uncomfortably, willing his temperament to relax. They hadn’t expected him so soon. They weren’t ready.

“The rumors are true,” Joren said.

“Have you been able to identify them?” Borg wasted no time arriving to the point of his visit.

“They refuse to give us their names,” Joren said, scrambling to postpone Borg’s unexpected arrival.

The disappointment was apparent in Borg’s eyes and Joren clambered for an idea that could prolong Borg’s stay long enough to lure him to the keep.

“Refuse,” Borg repeated. “So they live?”

“For now.” Joren scrunched his face with an impassive show and lavished his tale up a bit. “If they are who we think they are, the king will want to trade with Lorlenalin and gain the upper hand we’ve been looking for.”

Darkness passed over Borg’s eyes.

“To make such a trade one would need to be sure,” Borg said.

“One would,” Joren said, keeping his composure indifferent to Borg’s proposal. The Dokkalfr allowed the air to thicken between them before speaking again, forcing the words forth with natural ease.

“I know the faces of those who escaped,” Borg said. “If I were to see them, I could identify them.”

Exultation burst within Joren’s chest as Borg’s words granted him the pass he needed.

“I could make the arrangements,” Joren said evenly, holding his breath with every second. His mouth was painfully dry. “When would you—”

“No,” Borg said. “Now.”

With a stiff nod, Joren forced a smile and handed Borg all of his cards.

“Very well.”