Chapter 23 Brynn #2
“And that is?” Ovrek seemed interested now.
“Recognize Cenric as jarl of Ombra,” she said.
“That will do nothing,” Ovrek shot back. “He’s already an alderman.”
“He is,” Brynn conceded. “But if you invade Hylden, my husband will need the respect of your men.”
“If?” Ovrek growled.
Brynn continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “You punish jarls who steal from other jarls, don’t you?”
Ovrek muttered his confirmation.
“Raids from a few farm boys here and there are inevitable.” Raids were a problem, but Ombra had always dealt with those. “But by giving Cenric the same honor as the other men of your circle, you will make it clear who you want to hold Ombra.”
Cenric had lived most his life among the Valdari, but since his own uncle’s death had never had a place among them. He’d fought and bled for Ovrek, but his home had always been across the sea.
Brynn could see many of them liked him and respected him, but he needed more than that. He needed Ovrek’s blessing. Not just a few former thralls turned warriors to retake his home, he needed Ovrek to outright recognize him as rightful lord of Ombra.
If Ovrek publicly acknowledged that Ombra belonged to Cenric, then there was no way Ovrek could carve up pieces of the shire for his other jarls. At least if he did, Ovrek would have to publicly turn on Cenric first.
After the events of the past two days, that would be difficult to justify.
Cenric had saved his life at least twice and everyone within fifty miles knew it already.
As soon as the remaining Althing dispersed, every island in Valdar would know it.
Brynn had also saved Ovrek’s life and word of that was spreading, too.
Ovrek could not repudiate Cenric without exceptional cause, not without making every other follower question if they might meet the same fate. If Ovrek could not be trusted to reward such a show of loyalty, could he be trusted at all?
“You cannot make demands of me.” Ovrek’s voice hardened with offense.
“I thought we agreed Cenric already holds Ombra and it would change nothing?”
At the foot of the hill, Cenric watched her, arms folded across his chest. He didn’t think Ovrek would recognize him as a jarl, but Brynn thought Ovrek was smart enough to see that he should.
Rewarding Cenric would reassure Ovrek’s current followers that he was generous.
Ovrek’s followers needed reassurance about now—the promise of wealth to help soften their king’s sacrilege.
It might also incentivize Hyldish lords to join Ovrek when the time came.
Brynn already had an explanation if her uncle questioned it. There was no Valdari word for alderman. They would tell Aelgar that it was just a translation. As long as they continued paying proper tributes, her uncle would have no reason to question it.
“Your uncle is the king of Hylden.” Ovrek stated the obvious.
“He is.” Brynn inclined her head slightly. “And he’s a good man. A good king, too.”
Ovrek watched Brynn like a warrior watching the approach of a strange ship, not sure if it was an enemy vessel or not.
“But he is sick,” Brynn said, her voice soft.
“He has been sick since he was born.” Not a month had gone by as children when Brynn hadn’t heard of some malady that ailed her uncle.
He had all the best healers and sorceresses the kingdom had to offer, yet it was a miracle he continued to live.
“I expect he will be the last of his line unless the gods are exceptionally good.”
Aelgar had a son, but his son was still a toddler.
Kings in Hylden did not inherit by virtue of birth.
All kings must be the descendants of kings, but they must also be elected by the Witan, the council of aldermen who ruled the shires.
It was made up of proud elders and grizzled veterans.
It would be over a decade before the boy would even be considered by the Witan as a candidate, even if someone else ruled in his stead until he came of age.
Hylden did not have queens, but they did not have boy-kings, either.
If Aelgar died before his son was at least sixteen, Hylden would have another war.
A king needed to be armor-strong—grown enough to wear the helm and war gear.
Even if Aelgar’s son was a man by the time of his father’s death, there might still be a war.
It was impossible to say. Some other Hyldish warlord might decide he would make a better king than Aeldred.
If another king of a different family replaced Aelgar, Brynn and Cenric’s children would forever be a threat to him.
If Aelgar’s bloodline ended, that would make Brynn the last surviving descendant of her grandfather, King Aelmar, and her children would be the sole heirs to his legacy.
Aelmar’s legend was powerful. Many regarded his reign and the reign of Brynn’s father as a golden age.
The events of last autumn had reminded Brynn that though she might consider herself outside the royal succession, not everyone did.
Brynn doubted any upstart king would tolerate the risk she and her children posed, especially if she had another son.
Brynn and Cenric needed a bulwark against the death of Aelgar.
“You are sharpening your sword on both sides.” Ovrek sounded vaguely amused. “You wish to remain loyal to Aelgar while keeping the option to join me if it suits you.”
“Does that not suit you?” Brynn kept her tone mild. “You and my husband remain friends. Valdari ships will be welcome to trade in our harbors, if they please.”
“When Aelgar dies?” Ovrek slanted his head to the side. “When I am again ready to invade?”
“Then we will have much more to discuss, won’t we?”
If Ovrek wanted to use Brynn and Cenric to gain a foothold in Hylden, they would use him to protect their future.
The aldermen and sorceresses of Hylden were dangerous, but so was the Valdari king.
Last year, Brynn had wanted to disappear into obscurity for the rest of her life.
She still hoped that would happen but doubted more and more that it would.
Ovrek gave a noncommittal grunt. He joined her in staring out across Istra, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees. “You are like Tullia.”
Brynn wasn’t sure how to take that. She resisted the urge to glance down at the corpse by their feet. “How so?”
“Clever.”
Brynn stayed quiet, sensing that they were venturing back to the topic of Ovrek’s betrayal and loss of his daughter.
“She was everything I’ve always wanted my son to be.” Something about those words sounded almost like confession, almost. “Yet every day I lose hope the boy ever will be.”
“She fought you.” Brynn reminded him, trying to be gentle.
Ovrek shook his head. “It’s natural for a boy to fight with his father. It’s part of becoming a man.” Ovrek gestured in the direction of Hróarr and Cenric. “Those two are better sons than my own flesh and blood.”
Hróarr and Cenric were here, Tolvir was not. Brynn didn’t know where the young atheling might be, though she had seen him alive this morning.
“Everyone seems to be a better son than Tolvir,” Ovrek complained.
“Not just Cenric and Hróarr. I trained an entire army of sons yet can’t seem to train one.
” The king seemed to be sinking into self-pity once again.
“Sifma didn’t want to foster him, and so I allowed her to raise him herself. She spoiled the boy.”
Brynn wasn’t sure that was fair to the dead queen, but didn’t argue.
She glanced down to the foot of the hill and an idea came to her.
Hróarr probably wouldn’t like it, but if Brynn could provide wise council to Ovrek, it might help strengthen their new alliance.
“Now that Hróarr will not be needed for your invasion for some time, I expect he will return to being a mercenary.”
“Likely.” Ovrek sounded uninterested.
“He will need men for his ship,” Brynn pointed out. “I know he lost a few last night.”
Ovrek cast Brynn a hard look. “What are you saying?”
“Perhaps there are some things we can’t learn from our parents,” Brynn explained. “Perhaps Hróarr could teach your son what you taught him.”
The king stroked his beard, looking down the hill. “It might do the boy good.”
Brynn inclined her head. The thought of Hróarr having to deal with the spoiled atheling brought her a smug sense of satisfaction. Maybe she had been holding a grudge over the thrall pit.
Ovrek inhaled a deep breath, looking over his burned town. “My people need me, you said?”
“Yes, lord.”
Ovrek slapped his thighs. “Let’s go, then.”
A little surprised, Brynn stood with the king.
The two of them walked down the hill side by side in silence. They were a strange set of companions, the Valdari king and a foreign sorceress. Brynn was grateful that Ovrek left his axe behind.
They reached the foot of the hill, met by Cenric, Hróarr, Vana, Berdun, Ingmar, and a small gathering of other warriors who had waited out of sight.
Cenric caught Brynn’s hand. “Impressive,” he whispered in her ear. “None of us could even get close enough to talk to him.” Cenric kissed her cheek, tugging her closer to his side.
Berdun and Ingmar greeted Ovrek in Valdari, inclining their heads. The other warriors bowed. No matter what happened last night or with the Grandfather Yew, they were still loyal.
Ovrek seemed to transform, back straight and chin up. He was grief-worn and had to be exhausted, but in that moment, it was easy to see why the Valdari had allowed him to become king. It was hard to look at him and see anything else. The king spoke softly, looking to Vana.
The Valdari woman bowed at his words, and rushed up the hill, Hróarr following close behind.
“Your wife is a wise woman, Cenric,” Ovrek said.
“She is, lord.” Cenric fitted her hand more snugly in his.
Ovrek’s gaze fell on Brynn once again. “My son could have used a wife like you.”