Chapter 3 Brynn
Brynn
Brynn’s first wedding had been a gaudy affair, a blend of Istovari and Hyldish traditions cobbled together like estranged relatives at an autumn feast. There had been floral garlands and the binding of the bride and groom with ivy. She and Paega had been wrapped together head to foot in the vines.
After, she had danced with her mother and the other women while Paega sulked with the men of his family. Gifts had been exchanged between relatives then toast after toast. A massive boar had made up the main course of the wedding meal, though Brynn had been too nervous to eat.
She had been wracked with anxiety for her wedding night, but she needn’t have worried. Paega never turned up, leaving her to wait alone in the dark for hours.
She found out later than Paega had left their wedding to sit by the cairns of his family. Brynn had been Paega’s second wife, and he never allowed her to forget it.
As far as she knew, she was Cenric’s first wife. Perhaps that would count for something.
Her wedding to Cenric was an abridged affair. Everyone seemed to want it over with as fast as possible. The traditional negotiation began, led by Aelgar.
Twelve witnesses gathered for Brynn’s side, including Esa, the king’s wife Eadburh, his attending sorceress Wassa, and several of Aelgar’s retainers.
Cenric had brought his own twelve witnesses—all thanes, as far as Brynn could tell. His men remained silent through the negotiations.
Aelgar explained Brynn would be entitled to living standards equal to Cenric’s, her widow’s rights in the event of his death, and Cenric’s various obligations as her husband.
Brynn had made sure to require that Esa would be cared for. Cenric would be obligated to house, clothe, and feed Esa and any family she might have. He couldn’t send Esa away and he couldn’t punish her without Brynn’s approval.
King Aelgar not only promised Cenric Brynn’s original dowry, but presented a document listing gifts including grain, furs, and jars of imported spices. Cenric seemed surprised as he read the list. Hopefully, he was pleased.
Brynn would prefer it if at least one of them could benefit from this arrangement.
As the men reviewed the document, Brynn called for wine.
Was marrying a stranger really a wise decision? Then again, what other choice did she have? She was too important to be ignored, yet too insignificant to be feared. She needed the protection of a husband for political reasons if nothing else.
Brynn finished off her first cup of wine and called for another. She tried to think, tried to sort out wisdom from pain and anger from grief.
What did she want? She wanted to lie down and stay there. She wanted to curl so deep inside the past that she reached to the time when her son had been alive, a time that now existed only in her mind.
She wanted her son back. She’d thought Hylden would have peace now. She had been so wrong.
After the death of a king, aldermen and thanes arose from across the land to try claiming the title for themselves. That was the way it always happened. The death of Eormenulf had been no different.
Aldermen and thanes had splintered off into factions, each with their own claimant. After the first few months, the factions had solidified behind Brynn’s uncle, Aelgar, and an alderman called Winfric.
The war between them had been bloody, lasting the better part of two years. Brynn had been barely fourteen at the start of it, but her elder sister Aelfwynn had led sorceresses and thanes into battle, wielding an axe as well as her spells.
Many people said Aelfwynn was the reason Aelgar had won. She had been charming, fierce, and unrelenting. A warrior goddess if ever there was one. Aelfwynn the Brave, they had called her.
Some had even whispered the word queen behind Aelgar’s back. Was Aelfwynn not the daughter of the last king and a sorceress, too? Woman she might be, but Aelfwynn had won more battles than her sickly uncle.
In the end, it had not mattered. Aelfwynn had died in a muddy field, her body covered in too many wounds to know which had been fatal.
Aelfwynn’s warriors had met Winfric’s the way armies had met one another for as long as anyone could remember. Both armies had drawn up into formation, shields pressed together with weapons reaching over the top. Each line formed a wall of shields or a shieldwall, as it was called.
Brynn had not stood in the front, but a few rows back, able to see her sister’s shining helmet among the warriors. The lines met in a great clatter and crash, the grunting of men, the clang of weapons, and the air glowing with ka as blood was spilled and sorceresses worked their spells.
There were only three ways to break an enemy shieldwall—smashing through it, tricking the enemy into abandoning it, or flanking and attacking from the rear.
Their flank was supposed to be guarded by a force from Alderman Ostig, but he and his thanes had not been there. Ostig’s men had been positioned on the wrong hill south of the Cerin River instead of north, miles away from the battlefield. Some people blamed a miscommunication, but some said it was spite over Aelfwynn refusing the alderman’s offer of marriage. Aelfwynn had never mentioned a marriage proposal from Ostig, but Brynn’s sister had received plenty, so perhaps that one had simply not been worth mentioning.
Whatever the reason, Aelfwynn’s line had been flanked and it had been a bloodbath. Brynn had fled and survived by hiding in a cove created by the roots of a tree along the river. Once she was sure Winfric’s men had gone, Brynn had picked her way through corpses in the aftermath. She found her sister’s body naked, already stripped of the precious ringmail and armor that had belonged to their father.
Aelfwynn the Brave was buried in a shallow grave beside the Cerin River. Brynn had laid the stones herself, her shaking, bleeding hands making the work clumsy and slow.
The memory blurred with a more recent one—laying the cairn stones over her son. She had buried him in a cedar chest lined with his blankets and the wolf carved from oak that had been his favorite toy. This time she’d had the servants to help, but it had been small comfort as she watched the chest buried by rocks.
Was she cursed to see everyone she loved swallowed by the stones?
Brynn closed her eyes. She could still feel the phantoms of her son’s small hands wrapping around her fingers. Sometimes at night she still woke, thinking she heard his cries, only to find it was the wind outside her window.
Her baby was gone. Rotting underground in the linen shroud she’d made from his blankets.
He wasn’t supposed to die. He’d made it through his first year. Most children didn’t. Even without an Istovari mother, his chances of reaching adulthood should have been good.
Brynn finished her second cup of wine before Cenric and Aelgar finished reviewing the contract.
Because she had the king’s permission, Brynn didn’t need the approval of her mother’s family to remarry. Aelgar asked her several questions—if she agreed to this union, if she entered this arrangement of her own free will, and so on—and she spoke her consent.
Aelgar smiled at Brynn, though his expression was touched with sympathy as he did.
Wassa, the king’s attending sorceress, looked on with tight lips. She’d also been opposed to this union, but seemed resigned to it just as Brynn and Cenric were. As Eadburh and Esa were.
In fact, it seemed the only person pleased with this arrangement was Aelgar. Brynn had to wonder why. As best she had determined, none of Aelgar’s vassals or liegemen had spoken against it, so they must be in support as well.
The small private dining room Aelgar was using to formalize this union was barely large enough for the six large tables that now sat Cenric’s men and the gathered witnesses.
“Then we are agreed,” Aelgar sounded like a man who had just won at dice. “Your marriage is final. Let us feast.”
Yes, this wedding was very different from Brynn’s last one. She took another sip from her third cup.
Cenric took his place on her right. He had to adjust the sword at his hip as he sat down. He must have gotten it back as soon as he left the king’s main hall.
Why did he think he needed a sword here?
Cenric sat with his knees spread wide, one hand resting on the table. He noticed her looking at him and met her stare. “Hello, wife.” It was strange to hear another man call her that. A man who wasn’t Paega. “Enjoying your wine?”
So he had noticed her sinking into her cups? Brynn held eye contact as she finished off what was left in her hand.
Cenric quirked one eyebrow at her.
Brynn raised her cup for the servants to refill.
Her mother would be furious when she learned Brynn had gotten a divorcement. Brynn needed to be remarried before then. Lady Selene was in the far southern empires, so she might not be back until next spring. She might not come back at all if she met with misfortune along the way, but Brynn doubted the gods would be so kind.
The servants carried in a rack of venison. Aelgar did his duty, stepping up to carve it as the host ought to do. The venison was so fresh, Brynn could feel the dying whisps of ka still in the meat. The animal would have been alive just a few hours ago.
“Having second thoughts?” Cenric asked, tone mild.
“I am prepared to do my duty,” Brynn answered flatly.
“That makes two of us.” Cenric jerked his head to the servants, pointing to his own cup. The young man filled it quickly, not making eye contact with either of them.
Brynn tried not to think too hard about the implications of his words. Cenric would not leave her alone on their wedding night, she was sure of that. She didn’t expect him to be particularly gentle, either. But he might at least make it quick and that was something to hope for.
Hands shaking, Brynn held her cup out. Without a word, the servant filled it a fourth time.
Cenric studied her as other servants set trenchers of meat in front of them. They weren’t thralls as they would be in certain parts of the kingdom, but free men and women paid to serve the king’s household. Aelgar had been trying to put an end to thralldom in his lands—one of his more idealistic endeavors—with mixed results.
“Why would you go through with this?” Cenric asked.
Aelgar had finished carving the meat and had joined his wife at the head table. A skald had entered the room at some point. The lanky man with grey hair sat strumming his harp, telling the story of Eponine and Moreyne, the sister moon goddesses and their civil war.
Brynn was tired. The wine had done little to drown the knot of dread in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t in a place for intelligent conversation. “Why would you?”
Cenric inhaled a deep breath. He drew his eating knife and began slicing apart the venison in front of him.
Snapper whined from under the table and Cenric tossed down a large portion of meat for the dog. Brynn noticed that he fed Snapper the choice cuts, not scraps. The dog slurped appreciatively from the floor.
Brynn kept drinking, not touching her food. She’d rather bed him on an empty stomach. Voices chattered, though it might have just been the buzzing in her ears.
Someone toasted to her and Cenric. There were halfhearted cheers.
Wassa left the room at some point.
The “feast” lasted barely an hour or so before a young woman tapped Brynn on the shoulder. She recognized the girl as one of the handmaidens who had helped her prepare earlier.
“Your bridal chamber is prepared, lady.”
Brynn glanced to Aelgar. Her uncle must have had the room prepared as soon as possible. He was quite eager to get this over with. She wanted this over with, too, but she wondered again if he wasn’t eager to be rid of her.
“Show us the way.” Cenric pushed back his chair, leaving a half-eaten rack of venison on his plate. He waved down his men who started to rise. He held out a hand for Brynn.
She stared at his hand—callused with dark lines around his fingernails. A scar slashed across his palm, like it had once been sliced open.
Brynn fit her hand into his—hers looking pale and dainty by comparison. All the same, Brynn was unsure which of them was more dangerous.
Cenric bowed to the king and Eadburh. He stopped just long enough to whisper a command to the red-haired man who had accompanied him. The smaller man nodded his acknowledgement.
Esa stared with wide eyes as Brynn was led away by Cenric. Brynn forced a smile for her maidservant, trying to be reassuring.
Snapper trotted happily after them. Did that dog follow Cenric everywhere? Brynn was starting to think he did.
Eadburh’s handmaiden led them from the room. The fortress was dark and only the candle in the handmaiden’s hand lit the way. The floor seemed to buck as they walked. Brynn’s head swam and she realized she had drunk too much.
She tripped as they reached a flight of stairs. Cenric caught her without a word, and she leaned on him for support.
Brynn braced one hand on the wall and let him lead her the rest of the way down. The handmaiden took them through several more passages, barely speaking. Occasionally, she stopped to wait for them.
She took them to the same room Brynn had occupied for the past weeks. The fireplace had been lit and the bed had been made. Brynn’s belongings had been neatly folded and put away in chests, but it was very much the same room.
Snapper ducked inside first. The dog circled the room, sniffing curiously.
Brynn went inside, not hesitating. She’d made up her mind to do this.
Cenric exchanged a few words with the handmaiden, though Brynn couldn’t imagine what. He shut the door after her and then they were alone—except for the dog.
Snapper plopped down in front of the fire, seeming to have satisfied himself with exploring the small room.
Brynn sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. She cleared her throat and took a deep breath. It would be fine. It was just sex. People did it all the time and it meant nothing.
Cenric surveyed the room carefully, taking in the chests, the washbasin by the window. He went to the window first, checking to see what was outside—a courtyard. He drew the curtain over it. Much like his dog, he paced the entire room, checking every corner.
When Cenric turned back around, he was unbuckling his sword belt.
Brynn watched impassively as he removed his outer coat next, draping it over the chair beside the washbasin. He held onto his sword, though.
Brynn studied him. “Are you afraid of me, Cenric?”
He scoffed. “Any wise warrior would be.”
“My sister was the warrior,” Brynn said. “Not me.”
Cenric grunted noncommittally. “Who attacked Glasney?”
Brynn’s drunken mind reeled, confused. “Raiders.”
“Do you think they could have been Valdari?” Cenric’s question came hesitant, guarded.
Brynn shook her head. Why was he asking this? “They haven’t raided this far south since the war.” After the death of Brynn’s father, the instability in Hylden had invited raids from all their neighbors.
Worst of all had been those from the islands of Valdar in the north. The Valdari were a savage people. They called themselves wolves of the sea and rode in ships with snarling wolf heads on their prows.
“It sounds like them. Striking at night and disappearing before dawn.” Cenric studied the fire. Lights from the flames caught his arm rings. “At least that was how we did it. We didn’t raid in spring, though.”
Brynn hadn’t thought anything could shock her at this point, but she’d been wrong. She stared at this man—her husband—speechless. “You…you’ve raided with them?”
Cenric shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “My mother was Valdari. I fostered with them.”
Brynn didn’t want to process this or its implications right now. “Why are you telling me this?”
Cenric looked back to the fire.
“Ask my maid, Esa. She saw them. She was with…” Brynn’s throat seemed to constrict suddenly, and she had to force the words out. “She was caring for my son. One of them ripped him out of her arms.”
They’d found her baby’s body at the bottom of the wall. The servants had tried to stop her from seeing, but she’d used ka to force them out of the way.
Her son had looked so still and perfect, the carved wolf still held in one hand. But the moment she had reached for his ka, she had felt his life force was gone.
Brynn’s shoulders shook. Again, she marveled that she could still weep.
Cenric was quiet. He kept his attention on the fire, not looking at her. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought that expression was shame. “What was your son called?”
“Osbeorn.” Brynn’s voice broke in a sob. If she hadn’t been drunk, she might have been able to pull herself together. She was supposed to be letting her new husband—who had apparently once been a Valdari raider—bed her, but instead she was melting into tears.
“I’m sorry.” Cenric cleared his throat, sounding awkward.
Brynn heaved deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. How could she have tears left after all these months?
She didn’t hear Cenric move, but she sensed the shape of his ka rise from the trunk. She didn’t look up. If he wanted to throw her onto her back and lift her skirts, she didn’t care anymore.
Instead of toward her, he moved away. A screeching sound came from the door.
Brynn looked up, blinking away tears to see Cenric had dragged the trunk to block the door, one end against the wall. Fear spiked through her. Just why would he be barricading them in here?
Cenric must have seen her face. He shook his head, even as he sat back down on the trunk, across the room. “I won’t hurt you.”
Brynn swallowed, a little ashamed at the wash of relief she felt at that. She had told him she was ready to do her duty.
Cenric propped his sword against the trunk and settled down on top of it, his outer coat draped over him like a blanket. “Try to rest.” He patted the trunk near his feet and his dog came leaping from across the room.
Snapper settled down on the trunk, draped over Cenric’s legs as if they had done this a hundred times before.
Brynn frowned, confusion filtering through her drunken mind. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was guarding the door. Was he really so suspicious of Aelgar? “What are you doing?” she whispered.
Cenric shook his head again, looking to the fire. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Just…try to rest for now.”
Brynn wasn’t sure what to make of this. Was he trying to respect her, or did he not want to touch her?
She settled down on the bed, watching Cenric from the corner of her eye. She waited a long time after that, but he never moved from his place in front of the door.
This might not be the perfect wedding night she had once fantasized about as a girl, but at least she wasn’t spending this one by herself.