Chapter 4 Cenric
Cenric
Having the goddess of foretelling as his patron was much like having a Valdari mercenary as a cousin—less useful than most people assumed. Just as the Valdari still raided Cenric’s lands when the mood struck them, so Morgi seemed to only offer her guidance when the mood struck her.
Morgi was not a gentle goddess. She was not the motherly Eponine or the seductive Frenella. If anything, Morgi was a capricious younger sister, but she was protective in her own way.
Cenric had no dreams, only nightmares. As a child, they had frightened him. He had feared sleep, hated it. Some nights passed in peaceful oblivion, but Cenric had dreaded the nights he had visions all the same.
As he had grown older and his life had become more dangerous, Cenric had come to value his gift.
Though most of his nightmares were esoteric reflections of his own fear, dread, jealousy, and flaws, some of them were more. Foretellings were as different from simple nightmares as fire was from smoke.
Nightmares cleared away upon waking, fleeting and ephemeral. Foretellings burned themselves into his awareness, distinct and branded on his mind even in waking.
None of them were pleasant, but every foretelling was a warning. A possible future. Morgi only showed him danger, calamity, and misfortune, but it was always when it already lurked, and he could avoid it.
But either there was no calamity ahead or Morgi wasn’t in the mood to warn him. Cenric woke quietly in the early dawn hours, stiff from a night on the hard chest, but with no foretellings. He’d had a nightmare of some kind, though its memory was already fading. Yet he had not seen any warnings from his goddess.
The first thing he realized was that Snapper was gone. Cenric glanced around the room, looking for his dog.
Brynn lay asleep on the bed, curled on her side. From her pinched expression, Cenric wondered if she suffered nightmares, too. At her back, was Cenric’s traitor dog.
While Cenric had slept on the hard trunk with the wall against his back, Snapper had helped himself to the empty space on the bed.
Snapper lay at Brynn’s back, his limbs curled under him with his chin draped over her shoulder. The dog’s eyes were open, watching Cenric. The dog had absolutely no shame.
“Snapper,” Cenric hissed. “Get down.”
Snapper grunted in response and shifted. Pup.
Cenric got the image of a puppy curled against Brynn.
Lost pup, Snapper said.
Cenric closed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut, still trying not to wake Brynn. You are not her puppy .
Snapper’s response was almost sarcastic. He sent back an image of himself curled against Brynn. He wasn’t her puppy, but he could fill the empty space.
“She doesn’t want you there,” Cenric whispered. “She doesn’t like you.”
Friend, Snapper argued. As far as he was concerned, everyone liked him until proved otherwise.
Cenric pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of a way to extricate the dog without waking Brynn. He should have left Snapper with Edric last night. This marriage was off to a difficult start already, even without his dog harassing his new wife.
But Snapper went everywhere with him. He hadn’t even thought about it until it was too late.
Snapper huffed, settling back down. Was he going to make Cenric drag him off the bed?
As best Cenric could tell, Snapper understood Brynn missed her son and was trying to help. But Cenric wasn’t even sure if Brynn liked dogs, much less a dyrehund currently trying to be her surrogate baby.
“Snapper!” Cenric growled. “Get off her!”
Snapper woofed, hopping up on his forelegs.
“Shh, let her sleep.” Cenric stood, pushing off the cloak he had used as a blanket. “Snapper, let’s go.”
Snapper leapt off the bed, joining Cenric across the room. Go?
Go, Cenric agreed, pushing aside the trunk he’d used to block the door.
Brynn still appeared asleep when Cenric led the way to look for his men. He’d rather not stay in Ungamot longer than he needed. Winter was fast approaching and there was much work to be done back home. And maybe once they were out of this place devoid of mountains and forests, he could sort things out with Brynn.
Edric, Cenric sent to the dog. Find Edric.
Edric! Snapper responded with an image of the small thane. He led the way, tail wagging.
Snapper led Cenric to Edric, asleep on the floor of the king’s great hall. His other man lay on their blankets nearby along with other visitors to the king’s keep. The roaring central fire had died down to embers overnight and several boys were shoveling away the coals.
Cenric shook his shoulder and Edric jumped, one of his many knives out in an instant. “It’s me.”
“You should know better than to startle me awake.” Edric waved his knife at Cenric like a chiding finger. “I could have gotten you square in the gut.”
Cenric didn’t bother asking how Edric had smuggled a weapon into the main hall. “Rouse the men. We’re leaving as soon as I can speak with the king.”
“Doesn’t your pretty wife need time to get ready?” Edric rubbed his eyes, a mischievous smirk taking shape on his mouth. “How was she, by the way?”
Cenric stood and kicked Edric’s shoulder this time.
“What? That bad?” His brows quirked. “Or perhaps that good?”
Cenric landed another kick to Edric’s hip.
“I’m up. I’m up!” Edric clambered off the ground. “Any particular reason for your hurry?”
“We need to get home. I don’t like this.”
Edric yawned, stretching his back. “I take it you learned some things on your wedding night?”
“Very little. Where’s Kalen?”
Edric pointed to a lump just a few bedrolls over. “I think the lad drank his weight in wine last night. First time he’s had the stuff.”
“Get up, boy.” Cenric ripped the blankets off Kalen, his pale face gaping up at Cenric in shock.
“Lord,” Kalen stammered.
“Up,” Cenric ordered. “I need you to come with me to see the king.” He worked a knot out of his shoulder as the boy scrambled to adjust his cloak and bundle up his belongings.
Spending the night on the trunk had been hard and uncomfortable. He’d slept on less forgiving surfaces, but he wasn’t as young as he had once been.
Last night hadn’t played out perfectly, but Cenric was hardly going to take a weeping woman. He wasn’t yet sure he could trust his new wife, but he didn’t want to hurt her.
Brynn’s story played over in his mind. Something was missing.
He didn’t think she was lying, necessarily, but she had described a Valdari raid. Valdari didn’t usually raid in spring, and they didn’t sail all the way down the coast and upriver to raid fortified inland keeps. There had been no other recent raids along the coast, which would mean that a group of Valdari would have banded together to raid a fortified keep when there were plenty of unfortified towns along the coast. Towns where they could have taken thralls, sheep, silver, and maybe even gold, but without the risk of encountering real defenses.
Most Valdari raiders wouldn’t be pillaging until summer or the last few months before winter. Either when their own crops were planted or when the Hyldish villages and towns had their winter stores built up and ripe for taking.
And the raiders had happened to come on the night Brynn was gone? She seemed to accept it as just misfortune, but to Cenric it seemed quite convenient.
“I’m ready, lord.” Kalen stood at attention, brushing his bowl-cut hair into place and buckling on his leather breastplate.
“Edric, make sure to find my wife’s servants and ready them.” Cenric might be giving Brynn time, and he might be giving her space, but he wanted everything promised to him. “Take this to the steward of the king’s storehouses and get the ship loaded.”
Edric took the scroll from Cenric’s hand, etched on the finest lambskin vellum.
“And count everything twice. I don’t want the old goat to cheat us.” It wasn’t uncommon for stewards to shortchange their lord’s creditors and pocket the difference.
“This could take all day,” Edric warned him. “We might not be ready to sail until tonight.”
Cenric looked pointedly to the scroll in his friend’s hand. “Just see what you can do.” He marched back through the hall, stepping over sleeping forms with Kalen at his heels.
The noise of him rousing his men had disturbed several of the other sleepers. Figures rose across the hall, stirring from beneath their cloaks and blankets.
Cenric had not been to the keep of Ungamot for some time, but all Hylden spoke of the king’s morning habits. Sure enough, he found the king in the garden beneath a young elm. The old tree had been cut down during the occupation of Ungamot by Winfric, during the war over kingship. The new tree was one of its saplings.
King Aelgar sat crosslegged in the shadow of the tree. A heavy fur mantle draped around his shoulders that seemed excessive in the mild autumn morning. A stack of pages sewn together on one side and pressed together by wooden boards lay in the king’s lap—a codex or what were being called books. A servant waited on the king, holding a steaming cup in both hands. From the smell, Cenric guessed it was that same wretched herbal concoction the king always took for his stomach ailments.
A guard blocked Cenric at the entrance to the garden. “The king will see petitioners this afternoon.”
Friend? Snapper asked, wagging his tail up at the stranger.
The guard ignored the dog.
Cenric looked the guard up and down. The man was wider than him, but not much taller. He had a crooked nose and held a spear, but no armor. If Cenric had really wanted to, he could have jabbed a knife into the man’s ribs and shoved his way to the king.
“Is that my nephew?” Aelgar called, lowering his book.
It took Cenric a moment to realize Aelgar meant him. By marrying Brynn, Cenric had become Aelgar’s nephew. The thought felt wrong.
“Let him pass,” the king ordered.
Cenric smiled at the guard, confident he could have killed the man, and slipped past.
Snapper bounded off into the garden, loping in a large circle as he sniffed the grass.
By the time Cenric reached Aelgar, Snapper was nosing a row of shrubs and the king had gone back to reading his book. “Have a seat, Cenric.”
There was only the grass, coated by a thin layer of dew. Cenric grimaced.
“I enjoy an exercise in humility before attending to the needs of the kingdom.” Aelgar kept his eyes on the book before him.
Seeing no way around it, Cenric sat, accepting that he would have a damp spot on his ass when he stood.
Kalen stood off to the side at a respectful distance with his head inclined slightly. He looked subservient, but the boy was good at watching for threats while looking harmless.
“Have you read anything by the philosopher, Jossel?” Aelgar asked it as if it was entirely possible Cenric had.
Cenric almost laughed. “Can’t say I have.” He glanced up at the sapling, wondering what Winfric had done with the old tree they had chopped down. A ship’s mast, perhaps?
Aelgar lowered his book, studying Cenric thoughtfully. “I shall have to gift a copy to you to take home.”
“You are truly too kind in your gifts, my liege.” Cenric had sworn an oath to serve Aelgar in order to reclaim Ombra. It had not been an oath given gladly or lightly, but it was what it was. “I wish to return home. I came to ask your leave.” Cenric held eye contact with Aelgar, keeping his face impassive.
Aelgar took just a few heartbeats too long to respond. “Is this the wish of your lady wife?”
“I have not yet spoken to her.”
“Perhaps you should.” Aelgar looked to his book again.
“Why me?”
“What do you mean?”
Cenric grew weary of the king’s games. “You wrote me a letter mere weeks ago saying you had a wife for me. For all you knew, I’d already taken a wife.”
Morgi might have seemingly sent her reassurances, but Cenric had learned by now not to make large decisions based on a single foretelling or lack of one.
“But you hadn’t,” Aelgar replied.
Cenric knew he had Aelgar’s spies in his own home. Several of his people had confessed that Aelgar’s agents had approached them for information. Cenric had told them to accept. They might as well receive a little extra coin in exchange for telling the spies what they would learn anyway. “Why me, my liege?”
“I was hesitant about you, Cenric.” Aelgar must mean he was hesitant about Cenric’s Valdari heritage, and that he had spent most of his youth across the sea. “But you have proven yourself so far.” Aelgar took a deep breath and exhaled. “You deserve a reward for your loyalty.”
“And Lady Brynn is your idea of a reward?” As soon as he said it, Cenric wondered if he had gone too far.
Aelgar blinked at Cenric long enough to make him fear the king was offended. He might think very highly of his niece, after all. “Brynn was an excellent wife to her last husband.”
“Yet she left him.” Cenric knew there was more to that story, and he already disliked Paega from what he had heard, but it was worth pointing out.
“Brynn and Paega were an unfortunate match,” Aelgar said through a tight jaw, as if he was reluctant to say the words. “Her mother married her to him without my approval.”
Cenric cocked his head at that.
“The sorceresses pressured Paega into marrying her because he is the grandson of King Offa.”
Cenric frowned, trying to remember his country’s history. “King Offa? The king before your father?”
“The same. Through his mother’s line.”
That meant Paega was king-worthy, an atheling or viable candidate for kingship if he’d ever chosen to press the matter.
From what Cenric remembered, Offa had been the first great king of Hylden. He had extended their borders into the far north, conquering Cenric’s forefathers. He’d reigned long and, if the stories could be believed, he’d reigned well. But Offa had produced nine too many sons and after his death, they had been too busy slaughtering each other to stop King Aelmar and his thanes from taking the kingship.
Cenric considered that. That would mean Brynn’s heirs with Paega would have had the blood of three kings in their veins, not to mention the likely support of the sorceresses. It made sense why Aelgar would be eager to end that union.
“But I objected for other reasons,” Aelgar said. “Brynn is my brother’s only surviving child. Her sister died fighting for me.” Aelgar fell silent for a long moment. Cenric hadn’t thought it was possible, but his expression grew even more solemn. “I would see her married to a man who appreciates what he has been given.”
Cenric wasn’t sure if that was a request to treat Brynn well, or a warning that he should be grateful.
Aelgar exhaled out his nose. “This union strengthens our northern defenses against the Valdari while ensuring my niece is wedded to a loyal man. I see this as a complete victory.”
Cenric supposed, from that perspective, it was reasonable. He himself was not king-worthy, being descended of tribal chieftains and northern wild men. His sons with Brynn might still be king-worthy, but there were stronger claims in other families. Like spring water added to wine, Cenric was meant to dilute Brynn’s lineage.
There was still an incomplete part of this story, though. The circumstances of Osbeorn’s death were odd and Aelgar had more reason than anyone to want the boy dead. Not to mention it had given Brynn grounds to end her first marriage. But why bother with Valdari raiders?
Either way, Cenric decided it would be rude to ask if the king had murdered a baby.
“Brynn will be a good wife to you. She knows her duty.” Aelgar sounded confident. “That’s one way she’s more Hyldish than Istovari.”
Interesting. It must not be Brynn that Aelgar feared, just those who would use her.
“Even if things seem lackluster now, I have full confidence she’ll make you a fine wife in time.”
Cenric grimaced before he stopped himself.
“Has your goddess told you otherwise?” Aelgar asked the question as a challenge.
“No,” Cenric admitted. Morgi was oddly silent on this seemingly large decision.
“Then trust your goddess, if not your king.”
The younger man cast a sideways glance to Aelgar. The response that came to mind was disrespectful, so he held his tongue.
Aelgar blinked at Cenric with a stony expression. “You could have turned her down.”
Kings were tricky creatures. They didn’t honor bonds and loyalties the way other men did. When a king could argue that what benefitted him benefitted the kingdom, it made for interesting justifications and claims.
“Do I have your leave to depart as soon as I can?” Cenric asked.
“You are not a captive or a hostage here,” Aelgar answered.
Cenric took a deep breath. “Then I shall see that my lady wife is ready to depart.” Cenric stood, dusting off his pants. Sure enough, his ass was damp.
Aelgar fixed him in a steady look.
“Yes?” Cenric had the feeling Aelgar wanted to hear something else. “Am I forgetting something, lord?”
“I hope you will grow to be fond of Brynn, Cenric.” Aelgar’s tone was soft, almost sad. “If not, I hope you will at least treat her fairly. Gods know the girl deserves that much.”
Cenric frowned at that. “I look after what’s mine.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Aelgar replied, his attention returning to the book in his lap.
Cenric turned to leave, calling for Snapper and gesturing for Kalen to follow. This was as close to answers as he expected to get.