Tears of the Wolf (Wrath and Weeping #1)

Chapter 6 Cenric

Cenric

They left Ungamot before the sun reached its zenith. It was better than Cenric had hoped, certainly.

They sailed out into the open waters, then steered toward the north, keeping two or so bowshots off the coast.

Cenric and his men took turns rowing. The wind was against them, and they kept the sails furled. Cenric took part in the first shift while Edric made sure all the goods were properly secured.

They rowed for over an hour at a steady pace until Edric and the next group of men stepped up to take their spots at the oars. “Wind’s not too bad. We should make fair time.”

“Don’t tempt Llyr, my friend.”

Edric shrugged. “What interest does Llyr have in making our lives difficult? If I was a god, I’d be too busy to meddle with the likes of me.”

Cenric handed his oars over to Edric as other men did the same. Cenric accepted water from the communal barrel, ladling it out to take several gulps. In summer, the heat would have them all endlessly thirsty, but right now, the cold helped stave off thirst.

Several men brought out dice as many did during the boredom between shifts. Cenric almost went to join them, but his attention fell on Brynn.

She sat beneath the shade of the shelter. She and her maid each held a boot in one hand, working something into the soles, but neither held a needle. Snapper sprawled a few paces from Brynn’s side, napping in the sunshine.

Cenric came closer as the ship glided along. Seagulls swooped in around the vessel, probably hoping they were fishermen.

Brynn glanced up and acknowledged him with a slight incline of her head, then went back to work.

Cenric glanced over to his men at the oars. Daven, a young man just a few years Kalen’s senior, was barefoot.

The space on the deck beside Brynn was unoccupied, so Cenric sat. He kept just enough distance between them so he wouldn’t touch her by accident. Her maid continued working on her other side, mute and head down.

Snapper rose, ambling over to plop himself down against Cenric’s side. He leaned against Cenric, tail thumping on the deck as Cenric rubbed his side. Good pets, Snapper sent, shifting appreciatively. Good pets.

As Cenric watched Brynn, she held a leather patch over the holes in the bottom of the boot. He studied the movement of her hands—deft and skilled. Her fingers moved mindlessly, easily. Whatever she was doing, she had done it many times before.

She massaged the sole of the boot and the patch. As she worked, the new leather seemed to meld with the old. The patches melted into the holes, fitting smoothly and thickening the leather before his eyes. Dark seams marked where she had worked, but otherwise the boots appeared as good as new. They should work as well as new, at least. Her maid did much the same thing, but with considerably less confidence and speed.

Cenric had heard of sorceresses healing bodies, but not shoes. “I didn’t think sorceresses wasted their talents on boots.”

Brynn shook her head. “Your man asked me what sorceresses could do. I mentioned mending things. He asked me to show him.”

Cenric didn’t know how he felt about his men treating his wife like their personal cobbler. She would be the lady of Ombra and had a pedigree that should have earned respect. At the same time, Ombra was not the sort of place where anyone was spared from work.

“Will these boots be imbued with any special properties now?” Cenric asked. “Silent movement? The ability to walk on hot coals, perhaps?”

Brynn shook her head, not responding to his humor. “The ka I’ve infused into them should make them more durable, but that’s it.”

“Hmm.” Cenric rested an elbow on his knee, still watching her. Several golden strands of hair had worked free of her braid and lightly caressed her neck.

Brynn swallowed, probably aware of his attention. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For last night.”

Cenric wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t want anyone to know they hadn’t consummated the marriage, but it was hardly something that could be proven either way.

Edric probably suspected things hadn’t gone well, but he knew better than to press the issue.

“You seem close with your dog.” Brynn’s tone was careful, like she wasn’t sure how he might take it.

“Snapper is a dyrehund,” Cenric explained. “They were gifts to my family from the goddess Morgi.”

Snapper’s tail wagged as he recognized his own name.

“Morgi is your patron?”

“She is,” Cenric confirmed. “Her other gifts run through my family. On the father’s side, at least.”

Morgi’s gifts passed from father to child, unlike Eponine’s gifts, which passed from mother to child.

“Do you know of my family’s gifts?” Cenric thumped Snapper’s ribs as the dog stretched out beside him.

“I’ve heard rumors,” Brynn answered softly. “But I would rather you tell me.”

“I dream of the future.” Cenric quirked one brow at Brynn, studying her reaction.

Upon hearing of his gift the first time, most people asked Cenric if he could look into their futures. As a boy, he’d gotten so tired of being asked that he’d stopped telling people he had a gift at all.

Brynn, to her credit, did not ask about her own future. She blinked at him for several moments as if she wasn’t sure whether she believed him.

“Parts of the future,” Cenric conceded in the face of her skepticism. “Misfortunes, calamities. And only if they will happen in places I have already been, involving people I have already met.”

Some gods were said to grant oracles visions of the futures of kings and nations, but dreams from Morgi always concerned the dreamer. Morgi could be unpredictable, but she looked after her own first and foremost.

“Did you foresee any misfortunes last night?” Brynn asked.

She was asking if he’d foreseen any misfortunes involving her. It was akin to the questions he usually got, but she wasn’t directly asking about herself, which earned her some credit in his eyes.

Cenric shook his head. “I had no foretellings last night, no. But it’s not unusual during times of peace. Sometimes I go months without them.” During Ovrek’s campaign to conquer Valdar, Cenric had foretellings almost nightly, but that had been wartime.

“I see.” Brynn was silent for a moment. The furrow between her brows deepened as if she was thinking. “Is every dream you have a foretelling?”

“No, I have regular nightmares, too.”

“Nightmares?” Brynn caught onto his wording. “You have no good dreams?”

“It’s not so bad,” Cenric assured her. “I don’t remember most of the regular nightmares and I’m used to it by now.”

Brynn was quiet for a time. “That seems a dubious gift.”

“It really isn’t bad,” Cenric promised. “Besides, Morgi also lets me speak to my dyrehunds.”

Brynn shot a glance to Snapper. “You can speak to him?”

“Images, smells, and simple sentences.” Cenric looked down to his dyrehund. “About what you’d expect from a dog’s mind.”

“You can speak in your minds?” For some reason, Brynn seemed to accept him hearing his dog’s thoughts more readily than his foretellings.

“Two or three words at a time,” Cenric explained. “It’s like talking to a young child.”

Brynn’s face fell and Cenric realized a moment later he should have chosen a different description. He felt the impulse to apologize, but that might push her to discuss her loss, and she might not be ready for that. After a moment, Brynn broke the silence herself.

“Do you have family in Ombra?” She was likely trying to change the subject.

“No,” Cenric answered.

“Oh. Do they live elsewhere?”

“Dead.” Cenric looked toward the sky. The gulls had mostly left them alone, but one or two of the birds still appeared to be holding out on hope. “I have an aunt who lives on a remote farm, but everyone else is gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember them,” Cenric replied. “Not really. I was sent to Valdar as a child, then my father was killed fighting for Aelgar before I returned. My older brothers with him. I don’t remember my mother or my sister at all.”

“I see.” Brynn’s hands slowed as she worked.

He feared she might burst into tears again at the mention of dead relatives, but her face remained impassive. She must be doing better today.

“And you? Any family?”

“My sister is dead,” Brynn replied. “Just my mother.”

“The sorceress Selene.”

“Yes,” Brynn confirmed. “My mother never married Eormenulf, but he acknowledged my sister and I.”

“That’s all that matters.” Cenric wondered if she noticed those tendrils of hair brushing her neck. Could she feel them? “Why didn’t you go back to her, Brynn?”

This morning, he asked in the city about Brynn’s mother. Selene was powerful, and revered. She was not yet the Istovari Elder Mother, but many thought she would be someday. Selene had friends and allies from Hylden to Mynadra in the far southern kingdoms. She could have arranged a much wealthier man for Brynn’s next husband. One who lived in much safer lands, too.

“I don’t want to go back to her.” Brynn seemed to focus harder on her work, if it was possible.

On Cenric’s other side, Snapper laid down, snout resting between his paws. The dyrehund sent an impression of utter contentment and happiness.

“You have a right to my protection, as my wife,” Cenric said. “I will do all in my power to keep you safe, but Ombra can be dangerous. We are raided more than anyone else.”

“Every decision we make is one between safety and freedom, in one way or another.” Brynn blinked quickly. “I traded the latter for the former far too quickly last time. In the end, it was for nothing.” A muscle in Brynn’s cheek tightened as she clenched her jaw.

“Done, lady,” her maid said, voice soft.

“Good.” Brynn inspected the girl’s handiwork. “Excellent. Return these to Daven.”

The girl picked up both boots and scurried off.

Learning his men’s names already? Impressive.

Cenric studied her. She was mesmerizing with the sea wind in her hair and her skin smooth as butter. Lovely.

“You think being a border lord’s wife will be freedom?” Cenric wanted her to know the truth. If she had idealized life in Ombra, he’d debase her of those notions quickly. He loved the northern land with its rugged peaks and mighty rivers, but it was harsh. Most of their farmland barely got them by and while the grazing in the hills was good for sheep and cattle, they had to constantly fend off raids from Valdari and sometimes southern Hyldish who thought they could get away with it. “It will be a hard life.”

“You think I’ve had an easy life?” The question came softly, gently.

Cenric thought back to Aelgar’s words about Brynn. About succession. He’d never thought that perhaps Brynn wanted herself out of talk of the crown as much as Aelgar did.

Aelgar was young, but he had always been sickly. He was a competent king, but his son was a toddler, and he had no other male relatives. If the Istovari wanted to make a play for the kingship…

But Cenric was a northern savage. He had no kings in his lineage, not even a far-flung legendry one. The other aldermen would never accept him as a ruler, probably not even as a consort. That Brynn seemed to have married him without her mother’s consent had probably lost her the support of the Istovari.

“You’ve destroyed your chances of power by marrying me,” Cenric said, both understanding and not.

“I don’t want it.” Brynn clasped her hands on her knees, pulling her legs closer. “And I knew what I was doing.”

She was not as helpless as Cenric had thought. She was intentionally running away.

“What do you want, Brynn?” Cenric asked, being blunt. He could be subtle when necessary, but he would be bringing her home in a matter of days. He wanted to know. “From this arrangement?” He gestured between them.

Brynn was quiet for a long moment.

The sounds of the oars creaking, dipping, and splashing took on its steady rhythm. The heartbeat of a ship. Overhead, the gulls still circled hopefully.

Brynn watched the gulls as they fluttered and bobbed on the breeze.

Cenric found himself watching her. There was softness in the way she spoke, in the way she carried herself, even in the way her full lips parted while she looked across the water, but there was a vein of iron underneath.

“I am prepared to do my duty as your wife and as sorceress to the people of Ombra.” Brynn kneaded her fingers in her skirt, head down. She had not answered his question.

Cenric kept his attention on her, though she still stared ahead. Always ahead. “Don’t lie to me. And don’t keep secrets from me. I will do the same with you.”

Brynn took just another moment before she nodded. “Very well.” She pulled her knees against her chest, hugging her legs.

Cenric could see now that many of his fears had been unfounded. Brynn came with her own wounds, some of them still bleeding. Her family might still be a problem, but they might not. She’d gotten drunk on their wedding night, but he forgave her for that, all things considered.

She was willing to work as hard as the rest of them, judging by how easily she had taken to mending a stranger’s boots. She’d shown him respect in front of his men and hadn’t kept them waiting at the ship for her.

She didn’t expect to live in comfort. She wasn’t the spoiled sorceress he’d feared. She was…

“I want a life I chose,” Brynn finally confessed. “Not one that was chosen for me.”

Brynn was saying she would rather be an alderman’s wife on her own terms than something greater by the will of someone else. She fascinated him, this king’s daughter who had chosen to marry a stranger because it was the one choice she could make for herself.

She stirred something deep in Cenric’s chest. Something warm that tugged him toward her.

Loose tendrils of her hair whipped against her cheek and neck as the wind picked up. Those few strands were so at odds with the rest of her—controlled and restrained.

“Brynn.”

She turned to him, her face tight, like she was bracing herself for what he had to say.

“May I touch you?” He didn’t realize that was what he was going to ask until the words left his lips. Out loud, it sounded awkward as a boy wooing his first girl—but Cenric very much wanted to touch her.

Brynn searched his face for just a moment. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice little more than a croak. She lowered her knees, leaning against the barrels at her back so she wasn’t closed off from him. She uncrossed her arms, though her hands remained knotted in her lap. She might have given permission, but it was like she braced for a blow.

Cenric caught the loose tendrils of her hair, feeling them between his fingers. They were just as silky as he imagined. He traced his fingers along her jawline, feeling the softness of her cheek as he tucked her hair behind her ear.

Taking a breath, Cenric dropped his hand, facing the front of the ship again. He hadn’t wanted to stop touching her, but didn’t want to frighten her. He suspected her previous experience with men had been unpleasant. It might take time before she was ready to trust him.

Several of the men at dice shot them covert glances but left them alone.

Brynn’s maidservant had returned the boots to Daven and now seemed to be intently studying the shoreline.

“You asked permission…for that?” Brynn’s voice shook with quiet surprise.

Cenric quirked a smile in her direction. “Would you like me to touch you more?”

“I told you I’m prepared to do my duty” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

That word again—duty. Cenric wasn’t sure why it annoyed him.

Brynn wasn’t going to stop him from touching her. He realized now that she wouldn’t have stopped him if he’d wanted to bed her last night.

“Are you sure?” Cenric cocked his head toward her. He held eye contact until she shifted, but she didn’t look away.

Brynn cleared her throat. She fluttered her hands in her lap and adjusted her skirt. “You’re mocking me?”

Cenric was trying to tease her, but he supposed they were not at that point, yet. “Tell me about Selene. Will she cause problems for us?”

“She respects the wishes of her king,” Brynn said.

“But will she be against this marriage?”

“My mother knows there is nothing she can do.”

Cenric’s eyes narrowed. “You are dancing around the question, lady.”

Brynn looked up, frustrated.

“I take it she approved of Paega?”

Brynn grimaced at the name of her first husband. “She did.”

“But you and the king did not?” Cenric asked.

“I was young.” Brynn’s voice turned sad again. “I thought my mother knew best.” She glanced down to her hands. “My mother has many opinions, and she wants everyone to share them.”

“I see,” Cenric said, though he didn’t, not fully.

“It was little things for the most part,” Brynn continued. “She wanted me to always wear red in public, as is proper for a sorceress. I was to wear ermine in the winter, especially when receiving guests. No pigs at our table unless they were wild boars, and she always sent us a list of recommended visits and gifts to surrounding shires.” Brynn paused, blinking several times before she went on. “They were called recommendations, but I know my mother meant them as orders.”

“I see.” And this time Cenric thought he did see, at least in part.

Brynn swiped a hand over her face. She might be batting away tears.

“Some people might say that you’re ruining your life in order to get away from her.”

Brynn didn’t argue like he expected. “Some people might.”

“But?”

Brynn almost whispered her response. “I need a husband.”

“You need protection,” Cenric corrected. That seemed to be the truth of it. Brynn needed protection from her mother, from the schemes of the Istovari Mothers, and maybe even Aelgar.

Brynn looked to their port side and the expanse of trees sliding by. Her jaw had gone hard.

“You need not worry.” Cenric followed her gaze across the water, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Marrying a sorceress would solve many of his problems, but it might create a host of new ones. That did not change that he’d committed to Brynn, and she seemed committed to him, or at least this course of action. “I protect what’s mine.”

Unlike Paega, he wanted to add. Cenric had only Brynn’s version of events, but that so many people agreed with her did not reflect well on the man.

Brynn cleared her throat. “Even from the Valdari?”

Cenric laughed at that. Several heads turned in his direction, but he waved them back to their work.

“You are mocking me.” Brynn sounded wounded.

“Not at all.” He shook his head. “Yes, from the Valdari, too. Especially from them.”

Brynn looked askance.

“Like I told you, my mother was Valdari,” Cenric said. “I was sent to foster with her brother not long after I was weaned. His name was Hróarr. His wife was Venya.” Cenric watched her reaction carefully, but she gave him none. It was impressive how well she could do that—drain her face of emotion. “They raised me like one of their sons and I loved them like my own mother and father.”

Brynn remained still. “And you raided with them?”

Cenric quirked one eyebrow. “Does it make a difference that I did?”

Brynn held his stare, not blinking, still not giving anything away.

“We never raided Hylden,” Cenric conceded at length. “My uncle felt it would be discourteous to his sister.”

“Where did you raid, then?” Brynn’s tone turned hard. Some of that steel he’d seen at their first meeting showed once again.

“Do you really want to know?” Cenric wasn’t going to defend himself to her.

At the same time, he found he genuinely wanted her approval. He didn’t need it. She’d gotten herself into this situation and she could make her own peace with it. But…

“Northern Kelethi. We took sheep and goats. Not much else worth taking in those parts.”

Cenric’s uncle had wanted to go further south, but Venya had forbidden it. You can take those boys into real danger once they have beards to braid, had been her demand.

“Then my uncle was murdered,” Cenric said quietly. “A nearby jarl came in the night. He burned my uncle’s longhouse with most of the family inside.”

Cenric’s uncle had sworn allegiance to Ovrek, the first king of Valdar. His jarl had not appreciated that.

“I’m sorry,” Brynn whispered softly.

“It was a long time ago.” Cenric felt that the time for condolences over his loss was long past. “My cousin and I survived because we were late bringing in the sheep that night. We returned home to find it aflame.”

“I see.” A vacant look flickered over Brynn’s face and for a moment he wondered what memory had just been resurrected for her.

But he would hunt for her secrets another time. Right now, she had asked for his.

“We ran for days to find Ovrek’s camp.”

“Ovrek?” Brynn frowned, then seemed to recognize the name. “The king of Valdar?”

“He wasn’t king then,” Cenric qualified. “Just a warlord with ambition fresh back from the Kelethi Empire.”

“What was he doing there?” Brynn sounded confused.

“Mercenary work. The Kelethi always have use for violent men.” Cenric had once considered sailing south to seek work there himself, but the desire to reclaim Ombra had been too great. “Ovrek returned with a band of veterans and more gold than any of us had ever seen in one place.”

Brynn glanced at the rings on Cenric’s forearms. Ovrek had given him a pair of gold arm rings, but these were silver, sturdier and commissioned by Cenric himself after becoming alderman.

“He promised my cousin and I revenge and a place in his warband. We took it.” What followed had been years of hard rations, sweat, bloody knuckles, and constant yelling as they were drilled by the veterans of Kelethi. It had been brutal and many of their friends had not survived.

Brynn shook her head. “How old were you?”

“Thirteen.” Cenric had been younger than Kalen was now. Sometimes he wondered how he had ever been that young. “My cousin is also named Hróarr. He docks in Ombra from time to time. You will meet him eventually.”

Brynn seemed resigned. “Unless he attacks us, I have no quarrel with him.”

That was fair enough. Honestly, much fairer than he had expected.

“I tell you this to say that while I count some Valdari as my friends, my brothers, even, that does not apply to all of them.” Cenric had mortal enemies among the Valdari still. Though Ovrek had ruled for years now, not everyone had accepted his yoke happily. “I have no problem killing those who cross me. Regardless of who they are.”

Brynn did not seem frightened or even impressed by those words. He was beginning to realize she wasn’t easily impressed, but he enjoyed a challenge.

Cenric shrugged. “From what you have told me, your mother is still going to hate me.”

Brynn’s voice was hoarse, but firm when she said, “I hope so.”

Cenric allowed himself a smile at that. He was already growing fond of his wife.