Chapter 11 Brynn
Brynn
The bathhouse was delightful, even if Brynn had to walk to the foot of the hill to use it. Built over a hot spring, the wooden structure was constructed of logs with an open roof.
Brynn had heard tales of hot springs, but never seen one herself. Her mother had theorized that the waters must be rich with ka and that was what made them hot. Now Brynn could see that the water held no more ka than usual, maybe even a little less. Perhaps she would never know what made some waters warm all year long.
Brynn washed her hair, then every inch of her skin with Esa’s help. She combed her hair while seated on the steaming rocks, her feet soaking in the warm water.
It wasn’t bath night, so they had the place to themselves. Gaitha told her the women bathed together at the second day of the week, the children the first and men the third. The heat from the stones seemed to melt away Brynn’s tension and chase away the autumn chill.
When they were done, Esa helped Brynn into a clean dress. Brynn daubed her hair dry, and Esa helped her braid it into a neat plait. After, Brynn braided Esa’s hair in turn.
The girl had soft auburn hair, almost red. It was as fine as eiderdown in Brynn’s hands.
Brynn caught herself humming as she worked, an old lullaby Aelfwynn had sung to her, and she had sung to Osbeorn. That surprised Brynn a little. She hadn’t sung in months. If Esa noticed, she said nothing.
When the two of them returned to the longhouse, Gaitha greeted them. The other woman continued her tour of the inside of the longhouse with promises of showing her more tomorrow. Gaitha led the preparation of the evening meal for the residents of the longhouse.
Brynn observed for the most part, chopping onions, radishes, and carrots with the household girls. They poured them into a cauldron that was already boiling with chunks of lamb. The household girls stirred the pot while Gaitha oversaw the closing of all the longhouse doors and windows for the night.
Brynn went with a few of the girls to bring in the geese and stable the goats. Cenric’s flocks and herds appeared healthy, with plenty of young animals. His home was prosperous enough.
The dyrehunds sprawled on the floor for the evening meal, snapping up scraps and gnawing at the discarded bones and organs of the slaughtered sheep. The one Cenric called Ash pawed at Brynn’s leg, whining under the table.
Edric shooed the animal away. “None of that, now!”
The dog backed away, whimpering.
“Sorry, lady,” Edric said. “If you give the animal any space at all, she’ll be walking all over you!”
“Sounds like someone I know,” Gaitha muttered. She grabbed Edric’s face, pulled him around, planting a hard kiss on his mouth.
Brynn returned her attention to her cup of ale. There was no wine tonight, only ale. Brynn accepted it as she had accepted everything else so far. The stew was filling and well-salted. She picked out the chunks of vegetable and meat with her fingers, then drank the broth. Pieces that were too large, she cut into smaller pieces with her eating knife.
“I am grateful to have you here, Lady Brynn.” Gaitha extracted herself from Edric’s lips long enough to let him finish his meal. “I’ll finally be able to get back to my own household now.”
Brynn nodded. “I’m grateful for you looking after the longhouse.”
Gaitha stroked Edric’s shoulder, brazen and shameless. “Of course,” she said. “When my lord requires the service.”
“Who looked after it before you? His Aunt Aegifu?”
“Mad Aggie?” Gaitha scoffed. “No, she hasn’t been here since Cenric became alderman. A girl from the village. Rowan.”
Brynn’s mouth went suddenly dry. “I see.” A cold tightness grew in her belly. She didn’t want to think what that might mean. She was afraid to ask.
“She’s a fine girl. Hard worker. Left the longhouse in good order when I took it over.”
So Cenric had some village girl, presumably unmarried, running his home? Brynn wasn’t na?ve.
Brynn forced herself to go empty, to not think. She wouldn’t care. She wouldn’t.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to finish showing you around,” Gaitha assured her. “You’ve run a much larger household than this, it sounds like. I’m sure you’ll take to it in no time.”
Brynn softened her mouth into a smile, but inside everything had gone tight and cold as if she’d been splashed with a bucket of water.
They finished the evening meal and fed the leftovers to the pigs. The dogs fought with several large sows for their fair share.
Esa was given a place in the main hall with the other girls. She had slept on a cot inside Brynn’s room back in Glasney, but she didn’t complain when she was shown a pallet on the floor.
“Are you going to be alright?” Brynn asked, giving the girl a significant look.
“Fine, lady.”
Brynn touched the side of Esa’s face. Esa was barely fourteen. Brynn had fought in a war at her age, but somehow Esa seemed like a child to her. She wanted to protect the girl, that was all she had ever wanted for her. Maybe she was trying to protect Esa the way she wished someone had protected her. “You don’t have to punish yourself,” Brynn said quietly. “It wasn’t your fault.”
Esa had been the one tasked with watching Osbeorn that terrible night, after all. But what could she have done? She was one girl, still inexperienced in her power. Brynn had been older than her when she’d hid while Aelfwynn and her thanes were slaughtered.
Esa’s lower lip trembled, but she looked away. “I’ll be fine. Send for me if you need anything?”
“I will.”
Esa canted her head, adjusting her pallet in the midst of the other household girls.
The sun had already set by the time Gaitha saw Brynn to her room—her and Cenric’s room. She kissed Brynn on either cheek in the way of sisters or good friends, then bid her good night.
Brynn stood alone, hands clutched before her.
Overhead, she could hear the household boys and men clambering up to the loft for the night. The girls were bedding down by the central hearth and would keep it tended through the night.
Brynn’s own fire had been banked. In winter, a servant would stay awake to tend it and watch for stray embers, but it was not yet cold enough to need one now.
The floor was made of slats of wood, not earth like the main longhouse. That would help keep it warm, she hoped.
How long had Cenric been lord of Ombra? She didn’t remember. But he had to have been lord for years.
Looking at the bed, it now seemed too large and too cold for just one person. Married or no, aldermen did not sleep alone for years at a time. Paega was the exception.
Brynn herself had not slept alone in a long time. Esa had slept in her room, as had Osbeorn.
Some nights, Brynn would lie awake watching him sleep, listening to the soft rise and fall of his tiny chest. He had been so small, so delicate. So precious. Her entire heart. So many of her hopes and dreams were wrapped up in that little boy.
The silence of this bedchamber was deafening. The loneliness was an achingly frigid thing that latched icy claws around her heart. A lump formed in Brynn’s throat, and she fought to swallow it.
Alone. She was alone.
It was just for the night, perhaps, but it felt deeper than that. Her father was gone, her sister was gone, Aunt Ulstrid was gone, and so was Osbeorn.
Children who died young went to the home of their patron gods—or so it was said. Osbeorn would grow up in the home of Eponine, the goddess who was ancestress to all Istovari. She would raise him as her son, free of pain, hardship, and fear. Osbeorn would be happy, never knowing the struggles of a mortal life and Brynn tried to take comfort in that. She tried very hard, repeating to herself with every beat of her heart.
Somehow, it was not comforting at all.
Brynn removed her overdress and the wraps around her ankles and calves. Her legs were instantly cold, but it was the only way to avoid waking up with the wraps tangled around her legs.
This might be a lonely bed in a lonely room, but it would still be warmer and more comfortable than the past two nights. Brynn adjusted her pillows and smoothed her blankets.
As she shuffled to the edge of the bed, something hit her foot. Most of the floor had been swept clean, spotless, but something poked out from under the bed. It was all but hidden, easily missed.
Brynn drew aside the blankets. A comb lay mostly wedged under the bed. She pried it free, inspecting closer.
It was carved of bone and decorated with careful etchings. It had been darkened with age, probably a family heirloom. A woman’s comb.
Another woman had lived here, very recently. Maybe up until a week ago when Cenric had received the orders that he was to marry her.
Brynn had already suspected, if not known. So why did it hurt so much?
Brynn set the comb on top of one of her own trunks. She didn’t want to weep again. She’d already wept so much.
What had she expected? Any lord who could afford them kept concubines as well as wives. This was a political arrangement between her and Cenric, just as it had been between her and Paega. Cenric was to provide a safe home for her, and she was to run his household and serve as his shire’s sorceress. They were to help each other continue their respective bloodlines and that was it.
Cenric had fulfilled every expectation so far. There was no reason for her to be upset. None at all.
Brynn woke before the rest of the household, while it was still dark. She layered on her linen chemise, wool overdress, and belts. They were clothes for work, not for travel. She strapped a pouch onto her belt with her eating knife, thread, needle, and a few basic tools. Lastly, she bound her hair back under a large kerchief.
Brynn stepped out into the longhouse. A few of the animals stirred, but she didn’t see movement yet. She went outside to relieve herself. Several dogs followed. The older male, the one Cenric had called Thorn, watched Brynn the whole time, his remaining eye trained on the sorceress.
The air was crisp, fresh. Frozen dew crackled beneath Brynn’s feet and a few dyrehunds rushed around her, tails wagging.
The small pack only stopped when they saw her heading into the longhouse. It seemed they had more interesting places to be.
In the central longhouse, Brynn found Esa still asleep, but one of the girls was already awake, kneeling before the fire pit at the center of the longhouse. She was a slight thing with dark hair that hung around her face in whisps.
“What’s your name?” Brynn asked.
At Brynn’s words, the girl jumped. She kept her head down, almost shaking. “Seva, lady.”
From what Brynn had seen, Seva appeared to be the youngest of the longhouse girls. She might be ten or eleven.
“Seva, I’m Brynn.” The sorceress motioned to the fire pit. “Show me what you were doing.”
Seva complied, showing Brynn how they stoked the fires and placed the dough for the morning’s bread into the coals with paddles.
Brynn watched her carefully and when the other girls roused, she had them show her their tasks as well. Brynn needed to know their duties if she was to manage them.
Esa woke and hastily dressed, shadowing Brynn dutifully.
Brynn followed the girls for the morning milking and healed the chapped udders of an old nanny goat. The girls collected the extra milk and what wasn’t set aside for the morning meal was poured into a pot for cheesemaking.
Gaitha came by the time the boys were stirring in the loft. Hot bread with soft cheese had already been prepared on the table.
Brynn threw herself into work, having the girls and Gaitha show her how the geese were kept, what they were fed, and who cared for them. Same for the household’s dogs and sheep, though the latter seemed to be the responsibility of the household boys. The dyrehunds seemed to be treated more like children—shooed from underfoot, but indulgently tolerated for the most part.
Brynn visited the stables where most the horses were kept along with the pigs and sheep. She had the boys tell her how the animals were cared for, who was responsible for their care, and so on.
For now, she needed to know the state of everything. There would be time to change things later, if she wanted to.
All morning and into midday, she worked, or rather watched other people work. A meal was prepared for later that afternoon and the house girls seemed to have that under control.
Brynn grabbed her cloak, Gaitha, and Esa, and headed down to the village. As they descended the hill, a few dogs followed them, then went bounding back up when they realized there wouldn’t be a hunt or other sport.
“Is there anyone ill in the village?” Brynn asked Gaitha, the wind whipping up in her face. “Anyone injured or in need of mending?”
Gaitha considered it. “There might be a few,” she said. “I can show you.”
Brynn had Esa carry her bandages, clean scraps of cloth, and purifying herbs. It was much as they had done back in Paega’s lands, Esa working the part of her assistant—except when she had been watching Osbeorn.
They entered the village to find it abuzz with activity. The fishermen were just bringing in their catches and sorting through their bounties on the beach.
Gaitha took her first to a hut beside one of the fisherman’s homes. It seemed that the elderly resident had cut his hand cleaning nets a few days ago and the wound had been slow to heal.
Brynn was able to fix it with ka in a few minutes. The old fisherman didn’t smile, but he thanked her solemnly before going back to his work.
By the time the three of them left the hut, it seemed that word had spread of Melain’s healing yesterday. A young boy came to meet them, asking with downcast eyes if Lady Brynn would come see to his sister.
It turned out the girl had burned her arm cooking. Burns were more of a challenge than cuts, but Brynn was able to coax the flesh back into wholeness. It was still tender after, but the skin was no longer raw and weeping.
They tended to a spattering of minor injuries, thankfully nothing too serious. Cenric’s people were generally in good health.
A few younger children had coughs, which was not unusual. Brynn was able to alleviate some of the distress, but the phlegm would need to clear on its own. She left them with herbs and tinctures, all infused with ka , and instructions to come see her if anything got worse.
It was late afternoon by the time they finished.
“Well, we’ve probably missed the midday meal.” Gaitha glanced toward the longhouse. “I wonder if Cenric’s back.”
Brynn had a feeling Cenric would have come see her if he had returned. But maybe not. She barely knew him.
“Gaitha,” Brynn’s voice nearly cracked, and she had to clear her throat. “Do you know where Rowan lives?”
Gaitha shot her a quick look. “I do. Everyone knows where everyone lives here in the village.”
Brynn took a deep breath. “Could you show me to her house? I think I have something that belongs to her.”
Gaitha studied Brynn for a long moment, then looked to Esa.
Esa didn’t know who Rowan was, so why would she care?
After a moment, Gaitha said, “This way.”
Rowan appeared to live with her family in a much smaller version of the longhouse. Pigs and a few goats rooted in the fenced enclosure around the house.
A young boy greeted them, hair dark like most the people here. “Gaitha.” The boy bowed, though he didn’t use a title.
“Rod, this is Lady Brynn. Lord Cenric’s new wife.”
The boy’s eyes went wide, and he bowed.
“Is Rowan here?”
The boy hesitated just long enough for Brynn to notice. He shot a look at her, the stranger behind Gaitha.
Did he know she was a sorceress just yet? Brynn wasn’t sure what reputation sorceresses had here. No one had seemed too reluctant to accept her help, though they had been wary. It might just be how they were with all strangers.
“I’ll fetch her,” Rod said. “One moment, lady.” He bowed again to Brynn.
Brynn waited. She looked toward the longhouse up on the hill. From here, she could see the longhouse staff at work with the animals and tending chores.
The household was well-ordered and hard working. It was a household to be proud of.
A vaguely familiar young woman appeared, her hair bound back, though not covered. She wiped her hands on her wool apron, face smudged. She looked as if she had been at work when they summoned her.
“Lady Brynn.” Rowan’s expression was guarded, closed off. She looked to Gaitha, almost as if she was seeking the other woman’s help.
Gaitha smiled at her. “Hello, Rowan.”
Brynn didn’t want to feel anything. Rowan was a member of this village, of Ombra. She was one of the people Brynn was supposed to protect now.
“Forgive me for interrupting you.” Brynn forced a smile. “It will be brief.” She glanced to Gaitha and Esa. “Could you give us a moment?”
Esa withdrew. Gaitha arched one brow at Brynn, then took a few steps back to join the handmaid.
Brynn slipped inside the gate of the small farmstead. The young boy and an older woman watched them from the doorway of the small house.
Rowan stood straight, face neutral.
She was beautiful, Brynn supposed. Rowan reminded Brynn of a mink with her bright eyes and the easy, sinuous way she moved. Brynn remembered then where she had seen the girl before—yesterday on the riverbank.
“Lady.” Rowan inclined her head.
“I hope Melain is well.”
“My sister is much better.” Rowan’s words were clipped, terse. Brynn noted that Rowan did not thank her.
Brynn inhaled slowly. “I think this is yours.” She reached into the pouch at her hip and offered the ivory comb, folded in a scrap of cloth to keep it safe.
Rowan took it and her eyes widened in recognition. “I thought I had lost this.”
Brynn forced a smile. Rowan eyed her coldly in response. They stood there, staring at each other.
Sooner or later, Brynn would have had to face Rowan. She hadn’t wanted to be surprised by meeting her husband’s former lover, but Brynn had no idea how to do this. For all his faults, Paega had no other women during their marriage. To him, Brynn supposed she had been the other woman—the unworthy replacement to his beloved first wife.
“Do you feel Cenric treated you fairly?” Brynn asked at length. There it was. Now Rowan at least knew that Brynn knew.
Rowan let out a bark of laughter. “As his concubine, you mean?”
Brynn trained her face into one of composure. She had a responsibility to Rowan. Regardless of her own complicated feelings, she had a duty.
Rowan sighed, tucking the comb into her own pouch. “He never made me promises, but…”
But Rowan had hoped he would. That was clear enough from the way she avoided eye contact, her jaw tight.
Brynn didn’t trust herself to speak. She didn’t know what to say.
Rowan looked over Brynn’s shoulder, not quite at her. “He’s paying my dowry along with that of my younger sister. I’ll get to choose my own husband, too.”
“When did he dismiss you?” Brynn wasn’t sure why she asked. It seemed relevant, but she wasn’t sure if the question arose from honest concern or petty jealousy.
“Would you have rather turned me out yourself?” Rowan snapped.
Brynn remained impassive. “I don’t want to be your enemy, Rowan.”
“Then why did you come here?” Rowan’s tone turned hard, sharp.
“I’m sorry,” Brynn said softly.
“You’re a southerner. You don’t belong here.” Rowan made a derisive sound. “You know you don’t.”
Brynn forced herself not to react. She was used to the sting of rejection by now. “Are there many girls like you in the village and surrounding farms? Ones he’s taken to his bed?”
Rowan shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
Brynn lowered her voice, trying to soften her next question. “Has he taken any of the household girls? Or any of the village girls?” Brynn told herself she was asking these things because she was worried about Esa, but she knew deep down that wasn’t the only reason.
Rowan shook her head. “He keeps one woman at a time.”
“Are you sure?” As lord of Ombra, Cenric had full rights to the women in his household under law. It was the Valdari way of things, after all.
“Cenric has taken concubines. Maybe a few whores here and there.”
Brynn almost thought to ask Gaitha if she had ever bedded Cenric. But that question would be extremely inappropriate, even if Gaitha had been rather open about her past life.
“But not the household girls and not random village women.” Rowan sounded certain. “He’s a good man, Lady Brynn.”
Brynn closed her eyes. She hoped Rowan was telling the truth. “Thank you, Rowan.” Brynn forced a smile. “I appreciate your time.”
Rowan looked over Brynn from head to foot, like she was seeing her for the first time. “Why did you come here?”
“I wanted to return your comb,” Brynn answered honestly.
“No. To Ombra. I’ve asked about you. You’re a sorceress. Niece to the king. You could have married anyone.”
Brynn couldn’t have married anyone, actually. Cenric had been the only unmarried man of suitable status to marry a king’s daughter who wasn’t an atheling. Cenric had no kings in his bloodline, which meant he couldn’t use her to take the throne after Aelgar’s death. Aelgar and Brynn had discussed as much, but Rowan didn’t need to know that.
Brynn inclined her head in a bow. “I think I have kept you long enough, Rowan. Thank you for speaking with me.”
Brynn stepped back through the garden gate before she lost her composure. Her husband had kept concubines before, but he seemed to treat them fairly and wasn’t exploiting the household girls, if Rowan was to be believed.
That was far better than Brynn had feared and yet…it wasn’t as much of a relief as it should have been.