Chapter 1 Brynn #2
Cenric headed toward where their host sat at the head of his table, tugging Brynn along. They took their place at the mostly empty table, near Olfirth’s right hand.
“Alderman.” Olfirth raised his horn of mead to Cenric, though the older thane didn’t rise.
Cenric had the look of an alderman these days. He seemed to stand taller now than when Brynn had first met him. He moved more like a leader, more confident of his power.
“Olfirth.” Cenric gave an answering nod.
“Lady Brynn.” It might have been her imagination, but Olfirth’s tone seemed to soften when he spoke to her.
Brynn inclined her head in turn.
Olfirth had helped free her after her abduction by her mother last autumn. But before Brynn had arrived in this far northern land as Cenric’s new wife, there had been years of hostilities between the two men.
Their alliance was still new, but it seemed that some of the ice that had settled over their cold impasse was broken. Cenric was proud and often impulsive, but he was teachable.
As Brynn settled on the bench beside Cenric, he pulled her against him, his arm tightening around her waist.
“That dowry was quite generous of you,” Olfirth grunted to Cenric. “Five hundred pennings.”
Cenric cleared his throat. Under the light it was hard to tell, but Brynn thought her husband might have blushed. “I wish Rowan well.” He shot a glance to Brynn as he said it.
Brynn offered a small smile in response. She tried not to be jealous, though the feeling rose up every so often. When Brynn had learned that Rowan was marrying Evred and leaving their village, she had poured out an entire pitcher of milk in thanks to Eponine.
Rowan had run Cenric’s household for a year or so while she had been his concubine. Though Brynn still didn’t know all the details of that relationship—nor did she want to—she gathered that Rowan was a good woman, just not good for Cenric.
“Evred is a fine thane.” Olfirth peered past them to where the young man in question had returned to his bride. “A fine warrior.”
Cenric bobbed his head once. “That he is.”
“You can never have too many men like him this close to Valdar,” Olfirth grumbled. “No offense, lord.”
Cenric made a dismissive gesture. “No, it’s true.”
Cenric was half Valdari. His mother had been from the far northern islands, the daughter of a rich farmer. Cenric, as the youngest of three sons, had been sent to foster with his Valdari uncle as a boy.
He’d been raised to be a warrior in his uncle’s household, but fate had other plans. His father and brothers had met early ends in the war of succession in Hylden.
That meant that Cenric had become alderman, but after a lifetime away and fighting for the first king of Valdar, many were suspicious of him. They feared he might be here to take Hylden for Valdar or lead an invasion force.
Marrying a sorceress had helped with those rumors. Cenric was now tied to the royal line from the south, and everyone knew the sorceresses had supported Aelgar.
It might be a coincidence, but why was the king of Valdar, Cenric’s former lord, sending bribes the summer after Cenric had married into the bloodline of the Hyldish kings?
Cenric didn’t see them as bribes. From their conversations, he saw them as gifts from an old friend. Brynn knew better. Kings did not have friends, especially among those who owed them favors.
Olfirth and Cenric were still talking, their words interrupting Brynn’s anxious thoughts.
“This is a momentous day for many reasons,” Cenric was saying. “Much to celebrate.”
“I hope so,” Olfirth grumbled back. “Lady Brynn.” He bowed slightly to her. “I hear you were hard at work around my farm this morning.”
“My wife works too hard.” Cenric shook his head in mock disappointment. “It’s her one flaw.”
“I could not heal everyone,” Brynn admitted softly. “Some things are beyond my skill.”
A kind of somber agreement came over Olfirth. “Such is the way of things.”
Brynn had gotten their group to come early today so that she could spent a few hours before the wedding healing Olfirth’s people.
They’d arrived to some twenty or so people from across his lands.
There were doubtless more who could have benefitted from a sorceress’s power, but those were the ones who had been willing to be seen.
Even among those who had been brave enough to make the journey to Olfirth’s hall, not everyone was a candidate for her power. Brynn could heal injuries and help sicknesses, but she could not cure everything.
One woman had come to them saying she was barren. The woman was close to Brynn’s age and had looked at her with such desperation, such vulnerability.
Brynn had tried, but there was nothing wrong with the woman’s body as far as she could tell. Some things were beyond a sorceress’s power. Brynn’s power came from life force, from the raw energy of living things, but true mastery over life and death eluded her.
There had also been a young boy who’d lost his hand in an accident with a plough. He had to be in his mid-teens. Brynn had to also sadly tell him that regrowing limbs was beyond her.
In both cases, the barren woman and the maimed boy had nodded numbly, as if they were used to disappointment. As if there was a cauterized scar where hope had once been.
Brynn took another sip of her mead. The drink was thick and golden and seemed to coat her tongue, hinting at the honey used to make it. The mead was strong, blunting the edge of her inner fears and regrets.
Cenric turned to Olfirth as if a thought had occurred to him. “I like your palisade.”
“Poles buried a few feet under the ground,” Olfirth replied. “We used oak. Harder to work with, but durable and harder to burn.”
“Do you have any workmen who could show us how you did it?”
Olfirth seemed to consider that. Brynn wasn’t sure whether he was debating the wisdom of helping his rival or perhaps thinking who would be the best to do as Cenric asked.
After a moment, Olfirth said, “Most the work was directed by my man Henswin. I can send him and his boys to you after midsummer. Perhaps lend them for a few weeks.”
Cenric nodded his agreement. “I’d send men to you to cover their work.”
Olfirth seemed pleased by that and offered his hand. Cenric shook it. This was a casual agreement and would probably be reworked in the coming weeks, but it was a start.
Brynn squeezed Cenric’s other hand under the table. She had talked to him about this. He needed to accept help and give help to Olfirth—that was how friendships were made. He was taking her advice seriously.
Cenric squeezed back, and it was all she needed.
Behind them, cheers rose. The music stopped.
“Ah.” Olfirth set down his drink. “It must be time to escort the couple to their marriage bed.”
Brynn glanced over her shoulder, but she couldn’t see Rowan and Evred through the press of cheering bodies around them. “Will you attend them?” Brynn asked, looking back to Olfirth.
The old man grumbled something under his breath. “Damned boy has asked me to stand in for his father.”
“Oh?”
Olfirth made a dismissive gesture. “His parents died of a fever when he was young. My house girls caught him trying to steal eggs to feed his sister.” Olfirth gestured to a figure across the room. “The girl with the flute.”
Brynn searched in that direction. The girl with the flute had stepped down and had joined the wedding party, grinning from ear to ear. She was likely in her teens, wearing a daisy crown matching the one Evred wore.
“I took that boy in when he was starving, gave him his battle gear, once he earned it. How does he repay me?” Olfirth made a snorting sound.
“Forcing me to walk hundreds of paces in the dark, just to escort him and his new bride from the wedding I hosted to the house I let him build on my land, from my trees.”
Brynn took another sip of her mead to hide a smile. Olfirth was not half as cruel or heartless as he wanted the world to believe.
Evred had his own house, which meant Rowan would likely have servants. Evred was not wealthy, but he was respectable. Rowan had done well for herself.
“Olfirth!” As if summoned, Evred appeared, breaking from the crowd, surrounded by his friends and cheering guests. “Lord! My bride and I would have you escort us.”
Grumbling under his breath, Olfirth pushed up from the table. “Demanding whelp.”
Evred hooked his arm through Olfirth’s, pulling the older man to his feet. Brynn had never seen one of Olfirth’s men be so forward with him, but it was Evred’s wedding. Perhaps he was allowed liberties tonight.
Olfirth went along with the wedding party, a raucous, rowdy bunch. The music began again and the revelers started up a bawdy song, slurring most the words so Brynn couldn’t make them out.
Brynn spotted Rowan’s mother and her sisters. One of Cenric’s thanes walked beside Rowan’s father, supporting him with an arm as he was missing part of one leg.
Almost everyone went with them. It was a riotous, gleeful procession.
Esa, Brynn’s handmaiden, went arm-in-arm with Kalen, a youth who served Cenric. The boy stumbled a little and Brynn had to wonder if he had been drinking more than he should or if he was just dizzy from dancing. Esa’s face was bright and flushed, glowing in the collective joy of the wedding party.
Brynn caught just one glimpse of Rowan. The bride peered up at Evred from under her pale head covering, giggling as he whispered in her ear.
Be happy, Brynn prayed silently in their direction. Eponine, please let them be happy.
Whines from her feet drew Brynn’s attention.
“Guin?” Glancing under the table, Brynn spotted the young dog.
Guin was only about eight months old, but she had more than tripled in size from when Cenric had first gifted her to Brynn last autumn. Snapper, Cenric’s dog, loomed behind her, wagging his tail and looking up at Brynn expectantly.
Brynn scooted back a little to give the puppy room. Guin scampered up her skirts and settled down in Brynn’s lap, happy to see over the top of the table.
Guin squirmed, but she let Brynn pet her and ruffle her ears. She knew better than to jump on the table. She was mostly well-behaved, at least when Brynn was watching.
Under the table, Snapper made a whining, forlorn sound. He pawed at Cenric’s leg. Cenric reached down and scratched behind his ears.
The two dyrehunds had been exploring the great hall and playing with Olfirth’s household dogs, but it seemed they had gotten bored with that.
“Sorry, son.” Cenric ruffled Snapper’s coat. “You’re too big to be a lapdog.”
Snapper whined again, as if in protest, but seemed to content himself with the head scratches.
“I love weddings!” Edric cried, stumbling onto the bench beside Cenric, leaning partly on his wife, Gaitha.
“Is that why we didn’t have one?” Gaitha quipped, not far behind.
Edric was a thane sworn to Cenric, but the two had been friends for years. Edric was effectively Cenric’s right hand man. “We had a southern wedding,” Edric snorted back to his wife. “With a priest. Cenric was there.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of his lord.
“I didn’t think that was a wedding,” Cenric said. “And I don’t think you’re supposed to stab the priest.”
Edric scoffed. “Sack of shit had it coming.”
Gaitha made to sit on the bench beside her husband, but he hauled her onto his lap instead. Gaitha was almost a full head taller than Edric, so he was mostly blocked from view, but the thane squeezed his arms around her, seeming quite pleased with the situation.
When Gaitha sat in Edric’s lap, Snapper whined again, pawing at Cenric’s legs. Brynn could imagine why. If Gaitha could sit in Edric’s lap, and Guin could sit in Brynn’s lap, why couldn’t Snapper sit in Cenric’s lap?
“No,” Cenric muttered, blocking the dog’s efforts. “Not right now.” His brow creased and he was probably arguing with Snapper in their minds. All the dyrehunds could speak to Cenric with their minds, though Cenric didn’t always like what he heard.
For all her antagonization, Gaitha stroked the top of her husband’s head, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Fool,” she muttered.
“Good wedding,” Edric sighed, looking around the table.
The hall had mostly emptied save for the two couples and a few servants.
“You’re not attending the bridal walk?” Gaitha asked Brynn and Cenric.
Cenric took several long moments to respond. “That would be…strange. All things considered.”
“I suppose so,” Gaitha conceded. “We were going to, but this one is too drunk to walk.” She jabbed her forefinger to her husband.
“Drunk? That would be bad manners,” Edric shot back.
Gaitha snorted at that. “And we all know you have impeccable manners.”
“Olfirth serves good mead.” Cenric glanced to Brynn’s half-empty cup.
That he did. The golden drink had almost allowed Brynn to relax—almost.
But surrounded by all this light and laughter and happiness, Brynn was reminded of how much she had to lose. She was happy for the first time since her childhood. In her experience, happiness never lasted for long.
“Is everything alright, Brynn?” Gaitha frowned down from her perch on Edric’s thighs.
“I’m just tired,” Brynn answered, offering a slight smile. She stroked Guin’s fur. The little dog seemed to sense Brynn’s unease and smeared her tongue once over Brynn’s face.
Cenric rubbed Brynn’s back. “It will be fine. I swear it, Brynn.” Cenric was certain that Ovrek just wanted to make sure they stayed on friendly terms. He believed the best of his old mentor.
Brynn desperately hoped he was right, but a sinking sense of foreboding told her that he was wrong.