Chapter 8 Cenric #3
Of course, Brynn was worried about the girl. That was who she was. Cenric, for his part, was far more worried about Brynn. He didn’t know how Ovrek might react if something befell the concubine and Brynn was somehow implicated.
“We can try our best.” Cenric couldn’t control what Ovrek did once he had the information, but it would be bad if the king learned they’d kept it from them. “Are you ready?”
Brynn adjusted her shawl. He noticed that the silver cuff from last night was back on her arm. Good.
Cenric rested a hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the tent. It would have been preferable to have Hróarr and Vana’s help with this, but he didn’t know where they were.
Brynn stayed close to him, almost clingy. Esa stood to go with them.
“Watch Guin,” Brynn told her. “I will be back soon. I hope.”
Cenric grasped his wife’s hand, knotting their fingers together. She clung to him tight, anxiety radiating through her.
The thrall from Tullia followed behind at a respectful distance. She’d probably been told not to leave Brynn’s side.
It was late in the day, the shadows lengthening and the sun sinking toward the western sea. It sent golden streaks across the water like rivers of fire.
As they drew near Ovrek’s household complex, servants rushed past them. Girls carried bundles of sticks and boys rolled barrels of ale toward the hall in preparation for tonight’s feast.
Ovrek would be in the main hall soon if he wasn’t already, so Cenric led Brynn in that direction. She stayed close to him, almost like she was trying to keep contact.
Another servant ran past them, this one a young girl.
Voices chattered ahead, mostly female. Someone screamed.
“Oh, no,” Brynn gasped. “Oh, no, no…” Brynn broke away from him, running toward a crowd forming at the front of a large house. The building was separate from the others and appeared to be some manner of residence.
“Brynn?” Cenric jogged after her as she pushed through a crowd of onlookers at the open door of the longhouse.
Servants scattered out of their way, but women in jewels with brightly colored shawls didn’t move as quickly. Brynn wove between them and Cenric dodged after her.
Brynn reached the doorway, a hand over her mouth as she stared aghast.
“Brynn?” Cenric pushed his way up to stand behind her.
Inside was a sumptuous room lined with carpets. The hearth burned bright at the center and Queen Sifma knelt on the floor, sobbing over the motionless body of a young woman.
Servants hovered around them, but most simply stared in sick fascination. Wealthy women crowded around them, gasps of horror and whispers fluttering between them along with the soft clinking of beads and silver temple rings.
Realizing what this house was, Cenric took a step back from the threshold out of habit. It would be an offense to Ovrek to enter, even if the house’s occupant was dead.
Sifma cradled the young woman’s corpse. “No, no, no. My poor girl. No.” The queen spotted Brynn in the doorway. “You,” she growled.
Brynn took a step back, hitting Cenric’s chest. She might not understand the language, but she understood the tone.
Cenric reached for his wife, not sure what was happening.
“What did you do to her?” Sifma laid down the girl’s body, smoothing back her hair.
Cenric searched over his shoulder. He didn’t recognize anyone here. He would have no allies against the queen’s wrath.
“You killed her!” Sifma shrieked.
Cenric had never seen Ovrek’s stoic wife so distraught nor so angry.
Sifma marched across the room, headed straight for Brynn. “What did you do?”
Two of the onlooking men advanced on Brynn, the object of their queen’s rage.
Cenric grabbed Brynn around the waist, pushing her behind him. The two men kept coming, so he drew his sword. Both men drew up short as the surrounding women backed away. None of them wanted to be caught in the middle of this.
One of the men also drew a sword.
Cenric flashed his teeth, a warning, a dare. He didn’t care if these men were Ovrek’s servants. He’d kill them right here if they tried to touch Brynn.
Sifma drew up short, seeming to recognize him. “Cenric.”
“Queen Sifma.” Cenric did his best to sound courteous. “What has happened?”
“What’s happening?” Brynn asked, her Hyldish words clashing with Sifma’s stream of enraged Valdari.
“Steady,” Cenric whispered to Brynn.
She held onto his left arm. She didn’t tell him to put away the sword, but she kept her attention on the two men.
“She came here earlier today offering her help. Now Gistrid is dead.”
“Brynn tried to help her,” Cenric retorted.
“What is she saying?” Brynn trembled. “Tolvir asked me to help.”
“Did Tolvir not ask for Brynn’s help?” Cenric asked, addressing the queen.
“You would accuse my son?” Sifma demanded, eyes flashing.
Cenric frowned at that. “Brynn, did anyone else see Tolvir ask you?” Realizing the Valdari would be unlikely to believe Esa or one of his servants, he asked, “Anyone Valdari?”
Brynn hesitated. “Only him and his friends. And the translator Tullia sent.”
“Where is the thrall?” Cenric doubted anyone would trust the word of a thrall, but it might be useful to have her close.
“She…” Brynn turned, then glanced back and forth. “She’s gone.”
Not surprising. Most thralls knew to run at the first sign of trouble. No one would believe the word of a thrall against a queen anyway.
“Your wife,” Sifma hissed, “came earlier today and offered to help. Gistrid was recovering, but now she’s dead.”
If Tullia had been behind this, then Tullia’s thrall had led Brynn into a trap. Worse, now Cenric couldn’t demand justice without making it appear he was pulling accusations from the air.
But Ovrek had killed Tullia’s husband. Who was to say she hadn’t killed his concubine in retaliation?
By the corpse, several handmaidens fussed and whimpered. They seemed oblivious to the standoff mere steps away.
Cenric caught the tramp of bootsteps as word spread of the concubine’s death. He tensed, glancing to Brynn.
“She was poisoned,” Cenric said flatly. They might as well start spreading the truth. “Brynn told the servants before this. Why would she have warned the household if she did it?”
Sifma turned away, shaking her head. “You should never have brought her here.”
“Mother!” Tolvir took in the scene with a gasp, horror washing over his face, but even he hovered back, not touching the threshold. “What happened?”
“She’s dead.” Sifma seemed to grow larger with fury. “Did you get the Hyldish woman to interfere?”
Tolvir pointed to Brynn. “She told me Gistrid was healed!”
“Foolish boy.” Sifma whirled away from her son and back to the girl’s body on the ground.
Tolvir spun around, glaring straight to Brynn. “What did you do?” His question was in Hyldish.
Brynn looked to Cenric in confusion. “I don’t understand. I healed her earlier today.”
“And now Gistrid is dead.” Tolvir stepped closer. “You told me she was better!”
“Watch yourself.” Cenric angled his sword to the youth.
Tolvir seemed to notice the blade for the first time. “You would dare draw a weapon in my presence?”
“Come closer and I’ll sheath it in your gut.”
“You wouldn’t dare!” Tolvir’s nostrils flared.
“Try me.”
“Cenric.” Brynn might not understand most of what was happening, but she could guess. Her hand stroked his upper arm, like she was comforting a wild animal. “We’ve all been taken for fools. Please.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We can’t fight our way out.”
Cenric wasn’t sure he believed that. Brynn probably could fight her way out, just not without a massive death toll. But Brynn was usually right. Cenric lowered his weapon.
“What is happening?” Ovrek’s authoritative bellow boomed over the gathered crowd. It was the same tone he had used to shout orders on the battlefield—a voice that made men want to fall in line.
Cenric almost stood at attention out of habit.
Ovrek marched up to Cenric and his son, taking in the two of them with a glare. “Threatening my son?”
Cenric almost felt embarrassed. Almost. “He threatened my wife.”
“This woman killed Gistrid.” Tolvir thrust a finger at Brynn.
Cenric really should have stabbed him when he had the chance.
“Gistrid is dead,” Sifma told Ovrek, mouth tight and face hard. The queen seemed genuinely distraught over the girl’s death.
Ovrek took in the scene. He entered the longhouse and crouched beside the corpse, examining her gently.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and let off a hard exhale.
“Explain,” the king ordered, looking to Sifma, Tolvir, and Cenric.
“All of you.” He continued speaking in Valdari, not even acknowledging Brynn.
Sifma spoke first, her voice cracking. “She had been ill for a few days.”
“Why was I not told?” Ovrek demanded.
“I didn’t wish to add to your worries.” Sifma refused to meet his face. “She recovered partly today.”
“Because of Brynn,” Cenric interjected. “Brynn healed her.”
“Do not interrupt my wife,” Ovrek growled, rising to his full height. “Sifma.”
“She began convulsing an hour ago and her handmaids sent for me.” Sifma turned her face away, tears shimmering in her eyes.
“The sorceress?” Ovrek looked past Cenric to Brynn.
Brynn shifted at Cenric’s back, but didn’t speak. She was letting him handle his own friends.
Cenric spoke. “The concubine was poisoned. Brynn tried to warn her through an interpreter. Whoever did it must have struck again.” Here wasn’t the place to accuse Tullia with so many people watching.
“Where is this interpreter now? Why didn’t your wife warn anyone else of this?” Ovrek demanded.
“She told me,” Cenric answered, realizing how it sounded. “We were on our way to tell you.”
“After my concubine and child were dead?” Ovrek’s tone had gone quiet, dangerous.
Cenric wasn’t sure what to expect. To this man, Brynn was the enemy.
“Nothing I did would have hurt her, lord.” Brynn’s voice remained soft. She must have guessed what they were saying. “I swear.”
Ovrek took in the scene. “I can’t deal with this right now.” He stepped away from the body of his concubine and weeping queen. He addressed the two warriors who had followed him, stopping over the threshold. “Confine the Lady Brynn to her tent until I decide what to do with her.”
Cenric bristled.
“Careful, son,” Ovrek growled.
“Cenric?” Brynn’s voice was quiet, meek.
“He wants to confine you to our tent until he figures out what to do with you.” Cenric ground out the words, each one painful.
“Alright,” Brynn said.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Cenric protested.
“No,” Brynn agreed, “but…” She swallowed. “We are in their lands.” She squeezed his arm tight. “Remember what we discussed.”
That Ovrek was probably going to be their king soon. That they needed to be in his favor for the coming invasion. That Ombra wouldn’t survive Ovrek’s wrath.
Cenric grimaced at the reminder. “I’ll go with you.”
“Put the sword away,” Ovrek ordered. “And clean this up,” he gestured to the corpse. “I want all of you in the hall within the hour, do you understand? My dear queen, my dear son, and my dear friend.” Ovrek singled out Sifma, Tolvir, and Cenric in turn. “Am I understood?”
“Your woman is dead! And you’re planning to feast?” Tolvir cried, lunging toward his father.
Ovrek grabbed the boy by the back of his tunic, slamming him against the outside of the house.
“One day, gods willing, you will be king, and when that day comes, I hope you have learned that kingship comes before everything. Everything.” Ovrek shoved his son aside, stepping from Gistrid’s longhouse. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Tolvir fumed, fists clenched at his sides, but what could he do? His father was Ovrek Fork-Beard, unquestioned ruler of Valdar.
Sifma turned, hiding behind her veil as she faced the motionless corpse once again.
The king stormed away, two men following in his wake, the other two ready to escort Brynn back to the tent she and Cenric had been sharing.
Brynn held onto Cenric’s arm. “Be careful,” she pleaded. She was afraid, he could tell, but was she afraid for herself or him? Brynn might not understand the language, but she could probably guess what was happening. “Please.”
Cenric put an arm around Brynn. “Ovrek wants me to meet him in the main hall after this.”
Brynn touched his chest for just a moment. “Then you will go.”
“After I see you back to our tent and make sure you have your own servants.” Cenric hated everything about this. Everything.
Ovrek’s concubine was dead, Cenric’s wife was being implicated, and not even his old friend seemed willing to hear them out. As he walked back to their tents, shadowed by the guards, Cenric wondered why things always had to be so complicated.
Would Ovrek believe Cenric when he said that Tullia had poisoned Gistrid? Even if father and daughter were currently at odds, Ovrek had always been fond of her. Would he believe Cenric or assume they were desperate lies?