Chapter 15 Brynn #3
Heart in her throat, Brynn tried to remain composed.
She was sure people stared, but the chatter of Valdari continued around her unabated.
Brynn’s ears itched. She ached to understand, ached to know what gossip flitted on the air around her.
She should have asked Cenric to teach her the language sooner.
Cenric was seated at Ovrek’s right hand in the place of honor, Brynn on her husband’s other side. Ovrek presented Cenric to those gathered around, speaking in long, rhythmic phrases. It sounded like verse. If she had to guess, he was praising Cenric’s bravery today.
Cenric seemed to accept the praise admirably, responding with thanks. His eyes were on the crowd, yet one hand gripped Brynn’s under the table. He was not letting her go, not even when she was mere inches away.
Brynn understood nothing, though she caught a few names—Egill, Hróarr, and a few other jarls, though she had forgotten the faces that went with some of the names.
Sifma occupied her usual place at the high table. The queen stared straight ahead, barely acknowledging when the rest of the room erupted in cheers or raised their cups in salute.
The cups were still filled with ale—not wine. This far north, it was a delicacy to be consumed only with the greatest fanfare.
Brynn’s chest tightened with sick anticipation. Tullia was clever and cunning. She left nothing to chance and if she wanted her father dead, she would find a way to do it.
Snapper flopped against her legs under the table, then rose and circled her, sniffing for crumbs and scraps. He seemed to be enjoying himself, for whatever it was worth.
Hróarr had been seated on Brynn’s other side, and it seemed almost spiteful to both of them. He did not acknowledge her, but he had a bruise on his jaw that she suspected had come from her husband. Vana occupied his far side, also not acknowledging Brynn.
Brynn wasn’t sure why that hurt. It wasn’t as if she had ever been particularly friendly with either of them, or as if rejection was anything new for her. She’d declined two invitations from Vana over the past days, and the beautiful woman probably felt slighted—rightfully so.
After a few moments, Vana rose and slipped behind the tables. She leaned over, speaking to the queen. Sifma clasped Vana’s hands, greeting her as one would a daughter. It seemed the queen and Hróarr’s concubine were as close as Brynn had heard.
Speaking of Sifma’s daughter, Brynn spotted a figure in red across the crowd. Even if she didn’t have her spotless clothes and eunuchs at her back, Tullia was the kind of woman who would stand out anywhere. Brynn watched as people nearby bent toward her, bowing and eager to pay her their respects.
Brynn had to search for several moments, but she spotted Tolvir as well, standing to one side with several other young men.
He kept mostly to his peers and out of the way, not mingling with the crowd as Tullia did.
He seemed in many ways to still think like a child.
Brynn could see he still had blisters and bruises from their encounter.
He pointedly did not look in her direction.
The evening droned on.
Meat was brought in earthenware bowls and shared throughout the hall. Bread cakes soaked with butter and herbs, cheese, and every kind of meat one could ask for. Pigs, calf, rabbit, venison, fowl, and several kinds of fish. Ovrek fed his people well, that was true.
Brynn was unable to eat, anxiety twisting her stomach into a hard knot.
When several barrels were rolled in to cheers, Tullia’s gaze singled out Brynn. As the barrels were set on the tables and a rich burgundy poured out, that was it.
Tullia cast a conspiratorial glance at Brynn, turning back to her conversation with what appeared to be a rich man and his companion. She laughed and conversed as easily with her father’s warriors as she had with that child in the bazaar.
Wine was sloshed into cups and passed around the hall. Thralls and young children darted this way and that trying to keep every cup full and every hand filled with food.
How much longer did this night have to go on? Brynn hated the suspense. She had a feeling she was being toyed with, though she doubted she was so important.
Ovrek raised his voice, calling for silence.
The crowd of the hall quieted down, turning to listen as the king’s booming voice echoed over their heads.
Brynn didn’t understand the words, but she had heard enough of these kinds of speeches to guess what was being said.
No doubt thanks for loyalty, promises of continued rewards, and boasts of Ovrek’s own exploits.
“Are you alright?” Cenric touched her knee under the table.
“Just tired,” Brynn answered, casting him a faint smile.
Cenric kissed her temple, rubbing her back.
“Where is Tullia?” Brynn straightened. The woman had disappeared along with her two eunuchs. One moment she had been there and now she was gone.
Cenric went rigid at her side. Immediately, he took stock of Ovrek, but the king stood beside him, continuing his speech.
The doors of the hall had been open earlier, but were now shut. Reaching out with her power, Brynn felt figures at the far end, dozens and dozens of bodies swarming the other side of the entrance. “No.”
“Brynn?” Cenric straightened, picking up on her distress.
“We have to get out!” Brynn sprang to her feet, drawing power to herself in a rush.
The moment she did, every eye in the hall went to her.
Ovrek fell silent, glaring at Brynn.
With an icy wash of realization, Brynn saw that she was the center of the entire hall’s attention.
“In my country,” Ovrek growled, slipping into Hyldish, “one does not speak when a king—”
Cenric rose between her and his old mentor. He faced Ovrek and said something loud in Valdari.
Ovrek was taller and loomed over Cenric. The king rumbled something low, fists clenching as he visibly fought to rein in his temper.
Cenric was unfazed, shouting something back.
At the far end of the hall, two men who appeared to be warriors reached the doors. They pushed, jostled, then one of them slammed into the wood.
There was a moment of stunned silence where the only noise in the room was the sound of the two men trying in vain to open the doors. Brynn saw her own dawning horror wash over every other face in the room.
The doors did not budge. One of the warriors shouted over his shoulder and Brynn didn’t need a translator to understand. They were locked inside.
Cenric’s hand went to his hip, only to grasp air as he remembered there were no weapons inside the hall. Around the room, other men did much the same.
“There are people outside the hall.” Brynn spoke to Cenric, but loud enough that Ovrek and Hróarr could listen if they wanted to. “I think Tullia sent them.”
Cenric caught her hand, his face grim.
“Tullia?” That was Hróarr. “It can’t be.”
“She asked Cenric and I to kill Ovrek before the wine was served,” Brynn said.
“You dare accuse my daughter?” Ovrek demanded. “She would never do this.”
Brynn felt oddly detached in that moment, like she was seeing this whole thing unfold from outside her body. She looked square into the king’s face. “Then who did?”
Ovrek roared a sound like a bear roused from a good winter’s rest. He shouted something to his men around the room.
Men leapt up to test the two sets of smaller doors only to find them locked, too.
Several men tried to smash through the doors and the wood did splinter, giving way to reveal something solid on the other side.
Not just locked but barricaded. Tullia had been thorough. Just as Brynn had predicted, when she wanted someone dead, she got it right the first time.
It started with the stench of burning pitch.
Brynn met Cenric’s eyes. She had never seen this happen before, but she knew exactly what this was and from the curses of rage and cries of fear around the room, so did everyone else.
The heat in the room intensified. Kindling had been set outside the doors and a dark haze already filtered through the rafters.
In moments, this place would be filled with smoke and flames would be licking inside. They would all be choking to death long before the fire reached them.
Hall burning was a horrifically effective means of murder.
Ovrek sprang over the table, shouting orders.
He seemed to be in denial of the situation.
When he realized the doors were secured and his magnificent hall was filling with smoke, he let off a great bellow of rage, hands out like claws.
It was as if he refused to believe that this was how it ended, that this was how he would die.
Cenric dragged Brynn down, tugging her low to avoid the smoke for as long as they could. “I love you,” he said the words fiercely, like they were an act of defiance. “I am sorry I brought you here to die with me.”
“Better to die with you than live without you.” Brynn pulled his hands from her face. “But don’t count us as dead yet, my love.”
Brynn had been fearing the worst, but now the worst had happened. That realization brought with it a strange sense of relief. Now she didn’t have to wait any longer, she could act.
Around them, voices chattered with outrage and frustration. Some people howled with despair. Snapper whined and barked, pacing around Brynn and Cenric in a tight circle.
Cenric’s whole world seemed to have narrowed to her. “They have blocked the doors. They will be guarding the outside. Even if we can break through, we are unarmed.”
“A sorceress is never unarmed.” Her eyes stung from the smoke. “But if we die, we die fighting.”
Cenric actually smiled at that, excitement replacing the despair of mere moments ago. “What’s your plan?”