Chapter 14 Lia
Lia
Where am I?
Lia blinked awake, finding herself atop a rough-hewn bed with a fur cover. A fire burned nearby in a hearth. Tendrils of its warmth and shadow danced across a cavern chamber.
As she sat up slowly, memories uncoiled.
The Berserker court. Queen Yrsa’s decree. Arctos’s face. Darkness.
A leather flap scraped aside, and the shieldchief entered, taking up too much space.
Her pulse scrambled as her gaze jumped from his broad shoulders and towering frame to his scar-mapped face. One eye was missing; the other was a cold, glacier blue. The scars told of a mauling by some kind of beast.
In a way, he was a beast. Despite the tailored tunic and breeches and his thick blond hair tied back in a queue, he looked every bit as fearsome.
Arctos. Her…husband.
Lia rose with difficulty, muscles sore from her earlier tension. Shivering, she eased closer to the fire and farther from her captor.
Her gaze tracked back to the leather flap, the angle of the hearth, the shadowed corners. Not comfort—inventory. This cave had the bed, some benches, and a closet carved near the hearth. Nothing soft, nothing unnecessary. Much like the court.
She still shuddered from what she’d seen in that black cave. In the smoke of braziers, she’d spied rows of hulking warriors lining the hall, many bare-chested despite the chill. Rage had shimmered beneath their skin like heat distortion—Berserkerage simmering just below the threshold of a shift…
By way of greeting, Arctos said, “I thought a day walker like you would wake at sunrise.” His voice was raspy, a mix of gravel and ice.
“I’m nocturnal,” she managed.
“Not anymore.” He spoke the words as if pronouncing a new law.
“Where am I?”
“Your new home.” His contempt for her crawled through the space like a draft.
“We are…wed?” At his slight nod, she said, “Why would Queen Yrsa decree that? You clearly resent this marriage.” Lia had always known her wedding night would be uncomfortable. She’d underestimated how literal that would be.
“I resent it because I wanted a Berserker wife—a warrior female to earn ohalla alongside me—not this.” The last word was a lip curl as he gestured to her. “But outside a fated connection, Yrsa chooses our spouses. Her rule is absolute, her word law.”
Yet Lia sensed more between those two than a simple ruler and subject relationship.
“We’ve heard your kingdom breeds Berserker slaves.” Tension emanated from him. “Is that true?”
She felt the room tilt. The rumor had followed her into this territory, as she’d hoped. But now, she feared he might snap if she confirmed the truth. He seemed to long to kill her. “My f-father does that,” she said, the confession trembling out. “He—yes.”
Arctos’s jaw worked. “How many?”
“A hundred. Maybe more.”
“Why do they not rise?” He sounded incredulous. “They might be mortal, but they possess Berserkerage.”
“They’re…drugged.” She hadn’t thought Arctos could despise her more. The look on his face said he’d reached a new level. “If I’d had any power whatsoever, I would have freed them!” At his expression of disbelief, she said, “Vampires can’t lie. We feel the rána, a burn in our throat, if we try.”
“Maybe you have no ill effects from lying. You can day walk. Other abilities might be less apparent.”
She couldn’t fault his logic. “You’re right. You have no reason to trust me.”
He seemed surprised by her concession, then irritated. “You could have chosen any faction. You chose Berserkers.”
She’d blown dust from book after book, learning everything those brittle pages could teach her about the various immortal lands. “I studied the lore around the Channeler Stone. I felt it would protect me.”
“How much Old Norse did you learn?”
“I memorized exactly what to say.” She hedged truth with the smallest truth. No one needed to know how deeply she’d read.
“If you learned about our kind, then you know that each Berserker must carry their own weight. What did you plan to do? Princess yourself for meals?”
“I hear it’s a dying art?” she said, surprising herself, but his scowl just deepened. “I could cook. Or clean.”
“Have you ever done either?”
“Well, no.” She rubbed one bare foot over the other. Dried blood and cuts still marred the soles. “But I’m a fast learner!” Confidence, she’d learned, was easiest when no one tested it.
He rolled his eye. “For now, you’ll have others tend to you. Your duty will be to learn the ways of a warrior, training relentlessly.”
Lia could read her future as well as a soothsayer. This man was going to make her life unbearable.
He stepped closer and looked her over like a general assessing a recruit—gaze tracing her wrists, the thinness of her arms, the way her nightgown hung slack.
This appraisal was shockingly bold, as if he owned her. Could he see the outline of her breasts and hips in front of the hearth? Words rushed from her lips: “Do you expect to…b-bed me?” She trembled at the thought.
Instead of the lust Co?tin would have shown her, this man looked even more repelled. “My staff wouldn’t rise for one so feeble as you.”
She winced and muttered, “You’re not exactly what I’d pictured for myself either.” Her gaze slid to his face as she said the words, but his scars weren’t his most off-putting feature.
No, his hatred and intense physicality made chills race over her skin. When she shuddered, his blond brows drew together. It’s not your scars. It’s everything!
Her reaction seemed to enrage him. Between gritted teeth, he said, “My mate might still be out there. But I’m stuck here with you, a helpless parasite.
If I somehow find my true female, she will annihilate my ‘wife,’” he said, sneering the word.
“If you’re even alive that long. Training accidents occur with those who aren’t fully immortal. Helps weed out the weak.”
She might not have inherited many traits from her parents, but she possessed pride.
If Arctos tested her, she would show him.
She would excel and show them all! And as she did, she could also be analyzing alternatives for her future.
I’ll map exits from this realm. I’ll learn the rhythm.
I’ll find books about this place. “I appreciate the warning. But I will be careful, work hard, and rely on your martial wisdom. Knowledge is power.”
“Strength is power.” His jawline hardened. “I’m heading out. You’ll find clothes in the wardrobe and food in the dining area. Dress. Eat. Meet me out front.”
When he left her, she hastened to the wardrobe, finding practical clothing. Fitted trousers, plain tunics, leather boots. Hadn’t she noticed females in court dressed as utilitarian as the men? As she pulled on clothes, she felt herself stepping into a harsher world.
Passing an armory, she let her fingers drift along the blades and nicked herself on an edge. An omen, perhaps—proof that the hazy, nebulous world of Crypt Castle had given way to something honed and unforgiving.
She stopped at a study with a desk but no books. Her dream husband would have collected words; her real husband collected weapons.
In the dining area, a platter sat heavy upon the wooden table. She raised her brows at the rashers of sausage and bacon and piled her plate high. The first bite was bland—no spices, no sauces—just fuel for a no-nonsense people. Apparently even the salt here feared excess.
Still, having realized how hideous the Berserkers found her—feeble, weak, and frail—she forced herself to take several bites. Not knowing where to take her plate, she left it on the table, then headed toward a sunlit exit.
She stepped into the bright rays, inhaling the crisp air and taking in the fluffy snow on the ground. She’d only seen illustrations of it before.
Despite the turmoil of her arrival, this new land stirred her excitement.
Plumes of smoke funneled up past a rise, sheared by wind before they could mar the perfect blue of the sky.
The Berserker forges, she guessed. A faint clang carried on the breeze—hammer striking anvil—steady as a heartbeat.
A snow-covered peak dominated the distance.
She’d bet she could see her first horizon from there!
Across the ravine, a cliff face bristled with caverns; children ran along narrow ledges like the mountain goats she’d read about. She figured Arctos’s cave must be preferred for its privacy. Nothing but the best for a shieldchief.
He awaited her, sword at his hip. He appraised her in silence, then spoke with the casual cruelty of a teacher issuing a harsh exam: “Then let’s begin.
” He handed her a heavy sword—real metal, not court display—and pointed up the slope.
“Run to the summit of Ravinelun Peak, keeping your weapon above your head the entire way.”
The task hung between them, confusing in its simplicity. “That’s it? I’m an immortal with the strength of one. I could hold a sword above my head for days.” Some dark impulse made her add, “In fact, apparently I’m the only immortal between the two of us.”
“Like me, you can’t regenerate yet, which you should remember today.” Resting a hand on his sword, he said, “Do you think yourself stronger and faster than me?”
She gave a wary nod. “You’re nearly as weak as a mortal until you hit a Berserkerage, which takes precious seconds. I could fell you before then.” Plus a Berserkerage only lasted so long, and exhaustion followed.
“You’re not the only one with a unique talent. I can hit mine instantaneously. So I urge you to strike me. If you put up a courageous enough fight before I collect your head, then I will be the only immortal between us.”
She swallowed thickly, wondering why she’d provoked him. “Um, I’ll pass.”
“Then why aren’t you running? Let’s see how much your knowledge is power helps you today.”
Proving herself to him might equal preserving her life. Nadje had once told her that survival was everything.
I think I finally believe her.
“Why—aren’t—you—running?” he snapped.
She set the sword above her head and ran. Each step up the mountain was a promise and a prayer: to survive, to learn, and to safeguard whatever life the bear queen had thrust upon her.