Chapter eight
Arik
Your mother has a… Eisa seemed to fumble for the right word as she took in the man who had been more a father to me than my own. A mistress?
I choked on a laugh. Not even close.
It had been five years at least since I’d seen him, but Arne hadn’t changed much. His dark beard was a little more liberally streaked with gray, perhaps, and the silver at his temples extended farther than I remembered, but in every other way he was unchanged.
“Arne arrived late last night,” my mother said apologetically as the towel sagged ominously around my uncle’s waist.
“For fuck’s sake, put some clothes on, old man,” I drawled, moving to Eisa’s other side and draping my arm over the back of the sofa a bit more possessively than was strictly necessary.
Arne’s eyes followed my movement, and he swore as he fled back behind the door with irritated growls and mutterings.
“I’d better ask Magda to bring more breakfast.” My mother sighed deeply as she rose from her chair. “Your uncle has a foul temper when he’s hungry.”
Your uncle? Eisa asked, her eyes bright with amusement. I thought he wasn’t here yet.
So did I. I poured myself a cup of tea and settled in more comfortably beside my mate. Imagine my surprise.
You sent him away rather rudely.
Baldur growled, unhelpfully, and I tamped him down.
The only bare chest I want you looking at is mine, Kjaere.
Eisa snorted into her teacup. He’s too hairy for me, anyway.
I smiled despite Baldur’s possessive nonsense. Arne is one of the reasons I am the man I am today. I tucked a strand of wayward hair behind her ear, admiring the shape of the pointed tip. And a valuable ally against my father.
“Gods fucking damn these buttons to the deepest hells!” Arne’s voice carried from behind the door.
Charming, too. I see where you get it.
Arne is far more fluent in profanity than I am.
Baldur rumbled his agreement, and Eisa hid her smile behind her teacup. And the accent? Your mother doesn’t have one.
She came here when she was very young. I clenched my teeth, the comparison between her and another young woman coming to my mind unbidden. Only fourteen.
Eisa nodded, and I knew she understood the anger radiating down our bond.
My mother returned, settling herself on Eisa’s other side. She raised her brow at me in silent question, a gesture so familiar it made me feel like I was a teenage boy again rather than a grown man.
I nodded slightly, understanding what she asked. Yes, I loved this woman. Deeply. Unquestioningly.
My mother smiled, her eyes shining with happiness, and I cleared my throat as my uncle returned, clad in leather trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that was, to my relief, completely buttoned.
“So you got my letter then?”
“Aye.” He folded his arms across his broad chest as he leaned against the door. “Vague as always, lad, but it’s good to see you nonetheless.”
He was who you sent the letter to? At the inn? Eisa asked.
I sent him several over the last few weeks. Last night’s was to confirm our arrival here today.
Why didn’t you just tell me that?
I shrugged, smirking faintly down at her. You didn’t ask.
Eisa rolled her eyes, and I turned back to Arne, who was looking between us with the same shrewd look my mother had given me.
“So are ye going to formally introduce me to the lass ye went on about for three pages, or shall I do it myself?”
Eisa blinked. Three pages?
“Eisa, this is Arne, my mother’s brother, Jarl of the Reaches, and bearer of even worse manners than me. Arne, this is Eisa, my mate.” Silently, I added, And it was closer to four.
Arne strode forward and tried to kneel at Eisa’s feet.
He was my size, and the low table was right in the way.
With a grunt, he shoved it, wooden legs screeching across the floor in a way that made my mother wince, and pressed a kiss to the back of Eisa’s hand.
“My lady, allow me the honor of saying that the pages did not do ye justice.”
“Thank you.” She gave me a bemused look. He is a charmer.
Don’t get ideas, Kjaere.
Arne looked from Eisa to me and back again, frowning. “What is this, then?” He gestured between us with one hand, his other still clasping my mate’s.
My arm tightened around Eisa’s shoulders, and Baldur rumbled a laugh. Possessive.
Shut up. “What is what?” I added aloud.
Arne stood, still frowning between us. “The eye-fucking.” My mother choked on her tea, and a pretty flush colored Eisa’s cheeks as Arne flopped down in the armchair I had vacated.
He regarded my mate steadily. “I cannae tell if it’s consensual or if yer woman needs help.
Blink twice, lass, if he’s holding ye against yer will. ”
“Hearthmother above.” My mother groaned, dropping her face in her palms. “Really, Arne.”
“The lass disnae mind, Ingrid.” Arne chuckled, his green eyes still fixed on Eisa. “She’s grinning like a cat.”
“I don’t mind.” Eisa’s soft laugh stirred something warm in my gut. It pleased me to see her take to the man whose opinions I valued most in the world. “And believe me, I’ve heard worse in Ironholm.”
My mother sighed in a beleaguered sort of way and smiled at my mate.
I felt something in my chest loosen at her tacit approval. She had always been the kindest of women, and I had long thought it a crime that she had been forced to marry a man who was so completely her opposite.
If you were to ask her, she would likely tell you she agreed to the match, Baldur reminded me. He hadn’t taken a great deal of interest in the conversation up until this point, aside from laughing at my expense, and I gave his eye ridges a mental scratch.
She didn’t have a real choice. It was my father’s condition for my uncle keeping a modicum of independence for the Reaches.
Something she and Eisa have in common, I suppose, he mused, his thoughts flitting to Idunn. But we shall treat our bond with more reverence than your father has.
I’d missed my mother’s reply while speaking with Baldur, but Eisa’s laugh drew me back to the conversation.
“Well, I know that look.“ Arne prodded my foot with his boot as I blinked back into myself. “How’s that great lizard of yers doing? Enjoying his mate too, then?”
I rolled my eyes, but pulled Eisa closer despite myself. “Taking great umbrage at being called a lizard by anyone but me.”
Baldur rumbled disapprovingly, a clear reminder that he didn’t particularly care for it when I called him a lizard either.
“And he’s exceedingly pleased,” I added, looking down at my mate. “As am I.”
My mother’s smile would have been enough to warm the room without the blazing fire in the hearth, but Arne only gave a curt grunt. He was an avowed bachelor, and I doubted there was a man or woman on the continent who could convince him to settle down.
“Why are ye here then, lad?” His voice had turned serious as he studied me across the low table, still out of place from his moment of gallantry. “Finally going to overthrow yer old man and take yer rightful place on the throne?”
Eisa’s shock wavered over our mental bridge. What?
Just Arne’s ridiculous fantasy. I gave her a reassuring squeeze. I told you he was no friend of my father.
My mother’s face went pale as she glanced toward the door. “Arne, you shouldn’t say such things, even here.”
“I’ll say what I damn well please about yer philandering wretch of a husband.” He gave my mother a hard look, his eyes flicking to the long sleeves of her gown, which we both knew hid bruises. “How can I convince you to come back with me to ?strheim, Ingrid? Ye’d be safe from him there.”
My mother gave Arne a pointed look. “I’m fine, as you well know.”
?strheim? Eisa asked, before I had a chance to ask what my mother meant.
Arne’s seat of power in the Reaches, I explained. It’s the easternmost settlement in the kingdom. Close to the Fae Realms.
The Fae Realms? Her eyes met mine, wide with alarm. He thinks that would be safer?
Their war is long over. I shrugged. Eisa knew little of our kingdom and its neighbors from her time in servitude, but clearly stories of the fae had travelled as far as her little tavern. But she won’t go. He’s been trying to convince her to leave since before Edvard was born.
“Yer doing it again.” Arne’s growl interrupted his argument with my mother as both turned to us. “Back to my question then, lad. Why are ye here? Usurpation? Is it war, then?”
“For fuck’s sake, Arne, I don’t intend to add patricide to my list of sins while I’m here.”
“Then what?” My uncle’s eyes narrowed at me as my mother’s brow furrowed with concern, and I hesitated. I knew neither would tell my father, and I trusted Arne with my life, but I wasn’t sure we should reveal our purpose to anyone outside our party.
What do we tell them? Eisa’s eyes were shadowed, Idunn’s blue light glowing faintly behind her pupils.
They could help us, I reasoned. But it’s a risk.
Eisa bit her lip. I trust you.
“Young love is insufferable.” Arne scowled, folding his arms over his chest. “One of ye had better explain before I expire of old age.” At a scowl from my mother, he shrugged apologetically and grumbled, “If ye please.”
I blew out a deep breath and glanced at the door. This room wasn’t a safe place to share anything I didn’t want the servants overhearing. “I’ll explain later. Do you know why my father called this Althing?”
Arne opened his mouth to speak, but Magda chose that moment to clatter back into the room. I thanked my instincts that I hadn’t launched into an explanation as she placed a tray laden with bacon, eggs, and fried bread on the low table. “Your breakfast, My Lord—“
“I’m not hungry, woman,” Arne grunted, looking wistfully at the breakfast as he rose from the chair with a long stretch. “Come on then, lad. I fancy a spar, and it looks like love has made ye soft around the edges.”
He gave me a pointed look, and I inwardly sighed at his lack of subtlety. I supposed I could talk just as well while sparring if I had to. But Eisa hadn’t eaten, and I knew Idunn was starving.
“We can eat first.” I accepted a plate from my mother and filled it with as much protein as I thought I could convince Eisa to eat. “Kjaere.”
“Thank you.” She blushed slightly as she took the plate, either because of the attention or the nickname, but my mother beamed at me in approval.
Arne grumbled and slumped back into his chair. “Right waste of time,” he muttered as he helped himself to the bacon.
“The sparring ring won’t go anywhere,” I reminded him. Baldur always got an inordinate amount of pleasure from watching Eisa eat, and I nudged her thigh as she nibbled delicately on a slice of fried bread. You can eat normally.
Eisa rolled her eyes, but took normal-sized bites as my mother recounted the mundane comings and goings of the castle. To my chagrin, Magda didn’t leave, and I knew my mother didn’t have the heart to dismiss her so that we could discuss the Althing.
“There.” Arne stood as he drained his cup of tea, then grabbed a sweet roll and gave me an impatient look. “She’s eaten. Shall we?”
Did you have enough to eat?
Eisa raised a brow in surprise. You want me to come?
I held out my hand. Always, Kjaere.
Eisa took it, and my mother rose from her chair, holding out her arms. “We’ll have another little chat sometime before you return to Ironholm.” Her smile was warm as she took my mate in her arms and kissed her cheek. “And you, my son.”
My mother’s arms were so thin and fragile as they came around me, but the voice in my ear was firm as she whispered, “Do not leave her alone with your father. Or your brother.”
It was an unnecessary warning. I’d never trust Edvard after what he did, and if my father found out what Eisa might be capable of, he would find a way to use her power for himself. “I know.”
She nodded, and I took her delicate hands in mine. “You should leave with Arne when he returns to the Reaches. There’s nothing for you here.”
She smiled, a sad, weighty thing as if the entire world rested on her. “I do more for our people here. Don’t worry about me.”
Arne barked at me irritably from the door. “Are we going to stand around all day exchanging pleasantries, or can we go beat something with a heavy stick?”
I rolled my eyes and took Eisa’s hand. “Just letting you get a head start, old man.”