Chapter 2 #3
“Night after night, she bedded the noblemen traveling through our hamlet in Sumpland.” She caresses Odo’s jawline.
“We had no roof over our heads—barely enough soup in our bellies while she defiled herself to allow us to survive. One night, she returned home with something even greater. Promise. You see, a lord passing through offered to purchase me as a servant in exchange for giving me a good life.”
She sighs, and the way the firelight dances off her curves has the other men in the room leaning forward, captivated by her sultry voice and the way she sways her hips. All tricks she teaches her girls before sending them out to destroy lives.
“It was as a mere servant that I rose through the ranks,” you mean bedded anyone who looked your way, “to become a lady’s maid and, famously, sweep a certain King off his feet.”
She collapses on the throne as if her next words torment her soul. All they do is make Calder sick.
“The great King Edric Zyma and I gave the people of Skalor a healthy baby Prince.”
He sighs at her blatant lies.
“And then, His Highness died en route to celebrate our son’s birth.
” She wipes a bone-dry eye with an exaggerated sniffle that no one else seems to notice.
“More soul-crushing was on our son’s fifth nameday.
When we were to announce his name to the kingdom, someone stole him from us,” she gestures to the Jarls as if they lost the child, too.
Say our names, Mother. Tell your sycophants how Avard’s disgust with you saved our lives. Announce my name as your son and let them hear your misdeeds from my mouth.
“It took me winters to learn the identity of the thief who stole my baby.” She pauses and steps silently inside the circle, only pausing beside Calder with her gaze meeting his. “A Treland warrior of King Thord Hilmirsson of Salt.”
Calder audibly sighs.
If the others’ attention span extended past pussy and ale, perhaps they could see through her fucking lies.
Like the fact that she conveniently smothered the details of King Edric’s death.
And anyone in the palace could attest she seduced that Treland warrior, Avard, to birth a child who would be her lamb to slaughter.
His final vision of his father, the great Avard Frodisson, who taught him to wield an axe, skin a boar, and every skill he could need to survive, was lying on his meager bed, dying of an unknown sickness in Salt.
After digging his grave at less than thirteen winters and appeasing the worthless gods, Calder rode hard for Toftlund and never looked back.
I should never have returned to Skalor. I should have begged Sigvid to send anyone else.
Calder's only genuine curiosity at this Assembly is why his mother continues to play this game with him: the one where she permits him on an endless leash and conducts polite check-ups on his well-being.
I destroyed her reason for my existence. Yet, my unease strengthens with each breath I take in this godsforsaken castle.
Whispers circulate the room, quieted by the creaks of a door beside the hearth opening and closing. The Seer, Calder’s old Governess, trudges forward until she meets Lavinia in the center of the Jarls’ circle.
Calder lights his pipe to distract himself from the show.
“My good Jarls, this is a Seer.” Only the sound of a pin dropping could be heard as all their focus is on the Seer.
“She came to me with a prophecy. Like all utterings from the mysterious Norn who determine our fates, the words were vague. Until I presented them to our patron gods. Do you know what they told me?”
She pauses for dramatic effect. “We must sacrifice the Princess of Treland to appease the gods.”
Fury shudders through him, and he nearly snaps his best pipe in half.
Here we go: Lavinia’s angle, her motivation for summoning the Jarls.
After babbling incoherently for a few seconds, the Seer collapses into sobs on the floor. Two palace soldiers rush forward to remove the sight of her from their view. To conceal the truth. Lest her unsavory appearance tip off the others to this game.
“My dear friends,” Lavinia stands with her back framed against the hearth and a wicked grin on her crimson lips, “It is time we take our vengeance on Treland. For stealing our prince, the centuries of denying our aid requests, and per our Seer, to appease the gods. And of course,” she sheds her thick cloak to reveal her shoulderless gown and a jagged scar along her throat and chest, “we must never forget the King of Treland’s attack on my life! ”
Jarl Odo hollers, shoving his flagon into the air.
Many others nod or jeer at the mention of their neighbors to the east and Calder’s true home.
He would do anything to protect those in Treland, despite it having been twenty winters since he arrived on the shores of Skalor at the behest of his King.
“The ancient god of power, Makt, has visited me. He came to me in a vision and instructed us on how we shall atone with the blood of Salt. King Sigvid Thordsson,” hisses sound around the room, “has sent me a request. He intends to hold a Conclave this summer to discuss the Draemonium, which he finds more important than our withering crops and famine. The crisis has led to four winters of underproduction of grain and thousands buried with hungry bellies.”
Even Clementia nods at her words.
“I propose all of my Jarls answer his summons. Visit his land and drink from his barrels. And then bring me the Princess of Treland: Aura Sigvidsson-Redwood. We will greet the harvest with her blood!”
Calder’s bellowing roar shudders his bones as he leaps to his feet, topping his chair and drawing a warning glance from his mother, even if she holds her smile in place. His cold gaze narrows on the Queen.
“Calder!” Edmund and Gunni attune to his wrath, following his heels.
A royal guard steps in his way at the door to the corridor. “The Queen has requested everyone remain to place their reward request for the capture of- ”
He grabs the man by the neck, instantly freezing him solid. Usually, he prefers to shatter his statues to dispose of his tracks. However, a message needs to be conveyed.
Calder slams the door open, splintering it up the middle, then disappears into the Keep.
“Pack your bags!” He orders his companions. “We leave immediately.”
He was certain he had done his part at the village of Chillbury. He was positive he destroyed him. It is not possible that so many lives have been destroyed for nothing.
One thing is sure: Lavinia will never get her hands on the Princess of Treland.
I will defend her with my flavor of evil, for they all fear me.