2. Bryn
Bryn
The frigid ocean closed above my head. Before it could seep into my clothes, I pulled on my water powers and crafted a magical air bubble around myself so I could breathe and keep myself dry.
Shards of ice pierced the water, and without further thought, I propelled myself southward—away from the island and the mythological creature chasing me.
Delicate rays of light penetrated the turbulent seas enough to not need my full Fjord Fae sight. We could see and communicate with each other at great depths, but it was always more convenient to be closer to the surface.
Necklace acquired.
Escape complete.
Now all I needed to do was find a boat. Any vessel that could float would do the trick, but if it had a nice bed, I’d be more inclined to sail upon it. However, islands this far north, in what the humans currently called Norway, weren’t exactly known for their large populations.
Pushing onward, I aimed for the closest island that I knew was partially inhabited by fae: Alta.
Arriving in the small fishing village of Farhamn on the island of Alta, I scoured the shoreline for a quiet spot to surface.
One could never be too careful, not with the increasing human population.
If our fae secret got out, we’d no doubt be hunted for experiments and study.
Which sounded like a horrendous time and was, quite frankly, in opposition to our main purpose: to protect the natural resources of the north and the planet.
While I could use my magic to clean up polluted waters and help sea creatures, I was far better at being a thief.
I’d found my calling.
And I was happy with it.
It may have been a lonely pursuit, but I preferred it that way. People, especially fae, could be mean and cruel. Gold and diamonds, on the other hand, sparkled when I walked into a room.
Spotting a secluded bit of beach riddled with large boulders, I swam toward it and scrambled out of the water. My air bubble disintegrated with a gentle pop. Dry and content, without a giant anywhere in sight, I crouched behind a rock and checked the compass at my hip.
The compass I’d stolen a year ago whirred around before pointing toward the village.
Looked like I was on the right path. Not that it was ever consistent.
But for the most part, the golden trinket with a glittery, deep blue inlay guided me to what I wanted most. And right now, it pointed toward the harbor where people milled about in the waning light of the day.
I carefully closed the lid on the compass and fastened it at my hip, tucked beneath my blue and gray shirts.
Couldn’t afford to lose one of my most prized possessions.
Not with the lengths I’d gone to acquire it.
I reached up and touched my shoulder, putting a mirage in place over my pointed ears.
It was a handy form of magic we fae had been gifted by the ancestors since the human population had grown.
That and being able to mirage attire and hair color had become very helpful at keeping our presence a secret.
Not that I was any good at the latter two.
I preferred to keep my clothing as is and my hair…
Well, all of my attempts had been lackluster, and it was far easier to smother my white-blonde hair in coal to turn it black than it was to keep up a mirage.
Flipping my cloak once again so the dark side faced outward, I ambled toward the village nestled beside the small harbor.
Farhamn was a quiet hamlet with wood and stone buildings lining a rocky road from which docks protruded into the water.
Small waves lapped at the pylons, the harbor given natural protection from the North Atlantic thanks to its position in a cove.
It was quaint, inhabited by both humans and fae—not that the humans were aware of that—and the perfect place for me to find a boat to take me farther south and home.
Could I swim? Certainly. But that was farther than I’d like and would be risky. While we Fjord Fae could swim great distances, even we had our physical limits. And almost down the entire length of the Norwegian coastline was a tad too far for my liking.
So, boat it was.
I aimed for a small shack covered in ropes and buoys where a single nail held up a wonky sign that read “Harbormaster.” The smell of brine and damp wood grew with every step I took, as if the small hut had been doused by decades of salty air and fog.
A man leaned against the weathered doorframe, gazing out across the town while puffing on a pipe.
“I’m looking for a ship,” I said as I reached him.
The man’s thick brow quirked upward as he peered over his thin, wire-frame glasses. He pointed his pipe toward the harbor as smoke slithered from his mouth. “There’s that one there.”
I looked to where he pointed, and my stomach sank.
A boat the size of a warship with blue sails and rigging that reminded me of a puzzle sat at the far end of one dock. A falcon had been carved onto the prow, legs splayed forward with a serpent caught in its talons and beak.
No. Any ship but that one.
“I need a different ship.” I turned back to the harbormaster. “One that is going to the mainland. South preferably.”
“That there is the only ship making the crossing to the mainland.”
Shite. Of course that was the only large vessel in town.
And the only one that might survive the rough seas.
The other half dozen wooden boats in the harbor looked like they could be crushed by a polar bear.
One swipe of a chunky paw and it was down to the depths of the deep blue sea with those dinky things. The bigger ship, though…
I let out a low groan. “Any chance that one has acquired a new captain recently?”
“No. Henrik remains captain.” The man narrowed his eyes at me. “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t. Thank you for your time.” I spun on the spot and walked on into the throng of buildings and crates.
I needed a plan. And time to think of said plan. Raucous revelry sounded from farther down the shoreside road, and an alehouse came into view. My lips quirked into a smile. Planning ale sounded like a wonderful idea.
Keeping my hood up, I ducked past a group of men telling boisterous tales of the day’s fishing adventures, slinked past a horse and cart delivering casks, and snuck into the establishment.
Inside was the complete opposite to the cool, salty air outside.
A fire roared in a large hearth, the smell of stale ale and stew singed my nostrils, and a much-welcomed blanket of warmth settled over my limbs. No wonder the locals liked it here.
As if to further prove that fact, almost every single chair had been filled. Customers sipped and chatted, ate and laughed. I searched around and found an empty table in the rear. Perfect.
Once settled into my chair, with my back facing the wall so I could watch people coming and going, a barkeep sauntered over to my table—his handlebar mustache so long it touched his chest.
“What can I get you?” he asked with a weathered dialect I’d only ever heard this far north.
“Ale.”
“Righty-ho.” He produced a tankard and poured several glugs of golden liquid from the pitcher in his other hand. Setting the drink on the table with a clunk, he said, “That will be four speciedaler.”
I handed over the coins and took a large swig as he walked back to the bar.
Revelers and drunkards sipped their drinks while other villagers ate steaming bowls of stew—fish by the smell of it.
Or perhaps the whole place smelled fishy due to the majority of patrons being fishermen?
Based on the myriad of clothing stains, I highly doubted many of them bothered with a washboard and tub of soapy water.
The front door swung open and in walked a trio of men in dark blue coats with swords at their hips. Behind them came a cloud of darkness I’d vowed to never lay eyes on again.
Henrik Balderson. Captain of the Valur. Third son of the Fjord Fae king.
A man I’d slept with one fateful night.
And then stolen his compass before the sun rose.
Said compass hung heavier at my hip, as if it could tell its previous owner had just walked into the room.
Henrik peered around, those blue eyes scanning for threats.
He looked like an ancient warrior forged by waves and storms. Black hair hung over thick eyebrows, scruff hugging the chiseled planes of his jaw.
Those broad shoulders filled every centimeter of a long blue coat that I’d once pulled off him.
A slick grin tilted his lips as he clapped a tattoo- and ring-clad hand on his friend’s shoulder.
Why couldn’t the ancestors have made him uglier over the past year? Sent a kraken after him? Or had some sell-sword take a swipe at that chest?
I pulled my hood higher and turned my face away, making sure not to move any more.
The one thing I learned early on as a thief was that people noticed movement.
We were still animals after all, and all creatures were accustomed to noticing things moving.
No movement. No need to look in that direction.
I cast my eyes back to the newcomers and watched them closely as they sat down with another group at the far side of the alehouse, thankfully leaving the bar top between us and giving me a convenient shield to hide behind.
Hopefully he hadn’t seen me. No, if he had he’d probably already be storming across the room, shoving a sword to my throat and demanding I hand over the compass I’d stolen last year after I snuck out of his bed.
He was definitely the type to make a scene.
Get everyone’s attention and revel in it.
I, on the other hand, avoided attention at all costs.
From my experience, it got you hurt. Or worse: slung into a holding cell with no food and only a drunk for company.
I took another swig of my ale and kept my head down, thoughts on my goal.
If that was the only ship heading south anytime soon, and a storm was brewing, I needed to get on board.
But how? And most importantly, without Henrik knowing?
If he found me sneaking aboard his ship he’d no doubt lash me to the mast or the prow alongside the serpent that hung from the falcon-shaped masthead’s talons.
There was only one thing to do. I had to get closer, then slip out without gaining a tail.
I downed the last of my drink for courage and pulled the hood of my cloak farther over my head, shielding my face from view.
The creak of the floorboards was lost in the drone of chatter as I crossed the room and sidled up at the bar.
The Valur crew sat in the far corner beside the hearth, ale and mead sloshing out of their tankards as they laughed together at some joke I’d missed.
“You’ll never live that down,” a smooth, rumbly voice said. That same voice had whispered despicable things into my ear last year while he was buried between my thighs. The memory had my toes curling involuntarily.
Focus, Bryn. Or you’ll regret it.
“Aye,” another crew member replied with a wave of the wooden hook that had replaced his hand. “But Laknar fixed me up well and good. The ladies won’t mind it one bit.”
“Until you try shoving it where your cock should go,” another added, sending the group into fits of laughter.
“Now, now,” Henrik said and leaned forward. “Dragin would never have that problem.”
“Oh really, Captain? You’ve seen him in action?”
“That I have.” He sat back in his seat, confidence sitting upon those shoulders like a gilded cape. “And from what I saw, Dragin would fail to get the woman into his bed in the first place.”
Roars of laughter filled the rafters.
I had two names. One was enough.
If they were here now, and by the looks of the number of tables filled with cutlass- and sword-wielding patrons, I’d wager a gold galleon from across the seas that the ship was lighter on crew this evening. Now was the best time to sneak onto the boat.
A gruesome plan came to mind. It was going to hurt, but it should get me onto that boat without too many questions asked.
Slinking through the crowd toward the door, a man stumbled into me and bumped against my shoulder. I winced.
“Sorry there, lad.” He clapped me on the back.
I raised my palm and kept walking.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Let me buy you a drink to apologize.”
“No need,” I grumbled in a low tone and shook him off.
“Just trying to be friendly.”
That was always the problem. I rolled my eyes and barreled through the front door before anyone else could set me off course.
Outside, night had settled over the harbor like a cool blanket, bundling it in a dewy silence.
I scrambled down the road, grit crunching beneath my feet, and aimed for a collection of barrels and crates and village detritus that some fool had dumped beside a building.
It was common around the northern islands.
Litter was often shipped out of town, but bits were always left behind and shoved aside.
I hunched behind a crate and found what I was searching for: a bottle made of thick green glass. Ancestors, this was going to hurt. But I couldn’t use my own blade. It had to be rough. It had to look like an accident.
Don’t hesitate, Bryn. Just do it.
Neck gripped firmly, I smashed the bottom of the bottle against the crate beside me. It shattered, leaving behind jagged edges. Without further thought, I brought the sharp side across my left forearm. Once, and I was through my shirt layer. Twice, and I went through skin.
My teeth grit together, holding back a wince, as pain radiated up my arm and blood pooled then trickled down my pale flesh.
I tossed aside the bottle and ran for the ship. With my hand gripped over the wound, I stumbled up the gangplank, dripping blood as I went. My hood fell to my shoulders, revealing my white-blonde hair and the forced panic on my features.
A sailor stood guard at the railing, and his eyes went wide when he saw me.
“Healer,” I said breathlessly. “The captain sent me. Said I needed to see Laknar.”
Those eyes narrowed for a moment, before darting back to my arm again.
“Please… He said you could treat our kind.” My hair took that moment to free itself from its braid and billow around my face.
Likely giving me a look of frailty and femininity that most men either found endearing or nonthreatening.
It was a great tool in my arsenal. The number of times I’d fooled my way past a gullible man—
“Come quickly, then,” the sailor said with a sigh and ushered me onto the ship.
I avoided smiling, instead nodding and faking tears. A lone droplet ran across my cheek and fell alongside the trickle of blood on my arm.
I was on board. Now, all I had to do was have my arm fixed, avoid notice, and survive.