25. The Twisted Bargain #3
And when their eyes met, there was forgiveness and understanding.
That was worse than any hit he’d ever taken because he stood helpless to do anything to help her if he wanted them all to live.
He learned another lesson that day in his decade-long survival under Henry’s reign: reason did not outmaneuver evil.
Henry hit Seren so hard that he lost his grip, and she went down on both hands.
She locked eyes with David. “Listen to your father.” Her voice was clipped.
David stopped screaming.
“If you disobey him, he will hurt me,” Seren said, out of breath.
Henry grabbed her and hit her one last time.
David remained silent.
Ragnar’s shoulders trembled beneath Erik’s grip, but he, too, remained silent and still.
Erik had no guarantee about Ragnar’s future from Henry, so he kept the blade against his son’s throat. It was the only leash he had on their lives, betting that he was more valuable than Geoffrey in Henry’s eyes and worth the barter to keep living.
Tears streamed down David’s cheeks.
Henry smiled and let go of Seren. Blood dripped from her nose and fell between her fingers, spread wide on the ground.
Astrid came to the forefront of Erik’s memory. Seren would not end like Astrid or any of the other wives. She would live because she and the children were the only pure of heart there. They deserved life.
Odin—or the God Seren prayed to—had to see that and understand that truth.
David rushed to her side and threw his arms around her neck, but Henry yanked him away.
“My son,” Henry said, pointing at Seren, “Women are nothing.”
Erik bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.
Women were nothing? The woman Henry just threw to the floor had more strength in her silence than Henry had ever wielded in power.
She was everything. And Erik had to act like she was nothing.
“As these two dogs here are nothing.” Henry’s finger turned to Erik and Ragnar. “They are to be used and discarded. The Norseman is just lucky I haven’t found a better Commander yet.”
Geoffrey shuffled behind him. Jovin scoffed under his breath. Their reactions reminded Erik how much Geoffrey wanted him dead to regain his prestige, and Jovin, seeking revenge for his aunt’s execution.
Henry’s eyes narrowed and held David back from Seren.
It should have been Erik bleeding. Not her, but he forced himself to keep Henry’s glare and not look at the woman who held the other half of his heart.
“This is why you are my commander,” Henry said to Erik. “Your strategic mind wins battles. You know your value and are willing to gamble. I can respect that.”
Henry stepped closer.
“No harm will come to your boy. He will train with the other boys and sleep in the barracks. Baldwin and Reynard will train him, but if he disobeys, he will be punished just as any other man-at-arms. But a deal is a deal, I will not take away his future.”
Ragnar stiffened.
Erik lifted his chin. “Do I have your word sworn before your God?”
Henry scoffed. “Is my word not good enough, Payen?”
Pagan. That’s what the Norman name meant, and the way Henry said it was to demean and dismiss his request.
But Father Osbert rose from his bench near the corridor entry in the corner of the great hall.
All eyes turned to him.
He did not speak at first, did not raise his voice or step toward the dais, but he crossed himself in a slow and deliberate manner.
“Lord Henry,” he addressed the tyrant. “You have spilled innocent blood in the presence of your son,” Father Osbert said softly, voice like slow-turning iron. “What they learn here is not obedience, my lord—it is fear. And this type of fear bears no loyalty.”
Henry turned his glare on him. “Do not preach at me, priest.”
Father Osbert lowered his eyes. “I am not preaching, my lord. I offer only prayer.”
He bowed his head, but not before Erik saw the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands.
Father Osbert’s eyes found Seren, crumpled on the floor, then flicked once to Ragnar and David, sharing their silent burden.
“Our Father, who art in Heaven, watches,” Father Osbert said. “Your servant asks for your word before God Almighty. Will you give it?”
Henry scoffed first, but at Father Osbert’s silence, he laughed once and bared his teeth in a sneer.
“Yes, Payen de Montfort, you have my sworn word before God I will not maim or kill your son, but if he is to be a knight, then he will be a knight just like his father.”
Erik lowered the blade from Ragnar’s neck. The footsteps behind him disbanded. Chairs creaked. They would all live for now.
Erik sheathed his blade with hands that did not feel like his own.
Henry had given his word. He’d kept it all these years, and Erik had made him swear it before his deity. The vain, outwardly pious man would have to keep it, and Erik would have to believe that, or pretend to.
For Ragnar. For Seren. For David. For Aveline, Vala, and the child to come.
The woman he loved was bleeding on the floor, and the boy who bore his name had nearly earned a life maimed.
Erik had survived battlefields, but nothing felt more like war than this.