DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (21 page)

Outside Vali’s suite, two additional guards stood watch, supplementing the one that had been on duty by the stair the night before.

“We’re to accompany you, my lord.”

Annikke’s heart sped up, if that was possible, but Vali appeared merely curious. “Why the armed escort? Is there some threat to the peace?”

The guards exchanged a look. “Someone attacked the guards in the gaol last night, my lord, and helped the prisoners to escape.”

Benoia made a small sound of distress.

“No need to worry miss,” the other guard said. “The prisoners will soon be caught. One of our best Tracker Talents is on their trail.”

“That’s good to know” Vali exchanged a concerned look with Annikke and patted her hand where it rested on his arm. “In the meantime. I’m glad you’re here to help keep these ladies safe.”

The guard nodded and led them down the hall to the stairway, the other armsman following. The same passages that had been deserted the night before now bustled with activity. Servants stood aside and as they passed, and the lords and ladies they saw nodded courteously, even if most of them gave her hair a startled second glance. Annikke almost wanted to laugh. What a difference a bath, good clothing, and a noble escort made. If all those people knew she and Benoia were the escaped prisoners, accused of murder, they’d treat the two of them very differently.

Now that she was rested, Annikke could pay attention to her surroundings, and she had to keep herself from gawking at the beauty. Heavy wood doors were exquisitely carved, each with a unique image. Statues of the gods and their mounts stood for newel posts at the top and bottom of each staircase. Light reflected in from cleverly placed openings, even well away from outside walls, bringing the rose quartz to life.

After traversing several hallways and multiple flights of stairs, the guard stopped outside a set of open double doors bracketed by two more guards. Vali quietly identified himself and one of them stepped into the opening and announced, “Lord Vali, and Mistresses Annikke and Benoia, my lord.”

A man of perhaps forty summers sat on the ornately carved chair on the low dais at the other end of the room. His auburn hair was highlighted with sun-bleached strands and he wore his beard short. Broad shoulders filled out a suede tunic dyed the same dark green as her dress. Annikke appreciated Vali’s subtle touch. He’d chosen the color of her gown not to match her eyes, but to indicate her loyalty. But where her dress was plain, a hawk embroidered with gold thread swooped across the man’s left breast.

The Jarl.
Until a week ago, Annikke had never imagined she would see him, and certainly not under these circumstances. A pregnant woman sat beside him, her blond hair braided in a simple style.
Lady Celia.
Her chair was the same size as the Jarl’s, indicating her status, but requiring the Lady to rest her feet on a padded stool so her toes didn’t dangle like a child’s.

Another man, a little younger and clearly related to Lord Dahleven, stood slightly behind the Jarl and to one side. He was dressed in the gray mourning garb of a priest of Baldur.
That must be the Overprest, Father Ragnar, the Jarl’s brother.
She’d once heard a skald sing of his exploits in the conflict with the Dark Elves. She’d heard that his Talent was Truth-telling. She hoped that was true—and that the Jarl valued the truth.

Lord Dahleven gestured them forward.

The room was long and narrow, with two long benches close to the dais. Vali escorted Annikke across the smooth rose quartz floor, with Benoia holding her other hand.

Lord Tholvar occupied the bench on the left facing the Jarl. He had two retainers standing behind him, neither of them men Annikke had seen before. As they entered, Tholvar turned to glare at them.

As they advanced, Benoia’s stride faltered for a step, possibly because of the look of hatred on Lord Tholvar’s face. Annikke was grateful for Vali’s confident support, because she wasn’t sure if her knees or Benoia’s were shaking more. Vali stopped in the wide space between the benches to stand before the Jarl. Vali bowed slightly, and Annikke sank somewhat awkwardly into a low curtsy with Benoia following her example. Curtsying wasn’t a skill they’d needed to practice much in their little village.

Lord Dahleven regarded them with an impassive expression. Not a twitch of brow or lips betrayed any shock or fearful curiosity at the sight of her silver hair. His lady, too, had a neutral expression, nor did she guard her belly as if fearful of her Fey influence.

“Rise,” Lord Dahleven said. “Mistress Benoia, Lord Tholvar has already told me what happened between you and his son. I’d like to hear your account of the events that bring you here.”

Vali whispered, “Courage,” in Annikke’s ear, patted her hand again, and then went to sit on the right. Norva stood behind the young lord.

“My lord!” Tholvar protested. “What benefit will this provide? You have the facts, while these women will both lie to protect themselves.”

Benoia cast a panicked glance at Annikke.

“It’s all right, sweetling.” Annikke squeezed her foster-daughter’s hand. The girl was trembling. “Just tell the truth as best you can.”

The Jarl smiled gently. “Good advice, mistress. Now come closer, Benoia, so you don’t have to shout.”

Annikke gave Benoia’s hand another squeeze then released it. She was trembling herself as she moved to stand with Norva behind Vali.

“I was on my way home from treating the wounds of Lord Tholvar’s dairyman—he was gored by a bull—when Lord Sveyn accosted me in the forest.”

Annikke clenched her hands as Benoia’s soft words brought the image of Sveyn atop her foster-daughter to the forefront of her mind. She remembered Benoia’s fear and anger and hurt. Remembered her own fury and desire to do violence.

Father Ragnar stepped forward to whisper in his brother’s ear just as Lord Tholvar interrupted. “You see, my lord? Lies. Why waste our time on this?”

Lord Dahleven held up his hand palm outward to the lord. “My time,
and yours
, is mine to waste.” He turned back to Benoia. “And how was the dairyman when you visited him?”

For a moment Benoia looked confused by the unexpected question, then she said, “He was doing well. The wound was reddened, but the poultice and our, um, other medicines had worked. There was no putrefaction. I left him more herbs to help with the pain, and others for his wife to give him when he talked too soon about returning to work.” A little smile played at the corner of her lips. “Men never respect their injuries.”

Lady Celia smiled and glanced at the Jarl. “Isn’t
that
the truth.”

Lord Dahleven shook his head at his wife, but his gaze held affection. “And after you left the dairyman’s cottage? You met with Lord Sveyn?”

Benoia swallowed hard and continued her account. Her voice was stronger now than it had been when she started, and Annikke blessed the Jarl for giving Benoia the chance to gather her wits by talking about the thing she knew best—healing.

“Sveyn was waiting in the small clearing near the big oak. I was surprised to see him there, because a storm was coming. He said I was pretty, and that he liked the bold way I flounced about the village.” Benoia twisted her fingers together. “I don’t
flounce
, my lord. I just go about my business.”

Lady Celia was gripping her armrests tightly, her lips pressed together. Annikke thought she looked sympathetic, but it was Lord Dahleven who would pass judgment on Benoia, and his expression was impossible to read.

The Jarl nodded. “Please go on.”

Tears flowed down Benoia’s cheeks as she continued. Sveyn said he wanted her, and could give her beautiful dresses and jewelry, and invited her up to the manor. She’d said no, and backed away. Sveyn grabbed her, pushed her down and shouted at her to stop being a tease. His grasp had been painful on her arms, on her legs. She’d screamed and pushed at him, but he was too strong. All she’d wanted was for him to
stop
. Suddenly he’d begun screaming, and Annikke had pulled him off of her.

A muscle in Lord Dahleven’s jaw jumped as he glanced at Father Ragnar.

“Lies,” Lord Tholvar repeated. “She lay in wait for my son, and when he refused to lie with her, she maimed him.”

Benoia turned on Lord Tholvar. “That’s not what happened!”

“Show us your bruises, then, if you tell the truth.”

“She cannot. I healed them. It was all I could do for her.” Annikke felt a flutter of panic as she spoke. Had she not done that kindness, Benoia would have evidence to prove what happened. Now they had nothing.

“How convenient,” Lord Tholvar said. “And what about the men that she and that Fey-marked witch killed? Can they pay the
weregild
for them?”

Annikke gasped. If the
weregild
fell on her and Benoia, they’d be sold into thralldom to meet it, no matter their blame or innocence.

“Lord Vali, do you have anything to add?” the Jarl asked.

Vali rose. The dirty, Exhausted lad she’d met in the forest was gone. Even her clean and rested friend had been replaced with a young lord whose dignified bearing befit the heir to noble family. “Would those men be the ones that wore no livery or the sigil of any house? I took them to be bandits.”

“My lords, if I may?” Norva asked.

Vali nodded, as did Lord Dahleven. Norva came around the bench to stand beside Benoia. “I, and three other women from Forsvaremur, killed men we saw attacking Lord Vali and the two women who had been caring for him. They claimed to be acting on behalf of Lord Tholvar and the Jarl, but I didn’t believe them since they were also proposing to rape these women. One of those men escaped, and two days later he attacked again with more men. We prevailed, but only just. The Jarl’s actual emissary didn’t recognize any of them either.”

Annikke noted that Norva didn’t mention the intervention of the Elves or Annikke’s use of Elven magic to heal Aren.

“Lord Vali, do you agree with this statement?” The Jarl asked.

“I do, my lord.”

Annikke could only see a portion of Lord Tholvar’s face, but she thought he looked surprised, and then thoughtful.

From behind them, a guard announced, “Lord Sveyn and Lord Fendrikanin.”

Annikke’s heart took a little leap. Lord Fender hadn’t forgotten his pledge to her. Whether he could offer any real help she didn’t know, but she would welcome another friend.

Her hope stuttered when she saw his face. His expression wasn’t a friendly one. As he came abreast of Benoia he gave her a suspicious glare, and went to stand beside Lady Celia.

Sveyn limped badly, bracing each step with a staff and dragging one foot as he made his way laboriously to the front of the room. Annikke couldn’t bring herself to feel any sympathy for the Loki-spawn.

Lord Tholvar jumped up from his bench. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay home. Now everyone can see you!”

“It’s not exactly the kind of thing we can keep secret, Father.” Sveyn made a face. “And I agreed with Lord Fendrikanin that I should be present to ensure justice prevailed.”

“Lord Tholvar, did you send the men who attacked Annikke and Benoia?” Lord Dahleven asked.

“No, my lord.”

“Lord Sveyn, were those men there at your command?”

“Of course not!”

Lord Dahleven nodded. Annikke found herself wondering if they’d been mistaken in placing the blame for the attacks they’d endured at Sveyn’s door.

“Then why did they mention you by name?” Benoia demanded.

Her foster-daughter’s exclamation startled Annikke, and she blinked in confusion. How could she have doubted that Sveyn was involved?

Lord Dahleven turned to Benoia. “You’ve had your say,” he said firmly, but not unkindly to Benoia. He frowned and glanced at his brother.

Lord Ragnar’s forehead was furrowed, as if trying to figure out some puzzle. A moment later his brows lifted as if he was surprised by the solution. He whispered something to the Jarl, who looked startled before his brow clouded with anger.

Annikke twisted her fingers together. An angry lord was a dangerous lord.

But when he spoke to his wife, Lord Dahleven’s tone was mild. “My dear, your amulet, if you please?”

Lady Celia’s eyes widened, then she lifted a pendant from under her bodice and offered it in her open palm. Her husband clasped her hand over the necklace. Beside Lady Celia, Lord Fender turned a startled expression from his liege to Sveyn, as his expression turned thunderous. The tension in his body suggested he wanted to throttle the young lord. Annikke looked from Father Ragnar, to the Jarl, to Lord Fender. Something had changed, but she didn’t know what.

The Jarl narrowed his eyes at Sveyn. “My lord, would you like to reconsider your answer?” His tone held a quiet threat.

Sveyn wobbled on his good leg and staff. “I only told them to take Benoia into custody! If they did more, they overstepped their orders.”

That’s possible,
Annikke thought. The first group of men had only disarmed her.
Maybe the others made a mistake when they tried to kill me and Aren.

“And what of the assassin that tried to kill them in their cells?” Aren’s voice came from the doorway. Every eye turned to watch as he strode forward. Annikke noted that he walked with a slight limp and there was blood on his trews. Had he reopened his wound, or gained a new one? She wanted to make him sit down so she could examine him, but that would have to wait.

Aren stopped within striking distance of Sveyn, but kept his hands fisted at his sides.

“I take it the intruder resisted your invitation to return to Quartzholm?” Lord Dahleven asked.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Aren answered in grim tones. “With both Talent and blade.”

“Did he speak before he died?”

“Nothing of importance, my lord.”

Annikke thought Sveyn released a pent up breath.

“Lord Sveyn,” the Jarl asked softly. “What do you know of the man who entered my gaol on a ruse, and left two of my guards dazed and vulnerable to attack?”

“Nothing my lord! How could I? I only just got here with Lord Fendrikanin.”

“Oh, please,” Lady Celia muttered.