DEBTS (Vinlanders' Saga Book 3) (22 page)
The Jarl’s gaze flickered toward his wife with what Annikke thought was a hint of amusement.
“My lord Jarl,” Father Ragnar spoke for the first time in a voice like death. “Lord Sveyn has lied thrice to you. Further, he has abused those under his authority. The law is clear.”
“No!” Lord Tholvar’s face was pale and he sounded desperate. “I count only two falsehoods! The threshold has not been met.”
“Actually, Lord Tholvar, the count is four. He first lied to you,” Father Ragnar said, lifting a finger, “when he told you Benoia lay in wait for
him
. He sought to deceive the Jarl regarding the attacks, and their purpose.” Two more fingers joined the first. “And he lied again about the assassin.” A fourth digit rose.
“He couldn’t know about the intruder! He was with Lord Fendrikanin!”
“His commands were already in place, were they not, Lord Sveyn?” Ragni asked with a lifted brow. “If your other men failed to stop Benoia from reaching Quartzholm, your assassin was to prevent her from speaking the truth to Lord Dahleven. Moreover, Lord Sveyn has been attempting to influence us all with his Talent. A form of Persuasion, I believe, that makes everything he says seem true and believable.”
Benoia’s Talent is to see past illusion to the truth. That’s why she wasn’t taken in by Sveyn’s lies,
Annikke thought. “But men of rank are seldom held accountable for taking what they want from a woman,” Annikke said. “Why go to so much effort?”
“That witch withered my cock! I’ll never enjoy another fuck, never have heirs. And everyone knows about the Jarl’s new
laws
. I knew he’d punish me, instead of her.
Me!
I wasn’t going to let that bitch get away with it.”
“Ah, he speaks the truth at last,” Ragni said softly.
“My lord, I ask your mercy,” Tholvar said, looking rather sick. “He’s my only son!”
“Then you’d better make good alliances for your daughters, with men more honorable than the one you begat,” Lady Celia said.
Lord Dahleven shot her a quelling glance. “Lord Sveyn, by your actions you have proven yourself unworthy to care for the land the Elves have shared with us. You need worry no more about your inability to sire heirs. You are disinherited.”
“What? No! Please, my lord, I was angry and afraid and sent those men without thought.”
“
Afraid? You
were afraid?” The words leapt out of Annikke before she could stop them. “What of Benoia’s fear, when you threw her down on the ground? Or when your men tried to kill her?”
Lord Dahleven raised a hand palm outward to silence her. His lip curled in disgust as he looked again at Sveyn. “Do you believe being driven by fear a defense?”
“My lord, he’s young—”
“He is fully twenty summers of age, and long recognized as a man. He will bear the consequences of his actions as a man must.”
Father Ragnar whispered something to the Jarl, who raised his sun-lightened brows in apparent surprise. “You’re sure?” he asked.
The Overprest nodded.
The Jarl continued in a grim tone. “In addition, you will be stripped of your Talent. You have proven yourself willing to use it to harm others, and I will not leave you able to do so in the future.”
Annikke gaped at the harsh sentence. A man without a Talent was regarded as a cripple, even more so than one missing a limb.
“My lord! No! I’m sorry,” Sveyn pleaded. “Have mercy I beg of you! I made a mistake.”
“You’ve made more than one, and many more than have ever been discovered, I suspect,” Lord Dahleven said. “But I
will
show you mercy—more than you showed the innocent young woman you tried to have killed. You will not be exiled. Instead you’ll be restricted to your family’s land, living on their sufferance.” Lord Dahleven rose. “You are dismissed. Return to your holding.”
“But my lord, what life can I live, crippled like this? This deformity is not a proper punishment under your law.”
The Jarl paused. Annikke could see his jaw working, as if he was chewing angry words.
Lord Ragnar spoke. “When you hunt a mountain cat, you may get bitten. Bear it.”
“No,” Benoia said softly. “I’ll heal him, if I can.”
What?
Had she misheard? Annikke turned her disbelieving gaze to her foster-daughter, as did everyone else in the room. “Sweetling?”
“I don’t want him telling everyone who will listen about how the servant of the Fey-marked witch destroyed his life.” Anger and disgust chased across Benoia’s face. “Even without his Talent, some may look at his shriveled leg and believe him, and turn against you. I hate him for what he tried to do to me. To you. If I heal him, his words will just be the bitter ranting of a Talentless man. But I’ll need your help.”
Annikke drew in a deep breath, then another. The rage in her heart tried to explode. “How can you even
think
of this?”She didn’t want to
heal
the Loki-spawn, she wanted to
kill
him for what he tried to do.
Benoia stepped closer to Annikke and took her hands. “I can think of it because I want to go live among the Daughters of Freya in Forsvaremur, and I can’t leave you behind to suffer Sveyn’s frustration and wrath in my place.”
“I could come with you,” Annikke said.
Benoia’s eyes brightened, but she shook her head. “You have a home among the villagers. Most of them respect you, and many of them even like you. I can’t ask you to leave that behind. You’ve wanted your whole life to be accepted by them.”
“You’re wise for one so young, mistress Benoia, but I think your fear is greater than the threat. Few will listen to a Talentless man who has been disinherited. Nevertheless, I will give you a choice, Sveyn.” Lord Dahleven stepped off the low dais and stopped in front of Tholvar’s son. “You may choose whether to be healed and be exiled for two years, or live as you are on your father’s lands.”
Exile!
It wasn’t quite a sentence of death, but a man alone in the wildlands, without kin or friends, was vulnerable to injury, starvation, and hungry mountain cats. Permanent deformity or possible death. Annikke thought the choice fitting.
“That’s a Loki’s bargain!” Tholvar protested.
“Be quiet, Father,” Sveyn said.
“Furthermore, whichever you choose, I will have your oath that you will visit no harm on Annikke or Benoia, nor on anyone under your authority ever again. Not a wife, a child, nor the boy who cleans your latrines. Will you so swear?”
“My lord! You cannot mean to sanction dark
seidhr
by letting these … witches perform yet more of their magic on my son?” Lord Tholvar objected.
“My leg and my cock are as shriveled as a dried plum, Father. What worse harm could they do?” Sveyn turned back to Lord Dahleven. “If she can heal me, I’ll swear anything you like.”
“You misunderstand. She won’t even
attempt
to heal you until you give your oath.”
“And when I give my oath, she’ll have no reason to heal me.”
“Would you prefer exile as you are?”
Sveyn bowed his head. “No, my lord.” With great difficulty he knelt on his one good knee and set his staff aside.
The Jarl drew his sword and presented it hilt first to Sveyn. “Give me your oath.”
“May Baldur witness my vow,” Sveyn began as he touched the grip, then swore what the Jarl had demanded. He finished by reciting the traditional words, “If I fail in my honor, may every man’s hand turn against me and this sword pierce my disloyal heart, and may all know me as Oathbreaker.”
*
The weight of Sveyn’s oath resonated in Aren’s soul. No man could witness such a vow and not feel it. No man could speak those words and take them lightly. His father had spoken those words. And he had paid the price of breaking that oath.
A price his father had willingly paid. Aren finally understood that the cost to his father of keeping his honor, of leaving the woman he loved when she needed him, would have been too high. His father’s pride and stubbornness had kept him from being able to see his alternatives, but it had been his love for Aren’s mother that had forced his hand. He’d chosen love over honor.
For the first time in his life, Aren understood his father’s decision, and his mother’s loyalty to his father’s memory.
“Sveyn, you may return with Lord Tholvar to his rooms and await Annikke and Benoia there,” the Jarl said, sheathing his sword. “If their healing is successful, you will be given a bow, a quiver of twenty arrows, and a dagger, and escorted to the borders of this province. You may return two summers from now.”
Sveyn nodded, then struggled to stand. His damaged leg was too weak. “I need help,” he said after a moment. With a nod from Tholvar, his two retainers stepped to either side of Sveyn and lifted him with a hand under each arm. They stayed beside him as he hobbled out of the audience chamber.
Tholvar lingered long enough to say, “I swore fealty to you, my lord, and this is how you honor it? You’ve thrown away any support I might have given your new law. You can play havoc with tradition without my help.”
“Are you sure, Lord Tholvar?” Lady Celia said. “Without a male heir, the new law would allow your eldest daughter to inherit, rather than your cousin. Your lands would remain with your line.”
Aren noted that Lord Dahleven didn’t censure his wife for her comment, just lifted a brow and smiled slightly. Lord Tholvar glared for a moment, and then made a non-committal grunt before making a minimal nod of courtesy and stalking out.
When he was gone, Lord Dahleven said, “I’m sorry, Celia. Without his support, the other lords aren’t likely to approve the law at the Althing this summer. Maybe next year.”
The lady didn’t appear distressed. “We’ll see. It’ll depend on which is greater, Tholvar’s self-interest or his stubborn anger.”
“My lord,” Vali said. “I have a boon to ask of you.”
“Yes?”
“Forsvaremur needs a good Tracker Talent, and always welcomes men of honor. Aren came to my aid not knowing my rank or family. I’d take it as a personal favor if you would release him from his oath of service to you, and let him come into mine.”
The breath stopped in Aren’s throat. Swearing fealty to a man of Lord Vali’s rank would go far in cleansing his family name.
“Are you sure you want such an insubordinate man in your service?” the Jarl asked. “He clearly has a tendency to solve problems without consulting those in command. Did you know, he made off with my prisoners and stashed them away for their protection without even a by-your-leave?”
It had been too much to hope that Commander Hahlf would keep Aren’s defiance to himself. Aren steeled himself, ready to accept whatever punishment the Jarl chose. He stood by his choice to hide the women with Vali.
Vali grinned. “I’m well aware of his tendency for independent thought. It makes him more desirable to my thinking, rather than less.”
“Indeed. As it happens, Aren’s oath of service is to Lord Fendrikanin, not to me—yet. Aren, you have a choice before you, will you swear fealty to me, or to Lord Vali?”
Annikke held her breath. This was what Aren had been hoping for. A new beginning. A chance to return honor to his name. And now not only the heir to a neighboring Jarldom but the Jarl of Quartzholm wanted him. She hadn’t thought there could be room in her heart for anything more than the relief she’d felt for Benoia, and the grief of her leaving, but now joy crowded in. Aren deserved this. So why did he look as though he might lose his breakfast?
“My lord,” Aren said to Vali, “I’m honored by your request, more than you know, but before you offer to take me into your household there’s something you should know—”
“I know more than you think. Lady Solveig and her husband taught me a thing or two while waiting for my Talent to Emerge. I would not seek the oath of a man I did not understand—and trust.”
Annikke bounced on her toes, unable to contain her happiness for Aren.
Aren nodded, unspeaking. He looked into Annikke’s eyes.
Everyone in the room followed suit. Suddenly Annikke no longer felt like bouncing. For a moment she wanted to escape the weight of their attention, but then, as it had in the forest, Aren’s calm brown gaze steadied and centered her.
“If I swear to Lord Vali, my home will be closer to Benoia,” he said.
“But Quartzholm welcomes the Elves and their friends,” Lord Dahleven said. “And good Healers are always needed.”
Aren continued as if the Jarl hadn’t spoken. “We haven’t known each other for very long, but I think we understand each other better than many do at the outset.” Aren stepped closer. “You have courage and strength and compassion, and the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”
Annikke’s heart pounded and her stomach buzzed like a charm of hummingbirds had taken up residence.
What is he saying?
She recognized the look that filled Aren’s eyes. Guarded hope. The same feeling that filled her so unexpectedly.
But hope was dangerous. Too often it lifted you up only to trip you at the next turn. Annikke sought Benoia’s reaction, and found her foster-daughter grinning with excited anticipation. She had as much reason as Annikke to fear hope, but she didn’t. Instead she was ready to leap into change. To go where she’d never been before.
