Fantasyland 01 Wildest Dreams (41 page)

“Aurora, my beloved,” Atticus whispered,
reaching out and clutching his wife’s hand in concern at her show
of insolence.

But Aurora held his gaze, not looking at her
husband and Drakkar noted her chest rising and falling with her
emotion.

He’d seen that before more than once.

“I’ve noted,” he said softly, “many
occasions that Finnie remind me of you. She has your grace in her
bearing and, I didn’t know it until now, but she also has your
passion of emotion.” Atticus sucked in a hopeful breath as his wife
visibly worked to calm herself. “The elves told me the twins of the
two worlds are different people and this is true of your daughter
and Finnie. It is strange and fantastical you share these
attributes with Finnie as if you passed them down through your
womb, but it is nevertheless true.”

The king and queen remained silent.

Drakkar finished. “It pleases me to know as
this plot unfolds and uncovers Lunwynians behind it, that Finnie
can trust her parents.”

Atticus’s shoulders slumped with visible
relief.

Aurora lifted her chin and asked instantly,
“Does this mean we can see her prior to you both being away into
the cold, dark night?”

Drakkar nearly smiled at her motherly
dramatics.

She was going to miss his Finnie and she was
worried about her.

However, he did not smile.

Instead he looked to Lund who had been
standing quiet, shoulders to the wall and ordered, “Take them to
Finnie.”

Lund nodded and moved but when they were at
the door, Drakkar called out, “One thing.” They stopped and looked
back at him. “I’ll remind you we’re uncovering Lunwynians at every
turn.”

“I’ll see to it my best men –” Atticus
started but Drakkar interrupted him.

“That’s precisely what you won’t do. I’ve
chosen the men I trust and right now Finnie has them, me, the both
of you and, if my instincts are correct, her maidservants. You, as
I, will treat anyone else as suspect,” his eyes moved to Aurora,
“even the heads of Houses who were heretofore above suspicion. You
will do this until I am assured of their loyalty and you have my
leave to trust them. Is that understood?”

“Understood, Drakkar,” Atticus muttered.

Aurora paused only a moment before she
lifted her chin.

“Bid farewell to your daughter,” Drakkar
murmured and they moved without hesitation behind Lund.

Drakkar stared at the door as it closed
behind them, leaving him alone in the room.

An image of the woman spewing blood
projected on the wood and this transformed into an image of Finnie
doing the same. It was an image so heinous he closed his eyes to
shut it out.

He could not blame himself for a woman’s
ludicrous infatuation or the actions this caused.

He
could
blame himself for lack of vigilance.

Aurora had said,
In your fire to avenge what’s
happened tonight under your nose…

And she was not wrong.

Bloody hell, she was not wrong.

Drakkar put a fist to his hip and a hand to
the back of his neck, dropped his head and studied his boots.

He should have seen it coming, this was
painfully true.

But he would not make that same mistake
again.

The door opened, Drakkar lifted his head and
saw that Annar stood in its frame. “I have the heads. Do you want
them brought here?”

Drakkar looked behind him at the blood on
the stone floor of the buttery.

Then he looked at his man. “No. Take
Ravenscroft to the library, Lazarus to the study, Njord to the
drawing room and Sinclair I’ll speak to in the sitting room. Then
get a maid to fetch my clothes. I’ll want our guard prepared to
leave within the hour.”

Annar lifted a chin and closed the door on
his way out.

Drakkar took a few moments to rub the
tension out of his neck.

Then he dropped his hand and walked to the
library.

The Finnie

The riders on their mounts moved through the
frozen forest swiftly and throughout the journey they did not
relent in their pace for the sake of their steeds.

Before we left, Frey had suggested I try to
sleep but we were going at a fast canter and the jarring pace alone
would have kept me awake.

But it was the events of that night that
actually kept me awake.

Unlike our last, during this journey, Frey
did not talk. He did not share tidbits of information. He simply
held me close and leaned into me as Tyr took us through the moonlit
forest.

Leaving me to my thoughts.

And I took his silence as indication he
wished to be left to his.

I was told that Sudvic was a six hour sleigh
ride if the conditions were right and, considering the not-so-good
company of my thoughts, I was glad that it didn’t take us that
long. I had no idea how long it actually took but we were not on a
road; we were off track, in the forest proper and likely taking a
more direct route.

The entire time we rode, my mind was awash
with images and memories of that night, the last two weeks and
everyone in the Palace and at the Gales that I’d come into contact
with. None of them seemed like assassins to me but I wouldn’t know
and assassins, I would guess, didn’t have identifying
characteristics. Or, at least, not good ones.

My parents had come to visit me prior to
Frey and I leaving and I guessed this meant Frey trusted them
enough to allow it. As they looked like my real parents and I’d
grown to know them, not to mention the fact that both were openly
concerned for me (yes, even Mother), I couldn’t believe they would
have anything to do with a plot to murder me. And in the end, I had
no choice but to act exactly what I was, and that was terrified, so
I welcomed their reassuring presence.

Then we were away in the cold dead of the
night, Frey and I and my guard and I had nothing but the moonlight,
the snow, the trees and my thoughts to occupy me for hours.

And therefore, I was beside myself with
relief when we suddenly came out of the never ending forest.

Then, as what lay before me shoved out the
dark thoughts and registered in my brain, I sucked in breath.

We had emerged on a high rise and spread
before us was a city and not a small one for its sprawl stretched
far.

But this wasn’t what made me pull in
breath.

The twinkling lights of the city covered the
valley and to the left blinked partially up a rise that was not a
mountain in comparison to those around Fyngaard, but it was a very
tall hill.

However, to the right there was a bay, its
dark, night water so calm it was glassy and its surface was dotted
with huge, awe-inspiring three and four-mast galleons that were at
anchor. More still were docked at the wharf. Considering the hour,
they were lit with few lanterns (though those closer to the wharf
had more illuminated) and all these cast long reflections across
the bay.

It was freaking
spectacular.

Although they’d run for hours, it was as if
the horses sensed their journey was coming to an end, they wanted
it to be done and their pace picked up as the riders in our party
forged across the snow toward a well-trod road, then down the road
to the valley and into the city.

When we hit it, glancing around and taking
it in, I saw immediately that Sudvic couldn’t be any more different
from Fyngaard.

The streets were cobbled, not paths of
snow packed trails. The snow had been cleared and piled high into
lots between the buildings that seemed to be there for that sole
purpose. And the sound of the horses’ hooves pounding against the
stone, something I’d never heard in real life, was
way
cool.

The buildings weren’t quaint and homey. Even
so, they were cool in an olde worlde, higgledy-piggledy way. They
were narrow and tall, one built right against the next with the
roads winding through them showing there was no city planning
whatsoever. Some of the buildings were four stories tall, others
two or three. Some had peaked roofs, others slanted or dormered.
All had square-paned windows and there were a number of windows I
saw shuttered against the night chill. It was clear this city was
highly populated, not simply from the dense pack of the buildings
but also since it was the wee hours of the morning and there were
people out bustling along the wood-plank, snow-cleared sidewalks or
standing at the fire drums that were lit on street corners.

Another difference was that they didn’t
have torches but tall black streetlamps that looked to be fueled.
Their lights shone through glass-sided boxes that hung on hooks
that alternately curved over the streets or sidewalks, cutting
through the night and casting illumination on both.

I also noted Sudvic did not appear refined
and cosmopolitan. There were a vast number of businesses and shops
but no cafés with sidewalk seating, no fancy restaurants and from
what I could see in shop windows, the wares were utilitarian, not
elegant, expensive or sophisticated. There were definitely no fur
shops here or spun glass. There were also shingles suspended above
doors advertising solicitors, accountants, merchants and even
insurance brokers.

And further, the few women I saw were
dressed differently. They did not have the smooth, flowing gowns of
wool or long cloaks I saw in Fyngaard and Houllebec. They had full
skirts with a mass of petticoats and shorter cloaks that came down
only to their waists.

Looking around, it seemed we’d ridden three
or four hours from Fyngaard and gone to a whole other world.

Our party took a right and rode on. When we
did I could see the bay coming toward us and I forgot all about
nearly being poisoned and people all around me wanting me dead and
all I could think was that I couldn’t wait to get there.

But once we arrived, I knew I could have
waited a year and it would have been worth it.

When we hit the end of the street, Frey and
his men veered their horses left and we were there, on the wharf,
the galleons rising high into the sky to our right, the dock lined
by buildings on the left.

There were huge wooden posts ascending from
the water with thick ropes twined around fastening the ships to the
dock or thinner ropes securing smaller vessels to the posts or to
hooks screwed into the wood of the quay. All along the wharf there
were piles and stacks of wooden barrels and crates, beds of tangled
nets, messes of fish traps and enormous coils of bulky rope.

And the dock was waking up. Or, perhaps, it
never went to sleep. Men were at work lugging, pulling, pushing,
rolling, lifting and shouting.

And to the left, there were a great many
pubs, all brightly lit, all clearly never closed, and lastly,
obviously very popular. Outside, there were men standing around
carrying or glugging from horns or pewter tankards and smoking fat
cigars (not the thin ones of Fyngaard). They were also talking to,
making out with or openly fondling women with great masses of hair,
heavy hands at makeup and décolletage that rivaled Franka’s but
this spilling out of flimsy (sometimes not-so-clean) tops that were
gathered (or not, as the case may be) at the neckline with
drawstrings, their breasts made more prominent by wide belts
cinched tight that covered their midriffs and laced up the center.
Their full skirts didn’t sweep the ground but the hem fell several
inches above their ankle. And they were apparently immune to the
cold or drunk off their asses because none of them were wearing
cloaks (though some wore fingerless gloves).

Doxies. They had to be.

Awesome!

The sounds of men at work, the cry of gulls,
the creak of the ships and the smell of salt and fish filled the
air. It was fabulous, every inch of it. And as we swiftly rode
through, I saw avid eyes turn our direction but I didn’t really
notice. I was busy trying to take it all in.

Then Frey pulled back on Tyr’s reins, tugged
him to the right, Tyr veered that direction and we stopped facing a
ship at the dock.

Frey straightened and I came up with him,
looking left then right then up, up and
up
.

It was by far the biggest ship I’d seen
and absolutely, completely,
definitely
the coolest.

This was all I was able to process as I
heard running feet and Frey dismounted, instantly reaching up to
pull me down.

I had my feet beneath me and I saw a young
man, perhaps twelve or thirteen who had hold of Tyr’s reins. He was
blond, very slight and had on breeches, ankle boots, thick wool
socks and a thick brown sweater. His head was tipped back, eyes
aimed at Frey.

“Take care of Tyr and then attend your lady
in my cabin,” Frey ordered shortly while taking my hand and then we
were on the move.

We headed straight toward a steep gangplank
that had slats nailed across as footholds and a rough rope railing
that connected to the ship at the top and a wood pole with an iron
hoop at the bottom. I’d faced scarier ascents but not in a long
dress and heavy fur cloak. Before I could get my wits about me and
concentrate on climbing that gangway without toppling over into the
water, Frey used his hand to maneuver me in front of him then, with
one hand in the small of my back, the other steadying me at my
waist, he pushed me up it. I trailed my gloved hand along the rope
as Frey’s big bulk right behind me propelled me straight up,
through some short railings, two steps down and then I was on his
ship.

On his ship!

Woo hoo!

I had approximately one point seven five
seconds to look around and see that he wasn’t lying. There were men
everywhere, lots of them, all of them busy.