Fire and Lies (20 page)

“During the Dvergar Wars, we had little choice but to recruit any and all who could fight.” She answered with as little detail as possible. “Since then, it’s an assumed requirement that has become a tradition carried over from our days in Svartálfaheim. Everyone learns to fight.”

Ottar’s question had pulled every ear to her answer and her audience hungrily waited for more.

“What he meant,” Bergen said with a gentle smile, “is where did a Seidkona find the time to learn swordplay in between your additional studies?”

Kallan’s cheeks flushed red as she lowered her eyes to her soapstone bowl. A knot caught in her throat as she recalled the endless sessions alongside her father and Daggon.

“My father ensured my training was thorough,” she said. The tone in her voice discouraged further inquiries.

The fire popped and the men eased back in their seats. At once, the table shook beneath Ottar’s palm.

“Well!” he said gruffly. “I’m off for the night.”

Several others were standing and stretching while a few remained in their seats, immersed in their own conversation.

“M’lady,” Ottar bid and, taking up Kallan’s hand, brushed a kiss across the back of it. “Bergen,” he nodded to Bergen, who offered Ottar the back of his hand.

Still clutching Kallan’s hand, Ottar landed a slap on the back of Bergen’s.

“Don’t keep her up too late,” Ottar said. “I plan to go a round with her tomorrow.”

Kallan’s face burned red as she took back her hand, paying no mind as Ottar slogged from the table back to the doors, leaving Kallan to Bergen’s company. A few more men dispersed, leaving the room unusually quiet.

Kallan shifted a hopeful eye to the head of the table and Bergen grinned. He watched, wallowing in the comfort of a full belly and full-bodied mead, as Kallan’s hope sank to dejection at the sight of Rune’s empty seat.

“He left us a while ago,” Bergen said, crossing his arms onto the table and leaning closer, still grinning. His confidence gleamed with mischief in his black eyes.

Kallan lifted her attention from her empty bowl.

“I don’t care,” she said, irate that Bergen knew too much.

“You don’t?” he asked, knowing too well the lies she told that masked her thoughts. “It’s funny,” he said, stretching his arms up over his head and arching his back. With a smirk and the slyness of a wolf, he re-folded his arms on the table. “He said the same thing about you.”

Kallan snapped her head to the side with a huff.

“
Uskit
,” she grumbled, staring down the table still loaded with a grand portion of uneaten food. The servants had not yet begun to clean up. At once, Kallan’s thoughts wandered to that of the children and the warrens. If she were home, she and Eilif would have loaded their arms with all the food and drink left untouched.

The Hall was nearly empty now, save for two men at the end of the table still engrossed in their conversation. Unfolding his arms, Bergen stood from the bench and extended a hand in invitation.

“Come,” he bade with a smile. “I have something to show you.”

Kallan burned three shades of red and failed to gulp down the ball in her throat as she scrambled for a reply. Refusing to wait, Bergen took up her hand, oblivious to the stale terror still frozen on her face, and pulled her away from the table toward the door leading up to his chambers.

B
ergen led Kallan through the Hall to the far corner where the stairs descended into the kitchens. Just as she hoped he would pull her down the steps to the butlery, he led her straight around the screens passage that concealed a single oak door. Without a word, Bergen opened the door and meandered up the steps.

The castle hummed with a rare quiet as Kallan followed Bergen up a narrow stairwell with a single window. The steps spiraled to a landing where she shadowed him to one of the only two doors that flanked the stairs.

“That’s the war room.”

Bergen nodded to a door on the right as he unlocked the door on the left.

“This…” He was certain to look her dead in the eye as he pushed the door open. “…is my room.”

Her neck burned and Kallan forced the words past the lump.

“B-B-Bergen, I…”

His mouth split into a wide grin, knowing that his reputation preceded him, and swung wide his chamber door. He stepped into the dark, cavernous sitting room and gave a look that urged her to follow.

The hearth and the candles were cold. The only light came from the moonlight that poured in from the double set of windows where Kallan glanced at the astounding view. Rivers riddled the moors of Alfheim. Fields of thick, tall grasses, the sporadic tree, and a small lake extended past the city below.

Bergen gave a guttural groan, pulling Kallan’s wide-eyed worries back from the window to the berserker, who was mid-stretch. Kallan felt the moisture pooling in her hands and she did her best to concern herself with the décor instead of the man in front of her. The same lavish furs and richly carved woods found in Rune’s chambers decorated Bergen’s. Aside from the collection of empty flagons dumped in a corner, and the generous number of swords and daggeres strewn about, their bowers were nearly identical.

Across the fur-laden stone floor, a sliver of firelight slipped out from beneath a second door. From behind, she watched Bergen strip off his tunic and drop it to the floor as his hair fell down his bare back seconds before Kallan caught the faintest of scarring in a slit of moonlight. He paused long enough to kick off his boots and dump them to the side as he sauntered, too lax, to the bedroom. He stretched his neck and pulled on a shoulder, purposefully flexing his back with each move.

Kallan wrung her hands as Bergen neared the closed door.

“B-Bergen.”

Half-stripped, Bergen dropped his hand to the door’s handle and paused long enough to flash a smile, obtusely aware of where her eyes lingered. He casually hooked his thumb on his pants, purposefully drawing her eyes.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Bergen said and watched the formidable force of the Seidkona, crumble.

Obediently, Kallan followed.

Bergen candidly lowered his eyes down her front with a delighted smile filled with wonder. “You object and yet you follow.”

His grin widened, adding another shade of red to Kallan’s complexion. The door creaked as Bergen pushed against the oak. Light from the bedchamber poured into the sitting room. She debated returning to her room or running straight to the stables for Astrid, riding out, and putting as much distance as she could between her and Rune’s brother.

Stepping aside, Bergen extended an arm and invited her inside. The light spilled over the tips of her boots, beckoning her. With a furrowed brow, she peered in, catching the moving shadows. She took a step and found Geirolf’s face first. He grinned happily, multiplying her confusion as she stepped into Bergen’s bedchamber. The round room of the west tower glowed with the warmth of the hearth fire.

With her heart pounding, Kallan shifted a suspicious brow and rounded the corner of the door. In that instant, she gasped.

“Gudrun?”

The old woman smiled, her eyes brimming with tears.

Forgetting to breathe, Kallan sprinted across Bergen’s bower to his bed, where she fell into Gudrun’s arms. She shook as she sobbed, clutching so desperately to her mother’s mother, who returned her embrace.

Daggon’s giant hand cradled Kallan’s face like an affectionate father suddenly holding a daughter he once believed dead, planting a kiss on the top of her head. 

With shaking hands, Gudrun lifted Kallan from her lap and cupped her slender face, lifting her eyes to her own. Tears streamed down the old woman’s pale cheeks and she grinned widely at the girl.

Daggon slid his palm down from the top of Kallan’s head to her cheek, coaxing her eyes to him.

“My lady,” he breathed. Kallan fell into him and he held his king’s daughter. “My dearest lady,” he muttered and kissed the top of her head again.

Looking at Daggon, Kallan choked on a gasp at the collection of gashes that gouged the right side of his face. Raising her hand to his face, Kallan gently traced the largest of his scars from his temple to the prominence of his jaw. His warm, amber eyes glowed with the smile buried within the tumult of his beard and he pressed her hand to his scarred face.

“I dreamed…” Kallan tried to explain the barrage of dreams that had filled her sleep for nearly two moons. “What happened?” Kallan asked in a breath.

“I’m fine,” Daggon said. “Everyone is just fine.”

His words were all she needed.

Overcome with relief, Kallan fell into his arms and sobbed, shaking as she clung to his neck, unconvinced he was real enough to be there should she wake.

Gudrun’s gaze shifted to Bergen through the flood of tears as she softly rubbed Kallan’s back.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Bergen returned a single nod from the threshold, where he leaned with his arms crossed, unable to take his eyes from Kallan. She held onto Gudrun until her tears subsided and she was composed enough to lift herself from his embrace.

Brushing away the tears, Kallan immediately faced Bergen, each hand still clutching Gudrun and Daggon.

“Why?” Kallan asked.

“Torunn’s idea,” Bergen said, pointing to the castle’s keeper beside Geirolf. Both stood, hidden in the shadows against the wall.

Kallan turned to Torunn, dressed in her nightgown and dressing gown with her hair tied back in a tight braid down her back. She sported a grin to match Bergen’s. The dried salt lines that trailed each cheek matched her reddened eyes.

“You mean to ask why,” Torunn said and Kallan nodded.

The key keeper sighed.

“Rune has a stubbornness that was only outmatched by his father. When he thinks he is right, there is no changing his mind. I watched you long enough to know he was wrong about this.”

Kallan looked from the key keeper to the old man and the berserker. The berserker. The legendary Dark One who wore the scar she had given him like a badge. She needed to talk to Rune. She needed to sort this out no matter who this Borg was.

“Help me again,” Kallan pleaded, her eyes suddenly infused with a strength the Ljosalfar hadn’t seen before. The corner of Torunn’s mouth tightened with a suppressed smile and she matched Kallan’s determination.

“What do you need?” Torunn’s eyes gleamed with mischief, sending chills down Geirolf and Bergen’s backs. Both released a breath of relief once they realized it was meant for Rune.

With a calculated precision, Kallan grinned, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

“Rune refuses to speak to me. He insists on waiting for a traitor to show himself in a week’s time.”

“Traitor?” Daggon said, suddenly alert.

“Later,” Kallan said as Torunn interjected her piece. “But there’s no guarantee—”

“With me here, he may not show at all,” Kallan said. “We can’t wait.”

“What did you have in mind?” Bergen asked.

“Tell Rune I’ve ordered you to release Gudrun and Daggon.”

Torunn gasped as Geirolf guffawed at the proposal. Daggon sat, delightfully amused at Kallan’s ambitions while Gudrun proudly beamed.

“You want us to do what?” Torunn asked.

“They are here now,” Kallan said, cool headed. “House them wherever you need, if you must, so long as Rune believes I’ve released them.”

“Now, one moment, lass,” Geirolf said. “It’s us who takes the heat if this goes awry.”

“Tell him I overpowered you.”

“Bergen…” Geirolf studied the lax form still leaning in the doorway. “What do you think of this?”

The fire crackled patiently as Bergen kept his thoughts his own for a while longer, pondering the proposal thoroughly while everyone awaited his word.

“Rune is convinced the answer to his problem is to ignore Kallan.” Bergen shifted his gaze from Geirolf to Kallan, awaiting a protest that didn’t come. “He intends on sending her back to Lorlenalin when the city is safe for its queen’s return.”

The color drained from Kallan’s cheeks.

“He plans to commence diplomacy through a series of letter heads and ambassadors,” Bergen continued. “The problem is, once he thinks he’s right, there’s no bending him. But I’ve watched him.” Bergen shifted his attention to Geirolf. “I’ve watched them.” Bergen nodded, indicating Kallan and Rune. “There’s a reason why he refuses to see her. She gets to him. She can break him. If he wants peace so badly, he’s going to have to do this with her, or not at all.”

“Surely he doesn’t believe settling this matter can be done without a meeting of those involved,” Daggon interjected, while Geirolf mulled over Bergen’s proposal.

“He does,” Bergen said, still holding his arms across his bare chest, “and he’s convinced he can do it by shoving Kallan out of the way.”

Daggon barked an open laugh, shaking his head in hopelessness.

“Good luck with that,” Gudrun bid.

Kallan flashed a scowl to Gudrun.

“I say we do it,” Bergen declared, studying each face, giving each a chance to voice their objections. “We’ve all talked to him,” he said. “None of us have the weight to go against him with the same level of effectiveness as Kallan. I say we use that to our advantage.”

“And if he doesn’t budge,” Geirolf asked, peering from his corner at Bergen. “What then?”

Bergen grinned widely, hoping the opportunity would present itself.

“We try harder.”