He faced forward again and rode on.
7
TAMSYN
THE SALTY SMELL OF THE SEA FILLED MY NOSE AS WE ARrived in Porthavn, and although it was not raining, I felt the ocean on my skin like the weight of a blanket. In the distance, the masts of ships could be seen, etched against the gray air like great spires in the sky. The slap of water struck the rocky wall of the harbor with a rhythm that matched the steady thump of my heart.
I recalled when Stig proposed that we run away and take passage on one such ship for Acton with no fear of the monster-ridden waters of the Dark Channel. An untenable suggestion made by a boy who turned out to be as impossible and unreal as his whimsical dream of escape.
Shops and storefronts rose up on either side of us as we traveled down the high street. We were a formidable trio and earned more than a few stares as we rode into town. Understandably. We did not exactly blend in. That would not be possible for any man who looked like Vetr or Harald—giants among ants. They sat like boulders upon their horses, especially Harald, who was pushing seven feet. As an onyx, he was built for war, built for battle. I felt sorry for his horse. The poor creature seemed more winded than mine.
The roads were busy, full of sandy dust kicked up by hooves and wagon wheels. Hawkers shouted, peddling their wares. The smell of fish hung heavily. Seagulls swarmed high overhead, calling back and forth to each other in long, piercing cries.Cow-cow-cow.
In the afternoon light, I noted the glint of chain mail minglingamong the people. Soldiers walked the streets, in front of shops, helping themselves to the wares without offering payment and calling out uncouth remarks to passing women. These were no warriors of the Borderlands. Their chain mail and red capes were the armament of soldiers from the south, the soldiers I grew up with—the very same ones who populated the City and provinces below the Borderlands. I felt the knitting of my brow as I wondered why they had not kept to the vicinity of the Borg.
We advanced to the inn where Arran waited for us. A stable boy took our horses, rewarded with a coin and instructions from Vetr.
The sight of Vetr here, in the human world, acting and behaving as though he were a man, jarred me. He had never reminded me more of his brother as he walked and talked and moved with authority, like ared-blooded warrior who belonged here.
Conversation ground to a halt as we entered the inn. Vetr’s icesilver eyes swept over the taproom like a freezing wind. Harald was little better, his black eyes flashing iridescent. The message from either one of them was clear: pain to anyone who crossed them.
They were veritable trees … about to join Arran, theothertree waiting for us at a table. Their booted steps rang out as they strolled across the room. Gazes tracked them warily—tall, broad-chested, shoulders stretching wide beneath fur mantles, thickly muscled arms, and legs like the trunks of ancient oaks. Even their necks were thick and strong. They might be masquerading as human, but nothing hid their animal nature. Everything about them screamed they were more than mere men. They were warriors … killers.
This was why Fell had earned such a formidable reputation. It was not a coincidence that he’d received the moniker Beast. He was like them—hadbeen like them. I swallowed thickly. Feral at the core.
I hung back, not feeling compelled to stand out but knowing I was perceived with some apprehension as well. Partly because I waswith them—but I also loomed large. I could stand eye to eye with, if not look down on, every man in the room. I towered over the women. I’d always been above average height, but as impossibleas it seemed, I’d grown since I turned. Somehow, I was taller—and a lot stronger, the lines of my body leaner, more wiry.
Arran was hunkered over a mug of mead that he did not appear to be enjoying, from the way his lip curled every time he took a sip. A corner of his mouth kicked up in a humorless smile as we joined him. “Welcome.” He lifted his mug in greeting. “How did you like that little spectacle upon entering town?”
“Who would do such a thing?” I was still seeking an explanation beyond that of:humans.
“It’s a product of the new regime.”
“New regime?” I pressed, my stomach sinking. “Did something happen to the king?”
For all that I had come to realize my childhood had not been as charmed as I once thought, that I had not been a true and valued member of the royal family, King Hamlin was still the closest thing I had to a father—the only one I would ever know. I did not relish the notion of any harm befalling him or the queen or the princesses.
Arran glanced around and spoke in hushed tones. “The king is fine … but Lord Dryhten no longer holds the north.” He lifted a thick eyebrow meaningfully. We all knew what had happened to Fell. “There is a new Lord of the Borderlands now.”
My throat went dry.There is a new Lord of the Borderlands now.
I shook my head and stared down into the swirling surface of my drink. Of course. Of course someonenewwould be leading the Borderlands now.
I had not thought of who would take command after Fell. I just assumed the king would appoint one of the other border lords whom Fell trusted and that life here would continue on as before—just minus Fell.
“Who holds the north now?” I asked, a little ashamed that I had not cared enough to ask before. I’d been too caught up in myself, in my struggles, in adjusting and fitting in among the pride. Survival was selfishness at its core. It had a way of eclipsing everything else, blocking out all other concerns.
“They appointed the lord regent’s son.” I heard the words, but they did not penetrate. I stared at Arran, uncomprehending. “He was the king’s captain of the guard,” he added with an indifferent shrug. As with Vetr, it would not matter to him who took over after Fell. Humans were all the same. None good.
Indifference, however, was the last thingIfelt.
“The lord regent’s son?” I repeated in a voice that sounded strange and tinny to my ears, no longer able to escape the terrible reality of his words. Stig. Alive. He’d survived?
Cold needled my skin, the thought running on repeat through my mind, sinking into the pit of my stomach like something solid and noxious, the realization spreading like a poison through me.
Stig was alive.
Vetr looked at me long and hard before finally nodding, and I realized I must have given something away in my voice, in my face. Some hint that this news affected me—as it did. It shook me. Rattled me to my very core.
