“Then?”
“My son.” Brynn’s voice was small, little more than a whisper. “They killed my son.”
Silence stretched between them.
A cold feeling prickled along Cenric’s spine. It was much like the sensation he felt in a fight when he knew he had made a misstep.
The king’s missive hadn’t specified and Cenric had assumed her son died of natural causes. Children died all the time, especially babies. But murder?
Cenric looked to Edric, one of his thanes who had been his friend longer than he’d been alderman. Edric’s back was still turned, guarding them from intrusion. There would be no help there.
“If you’re worried about me leaving you, don’t.” Brynn angled her head away.
Cenric had been worried about that, actually.
“It was hard enough for me to leave one husband. I doubt I will be allowed to leave a second.” Brynn spoke her words on an exhale. She sounded exhausted.
“I am sorry about your child.” Cenric cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure what else to say.
Brynn’s gaze finally focused on him. Her eyes glistened, but she held back her tears. “Thank you.” The words were so soft, he almost didn’t hear them.
Brynn of the Istovari was a grieving woman. Grief did things to people. It clouded over who they really were. For some, the fog lifted, and they returned to some semblance of who they were before. For others, the fog never lifted, at least not fully.
But Cenric had not come all this way to comfort a stranger. He had come because his king had “offered” him the honor of becoming family. And when kings “offered” such a gift, it was as good as an order.
Even if there was some hidden caveat to this as Cenric expected, what could he do? Refuse the king? He was already tenuously in Aelgar’s favor as it was. He had not been summoned to the last meeting of the Witan—the council of aldermen who served as the king’s advisors. Nor had he ever been summoned to one, though it should have been his right. He was expected to pay his annual tribute to the king and host the king if ever Aelgar dared venture into the rugged north. Outside of Ombra, Cenric had very few privileges.
Cenric looked her over again. “I’m…” He cleared his throat.
Brynn smelled of some sweet perfume he didn’t recognize, but it was pleasant. Her face had a pleasing shape and her lips were full, plump. Under different circumstances, he might be looking forward to tasting those lips.
Cenric wished they could wait at least one night. He only had foretellings of people he had already met and places he had already been. Perhaps now that he had met Brynn, Morgi wouldsend him a warning if this was a bad idea. But it seemed the king was not interested in waiting on Morgi.
At the head of the hall, Aelgar now spoke with his wife, though the couple both watched him. Cenric couldn’t make out their words, but if he had to guess, Eadburh was objecting.
Cenric had noticed on his past visits that the woman had a habit of arguing with her king in front of other people and Aelgar tolerated it. Cenric didn’t understand why.
Cenric didn’t have much time. A blunt approach might be best. “The north is not a gentle place. It’s harsh. Rough.”Like me.“You will have to endure much.”
“I already have endured much.” Brynn’s voice had taken on that empty tone again, her eyes once again unfocused.
Yes, he supposed she had. He didn’t know the details of what had happened months ago nor what kind of life she had led before then. But he did know some of what the previous king’s daughters had survived in the war after his death.
“It’s dangerous.” Cenric pressed the issue. “It is not like the Istovari havens or the southern lands you are used to.”
Brynn didn’t reply.
“Lady Brynn?” Cenric grasped her chin, reminding himself not to alarm anyone watching. He pulled her face around, making her look at him. “Why me?”
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement as a male figure stepped toward them. Just as quickly, Edric blocked the figure’s path. Though he might be a full head shorter than the average man, Edric could acquit himself well enough.
Cenric kept his attention on Brynn, trusting his friend to deal with the other man.
Brynn finally met his gaze. She truly was beautiful. She met his gaze without flinching, without any reaction at all.
They stared each other down. He scrutinized her closely, trying to guess what that lovely face might be hiding.
She wasn’t some harmless beauty, she was an Istovari sorceress and niece to the king. She might be the most dangerous woman he had ever met.
