“Marrying me will ruin your life,” Cenric whispered, dropping his voice.
“Already ruined,” Brynn answered, her voice barely audible.
“You will lose everything.” While there was little either of them could do at this point, Cenric only thought it was fair he be honest with this woman.
“I lost everything,” Brynn shot back.
Cenric tried to remember what he knew of the Istovari. What could he say to offend her? To make her see that this was a poor match? “I’m not some well-trained Istovari man. I could beat you. I could make you my whore.”
Brynn was unimpressed. “Or I could make you mine.”
Cenric fought to control his reaction to those words. From her dead expression, she hadn’t meant them as an invitation. He released her.
Brynn’s gaze dropped as soon as he let go. “I will not have another man forced to marry me.” This time tears did escape her eyes. “I am not doing this under duress. But if you are, tell me, and I will release you.”
Cenric considered it for a space of heartbeats. There was much about her first marriage he had yet to learn, and he doubted he could learn it all in just a few minutes.
Cenric glanced over his shoulder. Edric was still facing down the stranger, but another of his men, Ugba, nodded slowly.
They needed a sorceress in Ombra. The people made do with what the midwives and local wise women could manage, but they were not sorceresses. Sorceresses could mend broken bones in days instead of weeks, chase off fevers, and save men on the brink of death.
More than that, Brynn should be able to heal their animals, too. Healthier flocks and herds would be a boon unto themselves.
This might be a mistake. But as big a risk as this might be, there was the promise of a huge reward. It had taken Aelgar two years to offer him a sorceress as a wife. Cenric might not be offered another.
“Is everything in accord?” King Aelgar’s voice interrupted Cenric’s train of thought.
In his days in a warband, Cenric had once had to enter a narrow pass under dense fog. They had known an enemy warband lay in wait for them somewhere on the other side. They had known it was a trap, but they had no choice.
This felt like that. He could see nothing, hear nothing, he only knew that he didn’t know everything. He also, unfortunately, knew he had no choice.
“Yes, my king,” Cenric agreed. “All is in accord.” He looked back to Brynn. “Can I trust you not to kill me in my sleep?”
Brynn’s reply was flat, almost sounding bored. “I could kill you awake if I wanted to.”
Was that a threat? Cenric frowned about to reply before a question came to mind.
Friend?
Cenric looked down as a furry body pressed against his leg. It seemed that Snapper had finished exploring the room and decided to return to him.
Snapper was a smaller, fluffier, and stockier echo of the wolves his ancestors had been. He was a dyrehund, one of the dogs gifted by Morgi to Cenric’s forefathers.
Snapper studied Brynn with raised ears, tail wagging hesitantly.
“Snapper, this is Brynn,” Cenric said to the dog. He looked back to Brynn. “Brynn, this is Snapper.”
Brynn’s face pinched in confusion. “Snapper?”
Cenric cleared his throat. Sometimes he forgot himself outside of Ombra. “He’s…my dog.”
Friend?Snapper asked again. He stepped toward Brynn, tail wagging.
Brynn studied the dog, not knowing what to make of him. “I…see.” She had probably never been introduced to a dog before.
Sick?Snapper’s question came as he wagged his tail at the stranger. He must be picking up on Brynn’s body language.
Sad,Cenric sent back.
