Gunni snorts, but Calder says nothing. He shoves Edmund into Gunni, knocking them both onto their asses. “Stop fucking around. We go this way.”
They shoulder their packs and press further inside until high-beamed ceilings and enormous stained glass windows cast eerie, colorful paintings across the stone floor. Quite reminiscent of Steinlund's architectural style. Then again, Skalor’s only cultural norms extended to pushing through one’s miserable existence.
Once upon a long, cold winter, Calder used to findthe vivid colors mesmerizing. Now, he knows better than to keep his head down when in the presence of the Queen of Skalor.
Several heavily armed Queen’s guards are stationed at the entrance points to other wings of the castle. Before he can shout for direction, a young woman saunters through the dazzling stained glass shades. Nothing is noticeable about her appearance except her pristine gown accentuating her bold curves, marking her as one of Lavinia’s handmaidens. Before she speaks, he already senses her objective.
“Welcome, Jarl Calder and company.” Her smile twitches, and he notices she keeps her distance from him, the fearedIss Drengr. “If you follow me, I will take you to your chambers.”
He rolls his shoulders, offering her only a terse nod. Looking back at Edmund, he catches his youngest companion devouring her with his eyes, even licking his lips and stuffing away his pipe. He grabs him by the scruff of his neck and jerks him back with a squeal as his Second and the woman continue.
He leans beside the Gothi’s ear and whispers low in his throat, “Do not glimpse her way or exchange pleasantries.”
“What-” Edmund protests, but Calder tightens his hold.
“Her Sacred Stone ability is to read your emotions.”Like most of the women serving Lavinia. “She will report to the Queen everything from how you take your tea to your deepest fear. Understood, Far Edmund?”
Edmund nods, rubbing the back of his neck once he releases his grip. “You can drop the honorific. We aren’t in a temple. And you all conduct yourselves differently in Skalor.” The young man adjusts his robes as he glances around at the darkened stone of the castle.
They follow the woman up a spiral staircase. She takes the steps two at a time as if she has a prior engagement to attend.
Knowing his reputation precedes him is enough reassurance. Calder incites more horror in Lavinia’s handmaidens than the monsters lurking in the Skalor countryside ever could.
The exterior wall features slits for windows, showcasing the gale-like winds that assault the Keep withflurries.
“Having second thoughts about serving Jarl Calder, Gothi?” Gunni calls over his shoulder.
Edmund pauses beside a window that showcases the mountain range of the Core, shielding Nightwall Keep from the Bay of Souls. Seemingly isolated, the Core would never resemble the frigid, desolate landscape in Calder’s hold of Kaldrgataness set back against the Vill Mountains dividing Skalor from Astria.
Edmund does not answer, although there is a firmness to his jaw that takes the older warrior back to the War for Treland when he fought beside the boy’s father.
There is no going back for the young Gothi. Whatever had brought him to Pradacia and Skalor now shackles him to the Jarl of Kaldrgataness. Most unfortunately, Gothi who worship Edmund’s goddess, Gullveig, are not permitted to break their vows of allegiance.
So, his only path lies with Jarl Calder Avardsson.
Calder ignores his two companions' continued banter until they arrive at a short hallway with thick cherry doors lining each side and a thin, crimson carpet running under their feet.
“Jarl Calder, this is your room,” the young woman instructs, her arm outstretched. Already, she distances herself by slipping against the opposite wall. Panic flickers in her eyes when he leans back, crossing his arms.
He trusts her as much as she trusts him.
She steps sideways, keeping him in her peripheral vision as she shows the other two their chambers. Edmund receives a sensual back rub while she nearly licks Gunni’s ear to point out the view from his room. Neither accepts her proposals, so she is forced to retreat past Calder, almost running to the staircase.
He steps inside his bedchamber with a grumble deep in his throat, barely acknowledging the four-poster bed and matching bedroom set crafted for kings.
Fifteen winters ago, he learned the terrible cost of falling for one of the Queen’s temptresses. Now, he approaches the middle of his life with two gravestones that mock his past, a frozen village to remindhim of his present, and a wasteland of a Hold he must salvage or lose his future.
He collapses on the bed with a groan. At least they will be safe from the Queen for the present. If only the tension in his back were not a near-blinding pain.
The faster they can survive the Assembly, the faster they can distance themselves from the Queen of Skalor.
“Alright.” Edmund appears in his doorway, his hands raised in defeat. “You have proved to be an infallible killjoy on this journey, Jarl Calder. Am I at least permitted to eat in this drafty castle with only two thinly sliced logs in my hearth for warmth?”
“Do they not teach you pious living in your temples, Gothi?” Calder answers from the bed, wincing from his back pain.
Edmund slides his hands to his hips. “In all fairness, I have been a Gothi for two winters, Iss Drengr.”
Many winters ago, Calder would have flinched at someone invoking his derogatory moniker, gifted by the good people of Skalor after he single-handedly froze an entire village chasing down a god of unparalleled evil. Ever since, it’s become a superb scare tactic, keeping vagabonds and overreaching Jarls from attacking his Hold for fear of his ability. He maintains prominence throughout the winters through an uncountable number of nightmare-fueled deeds.
