She cannot shake the demoralizing feeling that her life is crumbling around her. Despite her self-talk–assuring herself that this is temporary–the nauseating realization that so much rests on her shoulders is difficult to swallow.
Not to mention the damage left in Treland.
What reason would Isabel and Rolf have to keep Father alive? But I would know if he were dead. Right? Surely, Grandpapi Briny would tell me and Thora?
Deep breathing does not stabilize her, but rather causes her throat to constrict.
Calder has yet to elaborate on his plan to destroy his mother, other than assuring everyone that he and Edmund would explain later.
Aura tugs at the leather cuffs around her wrists, which are not currently chained together. Secured around her ankles is a matching set. The mirror against the wall reflects her frock, a lovely shade of horse manure. Calder only permits her to wear boots, as the air feels chilly even in September.
She suspects he and Edmund have a grand plan, yet her role in it feels insignificant.
Calder adjusts a thick bearskin cloak over his shoulders,fixing the silver clasp at his clavicle. With his spiked circlet, he is every bit a rugged god.
“We have folks lining up outside.” Gunni pokes his head in. “Can I get you anything, Your Highness?”
“No, thank you.” She remains perched on the edge of his bed, watching the Iss Drengr prepare himself with a look suggesting he faced a day of unspeakable pain.
Finally, he nods to his Second, who disappears into the central area of the longhouse.
“Aura,” his bark rumbles along the floorboards. “You remain in this room. Do you understand me?”
“Where else would I-”
He silences her with a calloused finger to her lips. “You do not leave this room or speak with anyone. As requested, I have provided food, whiskey, water, parchment, and a quill with a full ink vial to pass your time.”
Everything is spread across a table beneath an antlered chandelier. The Iss Drengr’s calculating gaze sweep the room as if assessing for problems.
She has trusted him this far.
What could go wrong?
Still, her leg bounces in anticipation of being trapped in the longhouse for the day without an ally nearby. Sure, the Iss Drengr was down the hall in the central room, but Skalor was an unfriendly place, and it would take only one person to recognize Aura and bring Lavinia down upon them.
“Calder!” Gunni reappears, summoning him.
The Jarl’s icy gaze conveys a silent warning to her before he vanishes into the corridor.
She passes the early part of the day in relative comfort as she pours over her sketchbook, drawing variations of Calder, her favorite haunts in Treland, and a pair of crossed-hand axes.
After High Noon, a soldier in the Kaldrgataness emblem, featuring circular evergreen sprigs surrounding a runic ‘K’, delivers a bowl of stew that warms her bones. While she sips the broth with herboots kicked off, she reads from a dusty journal she stole from the library in Coldheart. Her great-uncle, Argnier, signed the opening page with a date fourteen winters ago.
Uncovering the leather-bound book was an accident. However, the drawings inside take her breath away. The pain in each stroke is palpable. Maps from all over the continent are interspersed among the sketches of people and scenes. Ravengarde City districts, Pradacian streets, and Hold maps of Skalor.
Aura drools over the level of detail in each sketch as she attempts to replicate a map of Skalor of her own.
The creak of doors and brief cries from the main room draws her attention to the corridor. Carefully, she sets her quill into the ink vial before pushing away from the table and padding to the doorway.
Her fingers fidget together.
Calder instructed me not to speak with anyone or leave the room.
Before she can commit to returning to Gunni’s bedchamber, a young man steps out of one of the other rooms, adjusting a cloak on his shoulders. He is older than Aura yet younger than Thora and dressed like a lord in fine trappings with a carefully trimmed beard.
When he catches sight of the barefooted princess in slave garb, his brow quirks, and he shifts forward.
“Consider me intrigued.” His voice is smooth, with the cadence of someone from a high station.
