A Burning Sea by Theodore Brun (snow like ashes series TXT) 📗

‘Bring fresh water. I’ll go to him.’

It was strange to walk these corridors now – the same approach to the same chamber, once her father’s. The same smells of oak beams and dusty tapestries and fur hangings that evoked her childhood, when laughter had resounded off the walls. It had only taken a short time to turn all of that upside down. A short time for all laughter to die.

Now the chamber belonged to the son of her father’s enemy. The man she had chosen for duty’s sake, whom she had come to care for deeply, even love in a way, although he had never possessed her inmost heart. That belonged to another.

She pushed aside the drape and braced her throat against the rancid smell that hit her nostrils. ‘I’m here, husband.’

The mound of furs on the massive bed stirred. A head of sandy hair appeared, matted with sweat. ‘Lilla?’

She sat on the bed frame. He reached out a wasted fist. She took it, feeling the warmth in her hand drain into his cold, bloodless fingers. ‘Did you sleep?’

‘It is not sleep,’ he answered hoarsely. ‘I close my eyes and faces fly around me, full of fear and fury.’ His head shook. ‘I once thought death would bring peace. But now I fear it.’

She stroked her thumb over his knuckles. ‘Speak not of death, husband. When the fevers pass, you’ll soon recover. I believe it.’

‘You’re a poor liar, my love.’ His cracked lips formed a sad smile. ‘I’m sorry. I failed you.’

A tear welled in her eye. She blinked it away. ‘How could you have failed me? You’ve done all things well.’

‘Not all. I’m leaving you alone. I should have given you a son.’

‘You did. It was me, it was. . .’ Her voice trailed off and she had to look away. She had carried a child in her belly. For a time. Although only she knew it was not this man’s seed that had put it there. ‘Maybe when you’re well again.’

‘Lilla, I’m dying. You are barren. It’s just as she said—’

‘No!. . . No. She was destroyed. Her words have no power.’

Although she willed this to be true, she couldn’t help but see in her mind’s eye Queen Saldas standing proud and untamed, long black hair streaming, the cup of poison she would drink for her crimes raised high as she cried dark curses to the wind.

‘We should have cut out her tongue as soon as we took her.’

‘Her power was broken before she spoke those words.’

Ringast snorted. ‘Yet here we are.’ He tried a rueful smile but some shiver of pain twisted his face into a grimace. ‘Still nothing from Thrand?’

‘Nothing. It’s two weeks since we sent word, as you asked.’

Thrand was Ringast’s brother. A fire mountain to Ringast’s sun. He was also a king of sorts. His seat lay at the hall of Leithra in Danmark far to the south. Thrand had sworn an oath of fealty to his older brother, although Lilla often doubted whether Thrand remembered this.

‘I have need of him here.’

‘If he’s true to his blood, he’ll come.’

Ringast sighed and sank deeper into his pillow, his eyes rolling back into his skull. For a grim moment, Lilla thought he had breathed his last. But then, by some vast effort of will, his eyes peeled open and focused on her again.

‘I’m still here.’ She reached up to stroke his cheek. But she found her gaze drawn down again, to his half-hand resting on the coverlet, the fetid wound swollen black under its useless bandage, suppurating pus. With your death, your realm will be cloven, clean and bloody as your hand. Those had been Saldas’s words, spoken before her execution. Was that lump of rotting flesh to be the fate of the Twin Kingdoms? Lilla shuddered at the thought.

‘I needed Thrand here,’ croaked Ringast, recollecting his thought. ‘I wanted him to hear it from my lips.’

‘Hear what?’

‘This.’ With his good hand, he reached out and clutched the amber necklace around her neck and pulled her closer. It took all her will not to gag at the smell seeping from his throat. ‘When I’m gone, you must rule in my place.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes. You are your father’s true heir. Your people trust you.’

‘No woman has ever ruled alone—’

‘Please,’ he rasped. ‘Don’t argue. There’s no time.’ His arm failed and fell to his chest. ‘No time. . . Just listen.’

She clasped his withered fist.

‘You have the heart to rule your folk kindly, and the mind to rule them well. Like your father.’

‘What about Thrand? He will be the last male heir of Ívar Wide-Realm. His claim is stronger—’

‘No!’ The word escaped his grey lips in a brutish snarl. ‘Not Thrand. Not him. He must never rule here, you understand? He hates the Sveärs. And he is cruel. It would only lead to more bloodshed. . . An ocean of blood,’ he murmured softly, like some refrain in a skaldman’s song. ‘Promise me, you will keep him from the Sveär throne.’ The black rims of his eyelids sank lower and lower. ‘Promise me. My wife. . .’

‘I promise,’ she said, squeezing his hand in her passion. ‘You have my word.’

‘Good.’ He seemed to recede then, his soul making ready to withdraw, leaving his shrivelled body to its ruin. Lilla’s heart grew heavy, filled with a terrible pity for this man whom she had at first thought hard and cold, but who had proved himself wise. And good.

‘Kiss me,’ he murmured, softer than breathing.

So she did, swallowing her revulsion, her warm soft lips brushing against his, so cold and brittle.

‘I’ve always. . . loved. . . you.’

‘I know… And I—’

She stopped. His eyes had changed, become hard like glass. Just like that he had gone. She reached up and closed his eyelids. ‘I love you,’ she finished, feeling tears chase down her cheeks. But he couldn’t hear her, and she was alone.

CHAPTER THREE

The mess was sickening.

But not half so sickening