The others grumbled, but the king made a curious noise and rose, leading Hod from the room to the chamber he’d taken for himself. It was not nearly so filthy, and the breeze from the sea wafted through an open window. Hod breathed more freely, but his anxiety did not relent. Circumstances had forced his hand.
Gudrun threw himself into a chair and rested his heavy feet on the desk positioned beside it. It was a lovely piece of work with smoothed edges and an intricately inlaid map of Saylok. Hod had explored each inch with the pads of his fingers when Gudrun demanded a refresher on the clans. He’d wanted to know every chieftain and every keep, every cove and every climb. And he’d wanted to hear all about the temple.
He did not bother to insist Hod have a seat but launched into his own update.
“The King of Saylok has brought women with him. He thinks he will give them to me and I will leave,” Gudrun said.
“Yes. I know. The Bernians who were gathered to see the arrival hope there will be a betrothal. They are very proud of their princess and the daughters of the temple.”
“Banruud does not realize I do not need—or want—his women. I want his throne. I want Saylok. And I am going to take it.”
Hod nodded. None of this was news to him. He knew precisely what Gudrun wanted and exactly why they’d come to Berne. The Northlands had suffered their own plague. They’d lost entire populations. Men, women, children. Villages. The sickness that had taken Ghisla’s family had taken many. Fields lay fallow, animals wandered free, and Gudrun had taken to the seas to plunder the riches of other lands to fill his empty coffers. Saylok, with all its troubles and inner tribulation, was prime for the taking. And Gudrun could have it. Hod had convinced himself Saylok might even be better off if it was overrun. But the North King could not have Ghisla.
“I want the woman,” Hod said. He could not see Gudrun’s face, but Hod could still hear his stunned response.
“What?”
“I want the woman,” Hod repeated.
Gudrun barked in disbelief. “You want the woman? Which one?”
“The one they call Liis of Leok.”
“The small one. The unsmiling one,” Gudrun said slowly. “The plain one.”
Hod nodded, not bothering to correct the description. Gudrun liked to twist the knife and invoke a reaction. It was the risk Hod took in telling him the truth. Gudrun valued Hod, but he was ruthless too, and he would not hesitate to exploit Hod’s desires to achieve his own ends. In fact, Hod was counting on it.
“You have not wanted a woman in the six years I have known you, Hod,” Gudrun argued. “I thought you committed to your solitude and your stick. You are hung like a man . . . but you do not act like one.”
“I have not wanted a woman . . . because . . . of her.”
“Because of her?” Gudrun was incredulous. “Liis of Leok?”
“Because of her,” Hod said again.
“You know her.” It was not a question but a realization.
“Yes.” Hod took a deep breath, praying his instincts were right. “And she is not of Leok. She is a Songr.”
Gudrun stiffened in surprise. “There are no Songrs left.”
“There is at least . . . one.”
“How do you know this?”
“Her family died from the plague that swept your land. She was left alive . . . in Tonlis. She had nowhere to go. She boarded a ship, was tossed overboard in a storm, and washed up onto the shore . . . where you found me.”
Gudrun’s big boots hit the floor, like he’d straightened abruptly. But he said nothing. His heartbeat had quickened, and his gaze was sticky on Hod’s face. He was listening.
“My master took her to Leok. And she was taken to the temple . . . for safekeeping. She has been there ever since. She is known for her song. The king . . . values her, and he will not be inclined to let her go. But I want her.”
For a moment, Gudrun was quiet, sucking on his teeth the way he was prone to do when considering. “Does this woman, this Songr . . . does she want you?” he asked finally.
“No.”
Gudrun laughed at his honesty.
“She wanted me . . . once,” Hod said. “But it has been many years. And she has given me no reason to hope.”
“You have been of great use to me,” Gudrun said. “But mayhaps—if she is a Songr—I will want her for myself.”
Hod could hear Gudrun’s exaggerated shrug in the repositioning of his body and the shift in the air. He was goading him, and Hod did not rise to the bait. Gudrun needed him, but he liked to remind Hod who was servant and who was king. Hod also knew if the North King heard Ghisla sing, he would most decidedly want her for himself. Hod was staking his claim. His only claim.
“The Songrs belong to the Northlands,” Gudrun added.
“That is where I intend to take her. It is where I have always intended to take her. But I did not think I would . . . meet her again . . . here.”
“You thought you would have to go to the temple . . . and get her,” Gudrun surmised slowly, the truth dawning.
“Yes. And I knew I could not go alone.”
Gudrun did not suck his teeth or worry his lips, and Hod suspected from the shape of his inhalations, his jaw was gaping. “How long have you been planning this?” he whispered.
“Since I threw myself—and my treasure—at the feet of nineteen Northmen.”
Gudrun gasped and stood. He drew his blade and twirled it over his fingers as he strode from one end of his commandeered headquarters to the other. With no warning, he pivoted and threw it at Hod, grunting with exertion. Hod swung his stick and lunged to the side, knocking the blade from the air. It clattered and spun back toward Gudrun, across the floor. Gudrun bent, picked it up, and sheathed it at his belt. Hod waited, tensed, ready. In six years, he’d evaded death at least once a day.
“I do not like being taken by surprise,” Gudrun stressed. It was the only justification Hod would get for the sudden attack.
Hod nodded once, acknowledging his complaint. It would not be the last time Gudrun would fling something sharp or heavy at him.
“I have always believed it was . . . hate . . . that drove you. Now you tell me . . . it is a woman.”
“I have no use for Banruud, and I have no use for the keepers. Both have failed Saylok.”
“So you will help me overthrow the king—who is your father—and take his lands . . . and you want only the girl?” Gudrun scoffed. “Your ambition disappoints me, Hod.”
“I am a simple man.”
The North King laughed and shook his head, making the bones that ran down his matted braids click and clack. He had allowed Hod to touch them once, even hacking one free so he could “see” it better. Gudrun was not a simple man; he could be kind one moment and kill a man in the next, and Hod had not allowed himself to form an attachment or expect one in return. He also had no illusions about the risk he had just taken. He’d told Gudrun about his father, King Banruud, in the early days of his captivity. It had helped Gudrun understand him—and trust him—even though Hod hardly understood himself.
“No. Not simple,” Gudrun grunted. “Not at all. You are far too clever, and I do not trust you, Blind Hod. Not completely. But I understand you better now. Tonight . . . we will feast with your father. And we will see what can be done about retrieving the Songr.”