With her gone, Gunnar felt no need to remain in their former home. Steinblomst Keep had always been Bryn’s preference, a fortress he’d built for his ladylove when she’d been the most important thing in his life and her travels east to the Epleberg farm had taken her from his side far too often.
Gods, he missed her.
He did truly miss his wife, and sometimes even regretted that she had forced his hand. Some part of him always would love Brynhildr and the dedication she’d given him over the years, but their marriage had ended long ago. He knew she’d only clung to it out of a desire to retain her crown, as well as loyalty to their nation’s people.
It would have been wiser for Bryn to fulfill her role as the mother of the next royal heir, or cut her losses and divorce him. But she’d been too proud for that, going behind his back instead, attempting to consort with the giants and daring to presume any of the western jarls would bend to her will. Thank the gods Ragna had seen reason and warned him of Brynhildr’s treacherous intentions.
Perhaps he would marry the dependable jarl’s youngest daughter next, taking her for his new bride. The girl may not have been a leader among the shield maidens, but she had fire and drive. Most of all, she had a fresh womb and a soul untarnished by the loss of children.
Yes. She would do, and it would never become necessary to share the truth of his family curse with her. He regretted telling Brynhildr at all, but he’d been weak that day and taken pity on her. Never again would he allow a woman’s tears to sway him.
Looking down at the royal city now, he believed it was for the best that Brynhildr was gone. While Dagny would make an adequate replacement for the warrior maiden he’d lost, he would never allow her to have his heart. He would never fall in love again. It seemed like only years ago that his father had told him to be wary, to distrust the wiles of women.
. He watched for a while longer before returning to the castle and ascending the stairs. Sentries standing watch at the stone door bowed courteously before their king when he passed.
Gunnar was not yet beyond the foyer when he heard the bang of a door slamming, the hastened steps of a man rushing toward him. He spun in time to see Frode dashing toward him with panic on his face.
“Brother. We must speak at once.”
“What’s happened?”
“Privately,” Frode hissed. Sweat dotted the man’s pinched face, his cheeks flushed and eyes wildly darting from side to side. He gestured for Gunnar to follow him, and his steps did not stop until they were beyond the throne room in a private chamber.
“What is the meaning of this, Frode? What has happened to put you into such a state?”
“She’s risen. The queen! She’s risen! Somehow, that fool of an Eislander broke the Liangese curse, and they are heading eastward.”
Dread dropped into the pit of Gunnar’s stomach and formed a tight, iron-hard ball of despair. He sank heavily into the high-backed chair behind him and raked both hands through his hair. Few things could be worse than Bryn wandering amidst the living again. “Does…does she realize what we’ve done? Does she know it was us?”
“I cannot say.” Frode’s heavy brow creased in consternation. “My contact only saw them in passing and sent word of it to me.”
“And your man is certain it was Brynhildr and the thrall?”
“A thrall no longer, brother!” Frode’s voice rose, shrill, almost shrieking. “He’s a free man now, and he’ll persist as a thorn in our plans for as long as he lives. Somehow, he survived the assassins sent by Da’Wio and managed to rouse her from the curse.”
Gunnar groaned and considered the implications of Brynhildr spreading the truth. The people had loved her. She’d been the most adored high queen in generations, surpassing his mother and grandmother in all ways with both her easygoing nature and battle prowess.
Because of Brynhildr, the eastern Ridaeron provinces had fallen under his absolute control, as none would dare defy him as long as she had been his queen.
Blast. A downside of taking Dagny as his next bride. She had none of Brynhildr’s charisma or influence among the eastern clans.
“Are you listening to me?” Frode demanded.
“I’m listening, but I have yet to hear anything beneficial from your mouth,” Gunnar ground out. “You and Da’Wio promised the basilisk would be unstoppable, that no one—even if someone did theorize that she didn’t die, but was in fact cursed—would be capable of defeating it to rouse her.”
“It should have been unstoppable,” Frode insisted.
“I knew I should have had him killed, perhaps even buried with her as an offering, before that fool read her final wishes.”
His younger brother sighed. “And you would have angered the gods. The best time to kill him would have been over a year ago prior to the blót, but you chose to entertain Brynhildr’s foolish notion that the thrall could become one of us.”
“He made her happy!”
“Yes, and now you must live with the consequences of your decisions. You spoiled your wife. You made poor judgments all in the name of keeping a woman too weak to bear you three more children.”
Gunnar’s brows drew close together. “She wasn’t…” He sighed, drooping. “She lost four, Frode. Four of them. Perhaps if I gave her time—”
“Time is what brought us to where we are, and now your kingdom is threatened. You cannot kill this former thrall, this…Eislander. The word of the lawspeaker is indisputable. To disobey is to risk the wrath of Odin.”
“I know! Don’t tell me the things I already fucking know. Tell me how to solve my problems. Advise me.”
Frode snorted. “You’ll have to handle them both, but in a way that will satisfy the all-father. We know why they travel east. We know their destination, and if they should reach Jarl Brynjar, or worse, Jotunheim, our entire plan will unravel.”
“What do you suggest, Frode? I can’t very well send the guard to capture them both!”
“No. You cannot.”
“Then what?”
“Have you considered neutralizing Brynhildr and this scourge by rallying the very citizens who loved her?”
Gunnar studied his brother. “How? She’s committed no crime. A beloved queen has returned from the dead. For what reason would the people rally against her?”
“You’ve spoken the solution to this issue, brother. Think.” Frode’s mouth widened into a devious smile. His brother, devoted follower of Loki, never smiled until he devised some new way of making trouble and mischief.
“I said she’s returned from the…” Gunnar trailed off, staring.
The answer loomed before them after all.
Chapter 11
Bryn and Sigurd emerged from the tree line into an open field ripe with golden wheat. She tilted her face up toward the sky, welcoming the warm sunshine after days in the green-lit gloom of the forest. Beside her, Sigurd did the same.
“What town is this?” he asked after a few moments.
“Steinnvik. We have officially reached the east. Here, it is farmers mostly, and some of the best bakers in the land.”
“I can tell from the smell.”