Banruud, his eyes flashing and his teeth bared, pulled the dirk from the sheath at his waist. With a slash of the knife, he silenced the midwife’s accusations. The scarlet spilled down her chest, too thick for wine, too red for tears. Her head fell forward, her nose touching her heaving bosom, as though her blood, the color of roses, smelled just as sweet. Then her legs buckled and her body bowed, and she lay prostrate at the king’s feet.
Banruud wiped his blade across his tunic before sheathing it with a grimace of distaste. Her blood stained his right hand.
Bayr held Alba, his hand palming her head, keeping her eyes pressed to his chest. She thrashed and demanded release, beating him with small fists and feet. His eyes met the king’s, horror clashing with spent rage, and Banruud’s jaw jutted forward as his brows lowered over his black eyes.
“She forgot herself. Don’t make the same mistake, Temple Boy,” he warned.
Bayr turned and staggered down the stairs, through the corridors and the halls and out into the gardens where he’d fallen in love with the queen. Where she’d sung and walked beside him. And he soothed her motherless child.
12
“There are still no daughters, King Banruud.” The statement was soft but it hissed like a snake through the assembled chieftains, and Banruud turned black eyes on his brother-in-law, the young Chieftain of Adyar, the only one who dared challenge him. They were all assembled in the king’s hall, Banruud at the head of a table so long twenty of his warriors could sit around it. The chieftains were seated on one side, the high Keepers of Saylok on the other. Dagmar of Dolphys had taken a seat among the high keepers when David, the old keeper from Dolphys, had passed away, and he sat as far away from Banruud as he could, his eyes on the scars in the burnished oak surface. Banruud knew that Dagmar despised him, yet he never said a word. Banruud wished Aidan would hold his damn tongue as well, but he never did.
“My sister gave birth to a daughter five years ago, and yet the daughters of Saylok have not returned. Now she is dead,” Aidan continued. “There will be no more daughters from Alannah.” A wave of grief passed over his face and rippled through the assembly, and Banruud stifled a derisive snort. They all grieved for a queen who had not birthed a single, live child, thinking she was the mother of the princess. A dead slave girl was Alba’s mother. Alannah had done nothing for Saylok. Neither had the keepers.
The queen’s death had prompted a council of the clans. Master Ivo had wanted them to meet in the sanctum, but Banruud had insisted on assembling in the palace instead. In the sanctum, Banruud was not lord. In the sanctum, it was Master Ivo who sat on the throne. Banruud had no intention of standing before Ivo like a lowly supplicant, even in council. Past kings had lowered themselves before the Keepers of Saylok, but Banruud would not. If he had his way, Saylok would blame them for the dearth of girl children, and the keepers would become a thing of the past.
“It is true. Our women give birth to sons . . . or they die trying,” Banruud said, turning his gaze on the Highest Keeper, redirecting Aidan’s blame. “The only daughters are brought here from other lands or born of rape from raids by the Northmen, the Eastlanders, or the Hounds. There aren’t nearly enough women to go around. And you, Master Ivo, cannot tell us why.”
The Highest Keeper said nothing. His silence was almost as powerful as denial, and the chieftains turned their complaints to the row of quiet keepers just as Banruud had intended.
“Except for the princess, there have been no daughters born of Saylok in twelve years. We don’t feel the lack yet . . . but our sons will. In another decade, there will be no women to wed,” Benjie of Berne chimed in. He was the cousin of Banruud and had taken his place as chieftain when Banruud became king.
“We’re spending our gold and our grain on females, and our weakness is becoming known to our enemies,” Erskin of Ebba added.
“The villagers have started sacrificing female lambs, hoping to coax the gods into a trade, one female for another,” Banruud accused. The sacrifices hadn’t worked. The keepers had conducted similar sacrifices to no apparent avail.
“We can’t continue to raid. We’re stirring up other lands to come against us,” Josef of Joran grunted. He was a farmer, not a warrior. Unlike some of the chieftains, who had been raiding for generations, he hated the necessity of the raids.
“Josef is right. We have staved off attacks from the Eastlanders on the shores of Dolphys. It will only get worse,” Dirth agreed, nodding.
“The battle has already come to Ebba,” Erskin growled. “The Hounds from the Hinterlands keep coming. If they defeat us, they will come for you next.”
“Not all our enemies are raiders from foreign lands,” Lothgar of Leok said. “There have been attacks from within too. Bands of the clanless rove across the countryside, taking the girls and women from the farmers and killing their families when they resist. My warriors hunted some of them down. We put their heads on pikes on the border between Leok and Ebba. We have not had an attack since. But the people have started to disguise their daughters as boys to keep them safe . . . even from other clans.”
“The problem is not with the women of Saylok. It is with the men,” Master Ivo murmured. His voice was low and soft, but no one missed it.
Every eye narrowed on the Highest Keeper, and the chieftains fingered the hilts of their swords. The chieftains were virile and powerful, and none of them appreciated the quiet condemnation of the Highest Keeper.
“You gather women from other lands to make up for their lack . . . yet mayhaps you should bring men from other lands to make up for yours. To bed your women,” Ivo cackled, unfazed by their displeasure. “Maybe the Hounds can help.”
“If the keepers cannot tell us what plagues Saylok, then we must guard the few women we have,” Banruud said. He waited until every chieftain nodded in agreement, their eyes on his, before he offered his “solution.”
“Every clan will gather their daughters and bring them here, to the mount,” Banruud insisted. Every brow instantly furrowed, but he continued, his voice coaxing and infinitely reasonable. He’d hadn’t thought any of it through, but his heart pounded at the thought. One daughter had made him king. Many daughters would make him infinitely more powerful.
“The females will be kept safe, within these walls,” he continued. “When they are of age, they will be promised to the sons of the chieftains first, then the warriors, then the craftsmen. If a man is not a value to his clan, he will have little chance at a wife. Mayhaps it will weed out the weak and the useless.”
“All the daughters?” Aidan gasped. “You will have a revolt, Sire. Are you going to take Lothgar’s daughters too?” Lothgar had already risen to his feet, his face twisted in protest.
“Every daughter in Saylok is already spoken for,” Josef argued. “There is not a daughter in Saylok who has not been numbered and negotiated over. Would you void the betrothals drawn up at their births? Even the daughters of the slaves have been given standing.”
“And the people will never agree to it.” Aidan shook his head, adamant.
“You are a chieftain. Your job is to rule your people. Control them. Make them understand that it is for their own safety,” Banruud shot back.