Drakkar stared at the door as it closed behind them, leaving him alone in the room.
An image of the woman spewing blood projected on the wood and this transformed into an image of Finnie doing the same. It was an image so heinous he closed his eyes to shut it out.
He could not blame himself for a woman’s ludicrous infatuation or the actions this caused.
He could blame himself for lack of vigilance.
Aurora had said, In your fire to avenge what’s happened tonight under your nose…
And she was not wrong.
Bloody hell, she was not wrong.
Drakkar put a fist to his hip and a hand to the back of his neck, dropped his head and studied his boots.
He should have seen it coming, this was painfully true.
But he would not make that same mistake again.
The door opened, Drakkar lifted his head and saw that Annar stood in its frame. “I have the heads. Do you want them brought here?”
Drakkar looked behind him at the blood on the stone floor of the buttery.
Then he looked at his man. “No. Take Ravenscroft to the library, Lazarus to the study, Njord to the drawing room and Sinclair I’ll speak to in the sitting room. Then get a maid to fetch my clothes. I’ll want our guard prepared to leave within the hour.”
Annar lifted a chin and closed the door on his way out.
Drakkar took a few moments to rub the tension out of his neck.
Then he dropped his hand and walked to the library.
Chapter Twenty
The Finnie
The riders on their mounts moved through the frozen forest swiftly and throughout the journey they did not relent in their pace for the sake of their steeds.
Before we left, Frey had suggested I try to sleep but we were going at a fast canter and the jarring pace alone would have kept me awake.
But it was the events of that night that actually kept me awake.
Unlike our last, during this journey, Frey did not talk. He did not share tidbits of information. He simply held me close and leaned into me as Tyr took us through the moonlit forest.
Leaving me to my thoughts.
And I took his silence as indication he wished to be left to his.
I was told that Sudvic was a six hour sleigh ride if the conditions were right and, considering the not-so-good company of my thoughts, I was glad that it didn’t take us that long. I had no idea how long it actually took but we were not on a road; we were off track, in the forest proper and likely taking a more direct route.
The entire time we rode, my mind was awash with images and memories of that night, the last two weeks and everyone in the Palace and at the Gales that I’d come into contact with. None of them seemed like assassins to me but I wouldn’t know and assassins, I would guess, didn’t have identifying characteristics. Or, at least, not good ones.
My parents had come to visit me prior to Frey and I leaving and I guessed this meant Frey trusted them enough to allow it. As they looked like my real parents and I’d grown to know them, not to mention the fact that both were openly concerned for me (yes, even Mother), I couldn’t believe they would have anything to do with a plot to murder me. And in the end, I had no choice but to act exactly what I was, and that was terrified, so I welcomed their reassuring presence.
Then we were away in the cold dead of the night, Frey and I and my guard and I had nothing but the moonlight, the snow, the trees and my thoughts to occupy me for hours.
And therefore, I was beside myself with relief when we suddenly came out of the never ending forest.
Then, as what lay before me shoved out the dark thoughts and registered in my brain, I sucked in breath.
We had emerged on a high rise and spread before us was a city and not a small one for its sprawl stretched far.
But this wasn’t what made me pull in breath.
The twinkling lights of the city covered the valley and to the left blinked partially up a rise that was not a mountain in comparison to those around Fyngaard, but it was a very tall hill.
However, to the right there was a bay, its dark, night water so calm it was glassy and its surface was dotted with huge, awe-inspiring three and four-mast galleons that were at anchor. More still were docked at the wharf. Considering the hour, they were lit with few lanterns (though those closer to the wharf had more illuminated) and all these cast long reflections across the bay.
It was freaking spectacular.
Although they’d run for hours, it was as if the horses sensed their journey was coming to an end, they wanted it to be done and their pace picked up as the riders in our party forged across the snow toward a well-trod road, then down the road to the valley and into the city.
When we hit it, glancing around and taking it in, I saw immediately that Sudvic couldn’t be any more different from Fyngaard.
The streets were cobbled, not paths of snow packed trails. The snow had been cleared and piled high into lots between the buildings that seemed to be there for that sole purpose. And the sound of the horses’ hooves pounding against the stone, something I’d never heard in real life, was way cool.
The buildings weren’t quaint and homey. Even so, they were cool in an olde worlde, higgledy-piggledy way. They were narrow and tall, one built right against the next with the roads winding through them showing there was no city planning whatsoever. Some of the buildings were four stories tall, others two or three. Some had peaked roofs, others slanted or dormered. All had square-paned windows and there were a number of windows I saw shuttered against the night chill. It was clear this city was highly populated, not simply from the dense pack of the buildings but also since it was the wee hours of the morning and there were people out bustling along the wood-plank, snow-cleared sidewalks or standing at the fire drums that were lit on street corners.
Another difference was that they didn’t have torches but tall black streetlamps that looked to be fueled. Their lights shone through glass-sided boxes that hung on hooks that alternately curved over the streets or sidewalks, cutting through the night and casting illumination on both.
I also noted Sudvic did not appear refined and cosmopolitan. There were a vast number of businesses and shops but no cafés with sidewalk seating, no fancy restaurants and from what I could see in shop windows, the wares were utilitarian, not elegant, expensive or sophisticated. There were definitely no fur shops here or spun glass. There were also shingles suspended above doors advertising solicitors, accountants, merchants and even insurance brokers.
And further, the few women I saw were dressed differently. They did not have the smooth, flowing gowns of wool or long cloaks I saw in Fyngaard and Houllebec. They had full skirts with a mass of petticoats and shorter cloaks that came down only to their waists.
Looking around, it seemed we’d ridden three or four hours from Fyngaard and gone to a whole other world.
Our party took a right and rode on. When we did I could see the bay coming toward us and I forgot all about nearly being poisoned and people all around me wanting me dead and all I could think was that I couldn’t wait to get there.
But once we arrived, I knew I could have waited a year and it would have been worth it.
When we hit the end of the street, Frey and his men veered their horses left and we were there, on the wharf, the galleons rising high into the sky to our right, the dock lined by buildings on the left.
There were huge wooden posts ascending from the water with thick ropes twined around fastening the ships to the dock or thinner ropes securing smaller vessels to the posts or to hooks screwed into the wood of the quay. All along the wharf there were piles and stacks of wooden barrels and crates, beds of tangled nets, messes of fish traps and enormous coils of bulky rope.
And the dock was waking up. Or, perhaps, it never went to sleep. Men were at work lugging, pulling, pushing, rolling, lifting and shouting.
And to the left, there were a great many pubs, all brightly lit, all clearly never closed, and last
ly, obviously very popular. Outside, there were men standing around carrying or glugging from horns or pewter tankards and smoking fat cigars (not the thin ones of Fyngaard). They were also talking to, making out with or openly fondling women with great masses of hair, heavy hands at makeup and décolletage that rivaled Franka’s but this spilling out of flimsy (sometimes not-so-clean) tops that were gathered (or not, as the case may be) at the neckline with drawstrings, their breasts made more prominent by wide belts cinched tight that covered their midriffs and laced up the center. Their full skirts didn’t sweep the ground but the hem fell several inches above their ankle. And they were apparently immune to the cold or drunk off their asses because none of them were wearing cloaks (though some wore fingerless gloves).
Doxies. They had to be.
Awesome!
The sounds of men at work, the cry of gulls, the creak of the ships and the smell of salt and fish filled the air. It was fabulous, every inch of it. And as we swiftly rode through, I saw avid eyes turn our direction but I didn’t really notice. I was busy trying to take it all in.
Then Frey pulled back on Tyr’s reins, tugged him to the right, Tyr veered that direction and we stopped facing a ship at the dock.
Frey straightened and I came up with him, looking left then right then up, up and up.
It was by far the biggest ship I’d seen and absolutely, completely, definitely the coolest.
This was all I was able to process as I heard running feet and Frey dismounted, instantly reaching up to pull me down.
I had my feet beneath me and I saw a young man, perhaps twelve or thirteen who had hold of Tyr’s reins. He was blond, very slight and had on breeches, ankle boots, thick wool socks and a thick brown sweater. His head was tipped back, eyes aimed at Frey.
“Take care of Tyr and then attend your lady in my cabin,” Frey ordered shortly while taking my hand and then we were on the move.
We headed straight toward a steep gangplank that had slats nailed across as footholds and a rough rope railing that connected to the ship at the top and a wood pole with an iron hoop at the bottom. I’d faced scarier ascents but not in a long dress and heavy fur cloak. Before I could get my wits about me and concentrate on climbing that gangway without toppling over into the water, Frey used his hand to maneuver me in front of him then, with one hand in the small of my back, the other steadying me at my waist, he pushed me up it. I trailed my gloved hand along the rope as Frey’s big bulk right behind me propelled me straight up, through some short railings, two steps down and then I was on his ship.
On his ship!
Woo hoo!
I had approximately one point seven five seconds to look around and see that he wasn’t lying. There were men everywhere, lots of them, all of them busy.
I was seeing he was correct about my girls being there. They might like a smorgasbord and even though every man looked fit to full on brawny and not one was less than at the very least cute, even my girls who, if their stories were true enjoyed their dalliances tremendously, might find this a bit much.
I did lock eyes (very briefly) with a man that had a shock of white hair that was fashioned in an experimental hairstyle that he’d not been attending and it had gone awry. He also had a full, thick white beard, deep crinkles at the corners of his eyes, craggy wrinkles everywhere else, an extremely tanned face and he was wearing a sweater, leather shorts and tall boots that all had seen better days and those days were about two decades ago. He was this world’s version of a salty sea dog, no doubt about it and he was squinting at me with an expression that said he wanted to grab hold of me and throw me overboard.
He didn’t get this chance.
Frey took my hand and led me up a narrow gangway at the side of the ship and I was watching where my feet were hitting the wood deck so it was only at the last minute when I lifted my head that I saw the steps that led to the elevated deck that had, smack dab in the middle of it, a massive, circular, wooden helm, its handles spiking out. And it was so big it had to be as tall as me.
Freaking awesome!
I was hoping we were going there (I wanted to get a closer look at that wheel) but we didn’t. Frey turned me right and led me along another passage for a few feet then he turned me left toward some steps going down. I had no choice but to take them (mainly because Frey wasn’t giving me one). Frey let my hand go, pushed me in that direction and put his hand to my head, pressing down so I didn’t bonk myself on the low overhang. Three steps down then under the overhang then five more and in through an open door. I walked a few feet into a room and stopped dead.
Frey’s cabin.
At what I saw, my eyes went huge, my heart started pumping and I was so excited I could barely breathe. I wanted to jump around or at least clap and shout “woo hoo!” but before I could do either of these, Frey got in my space and tipped my head up with a hand under my chin.
“I have to see to a few things, my Finnie,” he murmured. “If Skylar arrives before me, order some water to wash up, if you wish it, and let him know if you need food or wine.”
Then he bent, touched his lips to my forehead and without another word or look, he was gone.
I stared after him a few seconds then I slowly turned and took in the space.
“Holy moly,” I whispered.
It was everything I thought it would be, wanted it to be and more.
Directly ahead was the stern of the ship, I knew this because nearly the entire length of it was square-paneled glass where I could see some of the bay and the ship docked behind us. Under the window was a deep bench on which was a cushion covered in battered, dark brown leather and a tumbled line of dark brown, dark green and wine colored toss pillows.
Suspended in the middle of the window, how I did not know for it seemed to be in mid-air, was the spun glass dragon I’d given to Frey.
It looked freaking fantastic there. So fantastic, it was like it was made to be there.
I tore my eyes from the dragon and saw, sitting a bit of a ways in front of the window, was a desk, massive and well-used. It was covered in papers, some flat, others scrolled as well as fascinating objects I couldn’t wait to peruse, some of them instruments, others clearly weights to hold things down. Behind it was a heavily carved, just plain heavy looking chair.
To the left there was another vast table on which there appeared to be huge paper charts and maps, again some flat, some scrolled, some partly scrolled and more instruments and paperweights.
At the end of that side of the cabin by the door there was a small table with a copper bowl on top and a copper pitcher on a shelf under it, a wash basin. Over this hung an oval mirror framed in carved wood.
In the middle of the cabin there was a battered oval table surrounded by eight chairs.
To the right off the corner of the desk there was a seating area, one big, comfy looking chair with ottoman, a heavy table at its side, a lantern attached to the wall hanging over it to use to read by. Next to that was a divan style bed which was double wide at a stretch but very long (meaning, with Frey’s big body and mine, sleeping arrangements would be cozy). This was not covered in sheets but a scattering of hides as well as a mess of wool and velvet blankets and an abundance of velvet covered, tasseled, square toss pillows. All the velvets were rich colors like wine, chocolate brown, midnight blue and pine green.
There were portholes all around intermingled with some gauges and dials surrounded by brass, some weapons mounted in racks, hanging lanterns (all lit) and a few small paintings of seascapes.
There were also two crude space heaters that appeared to be portable on the floor. They looked like they were made of iron and there were fires lit in them in an effort to ward off the chill which somewhat succeeded and somewhat failed.
I also saw trunks, most of them I recognized as mine, lining the cabin behind the chart table.
In the back by the desk on the opposite side to the seating area there was a huge, standing globe and for some reason that was where I moved first.
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When I got there I slowly turned the intricately painted globe with the tips of my fingers and, fascinated, I saw the map depicted on it showed that this world was not identical to my world. Not even close. There were no Americas, no Europe, Asia, Africa or Australia. There were Poles at top and bottom but that was the only thing that was the same.
I twirled the globe to find Lunwyn and noted, not surprisingly, it was at the top, nearly to a Pole. The wide Winter Sea was north of it, the icy Pole beyond. The Green Sea, painted emerald on the map, was to the west of Lunwyn and it was more like an ocean, incredibly vast. I saw Middleland, painted in dark greens and blacks and Hawkvale and Fleuridia, both depicted in deep greens with Fleuridia having a few light greens. And below the equator, there were countries, all painted in browns and creams, called Korwahk, Keenhak and Maroo.
I was turning the globe to see what lay beyond when I heard, “Milady?” and my head came up.
The boy was standing in the doorway.
He was looking uncomfortable and uncertain as well as impatient. I guessed that he had things to do and those didn’t include waiting on a woman in his captain’s quarters.
I moved away from the globe and toward the boy, saying, “Hello there. You’re Skylar?”
He nodded, watching as I approached him and shifting his body in a way that made him look strangely like he wanted to turn around and run.
“I’m Finnie,” I introduced myself before stopping several feet away.
He nodded but didn’t speak.
“And what do you do here, Skylar?” I asked.
“Captain’s boy, milady,” he answered.
I nodded thinking he was kind of young but what did I know, he was the only captain’s boy I’d ever met.
Then he asked on a prompt, “Aught I can get you, milady?”
I smiled. “Two things, some water so Frey and I can wash up after that ride and also not to call me your lady, instead, I’d like you to call me Finnie.”
He peered up at me then swallowed what appeared to be nervously then nodded again.