Beyond a Darkened Shore(43)

I glanced up at Leif again, and he must have seen the desperation in my eyes, for he said to the seer, “What does that mean? She may die, so you refuse to help her?”

Unperturbed by his angry tone, the seer shook her head. “She must undergo the test before the power can be mastered.” She drew a raspy breath as though talking had become taxing on her withered body. “You must remember that your power connects you to the spirit realm. It could save your life”—she looked at Leif—“and his.”

“Why is it the nature of seers to speak in riddles?” Leif demanded.

“I can only see what the gods choose to show me. We are all helpless to their whims.”

“You can do no more, then?” Leif asked. “Isn’t there anything you can do to divine the fate of Ciara’s family?”

“This land is not ours. There are ancient beings here, creatures like our gods in the north, and they also have control over what I can see.” She watched me for a moment until unease joined the sick feeling in my stomach. “They don’t want me to see the fate of your family.”

With those forbidding words, she blew out the candle, plunging her corner into darkness again.

Leif made a noise of disgust and made to leave. I came to my feet. “Thank you for speaking with us,” I murmured.

“Your power,” the seer said quietly, and I paused, “is a door as real as the one in this room. Do not be afraid to go through it.”

More riddles. But I could see she was trying to help me, so I nodded once. “I will remember.”

I followed Leif into the dim hallway and closed the seer’s door behind me.

I wanted to run to the stables, leap astride Sleipnir, and gallop back to Mide. But I couldn’t. Of course I couldn’t—I was exiled for attacking my own father, and the j?tnar might already be here in this castle. But my sisters . . .

Fear gripped me like a hawk’s talons tear into a mouse.

“Ciara,” Leif said, concern etched into his face, and it nearly broke me. “Your family . . . just because Sigrid couldn’t see them doesn’t mean anything happened to them.”

I stepped closer to him—I couldn’t help it. I wanted someone to tell me they were okay, that nothing had happened to them, that this feeling I had meant nothing. “We lost eleven days in the Faerie Tunnel, Leif. There are men here who could be in league with the j?tnar, and they could have easily been to Mide and back.”

“They could have,” Leif agreed, “and I understand your fear, but you can’t let it cripple you. Much as I hate to sit idle, I think it may be best to watch and wait—at least until morning.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Unless you know more than you’re telling me.”

I thought about lying, but Leif seemed more restrained now than he had in the great hall. “I have seen men like them before in a vision. Their strange language is what gave them away as j?tnar, yet they are clearly not giants. For this reason, I held my tongue.” His body tensed like a bow, and I reached out to touch his arm. “You said we should watch and wait,” I reminded him gently. I could feel the need for violence thrumming just beneath his skin, and I understood it. Had they been responsible for one of my beloved sisters’ deaths . . . there was very little that would stop me from slaughtering them like sheep.

“If given the chance,” I continued, “I can get inside their heads, perhaps find out more.”

Leif let out his breath. “You’re right.” Some of the tension seemed to leave him, and he turned to go. “It’s late. I should find Arinbjorn.” Before he left, he gestured toward my head. “Your injury—is it better?”

I smiled. “Much.” I’d almost forgotten about it. The pain had reduced to a dull ache that I could easily ignore.

“Good. Will you stay in your room now that you’ve seen I had reason to warn you?”

My eyes narrowed. “Yes, and I don’t need another warning. I can take care of myself.”

He grinned like he had expected me to answer in exactly that way. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” I muttered, and hurried into my room.

I closed my door and leaned against it, suddenly exhausted. With all that had happened, I realized with a blooming unease that we had yet to see the king.

There might be more enemies under this roof than just the two strange Northmen.





12





The sound of a low horn in the morning announced the return of the king and his party. The castle’s servants flew into an organized frenzy, preparing the hall and rooms for its master. I watched with tensed muscles, as though I was preparing for battle.

I had a wealth of nervous energy even though I’d spent much of the night afraid that if I fell asleep, the Morrigan would reveal something else to me—like the fate of my family. I tried not to worry about my sisters, but just thinking about them made me long for my lost home. Today, though, I swore I would banish everything but this quest from my mind. There was much more to concern myself over. The king was problem enough, but I was also wary of encountering the strange men from last night. As I entered the hall, I was relieved to find it set back to rights after the Northman celebration last night. Servants jostled past me, carrying ornate candlestick holders, golden bowls of fruit, and baskets of bread. I could smell boar being roasted on its spit. Red-and-gold embroidered cloth covered the tables, a high-backed throne had been given the place of honor, and already, dancers, jesters, and minstrels were arriving. These were the makings of a feast, but instead of engendering a feeling of joy, I felt only a cold apprehension.