Beyond a Darkened Shore(90)

“What do they look like?” asked the boy seated at Agnarr’s feet.

“Tall as trees, faces craggy and deformed, and claws on their hands,” Agnarr said, and I thought of the few we had already encountered with a shudder. “But some are so beautiful not even the gods can resist them.”

Good and evil, ugly and beautiful. The j?tnar didn’t sound so different from mortals, though I’d yet to encounter a human enemy who feasted upon the slain. The boy asked for more stories of the gods, and Agnarr gladly launched into another bawdy tale.

Soon, Rúna joined us, making everyone roar with approval with her tales of successful raids. I found even I was laughing at these Northman stories, but I could tell Leif was distracted. Half the time he watched me with such hunger in his eyes my stomach twisted with desire and I could hardly breathe. The other half of the time, though, he watched the entry to the hall for his father.

“Perhaps you should go to him,” I said after his eyes had drifted to the doorway yet again.

“It would only insult his pride. He would see it as an unspoken proclamation that I believe him to be too weak to join us.”

My brow furrowed. “Isn’t he too weak? He’s been bedridden this whole time, after all.”

“Yes, but he said he’d be here,” Leif said distractedly. “Going to him would mean that I no longer trust his word.”

I shook my head. The Northmen’s prickly pride made little sense.

“Aunt Rúna,” Arin shouted above all the other voices, “tell us of the wolf you kept like a dog.”

Rúna grinned. “There’s a good lesson in that for you, nephew.”

As the others roared again with laughter, a small commotion drew our attention to the entrance of the hall. A grizzled man dressed richly in dark velvet and fur leaned heavily upon his cane. Zinna and a woman I assumed was another servant hovered at either side of him, watching as though they feared he’d fall at any moment.

Leif jumped from the bench and strode forward to offer his arm, and the man took it after a moment’s hesitation. The hall went silent, and some Northmen even bowed their heads. So this was Leif’s father. He walked with a painfully pronounced limp, one of his legs so badly scarred and shriveled it was now deformed.

“Father,” I could hear Leif say, his voice low, “are you sure you’re well enough?”

The man brushed away his concern, but his voice sounded weak when he answered. “I wouldn’t miss a feast.”

Leif led him into the light of the fire, and as my gaze settled on the older man’s face, I froze, every muscle in my body going stiff. The blood pounded in my ears.

The man’s gaze shifted to mine, and so many feelings hit me at one time that I felt as though I would burst. They clamored within me, screaming to be heard.

A Northman looming above Alana and me, cutting off our escape—

—the axe in his hand stained red—

—a deep cut from his eyebrow down to his cheek dripping blood—

The scar splitting Leif’s father’s face from his eyebrow to his cheek was unmistakable.

“Father, this is Ciara, Queen of Dyflin and Princess of Mide,” Leif said, holding his hand out to me with a proud smile. Confusion flitted across his face when I did nothing but stare at them both.

Leif’s father bowed his head to me. “I am Jarl Olafsson, but you may call me Frey.”

I clenched my hands into fists to hide how badly I was shaking. That voice. My sister’s murderer’s name was Frey Olafsson. Blood for blood, he had said. And then he’d taken the dagger to Alana’s throat.

Leif grabbed hold of my arm, steadying me. “What’s wrong? Are you ill? Do you need to sit down?”

I could feel that I had no color in my face. My knees threatened to no longer hold me. So many times I’d thought of this moment—of what I would do if I was able to confront this man again—how I would tear his mind apart and force him to slit his own throat as he once slit my younger sister’s. But the vicious man who had been my sister’s attacker was no longer there. In his stead was a broken-down old man, one who could barely make it out of bed, who could barely stand on his own two feet.

And he was Leif’s father.

“You murdered my sister,” I said, the words torn out of me before I could stop and think.

I couldn’t look at Leif, but I felt him stiffen in shock beside me. His father’s ice-blue eyes—Leif’s ice-blue eyes—stared at me with a slowly dawning realization.

“You murdered her before my eyes, and I have long hoped my father’s injury to you was fatal. I see that it wasn’t, but I hope your suffering has been unbearable.”

He flinched before my words, but it wasn’t enough.

“May you live another ten years in agony,” I said, my voice thick with unshed tears.

I fled before he could respond, leaving the room full of horrified silence.





25





I barred my door. But it wasn’t long before Leif came. He called softly through the door at first. When he got nothing but silence, his cajoling tone turned demanding.

“Ciara, let me in,” he said. “We have to talk about this. Don’t make me apologize through the door.”

“Go away, Leif,” I snapped, my shoulders hunched almost to my ears. I didn’t know how I’d face him. Never had I felt so far from home as I did at this moment. I’d risked everything to join him on this quest, even more so when I traveled to the land of my clan’s enemy. And now, despite knowing who his father was, I still wanted Leif.