Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(27)

Leofstan was not the sort of man that women would be around willingly; or, rather, Aelfhild refused to believe that such women existed. But she had been wrong before, and watched Runild for signs of treachery.

What such signs looked like, she was far from sure. The bindings permitted little aside from watching, though, so watch she did.

There were two other women in the hold with them. The pair had the snow-pale skin and high cheekbones that marked them as Thrym, and they did not engage with each other or Runild, let alone the newcomers.

Coarse breeches, tunics, and foot-wraps were the uniform in the hold. All the other women wore them; even Sola had her own miniature version. There were no adornments and no color, only patches of mismatched fabric around knees and elbows.

Slowly, Aelfhild’s strength returned. She wormed her way upright, back to the boards of the hull, scraping at the hay with her bound feet.

“Come, Sola.” Runild called her daughter back and clutched her tight. The woman glowered at Aelfhild, before returning her stare to the aft platform of the boat.

The ship they were on was a wide-bellied cargo hauler, with platforms fore and aft for rowers. From her perch in the depths of the hold, Aelfhild could see no activity on either side. The only thing visible was the mast, braced against the foreward platform and fitted with billowing sails, and a patch of bruised sky directly overhead.

Leofstan was somewhere above, she guessed, from the scowl Runild gave her. As much as she did not want to attract the serpent’s attention, she needed to see.

Ceolwen’s back rose and fell evenly as Aelfhild dragged herself over.

Leave it to the nobles to sleep in, she thought.

Whoever had bound their hands had at least had the mercy to tie them in front. Aelfhild reached out and pulled at her mistress’ shoulder. Ceolwen’s eyes were puffy and red; it looked as though she had already woken and cried herself back to sleep in the time it took Aelfhild to get moving.

I should have been faster, Aelfhild thought. She needed me.

There was another thought, but she squelched it down before it was more than a whisper.

She could have checked on you.

Ceolwen opened her eyes. When she spotted Aelfhild, she rocked forward, grasping at her servant. Her hands were bound as well, but she could still touch Aelfhild’s face. New tears ran down the grimy tracks left by the previous set.

Aelfhild had never felt such a tender gesture from her mistress, and her own tears stained what was left of her dress.

They sat, foreheads pressed together, sobbing through their gags.

“Well, what a sight that is. Friends reunited.”

It had only been a matter of time before he appeared. The voice was as gloating as Aelfhild had expected it would be. He would be enjoying this more than anything else in the world. This moment was surely what men like him lived for.

She turned toward Leofstan, who sat with his legs dangling over the edge of the aft platform. Beside her, Runild cowered, shielding Sola with her body.

“You three cost me two men back in that warehouse, I will have you know. I never expected the maid to be such a troublemaker,” he said.

Ceolwen looked confused, and Leofstan explained.

“Look at her hands. See that stain? She stuck one of my boys but good with her little breadknife. And your man killed one, too, but that was more a fair fight. He is pulling an oar now to make up for that.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

So Bercthun yet lived; that was an increasingly uncommon kindness on the part of the Gods. They toyed with her dreams, they sent her battle-madness and made a killer of her, but they spared her friend. She almost felt remorse for hating them in the midst of battle.

“I can see in your eyes that you think me a bad one, young queen,” Leofstan was saying to Ceolwen. Her expression was untempered venom. She looked ready to bite the man, given half a chance. The man on the other end of the stare did not appear concerned, though. He continued, “I did you a great favor. I gave you a gift worth more than the coins you gave me.”

Aelfhild snorted.

“Gods’ truth. Osric’s man, he said the King wanted you dealt with, his words. But I hardly got to be the man you see before you,” he gestured to the boat around them, basking in the depth of his achievement, “by passing up a chance to turn a profit. So I thought to myself, the Thrym do love highborn Earnfolding lasses like yourselves. They will pay me a fine bounty, and old Osric will be none the wiser. I was running a load north as it was, so it seems fate brought us together.

“Besides, the less the King knows about my affairs, the better, as I see it. So Osric’s man took one last swim after we left port.” From Leofstan’s grin, Aelfhild assumed that this dip in the ocean had not been voluntary. “So I saved your life, rightly so. And you never know, I heard some of the Thrym treat their slaves quite…tenderly. If your life is not enough, I give you the gift of hope, too.”

He laughed and stood stretching above them.

“Cause no trouble and you will have none from us. Be grateful things are not a fair sight worse. Bones line the bottom of these waters and you would be among them right now, if not for my giving nature.”

Pointing at the two Thrym women, he said something in the northern tongue. The pair stood, each lifting a sack from behind them, and climbed up onto the fore platform.

Leofstan turned to Runild, who quailed under his stare.

“Well?” he asked.