Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(29)

Aelfhild saw ribs, scars, and welts through the tatters of the rowers’ tunics as she handed out bread. The men did not look up but held a palm skyward and waited in silence for their meal.

Ceolwen followed behind and doled out some sort of jerky from her sack. Aelfhild saw the shine of tears in her mistress’ eyes as they made their round.

Slavers watched over their ship from an alcove in the prow. They lounged, waiting for rations as well. Not all of them had the same dead eyes as the branded man; some of their eyes were much livelier and betrayed dark appetites.

But Leofstan’s warning from the previous night apparently still held, and the slavers let Aelfhild and Ceolwen pass untouched. The leering brought out a cold sweat on Aelfhild’s back, but the alternatives were far worse.

She hurried back to the platform’s edge and dropped into the hold. She breathed deep, away from the stares.

Sola sat up beneath her blanket wearing a smile that gave no hint of being forced, and held out a palm.

Ceolwen dropped down beside them, toting her bag of what turned out to be dried fish. They all took a share of the rations, and saved out pieces for Runild and the Thrym women, who were returning.

Aelfhild was not sure how to tackle the bread. Her teeth could find no purchase on the stuff.

“Like this, lady,” said Runild. She still seemed to think Aelfhild was a noble, even after learning her identity. Runild and Sola dunked their bread into the bowl of water, leaving a cloud of dust and debris behind but softening the morsel enough for chewing.

Aelfhild chewed. There was no flavor to speak of, either of the fish or the bread, but it was food and her belly was empty.

At the risk of agreeing with Leofstan, she thought, it could be worse.

Ceolwen tried striking up a conversation with Sola. “And how old are you, Sola?” she cooed.

The girl stared back without a word, chewing her fish. Her uneven stare with the one milky eye obviously unsettled Ceolwen, who coughed and looked away.

“She does not speak, your highness,” Runild pulled her daughter close, kissing the top of the girl’s head. “Not a word, I fear, begging your pardon.”

“For how long?” Aelfhild asked.

“Forever, lady. Not since she was born.”

“I am sorry,” said Ceolwen.

For the first time, Aelfhild saw Runild bristle. The woman seemed to peek out of her shell, no longer cowed by royalty or by Leofstan, to defend her daughter. “There is nought wrong with her to be sorry for. The folk in our village feared her, too, with her eyes the way they are and her being so quiet. But my little girl is nought but good. She smiles and brings only joy to this world. More folk should do the same.”

Ceolwen stammered, but Runild had already withdrawn back inside herself. The woman’s eyes were cast back down toward her feet.

“She is beautiful,” Ceolwen said, her gaze imploring Aelfhild to help.

Aelfhild saw a chance to learn something about their captors. “What village was that, Runild?”

“Wyrtun, lady. But it is no place that you would have heard of in Cynestead. Just a small village on the coast south of Haernmuth.”

It would have been nice to say that she had indeed heard of Wyrtun, but that would have been a lie. There were countless such places in the kingdom, villages with a handful of families that fell and rose faster than maps could be made. Caelin might know about Wyrtun, since it lay within his lands in Ealdorscir, but that was as far as the name traveled.

The next question was delicate, and Aelfhild did not know how to phrase it.

“How…” she started, searching for the right words.

“They took a few of us while the men were in the fields. Three other women they took off in Haernmuth and sold, I suppose.” Runild’s voice betrayed no emotion, as though she were just rattling off facts that did not affect her. Her knuckles whitened around Sola’s shoulder, though, and the little girl turned her smile up toward her mother. Runild smiled back but the lines around her eyes looked deeper.

“I am so sorry, Runild,” said Ceolwen. “One day, I will be Queen, and I promise you I will make this right.”

The woman only nodded. Aelfhild could not blame her. It was a ridiculous claim, even from where Aelfhild herself was sitting. And she believed that Ceolwen might still be Queen. She had to. But that Queen Ceolwen would save the poor folk of Wyrtun, or any other village like it? Some fantasies were not even worth countenancing. No King ever had or would take care of those men and women. They could only rely on themselves, and Runild had to know that by now.

Sola was back to her humming.

“What about the crew? The men on board?” Aelfhild asked. Answers were more useful than hollow promises at that moment. And maybe not just this moment, she mused.

“One or two from Oesca, a few from Thrymgard, but most Earnfolding. The slaves, too, I think they go up and down the coast taking them.” Runild remembered herself after a pause. “Lady.”

Aelfhild wanted to shout, “I am not a noble!” But Runild had been kind to her, and Sola was beside her, beaming, and they were all just barely clutching at sanity. And, even more irritating, Runild was right. There was a bigger difference between Runild and Aelfhild than between Aelfhild and her mistress.

“So they are taking us to Thrymgard, Aela,” said Ceolwen. “We are not lost yet.”

It felt wrong talking about that future in front of Runild. The same hope did not wait for the mother and daughter in the north. Instead, Aelfhild reached out and grasped the older woman’s hand. She shook her head, hoping Ceolwen might take the hint.