Runes and Red Sails (Queenmaker Book 1)(30)

All three sat in silence, waiting, while Sola hummed her nonsense songs.





15

They fell into a new routine. At meal time, they carried food and water to the men; for the rest of the day they languished.

Sola was the only comfort. Unperturbed by her surroundings, the girl played in the hay, scampered through the nooks and crannies in the hold, and traced the flight of birds through their thin patch of sky with insistent enthusiasm.

Aelfhild had never much cared for children, but she tried her best to play along. Ceolwen was lost in her own royal thoughts, which she did not deign to share.

Sola’s mother turned greyer by the day. The pain Runild must have been feeling, watching her child walk back and forth in the belly of a slave ship, was something Aelfhild could not begin to fathom. She tried not to judge, and always made sure to smile back at Sola, even when Leofstan was at his worst.

A week passed, or more—or less, it was hard to tell the days apart, but it felt a lifetime. Bursts of activity under the sordid stares of the slavers, punctuated by hours of silent, featureless boredom, stretched each day to torturous length. This morning, though, following mealtime, Leofstan broke the pattern.

“Run out the oars!” Aelfhild heard their captor’s voice from the aft platform. “Time to row, you useless sons of whores! We have work to do!”

Wood scraped against wood as the oars were pushed out. So far they had gone mostly under sail and the slaves had been spared, but Leofstan sounded as though he had other plans. Men swung forward across the gap of the cargo hold, clutching ropes tied to the masthead. The slavers were preparing for something.

Ceolwen leaned close to Runild and asked, “What are they doing?”

“I do not know, your highness. Maybe we have come to Thrymgard and the selling place.” It was the tone of resignation in Runild’s voice that broke Aelfhild’s heart. Fear or anger she would have understood, but the woman seemed to have simply surrendered.

At least fight for your daughter, she thought. At least be strong for her.

And what do you know of that? It was her own mother’s voice in her ears once more, eager as ever to correct. Nothing. Your life is a dream next to hers. You know nothing of her struggle.

And that was true. Aelfhild sighed. Nothing was simple anymore.

“Hard ashore! Row now, bastards!” Leofstan shouted. “Ready in the fore!” His boney frame arced across the gap above them.

There was a grinding impact as the ship’s keel hit sand. Everything in the boat pitched forward, and Aelfhild steadied herself against the hull.

“We ran aground,” she said to Ceolwen. “Maybe we have a chance to get ashore now.”

Sounds of splashing and shouting in both Thrym and Earnfolding carried back over the prow. Aelfhild went to the edge of the foreward platform and lifted herself above.

The deck listed at an angle as the keel settled into the wet sand below. Over one side Aelfhild could make out dunes running out into the distance, kissed by breaking waves. Smoke rose to the other side.

“I can see land. And all of Leofstan’s men are gone. They must be raiding another village,” Aelfhild whispered over her shoulder. “Come, lady, now is our chance!”

Someone tugged at her dress from behind. “Aela. Aela!” Ceolwen’s voice was insistent. Aelfhild turned and saw Sigfus behind them. He stood atop the aft platform, in his hand a quarterstaff, notched at both ends. With his strength, it might as well have been a broadsword. Aelfhild swallowed hard and lowered herself back into the hold.

The giant did not speak, nor did he bother to frown or even shake his head. His presence was enough to tell them all that they needed to know. Any attempt to escape would be met with pain and plenty of it.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” Ceolwen hissed.

Cheeks burning, Aelfhild hung her head.

At least I tried, she thought.

The shouting drew closer to the boat again. Leofstan was returning.

“Get them aboard! These two to a bench, and get him down to the hold,” the slaver shouted.

Two slavers lowered a body into the hold, a man with dark stains spreading across his tunic and breeches. Aelfhild recognized him as one of Leofstan’s men, of the wandering-eyed variety, whose darker skin marked him as having Oescan forebears. Someone had sliced into his ribs, and deep from the look of it.

No less than he deserves. Aelfhild smirked.

“All oars, pull back! Get us back out to sea!” Leofstan was shouting. “Pull!”

He swung back to the rear platform, and spoke to Sigfus before turning to the women in the hold.

“Still with us, then? You have a new job, now. Some villager took an axe to one of my boys before we could finish our work, and now you can patch him up for me.” He panted as he spoke, still winded from whatever exertions had taken place ashore. “It is your penance for thinking of escaping, girl.”

Ceolwen stood, eyes blazing defiance. “And why should we help you, worm? You and your men can rot for all we care.”

Aelfhild could have cheered. There is my Queen!

In the space of a heartbeat, Leofstan had dropped into the hold and driven a fist into Ceolwen’s stomach. She dropped, doubled over in pain, and wretched up her meager breakfast onto the deck.

“No more games.” Leofstan winced as he shook out his fist. “It is as simple as this; if my man lives, the little girl lives. If he dies, so does she. Get to work.”