Ensnared (Knights of Brethren #3)(29)

Chapter

11





Gunnar


I ducked into a dark alley and glanced behind me. I searched the blackness but didn’t see anyone.

Tonight, I’d done my best to elude Bernhard’s spies—spies following Torvald and me all week. At the last tavern I’d visited, I’d made a point of staggering outside with a woman tucked against my body. I’d disappeared into the inn next door with her. After paying her to tell everyone I’d spent the night there, I’d escaped out a back window and made my way here, to this alley in the poorest slums of the city.

I needed the news of my debauchery to reach the castle and Bernhard. Nanna had instructed me to make a scene with a woman and keep the attention off Mikaela, and hopefully this ruse would suffice.

I loathed the prospect of hurting Mikaela if she learned of my so-called revelry. But even if I hurt her in the short term, she would be safer this way.

If only I’d learned my lesson the last time I’d been home. Instead, I’d made the same mistake again and was bringing her more heartache.

Since walking away from her in the gardens, I’d beaten myself up over the kiss at least a hundred times. I hadn’t planned to go to the nursery later for story time, had tried to stay away, but I’d decided I needed to visit Rikissa and Renate.

Upon my appearance, Mikaela had rushed from the room, clearly not wishing to see me. I’d longed to chase after her, pull her into my arms, and tell her I didn’t want her to marry Frans. In fact, the very thought of her being with Frans wrenched at my insides and tore me apart. And it hadn’t made any difference how many times I’d reminded myself that he loved her and would take good care of her.

Instead of thinking on Mikaela and Frans, I’d resolved to put them from my mind and focus on the mission, so that by the time Torvald returned we would have more clues.

Now in the early morning hour, with the city asleep and only the thieves and troublemakers awake, I prayed I’d reach my destination without Bernhard learning of where I’d gone.

The stench of garbage wafted heavily in the stale air of the narrow alley. The rot and refuse sat in heaps, home to vermin of every kind. Even as I stepped carefully over a pile, a rat scurried out with a frightened squeak, its claws scratching the stone pavement.

I paused, knife at the ready, my extra one stuffed into my boot. I’d already fended off one drunk thief, and I would fight others yet before the night was over. If only I could know for sure the man whom I sought was still alive.

He’d been called Eggum when he’d been a servant in my grandfather’s household. But no one I’d spoken to in the taverns knew of an Eggum. The only man who had possibly once worked in the castle was an old beggar by the name of Oslo.

If Oslo was Eggum, then he would be the only one left from those who’d served in my grandfather Jorg’s household during the time of the purge. All the others were dead or gone.

The purge had come to my attention after spending the greater part of the day—after the kiss—talking with staff who remembered my father and knew of my grandfather.

Some had mentioned a frightening purge, a time when my grandfather had hanged at least two dozen people after indicting them in a plot to overthrow him by colluding with the jotunn.

I’d pressed for more information, but the staff had been adamant that they didn’t know anything else. The chilling tale and their hesitancy had only sparked my curiosity all the more, leading me to seek out anyone who might have more information.

Could Eggum help me make sense of my grandfather’s purge? ’Twas likely a false lead and nothing more. I was probably wasting time investigating. But in the search for the chalice, Torvald and I hadn’t overlooked anything, even the oddest of clues. We wanted to be thorough, because when it came to the ancient relics, the stories, strange events, and superstitions were usually important.

Besides, after my interaction with Bernhard about the chalice, I’d become convinced there was more to uncover about the sacred relic and its connection to my family.

I tiptoed past the ramshackle buildings, most of which looked like they could collapse with the slightest breeze. The wattle and daub walls were broken away in places, the roofs nothing more than a thin covering of molding hay, and the shutters and doors either entirely off or ajar.

As I counted the shacks for the fifth one that supposedly belonged to an old half-blind beggar named Oslo, a slouched shadow appeared in the doorway.

I settled my knife more firmly in my gloved hand. “You Eggum?”

“No. Go away,” the man whispered harshly.

His response was defensive, telling me I’d found the man I sought. How had he known I was coming? Had he heard me stepping through refuse, though I’d done everything I could to remain stealthy?

I reached into my leather pouch and extracted several coins. “I’ll pay you well for any information you give me.”

The moon was shrouded in a mist, but it provided enough light that I could see the man’s scraggly beard that reached halfway down his chest and his equally long hair that hadn’t seen a comb or washing in years. His clothing was stained and tattered, and he wore rags around his feet.

I jangled the coins.

“Fine. Come in.” He retreated into his hovel.

I ducked into Eggum’s shack. It was dark, but embers glowed in a stone pit at the center. I was surprised to see that the one room was tidy, consisting of a crate-table creation with a three-legged stool. A couple of battered and blackened pots hung from hooks in the wall.