Under a Northern Sky (The Barbarian Realms Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2022 Lisa Lynn Brockmeyer

  ISBN: 978-1-999-1889-8-6 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-999-1889-9-3 (paperback)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author, except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events depicted are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover by: Murphy Rae at Indie Solutions, www.murphyrae.net

  Formatting by: Farah Faqir @craftedbyaf

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  Books by LL Meyer

  The Barbarian Realms

  Under a Northern Sky, #1

  Beyond a Savage Heart, #2 (coming in 2023)

  The Worlds Collide duets:

  Not So Far Away (Scott and Ellie, #1)

  The Here and Now (Scott and Ellie, #2)

  Fall from Grace (Alejandro and Sophie, #3)

  The Devil’s Own (Alejandro and Sophie, #4)

  The Penny Books

  His Lucky Penny, #1

  Pennies for Wishes, #2

  Find a Penny, #3

  Pennies from Heaven, #4

  Written as Lisa Lynn Meyer

  A Touch of Silence

  Dedication

  This one is for that girl sitting in the movie theatre, watching Gladiator for the first time, asking herself, I wonder what that guy’s story is? when the ‘barbarian’ held up that soldier’s severed head.

  Trigger Warning

  While I wouldn’t classify Under a Northern Sky as a dark romance, it does contain dark themes that may be triggering to some readers, including attempted sexual assault. Please have care.

  Chapter 1

  Rina

  Dawn has finally leached the inkiness from the sky. As their backdrop fades, the stars have disappeared one by one until only the brightest remains; the North Star. I watch its valiant attempts to stave off the inevitable.

  I wonder if that will be me soon, swallowed whole by circumstances beyond my control. Probably. But I take strength in knowing it endures. Whether it can be seen or not, it’ll be back tonight, as permanent as ever.

  North marks the direction we’ve been traveling in for the past five days. I have the silly notion that when we finally arrive at our destination, the North Star will be directly overhead. I say silly because, so far, all my questions about our journey have gone unanswered and I’ve been forced to dream up my own answers.

  From my spot sitting on the creek bank, I lean over to dip my fingers into the icy water. I’m already chilled to the bone so its temperature doesn’t so much as elicit a shiver. I won’t complain though. No matter how miserable I am now – cold, hungry, and unable to sleep – I know it could be worse. Last week I was living my three hundred and seventy-fourth day locked in a chamber by order of my cousin, Gaden, the King of D’heilar. At least here in the wilderness, I can see the sky. At least here in the wilderness, I can muster some optimism for my future.

  A future which includes marrying a man I’ve never met. A barbarian no less.

  My empty stomach turns over. I’m not sure if it’s dread or hope that causes it, but I wish I had something certain to cling to. All I know of my betrothed is his name, and I only learned that much because I overheard him mentioned in conversation among my five-man escort.

  His name is Luka, and he’s one of their kings – or deves – as they’re known in the barbarian realms of the north.

  “Rina!” hisses through the air, startling me. “What in the Mother’s name are you doing down here? Noé is about to send the twins out to hunt you down.”

  I turn to find Bron, the youngest of my escort, halfway down the short embankment, looking slightly panicked.

  My shoulders sag at the thought of another grueling day of travel. “I’m just washing up.”

  “Well, hurry!” He traipses back up the hill, and then in the distance, I hear him reassure the others that I haven’t run off.

  I want to roll my eyes. Run off to where? There’s nothing for miles and miles around. It’s been days since we’ve passed a single homestead . . . which probably means we’re nearing the River Colundra, the natural border between D’heilar and the Realms.

  No one in their right mind would live this close to barbarian territory. Though the incursions have eased off considerably in recent years, barbarian raids into the northern regions of my homeland are infamous for their callousness.

  Figuring I won’t like it if Noé uses callousness to come and get me, I push to my feet on aching legs. Not only is my cloak too thin for the very late autumn weather this far north, but my cold muscles are unaccustomed to riding after my year-long incarceration. Wincing with every step, I slowly make my way up the hill.

  I’m sure my cousin, the King, would be thrilled if he could see me now. His lifelong campaign against my family culminating in my being brought low before these barbarians would be a dream come true for him, what with them being our sworn enemies and all.

  The relationship between our two nations has always been contentious, but the origins of the tension remain a somewhat murky subject. Even if the monarchs of D’heilar have done everything to convince their subjects it’s a cut and dried, good versus evil situation, I’ve read conflicting accounts of the Northern Rebellions against the Crown. Some claim that it was actually the Crown’s cruel taxation and conscription system in the face of floods and famine that forced our northern people to rebel and ultimately move across the River Colundra. Maybe they left of their own accord, or maybe they were expelled. Either way, they weren’t supposed to flourish or become a permanent thorn in the monarchy’s side, but that’s what happened.

  Nowadays, however, D’heilar and the Realms have a more pressing problem: the rise of the savages along our common border on the eastern flank. Over the last five to ten years the situation has become dire enough that the two sides have been forced into a tentative truce. And apparently my marriage to a barbarian is meant to stick the two halves more firmly together, the two halves that have been at odds for more than two centuries. The phrase sacrificial lamb comes to mind.

  At the top of the small rise, I spy the barbarians through the trees, packing up the camp. I still haven’t gotten used to them. They’re nothing like the groomed and mild mannered men of the south who prefer pretense and doublespeak to get their points across. These men don’t bother with anything of the kind. They say what they mean, and mean what they say, unafraid to insult one another or even me.

  Noé, the leader, has been cranky from the start, obviously unhappy with being assigned the task of chaperoning me north. “You’ve missed breakfast,” he gripes as I approach, the ivory beads in his long black hair clinking together. “You’ll just have to go hungry.”

  I give him a terse nod instead of the crude gesture I want to shove in his face. His attitude toward me has really begun to chafe, but so far I’ve kept my temper. There’s no sense in making an enemy of him before I have a complete picture of what my new life will have in store for me. I can already see that I’ll have an uphill battle though. These men have completely rebuffed my attempts to make conversation wi
th them. It seems they’re not willing to let bygones be bygones with our peoples’ long history of hatred and ill-will hovering over us like an ugly spectre.

  “I don’t know if starving her is such a good idea,” is drawled from behind me, sending a jolt through my chest. “She’s already so scrawny.”

  Jerking around, I come face to face with Cayson and Carson, their eerily identical sneers sending an unpleasant chill down my spine.

  “And combined with that dung-colored dress? Ugh,” one of them continues; I still haven’t figured out how to tell the twins apart. “A fine bargain Luka has struck.”

  “Shut up,” snaps Noé. “If you cannot control your tongue, Carson, I’ll cut it out.”

  The casual violence of the words curdles in my hollow stomach, probably because I can imagine such a scenario playing out. There’s a physicality to these men that often makes me uneasy.

  “Oh, I’d love to see that,” Cayson says with a snicker to bait his twin, using the back of his hand to whack the other man’s chest. In retaliation, Carson shoves him.

  “Mount up,” Noé orders like he’s sick of both of them. At least we can agree on that. I don’t really trust any of them, but it’s been obvious from the start that the twins are the worst of this group. Their insults don’t bother me as much as the way their unnerving, light-colored eyes constantly follow me around. I try to keep constant tabs their whereabouts just to be safe.

  I make my way around my horse to where Bron is finishing up with my saddle. “Thank you,” I whisper, hoping he understands I’m referring to the help with my horse and the warning down at the creek. He nods as he slips me a piece of dried meat before walking away. I quickly squirrel it away into the pocket of my cloak, feeling a spark of gratitude toward him.

  Mounting my horse is painful. Every muscle in my body protests and it takes a mountain of will to keep the whimper that rises up inside of me stoppered. These men already believe me a weakling, but I refuse to give the idea any credence.

  As we start off down the road, rather than focus on my aches and pains, I ponder Bron’s connection to the terror twins. Yesterday, I learned he’s their youngest brother and I still haven’t gotten over the shock. While the twins have been devoid of even a scrap of human decency from the beginning, Bron attempted to befriend me when we first set off on this journey. Noé put a stop to it, but that wasn’t Bron’s idea. I wonder if Bron’s uncharacteristic, easy-going manner compared to the others has something to do with his different style of clothing. He’s the only one who wears a tunic. The others all wear a thick leather vest with an insignia of a large cat burned into the leather at their left breasts. I assume it’s a uniform of sorts, marking them as soldiers.

  Is my betrothed a soldier? With my luck, chances are high and he’ll be equally unpleasant as Noé or the twins. I won’t be deterred though. I don’t have the luxury. There’s no going back for me and I have every intention of making this marriage work.

  This marriage to Luka. I wish I knew something about him. His age, or his disposition, or –

  My horse sidesteps, causing my ankle to bang against the stirrup, and for the millionth time since we started this trip, a bolt of pain shoots up my leg. What I wouldn’t give for a proper pair of riding boots. To steady myself, I take some deep breaths and try to concentrate on my surroundings. The sun’s attempt to break through the bows of the endless evergreens today gives me a bit of a boost, but it’s just not enough to distract myself from the pain or the cold.

  I tune into the rattle of the cart in front of me, over which I can make out Dix – the last man of my escort – complaining to Noé, once again, how it was such a waste of time to have brought ‘the infernal contraption’.

  Dix has been annoyed about it from the beginning. The first time I met these five, enormous men, all of them except Bron had been wearing scowls worthy of an angry and suspicious crone on their pale faces.

  “Where are your things?” Noé had demanded from atop his horse in a strangely accented voice that rang with scorn.

  I’d lifted my chin and projected what I hoped was confidence. “My cousin, the King, has seen fit to send me to my new life unburdened by the past.”

  His fierce expression had remained unchanged and it occurred to me that polite speech was lost on him. “It’s just me,” I’d clarified. I was wearing everything I owned.

  That was the first time the terror twins had mumbled something about Luka getting the short end of the stick.

  “Skeevy bastards,” I mutter under my breath. As if I’m not already nervous enough that my tan skin, black hair, and small stature won’t put Luka off. Then there’s . . . reflexively, I press the inside of my left arm against my side. Through the fabric of my clothing, I can feel the ugly, mottled skin that mars my ribs.

  Memories of that horrible day begin to surface; the coal-hot blade, the taunting slurs, the unspeakable, penetrating agony of my singeing flesh. The contemptuous face of my tormentor forms in my mind and I do everything I can to banish it. Dearest Mother, how I despise him, Mattice Dulat, High Advisor to my cousin and all-around worm. Even if it’s been over a year since I’ve seen him, his cruelty still haunts me.

  Desperate for any distraction now, I strain to listen in on the terror twins’ conversation from further behind me. I catch snippets of their usual degrading talk of women and boasts of exaggerated sexual exploits. To say the least, it does nothing to fight my falling spirits.

  I sigh, pulling the strip of meat from my pocket to nibble on it.

  A few hours later the trees start to thin out and we come to what must be the banks of the River Colundra. I gasp with wonder. I’ve heard of the natural boundary between D’heilar and the Realms, but I’ve never laid eyes upon it. Dismounting, I join Noé at the water’s edge and watch the dark, cloudy water move past me like some kind of a creeping monolith. The far side is barely visible and I’m sure the placid surface hides a wicked undertow.

  “We’re to cross that?” I marvel aloud.

  A derisive noise comes from the back of his throat. “Don’t fall overboard. I won’t save you.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I say wryly, earning me a look of mild surprise. It’s as if he didn’t believe I had a personality. I wonder if these barbarian men react to all women this way or if it’s only me. “Is this the end of our journey, then?” I ask.

  “No,” he scoffs like he’s offended by my ignorance. “This is but the mid-way point.”

  I want to point out that he’s responsible for my ignorance, but men in the black uniforms of the Royal Army emerge from the trees on horseback and he goes to meet them.

  Turns out the horses we’ve been riding are the property of the King, loaned to the barbarians for their use on the southern side of the river. The presence of the soldiers has me on edge after a year of being kept under lock and key and my ‘meeting’ with Mattice Dulat fresh in my mind. Being a prisoner is not an experience I want to repeat, so I remain as unobtrusive as possible. I don’t trust my cousin not to revoke the marriage deal and take me back into custody.

  The provisions from the half-empty cart are loaded into a large, wide-bottomed boat. When it’s time to go, I eagerly climb in. Though I know how to swim, I doubt I’d make it to shore if we capsized, something that sends a zing through my veins and voids out the fear inspired by the King’s men. It’s wonderful to be out in the world and living.

  I sit in the bow, soaking up the sun, while the men pull the oars in long strokes. They don’t fight the current that carries us swiftly downstream, but work with it in order to hit a designated landing point on the opposite side. It’s all perfectly timed and gauged. They may be uncouth, but these men are clearly competent.

  The heartfelt welcome of their barbarian comrades on the far side of the river takes me by surprise. Even though it’s not meant for me, the good-natured teasing makes the very air easier to breathe. A
man wearing one of the leather vests and a wide smile wades into the knee-deep water and holds up his arms, offering to help me from the boat.

  “My name is Dion, my lady. Let me get you back on dry land.”

  There’s nothing untoward in his demeanor and I can’t help but respond to him with a smile of my own. “Thank you,” I say with what is undoubtedly too much feeling, but it’s been a very long while since anyone has offered me a civil word.

  After setting me down on the bank, he leads me past fortified buildings that must be part of an outpost, complete with manned look-out towers that line the shore at intervals for as far as the eye can see. The place appears ready for war. Maybe the truce between D’heilar and the Realms is weaker than I realized. Maybe this marriage really will make a difference.

  I’m shown to a large corral where the provisions are being re-loaded into a new wagon and horses are being brought out from the stables for our party. It seems with hours of daylight left, we won’t be lingering.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Dion asks as he saddles a mare for me, probably noticing my astonishment.

  “I’ve rarely seen a finer mount,” I admit. It takes everything in me not to confirm that I have permission to ride such a beautiful animal. “Does she have a name?”

  “I don’t rightly know. But she’s yours now, so it’s –”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes, a gift from the deve.”

  “From the deve?” I echo stupidly.

  Dion hesitates. “Yes. Deve is the word for . . .”

  “Ruler,” I finish, not sure if I should curb the hope that blooms, fierce and deep, in my chest. Luka. “The mare is from him? Truly?” I say, fully expecting him to confess to jesting.

  “Yes, of course. Come closer. Let her know you.”

  Throwing a nervous glance over my shoulder for Noé or the twins, I pat the horse’s neck. Her midnight black coat is warm under my palm as she nuzzles me sweetly, and a certainty I haven’t experienced in years takes hold of me. I’ll do everything I can to make the best of my new life. I’ll learn how to love my new husband no matter the cost. Just for giving me this moment, one that feels like joy being poured directly into my soul, he deserves my all.